Never Wager Against Love (Kellington Book Three)

by Driscoll, Maureen

She debated what to tell him, weighing her words carefully. “The cards only tell what is likely to happen. They’ve been wrong before. You doubted what I said about your sister and brothers.”

  He had, but Arthur wanted to know what she wasn’t telling him. He needed to know. “What do you see in the cards? Please, Sofia, you must tell me.”

  Sofia looked at him, the weariness of the day’s events in her eyes. “I see the woman you love being shot and you are unable to get to her in time.”

  There was a moment of silence. Arthur could hardly breathe. Of course there was nothing to this, just card tricks by a woman who thought she was doing him a kindness. But just the thought of more loss paralyzed him. He couldn’t face it. He’d never fall in love; he’d never risk it.

  “Remember, Arthur,” said Sofia softly. “No life is without difficulty. But do not be afraid to live.”

  At that moment, the flap to the wagon’s door was thrown open. The Romany man who’d first spoken to Sofia looked in on them.

  “I’m Michun,” he said to Arthur’s unspoken question. “Lord Arthur, your family has come to retrieve you. I will take you to them.”

  Michun led Arthur through the camp, which was now in the process of packing up to leave. Every member of the tribe from the eldest man to the youngest child had a task to complete to facilitate a smooth, quick departure. All eyes were on Arthur as he passed the wagons where people lived, as well as the stalls of wares the Romany sold in villages, including one that featured intricate jewelry boxes and small chests, which Arthur paused to inspect. He needed a distraction before he faced his family. He’d suddenly become quite embarrassed by all the attention focused on him, not to mention the worry he must’ve caused his family.

  “We have some of the best artisans in the Rom community,” said Michun proudly. “If you see something you like, take it. We cannot thank you enough for what you did for Sofia.” Then he added softly. “I personally cannot thank you enough. She is my mother.”

  Arthur looked at the man and noted the similarity to Sofia. He didn’t know what quirk of fate had made him walk by the field at just the right moment, but he was immeasurably glad he had.

  “Arthur!”

  Arthur turned to see Hal grinning at him. He was standing with a solemn Liam, Ned and Lizzie.

  “Is it true you fainted?” Hal couldn’t believe his great good luck.

  “Your brother came to my assistance,” said Sofia, as she joined them and made her curtsey to Lynwood. “He is a very brave man.”

  “Arthur,” said Liam, after introductions were made, “how badly are you injured?”

  “His head certainly can’t hurt as much as my arm,” said Hal. “After all, his head is much harder.”

  “Might I remind you, Henry,” said Liam, “that your arm wouldn’t hurt if you hadn’t climbed that tree to spy on your brother.”

  “Well, someone had to make sure he told the truth about the wager.”

  “What wager?” asked Lizzie.

  Liam shot a quelling look at Hal, who wisely refrained from answering.

  Ned dragged his eyes away from a beautiful young woman whose décolletage had also drawn Liam’s interested gaze. “Are you feeling all the thing, Arthur?”

  “I’m fine,” said Arthur. “Thanks to Sofia and Michun.”

  “What happened?” asked Liam.

  Arthur glanced at a curious Lizzie, then back at his brother. “Some of the boys from the village – Miles and Morris and a few others – were, uh, harassing Sofia. We were able to scare them off, although it was mostly the men from the tribe.”

  “I should’ve blacked both of Miles’s eyes when I had the chance,” said Ned. “Still not too late, I reckon.”

  “Thank you for the thought,” said Sofia, “but we hope to depart before too long and with as little attention as possible.”

  “I am the magistrate here,” said Liam, asserting himself as Lynwood. “I can prosecute to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” said Sofia. “But the law isn’t always an impartial force, regardless of your excellent intentions.”

  Liam considered the matter, then nodded.

  “Did they hurt you?” Lizzie asked Sofia.

  Arthur looked at his sister, who was a skinny little girl in braids, holding a doll that was almost as big as she was. She’d rarely let go of it since their parents’ death. And now she was asking about an issue no little girl should ever have to think about.

