Seductive Wager (23 page)

But that meant cutting herself off from Brett as well, and that was a prospect she couldn’t face yet. Her love was too new and untasted, her youthful optimism too bountiful to accept the brutal finality of separation. Every time she saw his face, pictured his powerful body, remembered the wild passion of that first night, her hope was renewed that something would happen to bridge the gulf that separated them. The very thought of calling such a vibrant and sensual creature her husband started her senses racing and her whole body tingling.

But cooler and more objective thinking brought her up against the realities of the situation, and she spent the remainder of the afternoon in a despondent mood.

Chapter 13

Brett’s thoughts were more clearly set out, but no less difficult to accept. The first letter came from the foreign minister’s office and contained Brett’s new instructions. Lord Thunderburke stated in no uncertain terms that it was “damned inconvenient of you to get yourself shot while you’re working for the Foreign Office. You’re supposed to be on your way to Paris and Rome, not lying up somewhere recuperating.” The work of making new plans had clearly made serious inroads into his lordship’s store of patience, and his instructions were succinct.

Brett was to proceed to Calais as soon as he got this letter. A ship was already waiting which would take him down the coasts of France and Spain, through the straits of Gibraltar, and then along the coast of North Africa to Algeria. When he arrived in Algiers, he would follow his previous instructions. The situation there was developing quickly and he was-to proceed with caution and as much speed as possible.

Brett uttered several pithy oaths, but he had actually received the instructions he expected. Taking the nature and timing of his mission into consideration, there was really nothing else Lord Thunderburke could have done. Nevertheless, he cursed.

What was he to do about Kate? This business of inheriting Martin’s estate had caught him off guard. Why hadn’t he remembered it instead of accepting Kate’s word for her poverty? Now that she had money and somewhere to go, he could not continue to put her off. She didn’t have to depend on him any longer. If she got away from him this time, and he wouldn’t put it past Valentine to help her, she would go straight to that cursed uncle and he might never get her back.

Brett pulled himself up with a mental jerk. He’d never acted like this over a woman before, and he didn’t understand why he should be doing so now. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t essential that she stay with him, that he’d get along without her just as he had gotten along without all the others, but he knew better. He didn’t know what he wanted from her, but every time he remembered the taste of her sweet mouth or the feel of her wondrously soft skin, he suffered fresh agonies of desire. He could not lose her, and damn this wound for keeping him so helpless.

The second letter threw him into a towering rage. He had written Edward to ask if anyone knew what had happened at Ryehill, and now he wished he hadn’t. After finishing the letter, Brett paused only long enough to crush the pages in his hand before delivering himself of some ripe curses; then he stalked to the door and shouted for Charles, all the while heaping curses on Martin, Boyngton, Sedley, and a nameless young man who Edward said had seen them in Dover and couldn’t wait to tell anyone who would listen. It was clear that too many people knew too much about what happened at Ryehill for it to remain a secret much longer; however, he was the one who had made the mistake of accepting the bet and of leaving the castle with Kate. After that, everything else was inevitable.

“Somewhere in the village there’s an English cleric by the name of Humphries,” Brett barked as soon as Charles entered the room. “He’s usually drunk before noon so you’ll have to sober him up, but I want him here right after dinner. He’s going to perform a marriage. Talk to Valentine. You’ll find him a lot faster with her help.”

“Y-your marriage, sir?” Charles stammered. He was an experienced servant and used to receiving unusual orders, but this time he was barely able to keep his eyes from starting from his head.

“Yes, my
marriage.
Charles Hunglesby has written me a damned impertinent letter, even for him. It seems Boyngton talked too much and Sedley is nosing about as usual. The upshot is this whole mess is about to leak out, and he practically
ordered
me to marry Miss Vareyan to save her reputation. And not a word of concern for me, his friend of I don’t know how many years. I’ll kill Frank Boyngton if I ever see him again.”

“Does Miss Vareyan know?”

“No, and you’d better not get that priest here too early. I’ve got to have time to prepare her, and I’m not at all sure how she’s going to take it.”

Dinner that evening was a strain on everyone.

Brett was uncommunicative and returned clipped monosyllables to any remark addressed to him. He saw this marriage as a public admission of guilt and had to constantly curb an urge to lash out at Kate as the cause of his humiliation.

The more she thought about it, the less Kate wanted to return to Ryehill. After thinking that everything would be all right if she only had somewhere to go, she realized that even the ends of the earth wouldn’t be far enough to escape from her love of Brett.

Valentine believed lovers had to suffer great misery before they could be happy, so she nearly laughed aloud when Kate snapped at Brett for one of his cutting remarks. She had refused to lift a finger to help Charles until he had told her the whole story, and now she couldn’t resist the temptation to drive Brett hard. He was as thoughtless and selfish as he was handsome, and he deserved to be made miserable. Still, only a man of Brett’s sensual appetites could appreciate a prize like Kate.

So Valentine chatted happily, answering her own questions and never waiting for Kate or Brett to respond. She was a naughty creature who loved to twitch others where it hurt. She always felt a little guilty afterward, but she could no more stop the devil in her from rearing its head than she could give up dying her hair.

After the dessert dishes had been taken away, Valentine and Kate rose to leave Brett with his brandy. It was the first evening they had eaten in the dining room and they were unsure whether to observe the formal custom or stick to their recent practice of talking long after the dishes had been removed.

“Don’t go,” Brett said, motioning them back to their seats with a frown. “I received some letters from London today, and I think we should discuss what to do about Kate.” He kept playing with his brandy glass, reluctant to come to the point, and Valentine settled back to watch. The only way he could have gotten her out of the room would have been to push her out, and then she would have listened at the keyhole. Kate leaned forward expectantly, ready to listen to anything Brett suggested but determined to make up her own mind.

