The Wallflower Wager

by Dare, Tessa

  Gabe looked down the alley in both directions before he handed her down from the carriage. As expected, even after a thorough laundering and pressing, her lacy, once blushing-pink frock was a shambles.

  “I’ll see you in.”

  They entered through the horse stalls—or, in Penny’s case, goat and steer stalls—and naturally, she had to stop to soothe them with loving pats and generous forkfuls of hay and alfalfa. As they moved through the back garden, she paused to scatter corn for the chickens and cast a sorrowful look toward Hubert’s empty washtub.

  “Come along.” He drew her arm through his and pulled her toward the house. “Stay any longer out here and someone’s bound to see you.”

  “And if they do? We are merely two neighbors having a morning chat in the back garden. How could that be scandalous?”

  He exhaled. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “No one pays much attention to me, anyway.”

  Normally, Gabe would have paused to lecture her on the unlikelihood of this statement, or the injustice even if it were true. However, today her obscurity might work in their favor.

  Maybe, just maybe, they’d gotten away with this.

  When he followed Penny up the kitchen stairs to the entrance hall, however, he knew at once he’d been mistaken. They were instantly mobbed.

  Her friends had been waiting. All of them. The duchess one, the freckled one, the pregnant one, the scarred duke one, and the aggravatingly charming one.

  Five individuals who would defy even the closest observer to find a trait they all held in common. Except, of course, for one important quality: They all cared about Penny.

  “Penny, is that you?”

  “Thank heaven you’re safe.”

  “We’ve been out of our minds with worry.”

  “Where the devil have you been?”

  “Bixby piddled on the dining room carpet.”

  When they’d finished fussing over Penny, they turned to Gabe. Wouldn’t you know, these five disparate people shared a second quality.

  They were, every last one of them, furious with him.

  The three ladies tugged Penny to one side, subjecting her to a stern, yet loving interrogation.

  The two men slammed Gabe against a wall.

  “What the hell did you do to her?” Ashbury snarled. His scarred face twisted with anger. “I demand answers.”

  “I demand answers, too,” the other one said. Chase, Penny had called him.

  “We were taking the otter out to the country. The carriage axle splintered, and we were delayed.”

  “Oh, please,” Chase said. “A carriage accident? I’ve devised a great many excuses in my life, and that’s the most hackneyed tale in the book.”

  “In the book?” Gabe asked. “There’s no book.”

  “Yes, there is,” Chase snapped, defensive. “And if there’s not, I’m writing one.”

  “Forget the book.” Ashbury shook him by the lapels, rattling the paintings and sketches mounted on the wall. “I want the truth.”

  “It is the truth. The carriage axle broke. We stopped and waited for the smith to come repair it.”

  “Then why is her frock a shambles?”

  Gabe sighed. “The otter escaped into the river. She insisted on chasing after it. She rushed into the water, tumbled onto the muddy bank, and got tangled in the reeds.”

  Chase looked peevish. “Well, that sounds . . . entirely too plausible, where Penny is concerned.”

  “Then I assume we’re done here.” Gabe moved to leave.

  “Not so fast.” Ashbury slammed him back against the wall, rattling the artwork again. “What happened to her frock is inconsequential. I want to know where you were all night.”

  Across the hall, Penny was relating the same story to her friends.

  “We walked to the village, and after that, we—Oh! There you are, darling.” Bixby nosed at her ankles, and she crouched to smother him with love in return.

  “After that, what?” Nicola prodded.

  “After that, we stopped over at an inn.”

  At this, Emma and Alex exchanged concerned looks.

  Nicola was not so delicate. “An inn?”

  Penny hushed her, not wanting Ash or Chase to hear. “It was that or wait in the carriage. You’re making it sound so terrible.”

  “Because it is terrible!”

  “It wasn’t. Truly, it was . . .” Erotic. Wonderful. Confusing. “. . . perfectly safe.”

  “You should have fed him the poisoned biscuits.”

  “Nicola,” Alexandra said in a pointed murmur, “Penny says she found the arrangements acceptable.”

