The Wedding Gamble

by Julia Justiss

  She heard strange, feral sobs and realized they were her own. The deeply buried regret that it was not Sinjin who kissed her, Sinjin who loved her, flamed to cinder and disintegrated.

  Nicholas entered her, his movement within this time all pleasurable friction and smooth, slippery delight. His body sheened, his breathing a harsh gasp, he filled her completely, advancing and retreating in urgent cadence.

  In the next instant, he plunged deep and cried out. The world exploded around her into brilliant shards of sensation that shocked along her nerves for long, exquisite moments before dimming and slowly, slowly subsiding.

  Sometime later, she opened her eyes to find Nicholas inclined above her. He held his weight on his hands, but his hips pressed hers intimately where their bodies still joined. She could feel the thunderous beat of his heart.

  “Better?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Better,” she breathed.

  “Good.” He bent and kissed her gently. “Sarah, my sweet wife,” he murmured, the words a caress.

  In the vicinity of her heart, her chest tightened.

  Once again, he rolled to his side and pulled her against his chest. With a long, deep sigh, he nestled into the pillows. A few moments later she heard his slow, even breathing and knew he slept.

  Awe and wonderment grew in her. He had taken her tenderly, given a pleasure as unexpected as it was profound. Even now, the miracle of that possession might be transforming itself into the miracle of new life.

  ’Twas no going back now. Though they had not exchanged words of love, the language spoken by their bodies had sealed a bond that for Sarah was permanent and irreversible.

  A profound tranquillity settled within her. A scientific mind, Nicholas had said? She lifted a hand, tempted to trail it along the beauty of muscle and bone that lay beside her, see if she could uncover for him unexpected wonders such as those he had revealed for her.

  Then her hand stilled. Lord save me from spirited, passionate women. No, he had married her to create a bond of flesh—the second miracle, not the first. She must remember that, and the fact that, as riveting as this experience had been for her, ’twas not the same for him.

  He had known others before and might again. Though at this moment, suffused in the marvel of their joining, her mind refused to acknowledge that possibility in more concrete detail.

  She moved her hand from the enticing curve of hip, instead brushing back the lock of hair that had drifted onto his brow. She must remember her place, and her duty.

  This marriage, she thought sleepily as she snuggled her cheek against the fragrant velvet pillow of his shoulder, might be worth the gamble after all.

  Smiling, Sarah seated herself at the desk in her sitting room, poured herself some tea and turned her face into the pale sunshine. Nicholas was in the library, but would be up shortly to escort her to yet another fitting. It seemed, at her husband’s urging, she’d done nothing since returning to London but acquire the enormous wardrobe that he assured her was required for a lady of her position.

  She sighed. She’d much enjoyed her more lowly position as temporary chatelaine of Ned’s little cottage. Though Sarah had been the one to end the idyll of their honeymoon, reminding Nicholas of Lady Jersey’s upcoming ball, she had been most reluctant to do so.

  For idyllic it had been. They’d spent a profusion of lazy sunlit hours exploring the countryside, fishing poles and picnic basket stowed on their saddlebags. Rainy days they whiled away at billiards or chess. In the evenings they read aloud, or she entertained him with her repertoire of piano. They had even played cards.

  Nicholas had at first suggested they wager chicken stakes. All her defenses springing to the alert, she sharply declined, replying if they played at all, she would prefer it to be merely a test of skill.

  He countered by proposing they wager something more interesting than guineas. And proceeded to disarm all her apprehensions by suggesting, with a naughty-boy smile, that they play for kisses. By the time he demonstrated his expectations of what losing a point would entail, she could hardly recall which cards she held. She lost the first game with embarrassing swiftness, and he claimed his forfeit with such skill that cards were abandoned for the night.

  Ah, yes, the nights…Her cheeks grew hot and a spiraling warmth uncurled in her belly at the memories.

  She caught her wayward thoughts. However wrong he’d been about Nicholas’s initial treatment of her, Findlay most likely spoke the truth when he predicted that, once she got with child, Nicholas would reduce his nocturnal visits.

