Wicked Wager

by Beverley Eikli

  But when his lips touched hers he felt no spark. No flare of desire. No tingling of his fingertips or heat surging to his groin. None of the feelings that had swamped him when Miss Rosington’s sweet breath had caressed his heated cheek before her lips had melted beneath his.

  ‘My darling, I’ve waited so long for this.’ Xenia’s lust-laden whisper did nothing to elevate his need. He wanted to want her. It would be as much punishment as satiation. Like an automaton he caressed the bosom she bared to him, but the feel of her creamy flesh only served to heighten the disgust he felt for himself.

  ‘What is it?’ Xenia’s question was a drawl of unconcern. ‘If it’s someone on the path, what do we care? We’ll draw closer to the shadows.’

  As he gazed upon her, eyes closed, her lips moist and parted in lustful abandon, Perry wondered how he’d ever desired Xenia. She was a husk of a human. He’d always known her capacity for cruelty; perhaps it’s why Miss Rosington proved so refreshing. Right now Perry yearned for the milk of human goodness. Of the kind Miss Rosington exuded.

  And now Miss Rosington was to waste herself on another husk of a human. A man who quite possibly had used her as badly as Xenia had. Miss Rosington had warmth and strength and honour, but that counted for nothing when she was positioned as she was: a pawn in the lives of others who would use her as it pleased them.

  ‘Perry?’ Xenia opened one eye and frowned. Even the soft moonlight couldn’t hide the grooves of displeasure that marred her expression and highlighted her essential hardness. ‘Perry, where are you going?’ The lazy drawl was replaced by panic. Perhaps she read his feelings. Perhaps he was not so inscrutable after all.

  ‘I’m sorry, Xenia.’ He shook his head as he took another step backwards. ‘I can’t do this.’ He prised her fingers off him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She could not believe that he no longer desired her; that the curl of his lip and the dull light in his eye represented the alienation he felt towards what she was, what she represented.

  But she wasn’t stupid and it didn’t take long before her confusion turned to an emotion far more predictable than devastation.

  Anger. That was always Xenia’s preserve. She was not used to being denied what she wanted and she wasn’t about to let Peregrine go without a fight. Not without him feeling the lash of her tongue and the heat occasioned by any slight upon her dignity.

  She drew herself up and advanced with all the stealth of a she-lion, a creature Perry knew was as ferocious and dangerous as she was impressive in elegance and hunting prowess.

  ‘You’ve always wanted me, Perry. So what has changed? It’s that lily-livered little Miss Rosington with her cheeseparing ways and her cloying innocence, isn’t it?’ Her face was a mask of hatred.

  Perry shook his head. Of course he’d deny it. He’d do what he had to in order to protect Miss Rosington, for she did not need another reason for Xenia to hate her. No, Xenia had never hated her. She had used her, pretending that she hated her for a crime she’d known all along she had not committed.

  Xenia’s lips bared in a rictus of a sneer. ‘You wanted her but you didn’t get her. Now all you can think about are her creamy, virginal wares? Because that’s the kind of man you are, Perry. You’re low and vile. Like me. You don’t deserve her and you know it.’

  ‘Yes, I know it. But I deserve you, Xenia. Because, as you so rightly pointed out, you are low and vile. Like me. Shallow and heartless. We’re two of a kind. We’d deal well together. The trouble is, I’ve lost the stomach for simply existing as a worthless creature without any redeeming qualities.’ He arrested her flailing arms, gripping her wrists, shaking his head as he added, ‘Don’t lose your temper now, my dear. There are too many people to witness it. I’m sure that when my remorse has well and truly worn off I shall be begging to share your bed.’

  She tried to wrench her arm free and slap him. Instead she had to satisfy herself with a gob of saliva that landed on his cheek, which he merely wiped off with the back of his hand while he shook his head in pretended sorrow.

  ‘We are all creatures of our birth, Xenia. You might parade yourself as a lady, but the truth will always out.’

  ‘How dare you!’ she hissed.