  “Well, I don’t find them acceptable.” Nicola raised her voice. “How can you be so calm about this? She spent the night with a man, Alex. That man. At an inn.”

  “An inn?” Ashbury growled. “You spent the night at an inn?”

  “Her Ladyship needed to eat, rest, and stay warm. It was the best option, unless you would prefer me to have returned her home with pneumonia.”

  “I suppose there was only one room available. With one bed.” Chase crossed his arms. “That one’s in the book, too.”

  “The suite had three rooms.”

  “You shared the same suite?” Ashbury gave him another violent shake.

  Chase intervened. “Ash, that’s enough. Let the man go.”

  With reluctance, the duke released Gabe and fell back a few steps.

  “It’s my turn now.” Chase took his place, grasping Gabe by the lapels and slamming him back against the wall.

  Jesus Christ. The man was stronger than he looked. This time, one of the framed sketches tumbled to the floor.

  “You know,” Gabe said, “Lady Penelope might actually like some of this artwork. Take a bit more care.”

  Ash retrieved the small, oval frame from the floor. It held a phenomenally ugly sketch of a cross-eyed, squished-face pug. “This is hideous.”

  “Yes,” Chase agreed. “It’s probably her favorite.”

  Gabe grabbed the framed sketch from the duke’s hands and rehung it on the nail. “I wasn’t about to leave her unguarded in a strange inn. She needed protection.”

  “And we’re to believe she was safe with you?” Ashbury asked, incredulous. “You’re the one she needs protection from.”

  Gabe found it difficult to argue with that.

  “I don’t understand this,” Chase said. “Penny promised us she’d take a companion.”

  Gabe chuckled wryly. “Oh, she did.”

  “Penny,” Emma scolded in motherly fashion. “A parrot is not an acceptable companion.”

  Penny cast a glance toward the bird in her cage. “Delilah is more effective than you’d suppose. Certainly a better chaperone than Mrs. Robbins would be.”

  “Sadly accurate,” Alex said.

  “Tell us the truth,” Nicola said. “Did he take advantage of you?”

  “No,” Penny said in all honesty. “He didn’t take any liberties.”

  To the contrary, he’d given her liberties. The freedom to explore his body. The freedom to express herself. Part of her wished to tell them everything in detail—but she didn’t want to confess it here and now.

  “Something happened,” Alex said. “I can see it on your face.”

  “What do you mean?” Penny might be a poor liar, but her talent for keeping secrets had been honed over the years. There were things she’d never told a soul.

  Nicola’s face fell. “You’re smiling. This is horrible.”

  “It’s horrible that I’m smiling?”

  Emma took Penny’s hand. “We love you. If there’s anything you wish to say—anything at all—you can trust us.”

  “I know.”

  Then again, could she trust them entirely? Something Gabriel had said niggled in the back of her mind.

  “Be honest,” she said. “Do you find my sandwiches revolting?”

  “You called her sandwiches revolting?” Chase went red with anger. “How dare you.

”

  “I told her the truth. They are revolting.”

  “Of course they are.” He jabbed a finger in Gabe’s face. “And that’s expressly why we never tell her so.”

  Gabe batted his finger away. “So you lie to her.”

  “Better than breaking her heart.”

  “Breaking her heart? Good God, man. They’re sandwiches.”

  “Those are not mere sandwiches,” Chase said through gritted teeth. “They’re a test. You failed it.”

  Ashbury paced the narrow entrance hall, muttering angrily. “If anything happened between the two of you last night, so help me God . . .”

  Gabe pulled his lapels straight. “If anything happened between us last night, it wouldn’t be any of your concern.”

  “Unmannerly scut!” Ashbury shouted. “Thou reeky, burly-boned gudgeon.”

  Gabe had no idea how to respond to that.

  “He curses in Shakespeare,” Chase explained. “It’s annoying, I know. You get used to it.”

  Gabe rubbed his face with one hand, weary. He would never get used to this aristocratic brand of madness, and he didn’t intend to. A headache was brewing in his skull, and he’d reached the end of his patience with this cockish, swaggering display.

  “Give us your word you didn’t touch her,” Ashbury demanded.