  Sofia smiled at the girl, then smoothed one of her braids. “Your brother was very brave and took care of me.”

  Lizzie looked at Sofia, but made no response.

  Michun watched the young duke appraisingly. “You are much like your father. Please accept our sincerest sympathy at his passing.”

  Liam gave the barest of nods. Ned looked off into the horizon. Hal put his arm around Lizzie, as she leaned into him. As always, Arthur felt his parents’ loss profoundly, but his thoughts were on the future.

  Michun continued. “The road beckons and it is time for us to go.”

  Sofia kissed Arthur’s cheek, then he and his brothers and sister turned to walk back to Lynwood Manor. Arthur was suddenly anxious to leave the encampment, to go home and try to put his troubling future behind him. It was best to get his mind off it. Perhaps a hand of cards when he returned. That would occupy his thoughts.

  Suddenly Lizzie turned and ran back to Sofia. She held up the doll that meant so much to her.

  “Here!” said Lizzie as she thrust the doll into Sofia’s hands. “I don’t want you to be sad.” Lizzie looked at the doll one last time, perhaps considering whether to snatch it back again. Then she ran to her brothers and took Arthur’s hand.

  Bravery, thought Arthur, took many different forms.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Kent, September 1822

  Vanessa Gans, most recently known as Tara Rennard, had learned many lessons in the day and a half she’d spent on the road since leaving the Riverton house party. She’d discovered that autumn came early in the Kentish countryside, making her wish she’d packed warmer clothes before leaving the house in the pre-dawn hours. Not that she would’ve had much room to carry them. All she had were her saddlebags, and they were already well stocked with pistols, knives and various other weapons. Given the lack of space, it was a good thing she’d chosen to dress like a lad. She couldn’t have fit even one of her petticoats into the bag without leaving a pistol behind. And given her current pursuit, she’d much rather have the weapons.

  But the biggest lesson she’d learned was if you must steal a horse, and she’d really had very little choice in the matter, it was better to choose one that was lazy but obedient, rather than one that never tired but only rarely heeded its master. Or mistress in this case. Vanessa was hardly surprised by the stubborn nature of the beast, given the intractable, irritating and grudgingly irresistible traits of its owner, Lord Arthur Kellington.

  Vanessa was an agent for the Home Office. Recruited at the age of twenty, she’d spent the last four years on various assignments hiding in plain sight by posing as maids, shop girls and seamstresses. The peerage rarely noticed when servants were in a room. They spoke freely and revealed much. Vanessa was amazed by the information she’d collected simply by standing in a room and being ignored by its occupants. Some of what she’d heard had been quite helpful to the Crown. She’d also heard more ton gossip than even the most well-connected society matron. She had very little taste for it. But given her exposure to the scandalous on dits, she’d have been one of the most sought after guests at any ton event.

  If only she were a lady.

  Not that she couldn’t pass for one. Despite her birth, she’d become adept at acting like a lady when it was required. She’d been exposed to the manners and idiosyncrasies of the aristocracy through her missions with the Home Office. And she’d been given a close-up look at their many faults in the years before that. She had very little use for toffs, although her most rec
ent assignment was an unsettling reminder that there were worthy souls even among the peerage.

  The dowager Marchioness of Riverton had given a house party. Vanessa had needed to gain access to the estate, so she’d posed as a poor, distant relation from the north. Her assignment was to recover a small chest hidden away by a French operative who’d been tracked to the general vicinity of Riverton Farms. It was hoped that the chest contained papers that would reveal the identity of one or more officials in the British government who’d secretly been allied with the French. The war might be over, but there were still traitors to be found.

  No one in the Riverton family had been under suspicion, but the only way for her to search the property had been to have complete access to it as a guest. Her mission had taken on even greater urgency when two mercenaries arrived at the party, posing as a visiting scholar and his sister. Frederick Mortimer and Portia Cassidy had attended the party under assumed names, then escaped with the chest. Vanessa was well acquainted with both of them. She knew the chest was now on its way to the highest bidder, which almost certainly wouldn’t be His Majesty’s government.

