Authors: Jo Beverley
The Stolen Bride (16 page)
Sophie went quickly to her bedchamber and checked her appearance. Though her jaw felt bruised and her lips stung, she could see no sign of it. She washed her face to get rid of any trace of tears and hurried down to find the rest of the party.
Randal and Verderan had gone, however. Sophie swallowed. “Were ... were they all right?” she asked David.
“Should they not have been?” he queried with a suspicious look.
“Of course ...” said Sophie but she could not meet his eyes.
“Sophie. We are all making allowances at this time but I’m not averse to keeping you in your room on bread and water for a week if it becomes necessary.”
“If you hadn’t made us wait three months, none of this would have happened!” Sophie cried.
“If you can’t behave moderately for three months there’s little hope for your future,” he riposted.
Sophie stared at him. “Did you say something like that to Randal?” she asked.
He looked away and then said, “Yes.”
Sophie opened and shut her mouth a few times, simply unable to enunciate her fury at the mess that had been made of her dream. Then she ran out of the room.
Sir Marius and Beth discreetly resumed their conversation as the earl looked ruefully at his wife. “I didn’t put a vow of perpetual celibacy on them,” he said.
She laughed and touched his hand reassuringly. “Of course not. It was just another challenge for Randal, like racing to Brighton and going out with the free traders. He’d never tried self-control and decided to. None of us realized what effect it would have on Sophie.”
“What should I do?”
“Nothing. There’s only eight days to go. I just wish Mr. Verderan wasn’t involved. That does make me nervous.”
“He has more sense than anyone gives him credit for. He won’t let Sophie destroy his friendship with Randal.”
“But what about Randal? Self-denial can be a fertile ground for jealousy, I would think.”
His hand slipped around to rest on her hip. “Perhaps we should go and take a preventative against jealousy, Tiger Eyes.”
Jane looked around. Frederick had gone early to bed for tomorrow he was off for a few days with an old friend. “Should we leave Beth here with Marius?”
“Are you going to play chaperone for your chaperone?” he queried with a grin.
“Well ...”
“I applaud your sense of decorum,” he said, “but I have no patience with it at all. Come along.”
Beth watched them slip out of the room with alarm and a tremor of excitement. “Do you think that means we won the treasure hunt?” she asked Sir Marius.
“Or lost,” he said drily, causing her to color.
“No,” she said softly. “I think Sophie lost.”
“And there you may be very right,” he said. “However, I find the insane maneuverings of the younger set leave me cold. Would you be willing to indulge me in a game of chess, Mrs. Hawley?”
“Of course,” she said, “though I am not a very deep strategist.”
“Neither am I,” he said with a lazy smile that made her feel warm all over. “I’m more a man for cards, myself.”
“Do you know,” said Beth, very daring, “I have never, ever gambled in my life.”
“You, ma’am, are a barefaced liar.”
Beth stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“This very afternoon you risked a shilling on the chance of winning a fine jacket with pink ruffles.”
Beth giggled. There was no other word for it. She heard herself and it was definitely a giggle. “That is not the same thing.”
“You want me to lead you into a life of vice,” he declared in surprise.
“Well ...” Beth hesitated. “I just thought it might be interesting ...”
“Oh, it would,” he said softly and with meaning. Beth swallowed.
“To play a gambling game,” she said hurriedly. “Bezique, or piquet, or something.”
“Something,” he repeated gently. He took her hand and pulled her up and out of the room.
“Where are we going?” she squeaked.
He stopped suddenly and she collided with him. “To the library,” he said innocently. “Where did you want to go?”
He was huge and warm and Beth felt dizzy. “The library will be fine but ...” She gave up and allowed herself to be swept along. She couldn’t believe it, but the thought actually flickered across her mind—if he offered to set her up as his mistress, should she accept?
That sobered her. She was Elizabeth Hawley, widow and staid companion, too small and lacking the abundant curves so appealing to gentlemen. She had carroty hair, freckles, and a skin that showed every emotion and she was thirty-three years old. Sir Marius Fletcher was just amusing himself until a more likely lady turned up, which would doubtless happen next week when the wedding guests began to arrive.
