Wicked Wager

by Beverley Eikli

  ‘No!’ He was passing on as if she were of no more interest than the old crone now speaking to his erstwhile companion. She swung round. ‘You must believe me. Someone tricked me and I have no idea why.’

  He hesitated and she waited; hope like a prisoner behind a door, ready to leap to life, to freedom, given the chance. Then he turned, fixing her with a beady stare, his voice as smooth as treacle. ‘So what are you to Harry Carstairs, Miss Rosington? I’m interested to know … and so is my sister Charlotte.’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head wildly. ‘He’s Raphael’s … friend.’ She blushed as she stumbled over the word. ‘I’ve met him only a few times.’

  ‘The first time being when you were discovered with him, half clothed in his drawing room, the second when I discovered you both naked in bed.’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘I was a prisoner. When I woke to see you in the doorway of that room I could only think it a nightmare.’

  Clearly, Lord Peregrine considered her response a charade. ‘But—very inconveniently for you, it was not. Sorry, Miss Rosington, but I’m not quite so prepared to dismiss what I saw with my very own eyes. Good evening.’

  ***

  Perry had a hard time keeping the pain from his voice, though it was easy enough to make clear his disgust.

  He wished Xenia hadn’t been so near. Clearly she’d observed the short exchange for she was at his side within a few seconds, her hand upon his sleeve as she purred, ‘Perry, darling, is that really Miss Rosington? I wonder how she dares to show her face—’

  She never finished her sentence, for a sudden commotion near the entrance to the ballroom drew everyone’s attention. Perry, who stood a head taller than many, was stunned when he saw the reason for the hush now descended upon the previously gregarious crowd.

  He hurried over, torn, for much as he disliked admitting it, his first instinct was to defend the apparently hapless Miss Rosington. She stood in the centre of a cleared space, staring at none other than Peregrine’s own sister, whose apparent progress down the sweeping staircase had been arrested a few steps from the bottom.

  Pity Miss Rosington or anyone else who earned Charlotte’s ire. His sister could be terrifying when moved to anger. Quickly, though, he reminded himself that he’d been made to look a fool. Miss Rosington’s contrived innocence and artless manner concealed a treachery that was difficult to fathom. Yes, he could believe she did not love her cousin, and that may well have accounted for her singling Perry out as a marital alternative. But her affair with Carstairs? What was that all about? It was impossible to say, but perhaps it was simply a convenient long-term arrangement and Carstairs had, after an inexplicable absence, returned—to Miss Rosington’s great joy. If Perry wasn’t so enraged, he’d demand she explain herself.

  In three days she’d be sailing across the seas for a new life and he’d never have to see or think of her again.

  That was what should sustain him.

  Charlotte’s voice was shrill. The entire assembly heard it. ‘How have you the gall to deny what three others testify to having seen? You’re the reason Mr Carstairs had to flee the country and you’re the reason he came back.’

  Revulsion at the public spectacle, as much as the painful words he was hearing, made Perry’s skin crawl. He was ashamed of Charlotte for allowing her passions to rule her, and equally disgusted at Miss Rosington for her part in all this.

  Making his way through the crowd to reach his sister’s side, he took her elbow, murmuring into her ear that she deport herself with more decorum if people weren’t to revile her as much as Miss Rosington.

  His sister pulled away, protesting loudly. ‘What does it matter what people think, when I’m to be hustled into Holy Orders. And why? Because I’ve been made to look the biggest fool and even my family can’t bear the shame.’

  ‘Holy Orders was your idea, Charlotte, and you know it,’ Perry muttered.

  He caught Miss Rosington’s eyes. She was pale and appeared shocked, staring about her as if she truly could not believe what was happening. If he didn’t feel so badly used, he might have felt sorry for her. Clearly, she’d thought nothing of playing with his heart, so why she should look at him in such a plaintive way he had no idea.

  ‘My friend Miss Robinson saw her, Perry. You know that? She saw her with Mr Carstairs.’ Charlotte gulped convulsively. ‘On several occasions, you must know.’

