The Wolfe Wager (2 page)

He almost laughed aloud. To own the truth, mysteries intrigued him, daring him to unravel them. He understood now why the lady had struck a chord with him; she possessed a hint of her father’s strong features and that created other questions he wished to find answers to.

“Who knows?” he mused aloud. “Perhaps even as we enjoy this game, some chap has won her heart.”

Swinton snorted. “Lady Vanessa Wolfe? I doubt there is a heart beating beneath her breast. The old marquess was rumored to be a first-rate rogue who flouted every canon of propriety. Can she be any different?”

“Your eyes fail you,” Ross returned, “if you see that lovely woman identical to her grizzled father. I exchanged words with Wulfric once or twice, and I shall forget none of them. He used words like a weapon. His daughter has no need for such a fierce tool, because she can halt a man’s heartbeat with a single, cool glance in his direction.”

“She
is
beautiful,” Sir Wilbur breathed again.

“Are you going to repeat yourself all night?” Rollins demanded.

Clearing his throat, Sir Wilbur gathered his cards and made a show of sorting them. “This bibble-babble is a waste of time. She has shown there’s not a man among the
ton
she would consider buckling herself to.” His brows rose. “Even you, Brickendon—who has no need to brag about his success with the ladies, for everyone in the Polite World and beyond knows of it—earned no more than a passing glance from that icy lady.”

“Yes, she ignored you.” Swinton chuckled. “You’d be wise to steer clear of Lady Vanessa; she could destroy your reputation as a rake who has left no woman’s heart untouched.”

“Or any other part of her?” Sir Wilbur surrendered to a paroxysm of laughter.

Ross let his friend enjoy his sally, but he had no interest in retorting. Any answer would change the course of the conversation, and for the moment, he wished to keep it firmly focused on Lady Vanessa Wolfe.

Looking at his cards, he lowered them to the table. “I see the problem as this, my friends. An heiress with such a sturdy collection of brass should not be left unwed. Anyone among us would know how to handle her fortune.”

“And the lady.”

Again Ross ignored Sir Wilbur. Looking at the half-empty bottle in the middle of the table, he wondered where the baronet had been drinking before this rout. Such a small serving of wine could not have brought the chubby man to this altogethery state. Sir Wilbur was nearly as drunk as an emperor.

“What do you suggest we do?” asked Swinton, his voice sharp with frustration. He tossed his unplayed cards onto the table. “Once it would have been easy. An unwed maid was swept from her father’s house by an eager swain.”

Ross allowed himself a slight smile. “I would suggest another, less extreme measure. I fear the late Lord Wulfric would hoist himself from his grave to protect his daughter’s honor.”

“Egad!” Rollins shook his head. “Why are we gabbling like Old Toughs? The girl has no wish to wed, so leave her be.”

“She cut Rollins quite to the quick last month at Almack’s,” Swinton said, aiming a superior smile at Rollins. “He was trying to ask her to dance, and she left him standing alone.”

Ross found listening to this brangle about Lady Vanessa was boring, and he had come to the party hoping for some merriment. Clearly this gathering would not offer it. With a smile, he decided it was up to him to find a way to make the rest of his time in Town enjoyable. “My friends, I have a proposal that may put an end to this discussion so that we might enjoy our cards. I offer you a challenge—a wager, if you wish—to see if one of us can win the lady before the end of the Season.”

Sir Wilbur choked, “That’s but a few weeks away!”

“I said it would be a challenge.”

“A wager?” Swinton leaned one elbow on the table as he lifted his glass. Taking a reflective sip, he smiled. “On the state of the lovely lady’s heart? What do you wish to lose, my friend, when I win her favor?”

“A single pound note.”

“Are you so sure of losing that you’re reluctant to wager more?”

Ross folded his arms over the front of his somber waistcoat. Glancing toward the door where he could see the brunette in conversation with their hostess, he said, “It’s a foolish man who bets more on the state of a young woman’s fickle heart.”

“And the man who wins her hand will have little need for such insignificant gilt, for Wulfric’s dirty acres would satisfy even the greediest soul.” Swinton laughed and slapped his hands on the table. “’Tis a grand idea, Brickendon. Worthy of myself, I must say. Are you in, Franklin?”