  “I don’t answer to you. Neither does she.”

  “Penny is our friend.”

  “Lady Penelope is a grown woman,” Gabe said forcefully. “If you want to know what she did last night, here’s an idea: Ask her yourself.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! Yes! Yes!”

  Everyone in the hall went silent. In unison, they swiveled their heads toward the source of the cries: the birdcage. Inside, the parrot gaily bobbed on her perch.

  Damn it. Gabe knew where this was going, and it wasn’t anywhere good. At first opportunity, he was going to pluck that feathered menace and roast it for his dinner.

  “Pretty girl,” Delilah sang. “Yes! Yes!”

  Don’t say it, Gabe willed. Don’t say it.

  Delilah trilled for attention, coyly drawing out the suspense. “Fancy a fuck, love?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Penny closed her eyes in defeat. What a perfect encapsulation of her life. Betrayed by a parrot.

  “What . . .” Emma tipped her head to the side. “What did that bird say?”

  Alex wrinkled her nose in thought. “Fancy a cuppa?”

  “No.” Chase shook his head. “That’s not it.”

  “Fancier fawn glove,” Nicola suggested.

  “Wrong again,” Chase said.

  “Well what else could it be?” Emma asked.

  “‘Fuck,’” Ash declared, exasperated. “It said ‘fuck.’ F-U-C-K, fuck. ‘Fancy a fuck, love.’ That’s what it said.”

  Chase tutted. “Really, Ash. Which Shakespearean play would that word be in?”

  “That would be in Shut the Hell Up, Reynaud: A Tragedy in One Act.”

  Delilah ruffled her wings. “Fancy a fuck, love? Fancy a fuck, love? Ooh! Yes! Ooh! Pretty girl.”

  Ash and Chase turned murderous glares in Gabriel’s direction.

  “We’re taking this outside,” Chase said. “Now.”

  “Wait.” Penny darted in front of Gabriel, shielding him. “It’s not what you think. Delilah didn’t learn any of that from us.”

  “You said she belonged to a little old lady,” Emma said.

  “A little old lady who lived in a brothel.” Penny put a hand to her brow, realizing she might have coined the worst nursery rhyme ever. “Not that any of this matters.”

  “That’s enough, all of you.” Gabriel’s touch grazed the small of her back as he moved to the center of the group. “We weren’t off cavorting in the countryside. Even if we were, it would be none of your damned business.”

  The forceful way he advocated for her made Penny’s heart swell.

  “Her Ladyship wants to remain in London, in this house. Everyone here wants the same. Once her aunt and brother are convinced to let her stay, you’ll have the added pleasure of being rid of me. We only have a fortnight. So instead of standing around reciting Shakespeare and interrogating a whorehouse parrot, I strongly suggest you offer to help.”

  “He’s right,” Nicola said. “We should make a plan.”

  “Finally.” Gabriel threw up his hands. “At least one of you sees sense.”

  “I mainly wish to see you leave,” she retorted. To the rest of the group, she said, “We should start with the animals.”

  “Hubert’s on to happier waters,” Penny said. “Bixby and Freya stay. Surely I’m allowed to keep a dog, and Freya doesn’t trouble anyone.”

  Gabriel counted on his fingers. “That leaves Delilah, the kittens, Marigold and Angus, then Regan, Goneril, and Cordelia.”

  Penny was touched. He knew them all by name? Be still her heart.

  “Chase, Alexandra . . . I was hoping you might take Delilah,” Penny said. “Don’t Daisy and Rosamund still enjoy playing pirates? You can’t be a pirate without a parrot on your shoulder.”

  “If it were any other parrot, I’d happily agree,” Chase said. “But that parrot? We’ll have a baby in the house soon enough, and the girls are terrors as it is.”

  “I know, I know. Her vocabulary needs some reforming. I’m working on that. Will you consider it, assuming I succeed?”

  “I’m certain the girls would be delighted,” Alex said. “Even if Chase isn’t.”

  “Our summer estate is only some ten miles from Town.” Emma sent her husband a meaningful look. “It’s lovely country. Plenty of pasture.”