That wasn’t to say, though, that she couldn’t have the tiniest little adventure before then, was it?
When they reached the large, book-lined room, he let go of her and lit a branch of candles. He flung open two windows and a faint breeze refreshed the hot, dusty air. “In the desk, I think,” he said as he went through drawers.
“Sir Marius,” Beth objected. “Do you think you ought?”
“There’s nothing personal in here,” he said offhandedly. “Ah, got ’em.”
“What?” Beth asked, a hundred bizarre notions passing through her disordered head.
“Dice,” he said. “If you want a dissolute life, there’s nothing like dice.”
He shook the ivory cubes out of the dice box a few times. “Fall true. David had a crooked set once.”
“Lord Wraybourne played with loaded dice?” Beth queried, aghast.
“Lord no,” he said, looking at her as if she were mad. “Just a curiosity, though I’m not sure he didn’t take them off someone rather forcibly. You know,” he said, sitting at a games table, “one of the men Verderan killed was fleecing young Devizes with weighted ivories, and Devizes lacks a good share of his wits.”
“Am I supposed to admire Mr. Verderan for it?”
“The force was maybe a trifle excessive,” he admitted carelessly, “but there was doubtless more to it than that. I don’t see Verderan killing just to stop a half-wit losing his all.”
“It’s a better reason for killing than most I’ve heard,” said Beth firmly.
He looked at her and shook his head, smiling. “Try for a little consistency, my dear lady,” he said, “or we are going to have a tortuous affair.”
“Affair?” Beth gasped and nerves all over her body started to quiver.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said casually and rolled the dice again. “Look. You throw the dice so. They have to roll properly to show you’re not cheating.”
Beth’s nerves settled. She must stop reading salacity into everything he said. He couldn’t possibly desire someone like herself. “Sir Marius, I would never consider cheating,” said Beth firmly. Curiosity about the game drew her closer to the table.
“Admirable, dear lady. What are we going to play for?” Beth fixed him with what she hoped was a discouraging eye. “You have a very suspicious mind, Mrs. Hawley,” he said with a grin.
“Would
you play for kisses if I asked?”
“Would
you play for kisses if I asked?”
Beth gathered her wits and stepped back. “Sir Marius, I really think I ought to retire ...”
“Or retreat,” he said, with an irresistible smile. “Come, Mrs. Hawley, I promise to behave. Don’t abandon me here at this early hour. We’ll play for paper points.” He took a sheet of paper and a pencil from the desk. He drew two columns and wrote their names at the top and underneath each, a thousand guineas.
“A thousand guineas!” gasped Beth.
“On paper only,” he said, looking up at her with those fine gray eyes. He gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Play with me, Elizabeth,” he said in a tone that loaded the question with a host of wicked meanings.
Sensible Mrs. Hawley, widow and governess, fled screaming, but Beth sank slowly into the chair. “I am generally called Beth,” she said.
“I will call you Elizabeth,” he said calmly.
They looked at each other and smiled. A servant could come in and discover them. There might be talk. But Beth had no intention of seeking employment again, nor did she need to preserve her reputation for a fine marriage. She was a free woman.
“So how do we play at dice?” she asked.
“Hazard. We should put our stakes on the table but we’ll write them down. I stake fifty guineas. Are you going to match it?”
“Should I?” asked Beth, thinking that her vast savings which guaranteed her freedom amounted to less than the thousand guineas written on the paper.
“Don’t be a chicken heart. It’s all in fun. Match me.” Again his words seemed to have a double meaning.
“Very well,” said Beth softly. “Who wins?”
He smiled at her across the table. “Time will tell. We haven’t started playing yet, Elizabeth.” Then in a brisker tone he said, “I cast the dice to establish a ‘main.’” The dice both showed threes. “The main is six.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see. Now I have to establish a ‘chance.’”
“Why do you get to do all the establishing?” asked Beth truculently.
“Because I know what I’m doing, woman. Be quiet.”
