“Well, my dear.” She peered at him through her tiny ivory lorgnette. “You’ve known she gambles.”
“And does so here.”
“Of course. I would not stop her.”
“Riverdale is one mark.” Tonight at table, Marjorie had Bromley to one side and Carlson another. His mother had ordered Simms to do the seating arrangements, but Marjorie had not appeared bored. In fact, she’d been so charming that she’d adjourned to the card room minutes ago with those two men and dragged Eliza Kent along. “Carlson and Hallerton too.”
“I know,” his mama said, meeting his gaze in dead earnest through her glasses. Not often serious, except in rare moments when forced to it with him, his step-mother was sharp as an Italian’s stiletto. “I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A bit of shock that was, but he rallied. “You invited Carlson and Hallerton here for her to play?”
“Riverdale, too. Even Trevelyan. They each have more money than they need, don’t you agree?” She grinned at him, as much a mischief-maker as Marjorie.
“This house party? Did you devise it for her to skin them?”
“Oh, my dear, not only for her purposes. But for Belinda and Delphine too.”
“What?” How much had his mama planned? She couldn’t have known about the sudden appearance of Alastair in the Hotel Charost. Even Alastair could not have predicted if he’d be able to find Griff in Paris. But had his step-mama arranged for Bromley to seek him out? How? She probably knew someone in his family. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was even acquainted with Bromley’s French cousins.
“I want the girls to marry, Griff. They should. They are lovely, educated, charming women. But here they hide away. That is not fair or right. Their mourning period is finished and they must embrace life. I’m sure you agree.”
“I do,” he admitted. “But Marjorie...”
“Yes, let us examine Marjorie.”
“She wants money,” he said. “More than she’s given.”
“Or rather, money she isn’t given.” His step-mother smoothed her red bombazine skirts. “As a man who went to war to prove himself made of more mettle than a spoiled heir to a fortune, you can empathize.”
He marveled at the lady before him. Most thought her flighty, air-headed. Not he. Never he. “You’ve missed your calling, Mama. You would have served Wellington well as a spy.”
She wiggled her fingers like a crafty magician in the Lanes. “Many of my sources did work for the Duke, my boy.”
“You won’t share them with me?” he teased her.
“A good agent never reveals her network.” She rose and squeezed his hand. “Do yourself a favor and befriend Hallerton, will you? If he proves obstreperous, do turn to Simms to help you.”
“Hallerton? Simms? Help me? Do what?”
“You are a decorated cavalry man, my darling. Wits, please.” She winked, then offered her cheek. “Kiss me good night, dearest. I retire. You should too. But I fear you will walk the floors.”
He bussed her soft skin, confused, but grateful for her guidance and companionship, lo, these many years.
“Be wise, Marsden,” she said, sobering him even more with the use of his title. “It’s time for you to decide about Marjorie.”
The next morning, Marjorie fully expected Griff to join her at an early breakfast, but to her dismay she dined in the kitchen alone. She assumed she’d see him in the downstairs library mid-morning during refreshments, but no, he did not appear there, either. When Aunt Gertrude did pop in to decree that the skating party scheduled for that afternoon would be canceled due to snow and bitter winds, Marjorie was disappointed she would not have the chance to skate with his arms around her. They’d done it countless times as children and Griff danced on ice like a dream and...
She brought herself up short. Luncheon. She’d find him there. Surely.
She breathed more evenly when Griff did join the party in the dining room at one. But he frowned when his step-mother announced that the guests would adjourn to the card room for games.
Oh, he was not happy.
Well, I am not, either.
Then after the meal, he disappeared.
He wanted solitude? He could have it.
She marched off to take on Carlson. The man, despite the fact she’d won three hundred pounds from him last night, was eager for more. Fine.
Hours later, she pocketed four hundred pounds from him. A good showing, but a pittance to what she needed.
Her game was off. She was peevish. Irritable. Griff’s absence left her hollow.
Irritated, she took her marker to her chambers and sank to her dressing table chair. Pulling her pins from her coiffure, she stared at herself in her mirror. Her hair fell around her like a shroud. Her purple eyes drooped. Her chin sagged. She bit her lip.
Why couldn’t Griff be happy she was finding a way to free herself of his responsibility? Well, he didn’t quite know that, did he? She’d told him only she wanted money.
She’d upbraid him for not being happy that she was capable of earning money. Perhaps at dinner, she’d sit next to him. Have an opportunity to...to do what? Argue with him again? Not what she wanted. No. She would talk with him. Reason with him.
Later, when she surveyed the place cards, she was to sit next to two elderly gentlemen, bachelors both. Taking Simms aside, she requested his help to change and put her next to Griff, but he refused. “Her ladyship does not wish it, Miss. The table is as it is.”
She’d charmed her two dinner partners, nonetheless. Why not? They’d both robbed her father of thousands. She took back two thousand, total, from them. Rather quickly, too.
The two would never miss their money. She grinned and suggested they adjourn to the Yellow Salon and join the others. Her two losers opted to retire.
