Lady Allerton's Wager

by Nicola Cornick

  Beth’s pulse jumped as she saw Marcus’s dark gaze resting on her, wickedly assessing, and she suddenly thought that perhaps the previous night had not been an aberration after all. Her face warmed as she thought about it. The room was intimately dark, shadowed and fire lit, with only one additional branch of candles.

  Beth realised that Marcus was still awaiting her reply. She looked up, met his eyes and smiled demurely. ‘No, I am not tired. Perhaps I do not have the right kind of calculating mind for chess.’

  ‘But you always respond to a challenge,’ Marcus murmured. ‘How if we were to make the stakes higher? If you lose a pawn…’ he paused, his gaze considering her ‘…then you also lose…a garment?’

  Beth almost choked on her tea. ‘Marcus! No, really! Surely you are in jest?’

  ‘What, too afraid to take the challenge?’ Marcus laughed, leaning back in his chair. ‘That is not like you, my love, and this way the game is so much more enjoyable…’

  Beth bit her lip. It was difficult to decide, to think clearly, for her mind was dizzy with anticipation and remembered desire. She admitted to herself that the challenge was well nigh irresistible and that she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb…

  Marcus was still watching her with speculative amusement. She met his gaze directly. ‘What if I should win, my lord? Once before I won a wager against you.’

  ‘That’s true…’ Marcus started to set up the chessboard again. ‘Well, sweetheart, we shall see!’

  Beth stared at the checkerboard squares, concentrating hard. Frank had taught her chess, but he had never made it as interesting as this. On the other hand, he had taught her a sound strategy and she was determined to use it. The trouble was that Marcus was a very good player and she found she could not concentrate for long…

  Even so, it was several minutes before she lost her first pawn. She paused, considering, then removed her spencer and folded it neatly over the arm of the chair. She did not dare look at Marcus for she knew that he would be watching her and that would put her off even more. The room was warm and from that point of view she scarcely noticed the loss of the spencer, and a quick mental inventory of her remaining clothes reassured her that there were plenty left. All the same, there were seven pawns left on the board…

  Marcus lost two pawns in quick succession and shrugged out of his jacket and untied his stock. Beth glanced at him and looked quickly away. He was still wearing his blue embroidered waistcoat and beneath that, his linen shirt, but he already looked slightly dishevelled. His shirt was now open, revealing the strong brown column of his neck and the sight of the bronze sheen of his skin was wholly disturbing to Beth’s senses. It certainly would not help her concentration to keep looking at him. She gazed fixedly at the chessboard and moved her castle, a little tentatively. A moment later she realised that she had made a mistake. A bad one.

  She saw Marcus move a pawn and his hand close over the castle to take it off the board. He was watching her with a look of amusement.

  ‘That counts as three items of clothing, I fear, my love. I forgot to tell you that there was a…sliding scale.’

  Beth sighed. ‘My slippers? That must be two items…’

  Marcus sat back in his chair. ‘I rather think that they should count as only one.’

  Beth frowned at him. ‘It seems to me that you are making up the rules as you go along, my lord!’

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Marcus smiled. ‘That is part of the fun.’

  Beth kicked off her slippers under the table, then after a moment, put a hand up to unpin her lace cap. She was very conscious of Marcus watching her every move, his dark eyes never leaving her face. She tossed the cap aside. Now she had something of a dilemma. Unless she chose to unroll her stockings, it had to be her dress.

  ‘You will have to help me, my lord…’ Her voice was husky. She stood up and turned around. Marcus came round the table and a moment later she felt his fingers on the buttons of her gown, moving methodically downwards. Then his hands skimmed her bare shoulders, sliding the dress down.

  Beth discovered that the potent effect of his touch on her skin, so explosive the previous night, had not lessened. With a little sigh, she let the dress fall to the ground. Anticipation was hammering through her body with each beat of her pulse, its dizzy stroke making her feel utterly light-headed. And she still had a game to complete. She had thought that the wager at the Cyprians’ Ball had been perilous enough. Now she had an entirely new sense of danger. Danger and excitement, inextricably linked. She slid from under Marcus’s hands and resumed her seat, focusing on the board.

  When she captured his bishop she looked at him triumphantly. ‘If the castle counts for three items of clothing, my lord, surely the bishop is two? Can you deny it?’

  Marcus grinned. ‘Absolutely right, sweetheart! What would you like me to remove?’

  Beth swallowed hard. Her throat was suddenly dry. ‘Your waistcoat and…your shirt?’

  Marcus smiled with devilish pleasure. ‘Certainly…’

  The rustle of starched linen filled Beth’s ears. She was not yet accustomed to seeing Marcus naked and knew perfectly well that the sight of his bare brown torso would destroy any remaining chance she had of concentrating. When Marcus sat down again she deliberately averted her gaze from him, despite the almost overwhelming temptation to stare. But it was already too late. Her attention had been fatally distracted and her next move was disastrous.

  Marcus moved a pawn across the board and captured her queen. ‘Check,’ he said contentedly.

  ‘Is that the end?’ Beth whispered.

