It was Lord Steal. His round face was ashen. As he fell in beside her and her maid dropped back, Jessica turned to him.
“Whatever is it, Lord Steal? You look all to pieces.”
“I am completely ruined, Miss Whinburn,” he said dramatically. “I have come to seek you out only to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye? Why, are you going away?”
“Further than anyone can reach.” He wrung his hands. “If only I wasn’t such a fool! You know what I have felt for you, but now it can never be. And then there is Miss Brandon. I like her a great deal, you know. She is truly the last person in the world to deserve this. But I have lost everything. There is only one honorable way out.”
“Lord Steal, you are quite wild. Pray, calm down and tell me what has happened.”
Jessica’s heart went out to the young man, for though he flung out his words with a certain melodramatic bravado, he did indeed look quite desperate.
He groaned and pushed one hand through his hair.
“I started playing pretty deep last autumn and fell in debt to Sir Gordon Cranby. He could have made things awkward for me ages ago. He knew I didn’t have the ready, and I was terrified he’d demand payment in cash as soon as he arrived at Tresham. But he told me that he’d wait, as long as I offered for Caroline. I could pay him back after we were married, you see—unless I could get it all settled before that, of course.”
“You proposed to Miss Brandon that day at Holy Cross because of Cranby?”
“Well, yes, that was my initial reason, though I’m ashamed now to admit it. Anyway, I thought I could mend my affairs when I got back to town, and I’d been having the most tremendous run of luck recently. But then the luck turned. Last night—I was three sheets to the wind, of course, though that’s no excuse—I wagered Tresham for all my debts on a single throw with Cranby—and lost.”
“How could you have done anything so hare-witted?” As if she did not understand!
“My entire estate and inheritance. Lost! I am ruined. I must have been mad. I can never marry Miss Brandon now. There is only one action I can take with honor. I could not end it all, though, without seeing you one last time. Say you will remember me with kindness?”
He grasped her hand, but at that moment they spied a solitary horseman coming down the ride toward them. Peter turned white.
“Oh, dash it all! There’s Cranby, the new master of Tresham. I can’t face him.”
Sir Gordon Cranby was almost upon them. Jessica had a sudden idea. It just might work. It was worth anything to save the desperate young fellow at her side.
Pulling Peter aside, she spoke to him rapidly and told him her plan. He looked at her with astonishment.
“You must,” Jessica insisted. “What do you have to lose? Come, be a man! It’s your last chance.”
With a shaky laugh, Lord Steal threw back his head, his face flushed. “By damn, I’ll do it! I might as well die in my shirtsleeves as in a coat.”
As Cranby drew alongside them, the young man stepped into his path. “Another wager, sir!”
“You are mad, sir,” Cranby replied with a sneer. “You have nothing left to lose.”
“You’re wrong, sir. I wager my coat. It’s very fine—the latest twig, don’t you know—cut by Weston, cost me a pretty penny. I wager it against Tresham and all my debts, now and forever.”
“You talk nonsense, sir. Are you in your cups?” Cranby made as if to move on.
“Will you not hear the wager, Sir Gordon?” Jessica interrupted. “Do not say you are afraid of one more hazard with Lord Steal?”
Cranby smiled unpleasantly. “This young man, madam, has already pledged me his entire estate. What the devil would I want with his coat?”
“Then you fear to lose, Sir Gordon? Good heavens! I thought your reputation more audacious than that. Everyone will think you have lost your nerve.”
“Especially when it’s a sure thing.” Peter groaned. “Oh, for God’s sake! Ride on, Cranby! I’m not sure that I should offer the wager, after all. My best damned coat.”
While they talked, a crowd had begun, discreetly, to gather. The beau monde, always curious and ready for a new piece of gossip, would not miss this for the world.
Jessica glanced about at their faces. Cranby must know he was trapped.
“On what do you wager your exquisite garment, Lord Steal?” he said silkily. “I am always in need of a new coat.”