Charades were the parlor games scheduled for this evening. Immediately Griff jumped up to volunteer to draw lots. Marjorie followed. Even that did not work in her favor for when Griff drew the longer straw and he decided men should draw for partners first, whose name did he choose from the bowl but Bee’s! Flummoxed, Marjorie watched as he and Bee imitated Napoleon and Josephine.
“You frown. You didn’t like my portrayal of the little general?” he asked her as he came to her side.
“Too simple. You need a couple more inscrutable.” She crossed her arms and glared straight ahead at the stuffy portrait of his great-grandfather and that man’s wife. “Like them.”
“She had four children. Died young. He did nothing distinguished but fight for Charles the Second.”
“There you have it. A lady who did her duty. A gentlemen who died in his bed. A few ribbons to his name.” She swung round, fully intending to march off to bed when Bee and Alastair were framed in the doorway, arms around each other, kissing.
The assembled guests gasped.
Simms, a man at the ready to solve any indiscretion, appeared at the doors and with a click, shut them upon the pair.
How she envied Bee. Kisses. Mad, delicious kisses.
She put a hand to Griff’s arm. The heavy wool of his uniform was firm, his muscles warm beneath her touch. She chanced a glance at him.
His blue eyes that had always seen through her as if she were glass were benevolent.
“Griff, I don’t want to argue with you any longer.”
“Nor I. We’ll finish this round, then you’ll meet me in my upstairs library.”
Eager, happy, she smiled at him.
No house guest would go into that small library that was the inner sanctum of the master of the house. She’d been there many times before when Griff had invited her. They’d shared quiet times there together, as children sprawled across the floor, playing with his toy soldiers. As adults over cold beef sandwiches, Cook’s pastries and brandy, they’d read novels or poetry—or played games. Cards, she’d always won. Dice, too, amazing as it was. He however always won at chess. So much so that she refused to oppose him.
Minutes later, she e
xcused herself with a nod to her aunt. Hoisting her skirts, she slipped off her shoes, picked them up and ran like a child up the carpeted stairs along the bedroom corridor to the library that adjoined Griff’s bedchambers.
Sinking against the door, she caught her breath. The heady fragrance of old parchment, leather, beeswax and coffee met her senses. She’d always loved this room, its quaint size so much more cozy than the huge formal library of the first floor. Dark walnut walls lent the room a seductive air.
Tonight, the privacy inspired a camaraderie that she welcomed. It meant she’d have time to explain herself, make him see that she needed her dignity.
Two candles that burned in a brace on the massive desk gave a subtle glow to the polished wood. In one corner stood the library step-ladder where once, as a girl, she’d caught her foot and Griff had extracted it for her. In another corner was the huge globe that his great-grandfather—he of the portrait and the conflicts of the Civil War—had bought from Louis the Fourteenth’s Versailles cartographer. A giant sphere, the globe sat on the floor but rose tall to her waist. Intricate and brightly colored, it was a rare beauty. She’d used it to follow where Griff had sailed and fought and served these past eight years. She went to touch it now and gently spin it. No more would he roam the world. But come home soon. And then, when he did, when he resumed management of his estates, when he married, she could not follow him.
Not here. Not anywhere.
At once the far door that led into his bedroom opened and he emerged. He’d changed from his uniform into a midnight blue banyan. His brown hair ruffled, his eyes dulcet, he walked straight to her and took her hands to lead them to his lips.
She should object to his attire. She should not allow him to kiss her hands. But then, she was so very tired of fighting.
He moved to enfold her in his arms. With one hand, he stroked her back and sighed as he pressed her against him.
She went willingly, welcoming what he offered and what she did not wish to deprive herself of. She’d had so few delights in so very long. She melted into him and as was her tendency whenever he was sweet to her, she told him everything she thought. Open to him, all her words flowed out of her like water bursting a dam. “I hate arguing with you. Now that you’re here, I only want to remain quiet with you. Saying nothing, only being. It’s divine that I don’t have to wonder where you are or how or even if you’re alive or hurt or bleeding, I can’t seem to have enough of you.”
“Marjorie,” he said, his lips in her hair as he crushed her even closer to him. “Your honesty refreshes me.”
She cupped his jaw. She shouldn’t be his refreshment, but he certainly was hers.
Then he did what he had that day of George’s funeral. He bent and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a teacup and walked with her to the settee. He sat down, put his legs up on the cushions and spread her over him, his arms around her securely, his hands cradling her close, his lips against her forehead. This pose, their intimacy, was risqué, forbidden. But she would not end it. No one had petted her, pampered her, cherished her except Griff. Since her mother had died more than twelve years ago, tenderness was rare. Affection fleeting. Kisses, nonexistent. She drank of this heady wine, intoxicated.
“My dear,” he said and broke the spell with light words, “you and I will play each other.”
“What?” She pulled away and would have gone but he held her by the wrist. “No. I won’t.”
“You want to. With me.” His blue eyes held sweet promise. His mouth was a tempting slash, tipping up at the corners.
“This is not funny.”
“No.” He stroked her bare arm. “An honest game. You shall play me. Your stake.”
“Don’t be rude.”