  Perhaps ’twas as well, for she found adhering to their bargain more difficult than ever she’d imagined. It had been all good and well to promise a calm, ladylike reserve in intimate matters while wholly ignorant of what that promise entailed. But now…

  The powerful response he evoked made her burn to cry aloud at his touch, ache to follow his lead and to let her own lips and fingers explore his beautiful lean body.

  Well, she would just have to manage it. She’d given her word, and she never went back on a promise.

  Firmly redirecting her thoughts, she came across a note from the old steward’s son she’d left in charge at Wellingford. Jenkins wrote of the repairs he’d effected over the winter and the preparations for spring planting. He’d do his best possible to stretch funds, he promised, but might she have available any additional monies?

  A familiar mix of longing, frustration and shame filled her. Wellingford’s land held such potential, could she but scrape together the funds to exploit it. She might apply to Nicholas—but no, she absolutely could not ask him for another groat. The quarterly allowance he allotted her was already more than generous.

  With a tremor of excitement she straightened. A considerable sum still remained from that allowance, and her wardrobe was already stuffed to repletion. Why not send the rest to Wellingford?

  Swiftly she estimated the amounts required for additional seed, roofing and tools. She set down the pen, her heartbeat quickening. She could do all, or much of it.

  This very afternoon she would visit the bank. Taking up her pen, she mentally reviewed the instructions she must send Jenkins. But where did one obtain the rapeseed and the new curved plow Sir Edward had described?

  Ned would know. Surely he would be willing to share his expertise. She’d write Ned first.

  Her pen flew through the note, her mind whirling with images of Wellingford renascent. Not until she sealed it did a tremor of doubt trouble her.

  The allowance was given her to fulfill her role as Marchioness of Englemere. But then, hadn’t Nicholas several times assured her it was hers to spend as she liked? Besides—a gambler’s passion had nearly lost her Wellingford. Wasn’t it somehow fitting that a gambler’s winnings rescued, and might now begin to restore it?

  True, Nicholas might not appreciate her plowing yet more of his blunt into a farm—if he knew. Not that she’d dissemble, but she doubted he’d ask how she spent the funds, and couldn’t imagine him troubling to inspect account ledgers. In a few short weeks, she’d have another shamefully extravagant sum to draw upon. Meanwhile, the sums she borrowed would buy a whole growing season’s benefit for Wellingford.

  Hours later, Sarah stood at the edge of Lady Jersey’s ballroom as a teeming swirl of the haut ton passed by. She thought wistfully of Ned’s cottage just an hour’s drive away. Why ever had she urged Nicholas to return to London?

  After one dance, she’d released him to make the rounds of his friends, while she sought out Clarissa. When Wexley claimed that lady, Sarah wandered back to the ballroom. Nicholas wasn’t present, though, and Sarah wondered if she’d see him again tonight.

  “The fair maiden doesn’t dance? How can this be?”

  She whirled to find Nicholas behind her. He caught her hand for a lingering kiss that sent a shiver of sensation from her fingertips to her toes.

  She could feel her cheeks flush, and blessed the relative shadow of this alcove. “You found your friends well, I t
rust. And caught up on the latest on-dits?”

  To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. “Indeed. Including this interesting tidbit. It seems a certain young lady, observing that her fiancé had fallen unaccountably but desperately in love with her companion, ended their engagement so those two persons might wed.”

  Sarah gasped. “She didn’t! Oh, that wretched girl! Clarissa mentioned such a silly scenario, but I never—”

  Nicholas put a finger to her lips. “Come, do you not find it amusing to figure in this affecting little tale?”

  “But ’tis entirely untrue, and unfair to you, as well! As for your falling in love with me, ’tis a notion too preposterous for anyone to entertain.”

  “Ah, but entertain it they do. No less than three of my friends asked, in strictest confidence, if ’twere true.”

  Upset now, Sarah gave a helpless shrug. “What can I say, but assure you again how sorry I am.”

  “Don’t let it trouble you, sweet Sarah. I did in fact abandon her—with no regrets. And I’ve been an object of gossip since the moment I inherited. Besides, I rather like the role of dashing knight discovering his one true love.” His voice softened. “Do you not wish to be my lady fair?”