  He did not stay to hear more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Celeste didn’t care about the nearby voices or the fact her nocturnal wandering would be a cause for even greater shame. Alone and determined, she trod the path towards the river. She’d barely been alone outdoors other than in her own garden her entire life. This was a rare freedom, and a welcome retreat from the heat and hostility indoors. The moment her aunt had been waylaid she’d taken advantage of her opportunity. What did it matter if she were discovered cavorting naked with a footman on the grassy slope? Her reputation couldn’t be in worse tatters. There might even be some satisfaction in having something for which to be honestly condemned.

  Goodness, though, wasn’t that Lady Busselton’s husky purr? The sight of that evil woman disappearing into the gardens with Lord Peregrine earlier had made her want to scratch her eyes out. Well, they deserved each other. She tried to console herself with the thought, but it was hard when the pain of Lord Peregrine’s heartless agenda kept intruding like shards of glass piercing her heart. How the two of them must have laughed as she, a naïve little maiden, had played right into their hands.

  She stopped. If that was Lady Busselton she heard then she had no wish to venture closer. Swinging round, she started off at right angles, hoping to reach the sanctuary of a copse of small saplings before she was observed, though the couple she could make out just off the path did seem very preoccupied with one another. The woman’s heavy breathing and slight moan made her almost retch. If it was them, she hated them both. Together they’d hatched a plan to bring about her ruin, and because it suited Raphael he’d not championed her. Perhaps he’d even been part of it. She still was in the dark.

  Fresh desolation washed over her. Everyone was only too happy to believe the lies. They didn’t care that she would soon disappear to Jamaica, never to return. Celeste had never felt more alone in her life, though it was a feeling with which she was becoming increasingly acquainted.

  By the time she’d reached a copse of trees a little further away, she stopped and turned; to her surprise she’d covered some distance, and her evil nemesis had detached herself from her amorous dalliance and was now standing on the little pier at the water’s edge.

  From further up the slope, Celeste watched her dispassionately. The moonlight glinted on the woman’s cloth of blue and silver, the fine thread with which it was woven gleaming. Gleaming like her gloating smile, no doubt, Celeste thought, as shards of impotent fury coursed through her.

  This woman was at the root of her unhappiness: her ruin, and the fact she would travel to a new world more dissatisfied than she had been before she’d discovered love.

  Though whether love on one side only constituted the full definition of the word was debatable.

  A soft footfall made her swing around from where she stood on the gravel path that zigzagged down the side of the hill, gazing at Lady Busselton in the distance.

  ‘Lord Peregrine!’

  His expression one she couldn’t immediately identify.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said as she cowered, caught between fear yet at the same time disarmed by another emotion, ‘though God knows, I deserve that you should look at me like that,’ he whispered as he closed the gap between them, snatching her hand and pulling her into the cover of nearby trees.

  ‘I shan’t go with you, my lord!’ Celeste tried to pull away. ‘I saw you and Lady Busselton just now. I know about the wager you made with her to ruin me. God knows, everyone does.’

  ‘Except that I didn’t ruin you.’ His grip on her wrist did not relax until they were beneath a spreading elm and he’d put both his hands on her shoulders. She could barely see his face but she heard sincerity in his voice. Ha! He was a master of deception. Hadn’t she fol
lowed him like a little lamb to the slaughter?

  She was breathing heavily though they’d only covered a few steps. Holding her hand to breast, she ground out, ‘My ruin is a mystery to me, though it suits Raphael well enough to see me cowed and biddable. Not that as his wife I could be any other way.’

  ‘You do not wish to know why you were lured to Harry Carstairs, or why?’

  She jerked her head up. ‘You’re prepared to tell me now, are you? On the eve of my wedding you’ll grant me a tiny slice of the truth?’ Her misery was like a heavy cloak weighing her down. Like poisonous sludge in her veins. ‘Why? So I may have the greater comfort of knowing that while all the world believes me a faithless jezebel, you, who ruined me, can furnish me with a little more of the amusing background?’

  ‘Celeste, listen …’

  ‘You have no right to address me so familiarly after all you’ve done!’ she shot back. ‘Even when you prepared to lure me to your bed with false promises of marriage, you had enough respect to address me correctly. God punish me, for I confess that even without a marriage offer I was prepared to play the part of jezebel with you.’