  There had been another guest at the Riverton party who’d attracted Vanessa’s interest, but for a wholly different reason. Lord Arthur Kellington had accompanied his sister Elizabeth to the estate. Vanessa was well aware of the man’s reputation. Arthur Kellington, like his brothers William and Henry, was one of the ton’s most eligible bachelors. He was handsome, charming, popular among ladies both young and old – and all ages in between – and liked by just about everyone, save for the occasional jealous husband. He had a reputation as a gamester, but he rarely played deep and always paid his debts on time. The worst that could be said about him was that he drifted through life. Perhaps it was because he lacked the responsibilities of his brother the duke. But so did his second eldest brother Ned, who had recently settled into the existence of a prosperous landowner with his wife and daughter in the country. And from all accounts he was more than happy with his lot in life. Now, with Elizabeth’s recent engagement, it seemed just about everyone in the Kellington family was settling down or, at the very least, growing up. Except for Lord Arthur.

  Physically, the man was just as handsome as he’d been reported to be. He was well over six feet tall. The top of Vanessa’s head barely came up to his shoulder. He had light brown hair and brown eyes that were ringed with amber. He was thin, but his body was highly conditioned. His thighs were muscled and he moved with the lean grace of a predatory cat. Even if Lord Arthur didn’t always temper his gaming impulses, his body was a prime example of discipline and control.

  The first time they’d met, he’d interrupted her search for the chest. She’d tried to talk her way out of it, but he had an unnerving presence and was much smarter than the average peer. With his suspicions aroused, he’d rarely let her out of his sight after that. In the end, she’d been forced to tell him her real purpose for being at the party. When Mortimer and Cassidy escaped with the chest, he’d offered to chase after them with her. But she’d fled the house before dawn and taken his horse to avoid that very thing. She told herself it was to protect him. But she wasn’t sure that was all there was to it. Vanessa had been attracted to him. Very attracted to him. And she couldn’t risk acting on her impulses.

  As for the small matter of taking his horse, he really shouldn’t mind. She was only borrowing it, and the blasted animal was so stubborn she was very likely doing Lord Arthur a favor.

  She was currently seated astride the great bay gelding so whimsically named Merlin. He’d taken her through miles of Kent at great speed, rarely even stopping for water. But from time to time, he’d decidedly shown a mind of his own. Currently, that mind was fixated on watching a squirrel run up and down an oak tree. Merlin made no move to chase after it. Indeed, for the past quarter of an hour, the horse had given no indication he was even capable of movement, other than to occasionally flick his ears.

  Vanessa had tried gently kicking him with her heels, whispering nonsense into his ears about how there would be more squirrels up the road to see, and even cursing a blue streak to see if the horse could be shocked into moving.

  But, alas, he continued to perform his very best imitation of a statue.

  Vanessa had come so close to catching up with Mortimer and Cassidy, but the trail had now grown cold and she was left to plan her next move atop a stationary horse.

  She imagined Lord Arthur’s reaction if he could see his beloved Merlin right now. She could almost hear his laughter. And then she did hear it. She turned to see the incredibly handsome Lord Arthur Kellington riding toward her at a slow walk, as if it were just another afternoon in Hyde Park. And he was laughing at her.

  * * *

  At last, thought Arthur as he finally came within sight of Tara and Merlin. He’d spied them earlier after a frantic day of riding to catch up. Merlin’s hearing was such that it had only taken a few whistles to convince the horse to slow down then wait for him.

  He’d been out of his mind with worry ever since discovering Tara hadn’t waited for him. Anything could happen to an unaccompanied female, even when she wasn’t chasing two villains who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. He looked at her now, seated astride Merlin and looking torn between wanting to flee – which would be impossible without Merlin’s cooperation, which didn’t seem to be forthcoming – and desiring to take aim at him with one of her pistols, which she no doubt carried in her bags and most likely on her person. Just where she might stow a weapon suddenly became a most intriguing thought.

