The Wagered Miss Winslow (24 page)

Although, he considered silently,
she
did seem to be more in charity with him now. Perhaps he could use this newfound charity to his advantage.

“Rosalind,” he began hesitantly yet a third time, now that she had at last ended her monologue and subsided into a sullen-faced silence. “Dearest sister. May I beg a favor? May I prevail upon you to make you my confidant?”

Rosalind pressed her hands to her breast. It was happening just as Beau had supposed! “Your confidant?” she asked, then decided to have herself a bit of fun by dragging out the moment. Have her digging in the same dirt day after day after day like some looby, would he, all the time thinking she was doing something important? The sages were right—revenge was sweet!

“Oh, Niall, I—I’d be flattered above all things!
Truly
! Beau is
sweet
, of course, and I love him
dearly
, but he keeps me
woefully
ignorant of his innermost feelings, his plans. Why, as I’ve already told you, I had no
idea
that Woodrow had upset him. Imagine my surprise this morning when I woke to find that he and Beau were closeted in the study, Beau yelling so loudly—just minutes after the under-footman brought in the morning post, as a matter of fact. Later, I asked Beau why. I said to him, ‘Beau, why?’ But he wouldn’t tell me. He said I shouldn’t have to bother my pretty head about business. But I am not
entirely
without intelligence. I wish to be treated with some
respect
. After all, I am not some missish female, or some wet-behind-the-ears girl. I
want
to be consulted when there is trouble about.”

Niall suppressed a nearly overpowering urge to clap his hand over Rosalind’s mouth in order to shut her up so she could listen to him. Taking her hands tightly in his, he spoke rapidly, partly because
he
didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and partly so that she couldn’t interrupt him again to go off on a tangent about her insufferable husband. “We men can be so insensitive to a woman’s deepest longings, can’t we, my dear girl?” he offered commiseratingly, then quickly shifted the subject to the one that interested him.

“Rosalind—I’m in trouble. I’ve suffered a reversal on an investment. A terrible reversal. Not only that, but my luck has also deserted me on the gaming tables. I’ve dropped ten thousand pounds tonight to Osborne—and he is not the sort to understand any delay in payment. I have to pay him, for it is a debt of honor, but that will leave me with nothing.
Nothing
, Rosalind! I’ll have to leave London.”

Rosalind squeezed his hands in return. She thought she saw the shimmer of tears in his eyes. It was wonderful! “Oh, you poor dear! What a dreadful coil. And we have just begun to get to know each other again. You’ll be leaving immediately, I suppose. I shall miss you so.”

Niall blew an exasperated breath from between thinned lips. “No!” he exclaimed, infuriated by her obtuse statements. “Don’t you understand, Rosalind? I don’t
want
to leave London. I’ll wither in the country, you know that. I abhor the country! You have to help me, dear sister—you have to help
us
to remain together, here, in London, where we can get to know each other better.”

Was he being convincing enough, sufficiently heartrending in his declaration? He feared he was not—for even such an accomplished liar as himself was having trouble spitting out such utter nonsense. Get to know his sister better? He’d rather eat glass. But then, he might be reduced to just that, if he didn’t prove convincing. “Rosalind—my
dearest
little sister. You are all I have, my last hope!”

Rosalind pulled her hands free, then touched one finger to her chin, as if in contemplation. “Yes, yes. I see it now. But
how
? How can I be of help to you? I have only my quarterly allowance now that I am married, not that dearest Beau isn’t the most generous of husbands. Why, only the other day Lady Sinclair was exclaiming to me that I was the luckiest of women to have such a generous husband. She said—”

“Rosalind!” Niall all but shouted through clenched teeth. “I don’t care a flying fig about Lady Sinclair or what she said. Your husband is as rich as Croesus! You have to help me. There must be
something
you can do.”

“But ten thousand pounds, Niall! I just don’t have that much.” Rosalind took recourse to a small lace-edged handkerchief she pulled from her reticule, dabbing at nonexistent tears before she looked at her brother, blinking her wide green eyes as if in sudden enlightenment. “Oh, dear, oh, dear. There
is
something—but no, I promised not to speak of it with you, or
anybody
. Beau was most definite about that. Why, I had only begun to mention it that day you came to visit us when Beau made it
quite
clear that I had angered him—although he did give me the loveliest ruby ring to apologize for being so brutish, the dear.”

“What are you talking about?” Niall pressed, wondering if any jury of his peers could convict him for choking the words out of his scatterbrained sister. And she was speaking of only ten thousand pounds—a mere pittance. Hadn’t she been listening? How she had fallen since her marriage. Once so bright and intelligent that she made him embarrassed (and resentful), she seemed to have lost her wits and her virginity at the same time! “What weren’t you supposed to tell me—tell anybody?”

“Why, about St. Leonard’s, of course,” Rosalind supplied artlessly. “You do remember that we were speaking of my excavations in St. Leonard’s churchyard?”

Niall did remember. He also remembered that Remington had cut Rosalind off without taking pains to be nice about the business. He smelled a secret in the air, and the chance of a profit. Perhaps his silly sister had stumbled upon some valuable Roman antiquities after all. It would be just like her. “What about St. Leonard’s churchyard, Rosalind?”

She daintily blew her nose in the handkerchief, then handed the thing to a chagrinned (and faintly disgusted) Niall so that she could reach into her reticule. She extracted the battered Roman coin, the exact one she had unearthed the day Beaumont Remington had fallen from his curricle and landed in the middle of her life. She had carried it ever since then as a luck piece.

“It’s this, Niall,” she announced in a furtive whisper, holding up the coin so that the hammered gold caught the light from a nearby brace of artfully scattered candles.

Niall snatched it from her hand, flinging the unwanted handkerchief back into her lap. He had expected her to speak of statuary or some such nonsense. But she had truly shocked him. “But this is pure gold, Rosalind,” he whispered in genuine awe generously mixed with avarice—then lifted it to his mouth to give it a quick, assessing bite just to confirm his initial conclusion. “Are there more? Is that what you’re saying, Rosalind? Are you trying to tell me that you and Remington have found a bloody treasure trove at St. Leonard’s? No wonder he didn’t care about dropping his blunt on MacDougal, when I ended up losing a—”

“MacDougal?” Rosalind put forth questioningly. She tugged on Niall’s fingers to get him to release the coin, but he wouldn’t let go. No matter how low her expectations of her brother’s character, he still possessed the power to depress her with his base failings. She decided to goad him once more. “I think I’ve heard that name before,” she said, looking at him levelly, as if trying to see straight through him. He squirmed in his chair, which served to lighten her heart. “Perhaps this morning,” she continued. “Yes, it was most definitely this morning, when Beau was arguing with Woodrow. Niall! Never say that my dearest husband is guilty of reckless investments.”

Niall’s mind was in turmoil. If Rosalind thought her husband had lost money, she wouldn’t feel free to give her own brother, her own flesh and blood, so much as a farthing. “MacDougal’s a horse, Rosalind,” he improvised. “A horse that ran dead last at Newmarket—came a cropper on the final turn, I’ve heard. Everyone’s talking about it. Beau may have bet a pound or two on the race. Everybody did. I lost ten pounds on him myself. You shouldn’t worry your pretty head about such things.” Then, satisfied with his lie, he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “Tell me more about St. Leonard’s.”

Biting her lip, and looking about nervously as if expecting her husband to appear at any moment, Rosalind nodded her agreement, then pressed her hand on Niall’s forearm. “You mustn’t tell anybody that I told you—most especially not my husband. Beau is always careful to dig only at night, by the light of a single lantern.”

“At night? A single lantern?” Niall made careful mental notes of everything Rosalind was saying. “Go on. Tell me more. Why does he dig at night?

“So that no one finds out, of course,” she answered, inwardly wondering how she had ever believed Niall to be devious. Why on earth would he think Beau would dig at night? “And then he replaces all the dirt so that no one notices that he has been digging,” she intoned gravely. “He replaces every bit of dirt.” Just as you had Samuel Hackett do after I had finished with a day’s excavations, you miserable man, Rosalind thought, remembering Niall’s cruel prank and how much it had hurt her. “That’s very important, Niall.”