  “I should be honored! But never would I wish to embarrass you.”

  “Then I must convince you this is ardor.”

  He peeled back her glove. With lips and tongue he slowly caressed each rounded pad of her exposed palm.

  Sarah’s heartbeat stampeded. “My lord,” she said, gasping. “Have a care, else I shall start to believe it myself.”

  He nibbled the swell of her thumb before releasing it. “Would that be so bad a thing?”

  “Shame on you, Englemere!” Lady Jersey tapped him with her fan. “’Tis bad ton to dance attendance on your wife—despite the interesting rumors I hear.”

  She cast them a shrewd glance. “Go along now, and let me chat with Sarah. Several ladies present tonight, I know, are dying for a dance with you.” With a private little smile, Lady Jersey motioned him away.

  Nicholas bowed and walked off, then turned to gaze back at his wife. The emerald of her gown accented the gold of her pale hair and seemed to set off jade echoes in her silver eyes. After a month, her subtle beauty still startled him, as it had dazzled him the unforgettable moment he’d first seen her in that gold wedding dress.

  Their honeymoon had been emphatic proof of his brilliance in choosing her. Sarah never kept him waiting to fuss with her gown, or chattered at him over the breakfast table, or pouted if he left her alone to tend his accounts. Even better, with her ready wit and her many mannish accomplishments, she was…fun.

  He’d expected her to be a bruising rider, but hadn’t anticipated needing to use every trick to best her in their races. At their first billiards game, he deliberately missed a ball and found himself royally trounced before he could recapture his cue. And, he recalled with a grin, she was just as good with a pistol as she claimed.

  She was also unexpectedly, delectably good at other things. The vein of sensuality he’d suspected beneath the calm exterior ran deep and pure. From their wedding night onward, Sarah entranced him with her delight in each touch, every sensation. ’Twas as if, he reflected in bemusement, her eager wonderment was scouring away his layers of jaded experience, making everything new for him—as if he, too, were exploring intimate pleasure for the very first time.

  Equally amazing, she attempted none of the manipulation he’d come to believe inevitable in the sensual waltz of a man with a woman. Never did she entice and then refuse him; never did she hint that intimacy hinged on a gift or favor. She was just—Sarah, unaffectedly natural and willing.

  Still, he sensed a banked passion smoldering behind a remnant of maidenly reserve. Though he was thoroughly pleased with the physical bond that already existed between them, it had become an intoxicating game to try to draw still more active a response from her. Faith, with a wife as arousing and arousable as Sarah, what need had he of a mistress?

  The unexpected thought shocked him, his cautious head reining in his impulsive heart. ’Twas early yet, too soon for so far-reaching a decision. For now, he meant to just enjoy a marriage far more pleasant than he’d dared expect.

  A wicked idea occurred, and he grinned. Damn, how long until they could leave this dull party?

  “I should be delighted if I believed that—satisfied—smile sprang to your lips at the prospect of meeting me,” a low voice murmured. In a swath of black silk cut low over her sumptuous breasts, Chloe Ingram glided to him.

  “I’m certainly glad to see you, Nicholas, after all these weeks.” She reached out a hand, then stopped. “That is, if you’re still greeting your old…friends?”

  It was a perfect opening, and for an instant he nearly seized it. But he and Chloe had been friends, as well as lovers. He owed her more than a cut direct in a ballroom.

  “Of course I’m greeting old friends.” Glancing past her as he brought one perfumed hand to his lips, he noted Sarah and Lady Jersey nowhere in sight. “Ladies dying to dance with him,” indeed.

  This explained Silence’s cat-licking-the-cream-pot smile. He bet Sally Jersey would never send Chloe vouchers to Almack’s, yet she’d included the lady in her ball tonight. A score he’d settle with the mischievous Sally later.

  “You’re looking exceedingly lovely.” He dropped the compliment smoothly and looked back to Chloe.

