Wicked Wager (20 page)

Peregrine raised an eyebrow. ‘Why, my dear, you are a dark horse. I think you'd have been wiser to have withheld that. Still, it does not change the fact that Lord Peregrine only sought you out after Lady Busselton proposed your ruin as the means by which he could win her wager. Ask anyone, though they might blush to tell you the truth.'

Celeste shook her head. ‘I don't believe it,' she whispered.

Raphael sighed. ‘My dear Celeste, you can imagine how hard it is for me to forgive you for your own treachery in view of what you've told me. Do not look at me as if you're the only one wronged here.'

Celeste blinked. His every word was like a shard of pain being driven through her soul. Ignoring his remark, she whispered, ‘What was his reward?'

Raphael raised his eyebrows as if the question surprised him. ‘Why, Lady Busselton's favours, of course. I told you they were lovers. Well, after the terms of the wager were satisfied they quickly
became
lovers. Lord Peregrine's been dangling after her more than a decade before, and since her two husbands. All society knows it.'

Celeste could barely breathe. Each shallow intake was almost more than she could manage. She took a step backwards.

‘But why Harry? Harry doesn't even like …'

‘Women? No, my dear, he does not. But Harry had little choice in the matter. Not when he owed Lord Peregrine such a large sum. Apparently Harry owed a lot of people money and when he returned to town, Lord Peregrine was the first to claim what he was owed. However, after some discussion the men came to the arrangement involving you. And no, I had no idea at the time, I assure you, but what could I do? Harry feared for his life. His creditors were baying for his blood and even after Harry had done his lordship's bidding and enticed you into his bed, he still feared for his life. He wanted to take no chances so immediately slipped back into hiding. Lord Peregrine is a dangerous man.' He indicated the corner of the battlement where Harry, in disguise, had last made an appearance. ‘I therefore needed to secure his freedom, and that meant retrieving the locket on Harry's behalf and returning it to Harry, who will remain in hiding until our return to Jamaica.'

All Celeste's anguished churnings over who was in fact behind her devastating fall from grace seemed to scream through her mind like a terrible wind storm until she was blinded and deafened by the sight of her cousin, her betrothed, the man into whose care she was entrusting her life, smiling guiltlessly at her.

‘How can you tell me all this and look as if you don't even care?' she cried, backing away. ‘You care nothing for me, Raphael. You never have! I hate you and I will
never
marry you!'

‘You have no choice, Celeste.' Raphael spoke calmly. ‘Who would have you now? You are disgraced. You have no dowry. Unless you choose to take Holy Orders, you have nowhere to go.'

‘Perhaps I shall join Charlotte and we'll both find peace and solace in a nunnery, for by God there's little peace for me on this earth!' Celeste positively screamed the words before picking up her skirts and rushing along the walkway to the staircase at the far end of the battlements. The descent was steep and narrow and ill lit, but she couldn't remain with Raphael another moment.

Lord Peregrine had agreed to a wager in which she was the spoils? She'd given him her heart. She'd nearly given him her body and it wasn't even consolation that he may have found scruples. Was he in truth disgusted by her? That was not a concept with which she was unfamiliar, having been betrothed to Raphael so long and learning his views on women.

Her world was in tatters and she needed to escape, if she could find somewhere that offered her refuge.

The treads of the narrow winding staircase were uneven. Twice she lost her footing but she kept on running. If Raphael could do this to her, then what other horrors had he in store? Blind terror spurred her on, fuelling her speed though she had no idea where she was going, her feet transporting her as if on wings—until she stumbled on a chipped step.

With a scream she spiralled into space; that disembodied feeling a precursor, she knew, of the pain to come. Well, so be it. Nothing could be more painful than knowing the man she was to marry would sacrifice her on the altar of his own twisted pursuit of happiness.

And then a pair of strong arms swept her up and bound her tight. Peering into the gloom, she gasped as she recognised her rescuer.

‘Lord Peregrine!'

Her heart, already in a state of upheaval, felt as if it were in danger of bursting out of her chest; ripping her in two in the process.

