Wicked Wager

by Beverley Eikli

  She dropped her gaze. ‘In a little over a week I set sail for Jamaica.’

  ‘There’s not much time. Truly, Celeste, I cannot bear the thought that you shall be parted from me.’

  Her smooth shoulders shrugged out of his grasp as she stepped back, shaking her head. ‘I am to be married, my lord. Much as it’s true I …’ she swallowed, clearly finding the words difficult to say, ‘desire to enjoy more of your attentions, I do have some honour. Raphael is to be my husband and I must submit to my duty towards him alone.’

  ‘Submit. What an ugly word.’ Pulling her close once more, he rested his chin against the jaunty straw hat nestled in her coiffure, his thoughts in turmoil. She couldn’t leave, just like that. It was not possible that his heart had been so engaged; that he, a grown man and a rake to boot, should be acting like a smitten schoolboy, unable to accept the departure or defection of his apparently one true love.

  ‘Celeste, I can’t let you go.’ It was true. The notion left him bereft. Ridiculously, surprisingly so. ‘And you’ve said you don’t want to leave. What if I could offer you an alternative—’

  ‘I will not be your mistress, my lord!’

  His mouth dropped open as she flung out of his embrace. Surely she must have seen this was the last thing he was proposing. But he was well and truly put in his place, and it took him a moment to reconcile the truth of what he felt in this moment with the manner in which he was publicly painted. It took him a moment to gather himself before he said with quiet intensity, ‘You believe that a man with a reputation such as I is incapable of making an honourable offer?’

  She contemplated his words. Lord, but she had the face of an angel, he thought, with lips and limbs like Venus. Now, though, he really was acting like a mooncalf. He gave himself a mental shake so as to attend to what she was saying.

  ‘Your reputation as a rake is known throughout London, my lord. I heard of it long before I met you.’

  ‘A rake with scruples,’ he muttered, feeling uncomfortable.

  Her slow, spreading smile truly warmed his heart, and he knew with even greater certainty that he had to have her, if she could make him feel redemption was within reach under circumstances like this.

  ‘Raphael didn’t trust me with you when he saw me go.’ Her lovely mouth quirked. ‘I didn’t want to meet you either when I knew how little I trusted myself.’

  Her words caught him by surprise and he glanced over his shoulder, for a moment wondering if this were a trap and he were about to be emasculated by a furious Lord Ogilvy.

  Half laughing, the wonderful girl opposite reached across the distance between them and gripped his wrists. ‘Raphael doesn’t care about anything beyond my getting the locket. I’m not sure why it’s so important, or if it’s even just a test he’s set me. But that was the entire purpose behind my coming, and my lord, for all your wonderful words, the truth is I can’t see you again.’ She looked so sad as she dropped his hands and took a step towards the light, her head bowed, as if she truly had the weight of the world to carry. Stopping at the threshold she smiled at him over her shoulder, ‘I don’t expect you to give it to me, my lord, but you have no idea how much easier my life would be if I could deliver Harry’s locket to Raphael.’

  Unconsciously his hand was already closing around the item inside his coat pocket, while his mind was in turmoil. Was this really what everything was about? A tawdry ingot of gold that signified who knew what but meant nothing to Peregrine.

  And everything … for without it he was of no interest to the woman he now knew he wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything.

  Slowly he held it out, the disappointment in his breast spreading throughout his body and weighing him down. ‘The locket is yours, Miss Rosington …’ He took a difficult breath. ‘With no conditions attached.’

  She was surprised, her smile eager and laden with gratitude as she hurried back a few steps to take it. She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to thank him, but he cut in, the words too important, too fuelled with urgency to be held back.

  ‘I do however have one request, Miss Rosington. Before you go I would like …’ He stumbled over his words, knowing she already had her sights on the door and that within moments she’d be gone. Perhaps forever.

  And he couldn’t bear that.