  She was wearing lads’ clothing. If she thought it disguised her form, she was very much mistaken. Her full breasts, which fit so well in his hands in any number of fantasies, pressed against the lawn of the shirt. Her nicely rounded hips would make a corpse take notice. If she thought anyone save a blind man would be fooled, she was quite mistaken. And the blind man would very likely smell the intoxicating scent he associated solely with her.

  Her fiery red hair was barely contained by the cap and her curls were all but cascading beneath it. While he was too far away to see the brilliance of her sapphire blue eyes, her frown was all too visible. She was rather out of sorts with him. Which was fitting, since he was very much not in charity with her, either.

  In truth, he hadn’t been himself ever since meeting her. She’d had a singularly unsettling effect on him. Part of it was her unusual occupation with the Home Office. None of the females he associated with in London had anything approximating a profession. Well, other than the actresses, opera dancers and courtesans. The only lady he knew well with a respectable profession was Ned’s wife, Jane, who was the de facto surgeon in their shire. He respected Tara the same way he did his sister-in-law. But, thankfully, he didn’t want to pull Ned’s wife onto the nearest flat surface every time he saw her.

  Tara had curves – real curves – in all the right places. She had the most kissable lips he’d ever not kissed. And that rankled. At no point had the woman let him kiss her, nor indicated she was even interested in him that way. Arthur wasn’t conceited or, at least, not overly much, but as the son of a duke he’d never wanted for female company. Ladies of the ton tended to throw themselves at him and his brothers. But Tara Rennard had not shown the slightest sign that she might like even a kiss on the hand from him.

  He was going to have to rectify that.

  “Having a problem, Miss Rennard?” asked Arthur, once he was within speaking range. At the sound of his voice, Merlin tossed his head then began walking toward Arthur, despite Tara doing everything in her power to convince the horse to flee in the opposite direction. She finally gave up when the two horses were inches away from each other.

  “Your horse,” said the lady through gritted teeth, “is one of the most exasperating animals it has ever been my misfortune to….” She groaned as Merlin nudged Arthur with his great head in an obvious bid to be rubbed.

  “To what, Miss Rennard? To steal?” asked Arthur as the long fingers of his e
legant hand stroked Merlin’s head. “Just how many horses have you stolen?”

  “I did not ‘steal’ Merlin, as my note to you made perfectly clear. I simply ‘borrowed’ him until such time as I am able to return him to you. A task I am only too happy to perform right now, if you will kindly lend me the horse you’re riding in exchange.”

  “The horse I am currently riding is from Riverton’s stables. I hesitate trusting you with the marquess’s property given your criminal tendencies,” said Arthur, whose gaze had settled on how little her shirt disguised the underlying curves.

  “I do not have criminal tendencies, other than the overwhelming urge to shoot you,” she countered.

  That brought his gaze back up to hers. “Since I suspect those saddlebags contain any number of pistols to do the job, I am sufficiently chastened. But not enough to give you Riverton’s horse.”

  “But I would return Lord Riverton’s property as soon as possible. I am sure he’d be pleased to be of assistance to the Crown.”

  “I’m sure he’d be thrilled,” said Arthur, aware that dismounting to switch horses would make the state of his arousal quite clear. An arousal that began as soon as she came into range, then hardened painfully when he saw her in breeches.

  “Excellent,” she said. “Please convey my thanks to the marquess when you return.”

  “I was speaking in a sardonic manner. As someone whose very survival depends on understanding human behavior, you may want to mark the difference. Especially since you and I will be in close contact and, alas, I fear my sardonic side may appear once again. You can give Riverton your thanks when we see him again. But I am coming with you.”

  “Impossible, as I will not work with a civilian,” she said. Especially one that affects me like you do. Her insides had been acting peculiarly since she first caught sight of the exasperating man seated so elegantly on Riverton’s horse. The thought of continuing the journey with him was too overwhelming to even consider.

  “Then think of me as enlisted in your cause, but without having filled out all the relevant papers. What is your name? The real Tara Rennard is a distant relative of Riverton’s. But you are not she.”