One-Click Buy: July 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Julie Kenner

  “It’s Bertie,” she said without looking up. She couldn’t bear to see Jack’s face. “They’re from him. He asks that I join him tonight for an evening of games and entertainments at The Wetherington Assembly Rooms.”

  He was out of the bed in a heartbeat and reaching for the note. As he read it, he reddened all the way to the roots of his hair.

  “It’s an exclusive club,” he told her, his mouth tensing into a grim line. “Lots of gambling and drinking and fast company.”

  “What do I do?” She hadn’t expected such trouble so soon. “What do we do?” he corrected her, taking her into his arms. “We’re in this marriage, this life together, remember? We’ll figure it out together.”

  He kissed her tenderly and promised he’d be back as soon as he’d gotten some fresh clothes from his room.

  She set the note back on the table of luscious food and noticed in the center of that extravagant display a small velvet box. With unsteady hands she picked it up, opened it, and nearly fainted. There was an oval diamond brooch inside that shone in the morning light like a small sun. It had to be worth a fortune. Staggering back to collapse on the bed, she stared at it in horror.

  A gift from Bertie to his mistress.

  A gift worth a king’s ransom.

  Or a woman’s virtue.

  She looked around at the roses and champagne and back at the diamonds. It was a bribe. A not-so-subtle way of letting her know that she’d been claimed and paid for.

  And what did it mean that he’d sent such things after she’d proposed marrying Jack? That he intended to let her wed Jack and then claim her as his mistress anyway? Could he have so little regard for Jack’s honor and her own moral standards? It would crush Jack to know Bertie could treat him so. Feeling sick, she clicked the box closed, carried it into the bathroom, and tucked it into a stack of towels.

  A moment later, the door reopened and she hurried out to find Jack holding a familiar-looking vellum envelope and handwritten invitation.

  “I got one, too,” he said. “The same time, the same place.”

  “We have to go, don’t we?”

  He nodded. “So, we’ll go.” He pulled her into his arms, taking strength from her and giving it back in equal measure. “And we’ll tell him the truth.”

  THE WETHERINGTON ASSEMBLY ROOMS were actually a single mansion in the west end of London, in an area of townhomes belonging to the wealthy. Built originally by a shirttail royal, it had been sold for debts and had traded hands until it was suggested as a replacement for the gaming houses and deteriorating pleasure gardens being closed in other parts of the city.

  The Wetherington never attained or aspired to the respectability of an Almack’s. It developed instead a more dangerous and alluring cachet as the sporting ground of people of fashion who had secrets to keep and money to wager. It was a place where men could be seen openly with their mistresses and gaming buffs could find stakes high enough to tempt jaded palates.

  The prince arrived early, claimed the old library—now a gentlemen’s smoking room—as his base for the evening, and settled in to wait. It wasn’t long before Sprat arrived with Baron Marchant in hand.

  “There you are.” Bertie waved Marchant to a seat on one of the leather sofas and offered him a cigar. There was an edge about the west-country baron tonight, and a tightness about his red-rimmed eyes that Bertie noted without comment.

  “Tell me how your special project is going, Edgar.” He rubbed his hands together in a show of eagerness. “You know, the one I asked you and Jack St. Lawrence to handle a fortnight back.”

  “Actually…” Marchant looked as if his collar was bothering him. “I haven’t spoken to St. Lawrence since I reported our success to you more than a week ago. I left the lady in his care. I’m sure all has gone well and the lady will be ready to receive you soon.”

  Bertie casually rolled the ash from his cigar into a cut-glass tray. “You haven’t checked to see how things are going?” he asked.

  Marchant shrugged, choosing his words carefully.

  “I presume that Jack has handled it with his customary thoroughness and dispatch.”

  “I have heard rumors that the lady is already in London. That St. Lawrence brought her here and has been seen out and about with her.”

  “Truly?” Marchant sat straighter, feigning surprise. “I had no idea.”

  “No idea?” Bertie smiled one of his affable but totally inscrutable smiles…the sort that men who knew him well dreaded.

  A door opened on the far side of the room to reveal Jared St. Lawrence standing outside, his face ruddy with contained outrage. Further pretense was useless. With a defensive huff, Marchant confessed.

  “I left him with instructions to see her wedded within two weeks, as I reported to you. The next thing, I knew, he was in London with her. And I saw them together. At Claridge’s. Looking chummy.”

  “How ‘chummy’?” Bertie demanded.

  “It was a bollocks-up disaster.” Marchant’s words were not so carefully chosen now. “I asked his brother to help me talk some sense into him. I thought he would see reason and you would never—” He halted, realizing his misstep, but Bertie finished for him.

  “Never know that he had ‘been there before me’?” Bertie said with ice in his eyes. “Edgar, you and I have had our ups and downs. I’ve always made allowances for your peccadilloes because you were often amusing and sometimes earnest.” Bertie stubbed out his cigar and rose. “But a prince must be certain of whom he can and cannot trust.”

  When he turned his back and strolled to one of the bookshelves to peruse the titles, Marchant staggered to his feet and looked to Sprat and Dandy for help. Neither man would meet his gaze. The prince’s sufferance had run out. Marchant tugged down his vest, red-faced, and strode out.

  Bertie took a book off the shelf and spoke to Jack’s brother while examining the antique leather binding.

  “Jared, my boy, go have a bit of fun. You look like you could use it.”

  When the door closed behind Jack’s brother, Bertie turned back to Sprat and Dandy.

  “Is she here?”

  “Just arrived. Jack is here, too. They arrived together.”

  “Is she wearing it?” Bertie asked.

  “I didn’t see it,” Sprat said, adding glumly, “but that doesn’t mean much. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

  “Give them a few minutes, and then bring her to me. Alone.”

  21

  THE GASLIGHT and the banks of candles that illuminated the main salons and card rooms of the Wetherington gave the place a warm, romantic glow. Music from a string ensemble floated through the halls with the guests, lively and spirited and transitory. The well-heeled patrons were dressed in the latest fashions, some laden with jewels and others, like Mariah Eller St. Lawrence, sparkling without the aid of gems.

  As she arrived, wearing a midnight-blue dinner gown adorned with perfect white roses, wearing white roses in her upswept hair, she created a stir. Then her escort was recognized and rumors began to fly in earnest. Jack St. Lawrence, one of Bertie’s beloved St. Lawrences, was with a tantalizing beauty that no one seemed to know. When it was learned that the lady was Iron Jack’s wife, gossip reached a fevered pitch.

  Mercifully, Mariah understood little of the interest swirling around her. The faces, introductions and best wishes on her recent nuptials melted into a blur, but every burst of laughter or crash of a falling glass made her flinch and look up, half expecting to see Bertie bearing down on them. Jack, battling his own tensions, never failed to squeeze her hand and give her a reassuring smile. She was grateful for his strength at her side and tried to lend him whatever support she could.

  Watching for and dreading Bertie’s appearance, she was unprepared for handsomely dressed Jack A. Dandy to suddenly appear at her side and insist on escorting her to see a “friend.” Dandy relayed to Jack the prince’s explicit instructions: he would see Mariah alone.

  Torn between protectivenes
s and possessiveness, Jack followed them like a big, ineffectual shadow. Should he barge in with her to face Bertie with the truth, or trust that Bertie would behave honorably and listen to her? The next moment, his thoughts shamed him. Bertie’s honor, once engaged, was never in question. It was Bertie’s forgiveness that left significant room for doubt. What would he do when he learned they were married and that Jack didn’t intend to share her with his prince?

  When they arrived at the library doors, Dandy advised Jack to stay outside until he was summoned. But it was only when Mariah kissed his cheek and assured him that she was all right to go in alone that he relented and let Dandy usher her inside.

  THE DOORS closing behind Mariah sounded like the snapping jaws of a steel trap. She found herself in what appeared to be a library furnished with shelves laden with books and curiosities, a desk, chairs and lamps for reading. At the center of this elegant web sat the Prince of Wales, dressed in evening clothes and looking august and intimidating.

  As Dandy bowed and exited through a side door, Bertie rose and extended a hand. “My dear, you look enchanting. The male population of London will lie at your feet before the night is out.”

  “You are too kind, Your Highness.” She prayed he couldn’t feel how icy her hands were through her gloves. “But I am not a greedy woman. One man is quite enough for me.”

  “Is it now?” Bertie raised an eyebrow. “Then you are a rare specimen of femininity indeed.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the leather sofa, but declined to sit.

  “I must thank you for the gift of this morning,” she said. “It was as unexpected as it was extravagant. I wear it to honor your generosity.”

  He studied her fashionably low-cut bodice and fetching use of roses.

  “But, I believe something is missing. Was there not something a bit more eye-catching than just pretty flowers?”

  She met the question in his gaze straight on.

  “It is not missing, Highness. It is here.” She opened her small reticule and removed the diamond brooch, relieved to have brought it thus far without Jack’s knowledge. She reached for the prince’s hand and placed it in his palm, closing his fingers around it.

  “What is this?” He looked at it and then at her in disbelief.

  “I cannot accept it. It would be dishonorable of me to take such a gift. And even more dishonorable to keep knowledge of it from my husband.”

  “You’ve married?” Bertie seemed startled. “Since yesterday?”

  “Last night.”

  “So that is it.” He scowled, looking her over. “I thought there was something different about you.”

  “Marriage does change a body, Highness,” she said softly. “I pray it won’t displease you to hear that my partner in that sacrament is Jack St. Lawrence. Your Jack.” She felt his stare like rays of sun piercing her liberally exposed skin. “Now my Jack, too.”

  His frown deepened, then he turned and stalked away, leaving her to clasp her hands and hold her breath. His silence outlasted her.

  “I have a confession to make, Your Highness,” she said finally.

  “Yes?” He didn’t turn.

  “I married Jack not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I care very much for him.” Her throat tightened such that she had to pause for a moment. “And it is because I love and honor him…and I wish to honor and esteem you…that I must ask you to release me from our agreement. I cannot be both his wife and your mistress.”

  He turned to look her up and down, then began to pace, appearing troubled, irritable and uncertain. Then he stopped and pointed to the sofa.

  “Sit. And explain to me exactly how this betrayal occurred.”

  Her knees buckled. She hit the sofa with her bottom, feeling jarred.

  “If it was a betrayal, the fault was mine. I was unhappy about being coerced into being your paramour and insisted on choosing my husband.”

  “Coerced?” Bertie propped his fists on his waist. “Good God.”

  “I felt I had no choice. The baron said some debts I had incurred on behalf of my inn would be called due if I did not submit to you.”

  “Submit? Good Lord—you make me sound like a pillaging Hun!”

  “Then Jack was assigned to see me married off. I insisted on seeing the men on his list with my own eyes and found them exactly as I described them to you last night. Poor Jack…his frustration was monumental. He’s a very logical and rational man. He couldn’t fault my refusal of them. They were so unsuitable. Yet, he was desperate to be rid of me. I’m afraid I wasn’t disposed to make his task any easier than mine,” she continued. “I was hard on him at times.”

  “Oh?” He was openly skeptical. “How?”

  “Well, he was straightforward about what you might expect from me, so I felt it only fair to be as blunt with him about my expectations for a husband.” She took a shuddery breath. “He was squeamish about my explicitness. And appalled by my list.”

  “What ‘list’?” His eyes and mouth both tightened.

  “Qualities I would accept in a husband. I insisted we come to London to find someone who would meet them.”

  “You truly intended to marry?”

  “I was resigned to it, Highness.”

  He stared at her as if having difficulty with the notion of anyone being “resigned” to amorous pursuits with him.

  “Damn and blast me,” he said, searching her face, her eyes.

  She wilted a bit under that scrutiny. He was a formidable presence, for all his princely ways. It was a relief when he looked away.

  “The thing is, Highness, I discovered he met every criterion on my list. Every one. And then some. He was patient, honorable, respectful… I came to enjoy and then crave his company. He can be quite droll when he wants. And he laughed in all the right places and sometimes teased me.”

  “Laughed?” Bertie looked away, seeming disturbed by that idea. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Jack let go that much.”

  “He has a wonderful, deep, booming laugh, