The Viscount's Bride

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  But then he might not remember again, she thought rather hysterically.

  She must find the right words.

  —

  Chloe put down her wine glass. She had only taken a few sips just as she had only eaten a few bites of her dinner. Not that Brandt had been anything but the perfect gentleman. He had escorted her into dinner, his touch light and impersonal. His conversation had been on topics of mutual interest, nothing that should fill her with such nervous anticipation. But his fingers brushed hers too frequently and the way he held her gaze rendered her even more uncomfortable and self-conscious than if he had been blatantly flirting with her. He was the sophisticated lover the gossips had whispered about in London. Utterly in control of what he was doing. Perfectly aware of how he affected her.

  She was not certain she liked it at all.

  “Chloe…” his voice held a hint of amusement “…it is time to withdraw.”

  “Oh.” She rose. “Is it? Then I will go to the drawing room.”

  He stood as well. “I will accompany you.”

  “Do you not want your port or brandy or whatever else one drinks?”

  “No.” His eyes strayed to her mouth. “Not tonight.”

  Her cheeks heated and she felt rather dizzy. Perhaps it was from the wine. She looked away. “Should I go to the drawing room?”

  “We both can. I rather thought we could play cards.”

  Cards sounded quite benign at this moment. “Very well.” Perhaps he did not intend to make love to her after all.

  He held out his arm and she laid her hand on his coat, trying to ignore the little thrill of excitement that raced through her. She was careful to avoid touching more than his arm as they walked the short distance to the drawing room, not wanting him to think she would melt at the slightest contact.

  The lamps cast a warm, intimate glow over the room. He led her to a small table near the mantelpiece. “You can sit here while I fetch the cards.” He brushed her cheek with a careless hand.

  She sat down. She was a little angry that he had changed the terms of their agreement without consulting her, but she was even more so at herself for being so weak-willed that she would tremble at his lightest touch. At least that night, he had needed her and she had participated most willingly in her seduction, but tonight, she had no sense he needed her except in the most physical way; he was the skilful predator in pursuit of a wary but naïve prey.

  He returned with the cards and took the chair opposite her. He let the cards fall through his fingers. “Do you play piquet?”

  “Yes.”

  “You may cut the cards and I’ll deal, but first we should decide on the terms.”

  “What terms?”

  A slight smile touched his mouth. “The terms. If you are the victor, then what will you claim for your prize? Or if I am, what will I claim?”

  She gave him a little frown. “In general, one plays for money.”

  “That is not quite what I had in mind.”

  “That is what I had in mind.”

  “I would prefer higher stakes. Such as a kiss from you. But only if I win, of course.”

  She refused to look away. “Then I would like to go to the beach tomorrow. Alone.”

  His eyes held hers, his expression alert. “High stakes indeed. I do not intend to allow you to win, you know,” he said softly. “I want my prize.” He pushed the cards towards her. “We will play three games. Two out of three will take the prize.”

  He did not intend to allow her? She was beginning to feel a little more in control with a deck of cards in her hand. She cut the deck and then passed it to him. “I do not intend to allow you to win.”

  “No?” He smiled. “We shall see, my lady.”

  She looked at her hand. It was not the most favourable, but it was not poor either. He was a formidable player, but then so was she. At least she hoped she would be. She looked up and found his eyes fixed on her face. “Your play.”

  She refused to let him interfere with her concentration, but her hand trembled a little as she declared her first cards. The slight triumph in his expression as he took the point filled her with a desire to toss her cards at him. As the game progressed and she found his eyes on her more often than not, and his hand brushed hers far too often, she suspected he intended to throw her off. She sensed he was not concentrating on the game as much as he was concentrating on her.

  It made her angry. She refused to look at him the rest of the game except when necessary and forced herself to concentrate solely on her cards. When she finally reached the winning number of points, she looked up. “My game, my lord.”

  His expression was difficult to interpret. “So it is.”

  “Shall we begin the second game?”

  A peculiar light leapt into his eye. “Yes. By all means.” He cut the cards. “Your deal.”

  She dealt them, glad to see her hand no longer shook. She had removed her gloves and the light caught the sparkle of the ring he had given her. Her heart sank a little when she saw her hand of cards. It was very poor this time.

  She played the best she could. This time he no longer stared at her and his focus stayed on the game. He played the winning hand and looked up. “My game. We are even.”

  “We seem to be.”

  “But not for long. I intend to win this next hand.”

  “So do I.”

  He met her challenging gaze. “Then let us begin.”

  This time her hand was good. Very good. She kept her face expressionless, not wanting him to see her excitement. She forced herself to concentrate and this time she forgot everything but the game. As he did. For the first time that evening they were on an equal footing. When she finally but barely won, she had nearly forgotten what was at stake.

  “My game.” She gave him a triumphant smile.

  He looked rather stunned. “You still have not told me where you learned to play like that. I doubt there are many men whom you could not best.”

  That was a question she preferred not to answer. “Well, I was only concerned with besting you. Tomorrow I am going to the shore.”