  She stepped back but found herself against the trunk of a tree. Tensing as his breath heated her temple, she cringed away from him as he muttered, his face close to hers, ‘Celeste, there’s not much time. After tonight I won’t see you again. You’ll marry Raphael and I will let you go, but only because I know I do not deserve you.’ His breathing was laboured, the workings of his face suggesting some inner turmoil. Guilt? Well, he deserved to feel it but she was not going to forgive him just to ease his burden. She winced as he gripped her shoulder. ‘Celeste, you need to know a few things, even if it’s only so you won’t despise me quite so much. I know how bitterness can eat away at one’s soul; and yours, Celeste, is pure and untainted.’

  ‘How can you say that? Look at me now!’ She pressed her fingertips into her eyes to stem the tears, staring at him in the dim light. ‘Who sent me the note which lured me to Harry Carstairs’ address? You did! So you could win your dirty little wager with your … your lover, Lady Busselton. Do you think I have no ears? No eyes? That I am such a fool as to believe that you are not the villain in all this?’

  He stopped her tirade with a kiss, pulling her suddenly into his arms and covering her mouth with his, and instantly the poisonous sludge in her veins flowered into joy, pulsing through her body to allow her one final brief moment of elation. Oh, she couldn’t deny it was a good deal more pleasant than shrieking her pain like a harpy, yet he was toying with her now, just as he always had.

  ‘Good God!’ he yelped, eyes wide with shock as he leapt back, holding his injured lip.

  ‘You weren’t expecting that, were you?’ she hissed, turning on her heel and adding over her shoulder, ‘Goodnight, Sir Peregrine, may you continue to reap such similar rewards from all the unkindness and poison you and your viperous lady friend are responsible for in the world.’

  No, he was not expecting that. With admiration, he watched her disappear gracefully around the bend in the gravel path.

  It was so true. He didn’t deserve her. But he certainly wished he did.

  ***

  It was an extraordinary sensation to feel so powerful. Celeste wasn’t used to it, so it was perhaps the reason she didn’t simply stand on the grassy slope and allow desolation and self-pity to wash over her as she stared at Lady Busselton, who had remained staring across the river from the jetty, no doubt waiting for her lover to come to her.

  It was equally extraordinary to feel rage to this extent. Like a tide, it surged through her, fuelling her with courage and propelling her down the slope, each step she took banishing the caution and duty drummed into her over a lifetime.

  Not that such obedience had done her the slightest good, she reflected as she closed the distance between her and the woman who’d taken such pleasure in destroying her life. No doubt Celeste would pay for the folly of engaging Lord Peregrine’s lover in a full confrontation, but right now it would be catharsis.

  Lady Busselton turned when she heard her muted footsteps on the jetty, her features reordering themselves from wistful into an expression of gloating. She clearly recognised easy pickings when presented in the form of a defenceless young woman.

  Her critical gaze raked Celeste in one dismissive gesture, ending at her feet.

  ‘Your shoes are ruined, Miss Rosington.’ Her mouth twisted into an ugly smile. ‘Ruined … like you.’

  Ruined? Well, that didn’t make her defenceless and right now Celeste felt as dangerous and powerful as the she-cat before her. What’s more, she had right on her side.

  Lady Busselton raised a languid arm to pat a perfectly pomaded curl and drawled, ‘Trysting with yet another lover, Miss Rosington, on the eve of your wedding? Why, you’re more brazen than I thought.’

  Celeste struggled to remain calm as she raised her eyes from her exquisitely embroidered high-heeled shoes, now damp with dew and mud and, yes, all but destroyed. She’d never hated anyone as she hated this woman, with her simpering smile hiding her secret satisfaction that she’d snared Lord Peregrine and ruined Celeste in the process.

  Celeste drew in a breath for courage, skimming the outline of her cloth of gold skirts. ‘Now that you have won your wager, Lady Busselton, I’m curious. I hoped you could help answer a few questions. Obviously you have been very cunning.’

  Perhaps pandering to this woman’s vanity was a better approach.