A fine bead of sweat lined Peter’s upper lip. He looked ill.
“Why, that Miss Whinburn can shoot the top off that bush yonder.”
A ripple of amusement went up from the spectators.
“You’ve just won yourself a jacket, Cranby,” someone in the crowd called out.
“I accept with pleasure.” Cranby grinned with obvious relief. “Be our witness, sirs! Tresham for the coat off Lord Steal’s back, that Miss Whinburn cannot shoot the head off that bush, or indeed any plant at all.”
“Done,” Peter cried, and they shook hands on it.
The crowd by this time was agog, thrilled at such a splendid on dit.
Jessica was breathing rather fast. Could she in fact do it? It had been essential to come up with something unlikely enough that Cranby would accept the wager, but she was very out of practice. Sir Gordon, of course, must be assuming that she could not shoot at all. It was not a common skill for young ladies. Even for a gentleman the distance made for a difficult shot.
Some of the young bucks in the crowd were already pacing off the length to the bush. Had she been the complete interfering fool and overreached herself?
Her thoughts were disturbed by the cool tones of the voice that had been haunting her.
Lord Deyncourt sat above the crowd in his high-perch phaeton. The team of matched bays bent their heads fretfully to his steady feel on the ribbons.
“An interesting wager,” he said. “Might I offer Miss Whinburn the use of my pistols? They are very fine, though perhaps a little heavy for such delicate hands.”
“By all means, Deyncourt,” Cranby said. “Unless Steal has any objection?”
Peter shook his head and looked helplessly at Jessica. He was quite green.
At that moment, Caroline Brandon ran up to take Jessica’s arm. The color rushed back to Peter’s face as he noticed her. He looked thunderstruck. His fiancée had mysteriously turned into a very appealing young woman.
He spun toward her. “Caroline! What’s happened to you? You look different.”
“Oh, I have cut my hair and purchased a new gown, that’s all.” She brushed him aside. “What’s happening, Miss Whinburn? There is such a crowd. What on earth has occurred?”
Jessica was forced to tell her friend of the wager.
“You cannot do it!” Caroline cried, her face ashen. “It will be the talk of the town. You must not risk a scandal. I shall stick by Lord Steal whatever happens. We can live well enough on my money.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks, don’t try to stop me!” Jessica gave Miss Brandon a quick hug and drew her aside. “Look, will you do something for me? If the opportunity presents itself, can you faint near Lord Steal?”
Caroline looked completely astonished.
“Oh, I know you think I have windmills in my head, but just do it. Promise me you will.”
The other girl stared for a moment, then laughed and nodded.
The crowd had started to taunt Lord Steal in a good-natured way about the quality of jacket he was about to lose to Cranby. It was a particularly fine object, in a subtle cream-and-white stripe.
“You won’t regret it,” Jessica said in a whisper. “Now go and comfort your betrothed. He thinks he is destitute, but he’s never had the occasion to witness my prowess with a weapon.”
Caroline did as she was bid. Jessica turned to face the earl. Still at the reins of his team, he was gently controlling their restive movements, his shrewd gaze watching her every move.
She addressed him in a clear, cool voice. “Thank you for your gracious
offer, Lord Deyncourt. I shall be happy to accept the loan of your pistols, since I gave you my grandfather’s dueling piece.”
The chatter of the crowd died away.
“I perceive,” the earl said calmly, “that we are creating both a public spectacle and an obstruction to traffic. Might I suggest that all parties concerned adjourn to Deyncourt House, where a suitable plant can no doubt be selected in the garden?”
His request might as well have been an order. Immediately the participants and the spectators began to leave in the direction of the earl’s town house.
Deyncourt took Jessica up in the carriage beside him.
“May I trust you with my pistol, Miss Whinburn? You did not actually fire at Judge Clarence, so I am not to know how much of this is bluff. My dueling pieces are both more delicately triggered and more accurate than your grandfather’s weapon. I should not want one damaged.”
