Wicked Wager (15 page)

‘Granted, they gave me wealth and my sons. I was fond of each of them in their way.' Xenia looked wistful and for a moment Perry imagined she was gripped by the poignancy of some distant memory. Then her mouth twisted and she said, ‘But husbands are only for advancing one materially, and increasing one's status. One does not choose to marry one's lover. Is that not so, Perry?'

He thought of Miss Rosington. He'd wanted to make her his lover once. His uncle had conditioned him to believe that physical desire precluded marriage. A wife was to be an obedient brood mare. A man took a mistress so he could discard her the moment his wandering eye found some delectable morsel he preferred.

Certainly, he could think of few couples who'd married solely for love and those who had, he'd once thought rash.

He changed the subject. ‘You are making Miss Morecombe blush. Perhaps she disagrees, yet does not feel in a position to contradict you, Xenia.' Rising, he indicated the recently vacated card table. ‘Shall we play a game of whist, ladies?'

Obediently they rose, Xenia complaining mildly, ‘And why should Miss Morecombe not feel confident to contradict me, Perry, if her thoughts run counter to mine? Robust argument is far more pleasing than insipid accord.' She looked severely at her goddaughter. ‘Mariah must grow up able to hold her own in all company. Even dangerous company, like yours, Perry,' she added playfully.

‘Dangerous? I am not dangerous.' He frowned as he held out his arm to Miss Morecombe, disliking the epithet he'd always relished when he had an eye for the ladies but great caution when it came to becoming embroiled in anything that might propel him to the altar.

He'd not thought his roving eye would be content to remain fixed. His uncle had done a good job persuading him it was not for men like them.

But he'd chosen well. He'd enjoy watching his own wife grow and blossom by his side, a loving helpmate.

Sir Samuel was rising from the fireplace, holding out Miss Morecombe's chair, requesting that Miss Morecombe take his place in the game that the others had chosen to continue.

‘Ah, Perry, just you and I,' Xenia sighed after she'd dispatched her clearly nervous goddaughter to the company of the three card-playing gentlemen. ‘I never see you alone these days.' She began to walk, indicating over her shoulder for him to follow her. The saloon was vast, with three clusters of seating, fine objects from around the world arrayed upon plinths and enormous oil paintings staring down from the walls. Cosgrave House was the family home of Xenia's late husband, and by virtue of the son Xenia had borne him, would be hers until the child came of age in fourteen years. Xenia had done well, but Perry knew she was rash with money and she frequently lost great sums at gaming. Perhaps, in her usual style, she was considering her next ploy to shore up her future.

Perry's own fortune, perhaps?

Behind a large gilt-edged decoupage screen, which looked as if it had been brought back on his travels from the Far East by Xenia's father, Xenia halted, and Perry's unchecked progress brought him into closer proximity than suddenly made him comfortable.

In this light she looked like a faery queen, the wax candlelight glinting on the jewels that adorned her high, powdered coiffure, her deep blue eyes sparkling with desire and mischief, her mouth pouting prettily. The instant image was in every way desirable but quickly displaced by the memory of what Perry knew her to be: venal, calculating and cruel.

Yes, cruel. And he'd been her ally. Disgust bubbled up inside at the thought that he'd agreed to her wager that night at the theatre.

But for now he must be careful not to offend Xenia, for she was unpredictable.

‘I have been busy, Xenia.'

‘Too busy to make time to see me, that's true.' She arched into him and raised her face from his chest, just like in the past, though she'd never allowed him to kiss her more than briefly. He remembered the many occasions when he'd left her company, churning with unsatisfied desire, breathless and determined to one day have this beautiful woman who'd made him her confidante and who teased and tantalised him so unmercifully. ‘It's hard when old friends cannot make the time to strengthen the bonds of felicity so necessary to maintain mutual trust,' she murmured. ‘I have missed your company. You've always been so dependable, Perry.'

‘Between husbands and lovers?' He made sure his tone was light, not accusatory, and to his relief she responded in a bantering tone. The soft voices from the rest of the company at the far end of the room intruded faintly.

‘I thought perhaps you were angry with me, Xenia.'

