Once Upon a Wager (30 page)

“Never say you have been leading me along, Annabelle.” Digby's eyes glittered. “That night, when you gave yourself to me, you swore you loved me.”

The gathering crowd rippled with shock.

Contemptible man. But his words had their desired effect. Even now, all eyes were on her. “I did no such thing,” she said, desperate to make everyone understand. “He planned the whole of this to force me into marriage.”

“How dare you accuse my niece of impropriety!” Aunt Sophia all but hissed as she pushed her way toward them.

“Miss Layton,” Lord Fitzsimmons said, ignoring her aunt. “I advise you to stop this foolishness, or society will have nothing to do with you.”

“But Father,” Jane exclaimed. “You know full well that Annabelle is innocent!”

The front door of Marchmain House suddenly flew open with such force that it slammed against its doorjamb. Several people shrank back in fear as Alec rushed into the hall. But Annabelle's heart swelled as she watched him fight through the crowd.

“Annabelle, are you all right?” he called out. She had never seen him so disheveled and anxious. His cravat was a tangled mess above a riding coat and breeches spattered with mud. He must have come on horseback, and he'd lost his hat along the way, his dark hair brushed into wavy streaks by the wind. He carried something wrapped with a cloth in his hand, and he looked as if he might use it to clear a path to her. He did not take his eyes from her face. Heavens, the expression in those eyes. As if the fate of the world was tied to her well-being. As if he would do anything, risk anything for her.

• • •

Had he arrived in time? He'd no sooner returned from Nuneaton than he'd found Jane's note, warning that Digby was plotting something infamous for Annabelle's come-out ball. He'd pushed Mars, his horse, to the edges of his endurance to get here, finding only a moment's irony in the fact that his father's gift to him might help save Annabelle.

“Dorset,” Lord Fitzsimmons shouted, to make himself heard above the growing chorus of outrage at his sudden appearance. “You don't belong here among respectable people.” But Alec was already at Annabelle's side, searching her face and form for any evidence of injury. When he saw her loosened bodice, a black fury nearly consumed him. If Digby had hurt her, he was a dead man.

“I'm all right,” she whispered, gazing up at him with a quick smile, as if they were the only two people in the room. But of course, they were not. He pressed her tightly to his side all the same, onlookers and propriety be damned.

“You know Lord Dorset and Miss Layton are innocent of the charges against them, Father,” Jane Fitzsimmons said in a voice loud enough for the throng to hear, although it trembled. “I overheard you in the study that night. I know what you've done.”

Was Jane really calling her father out in front of the ton? If Fitzsimmons's duplicity was discovered here tonight, her reputation would be destroyed as well.

The old man blanched. “My dear girl,” he said soothingly, but Alec could hear the desperation in his voice, the unspoken plea. “You're overset by this evening's events. Please, let me take you home.”

She stood firm. “Father, tell the truth. Stop this while you still can.”

And in that moment, Alec knew that he would never be able to repay her. She was risking everything she'd ever known for Annabelle's sake. But would anyone believe her? “Lord Dorset is a man without honor,” Digby shouted, entering into the fray. “Yet your daughter defends him, Fitzsimmons. I can only guess at the reason.” Several in the crowd cringed at the insult, because the man had all but called Jane his whore. Noticing the dried blood on Digby's collar, Alec had a sudden, pleasurable vision of the man's life blood draining out into a puddle on the floor.

With a squeeze of Annabelle's hand, he took a menacing step toward Digby, taking grim satisfaction in the bastard's sudden step backward. “Do you recognize this?” He slowly pulled back the folds of cloth covering the object he carried.

All around them, bystanders leaned in to look. “Of course not,” Digby scoffed.

“Let me refresh your memory,” Alec replied. “It is the linchpin from my carriage those many years ago … the linchpin that failed, causing my left wheel to careen wildly into Gareth Layton's path, forcing the collision that led to his death. You'll notice one side is neatly sawed in half, ensuring that the pin would shatter during the race.”

His words echoed in the hall, as several onlookers began to shift uncomfortably.

“Does this mean Miss Layton is the woman with the veils?” an overstuffed matron called out.