“I learned as a child. I can shoot as well as anyone.”
“Dare I doubt it?” he said, unperturbed. “This whole little venture was your idea, wasn’t it? I assume that my ward has finally disgraced himself completely?”
“He is threatening to kill himself.”
“I should hate to lose him so precipitately after all my efforts on his behalf. By the way, what has happened to Miss Brandon?”
“Nothing. I have merely persuaded her to cut her hair and change her style of dress.”
“So I noticed. Then I pray you will win the wager.” He gave her that charming smile, as if nothing else had ever passed between them. “It would ruin all of your efforts, wouldn’t it, if she was forced instead into mourning.”
* * *
Chapter 14
They pulled up before Deyncourt House, an imposing mansion that sat in its own grounds off Piccadilly.
In front of the astonished eyes of the staff, the crowd poured into the earl’s garden.
It was agreed that Jessica should have three shots at a particularly lovely rosebush that was just coming into bloom. Her target was a single red rose, fully opened, at the top.
Several youths paced back and forth to check the distance, and a line was drawn in the gravel path to be her mark.
Deyncourt poured in the powder and rammed home the ball before he handed her his pistol.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Peter’s horrified face. She was finally about to do something that was not in the least feminine and delicate. Perhaps he would at last realize that he had thought himself in love with a mirage?
She took aim and fired.
There was a deafening roar. The bullet tore through the bush to land with a thud in the bark of a tree behind. The red rose remained unscathed.
Caroline gave a small scream and clutched at Peter’s sleeve. With a look of pure shock on his face, he put his arm around her.
Some of the dandies in the crowd cheered, Cranby gave a little guffaw, and Jessica saw the sweat running down Peter’s pale face.
Deyncourt’s gun was perfectly balanced, but every weapon was different. It was heavy in her hand, a man’s dueling pistol, but the craftsmanship was such that she felt she held a work of art.
Jessica reloaded, carefully cleaned the touchhole, and took aim once more.
At the same instant, her attention was distracted as Caroline fainted into Peter’s arms. He lifted her to carry her into the house. The shot went wild.
“I shall need to have Weston alter the coat, if I am to wear it at Tresham.” Cranby smiled smugly about at the onlookers. “I am a little narrower across the shoulders than Lord Steal, I believe.”
There were several guffaws.
Jessica closed her eyes for a moment. Sunlight beat on her closed lids. She could hear the sudden trill of a bird and the distant clatter of the town above the laughter and talk of the crowd. This was the final shot.
She reloaded again. She must concentrate. Lord Deyncourt stood casually to one side. As he caught her eye, he gave her a slow wink. He did not believe she could do it. Challenged, she threw up her chin and, taking quick aim, fired for the last time.
The rose exploded in a shower of petals. They drifted to earth like fragrant drops of blood.
“Be careful, you are about to drop my pistol,” the earl’s voice said in her ear.
Gently he removed the gun from her shaking fingers.
Peter’s friends cheered and ran inside to tell him of his restored fortunes.
His face like thunder, Cranby stalked from the garden.
“Come, Miss Whinburn,” the earl continued casually. “Perhaps you would care to come in for some refreshment?”
Feeling stunned, almost sick, Jessica followed him into the cool house.
She had just begun to realize the enormity of what she had done. London would be scandalized. She would no doubt lose her voucher for Almack’s, at the very least.
Lady Emilia would be devastated.
If it wasn’t for that, the opinion of all these superficial, heartless people wouldn’t matter at all. Well, she would just have to live it down.
Only Lord Deyncourt seemed unmoved by the entire incident.
“I hope we shall never actually have cause to come to blows, Miss Whinburn,” he commented lightly. “You would be a dangerous enemy.”
She looked up at him quickly, but his expression remained unchanged.
“I trust I did not damage your weapon? It’s magnificent.”