  ‘Miss Rosington, my request is that I see you again, for the truth is I can’t bear to let you go … like this.’ He startled, possibly as surprised as she was. Reaching out to draw her gently back towards him, his heart rate quickened and his palms tingled with the fear of what her response might be to the most outrageous question he was ever likely to ask.

  ‘Go on, Lord Peregrine.’

  He needed no further urging. The words that had tumbled about his brain just a second ago now formed coherence and a great sense of calm banished his turmoil.

  Yes, this was the right thing … the one thing that was guaranteed to bring him happiness and a deep contentment during the years that stretched ahead. How could he have hesitated before now?

  She was waiting expectantly and he wouldn’t disappoint her.

  Clearing his voice he said quietly, ‘Miss Rosington, I didn’t realise until you told me you were leaving the country how much your departure would affect me. Quite frankly, I don’t think I can bear the idea that I’ll never see you again.’ He considered her, a deep sense of pleasure seeping through him to watch her surprise turn to something he truly hoped was anticipation. His own anticipation threatened to swamp him and he struggled to keep his voice steady as he went on, ‘The only way that I can ensure that doesn’t happen, Miss Rosington, is to make you a respectable offer.’ Lord, but he hoped this was up to scratch. He’d never made a respectable offer to anyone before. Certainly he’d made roguish offers that had been roundly rejected and earned him a slap about the face. Those hadn’t mattered.

  But an offer that was sufficiently compelling and delivered with the right degree of gravitas was suddenly more important than any proposition he’d ever uttered.

  He certainly had her attention and her expression filled him with hope. But he’d not finished.

  ‘My desire to secure my happiness with you is, I realise, more important than anything else in my life has ever been. Please, Miss Rosington, I’m asking if you’ll marry me.’

  A great joy began to overtake him as he contemplated the possibilities of a shared future with this lovely, innocent creature. She, too, was smiling at him like a veritable angel.

  Then suddenly her interested look turned inwards, and with sinking heart he realised a woman of such purity and virtue would not wish to throw in her lot with a man of his character.

  Yet when she replied her reasons were not quite along these lines, although she failed to address them adequately, to his mind.

  ‘Lord Peregrine, you do me the greatest honour. It’s what I’ve desired up until this very moment, but now I realise the futility of such dreams.’ Her mouth trembled and tears gathered in her eyes. ‘It’s simply not possible.’

  ‘Not possible?’ He pushed back his shoulders and stared down at her, indignation swamping him. How could she think of rejecting him? Why? He’d never honoured a woman like this before.

  Ashamed, he realised his inner rake had taken over; this may be the very reason she chose to continue on her current, perhaps safer, path.

  Still, he had to push her for a reason while trying to persuade her. ‘Miss Rosington, I desire above all else to marry you, and you’ve just admitted you desired me; that you wished for such an outcome. How, then, is a union between us not possible?’

  He waited, ready to counter any reason she might have, for he was determined now.

  She hung her head and her shoulders slumped. ‘For so long I’ve begged Raphael to release me from our contract, even though there were no other contenders, and knowing he does not, and will never, love me. But he has always refused.’

  ‘You are not his wife yet. You don’t need his approval.’ If this were all, it
could be easily fixed. But she’d not yet indicated the extent of her feelings for him and suddenly nothing was more important that he be assured that what was in her heart echoed the desperate roiling to be together that churned in his.

  ‘You’ve not told me you would accept me … if I could arrange matters with Lord Ogilvy and your uncle.’

  ‘Oh, but I would—’

  ‘And you love me? As I love you? For I do, Miss Rosington … Celeste. Indeed I do!’

  ‘Yes!’

  He would have kissed her again had he not heard voices on the other side of the door and been reminded that time was of the essence. ‘Then I shall consult with your uncle and a contract pleasing to all will be drawn up.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘Whatever terms he has made with Raphael, I shall ensure my offer trumps your cousin’s.’