  ‘Not yet,’ Marcus said thoughtfully. ‘That is, you need not necessarily lose the chess game, but I suspect you have insufficient clothing left to cover your debt—amongst other things…’

  When Beth looked at him she saw that the devilish light in his eyes had deepened and he was watching her with undisguised desire. He got up and came round the table again, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet. Beth shivered a little, suddenly aware that she was already wearing little more than her chemise.

  ‘I protest,’ she said huskily, ‘that you have changed the rules shamelessly, my lord—’

  ‘I always play by my own rules,’ Marcus pointed out.

  He bent his head and kissed her. His mouth was soft and seductive, spinning a snare of delight. His fingers moved to unpin her hair.

  Beth’s mind cleared briefly. ‘Marcus, we are in the drawing room! The servants—’

  ‘—will not come in. They are too discreet.’

  He kissed her again, moulding her yielding body against the hard lines of his. Beth ran her hands over the hard muscles of his chest and felt herself tremble, faint with the taste, touch and smell of him. She felt his hands move, deft and warm. Something gave, and she realised that her stays were gone, discarded. Marcus pulled her down with him on the rug in front of the fire.

  The light was pale, bathing them both in its gentle glow. The fire felt warm through the thinness of Beth’s chemise. Marcus pulled the tapes and undid the bodice, exposing her breasts. She saw desire distilled in his face as he bent his head to take one rosy tip in his mouth. Beth squirmed then, shivers of pleasure coursing through her. She could not believe that this was happening, not here, not now. She opened dazed grey eyes as she felt Marcus move to kneel between her thighs.

  ‘Marcus…you still have your clothes on—’

  ‘Barely.’ She heard the laughter in his voice. She knew he still had his boots on and his pantaloons, and he was now undoing the fastening in a feverish hurry. There was something inexpressibly exciting in the urgency of the need that ran between them.

  Marcus’s hands slid under the hem of the chemise, pulled it up to her hips and lingered on the bare flesh at the tops of her silk stockings. She heard him give a rough groan against her throat.

  ‘Oh, Beth, my love…’

  She felt him shudder convulsively as soon as he came into her and she dug her fingernails into his back, exulti
ng in the power she had over him. But it was too soon to feel triumphant, for the same conflagration swept over her, leaving her breathless and shaking. They lay still in the warm glow of the fire, then Marcus rolled away from her and for a moment Beth felt cold and bereft. Then he propped himself on one elbow and leant over to kiss her, tiny, teasing kisses that were very sweet.

  ‘Such haste is not always a good thing, however…’

  Beth felt his hand brush her thigh, moving intimately to part her flesh again, and groaned aloud.

  ‘Marcus, I do not think I can—’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ His breath was soft against her face. His fingers caressed her. ‘I have won this wager, remember…’

  This time he took his time, spinning out the pleasure for both of them. Beth was so lost in her feelings that she did not even realise that she cried aloud as her body shook again in exquisite torment. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see Marcus pushing the tumbled hair away from her brow as he bent to kiss her once more.

  ‘Checkmate,’ he said.

  Marcus pushed the pile of papers away from him with an exclamation of disgust and rose to his feet, stretching vigorously in an attempt to shake off some of the lethargy that seemed to possess him every time he tried to study the maps. McCrae had explained it all to him several times and yet he appeared to be utterly incapable of concentrating on the plans for the new harbour. On one sheet were the scale drawings of the building work required and on the other were neat columns of costs, timings and the manpower needed. Yet more pages gave a detailed plan of how the project would be managed and supplied. McCrae was nothing if not thorough.

  Marcus poured himself a glass of whisky and wandered moodily over to the window. He knew the reason for his preoccupation, of course—Beth. All the time that he was trying to concentrate on the business of the estate, she seemed to insinuate herself into his thoughts, easily clouding out every other consideration. It was not simply her physical attributes that obsessed him, although he had to admit that he had spent as much time thinking about them as any infatuated boy. Marcus laughed with self-deprecation. It was a new experience for him to be so besotted, but not an unpleasant one. He knew that Beth was revelling in her newly found sensuality and so was he. There was no likelihood that she would consider herself physically cold ever again.

  However, he had to acknowledge that there was far more to his feelings than that. He loved Beth. He loved her for her openness and her lack of artifice and pretence. He loved the innocence of character that made her give so generously of herself. He had watched her with the servants and villagers, seen her genuine interest in their lives and their concerns, and it had made him want to crush her to him and never let her go.

  Marcus wandered back to his desk and picked up the letter that lay a little apart from the rest of the papers. It had come that day from Lady Salome, and related that she and St John would not be returning to Fairhaven until the spring. Church business was keeping St John occupied, Lady Salome explained, and in the meantime she was visiting old friends and making the most of a sojourn on the mainland. She finished off with many expressions of affection for him and especially for Beth, and had included a paragraph about expecting him to behave with honour, which she had underlined several times.

  Marcus frowned, tossing the letter down onto the table. He had been desperately hoping that St John and Salome would be back imminently, bringing a special licence from the Bishop with them. It had always been his intention to ask his cousin to marry him to Beth on Fairhaven and he had been severely disappointed to find St John away when they had arrived. Now his final hope had been dashed with the news that St John would not return before Christmas.

