Seductive Wager

by Leigh Greenwood

  Brett reacted with disgust, but Peter said in a hollow voice, “Really, old fellow, that’s not the done thing. Been happy to give you the whole bottle if I’d known you wanted it. Didn’t know hollering could make a man so thirsty.”

  Martin slammed the bottle down on the table and his large fist snaked out to grasp Peter by his neckcloth.

  “Shut your mouth, you jabbering fool,” he roared. “If I don’t have at least five minutes without the sound of your voice, I’m going to hang you on a nail by your fancy cravat.” Peter struggled to free himself, his breath coming in gasps, but he was too drunk and Martin was too strong.

  “You have my sympathy,” intruded Brett’s cold, flinty voice, “but I shouldn’t think it would be necessary to resort to such extremes.” He eyed Martin with increasing dislike. “Neither would I like for you to mishandle poor Feathers. He’s the last of his name, and his family still holds out some hope for him.” Brett’s eyes no longer smiled and his body was tense, ready to spring.

  “He’s already a horse’s ass,” Martin choked, furious at Brett’s intervention.

  “Possibly, but he’s not your horse’s ass. I’m sure you can leave him safely disposed in his chair. I can’t imagine he’ll be very comfortable there, but he’s bound to feel better once he can breathe.” Feathers’s struggles were growing more frantic, and Brett continued to regard Martin with the unmistakable bearing of a man who expected to be obeyed, one who was prepared to see that he was obeyed. Martin’s courage faltered before the keen-edged lance of Brett’s gaze, and nearly choking with fury, he released Feathers; that bewildered gentleman staggered backward to the safety of his chair.

  “I never meant to hurt the young cockerel,” Martin growled. “It’s my bitch of a sister I want to get my hands on. Tavern trollops, says she. I’ll have her down here if I have to drag her by her hair, half naked and screaming all the way.”

  “I can’t imagine how I can bear to tear myself away from this enthralling melodrama,” Edward intoned in a blighting voice, “but I believe I shall go to bed. I wonder why I came? Whatever the reason, it was not sufficient. I feel positively soiled.”

  The last word was weighted with enough contempt to penetrate a hide far thicker than Martin’s, and he quailed inwardly under the lash of that silken tongue.

  “You shouldn’t expect drawing-room manners from Martin,” Brett said, disregarding Martin’s gobbling fury. “Didn’t you hear him say he preferred his horse to his mistress?” Martin brought his fist down on the table so hard the brandy bottle jumped and two of the glasses spilled their contents.

  “You can’t goad me with your insults,” he roared, hate nearly choking the words in his throat. “I’ve never cared what you thought of me, and it’s not going to worry me now.” He turned on Edward, thrusting his face so close their noses nearly touched. “And you, my ever so fine and particular gentleman, can sit back down. I haven’t finished with you yet.”

  “Possibly,” Edward said, drawing his face back from Martin’s nearly purple visage with obvious distaste, “but I see no reason why I should be expected to inhale the air you have just fouled with your breath.” With deliberate insolence, he placed the carefully manicured index finger of his right hand squarely in the middle of Martin’s nose and slowly pushed his face away from him.

  “I can see no purpose in pursuing this disastrous game,” Brett interrupted, out of patience with Martin’s ill humor. “I suggest we retire to our respective chambers. Rest may bring council, and a change in your luck.”

  “I don’t want your advice, damn your eyes,” Martin screamed, a wild and uncomprehending look in his eyes. “I don’t want anybody’s advice. I want to play another game, and I’m going to play another game. You cant refuse me the chance to recover my losses.” He banged his fist on the table again. “Hell and damnation, man, you’ve got to keep on playing.”

  Brett glanced at the pile of coins and pieces of paper littering the table before him. It galled him to admit Martin was right, but he’d won so heavily there was no way he could honorably refuse.

  “It was never my intention to strip you of your possessions,” he said contemptuously. “I have enough for my own needs, and suitable charities are hard to find.”