  “Flatterer.” She made a moue at him and leaned closer. And thereby offered him, he realized critically, a better view down her brief bodice. He could easily make out the shadow of nipples barely covered by dusky silk.

  She noted the direction of his eyes and drew a deep breath, swelling her ample bosom toward him. “London has been dreadfully dull. Indeed, I’m quite overwhelmed to see you again.” She swept her glance down, like his, to her breasts, and her nipples under their silk veiling hardened.

  In the past, he had found such innuendo about her passion—and its physical evidence—highly arousing. He thought now it was a cheap whore’s trick. Surprised by that harsh judgment, he said brusquely, “Oh, I daresay you had much to amuse you.”

  He thought he saw a flash of pique in her eyes. Then, perhaps sensing his thoughts, she slipped out of the seductive pose. “I’ve been so lonely I fear I’ve been unwisely amused. Everly begged me most particularly to come to his party….” She sighed and cast him a look of appeal.

  Lord Everly, the wild youngest son of an earl, hosted raffish affairs where, attracted by the possibility of casual liaisons and high-stakes gambling, one might find mingled both the haut ton and the demimonde. The beauteous Chloe had a weakness for gambling.

  “Dipped again, Chloe?”

  “I’m afraid so. Who could have believed that wretched ball would continue to favor the red?”

  He shook his head at her. “Surely you know by now never to trust Lady Luck.”

  All wiles seemingly suspended, she showed him the repentant face of a schoolgirl. “I know, but I can’t seem to help myself. I can still count on you—can’t I, Nicky?”

  The beautiful violet eyes looked at him guilelessly. She might only be asking about his readiness to stand her a loan—perhaps. Unwilling to be forced at this moment to decide Chloe’s future, Nicholas chose his words with care.

  “Send my secretary a note. But have some sense, Chloe. I may not always be able to rescue you. On the income Ingram left, you shouldn’t game so freely.”

  She stiffened, and her eyes flashed. “’Tis easy for you to preach, circumstanced you are. Or has your little wife been preaching puritan restraint? Quite a prim and proper miss, I’ve heard.”

  Nicholas drew back. He supposed Chloe was angered by his marriage, but she should have been clever enough to realize he would never elevate a mistress to be his countess. Nor could he permit her to gossip about his wife.

  Before he could deliver a set-down, Chloe put a hand to one rouged cheek. “Oh, Nicky, forgive me! You are right, I am unwise
, but it frightens me to consider the future…to think of being abandoned.” Her voice wobbled on the word and her eyes looked suspiciously bright.

  That concern at least was unfeigned, for Ingram had not left her well circumstanced. A fact that, Nicholas suspected, had weighed as much as his manly charms in deciding her to take him to her bed. Compassion stirred.

  “Chloe, surely you know I never abandon my friends.”

  She swiped at the corner of her eye. “Of course. I’m just being foolish. You have ever been all that is kind.”

  She gave him a tremulous smile and put a gloved hand hesitantly on his arm. When he patted it, her smile warmed to brilliance and she squeezed his wrist.

  Nicholas glanced up from that possessive little gesture to find Sarah’s eyes resting on them, her face impassive. Swiftly he withdrew his arm, but at the moment he sensed her gaze, Sarah closed her eyes. As if blotting out some unpleasantness, she turned aside.

  Nicholas simply stood as Sarah walked away. That she knew—or would be shortly informed—who Chloe Ingram was, he had no doubt. Cursing his luck, he wondered whether he should pursue her immediately, or let the matter rest. After all, a bit of jealousy never hurt.

  At the far side of the room, Sarah stopped abruptly. Clapping a hand to her lips, she cried out and threw herself into the arms of a tall blond man in a hussar’s blue coat.

  A lightning bolt of shock immobilized Nicholas. As Nicholas watched in numb horror, the soldier hugged his wife tightly and rubbed his cheek against her hair.

  Sensation returned in sharp tingling waves and nausea roiled in his gut. So much for the wilds of the Peninsula.

  Chloe and the dancers forgotten, he strode across the ballroom. He was, he knew with a sour taste in his mouth, about to meet the man who had taught his wife to kiss.