The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  Constance’s gaze went to the coins, then back to the Earl. She was so appalled at his suggestion that she could not speak.

  Lord Selbrooke gave her a tight smile. “Of course. I can see that you do not consider that enough. I did not expect it to be.”

  He pulled out a piece of velvet and laid it on the desk beside the coins. Carefully, he unfolded the cloth to reveal a necklace of rubies and diamonds, glittering against the soft background of black velvet.

  “It is a FitzAlan family heirloom,” he explained. “It has been in my family since the time of the second earl. My grandmother had her portrait painted wearing this necklace.” He looked at her. “It is worth a great deal. You can sell it and have a healthy nest egg. But without the encumbrance of a husband.”

  Constance rose from her chair. She was trembling with anger, and she clasped her hands together tightly so that he could not see their shaking. “That is what you think of me?” she asked. “That I would take your money not to marry Dominic? I don’t understand you, my lord, and clearly you do not understand me. You cannot buy me. I will not barter my good name for coins and jewels.”

  She whirled and stalked to the door. She turned and looked back at him, her eyes flashing. “I do not plan to marry your son. I would not let Dominic’s honor force him into a marriage he did not want. But I would never spurn him for money. Or to please you. Goodbye, my lord. I will leave your house as soon as possible.”

  Constance stalked out of the room. She hurried down the hall, struggling to hold back the tears of anger that threatened to flood out. She felt furious and humiliated, and she wanted to leave immediately.

  The only problem, of course, was how to do it. If she had to, she thought, she would pack her things and walk to the village. From there, she was not sure what she would do. She would have to ask Francesca for a loan for the mail coach fare, although she dreaded facing her friend’s questions. Perhaps if she did not tell her why she needed the money…

  But what if the mail coach did not come through the village tomorrow? What would she do? She suspected that if Dominic learned she had left, he would come after her. He would refuse to let her ruin her good name. She must get away—far away and quickly.

  She hurried up the stairs and started down the hall toward her room, her head down in thought. Suddenly she stopped. She stood for a moment, thinking, then turned and strode purposefully down the hall. She rapped sharply on the door, and a voice called to come in. Constance opened the door and stepped inside to face Muriel Rutherford.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  MURIEL’S BROWS DREW together thunderously. “What are you doing here? Did you come to gloat?”

  “No,” Constance replied evenly. “I came to ask for your assistance.”

  “My word, you have a lot of gall,” said an older woman’s voice, and Constance turned to see Muriel’s mother, seated in a chair to the side of the bed. “You think that we would help you? When you have made my daughter a laughingstock?”

  Constance held on to her temper. “Lady Rutherford, I have done nothing to hurt you or your daughter.” She did not think it wise to add that Lady Muriel had made herself an object of ridicule, if anyone had. “I am quite aware of how you feel about me. However, I think you might be willing to allow me this one favor.”

  The older woman narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “Why?”

  “Because I believe you would find it to be in your best interests.”

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Muriel snapped.

  “I have heard that you are planning to leave Redfields tomorrow. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Muriel replied bitterly. “We will sneak out of here at the break of dawn. The fewer who witness my humiliation the better. What does that have to do with you?”

  “I am asking you to let me travel with you to London.”

  The other two women stared at Constance as if she had taken leave of her senses.

  “What? Are you mad?” Muriel asked.

  “Why?” her mother added sharply.

  “I have no desire to harm Lord Leighton,” Constance replied. “I know he must marry well. His words today were generous and kind. But he should not have to pay for the remainder of his life because he acted the gentleman.” She refused to admit to Muriel and her mother that she could not marry Dominic because he did not love her; that was entirely too much to ask of her.

  “You don’t want to marry him?” Muriel looked stunned.

  “I am doing what is best for both of us,” Constance said flatly.

  “Or are you playing a cunning game?” Lady Rutherford murmured.

  Constance turned to look at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lady Rutherford studied her for a moment. Constance was sure that she was considering the possibilities this request presented for Muriel. She would realize, Constance felt sure, that if Constance left Redfields before the engagement was formerly announced, there would be little likelihood that Dominic would persist in the charade that they were engaged. If Dominic was once again free, she could hope that there was some possibility that she and Lord Selbrooke could maneuver him into marriage with Muriel. Constance did not feel inclined to tell her that she was certain that Dominic would never marry Muriel, no matter what she herself did.

  “So…” Lady Rutherford said finally. “You wish to sneak out of here in secret? No one knowing that you have gone?”

  “Yes.” Constance felt tears flood her eyes, but she struggled to hold them back. It was almost more than she could bear to think of leaving Dominic with no word of explanation. But she could not tell him or even Francesca, who she feared would be sure to inform Dominic. She had to slip out secretly, or Dominic would try to stop her.

  “All right,” Lady Rutherford told her almost pleasantly. “We are leaving before breakfast tomorrow. Be sure you are ready.”

  Constance nodded and left the room. She walked back to her bedchamber and began to pack her things. Her heart felt like lead in her chest.

