by Wendy Vella
“Oh, I have had enough,” the Duchess said irritably. She leapt up, pulling Prudence along with her. A glint of metal sparkled in her hand in the firelight.
The Duke was the first to realise that she held a tiny pistol jabbed into Prudence’s side.
Someone let out a horrified shriek. The shout didn’t even procure a blink from the Duke who kept his eyes trained on his wife.
“I will say what I need to and then leave you all in peace. I suppose you know?” the Duchess asked, lifting her brow at the Duke.
He nodded.
“Fine, let me enlighten the rest. You have been speaking long enough these last two days. I am getting heartily sick of your voice. Now, credit me with the same respect you all afforded the Duke and stay silent while I speak,” she said, glaring around the room.
No one moved an inch. Satisfied, she continued. “I was a famous burglar in Italy, and I have conducted some fabulous thefts in my days.”
Catherine gasped in shock.
The Duchess sent her step daughter a fond look and continued, “I fled from there when my identity was discovered. I found the Duke ripe for plucking, still grieving for his dead wife. I was going to steal his precious heirlooms, but by then I was tired of running. I fashioned myself into something exotic, different from prim English misses. He fell in love with me. Imagine my surprise when he actually proposed. I would have been content as his mistress.”
“I married you because I respected you and believed you deserved more than a common mistress,” the Duke said softly.
The Duchess rolled her eyes, “How dull you are, even at such an exciting moment! If you had been livelier, perhaps I wouldn’t have become so bored after marriage. My life had been filled with excitement, romance, and drama in Italy, while here I was nothing but a boring old Duchess with dozens of rules to follow. I felt like a caged pigeon whose wings had been clipped. It was difficult,” she said her eyes on Emma. “Surely you can understand that?”
Emma couldn’t, but she schooled her horrified expression and said, “I understand. You couldn’t flutter.”
“Precisely,” the Duchess cried. “I couldn’t flutter. I could no longer fly. I became restless and soon got in touch with my old accomplices. I could only advise them as to techniques and plots through letters, yet, those moments gave me a thrill like in the olden days. Then my dearly departed sister-in-law discovered my secret. She tried to blackmail me, threatening to tell the Duke.”
“Why didn’t you go back to where you came from?” Catherine dared to ask. “Left my poor father in peace.”
The Duchess narrowed her eyes and pressed the pistol into Prudence’s spine making her squeak. “However much I wanted to return to my old life, I could not afford to do that. I had created such a comfortable place here with all its luxuries. Besides, I am older and no more as nimble. I can no longer scale walls or run as fast. My feigned madness allowed me to write late into the night to my friends. I loved vexing everyone with my little speeches of the spirit world. No one took me seriously, and that suited me fine. That is exactly what I wanted. Perhaps I planned to run away for a short time and cheat some rich man of his treasures for the fun of it. I could then return to my home at my convenience, and what could one say to a mad woman? It was all so perfect until she spoiled it all. I placated her with some paltry sums, but her demands kept increasing. I could take it no more. I knew she was blackmailing some of you, and I knew of this whole game of the Earl and Joe being present. It was the perfect opportunity, so I stole into her room while she slept and stabbed her.”
“Are you sorry?” Emma asked.
“I did the Duke a favour,” the Duchess said. An odd emotion flickered momentarily on her face. “With her gone every single person in this room has benefitted. Am I sorry? No. I am glad I did it and if I had to, I would do so again and again and again.”
“Put the pistol down,” the Duke said carefully. “We can talk about this.”
She kept her eye on the Duke as she brutally twisted the cold muzzle into Prudence’s back forcing her to stand. She began inching her way towards the door. “No more talking. I know you and your noble, humdrum heart. You will not spare me no matter what sweet words you might utter now. I was smart enough to plan my escape if I were discovered. I, for one, have never underestimated your intelligence,” she said, grinning with a mad light dancing in her eyes. “Now, my friends wait in the dark night, so I bid you adieu.”
She dragged Prudence out the front door and into the garden, and no one dared stop her.
A carriage sat waiting on the outskirts. She climbed into it, pushing Prudence to the ground. She kept the pistol trained on the girl until the carriage went out of sight.
“Will you follow her, Your Grace?” Pickering asked.
“We will never catch her. She would have planned it well,” the Duke replied sadly.
“Did you know?” Catherine asked her father.