  She was babbling now, on the verge of tears. Perry gripped her elbow more firmly and started to lead her away. He was unable to resist a glance over his shoulder but wished he hadn’t, for clearly he was still dangerously susceptible to Miss Rosington’s allure, given the uncomfortable rush of sensation he experienced at the sight of Lord Ogilvy beside his betrothed. With a fierce glare at all those who remained goggle-eyed, the young man hissed, ‘Miss Rosington retains my regard.’

  ‘Then take her to Jamaica and keep her out of Harry’s way!’ Charlotte returned as she was led, weeping, towards the double doors by her brother, halting on the threshold to cry, ‘She’s ruined my life!’

  ***

  Trembling, Celeste allowed herself to be steered by Raphael through the throng via a back entrance and into the street where, to her surprise, his carriage was waiting to whisk her away from the scene of her shame. She didn’t understand any of it. It was like a sick nightmare, yet Raphael did not turn upon her vituperatively as she’d expected.

  He didn’t touch her either, once they were ensconced, but was quiet as he stared through the half-curtained windows at the moonlit sky. For a long time, the only sounds to be heard were the horses’ hooves striking the cobbles and the distant shouts of those going about their business.

  Finally Celeste whispered through lips that felt cold and thin, lips that would never know the heat of passion, ‘I’m not guilty of any of those awful charges.’ She felt disembodied from the girl she’d once been—the girl she’d once hoped to be—though she could feel herself shaking like one with the ague. She longed for the simple human contact of someone who understood her pain.

  ‘I know.’ Raphael did not touch her but the lack of opprobrium in his tone was both reassuring and unsettling.

  She darted a look at him but he remained silent, staring out of the window. Was he angry? Disgusted? Whatever he felt, he’d bottle the emotion until he unleashed it upon her at a more suitable moment. The thought was terrifying.

  ‘What will become of me?’ she finally asked. She’d been publicly branded an adulteress by Lord Peregrine’s sister, and no one had rushed to her defence. At best, Raphael’s had been half-hearted. Would she be blackballed by society, unable to hold her head up in polite company ever again?

  ‘Soon we sail to Jamaica. It doesn’t matter.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘You must put this painful ordeal behind you, Celeste. Our wedding takes place in three days. Tonight changes nothing.’

  Her mouth dropped open. Did he really believe that? Why, Celeste would not be able to show her face in respectable society without being the subject of whispers and innuendo—that’s if she were admitted through anyone’s front door from this evening onwards.

  She began to cry softly. ‘Raphael, what must you think? I am not guilty of the charges levelled upon me. I don’t understand any of it. I was lured to—’

  ‘And who do you think lured you, my dear?’

  She jerked her head up at the caramel tones. Raphael shook his head. ‘How many times do I have to imply the obvious? You were lured by someone who wished to see you destroyed, that is plain enough. But what might be their motivation?’ He shrugged then answered his own question. ‘Perhaps they believe you to be an unconscionable jezebel but lack the proof?’

  ‘No!’ Her hands flew to cover her ears. She refused to believe his insinuations but Raphael went on, ‘Why, it’s someone who already believes you guilty of involvement with Harry Carstairs, of course. Someone who despises you, my dear, though it pains me to say it. Someone who despises you enough to go to these elabo
rate lengths, so as to ensure you are blackened for the crime they couldn’t pin on you after you were first found consorting with Harry Carstairs.’

  ‘Lord Peregrine?’ His name scorched her throat, its sound bitter on her tongue. ‘I won’t believe it!’ He couldn’t … wouldn’t … have done such a thing!’ The connection between them had been so intense, so honest.

  ‘Yes, you were lured, Celeste, we both agree on that. But lured by whom? I wish you would accept the truth.’ He sighed, as if he were weary of the topic, his expression shuttered as he examined the half moons on his right hand. Raphael was as particular with his grooming as he was with surrounding himself with order. Right now Celeste was disturbing the precision of his life.

  She digested his painful allegation while she tried to read his face. But then, she’d never been able to read Raphael. Except when he was joyful. During the games they’d played as children she’d tried hard to make sure things went Raphael’s way, for life was so much more pleasant when Raphael didn’t lose. He’d take great risks—and deal out harsh consequences—to ensure his self-respect was not at risk; suffered no damage.