  “Yes. You are.” He eyed her, a gleam in his eye. “I am not finished with this, however. Now that I know what I am up against, I will be better prepared.”

  She stood. “But, please, not tonight. I would like to retire.”

  He rose as well. “Then allow me to escort you to your room.”

  “I am certain I can find my way.”

  “Undoubtedly, but I am equally certain that I want to escort you. It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to do otherwise.”

  This time he did not take her arm. He appeared preoccupied as they climbed the stairs and then went down the hall. He stopped in front of her door. Her heart had started to thud in a most disconcerting fashion, which was ridiculous because he had lost his wager. So there would be no kiss.

  He looked down at her. “Good night, Chloe.”

  “Good night.” She started to walk past him into her room, when he caught her shoulders.

  “Wait,” he said. Before she could protest he had captured her mouth with his.

  This kiss was hard and demanding. And brief. He released her.

  She stared up at him. “That was not fair. You lost.”

  His mouth curved. “The bet was that you would kiss me. There was nothing about me kissing you.”

  “You did not specify. So that was an invalid kiss.”

  His smile deepened. “Should I take it back?” He gently brushed his fingers over her mouth in a sensuous caress. “There. It is gone.”

  “You are not playing fair,” she whispered.

  His expression was unreadable. “No. I am not playing fair at all.”

  She watched him go in bewilderment. What did he mean by that remark? But she had no idea what he meant by any of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brandt rose from the cold sea and waded towards the shore. His swim did little to dampen his thoughts or his desire to find Chloe.r />
  Oh, as a gentleman he could not go back on his wager. But as a husband, he had wanted to forbid her to go. Force her to stay where she would be safe. He had sent one of the servants to keep a discreet eye on her and it had been all he could do to keep from following her himself.

  It would only convince her that a husband and a keeper were the same. And if he intended to persuade her otherwise, he needed patience.

  He looked up and saw Justin waiting for him near the rocks where he had left his clothing. “I will own I am a trifle surprised,” Justin said as Brandt joined him. “I would have expected that with a new bride you would find more, er…interesting ways to expend your energies.”

  Brandt reached for his breeches. “We played cards last night.” He pulled his breeches up.

  “So?”

  “Chloe won. So here I am.” He finished fastening his breeches and reached for his shirt. “I’ve no idea why she insists on keeping her talents so well hidden. She could have made a fortune at the tables alone.”

  “It is why she does not want to play. She fears she has inherited her brother’s bad blood.”

  “That is mad!” His hand stilled on the button.

  “No more so than the notion you inherited your father’s bad blood.”

  Brandt’s mouth tightened. “It is not the same.”

  “Isn’t it?” Justin met Brandt’s gaze squarely. “Both of you fear you will discover you are like your worst relation despite all evidence to the contrary.”

  “She is nothing like her brother. She is all that is good and decent…” He stopped. “What put such a damnable notion into her head? Because she can outwit most men at the tables?”

  Justin hesitated. “There is more. Lucien taught her to play when she was young and then used her most shamefully. I promised Belle I would not betray this confidence. I suggest you ask Chloe.”

  “I plan to.” He picked up his stockings and boots. “In fact, I am going to now.”

  —

  Chloe hugged her knees to her chest. She sat on her cloak which she had spread on the sand. Despite the brilliant blue sky and the gulls circling overhead, the day lacked the lustre she had anticipated. Perhaps it was because she was tired and again felt rather unwell.

  Or perhaps it was because the day did not feel right without Brandt. Last night she had wanted to prove she would not give in to him, assert her independence, but now her victory seemed rather hollow. She refused to go back to the house until the hour that she had said she would. She had seen the groom lurking about and knew that Brandt had sent someone to watch her. She supposed she should be angry, but for some reason she felt comforted.

  “Chloe.”

  He had come up beside her so quietly she had not heard him. A surge of gladness swept through her. She looked up at him and the expression on his face gave her pause. As did his tousled, wet hair and damp shirt. “Is…is something wrong?”

  “You never answered my question last night. About who taught you to play cards like that,” he said quietly.

  “You are here to ask me that?”

  “Yes.”

  She hugged her knees more tightly. “Lucien taught me,” she said dully.

  He knelt down beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

  She looked away. The words seemed to come from someone else. “I was thirteen. He was bored one day and he thought it would be amusing to teach me some card games. I proved to have a knack for them. He began to play with me, teaching me various tricks and the logic. I suppose I was flattered because he so rarely paid me any attention. Later he had me play against his friends. I was stupid, I did not realise he was only using me. He would place bets on the game and no one thought I could possibly win. At first I enjoyed the attention; everyone was so astonished that a mere girl could play as I did. As time went on, they began to frighten me. They were often drunk and…crude.” She took a breath. “Papa put a stop to it when Lucien took me to a tavern.”

  “What happened at the tavern?”

  She could not look at him. No one, not even Belle, knew about this part. “One of his friends—he caught me in a corner and he k…kissed me. Lucien threatened to kill him. There was a brawl and the tavern keeper’s wife came in and saw me. She took me to her room and sent for Papa.”