“Thank you. No indeed, your touch on the trigger was as light as my own.” He handed her a glass of wine, then began to pour another. “You still have an extraordinary disregard for your reputation, Miss Whinburn. Whatever enabled you to persuade Steal to such an outrageous wager?”
“If you took the slightest real interest in him, you would know that he has been getting into trouble.”
Deyncourt turned. “He has been losing at the gaming tables these last six months, and Sir Gordon Cranby is the primary benefactor.”
“You knew? Then why didn’t you do anything about it?”
“I preferred to let him learn from his own mistakes.”
“But he wagered Tresham—everything—on a single throw with Cranby. When he lost, he was desperate. I do not share with Lord Steal the relationship that you seem to imagine, but he and Caroline Brandon are my friends, and I would not stand by and do nothing when I saw a way out. Besides, Sir Gordon made me angry.”
“Ira furor brevis est?” he said with considerable irony.
“Anger is a short madness? My scheme may have been mad, but it got Lord Steal out of Cranby’s hands.”
“My ward is a thoughtless young puppy. As long as I have control of his affairs, Tresham is not his to lose. Cranby certainly wished to get him into his power before Peter married and came into his estates, but for God’s sake, I should not have allowed it to stand. His original debts were quite within my power to settle for him, if he had only kept his head and come to me.”
“Perhaps if you were not such a bully he would have come to you,” Jessica said. “He is afraid of you.”
“Really? I make most mortals quake in their tracks apparently, except you. Perhaps, however, in future you will refer my ward to me, before leaping so precipitately to his rescue.”
Jessica set her glass down so violently that the wine spilled. Why must she always quarrel with him? Deyncourt must think her all the more involved with Peter. It was too absurd, when she was hoping her strategy with Caroline had just done the trick to break the boy’s infatuation. But better they quarrel than the earl discover the true state of her emotions. She got up to go, but he caught her hand.
“There is only one thing you have forgotten, Miss Whinburn. You owe me for the rose.”
“You offered it freely. We came here at your suggestion.”
“Yes, but I did not expect you to hit it.”
“It’s rather an uneven debt, isn’t it?”
“Because you have nothing in the world? My fault, of course.” He stalked away to stare out into the g
arden. Light from the window silhouetted his fine profile. “I have ordered you a draft in the amount that I won from you that night. However, you must promise that you will never visit such a place again.”
“Then what should I do with it? Why return what you won from me fairly, yet still hold me in debt for a single rose? You have an entire garden at Marchmont and a glory of flowers here, but you cannot be generous enough to let me have just one, even for the sake of Caroline Brandon?”
“It only caused her to faint,” he said.
“So it did. Yet the rose is destroyed forever. As soon as I can, I will pay you for it.”
He spun about to face her, his eyes dark, as if suddenly desolate. “No! God! You owe me nothing.”
“But I do, Lord Deyncourt, and I always pay my debts.”
Feeling as if her mouth were full of ash, Jessica stalked out and left him standing in the shadowed study.
* * *
She marched up the street, maid in tow. Damn Deyncourt and his arrogant pride! She would not—ever—take his money. But Lord Steal had taken Caroline home after her dramatic faint, and she had to know if her ruse had worked.
Miss Brandon’s parents were out. The butler left Jessica alone in their elegant parlor, while he inquired whether his young mistress was sufficiently recovered to receive visitors.
Jessica was standing at the window, her heart bleak, when Peter entered the room. He looked extremely sheepish.
“Miss Whinburn, may I talk to you for a moment? I have a confession to make. You will think me the worst kind of idiot.”
She allowed him to guide her to a chair, forcing her attention back to the matter at hand. “No, I shan’t. Pray, go on.”
“You see, I think I’ve misjudged you. I thought you so feminine. God knows how, after all the things you’ve done. I was willfully blind, I suppose. When I saw you firing that pistol in Deyncourt’s garden, just as cool as a cucumber, I was taken aback, I can tell you. Do you know you really are a virago? Deyncourt warned me that you were.”
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