  Marcus took a mouthful of whisky and sat back in his chair, considering his options. Suddenly it all seemed damnably difficult and he felt a keen pang of guilt at ever getting into the situation. Lady Salome’s letter, with its underlined paragraph, reproached him. He had compromised Beth and now he could not put the matter right as he had intended. The only thing that he could do was marry her as soon as possible once they had returned to the mainland, and such a hasty match seemed furtive and not good enough for her when he had intended matters to be so different. The best compromise that he could think of was that they might marry at Mostyn just after Christmas, which would give time for the banns to be read and would also be an appropriate place. Beth would probably like that but he could not be sure. After all, her first marriage had taken place there.

  With a groan, he pushed the glass away before he was tempted to top it up and turned back to the map of the harbour with a mixture of irritation and grim determination. McCrae would be back to ask him for his decision within the hour and he did not want his estate manager to think he had been wasting his time. And once he had dealt with business he would turn to the pressing and more important matter of his marriage. He wanted it resolved.

  Beth stood by her bed, folding her clothes and tucking them neatly into her trunk in preparation for her journey to the mainland. She had considered taking the ball gown made from the drawing-room curtains because it had special sentimental value since she had been wearing it when Marcus proposed. However, she did not have enough room, so she had hung the gown up in the closet, hoping she would return to Fairhaven before too long and wear it once again.

  The previous week had passed in a whirl. During the day, Marcus was still spending some of his time out and about on the estate or talking to Colin McCrae about his plans for the island. It pleased Beth to see just how involved Marcus had become in the future of Fairhaven and how much he cared that the farm would prosper and succeed. Sometimes she rode with him about the island, exploring the rocky crags and the secluded bays with their stretches of pure white sand. Once she had been tempted to paddle in the winter sea, charmed into thinking it would not be too cold because the sun was shining and the water gleamed blue in the light. She had been frozen within a few seconds, and Marcus had laughed and pulled her to him and kissed her, and she could taste the salt on his lips and would almost have sworn that it was love that she saw reflected in his eyes. Perhaps it had only been a reflection of her own feelings, for she loved Marcus and her love for him seemed to deepen every day.

  She sighed. It was that love that led her to be free and unguarded, with her feelings as well as her body. And that was another story…Beth shifted a little as she thought about it. The foolish pretence that she was nothing more than a friend to Marcus had been thoroughly disproved on the very first afternoon that he had spent in bed with her, and since then there had been several others. What the servants thought when they disappeared after lunch was anyone’s guess and at first Beth had been appalled. It had never occurred to her that people might make love during the day rather than wait for the night, nor had she realised the infinite variations that might apply. Marcus had seemed amused at her naïveté and quite evidently delighted to extend her education. And there was no doubt that she had been an apt pupil.

  Now, however, all that might change. Being on Fairhaven had been unreal in some ways, a paradise cut off from the rest of the world where society’s rules need not apply and she and Marcus had been protected from censure. Now they were to return to the mainland, to marry and to resume their place in society. There would be their estates to visit and the London Season and the Dowager Countess of Trevithick to contend with…Beth sighed. No, matters could not be the same.

  In bed in the following dawn, Beth awoke and lay still, watching the grey light filter from behind the curtains and hearing the faint rhythmic roar of the sea on the rocks far below. She knew that it would be the last time she would wake like this and she was imprinting it on her memory. When she moved a little, Marcus pulled her into his arms, his mouth against her hair.

  ‘Why are you not asleep, sweetheart?’

  ‘I was thinking,’ Beth said. She rolled on to her stomach and lay looking down into his face.

  ‘Marcus, I was thinking that my dreams of Fairhaven were not re
al at all…’

  She saw that he was wide awake and watching her. A tender smile was curving his lips. ‘Oh, Beth. Was it so hard to find out the truth about your grandfather?’

  ‘Yes,’ Beth said softly. She bent her head. ‘At the time it was hard. But now it is not so bad after all. But, Marcus, I am afraid that everything will change once we leave here—’

  Marcus pulled her into the crook of his arm. ‘Do not be afraid, sweetheart. This is just the start.’ He paused. His fingers were tracing the path of her spine and it was most distracting.

  ‘We are to be married straight after Christmas—and at Mostyn. What could be better than that?’

  Beth smiled. ‘I know. It will be lovely.’ Despite her words, a tiny qualm of disquiet remained and she did not understand it. She wriggled a little as Marcus’s fingers drifted lower and his caresses became more insistent. Her melancholy thoughts faded. The urgent touch of Marcus’s hands on her body was enough to send all other thoughts spinning out of her head. He made love to her slowly, with a tender intensity that left them both trembling. And when it was over he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close to him. Beth was just drifting off to sleep again when she heard him whisper:

  ‘Beth, I love you.’

  Beth’s whole body felt soft and satisfied. A little smile curled her lips. Yet at the back of her mind the doubt returned, faint but disturbing. She tried to push it away but it would not go, not completely. With a sigh she fell asleep again, but her worries pursued her, nameless and threatening, through her dreams.