  ‘You make it sound as if I’m the spoils of a game of hazard,’ she observed sadly, shaking her head. ‘No, my lord, there is no chance matters will run in your favour, for Raphael has too much invested in marrying me. Please do not press me on my reasons, but the truth is that I realise now my cousin will hound me to the ends of the earth to ensure that I do my duty by him; that is, that I honour my promise and marry him—as I’m due to do in just a few short days.’

  The more she objected the more determined Peregrine became that he would have her.

  ‘Miss Rosington, you have captivated me. Entranced me. The idea that I will wake up in a week, knowing I will never see you again, is untenable.’

  The voices of the others in the gallery, which had become muted with distance, now grew louder, signalling the need for even greater urgency. He caught her by the hands, pulling her quickly away from the door as he said in a low, hurried voice, ‘Then we shall elope. In three days’ time I can secure a Special Licence and make the necessary arrangements. You say you’d marry me if it were not for your fear of your cousin making your life intolerable. Well, Dearheart, in three days’ time you shall be my wife and there’ll not be anything he can do about it. What do you say?’

  She stared up at him, the fear in her eyes slowly turning to luminescent delight while his own heart beat out a joyful tattoo to witness the transformation that, yes, he had effected.

  ‘I accept, Lord Peregrine.’

  He wanted to swoop down and kiss her once more, but first he needed to ensure he’d covered every contingency.

  ‘I will contact you as soon as I have something secured,’ he told her, thinking as he spoke. He gripped her hands tight and held them to his lips, punctuating his sentences with kisses upon her knuckles. ‘Have a small bag packed with your valuables at the ready, in case it’s not possible to take your trunk in the first instance. Tomorrow I shall write to you with an address. In all probability it will be easier if you pretend you are taking your maid to visit an acquaintance, therefore I shall choose a respectable meeting place at a respectable time. I do not wish to chance your reputation by whisking you off in the middle of the night.’

  ‘You are most thoughtful, my lord.’ Her mouth trembled with suppressed laughter and her eyes danced, and as he gazed upon the delightful reordering of her features he felt an overwhelming happiness, accompanied by a spear of lust.

  Perhaps she was thinking what a surprise turn of events this marriage offer was compared with the illicit night of passion she must have suspected he’d originally planned.

  Certainly his mind was consumed by the night of passion now so imminent, and so worth waiting for.

  Their wedding night.

  ***

  And indeed, when Celeste’s legs buckled under her as she took a seat in the drawing room of her aunt’s townhouse later that afternoon and accepted a dish of tea, her mind was wholly occupied with wicked thoughts of what it really would be like to be Lord Peregrine’s wife, not Raphael’s.

  She was finally stirred to more a robust awareness of her surroundings by the arrival of Raphael, who swept into the elegantly appointed room like a sleek black cat, tossing his tricorne hat onto a nearby footstool before taking her free hand and brushing the back of it with his lips.

  She tried not to recoil.

  ‘How pleasant to see you,’ she lied, tensing as she prepared for his inevitable inquisition.

  He ignored the pleasantry. ‘How did you find Romney’s portraits?’ He pulled away, raking his hand through his queue, his pinched handsome face showing his strain as he paced before the fire with his usual restlessness.

  She knew he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in whether she’d enjoyed them or otherwise, though she was concerned he might have had her trailed.

  Still, she’d not behaved with immodesty in public; so even if Mary had been quizzed, the girl could honestly say her mistress had met Lord Peregrine at the studio, and farewelled him there, too.

  She opened her mouth, still unsure what words to utter, for she did not know how much Raphael knew of her movements, when he cut in.

  ‘Lord Peregrine is clearly taken with you. Did you succeed in drawing information from him?’ His thoughts were obviously focused on Harry, not Celeste. ‘Perhaps you entertain the same suspicions I do over Lord Peregrine’s involvement. He met the Batavia when Harry was disembarking, and Harry was one of only a handful of gentlemen passengers onboard. Perhaps Lord Peregrine had him followed to the lawyer’s, and what he learned there prompted him to have a hand in what happened later? Did you think there was more he wasn’t telling you, Celeste? Is it possible Lord Peregrine could in some way be responsible for what happened to Harry? That he sent the cutthroats, perhaps, or is in fact holding Harry himself?’