  “You don’t have to be so high and mighty just because the cards have been running your way,” Martin stormed. “I’m not done up yet.” Brett was annoyed at the slight to his skill, but he held his peace. Martin took another deep drink from the bottle and leaned down the table, his breath labored and his eyes wide.

  “You haven’t beaten me yet,” he rasped, his words beginning to slur. “I’ll come about. He stood up on unsteady legs and whirled around like he was looking for something. “Where’s that whoring sister of mine?” he yelled. “I sent for her ages ago.” There was a hint of querulousness in his voice. He staggered over to the bell rope and began to pull on it like a steeple bell ringer.

  “You know I find your company quite delightful,” Edward murmured in an expressionless voice, “but it is entirely possible your sister has no liking for you in your present condition.”

  An unusually violent pull on the bell rope caused it to come away in Martin’s hands, and he threw it from him in a flurry of virulent curses on the nature of Edward’s conception and the manner of his birth. The rope glanced off his spaniel’s hip, and she leaped up with a protesting howl that turned into a menacing growl. In his wild fury, Martin charged his dog, kicking drunkenly at her age-thickened body, and she sank her teeth into his leg with a snap. Exploding with a roar of pain, Martin gave her such a savage blow upon the nose that she released her grip on his calf, whined, and cowered under his raining blows.

  “Stupid bitch!” Martin thundered, stumbling over to the door and dragging the yelping animal behind him. “No female is going to flout my orders. She’ll learn to her sorrow who’s master in this house.” He opened the door and flung the whimpering animal into the hall without a glance. “Don’t any of you leave this room. I’ll be back with that black-hearted wench, and then we’ll see if you can keep on winning.”

  He turned so swiftly he rocked on his heels, but he recovered his balance quickly and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a loud crack.

  Edward raised his eyes from their contemplation of his impeccable nails and addressed the room with an unruffled calm. “I wonder which bitch he was referring to? If he treats one like the other, I shouldn’t be surprised if we see Miss Vareyan sink her teeth into his flesh. I can’t help but think it a suitable response to the tender regard he so touchingly expressed for her. You’re a clever man,” he said turning to Brett. “Isn’t there some way you can accidentally discharge a pistol in his direction? Actually, a sword would serve just as well. I’m persuaded if you cleaned the blade very carefully afterward, there would be no lingering effects.” Brett refused to be drawn, but Peter more than made up for his restraint.

  “The fellow’s loco. Had a filly once acted like that. Couldn’t do a thing with her. Attacked her groom. Even tried to climb a tree. Nothing for it but to put her down. Shame, too. She had the finest shoulder of any horse I ever owned.”

  “I’m sorry about your filly, Peter,” Brett remarked, unable to keep his voice entirely steady, “but Martin is our host, and we can’t put a bullet through him no matter how much he may remind you of a horse’s shoulder.”

  “On the contrary,” Edward remarked, taking a small enameled snuff box from his pocket, “I think it’s an excellent suggestion. I suspect the justice of the peace would take exception if we were to make a practice of it, but one small shooting might very well go unnoticed. If we were to offer his remains to his misused spaniel or that pitifully abused hunter I saw him hacking this afternoon, I’m convinced little evidence of our misconduct would remain.”

  “For God’s sake, be quiet,” Brett begged. “Everyone knows you have no conscience. The only guilt you can feel is over a poorly chosen waistcoat, or a drawing room hung in crimson
velvet.” Edward winced palpably, but his eyes twinkled.

  “I should think he would,” the forever gullible Feathers declared. “It’s enough to give a fellow the shakes. Not that I ever had much use for drawing rooms myself,” he added thoughtfully. “Can’t stand them actually. Always full of frightful females trying to get your ring on their finger and their hand in your pocket.”

  “If you could still your tongue for even a short while,” Brett snapped, unable to contain himself, “it is just possible your eyes and ears might be able to deposit some small amount of knowledge in your pitifully empty head.”

  “If you mean to try and rectify all of Mother Nature’s oversights, dear boy, you’re in for a wearisome existence,” Edward drawled. “For all her accomplishments, the old girl is remarkably careless sometimes.” He rose to his feet and stretched his stiff limbs. “I really must have something to drink. I don’t suppose Ned will hazard a return to this room tonight, nor can I blame him, but I wish he had thought to furnish me with directions to the kitchen. In my desperation I considered brandy, but after the manner in which our host slaked his thirst, I would prefer the stable pump.”