“Yes, yes,” he responded, then ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip. “How much, Rosalind? How much treasure is there?”

She sat back in her chair and shrugged, spreading her hands. “Neither of us knows how much is there, although Beau swears he has only scratched the surface.”

Niall felt himself becoming light-headed, giddy with joy. “Only—only scratched the surface?
Good God
!”

Rosalind nodded solemnly. “But we have so much money now—and lovely pieces of jewelry and small sacks of unset stones—that I know he wouldn’t mind if you shared in our secret. After all, you are brothers now, aren’t you? Any unhappiness between us all is now in the past. And you are my only relative. How could I hear of your troubles and not help in any way I could? But I see no reason to upset Beau, do you? Just promise me, Niall, that you will not take it all. Beau says he is convinced there is enough there for half a dozen fortunes.”

“Jewelry? Uncut stones?” Niall couldn’t believe his luck. He could, however, believe his sister’s stupidity, for he had been listening to it for these past ten minutes or more. Did she actually believe he would take only what he needed to pay his gambling debts? Lord, but females were naive little dears. He squeezed her hand. “I promise, Rosalind. I’ll take only what I need.” And if it just so happens that I need it all, Niall thought, well, that will just be too bad for Beaumont Remington.

“And you won’t tell anyone else?” Rosalind persisted, clearly seeing that all Niall wanted at this moment was to be shed of her. Why, he was probably already planning his journey to East Sussex.

Was the chit out of her senses? Niall wondered. Only a madman would share such a secret! “I won’t tell a soul, Rosalind. On our parents’ graves, I swear it. This will be our secret.”

“Oh, Niall, you’re so
sweet
!” Rosalind gushed, a small part of her mind wondering why lightning wasn’t striking the both of them for the blatant fibs they were flinging at each other.

Niall leaned over and kissed his sister’s cheek, even as he slipped the Roman coin into his pocket. “You are the best of sisters, Rosalind. But, much as I would like to stay until your husband rejoins us, I fear you were correct earlier. I am feeling rather ill. An early night might prove my recovery. Please relay my farewells to Beau.”

Rosalind grabbed at his forearm once more. She had one last thing to tell him. After all, she couldn’t have him worrying that she and Beau were going to be coming to Remington Manor anytime soon. “But wait, Niall! I forgot the most important news! I didn’t have the heart to say anything earlier, when you looked so woebegone, but now that you are happy again I feel I must tell you. Beau and I will be leaving the city ourselves in a few days. Beau is taking me to Rome!”

Niall positively beamed, believing his luck had turned from bad to good with a vengeance. “Rome? Delightful city! How wonderful for you, dear sister,” he said, rewarding this news by way of another kiss to her cheek. He would not have to be looking over his shoulder every moment, wondering if his muscular brother-in-law might show up to spoil his fun. “I shall demand a full report of all that you have seen upon your return. Good-bye.”

“But Niall—my coin!” Rosalind called after him, holding out her hand.

“Yes, yes. Lovely piece. No time, my dear sister,” he replied, blowing ner a kiss. “No time, no time.”

From his concealed position behind a nearby pillar, Beau watched Niall’s smile become absolutely evil as he turned and hastened toward the door without bidding good night to his host and hostess.

Then Beau joined his wife.

“He took my coin.” Rosalind pouted, feigning amazement at her brother’s audacity, let alone his greed and his gullibility. “I offered him a chance to recoup his losses and he thanked me by running off with my good-luck coin.”

“Poor Rosie,” Beau commiserated, taking her hand so that she rose with him as Lady Stafford’s small orchestra broke into the first strains of a waltz. “As Bridget would say, that rascally brother of yours fair beats the devil for roguery.”

“Yes,” Rosalind agreed, smiling. “But I’ll bet you a lovely honeymoon trip to Rome that he looks much more humble with a smut of dirt on his nose.”

And then, unable to restrain themselves a moment longer, they fell into each other’s arms, dissolved in mirth.