Sir Wilbur rubbed his double chins between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know …”

“Stay out if the thought of winning such a prize unmans you. Could it be that you have no idea how to deal with such wealth and such a woman?” taunted Swinton.

The shorter man blanched, but squared his shoulders. “I don’t wish to be left out. I was thinking only of you, Swinton, and your despair when you lose yet again in an
affaire de coeur
.”

The redhead’s cheeks took on the color of his red vest. Ross smiled as his companions chuckled. Bruce Swinton’s fervent pursuit of Miss Barbara Masterson had ended when she had wed another admirer less than a fortnight ago.

“I want nothing to do with this.” Rollins aimed a glower at each of them. “I’m amazed at you, Brickendon. That Swinton and Franklin wish to make such a distasteful wager is no surprise, but I thought you knew the boundaries of decency in discussing a lady’s heart.”

“Bah!” Sir Wilbur reached under his coat and pulled out his enameled snuffbox. Opening it with a practiced flick, he pinched some and held it to his nose. He sneezed vehemently, then sighed as he replaced the box. “You would take part if you had a thought you might win.”

Rollins mumbled something under his breath and, setting himself on his feet, stamped away.

“That guinea pig is ever a poor loser.” Swinton smiled. “However, he shows good sense in not accepting this wager for Lady Vanessa Wolfe. She would crush him with a single, sharp word. So it shall be the three of us.” He plucked some coins from beneath his coat and dropped them in the center of the table. “One pound wagered that
I
shall be the victor in this game of hearts.”

Sir Wilbur started to do the same, then hesitated. “My friends, there must be some order to this pursuit of the lady. If we all try to woo her at once, I feel she shall be quite right in dismissing all of us.”

“Then there’s nothing to do but draw to see which one of us shall have the honor of courting her first,” Ross replied as he placed his coins next to Swinton’s.

“Pray you shall be first, Franklin,” the redhead said, “for I would hate to see you lose your money without having a chance to pursue the lady.”

“You’re so sure you’ll win her?” Sir Wilbur fired back.

“My friends,” Ross interrupted, “let us begin this wager as comrades with a single goal, not scratching out each other’s eyes like barn cats.” He spread the cards facedown across the table. “Draw, and highest card goes first, lowest last. It’s that simple.” With a magnanimous wave, he said, “Do draw, Swinton.”

The red-haired man flashed him a smile, then selected a card. Swinton glanced at it and laughed softly. Ross did not respond as Sir Wilbur made his pick. The chubby man said nothing.

“My turn,” Ross said needlessly, but he had to own he was relishing the slight excitement of this miniature drama. Certainly the amusement yet to come would be even more grand.

He tilted his card toward him. Not allowing even an arch of an eyebrow or a twitch of his lips to betray his thoughts at the one he had drawn, he regarded the other two men. They shifted uneasily in their seats, anxious and fearful at the same time. Yes, this had been an inspired idea, for if they had drawn as he expected, the next few weeks were going to be most intriguing.

“A nine,” said Swinton, placing his card on the table. “Can either of you beat that?”

“I have a jack,” the baronet interjected with an abrupt laugh as he placed his card atop the other. “I best you, Swinton. What did you draw, Brickendon?”

“You both top me.” He rested his elbow on the table and said in a conspiratorial voice, “So you have the first chance to win Lady Vanessa’s cold heart, Franklin. If she fails to consider your suit, then Swinton and I shall have our opportunity.” He put his hand over the money in the middle of the table. With a smile, he watched as his friends set their hands over his. “To Lady Vanessa Wolfe and to our wager to win her for one of us.”

They echoed his words, then Sir Wilbur stood. He pocketed his share of the coins. “I look forward to winning this wager as well as Lady Vanessa’s hand. I shall begin courting her on the morrow.”

“Not tonight?” asked Swinton, also rising. “Why do you delay?”

Ross watched as the baronet waddled from the room, followed by Swinton who was determined to get an answer. Ross suspected Franklin—quite rightly—wished to be a bit more sober before he presented himself to the marquess’s daughter.

He relaxed against the back of his chair and flipped the card he had drawn onto the others. As the queen of diamonds stared back at him, he smiled. The rest of this Season might not be so boring after all.