She sent him a look of surprise. ‘Because you've not yet administered justice to that conniving wench Miss Rosington?' Xenia gave a little laugh. ‘Perhaps we should all be grateful to her. Your sister is well rid of that low creature, Harry Carstairs; and if Miss Rosington and Mr Carstairs want to scandalise society and bring disgrace upon their families with their illicit liaison, what business is it of mine? Granted, their shabby behaviour inspired me with vengeance when I first heard of it, but now I think Charlotte has made a lucky escape.'

Perry kept himself as rigid and unresponsive, as he judged to be safe under the present circumstances. Xenia
would
lash out if he defended her offensive allegation against Miss Rosington or appeared to lack enthusiasm for her company.

Forcing a smile, Perry arrested Xenia's wandering hand, briefly brushing the back of it with his lips before giving her a bolstering and equally brief squeeze of the shoulders.

‘The others will be getting ideas about us, Xenia, if we do not show ourselves.' He offered her his arm and she, after a hesitation and a suspicious look, took it.

With a dignified tilt to her chin as she walked with him, Xenia said, ‘Perhaps you think that without your mission accomplished I will not reward you with what was promised?'

Perry chose his words carefully, and invested his look with something more suitable than the acute distaste he now felt at the prospect of sharing Xenia's bed. It was certainly not the time to reject her.

‘We must choose our moment, Xenia. We must be careful. Shall we join the others?'

Chatting companionably, they reached the carpet in front of the fire as the door opened and the butler appeared, bearing what looked to be a hastily folded parchment upon a silver salver.

‘For Lord Peregrine,' he said, when Xenia put her hand out to take it.

Surprised, Perry picked it up. Who would want to reach him at this hour? His first thought was that Miss Rosington needed him, but he quickly dismissed that for she'd not know his whereabouts. He certainly hoped she didn't.

‘It's from Charlotte,' he said, in answer to Xenia's question, having scanned the few lines of the hastily scrawled note.

‘And what does Charlotte want at this hour?'

Xenia indicated to Sir Samuel, who'd just risen from the card table to refresh her drink.

Perry frowned and tapped the parchment with his forefinger. ‘Apparently,' he said with some bemusement, ‘Harry has come home.'

Xenia clapped her hands. ‘Why, that's marvellous news. So Charlotte has seen him then? Is he prepared to atone for his scandalous treatment of her and set a new wedding date? Forget my words of before. Charlotte is deeply in love and Harry is a marvellous catch. You must ensure he does the honourable thing, Perry.'

Peregrine frowned. The note suggested that achieving such an outcome would not be so straightforward.

Xenia quickly realised this, too, after snatching the note from his loose grip and reading the brief few lines.

‘Why, he's not even seen her,' she said, handing it back with a gasp of outrage. ‘Charlotte writes that he was observed arriving at his aunt's premises like a thief in the night, entering by the servant's door. You must go over directly, Perry, and hold him to account.' She swung round, the swish of her skirts causing the cards to stir and the players to look up in some angst.

Perry raised his hands, palms outward. ‘I don't see what I can do.'

‘You owe it to Charlotte, as her brother, to defend her honour.'

It was true, he conceded, that only Harry was in a position to tell them the truth behind his mysterious flight.

‘You're
not
coming with me, Xenia,' he warned, turning at her soft tread behind him. ‘You can't possibly leave Miss Morecombe alone, unchaperoned.'

She pouted. ‘Very well then, leave me to make your apologies, though I'll expect a full reckoning the moment you're done with him.' In a change of tack, she put her head on one side, and was smiling at him when he turned at the door. ‘Come back here afterwards, Perry.' Her tone was hushed and suggestive. ‘I don't mind how late you are.'

‘We'll see.'

By God, he was ready to have a woman to warm his bed again, but it wasn't Xenia he wanted.

An image of Celeste's pure face and sweet smile intruded. The idea of a marriage to a woman who embodied beauty, truth and purity was so very much more desirable than remaining unwed or chasing after experienced and jaded creatures like Xenia.