  She tried to concentrate on making her plans. When she reached London, she would go to her aunt and uncle’s house. Even without her relatives there, she knew the servants would admit her. She would have to go somewhere else soon, of course. Aunt Blanche and Uncle Roger would be furious with her for creating a scandal and ruining the possibility of their connection with an earl. But she could stay at their house long enough to withdraw some of her money from the Funds and get enough cash to travel to Bath.

  She had another aunt who lived in Bath. She and her father had visited her often when her father was ill, and Constance thought that Aunt Deborah would be happy enough to take her in. As Aunt Deborah’s widow’s portion was not large and she lived in a very small place, it would not be a suitable living arrangement for long, but at least it would give Constance some time to recover and figure out what to do with her life.

  She would have to earn some sort of income, she thought; the amount of money she received from her small inheritance would not be enough to live on. She supposed that she might be able to be a hired companion, though that seemed a dreary life. Of course, that prospect might not be available if there was too much scandal attached to her name. Perhaps if she and her aunt pooled their resources, they might be able to get a slightly larger place and eke out a living.

  It did not take her long to pack, sped along by her unhappy thoughts. Her trunk was soon filled, as was another small bag. She stopped and looked around the room, and for a moment it was all she could do to keep from crying.

  She thought about the fact that she would not see Dominic again—never see his smile or hear his voice, never glance over to see his eyes on her. It seemed so hard, so unfair, and she could not but wonder how she could bear it. Would he hate her for leaving abruptly, without any sort of explanation? Or would he breathe a sigh of relief?

  She wanted to write him a note to explain what she was doing and why. She would hate to think that he believed her uncaring or ungrateful.

  But
Lady Rutherford was right in guessing that she needed to sneak out without anyone knowing. If Dominic knew where she had gone, he might very well pursue her. He could be, she suspected, a very stubborn man when he thought he was in the right. Though it was not a long journey to London, a man on horseback might be able to catch up with a carriage before it reached the city.

  But if she left early in the morning and Dominic did not know right away, she could be in London or very near it before he even realized that she was gone. Once she was in London, she would instruct the servants that she would not receive Lord Leighton, and within a day or two, she would be on her way to her aunt’s, and he would have no idea of where to reach her.

  She had to leave secretly. She could not tell him anything. After she left, she could write him a letter, she thought. Or she could write a note for him and entrust it to one of the maids, telling her not to give it to him before noon. But even that was not very safe, she knew, for if Lord Leighton was asking for her among the servants, a maid would be frightened of the consequences of not telling him what she knew. No, it was safest to write nothing until she arrived in London. Leaving in such a way would doubtless make him angry with her, and she hated the thought of his thinking ill of her, but, really, it would be for the best. He would be less likely to try to make her change her mind.

  Or perhaps, Constance thought, she was fooling herself with the idea that Dominic would even pursue her. He wanted to marry her only because he thought it was the right thing to do, not because he loved her. He might be happy when he found out she had left and he had been freed of an unwelcome obligation.

  With these unhappy thoughts running through her head, Constance began to get ready for bed. She pulled the pins from her hair and brushed it out perfunctorily, then slipped out of her clothes and donned her nightgown.

  She sat down on her bed, pulling her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around her bent legs. For a moment she thought of Dominic and of what had passed between them this afternoon. Whatever had happened since then, it could not ruin her memories of their lovemaking. She loved Dominic with all her heart, and the happiest moments of her life had been his arms. She had felt more truly alive then than she ever had before.

  She realized that she could not leave without seeing him again, without experiencing one more time the joy she had known earlier. She stood up and slipped on her dressing gown, belting it around her waist. She would go to him tonight. No matter how bleak the rest of her life would be, she would at least have this one last moment of love.

  Constance picked up a candlestick from her bedside table and lit it from her oil lamp. Then she opened her door and peered out into the hall. The hallway was dim, all the doors closed. She could hear no voices. It appeared that while she was packing, everyone else had gone to bed.

  Quietly, one hand in front of the candle’s flame to shield it from drafts, she glided quietly down the corridor. Stopping in front of Dominic’s door, she looked carefully up and down the hall. She thought about knocking, but it seemed safer to simply turn the handle and go inside. It might be a trifle rude, but, she thought with a smile playing about her lips, she hoped that she could quickly persuade him not to care about the lack of courtesy.

  Turning the knob silently, she opened the door and whisked inside, closing the door behind her.

  “What the devil?” Dominic was standing beside his bed, and at the sound of her entrance, he whipped around. When he saw her, he relaxed, his fists unclenching. “Constance…what are you doing here?”

  He had already started undressing and was wearing only his breeches, his feet and chest bare. Constance felt the now-familiar heat stirring in her loins at the sight of him.

  “I wanted to see you,” she said quietly, setting her candlestick down on the dresser beside the door.

  “You should not be here. Someone might see you.”

  “Would you rather I leave?” Her hand went to the sash of her dressing gown, and with a boldness that she would not have thought herself capable of, she opened it and shrugged her robe back off her shoulders, letting it slide down her body and onto the floor.

  Dominic’s eyes followed the path of her dressing gown, then returned to her face. Even in the dim light of the room, she could see desire stamped plainly on his features.

  “No,” he replied, his voice low and vibrant with hunger. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”

  He walked across the room to her, reaching behind her to turn the key in its lock. His body was only inches from her; she could see the ripple of muscle under his skin as he stretched around her to lock the door. He leaned in close to her, taking a long, slow breath.

  “You smell like heaven,” he told her, and the deep vibration of his voice set up an answering tremor inside her.

  Constance leaned yearningly toward him; she wanted to melt against him. He brushed his lips against her hair. His hands came up to grasp her arms lightly, holding her still as he nuzzled his face into her hair. His lips sent a shiver through her, and she could feel herself loosening, opening to him in her most intimate core.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You feel…all right? I do not want to hurt you.”

  “You will not hurt me,” Constance replied confidently. “I want to be with you again.”

  She pulled back a little, raising her face to look at him. She loved the look of him, his eyes hard and bright, intent upon her, his skin stretched tautly across his bones, his mouth softening with desire.

  “I want you,” she said simply.

  His jaw tightened, and he let out a little groan. His hands slid around her, pulling her to him, and he lowered his face into the curve of her neck, kissing the tender flesh there.

  “Ah, Constance, Constance, you destroy all my best intentions,” he murmured against her throat, his breath sending shivers across her skin.

  His lips traveled up her neck, and he pushed back her hair with one hand so that his mouth could explore unimpeded. He kissed along the line of her jaw, little featherlight kisses that teased her nerve endings awake, until he came at last to the lobe of her ear. He took the fleshy lobe delicately between his teeth, nibbling, then slid his tongue along the edge.

  Constance drew in a quick breath, and her hands went to Dominic’s sides. His skin was smooth beneath her fingers, and beneath it she could feel the hard ridges of his ribs. She slid her hands around to his back, sweeping up over the hard pads of muscle, then back down, coming to a halt when she touched the cloth of his breeches. Her fingers edged along the waistband, fingernails tracing a narrow, delicate line, then insinuated themselves beneath the waist, sliding down under the cloth, the pads of her fingertips touching the rising curve of his buttocks.

  She felt a tremor take him at her movements, and she smiled in sensual satisfaction at the knowledge that she stirred him. Dominic’s hands slid down to her hips, clenching on the material of her nightgown and bunching it up inch by inch, while his mouth played havoc with her senses.

  He kissed her ears, her neck, her face, moving ever closer to her lips, until at last his mouth fastened on hers. With a small sigh of satisfaction, Constance met his kiss with fervor. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she went up on tiptoe, pressing her body against his.

  Dominic’s hands slid up beneath her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her buttocks. His fingers traced the bony ridge of her spine, his palms gliding over her back. The skin of his hands was rougher than her soft flesh, evoking tingles of awareness everywhere they touched.

  His lips moved against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth with lazy pleasure. Her fingers twined through his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp whenever a new sensation rocked her. Hunger was growing in her loins, hot and demanding. She rubbed her body against him, seeking the satisfaction she craved. He shuddered in response, his hands going down and digging into her buttocks, pushing her up and into him.

  She felt the hard length of his desire against her, and it intensified her need. She moved instinct
ively, and Dominic groaned deep in his throat.

  He pulled back from her, seizing the hem of her nightgown in his hands and sweeping it up and off over her head. He tossed it on the chair closest to them, then bent and swept her up in his arms. Constance let out a startled noise; then a small, pleased bubble of laughter escaped her, and she curled her arm around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Dominic carried her to his bed and laid her down upon it. He started to step back, his hands going to the buttons of his breeches, but she reached out to his hands, stopping them. He looked a question at her.

  “Let me,” she whispered huskily, kneeling on the bed and setting to work on the buttons.

  His hands slid into her hair, stroking and caressing the soft waves, as her fingers manipulated the buttons. She could feel his flesh pressing insistently against the cloth, throbbing with the movement of her fingers, and she smiled, pausing to stroke her hand down the material.

  He made a noise, his hands clenching in her hair. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  Constance turned her face up to him, a slow, sensual smile curving her lips. “No, only to please you.” She trailed one fingernail back up the rigid line of him. “Do you not like it?”

  “Vixen.” He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Yes, I like it. I will show you just how much I like it.”

  His hands went to her shoulders as though to bear her back against the sheets, but she shook her head. “No, no, let me finish.”

  She unfastened another button, then slipped her fingers beneath the cloth, parting it and wiggling her fingers down inside. Her fingertips tangled through the wiry hair she found there, brushing over the satiny skin of his manhood and exploring the intriguing contrast of hard and soft.

  His breath labored in his chest, and the sound stirred her. She brought her hands back out and traced a line down each side, close to but not quite touching the flesh that strained against the material. Her index fingers moved back up and outward along the joinder of his legs to his torso, then came back to meet on the last two buttons.