  Finally she broke the silence. ‘So you truly believe Lord Peregrine is behind this? That he believed his sister over me?’

  A nerve twitched at the corner of his mouth but he didn’t speak; didn’t look at her. Celeste was used to Raphael ignoring her when he was irked. Anger rose up in her breast. He would speak to her.

  She raised her chin defiantly. ‘You know I loved Lord Peregrine.’

  ‘Well, clearly Lord Peregrine loves his sister more.’ His mouth quirked. She could almost imagine her outburst amused him.

  However, the pain caused by Raphael’s assertion was eclipsed by his reaction. The man she was to spend the rest of her life with was not the slightest bit jealous that she had feelings for another. It gave her the strength to move beyond her inertia.

  The carriage took a sharp bend and she had to grip his arm to keep her balance. ‘Tell me you’re enraged that I could lose my heart to someone other than my intended—just as you’ve done, Raphael!’ she hissed.

  He sighed and pulled away. ‘A woman’s passions are easily excited. I do not condemn you for it, Celeste—certainly not after I pushed you in his direction for my own ends, granted.’ He looked unperturbed. ‘To be honest, it is much as I expected. I have little faith in the constancy of a woman’s heart, therefore it is no surprise that yours was snared by the first tolerably handsome stranger to glance in your direction. I’m sorry he proved so unworthy.’

  If possible her heart dislodged, pulled by gravity and devastation to slide even further downwards. She wanted to claw her fingers across Raphael’s marble-like cheeks. Anything, if it would draw some emotion from him. Heaving in a breath she gasped, ‘Unworthy? I at least have a greater understanding of human nature than you, for I won’t condemn him for what was put before his eyes.’

  Raphael shrugged. ‘I am hurt by your insinuations that I am unfeeling. Surely I’m being remarkably forgiving given that you were—as you’ve just corroborated—obviously enticed into a compromising situation by the man with whom, I surmise, you intended to have a secret affair behind my back.’

  Celeste winced, for Raphael spoke a truth that hardly reflected well on her. She began to speak but was halted as a great illuminating truth descended upon her, joy surging through her as she cried, ‘Why, it was you, wasn’t it, Raphael? You are behind this?’ Why had she dismissed her vague doubts of earlier? The conclusion was obvious.

  Despite the horror in which she was embroiled, she felt joyful. Yes, joyful; for now she was sure that Lord Peregrine had been as duped as she. Feverishly, she went over the implications. First she must make clear to Lord Peregrine that Raphael had set her up and then enticed his lordship to see what would only disgust him. Oh, how she loathed Raphael in that moment, but what did it matter when she had only to tell Lord Peregrine the truth and he’d …

  She stopped, biting her lip and looking shocked at the little fan she’d snapped when common sense intruded. What would Lord Peregrine do? Even if he could be made to believe she wasn’t guilty, what would he do? Celeste pocketed the damaged fan, staring at her embroidered shoes peeping from beneath the hem of her pink and blue brocade dress. She refused to abandon hope. If Lord Peregrine were the honourable man she believed him, he would do all he could to salvage her reputation.

  Might he even marry her still?

  She was unprepared for Raphael’s crushing response; his soft sigh followed by the tone of regret. ‘My dear Celeste, I believe that in this moment I actually feel sorry for you.’ His expression was implacable, his blue eyes cold, his mouth thin, transporting her to her childhood when Celeste was nothing but an empty-headed girl trying to keep up with her superior cousin.

  ‘Why would I wish to see my own intended wife tarnished in the eyes of the world, even if we are to leave the country?’ He shook his head. ‘Anger that you should go so far to follow your passions might motivate me to exact a more private revenge, but why would I elicit Harry Carstairs as the instrument of your shame, and do so publicly? Just think on it, my dear … Who has greatest to gain from seeing you shamed? Me? Lord no, not when I am to wed you within the week. Or Lord Peregrine, who believes you guilty of shameless conduct and was clearly frustrated at being unable to prove it?’ He touched her shoulder briefly. ‘Let’s not waste time worrying over what’s done already. Later, after you have slept, Harry can tell you what he knows of all this.’