“Why would Dorset tamper with his own wheel?” someone else shouted from high above on the stair. Annabelle was looking at the linchpin with dawning horror, but Digby remained defiant.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he said dismissively. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You killed the wrong man, didn't you?” Alec seethed. “There was no justice that day, was there? Your mark died, while I walked away.” The devil would have his time with Digby in the end. But not before he did.

“No one here believes your lies,” Digby said, pretending outrage. “You can't distract us, Lord Dorset, from your crimes at Badajoz. I saw you there in the shadows. Leading men to despicable behavior. Violating women and small children. Committing acts of murder.”

Alec cursed as the crowd recoiled. Several men demanded that he be tossed from the premises, as women frantically waved their fans and begged for smelling salts. Annabelle, on the other hand, looked as if she wanted to stab Digby through the heart. His brave, beautiful girl.

“May I interrupt this unpleasant exchange?” It was Benjamin Marworth, pushing toward them, dressed in a tiered riding coat and breeches, a sheaf of papers tucked under one arm. “Alec, I have those papers you requested.”

A quick look passed between them, telling Alec all he needed to know. Thank God. He quickly scanned the sheaf and formulated his attack.

“I have a few questions for you, Corporal Digby.”

But Digby was not done fighting. “Why should I answer your questions?” he said, trying for nonchalance.

“I only seek to clarify your military service,” he replied. “An easy enough request, when you've spent so much time discussing mine.”

Digby regarded him suspiciously, but he had not forgotten the crowd surrounding them. “By all means, then. Unlike you, Dorset, I've served my country with honor.”

“You were posted in Spain under Wellington?”

“Of course. He has command of the entire Peninsular Campaign. Surely you know that.”

“Which unit were you with, Corporal?”

“I first served as a foot soldier, but my skills were noticed by an officer with the 11th Light Dragoons.”

“They're rather infamous, aren't they? Weren't they picking cherries in an orchard in Spain, frolicking among the fruit trees, when French forces caught them off guard and attacked?” Several men chuckled openly in the crowd. Good. The more derisive, the better. It would distract Digby. “Were you one of the Cherry Pickers, then?”

“I was transferred out long before that embarrassment,” Digby insisted.

“Really? How convenient for you,” Alec replied, dripping sarcasm. “Is that how you ended up with the 10th Royal Hussars, then? I couldn't help but notice your uniform.”

“I was promoted to the Hussars in June of 1810, so I couldn't have been part of that orchard incident. I've served with them ever since. Really, though, these are pointless questions.”

“The 10th Royal Hussars are stationed in Brighton?”

“Yes, we've been there since 1809,” Digby said with an exaggerated sigh. “But what has any of this to do with your crimes, Lord Dorset, the ones that have shamed everyone here?”

“I confess to some confusion, Digby. If you've been stationed with the Hussars since 1810, how is it that you fought at Badajoz in 1812?”

A wave of shock rolled across the assembly as his words rang out, and Alec knew a moment of pure triumph. The bastard had been trapped by his own arrogance.

“You are mixing things up in my head,” Digby insisted. “I was there at Badajoz! I know what I saw.”

“You have marvelous eyesight, then,” Alec observed, his voice dismissive. “There aren't many who can see Spain from the beaches of Brighton.”

The room erupted in sound. Men were shouting words like “liar” and “cheat,” as hundreds of eyes fixed on Digby, cold with condemnation.

“Everyone, please quiet down,” Lord Fitzsimmons said, obviously shaken. “We'll sort this out tomorrow, when heads and minds are clearer. Let me escort Corporal Digby home. There's no need to rush to judgment.” He glanced at Alec, eyes imploring, as if begging for forgiveness. But it was far too late for that.

“Didn't you rush to judgment, Lord Fitzsimmons?” someone called out.

“Wellington himself called Dorset a hero,” another said. “Yet you believed the lies of a stranger.”

“Did you never investigate this Digby's claims, Fitzsimmons? Or did you willingly set out to destroy an honorable man?”

“I'd say it was the latter,” Alec said with deadly conviction. “In fact, I'd lay odds on it.”