“You both know I was supposed to be in Paris over a week ago. Today I received new orders. I’m to leave as soon as I’m able to travel.”

Kate’s body stiffened and the color drained from her face. It had finally come; he was going to leave her.

“There’s a ship waiting at Calais this very minute to take me to the Mediterranean. I leave at dawn tomorrow. I have lost a lot of time with this wound, and now I must move as quickly as possible.”

Kate clenched her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. She had known it would happen and she’d been trying to prepare herself for it, but hearing it was a shock.

“I received a second letter from Edward,” Brett said, turning to Kate, “and he tells me everyone knows I killed Martin. No one seems to know you were with me, but it’s only a matter of time before someone finds out and your reputation will be lost forever. To prevent such an unfortunate situation, I’m offering to marry you. By the time we return from Africa, our marriage will no longer be news, and your uncle and I will be there to shield you from any persistently curious tongues.”

Sacrebleu!
Valentine cursed inwardly.
How could he have been so stupid as to propose in that insulting way.

Kate listened to Edward’s news with a sinking heart, but the moment Brett’s proposal passed his lips, her eyes began to blaze. By the time he finished delivering himself of the infamous proposal, she wished she could die of mortification. He was the most incredibly blind and insensitive blockhead she had ever met, and she had to be an even greater fool to be in love with him.

She made a tremendous effort to control her voice before she spoke, but she was shaking and she didn’t sound calm. “I appreciate your concern for my reputation,” she managed to say from between clenched teeth, “but I’m afraid I must refuse your flattering offer.”

Now the battle will start, Valentine thought gleefully.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Brett demanded, regarding her impatiently but without surprise. “All London knows half the story, and any day now they may get the rest. Marrying me is the only hope you have.”

Mother of God,
Valentine thought,
I
didn’t think it was possible, but he’s actually making things worse.

Kate lost her temper. “My only
chance,”
she hissed in sulfurous choler, “was to have never met you in the first place. How dare you offer me marriage in such a degrading manner. I should have pushed you into the sea with Martin.” The force of her anger was too great for her to remain seated and she stood up in her place, her blue eyes cutting through the air like swords of steel and her long tresses bouncing in her agitation.

“From the way you’re carrying on, you’d think I’d asked you to become my mistress instead of my wife.”

“If you had
asked
me, I might have agreed,” Kate retorted, stunning both Brett and Valentine, “but I wouldn’t marry you to save you from torture.”

“Good God, girl, you act like the name of Westbrook belongs to some country bumpkin.”

“The name may have been honorable when you took it, but it’s become rather soiled since then.”

Brett brought his good hand down on the table with a resounding crash. “Well have no more of that unless you want to be whipped.” His black eyes clouded and the lids rode low. He was making an extraordinary effort to control his temper, but he was rapidly losing the struggle. Like every man of ancient lineage, the defense of his name was an inbred instinct, and it was impossible for him to allow anyone to abuse his name and still hold up his head. His pride was embedded in the honor of his name, and on that foundation rested the essence of his being.

“Is it your normal procedure to whip females when they disagree with you?” Kate demanded.

“Much more, and you’ll find out what I do to anyone who casts slurs on my family name.”

“You misunderstand me,” Kate purred. “I didn’t cast slurs on your family, just on
you.”

Brett sprang up, but Kate skipped nimbly out of his reach. He knew he couldn’t catch her, and would only make a fool of himself if he tried. “I have offered you the protection of my name,” he said, drawing himself up stiffly, “and I still stand by that offer.” He turned to Valentine. “See if you can talk some sense into her. She’s clearly deranged,” he said, and slammed out of the room.

“I won’t marry you,” Kate shouted after him. “Not if you begged on your knees.” Her voice caught in a sob and she picked up a vase from the sideboard and threw it at the door. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

“To be sure, it was an ugly vase,” Valentine commented cryptically. “I do not think I wanted it anymore, but calm yourself,
ma petite,
before you break anything more. I think I like everything else.” She smiled, inviting Kate to resume her seat, but she had already begun to pace furiously up and down the room. She was tearing her handkerchief to bits and mumbling curses under her breath. Valentine watched in silence for a few minutes.

“Sooner or later you must sit down and face your problem with a calm mind.”

“Why?” Kate demanded angrily. “Brett won’t listen to anything I say.”

“Not while you throw vases about the room.”

Kate stopped pacing. “I’m sorry I broke your vase, but I won’t marry him and that’s final,” she almost wailed. “I’m rich enough to
buy
myself a husband. I can marry Charles, or even Mark. Surely either of them would be a better husband than that strutting bull.”

“Sit down and do not try to show me how crude you can be,” said Valentine said sternly. “I am much more vulgar than you can ever be, and I am not impressed by curses, flashing eyes, or a heaving bosom.”

Kate dropped into the chair Brett had vacated without any lessening of her anger. However, a betraying tear welled up in her eye, moist and glistening, until it slipped over the lower lash and ran slowly down her cheek. She wiped it away with an angry swipe of her hand, but another welled up and then another until she could not stop herself from crying.

“Damn,” she swore. “Damn! Damn! Damn! Why do I always cry? Every time that man starts to act like a Viking marauder, I cry like a weak-minded fool. Why can’t I hit him in the face or scratch his eyes out?”

Valentine looked a little surprised. “So the beautiful kitten has claws. I did not think you could be so cruel.”

“If the only men you had ever known were my father, my brother, and
that
monster of depravity, you wouldn’t be able to think of any man without foaming at the mouth. As for my language, you forget I had Martin’s curses as a constant example. If I’m driven much harder, you’re likely to hear words that will shock you.”