“I became suspicious after my sister hinted that I should look into my wife’s past. I started keeping a closer eye on the Duchess and noticed how astute she was. I wondered if she was pretending to be mad and could not understand her reasons for doing so. I hired Nutters to investigate. I had started the investigation out of curiosity, wondering where she came from, what kind of madness she had, and whether it ran in the family, since I was expected to produce an heir. It took me a long time to find out the truth. My sister tried to tell me a few days before she died I think my wife had refused to play her games anymore. I had brushed my sister aside and warned her to stay out of my business. I did not want to confess that I suspected the same thing. I wanted the proof that Nutters was going to procure for me before I took any action. I became worried having her under the same roof, and I think somewhere deep in my heart, I knew what she was capable of . . . and she proved me right.”
Catherine slipped her hand through his and led him inside. He looked as if he had aged years in those last few moments.
It was a considerable time before the house was calm again.
Epilogue
“Lord Raikes,” Catherine said, crushing her white silk gown with her fingers.
“Call me, William.”
“Don’t you think our wedding has happened too soon? You did promise me a courtship. Perhaps we should wait a while before . . . ” Catherine said nervously.
“Before?” he prompted, smiling.
“Well, you know?”
“No, I don’t. Elaborate, my dear. The wedding wine is making me feel a bit dim,” he said wickedly.
“To become husband and wife.”
“Too late. We are already married.”
“I mean to . . . to . . . share the bed,” she whispered finally.
Lord William Raikes stared at his trembling wife, his face serious.
“Answer me first. Do you love me?”
Catherine bit her lip and then slowly lifted her lashes. She saw his intense expression and understood his fear. She knew he loved her, and he was afraid that once more he would be rejected by his love.
Her heart squeezed painfully and she caught his hand in hers and nodded, her eyes darkening with emotion.
He grinned in delight, “Then I no longer have to woo you. As for not sharing the bed, then you are in for a disappointment.”
Then they did, and she was not disappointed.
***
Emma sat in her wedding finery in her new home. She watched the Earl pour them a glass of wine.
“So you admit the Duke is far cleverer than you?” Emma asked, pulling the pins out of her hair.
“I do not! The point of the wager was to show that the Duke could be fooled, and he was fooled by his wife no less . . . for ten whole years!” the Earl replied.
“Humph, but you lost. You did not prove it. He knew who you were from the very beginning.”
“Yes, but the point is that he was duped, and I managed the end I wanted.”
“What’s that?”
“Why, marrying you wit
hin two months. I even got my poor friend married off to your cousin in the bargain.”
“That was not your doing. You could not have imagined that they would fall in love.”
The Earl grinned as he leaned in for a kiss, “Are you sure about that, my love?”
Emma eyed her husband sceptically. He pushed her back on the bed and dived under the covers. He had the rest of his life to convince her of his intelligence. For the moment, he had work to do . . .
“Ooh, is this even possible?”
“Yes, and more.”
“Oh, I don’t think I see.”
“There is more.”
“Nooo.”
“Yes”
“Ah, I see now what you mean.”
“You will see a lot more, my dear, I am just getting started.”
And they lived happily ever after.
***
The Duchess of Arden tapped the ash off her cigar, “So, he is the richest man in all of France?” she asked huskily, sizing up her prey.
“He is a sharp one. He didn’t make all that money by acting a fool.”
Her full lips curved into half a smile.
“If I could dupe the Duke, then this frog-faced man is hardly competition.”
“Don’t be over confident, he is brilliant. Be careful, I think you have met your match.”
“I hope so,” she whispered, throwing the glowing stub away.
She took a sip of her whisky and arranged her face into a helpless expression before sashaying towards her new target.
The End
If you enjoyed the romance elements of The Wicked Wager, you may enjoy the first book in the Fairweather Sisters Series, Penelope. A sneak peek of the first chapter is below.
If you enjoyed the mystery elements of The Wicked Wager, you may enjoy the first book in the Lucy Trotter Mystery series, Murder at Rudhall Manor. A sneak peak of the first chapter is below.
While each novel can be enjoyed on its own, the recommend reading order is The Fairweather Sister Series followed by The Lucy Trotter Mystery Series due to the overlap of certain characters.
If you want a complimentary copy of my next novel upon release, then please email me at [email protected] and I will send it to you soon after it is published.*
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Lord Grayson’s Bride
Highland Regency Brides
Book One
Tarah Scott
Lord Grayson’s Bride
Copyright © 2014 by Tarah Scott.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Cover Art: Hot Damn Designs
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to my beta readers Tracey Reid, Debbie McCreary, Melba Solis-Zuniga, and Sweet Lily, aka, Lily Baldwin. I really appreciate your time and feedback. You guys are the best! Of course, thank you Kimberly Comeau for making sure all the details were right. Thanks to Erin Dameron-Hill, who created another perfect cover.