  Celeste hoped Raphael’s preoccupation with these various conspiracies was enough to draw his attention from the indignation she was unable to hide. What a ridiculous notion, that Lord Peregrine was involved with Harry’s plight.

  Raphael swung round to look at her once more, a faint smile marring his handsome face. ‘But mayhap these are matters he’s only prepared to divulge with a little more … persuasion. After all, a rake such as Lord Peregrine is used to enjoying the audience of a beautiful woman. No doubt you are simply one more conquest for him. And Lord Peregrine obviously hasn’t an inkling of your real interest in Harry Carstairs.’

  He moved behind her, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he lay his hand on her shoulder and bent to whisper in her ear, making her squirm in discomfort. Raphael knew more than she did. But Lord Peregrine involved in wrongdoing? No, certainly not that. He wanted to marry her. He was sincere. She might not be the experienced jade he’d thought her when he first pursued her, but she had no doubt about his sincerity in this important matter.

  Struggling for inspiration, Celeste cast about for what snippets that might satisfy Raphael. What could she tell her betrothed that would make him retreat, leave her alone, drop his hand from her shoulder this moment? Release her forever.

  Or at least for the next couple of days so she could wait in peace for the letter that would arrive from …

  Her future husband, Lord Peregrine.

  She put her hand to her heart to still its wild palpitations, though pretending languid boredom while her mind raced for an answer that would solve her current distress.

  ‘Lord Peregrine was disappointing when it came to information regarding Harry’s exact whereabouts; however, it would appear that Harry has ….’

  Even in her self-imposed darkness she was acutely aware of Raphael, tense and waiting. He was like a coiled spring or the bow of an arrow drawn back, ready to leap to life the moment she satisfied him with her response.

  ‘… Communicated.’

  Celeste stared into the dregs of her tea, immediately wishing she’d thought of something else to tell him as she tried to dampen her restless excitement. Why this? A lie she could not substantiate? It had been prompted by foolish desperation when she was surely cleverer than that.

  Yet she’d had to think of something. She was not rid of Raphael’s hold over her, and until that time she needed reasons up her sleeve for
her cousin to sanction future freedom.

  ‘He’s sent a letter?’ Raphael smoothed the snowy linen at his neck, his voice infused with sudden pleasure as he began to pace once more. ‘Then he’s not dead?’ At the window embrasure he flung round, his countenance so radiant with joy that Celeste nearly wilted in the face of it, knowing how consumed with rage he’d be when he learned of her treachery.

  Oh Lord, but she was so ready to escape him.

  ‘And Lord Peregrine gave me … this.’ She swallowed, holding out the locket.

  In two strides Raphael was before her, towering over the little gilt chair Celeste occupied and staring down at her open palm.

  ‘This is … incredible, Celeste.’ He held out his hand for the locket then, frowning, began to study it, both on the outside and the inside. His voice was full of wonder. ‘Why, my dear, you have achieved a success I’d strongly doubted. I was certain his lordship would place certain … conditions upon its return.’

  He quirked an eyebrow and his lips twitched. ‘I shall not ask if you were forced to trade a kiss at Romney’s studio, Celeste. I had you followed, you know, but nothing untoward could have occurred during such a brief interlude.’ His smile grew wider as he gazed upon the locket. ‘So Harry is alive and well, yet you have not told me how he has communicated and from whom you received the information. Lord Peregrine, I presume. Well, I shall soon find Harry and then you and I will be married, and Harry will accompany us to Jamaica. Joy will be in the ascendant and no more will I subject you to the dangers this unconscionable libertine Lord Peregrine poses.’

  Celeste was unable to meet Raphael’s inquisitorial gaze. ‘Lord Peregrine gave the locket to me … as a token … of what else he’s prepared to tell me, knowing my interest.’

  Raphael stilled. His look narrowed and his voice dropped. ‘And what did you suggest to Lord Peregrine was your interest?’