  “Shut up about your water,” Brett ordered. “You’re getting to be as long-winded as Feathers. When a man makes a mistress of his housekeeper, there’s no chance of being properly attended to in his house. Now sit down and stop prowling about the room. I don’t know what Martin means to do, but I fear you’ll need all your strength before this interminable night is over.”

  “He does seem determined to play out his final dissolution before our very eyes,” Edward complained. “If the sister is anything like the brother, the final scene should be ghastly.” With a shrug of resignation, he settled back in his chair to await the inevitable denouement.

  Chapter 2

  The door burst open and a girl catapulted into the room with such momentum she tripped over the bell rope and tumbled into Feathers’s lap. Before the astonished onlookers could do more than gasp in unison, she looked about in utter terror and retreated as far as possible from the strangers who goggled at her as they scrambled to their feet. She was nearly fainting from shame, but the passionate rage blazing in her eyes refused to acknowledge that her whole body quivered with mortification.

  Even in the dim candlelight, it was obvious that Kate Vareyan was stunningly beautiful. The perfect oval of her face, the shining halo of her golden hair, the delicate loveliness of her features, and the creamy peachlike softness of her skin combined to strike her audience mute. But it was her form, imperfectly concealed by the threadbare nightgown, that set Brett’s pulses racing and caused his breath to catch in his throat. Hers was not the body of a girl, but that of a young woman, a titillating combination of youthful innocence and full-blown sensuality. Brett could easily see the shape of her breasts where they thrust out against the fabric of her gown, her nipples forming small points of desire, and it caused a pulsating ache to arc through his whole body. From the narrow tapering waist to the long, slim limbs and the dainty ankles, she was a vision certain to arouse the demon of desire in any man. When she faced her beholders with flashing blue eyes and the blush of roses in her cheeks, the effect was breathtaking.

  It was left to Feathers, rooted to the floor like a biblical pillar of salt, to sum up the group’s collective opinion. “Gawd Almighty,” he stammered in awed tones. “She’s perfect. Like a goddamned Greek statue.”

  In the agony of her shame, Kate turned on Martin like a cornered creature. “How dare you expose me to the leering gaze of your drunken companions?” she blazed at him. “Are you completely without a sense of decency?”

  Martin’s slap caused her to stagger against the massive carved stone mantel, but before his hand could return to his side, Brett had sprung from his chair and sent him crashing to the floor.

  “A gentleman does not strike a lady, not even when he’s drunk,” Brett said in a voice tight with rage, his eyes like onyx. “Get up and beg her pardon.”

  “Hell and be damned,” Martin blustered. “I’ll be more likely to raise another welt on her face.” Brett dragged Martin to his feet and sent him sprawling against the legs of the table with a second blow.

  “Apologize, or I’ll choke it out of you,” he declared with lethal menace. Feeling his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken, Martin collected his numbed wits, swallowed his pride, and mumbled something that could be taken for an apology. Then he crawled into his chair and reached for the brandy bottle.

  Brett turned to Kate, his heated gaze traveling slowly over her body from head to foot; his inflamed senses turned his usually well-ordered thoughts into a chaotic jumble, and he felt desire spring up like a raging bull. He knew the danger of continuing to stare at her, but she was undoubtedly the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and he was unable to turn his gaze.

  Kate was infuriated by Brett’s probing eyes, but she refused to cringe before his brazen scrutiny even though it covered her with fresh embarrassment. Why didn’t he have the decency to look away instead of boring through her with those coal black eyes? I hate him, she thought to herself. I hate all men.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, speaking the words in a sweetly ironic voice, “but forgive me if I seem astonished at your concern for a lowly female. I’ve not been accustomed to look for consideration from one of your sex.”