Chapter Two

Lady Vanessa Wolfe frowned when she heard the clanging from the clock set on the mantel at one side of the drawing room in Mrs. Averill’s elegant home. Her fingers clenched at her sides, but she forced them to loosen when her aunt aimed a frown at her. Without a doubt, Aunt Carolyn would give her another scold when they returned to their town house on Grosvenor Square. After months of being chided about her behavior at the round of parties her aunt insisted were essential if Vanessa was to find a husband, Vanessa wished to endure no more of them.

“Do smile at the gentlemen, Vanessa,” her aunt had said more often than Vanessa cared to recall. “Speak of gentle subjects such as befits a lady. Laugh when the gentleman makes a sally.”

Laugh? If they ever said anything amusing, she might. She had long ago tired of the inane conversation and the posturing. At the beginning, it
had
been amusing to see the gentlemen in their finery parading before the eligible ladies, but that had grown old as the
ton
turned its attention on the marquess’s daughter and her chances for marriage.

She did not wish to leg-shackle herself to any of her eager admirers. She shuddered at the thought of having to be pleasant to yet another of the men who preyed on the young women thrust into the Marriage Mart. Every man seemed anxious to find himself a wife with either a title or wealth. As everyone believed she had both foisted on her, she was surrounded by a pesky swarm of men. Once this Season was past, her ears would be rid of their endless compliments and their annoying attempts to woo her with bragging and court-promises that had as little substance as a morning fog.

She glanced again at the clock. Midnight! How much longer must she stay at this eternally long party? She had done as her aunt wished and had spoken prettily to Mrs. Averill and her uppity niece. Otherwise, she had spent the evening seeking out Lord Mendoff. She had been led to believe that the gentleman who was high placed in the government would be in attendance, but her hopes of meeting him had come to naught.

“Here you are! Why are you lurking in a corner?”

At the sharp question in a warm voice, Vanessa forced a smile for her aunt. She did not like being on the outs with her beloved aunt, but Aunt Carolyn must come to accept the truth in Vanessa’s heart.

Lady Carolyn Mansfield was no bent dowager. Younger than her brother by more than a decade, the black-haired woman could have been mistaken for Vanessa’s older sister. She had wedded well, but been left an ace of spades a year before. The effervescent woman whose slim ankles and bright wit delighted everyone she met showed no interest in marrying again. Vanessa knew it was not from lack of suitors; as many called for her aunt during their Thursday afternoons at home as did for Vanessa. Lord Simstal was particularly anxious to present his suit, but Aunt Carolyn always treated the earl with polite indifference.

“I wasn’t lurking,” Vanessa replied. “I heard the clock clang and wished to check the time.”

Aunt Carolyn put a gloved hand on Vanessa’s arm. “Vanessa, I know you are anxious to leave, but you do not want to insult Mrs. Averill by departing early, do you?”

“I’m thinking fondly of my bed.”

“You didn’t sleep well again last night?”

Vanessa was tempted to reply she had not slept a full night since the horrible tidings had arrived of her brother’s disappearance on the continent. Aunt Carolyn—although she grieved for Corey—did not share Vanessa’s belief that the current Marquess of Wulfric remained alive. If Vanessa spoke of why she sought her bed late every night, her aunt might fly off in a pelter. Vanessa had witnessed one of her aunt’s explosions of temper. She did not want to risk another dressing-down. They did not come often, but the memory lingered of Aunt Carolyn’s fury when Vanessa had tried to persuade her to return to Wulfric Abbey before the beginning of the Season.

Aunt Carolyn’s tongue had had a sharp edge that day which had been honed by her strong words of “ungrateful chit” and “obligation” and “good fortune.” Vanessa had acknowledged without reluctance that she had an obligation to her family, but she found nothing good about the fortune which had taken Corey from her and she could not be grateful to any whim of fate that had led her to this need to find a husband to help her oversee the Abbey. She had said that and been rewarded by another scold. Then Aunt Carolyn had dissolved into tears, and Vanessa had vowed never to distress her dear aunt so again.

Instead she whispered, “I am afraid not.”

Aunt Carolyn smiled and took her hand. “Then come, dear, and we shall be sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

Hope burst within her. “We are leaving?”

“Of course not!” She waved, and a man with a gargantuan mustache hurried toward them. Before he was in earshot, Aunt Carolyn hurried to add, “A bit of dancing will tire you, so you may sleep like a babe in its mother’s arms.”