Chapter Eleven

The night was dark with no moon, so the carriage had to travel slowly through the cobbled streets, which put Perry into a fever of frustrated irritation. Damn the wretched man for ruining his sister's life. He'd once liked Carstairs, a mild-mannered, almost shy fellow, he'd thought. Unremarkable in every respect, really, but for the fact he was an only son possessed of a sizeable fortune, thanks to his recent unexpected inheritance.

Peregrine supposed he was handsome enough in his way. Certainly Charlotte seemed to find his long white fingers, his slightly protuberant cow's eyes and his quiet intense manner to her satisfaction. She'd been overjoyed by his unexpected marriage proposal just before he'd set sail for Jamaica to attend to his business interests. During the five months she'd awaited his return she'd spoken of little other than the new life she was anticipating as Harry's wife, and as mistress of his country seat in Hampshire and Harry's Jamaican estates.

Then something dramatic had happened and Miss Rosington's virtue had been compromised in her quest to rescue Harry.

Well, now that Harry Carstairs had returned, Perry needed to confront him, not least so a satisfactory resolution that took account of Charlotte's feelings and her dignity could be found.

Perry signalled to his coachman to stop a little distance away from the townhouse where Carstairs was reputed to be staying. Stealth and discretion were required, which meant a quiet arrival through the servants' quarters, not a loud and angry demand at the front door.

Perry was not unfamiliar with such clandestine operations. He'd once paid a series of similarly secretive visits to a young widow who put on a creditable show of mourning during the day and took a wildly passionate interest in Perry during the nights. Her lady's maid and the kitchen staff were well-paid accomplices who knew their continued employment relied upon their discretion.

The right coin could win anyone over, Perry knew, as he contemplated how much it would cost him to gain entry if Carstairs was in no mood to see him.

He checked himself. Carstairs certainly would not see him at this late hour and Perry was not particularly in the mood for confrontation.

However, without knowing the reasons behind the man's disappearance, he could not risk Harry eluding him again. He owed it to Charlotte, though it was Miss Rosington's need for the truth that motivated him more. Her reputation had been tarnished by the mystery surrounding Carstairs and the erroneous implication she and Carstairs were lovers.

After he'd negotiated entry to the dark and cavernous kitchen, Perry allowed himself a brief smile. Hadn't he reached the age when cloak-and-dagger antics belonged to greenhorns, or fiery youth pulsing with the restless energy to prove themselves?

The gasp of a small, skinny kitchen skivvy brought him back to the present. ‘Hush, I won't hurt you,' he reassured the girl, pressing a coin into her palm as he slipped by, ‘as long as you don't say a word.'

It was not very chivalrous, he reflected, to threaten violence he did not intend to helpless young women. Miss Rosington knew the rumours that swirled around him. She should have run at the first opportunity, and yet she'd been as intrigued by him as he was by her. That was sufficient for him. Already he felt himself being divested of the mantle of crusty irritability and world-weariness, ready to delight in indulging her girlish whims. What a refreshing change.

The scullery maid sleeping on her pallet by the kitchen range leapt up as he passed, bringing him back to the here and now. If he was to ensure that his dear Charlotte enjoy the same peace of mind and future of domestic felicity as he was intending with Miss Rosington, he must concentrate on gaining entry without anyone becoming aware. Peregrine must approach with the greatest of caution.

When the scullery maid beheld the shiny gold coin he'd given her, she offered him a lit taper after he told her that her master was expecting him for some secret business no one must know about. Clearly his expensive suit of clothes reassured her.

The reception rooms on ground level were in darkness but the taper Perry carried threw enough light for him to navigate his way to the stairs that led to the sleeping quarters.

It appeared the household had only recently retired to bed, for he could hear servants still at their work in an adjoining room. To his surprise, several sconces of candles lit the passage along which the bedrooms were located. Snatching one up as he trod the stairs, Perry began his search for the chamber that contained Harry Carstairs.

The first was empty and obviously unused, but then, it was not well positioned. Seizing upon the most likely room for a single gentleman to occupy in terms of location and positioning, Perry quietly turned the doorknob and thrust open the door, holding his sconce of candles high to throw the light.