“I’m not. How much do you need?”
She stilled. All her senses on alert for a ruse, though Griff had never treated her dishonestly. “What are you up to?”
“Playing you for the very thing you want. How much?”
“You cannot play me for a sum like that.”
“How do you know if you don’t name it?”
Since winning earlier today, she needed only six thousand more to buy the cottage, but she could use extra to support her two sisters and her for a year, perhaps more. She’d be bold. Why not? “Ten thousand.”
That total stopped his breath. “Very well. Ten it is.”
She examined him. Dear god, he was in earnest.
“Do you have the money?” he asked, serious to a fault. “If you lose, I mean?”
“No. Not yet.” She could win it here from other guests she’d not yet played. “But I won’t lose.”
“You expect me to take your marker?”
“Why not?” She arched a brow. “If I renege, you can always find me.”
With the tip of one finger, he traced the outline of her bottom lip. “I intend to.”
She pushed up, a hand to his rock-hard ribs. How he’d matured these past years. This man who’d been a boy she’d loved and tormented, was now a living temptation within reach.
“You’ll play me for the ten thousand?” She had to be certain.
“I will. With two conditions.”
She rose. Pulling her pins from her hair, she strolled the room in a circle. Shaking out her tresses, she flexed her shoulders and ran her fingers along the old leather bindings of four volumes of the defeat of the Spanish Armada. There was a venture that was heralded by wise men not to fail. Yet storms and wily Englishmen who’d manned coastal relay fires had defeated the greatest navy of its time.
She faced him, this man whom she adored. This man whom she had to leave or pine for when he took another to his bed. In that bedroom. Just there beyond the wall. Courage seized her, but it felt hollow. “Name them.”
“If you win, you get ten thousand pounds after—”
“Oh, no.” She wagged a finger at him.
“It’s nothing awful.” He stared at her, straightforward as the soldier he was.
“No?”
“Have you ever known me to be cruel?”
He had her there. She shrugged. “I get my winnings after what?”
“After you tell me what you purchase with it.”
His request seemed innocuous. But did she want him knowing where she was? How she was? Why she could not remain here? Why she must leave him? Quickly? As if it were a surgical slice to cleave her heart in two.
He examined her, his light blue eyes ponderous. With frustration or anger, she could not say. “I can go now to Hallerton or Simms and learn what I need to know. I don’t have to offer you the chance to play against me for the funds.”
Hallerton. She could not chance Griff talking to him. The man had asked for secrecy, not wishing the sale of his family’s cottage in Crawley to be known to her family until the money was his, the deed transferred to her. She’d honored his request. But why or how Simms, their butler, could have information about such a sale bewildered her. She understood their new man had connections with many household staffs in Brighton, but...really? Could he be acquainted with so many beyond the town’s boundaries? In such a timely manner, too?
“Why would those men know what I want?” She tried for bravado to cover her dismay.
“I’ve no idea. I have not asked them.”
“How could you possibly kn—? Oh. I see.” She smiled, her lips quivering. “Aunt Gertrude. She knows more than any of us.”
“At all times, it seems,” he said, his voice so kind she wanted to surrender all her troubles to him.
But she could not. She, like Bee and Del, had her pride. “Tell me.”
“If you win, you’ll tell me what you’ll buy with it.”
That made her scowl at him. “Why?”
“My rules. My condition. Take it or leave it.” He rose, walked to the library table, opened a drawer and extracted a deck of cards. Placing them squarely on the gleaming black wood, he tapped his knuckles on the stack and faced her.
She grew leery. There was one more
condition to clear and so she cast him a beady eye. “And if I lose? Will you take my promissory note?”
“I will.”
Relief swamped her. And yet...if she played him, what happened to her need for revenge? Her desire to punish those who had hurt her father, her sisters, her pride. She’d have to abandon that ploy.
“What else deters you, darling?”
Aside from the fact that she loved the sound of that endearment on his tongue, she had to abandon that need to hear it, too, didn’t she? He couldn’t call her ‘darling’ when he took his bride to his bed. She swallowed back her despair. “Nothing. Nothing. We’ll play now.”
He nodded. “Until we are done.”
“And I have your ten thousand pounds?” she asked gaily, shocked at how free she felt without the need for revenge.
“Or I have yours.” He pointed to her gown. “Change your clothes.”
“Why?” An alarm rang in her head. To be out of her formal attire into something less rigid warned her of further conditions she might not like. One did not discard one’s corset and chemise to appear in one dressing robe to play a game with a man. Not with a man so sweetly appealing. Not even if the reward were ten thousand marvelous pounds.
“You’ll want to be comfortable.”
“Being unencumbered is not a hardship.” Unwise to be nearly naked with a man one could relish. But not a deprivation. “Is this your second condition?”
“No.”
That set her teeth on edge. “What is?”
“The game we play.” He met her gaze, his own serene.
Oh, here’s the rub. “Yes?”
“I name it.”
Hope drained out of her. She slid her gaze to the stack of cards beneath his long lean fingers. “What is it?”
The Earl's Wagered Bride: Christmas Belles, Book 1 Page 6