  Lady Busselton smiled, the warmth not reaching her eyes. ‘Cleverer than you, Miss Rosington. But no doubt you’ve gained in worldliness lately. I’ve done you a favour, you know. Lord Peregrine would have eaten you for breakfast and spat you out once he’d had his pleasure.’

  ‘Ah, so there’s comfort in the fact I’m ruined only in the eyes of the world rather than in truth, is there?’ Celeste’s nostrils flared as she fought to keep her voice level. ‘You knew there was nothing behind my dealings with Mr Carstairs the night Miss Paige caught us together. It was just a convenient excuse for this … campaign against me. You traded on your friendship with Lord Peregrine’s sister, pretending concern for her, hence the need to find the man who’d thrown her over, purely as justification to propose your outrageous wager with Lord Peregrine.’

  ‘And how amusing, my dear Miss Rosington, that you engineered your own downfall ultimately without either of us having to raise a finger or dirty our hands.’ Lady Busselton pursed her lips in amusement.

  Her arrogance was incredible. Celeste felt another surge of hatred seep through her like poison and longed to run her fingernails down the white, evil, smiling mask that taunted her.

  ‘I know that you have wanted Lord Peregrine for a long time.’ Though Celeste had nothing definite with which to charge Lady Busselton, she intended to keep talking; and she would do so for as long as it took to gain the satisfaction of a full confession. Lady Busselton was too arrogant not to succumb and Celeste, for her own peace of mind, had to tease out the real reasons for this woman’s actions; otherwise she’d go to Jamaica, and her grave, wondering how her life could have been ruined for a mere wager.

  There was so much more to it than that. There had to be. Like who had forced Harry Carstairs against his will to be discovered in bed with a woman? He didn’t even like women.

  And why had Raphael participated in this wager so ruinous to his intended? Surely not only to make his beloved Harry appear more manly? That didn’t make sense when they were all leaving England within the week.

  Celeste bit her lip and though she spoke slowly, her thoughts raced. ‘Lord Peregrine wanted you, and it gave you great satisfaction to know it through two husbands. But that was too easy, and as you were bored you suggested the wager as a reason to avenge Lord Peregrine’s sister.’

  ‘It didn’t take much for you to fulfil your necessary role and take the bait, did it? I daresay you’re not in the habit of garnering the admiration of sophisticated older men, are you?’

  Her se
lf-containment enraged Celeste. Yet she sensed Lady Busselton was hiding a secret. There had to be more than she’d confessed, though the woman’s implacable smile was giving nothing away.

  ‘You challenged Lord Peregrine to seduce me, supposedly to avenge his sister, but when you saw that his heart was truly engaged by me you had to put an end to it, didn’t you?’ Edgily, she studied the woman’s face, while the litany of why? chased itself around her head. Surely the real reason for the wager was at the heart of everything? That was what Lady Busselton was guarding. In the meantime, however, Celeste chose the safety of pursuing a line that would enable Lady Busselton to gloat over her mastery of the situation.

  ‘Therefore you persuaded Lord Peregrine to send me that note in order to entice me to Mr Carstairs’ home. You persuaded Lord Peregrine to manage the servants so that I was drugged and … put in a compromising situation, so that he could then wash his hands of me and I was ruined in the process, without him appearing a party to it. But,’ she worried her lower lip with her teeth, ‘how? I think Lord Peregrine is more honourable than that. What terrible threat did you use to make him behave like a … cad with no morals? And what role does Harry play in all this?’

  The other woman laughed. ‘So many tangled skeins to reorder. You’ll manage your new estate with consummate skill, my dear. Your new husband will appreciate that.’ She ran her eyes up and down Celeste’s form while her simpering smile only grew more maddening, ‘If he doesn’t appreciate anything else.’

  Celeste gasped, the wind knocked out of her sails. ‘You know?’ And then immediately the answer came to her: blackmail. Lady Busselton had blackmailed Raphael.

  ‘Oh yes, I know of the sinful, noose-rewarding peccadilloes of your husband-to-be and Mr Carstairs. Their criminal love for each other played so nicely into my hands for—and I simply can’t keep it to myself—yes, it was in fact I who masterminded your supposed seduction in order to disgust darling Perry who was becoming, as you so correctly put it, rather distressingly enamoured of you.’