  Brett didn’t answer immediately, and Kate thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—a softness or a feeling of sympathy—but it was quickly gone. “I don’t imagine you were ever a lowly female,” he stated bluntly, “but if you continue to stand about bandying words with me in your present state of undress, I shall be forced to take you at your own estimation.”

  Kate swelled with such indignation she momentarily forgot her outraged modesty. “It may have “escaped your brandy-clouded notice, but I did not come into this room by choice,” she raged, her eyes flashing blue fire. “It has never been an object with me to pander to the low passions of the male sex. I loathe and despise the lot of you.” Her hand brushed her face to dash away the tears of hot humiliation flowing down her cheeks. “Even you must perceive the difficulty of covering one’s self with a robe one does not possess.” She clenched her fists in frustration and stamped her slipper-clad feet on the stone floor.

  Brett was not accustomed to females who stamped their feet at him or tore his character to shreds. He had the distinct feeling that getting to know her would be an enlivening experience, but it was not an acquaintance, he decided on reflection, he wished to pursue. Nevertheless, a curious smile broke the solemnity of his expression and he sat down slowly, continuing to stare at her in an oddly abstract manner.

  “All this is most entertaining, but highly improper,” Edward observed dryly. “Miss Vareyan, I fear nothing short of blinding will stop these normally courteous men from staring at you in this blatant manner. I also expect Martin would resist any effort of mine to assist you to leave this room. That, I’m afraid, leaves us very little choice as to how to resolve this embarrassing situation.” He retrieved his driving cloak from where it had been tossed over a chair and draped the large, heavy garment over Kate’s shoulders. She was too angry with Brett to do more than offer Edward a nod of her head in gratitude.

  “She may return to her bedchamber,” Brett said, his quietly spoken words directed to Edward but his eyes on Martin. Edward’s eyes traveled quickly from Brett to Martin and then back to Kate.

  “She’s my sister, and she’ll do what I say,” Martin shouted.

  “Not unless she wishes,” Brett countered, his unbending gaze shutting off Martin’s protest. “Do you wish to retire, Miss Vareyan?”

  Kate didn’t know what to say. That anyone would help her was unexpected, that anyone would defend her hard to believe, but that this stranger would defy Martin just to spare her embarrassment was inconceivable. She glanced up at her brother and quailed inwardly at the venom in his eyes. This stranger might protect her now, but he wouldn’t be here tomorrow, or the
next day, in case Martin decided to take out his anger on her. Besides, what harm could there be in staying a few moments more? She couldn’t be any more embarrassed than she already was.

  “Thank you,” she said finally, “but I’ll stay a little longer. Martin must have wanted me for something, and I’m warm enough with this cloak.” She pulled the garment tightly around her shoulders. It didn’t reach her ankles, but she was hardly aware of that.

  Brett nodded curtly and sat down, a fierce scowl on his face. He could guess the reason behind Kate’s answer, and the thought that she might be mistreated in his absence angered him.

  After gulping down another glass of brandy to help him recover from Brett’s rough handling, Martin brought his open palm down on the table, interrupting Feathers in a fanciful but garbled series of compliments.

  “That’s enough, puppy,” he blustered, ignoring Feathers’s flush of anger and turning irascibly to Brett. “I demand one more chance to make good my losses.” He jumped up and dragged his sister toward Brett. “I’m going to stake the last thing I have against my IOU’s.” Cries of protest and exclamations of disbelief erupted about him, but Martin kept his eyes glued to Brett’s face.

  “That’s right,” he stormed. “My sister against everything on that paper.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Brett commanded, his voice rough and unsteady. “Nobody stakes his own kin in a card game.”

  “I have to. She’s all I have,” Martin declared, fixing Brett with a hawklike glare. “And by God, she’s worth, every guinea on the table, and then some. Look at her! Did you ever see anything to beat it?” He attempted to pull the cloak from Kate’s shoulders, but her fingers clamped tightly over the folds of the flawlessly cut garment, and she turned to Edward with an imploring look.

  “Thank you for your touching faith, my dear,” he said, grinning ruefully, “but it’s badly misplaced. I would strive to defend you with all my ability, but I’m persuaded you would do better to enlist Mr. Westbrook’s aid.”