  He was silent. She tensed, waiting for his condemnation.

  “Damn him.” His voice was low and cold.

  “I should have known better,” she whispered. “Papa was furious. He said I should have told him straight away what Lucien was doing. Lucien had told me that my playing would help pay his debts and that Papa should not know and it would overset Mama if she knew he was in debt again. And if Papa had discovered Mama allowed Lucien in the house, he would have been furious with her.”

  “You were not to blame,” he said harshly. “Lucien was twisted. He used anyone and anything to his advantage. My God, any man who could use a child in such a way…” he said savagely. “To use you… And your father—he was hardly any better.”

  “He said I was on my way to becoming a…a fallen woman. And a…a gamester, just like Lucien.” That had hurt most of all.

  “Never.” Suddenly he pulled her against his chest, his arms around her, tight and comforting. She could not help the tears that began to fall. He held her until she no longer shook with silent sobs, his hand stroking her hair as if she were a child again.

  She had no idea how long he held her; only that she did not want to leave the safety of his embrace. He finally spoke. “We should return to the house. If you wish to.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep shuddering breath.

  He slowly released her. “You will be safe with me.”

  She met his eyes for the first time since she had begun her tale. The compassion and caring she saw there made her catch her breath. “I…I know.”

  “Good.” He brushed a gentle kiss across her mouth and then stood. “Are you ready to go home?” His glance fell to her feet. “You already have your shoes on. No bare feet today?”

  “I really did not feel much like wading.”

  “I see.” He helped her to her feet and retrieved her cloak. “Put your bonnet on, then.”

  She tied the ribbons, no longer seeing his admonition as control but rather caring. She felt drained and was glad to go with him in silence. Her fatigue only increased as they started up the path to the top of the cliffs. A bout of dizziness forced her to stop half-way up. She closed her eyes for a moment.

  Brandt paused. “What is wrong?”

  “I just felt rather dizzy for a moment. It is nothing.”

  “Do you need to sit?”

  “No. I will be fine.” The dizziness had passed. She was glad to reach the top without any more bouts, but her fatigue and the heaviness in her stomach had increased.

  “You are pale. Are you not well?”

  “I am just rather tired, that is all.”

  “You have not eaten much since you arrived at Waverly.”

  “It is just everything is different. Sometimes I cannot eat when I am in a new place. I remember when I first went off to school, I scarcely ate at all for a fortnight.”

  “Perhaps I should send you back to Falconcliff before you fade away.” He was teasing her, but not completely.

  “No! That is, this is my home.”

  “I am glad you think so,” he said softly. “However, I am going to carry you the rest of the way.”

  This time she did not protest when he scooped her up in his arms. He carried her to the drawing room and put her down on the sofa. “I will have tea brought in, as well as cake.”

  He had an implacable look in his eye that meant he intended to override her. She was even more stunned when he came in carrying the tea tray himself. He set it down and poured her a cup, then added a small amount of sugar. He handed it to her. “Drink this while I slice the cheese. Or would you prefer cake?”

  “Brandt, you do not need to do this. I can…”

  “I intend to see that you eat.
Do you want the cheese or cake?”

  “Cheese, I think.” Cake did not sound very appetizing.

  She did not particularly want the cheese either, but under his watchful eye she managed a few bites along with some bread. The tea was almost too sweet, but she forced most of it down.

  She had to admit, however, that having some food in her stomach did help. “Thank you,” she said. “I feel much better.”

  “I hope so.” He stood looking at her. “If you continue to feel unwell, I will send for Dr Crowley.”

  “Please do not! I am fine.”

  “You are to rest for the remainder of the day. Either here or in your bedchamber.”

  “Here, if you please.” She did not want to go upstairs to the isolation of her bedchamber.

  He hesitated. “I have some business to attend to in my study. If you need anything, send for me.”

  She resisted the urge to beg him to stay with her. “Thank you.”

  “Rest well, then.” He picked up her hand and dropped a brief kiss on her palm.

  —

  Brandt shoved the papers aside. Concentration proved impossible when his thoughts were on Chloe. And Lucien. How many other lives had Lucien poisoned with his cruel disregard for everyone in his path? He had nearly succeeded in killing Justin, and had come close to destroying Belle. Brandt had wished Lucien to perdition then.

  He now wished he had been the one responsible for sending him there.

  No wonder Chloe shied away from him, or from any man except the comfortable Sir Preston.

  He would need to prove to her that not all men were like Lucien; he would not take advantage of her or destroy her trust. Or overpower her with his own need. He would give her time and he prayed that, with time, she would come to him.

  —

  Brandt continued to treat Chloe with the same solicitousness he had the day on the beach. Almost as if he feared she would break. Gone was the remote politeness that had so irked her, but his kindness was equally bewildering. Had her confession inspired some sort of pity in him so that he feared he would hurt her? She could think of no way of asking him.

  Three days later Emily came to call. Her face glowed under a new poke bonnet and stylish spencer trimmed with braid. Marriage agreed with her.