Here was the man who'd tricked her most cruelly. This villain had pursued her from the outset, wooing her with his pretence of growing regard, winning her trust only to sacrifice her to his own lustful desires.

For another woman!

Yet when once she was again in his strong embrace, she felt the connection between them as strong as ever. He'd followed her and now he'd saved her from breaking her neck, and although she could not tell what he felt right now, at least he didn't withdraw at her touch as Raphael had. Yet he had wronged her. So cruelly!

‘Lord Peregrine?' she managed, her breath coming in short, difficult bursts as she registered his arms tighten about her. ‘Let me go!' She began to struggle. She hated him yet she could not rid herself of that compelling need to draw closer. He'd always been dangerous, even when she'd thought he desired her, admired her. Now he was even more dangerous, for the feelings of desire were all on her side, despite what he'd done to her.

‘Are you so cruel that you'd
gloat
over my painful situation? Let me go, I say!'

‘Painful?' She felt the tightness in him and the angry timbre of his tone as he went on, ‘Or would that be conflicted? Well, it was your choice, my dear. You made your bed and you chose to lie in it. Don't blame me if you have regrets.'

She squeezed shut her eyes, deeply conscious of the heat from his body.

‘I was drugged, my lord, as you well know.' She glared at him through the gloom. ‘And now I am ruined, you have won your wager with Lady Busselton.' Her voice broke. ‘May you have much joy of her. I hope that destroying my life was worth it!'

‘You destroyed your life with no help from me, Miss Rosington,' he ground out. ‘Don't blame me, for as God is my witness this was one unfortunate wager I had no intention of claiming on.'

‘But you have, my lord,' she sobbed, ‘and as I daresay you take the Lord's name in vain with as little compunction as you were going to take me, there's no comfort to be gained from your cheap words.'

‘By God, but you've possessed me, Miss Rosington,' he ground out as he drew her closer against his chest. ‘You have wronged me, cruelly. You swore there was nothing between you and Carstairs but you lied to me, yet still I cannot rid my mind of you. You torment me!'

Eyes, like those belonging to the dangerous wild cats she'd seen incarcerated in the dark dungeons, blazed out from beneath his disdainfully arched eyebrows. Celeste shrank back from their malevolence but still he didn't release her. He put his face closer to hers, his dark searching look boring into her very soul, it seemed.

She needed no greater proof that he was determined to destroy her. He really
did
hold her responsible for his sister's shame and unhappiness.

‘You truly believe I was guilty of more than furnishing Harry with the petticoats to escape when I explained
everything
?' It was indeed a terrible blow to know his vengeance could cut so deep. ‘It is my fervent wish that the truth will somehow be revealed to you, Lord Peregrine,' she whispered harshly, for now that seemed about as likely as Celeste managing to avoid marriage with Raphael.

He paused for only a second to communicate what he thought of her remark, through blazing eyes and curled lip, and then suddenly his lips were no longer full of hate but of passion, as they took possession of Celeste's.

Caught by surprise, she struggled momentarily before the energy that surged through her came from a different source: the determination to feel something from him that was not anger or indifference.

Passion. Whatever he'd done to her, whatever humiliation he might have engineered for her, there was no denying his passion was real as he held her pressed against his hard chest, still in his arms with the wall at her back. Perhaps he wanted to punish her for the fact that he desired her still, after tasting the fruits of his lust with Lady Busselton. His was the greed of a man who was never satisfied.

Yet as his mouth bore down hungrily upon hers and her initial resistance weakened, she turned instead into a pool of heated longing, all reason deserting her.

So this was passion? These heady sensations were what caused men and women to risk everything in exchange for the fleeting sensation of desiring and being desired. Her nipples ached and her body cried out for something more she couldn't define as Lord Peregrine held her hard against him, only releasing her when Raphael's disembodied voice floated down from the battlements above: ‘Celeste, I know you're down there. There's no point in running away when you have no choice in the matter.'

Lord Peregrine arched his eyebrow. ‘Don't tell me you had no choice, Miss Rosington,' he said under his breath.

