The Courtesan's Wager (23 page)

“Then know me better,” he said, dipping his head down and kissing her softly on the mouth.

Too softly, too gently, too mild a kiss from too mild a man. It was a disaster from start to finish, which was mercifully swift. He lifted his head and smiled down at her. She smiled back. And then she laughed. And he laughed.

And then Cranleigh entered, shoving past his brothers, and no one laughed.

 

 

 

“LORD Cranleigh doesn’t look at all pleased, does he?” Sophia said.

“And why should he look pleased?” Lady Jordan snapped, “Cranleigh can’t want Iveston to be forced into marriage. It only just happened with Henry!”

Sophia cast her gaze down to Mary, who was very petite. “I suppose it would be awful for you, to have two nieces in as many weeks find themselves ruined and married into Hyde’s family. I shouldn’t think Melverley would let you anywhere near Lady Eleanor if that happened. Once can happen to even the most diligent of chaperones, but twice . . .”

Mary’s brow furrowed in frantic thought. As she was not entirely sober, thinking took a bit more effort than usual.

“I suppose that would look queer,” Lady Jordan said.

“Naturally, it’s perfectly obvious to all present that you had nothing to do with it, but as Aldreth and Melverley are never at these things . . .” Sophia shrugged.

“I never should have agreed to this, Sophia,” Mary grumbled. “It was only because of your brother that I did, and now he’s gone off again.”

It was a little known fact, but of course Sophia knew it and all the details that accompanied it, that her brother John and Lady Jordan had been quite intimate at one time and that they each remembered their affair fondly. Perhaps it was truer to say that Lady Jordan, whose life had not been the most pleasant, remembered John with longing while John remembered Mary with tenderness. She was speculating, certainly, but it was solid speculation and she didn’t doubt the basic truth of it for a moment.

“He wanted to get the boys out of Town for a bit. You can certainly imagine how being in a city hampers their activities.” Ah, yes, their
activities
. “He’ll return.”

“Yes, but when?” Mary snapped.

It was a peculiar truth that Mary, Lady Jordan, had very little tolerance for Sophia, based upon some ancient misunderstanding of events, she was positive, while enjoying a deep fascination, even an infatuation with John. Life was full of these little oddities of circumstance. John found it entirely pleasant, as well he should.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Sophia answered truthfully. “But about Lady Amelia, you will continue on with it, won’t you? It won’t do her a bit of harm and will result in a perfectly lovely marriage. I am quite certain of that.”

“You’re always certain of things, Sophia. It’s not entirely proper and it’s never comfortable.”

“Odd, I find it extremely comfortable,” Sophia answered brightly. “I’m certain Lady Amelia would agree. She is doing so well now, the men simply lining up. I do think that it’s good for her and does Aldreth credit.”

“Aldreth credit? You don’t know him at all if you can say that.”

“Possibly,” Sophia said mildly. “Another week then?”

“Do you think John will return in another week?”

It was a bargain, pure and simple, and they both understood it as such.

“Possibly,” Sophia repeated.

Mary nodded, and that was that.

 

 

 

“YOU’VE just arranged something, Lady Dalby. I wonder what it is,” Ruan said.

Mary had wandered off in the direction of the necessary and Ruan had wandered over to her. Although it was perfectly obvious that Ruan didn’t wander anywhere. He always made it a point to be precisely where he wanted to be. That he wanted to be with her was hardly surprising.

“An assignation?” she suggested.

“Impossible. I’ve yet to be told the time and place. Hardly an effective assignation without those necessary details,” he said.

“Lord Ruan, you are not the only man in the room.”

“Lady Dalby, I am the only man that matters.”

“Doesn’t that depend upon what a woman needs from a man?”

“A woman only needs one thing from a man and we both know what that is,” he said with the barest hint of a smile.

“A cash settlement?” she asked.

“No, Lady Dalby,” he whispered, leaning down so that his mouth was a scant few inches from her cheek, “a good inducement to scream.”

Sophia smiled and moved her head away from his mouth. “Lord Ruan, I scream most regularly, but thank you for the offer. It shows such pluck.”