  Ash grumbled. “Very well. I’ll take the cow.”

  “He’s a steer,” Gabriel corrected. “And the goat goes with him.”

  “Fine. I’ll take the goat, too.”

  “As long as you’re doing that much, you may as well take the hens.”

  “For the love of—”

  “We’d be happy to take the hens,” Emma interjected.

  “That leaves the kittens,” Penny said, “and I can find homes for them. Kittens are something I understand. Society, on the other hand? That’s the difficult part. I can’t go anywhere without a gown, can I?”

  “I’ve already made the patterns,” Emma said. “But there’s still a great deal to be done. Selecting silks, lace, ribbons. New slippers and gloves.”

  “Not to mention, I don’t receive many invitations.”

  “Neither do we, I’m afraid,” Emma said.

  “I don’t even bother to open the post,” Nicola put in.

  “I’d be glad to offer my services as a chaperone,” said Chase. “But with Alexandra in her confinement . . .”

  “You can’t,” Penny rushed to say. “You need to stay near home. I’d never ask it. We’ll think of something. Or someone.”

  They turned to the only “someone” remaining in the room.

  “Don’t look at me,” Gabriel said. “No one in Mayfair wants me at their parties, and Her Ladyship can’t be seen in public with the Duke of Ruin.”

  “I might have an idea,” Chase said. “One of the clubs is sponsoring a fete tomorrow. It’s at a pleasure garden in Southwark. Dancing, supper, fireworks. It doesn’t require an invitation or a new gown, and with a bit of planning, even the Duke of Ruin can escort you without causing a scandal.”

  “That sounds ideal,” Penny said.

  “It sounds impossible,” Gabriel retorted. “There’s no event safe enough for that. Not one that would make the society column.”

  “I assure you, there is.” A slow grin spread across Chase’s face. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  Gabe hated to admit it, but Chase was right.

  He didn’t like this one bit.

  He stood with Penny at the edge of the garden, watching the throngs of masked lords and ladies float by, contemplating a subject that rarely occupied his mind: medieval history.

  “How the devil did England win a single Crusade? I can’t even walk in this. Or see, or eat, or drink.” He fumbled with the visor of the helmet until it finally flipped up. “And this codpiece is much too small.”

  “Do stop complaining. It’s not so bad.”

  “Easy for you to say. Your ballocks aren’t dangling between two plates of metal.” The armor creaked as he shifted from one foot to another—carefully.

  A liveried manservant strolled in their direction, bearing a tray of crystal flutes. “Champagne?”

  Gabe eagerly accepted. So eagerly, in fact, that he forgot the restrictions of his current attire. With one swipe of his plate-metal gauntlet, he cleared the tray, sending the crystal flutes to the ground and drenching the servant in champagne.

  Brilliant.

  As the servant walked away, Gabe filled his stifling helmet with profanity.

  “You insisted you needed a true disguise—one that covered your face. This was the best we could do on such short notice. Be grateful that Ash loaned it to you. He did us a favor.”

  “Some favor,” he muttered. “I don’t suppose His Grace is going to do me the favor of holding my prick when I need to piss.”

  After that incident with the champagne glasses, Gabe wouldn’t attempt it on his life. Perhaps a drink wasn’t a good idea.

  She gave him a teasing look. “If it helps at all, you do look rather gallant.”

  It helped a bit. A tiny bit.

  “You may be uncomfortable now,” she said. “But I’m the one bound for an eternity in perdition. Wearing my mourning attire to a masquerade? The last time I wore this gown, it was for my Uncle Jeremiah’s funeral. He’ll probably haunt me. Hairy ears and all.”

  With great effort, he swiveled his torso to look at her. She was dressed as a cat, naturally. A sinuous, alluring black cat. A pair of pointed ears perched atop her slicked-back golden hair. She’d tipped her eyes and the snub of her nose with charcoal, adding thin whiskers across her cheeks. And affixed to the back of her gown was a slinky black tail that waved and beckoned when she walked.

  His codpiece was definitely too small.

  He lowered the helmet’s visor again.

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