Despairingly Celeste swung out of his orbit, held up by a different kind of passion. ‘I have no choice, now, when it comes to marrying my cousin,' she hissed, turning to run lightly back up the stairs, stopping near the top to add over her shoulder, ‘Don't blame
me
for the fact you still want me, even if you can't believe the truth from my own lips—though I don't understand how any decent human being could pretend kindness while engineering the ruin of the woman he professes to love. I rue the day I ever met you!'

***

Well, didn't he just feel the same?

Yet for the first time her impassioned denial of culpability hit a nerve. Xenia and Charlotte had been convincing in their condemnation, while he had exhausted every counter argument. Yet
could
there be a kernel of truth in her fiery protestations?

Weary now with spent passion, Perry returned to his carriage where he rested his head against the window while the coachman awaited orders.

How could he distinguish truth from fiction, when on the one hand all he had were Miss Rosington's denials of wrongdoing, counterbalanced with the irrefutable evidence of finding her in bed with Harry Carstairs, an illicit relationship backed up by a mountain of hearsay, rumours and innuendo that Carstairs and Miss Rosington were long-time lovers?

‘Where to, my lord?' The coachman's impatient, yet respectful tones floated down from the box.

Perry rubbed a weary hand over his face. He should call on Charlotte and see how she fared if he were the loyal brother he professed to be. Last night he'd assured her he believed her assertions against Miss Rosington, if only to stop her taking a knife to her wrists.

Nevertheless, the thought of spending a gloomy fifteen minutes in his sister's company was the last thing he felt like. He hoped Charlotte would be sufficiently satisfied by the social ruin of the woman who'd caused Harry Carstairs to abandon her at the altar to stop harping on about it.

To his dismay he found Charlotte in a listless mood, staring out of the drawing room window when he was announced.

‘Should I order refreshment, Perry?' she asked, languidly waving him over. ‘Or is this a bolting visit to satisfy your conscience that I've not tried to slice my wrists again?' She held up her hands and contemplated the lace ruffles that festooned from the elbows of her polonaise. ‘Well, I haven't, but nor have I ruled it out.'

Perry rolled his eyes as he took up position at the window beside her. ‘Harry Carstairs was clearly not for you, Charlotte, so now that your nemesis has received her just desserts, don't you think the time has come to move forward? You're beautiful, with a sizeable dowry, and the season is only half over. Consider it a wonderful opportunity.'

‘My nemesis?' She turned and blinked at him. ‘You mean Miss Rosington?' With another sigh she dropped her head to study the half moon of her nails. ‘Oh, I don't think she's my nemesis,' she said vaguely.

Startled, Perry cocked his head. ‘I don't understand you, Charlotte. Are you sure you're all right? Last night your angry assertion that Miss Rosington was the devil incarnate had you ready to take your own life. Why, you came dangerously close to ruining
yourself
with your public diatribe against her at Lady Montague's ball.'

Charlotte shrugged. ‘Whatever happened between Harry and Miss Rosington the night Harry fled, I don't think Harry was interested in her. Not romantically—though it would be preferable.'

‘Good God, now you are talking in riddles!' Perry exclaimed, gripping Charlotte's shoulders and forcing her chin up so that she had to look at him. ‘You swore it was so. That the two were long-term lovers. And pray, what do you mean? Preferable to what?'

Charlotte focused her troubled gaze upon her brother while he searched her face, wondering if Miss Rosington's actions accounted for the fact that his sister was now losing her wits.

Charlotte shrugged herself out of his grasp and put the gold velvet curtain between them, her look uncertain as she returned her gaze to the street.

In the silence he waited, while his own thoughts churned over all the conflicting doubts and emotions he'd entertained regarding Miss Rosington and her seemingly inexplicable actions.

Her own anger at the Tower seemed more than just the expected defensiveness of a woman caught in the wrong.

‘Perry, you remember when Harry offered for me, just before he went to Jamaica all those months ago? I was the happiest woman in the world, for I truly believed he loved me and not only because of my dowry.'