“Pluck?” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Perhaps I should compose a rhyme, an invigorating poem of perfect couplets?”

“Lord Ruan, you astound me. Is there anything you won’t attempt? ”

“No, Lady Dalby, there isn’t,” he said, and he wandered off into the crowd in the drawing room.

But, of course, he didn’t wander at all.

 

 

 

CRANLEIGH hadn’t wandered into the conservatory, far from it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only man who was attempting to enter. The Duke of Calbourne was there, demanding in a rather loud voice to George Blakesley that as there was a perfectly accessible conservatory in the house he be allowed to access it.

Not only Calbourne, but the Marquis of Dutton was skulking about, clearly trying to browbeat Josiah into letting him enter the conservatory, though why Dutton should have any reason to see a conservatory was beyond comprehension. Dutton, it was widely known, had no interest in flowers or Amelia and those were the only attractions in the conservatory. Unless he wanted to see Iveston? No, but that was ridiculous.

About as ridiculous as this entire evening.

As Cranleigh was pushing his way through the ever-deepening throng to the glass doors separating the conservatory from the drawing room, the Duke of Edenham bumped into him.

Hell and blast, another duke.

“Excuse me,” Edenham said. “It’s turned into quite a crush. I had no idea.”

“Who did?” Cranleigh mumbled.

“Who did?” Edenham repeated comically. “Why, Sophia certainly. She’s the one who’s arranged all this.”

“All
this
?” Cranleigh said, knowing he sounded like an idiot and unable to stop himself.

“Of course,” Edenham said pleasantly, as if this were the most ordinary conversation in the most ordinary of circumstances when it was nothing of the kind. “It’s quite entertaining, isn’t it? And quite impossible to avoid falling into. The sort of thing that one must be a part of or be forever found lacking.”

“I beg your pardon? I’m not following,” Cranleigh said, elbowing a gentleman who had pushed into his kidneys, jarring him unpleasantly. Everything about this evening was unpleasantly jarring.

“Aren’t you? But how is that possible? You are one of the main players, Lord Cranleigh,” Edenham said almost jovially. “I wasn’t witness to your performance of dragging Lady Amelia into the conservatory, but everyone is talking of it. That, and her ruined dress. Naturally, no one is holding you accountable for that, but it certainly made for high entertainment. As these balls are notoriously dull, I can only thank you. What did you discuss in there? And do you think your brother is having a similar discussion with her now?”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, an image of Amelia caught among the roses searing him, her mouth swollen by kisses.

After that, Cranleigh had no trouble at all pushing his way to the front of the crowd. One look at his face and both Josiah and George gave way and allowed him entrance, which did set up a fuss with the other twenty or thirty men pushing for their chance at Amelia in the conservatory.

God above, what had he started? He never should have dragged her in there. He never should have torn her dress. He never should have kissed her again. Again and again.

But after that first time, how could he not have kissed her again?

He never should have kissed her the first time, that was the truest answer.

Truest? No, not that. He had to kiss her. It had been impossible to not kiss her. That he had kept it to kissing for two long years was the true test of his resistance. Small wonder he was in a foul mood most of the time.

Into the lightly scented conservatory he strode for a second time that night. But this time, instead of blazing up like a volcano in his arms, Amelia stood with her hand against Iveston’s chest, laughing up into his smiling face. No, more than that, they were
both
laughing. And Amelia had just been kissed. He knew what she looked like having just been kissed, none knew that particular look better than he.

He was going to have to kill his brother. Damned inconvenient bit of work.

Seeing him, Amelia stepped away from Iveston. Good move, but late.

“Oh, hello, Cranleigh,” Iveston said pleasantly, not even bothering to put on an appearance of shame or regret or anything remotely appropriate to the situation. “We were just finishing up. I think Lady Amelia knows everything she needs to know about me now.”

Hell and blast!

“Does she? And what does she know, besides how you taste? ” Cranleigh said, striding into the room, his coat catching on a few rose branches, nearly toppling the pots that held them.