Beth subsided, retaining her wariness. It might only be pretend money but he wasn’t going to fleece her. He rolled again and it was a two and a one. “Damn,” he said. “I threw crabs. A two or a three on chance gives you the win,” he explained, making the changes on the score sheet. “Now, oh impatient one, you get your turn. What are you going to wager?”
Beth took the dice box. “I won without doing anything? This is a strange kind of game. I wager a hundred,” she said, recklessly seeking to outdo him.
“And I match,” he said. “Throw the dice.”
Beth rolled two sixes. “There!” she said triumphantly.
“No main,” he said laconically. “Has to be five to nine.”
“Why?”
“That’s the rules. Are you usually this difficult?”
Beth looked down her nose at him. “I am sure I would always be particular over one thousand guineas.”
“You’re showing your bourgeoisie, my dear,” he drawled and Beth felt the color flood her cheeks. She leapt to her feet but he caught her. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. That was damnably rude.”
“You’re always damnably rude!” she declared, perilously close to tears. “Let me go, you great ox!”
“Talking of rude ...” he said, not relaxing his hold. In a deep warm voice that melted her will he said, “Come back and play with me, Elizabeth.”
“We have nothing in common,” she protested faintly.
“We have two thousand guineas on paper,” he replied whimsically, adding, “I’m only a lowly baronet with modest estates and friends in high places, Elizabeth. Play with me.”
Beth found herself back across the table, looking at him. “This is not at all wise,” she said softly.
He took her small hand and kissed it. “We’re not so old surely that we have to be wise all the time.” His lips were velvet against her skin, something she’d never experienced before. No one kisses a governess’s hand and she and Arthur had never courted in this way. If this was a courtship.
She looked at him, frightened and unsure.
He smiled ruefully and released her. “Roll the dice, Elizabeth.”
Relieved to return to the mundane, Beth did so and rolled a nine. “There.”
“Good. A main of nine. Now roll the chance.”
“And I don’t want two or three?” He nodded and Beth concentrated and threw a five and a one. “Is that good?” she asked.
“Fair. The main is nine and the chance is six. Now you throw again. You don’t want a nine. A six will win.”
Beth threw seven.
“Very good,” he said. “Seven is now main. A seven or an eleven will win. Two or three will lose. You keep rolling until you win or lose.”
“What a silly game,” said Beth and threw two ones to lose. “And to think people risk their fortunes and their homes on this.”
“Indeed they do,” he said and marked his win.
“It should be against the law,” she said.
“It is,” he replied and grinned at her. “Don’t you feel delightfully wicked?”
Beth did, but it wasn’t the dice which were the cause. Discounting the casual meeting at Jane’s wedding, she had only known this man for a few days. How could she have come to this pass? For Beth had to acknowledge that she was falling in love—with a man who could bring her nothing but heartache.
Like all lovers through time, however, she pushed aside common sense, determined to grasp her few brief moments of madness.
For all that she called it a silly game, those fictional guineas became real to Beth and she watched the score sheet avidly, rejoicing when she won, fretting when she lost. She had no sense of the passage of time and was startled when Burbage, the groom of the chambers, came in to check the room.
Beth felt herself color and would have leapt to her feet apologizing, but Sir Marius took her hand in a firm grip and she stayed seated, quivering at the thought of her poor lost reputation. She found that though she did not need it, habit made it precious to her.
“It’s all right, Burbage,” said Sir Marius easily. “We’ll lock the windows and extinguish the candles.”
“Very good, sir,” said the august servant, ruler of the household, as he bowed out.
“He won’t gossip, you know,” said Sir Marius, still holding her hand. “He’s far too self-important for that.”
“But what will he
think?”
asked Beth.
think?”
asked Beth.
“Who cares?”
“I do,” said Beth. “You were right, Sir Marius, I am a little bourgeoise.” Her bubble of happiness had been popped. Beth only wanted to get away and forget what a fool she had been.
She rose to leave but as she walked past he tugged her into his lap. “Sir Marius!” she protested vigorously.
“Calm down,” he said, folding his arms around her. “I’m not going to do anything too terrible but I can’t kiss you standing up. It would be dashed uncomfortable.”
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