  Celeste ran a hand across her pallid forehead. Dully she asked, ‘Have you seen Harry?’ The man I woke to find in my bed? The man who was complicit in ruining me after I saved his skin at your request all those weeks ago? Of course, it served no purpose to say this. It would only whip up Raphael’s ire, and her life would be a good deal easier if she kept her head down and accepted everything that suited Raphael.

  ‘I have made arrangements to see him tomorrow.’

  Tears pricked at her eyelids. ‘Won’t you tell me how it was that he …?’

  ‘Your chastity is preserved, even if your reputation is not. However, that will not matter once we’re in Jamaica. I’m sorry, Celeste, but let us consider the matter closed.’

  Silently she digested this. ‘Why are you keeping secrets from me, Raphael? I have been ill used, and I accept that I can’t change what’s happened. But surely I deserve to know why.’

  Raphael looked at her with pity. ‘It’s true that I do not love you, Celeste. But nor will I deliver you a truth which puts your life in jeopardy.’

  ***

  A plethora of emotions stormed through Peregrine as he watched Miss Rosington escorted from the ballroom on the arm of her betrothed. Righteous anger, though, was quickly succeeded by simple pain at the depth of her betrayal.

  All the time she’d pretended she was in love with Perry, she’d been consorting secretly with Harry Carstairs.

  Why?

  His grief in that moment was almost debilitating, though why he should feel it so keenly, he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t as if he’d done more than kiss her several times. She should not have got under his skin in so short a time.

  Xenia glided up to him, Charlotte clinging to her arm. His sister had pulled away earlier as he’d exhorted her to leave but now she was back with Xenia, his old friend saying crisply, ‘I think it’s time your poor sister should be escorted home. She’s been through a great deal tonight and it appears you can do more for her, Perry, than I can.’

  Guiltily Perry acknowledged he’d shirked is filial responsibilities in the weeks since Charlotte had been jilted by Harry Carstairs. Observing that his sleeve was quite damp from the girl’s tears, he tried to put aside his own misery. Charlotte was to have married Harry Carstairs; Perry’s disappointment was not on such a scale.

  He checked himself. Yes, it was. With each meeting, Miss Rosington had occupied an increasing proportion of his mental energy. What had begun as a wager had quickly turned into a delightfu
l diversion. Yet the connection between them had been instant and the strength of it had made him reassess his views on matrimony.

  And he’d offered for her. With his heart in his mouth he had asked the most important question a man could ask and his joy had known no bounds when she’d accepted.

  Peregrine had never seriously considered marriage before. Now he was convinced he’d never entertain the idea again.

  Not after having been betrayed in such a manner.

  Yes, betrayed, just as Charlotte had been, and had he not taken it upon himself to avenge Charlotte’s shame—only to be duped by the very woman who claimed, herself, to have been duped—he would be happily enjoying his bachelorhood, as before.

  ‘You know Miss Rosington and Mr Carstairs planned to elope tomorrow night.’ Xenia’s eyes danced as she waited for Perry’s reaction while they crossed the ballroom. ‘Yes, Perry, she planned to elope the very night you’d intended inviting her into your bedchamber. Oh, don’t pretend that wasn’t your plan.’ Xenia tapped his shoulder playfully with her fan. ‘Not that she was going to sleep with you. You should know that, for her maid reported to my good Annie that Miss Rosington was overheard hatching the plan with Harry Carstairs, to do what she had to in order to gain access to your bedchamber and reclaim that which Harry needed in order to make good his escape.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ He spoke woodenly, as if he felt no emotion, while inside his heart was an emasculated wreck. ‘What do I possess that would be sufficient to drive Miss Rosington to such extremes?’

  Charlotte had strayed a little distance away and Xenia put out her hand to draw her back. His sister looked as if she might collapse upon the spot. ‘As you’re not attending to me, Perry, I shall take your sister home. She needs more than you can offer her right now.’

  Absently he agreed with this, while in his mind he went over the similarities between his situation and Charlotte’s. What an elaborate plan, though the truth had been so simple. It had been just as he had thought from the first: Miss Rosington and Harry were lovers.