“Lord Cranleigh!” Amelia said sharply, the color rising in her cheeks. Whether from shame or from the kiss it was impossible to tell. “This can’t possibly concern you.”

“It most certainly does concern me,” Cranleigh said. “He’s my brother. I can’t allow him to get tangled up in soiled skirts, if you take my meaning,
Lady
Amelia.”

“Soiled skirts?” she blazed. “You are presumptuous, sir. If you will excuse me, Lord Iveston,” she said, her voice a hiss of anger, “I shall return to the ballroom. Thank you for speaking to me privately.”

“Privately?” Cranleigh said, catching her by the arm and turning her so that she faced the doorway to the conservatory, where she could plainly see the thirty or so men pressed there, kept out only by George and Josiah, and what looked to be the addition of five or six footmen. “You have been far from discreet, Amy. The whole world wants just the sort of interview you gave to Iveston. You look a ripe girl. I’m certain you can manage them.”

“Really, Cranleigh, it’s not at all what—” Iveston said, looking seriously alarmed. He should look alarmed. He’d kissed Amelia and there was no going back from that.

How was he going to explain to Hyde that he’d killed his heir? It was going to be awkward, to say the least.

“Iveston,” Cranleigh interrupted, “I’ve always entertained a healthy fondness for you, but I am very close to killing you. Try to make it hard for me, will you? Don’t say another word. It would help very much if you’d leave. Now.”

Iveston, because he was a reasonable sort on most occasions, closed his mouth, bowed crisply to Amelia, and left the conservatory. The crowd parted beautifully and then closed ranks again, but not before the Duke of Calbourne had shoved his way in, the Duke of Edenham following on his heels.

It was almost like a bearbaiting. And Cranleigh was the bear.

“You’ve had your chance, Cal,” Edenham was saying as they entered. “It’s been decided against you. Step aside, man, and let another attempt it.”

Amelia turned a stunning shade of white, her lips looking particularly rosy by comparison. Or perhaps that was only because she was surrounded by pink roses. He didn’t suppose it mattered either way, unless it was because she’d just been kissed, then he’d have to revisit the idea of killing Iveston. He’d never known Iveston to be so much trouble. Amelia, on the other hand, was nothing but trouble.

How all Society could think her sweet, docile, and nearly invisible was a mystery to him. She was anything but invisible; it would have been a help if she had been. Sweet and docile? Even further folly. She was fire and flame, exploding all over him whenever he was near her, for instance, when they were both in London at the same time. That was more than close enough to do him damage.

“See what you’ve done?” he snarled at her.

“
I’ve
done! I’m not the one who stormed in here and made a fuss over a simple, private conversation!”

“We both know what happens when you try to have private conversations with men, Amy,” he whispered, pushing her behind him, into the rosebushes, again. Not that he cared. “You find yourself kissing them in no time.”

“I do not!”

He gifted her with a look that was only fitting to her denial.

She gifted him with a shove, and a hard one, against his shoulder. It was a solid shove and did her credit.

“Lady Amelia,” Edenham said, looking eminently dignified, which was an accomplishment, considering the situation, “I’ve been made aware that you are conducting interviews for a post and are considering only a very select few for the position.”

The Duke of Edenham was a very handsome man, even Cranleigh could see it. He was tall and elegantly constructed, his hair brown, his eyes brown, and features quite remarkably arranged. He was, it was to be supposed, every young girl’s dream. As to that, he was likely every old girl’s dream. His title was one of the oldest. His estate was one of the loveliest. His fortune was deep and his children were small. There was the small matter of his having buried three wives, but for the honor of being a duchess, it was to be assumed that a woman could overlook that tiny incumbrance.

“I can’t think how you could have heard that,” Amelia said softly, trying to push past Cranleigh. Cranleigh reached behind him and shoved her back into the shrubbery. He heard snagging fabric. Perfect.

“It hardly matters, does it?” Edenham said. “These things do get round. I only wondered, and in fact hoped, that I had made your very select list. Have I?”

He said it like a love-struck suitor when he was no such thing. He damned well had better be no such thing.