• • •

Alec was immediately caught up in a circle of well-wishers, men slapping him genially on the back to offer their congratulations, as Lord Fitzsimmons and Digby were escorted from Marchmain House. But Annabelle would not let Jane leave with them. “I do not want you to spend one more moment in that wretched man's presence,” she said. “Your father can take him home.” Jane, stiff and pale, merely nodded in agreement.

“Why did you do it?” she couldn't help but ask. “To risk so much for someone you hardly know?”

“I must admit,” Jane said quietly, “that I did not particularly like you at our first meeting. I knew I would not be shown to advantage at the opera, with you there beside me. I had hopes, you see, for Lord Dorset.”

What could she say in reply? “I know that he holds you in the highest esteem.”

“Perhaps not the highest,” Jane said with a wan smile. “He has certainly never looked at me the way he looks at you, when he thinks no one is watching.” She started to protest, but Jane lifted a hand to quiet her. “It's alright. I could never shake the feeling that his courtship was half-hearted.”

“Then why did you help us both?”

“Because I still hope that one day, a man will love me for who I am, and I want to be worthy of that devotion.” Jane blushed, as if embarrassed by the admission. “And I could not allow my father to ruin Lord Dorset because of a perceived slight to me. I could not allow Digby to force himself upon you. Not if I wanted to live with myself.”

“You will always have my thanks, Jane,” she said, truly humbled. “My thanks and my devotion.”

“Why not simply thank me for my shawl?” Jane said, pulling a cream satin wrap from her shoulders and tucking it around Annabelle's neck, to better hide her bodice. “If we don't cover you up, the men may never leave.”

She'd almost forgotten that they were in the middle of a ball, which was buzzing as Aunt Sophia climbed to the top of the stairs, drawing everyone's attention.

“Lady Dorset and I thank you for joining us. Given this night's excitement, I think it best we conclude the evening.” At that, the crowd scattered quickly, everyone obviously eager to spread the story of Alec's redemption. And it infuriated Annabelle that as people passed by Jane, many looked away, as if she were no longer worthy of their notice. When Jane had proved, against every expectation, to be a true and loyal friend.

She could not say the same for the Simpertons, who were herding toward the door with the other guests, hoping to be lost in the throng.

“Estrella and Cousin Augustus,” she called out. “Could you stay for just a moment, please?” After hesitating, they turned, and she was perversely satisfied to see Estrella lose all semblance of color. Something bright and delicate hung from her wrist by a ribbon.

“I see you've found your fan,” Annabelle said as the two came to a halt in front of her.

“Indeed! Imagine my relief.”

“It was not in the library, then,” she said, rather impressed that she hadn't already snatched the thing, and snapped it in two.

Estrella flushed an unbecoming shade. “No, it wasn't there after all. I'd forgotten my son was holding it for me. Weren't you, my dear?”

“It was a happy surprise,” Augustus said, “to discover that it complemented my ensemble so well.” He was wearing a glittering cutaway jacket embroidered with a profusion of colored crystal beads, over tight gold trousers.

“Rather like sparks complement an explosion, I should think,” Aunt Sophia said as she came up behind them, having sent Jane up to her rooms. “You look like the fireworks display at Vauxhall Gardens.”

Augustus seemed absurdly pleased by the comparison, but his mother was more wary. Rightly so. “We should return to the hotel.”

“No, please stay just a moment more, Estrella,” Annabelle said. “I want to know why you locked me in the library with Corporal Digby.”

“Would you repeat that, my dear?” Alec's voice was deceptively calm behind her as he placed a protective arm at her waist, suffusing her body with tingling awareness.

“Happily,” she said, leaning back into the solid wall of him. “You did not know, perhaps, that this evening's drama began when Estrella lured me into the library and trapped me there. I've just been asking for an explanation.”

“I am eager to hear it,” Aunt Sophia added. “Especially since the Simpertons are my guests at their hotel here in London, wearing clothes they've charged to my accounts, along with any number of additional fripperies.”

Being too large to move with any speed, Estrella seemed to realize that a hasty escape was not an option. Instead, she opened and closed her mouth for several moments, reminding Annabelle of a round fish caught on a lure. “Corporal Digby told me they were in love,” she said at last. “I have ever been one to further the cause of romance. I thought they'd make a fine match.”