Dedication
This, my first novella in the Scrolls of Cridhe, I dedicate to my sister Guardians, Ceci Giltenan, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, Lily Baldwin, Suzan Tisdale, Kate Robbins, and Kathryn Lynn Davis. Little did I know this project would bring me six such brilliant and kind women. Six true sisters. I am privileged to know all of you.
Chapter One
Inverness, Scotland September 1820
The hairs on the back of Nicholas’ neck suddenly stood at attention and he looked up from his cards. Henry Maxwell stood in the doorway of the card room, a troubled frown on his face. Nicholas silently cursed. What had his fiancé done this time?
He returned his attention to his opponent and, with half a dozen men watching, laid his final card, the king of clubs, on the table. A combination of exclamations went up in unison with Lord David Wylst’s muttered oath. The baron had expected his jack to win. The onlookers lifted their glasses in salute and took heavy swigs of their drinks.
“I am happy to take your marker,” Nicholas told Wylst, knowing full well the paper would be worthless.
Nicholas didn’t wait for the response he saw in Wylst’s eyes—at the very least, a demand for a rematch to win back his losses, at the worst, an accusation that the only way a Scot could best an Englishman was to cheat. The thought was confirmed when Nicholas rose and Wylst’s gaze flicked to his kilt. A corner of the baron’s mouth turned up in derision. Wylst was fool enough to openly betray his thoughts, despite the fact they were in the Scottish Highlands, not England.
Nicholas started toward Henry.
“You have the luck of the devil,” John McEwan commented as he passed.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he replied, and continued across the room.
Nicholas reached Henry, who whispered, “You might want to have a talk with your fiancé, and quickly.”
He released a weary sigh. “It’s only five o’clock. Too early for dancing.”
“This is more than the small impropriety of dancing too many times with another gentleman,” Henry said. “She disappeared into the west wing with Lindsay.”
“Lindsay?” Nicholas snorted. “He wouldn’t dare fraternize with Jo. He knows I would kill him.”
“I saw her go myself.”
Nicholas kept a bland expression as George MacKinley approached.
“Will ye play another game?” MacKinley asked. “Wylst wants the chance to win back his marker.”
“Wylst would do well to not bet money he doesn’t have.” Nicholas tired of pretense.
“Ye must give a man the chance to win back his money,” MacKinley insisted.
“I have no desire to read in tomorrow’s paper that he shot himself over losing what fortune he has left,” Nicholas replied.
“That’s overdramatic, would you no’ say?” MacKinley said.
“Nay. Now, if you will excuse us, Henry and I have business.”
MacKinley shrugged, and Nicholas left with Henry. They passed through the parlor of Barthmont Keep where guests of the two-week-long house party lounged.
When they reached the hallway and headed toward the west wing, Nicholas asked, “How long ago?”
“No more than five minutes.”
Was Josephine so determined to avoid their marriage that she would allow another man to bed her? Bed her? A five-minute liaison was nothing more than a quick—Nicholas cut off the thought with another oath. He was going to end her ridiculous games. No, he reflected with more reason. It wasn’t a game. He had no idea why, but the ink had barely dried on the marriage contract, when she began to careen down the road to Hell.
He hadn’t expected Josephine to be the seventeen year old girl he left behind six years ago when he joined the navy, but in the month since his return, he’d seen only glimpses of that girl. Growing up, he’d been close friends with her cousin, Stuart Knightly, who was two years Nicholas’ senior. Orphaned at fifteen, Stuart had gone to live with Josephine’s father. Josephine had been five, and Nicholas thirteen. Even then, she had been willful, but there was an urgency about her now that frightened him.
Nicholas wished for the dozenth time that Stuart were here. He was the closest thing to a brother Josephine had, and he might be able to shed light on what was wrong. But Stuart’s father hadn’t inherited the title—
though he did manage to squander a sizeable fortune before dying in a carriage accident along with his wife—so Stuart had joined the navy to make his own way in the world.
Henry kept pace with Nicholas as they hurried through the labyrinth of hallways. Ten minutes later, they reached the stairway leading to the third floor where Lady Allaway housed a dozen of her guests. Nicholas took the stone steps two at a time, Henry close behind. When they reached the second floor, Nicholas lengthened his stride. They passed four doors and a woman’s voice inside the last room caused him to halt.
He looked at Henry.
“That isn’t Lindsay’s room,” Henry said.
“But it was Jo’s voice.”
Nicholas turned and flung open the door. He took in Josephine bent close to her lover as she straddled him on the couch, the bodice of her dress pushed down to her waist. She bolted upright. Her breasts, pushed high by her corset, nearly spilled over the top of her chemise. She yanked her dress up over her breasts and his gaze caught on the pearls around her neck. The day her father gave her the pearls was the day Nicholas realized he loved her...the day he decided to defy both their families and marry her. Seven years ago.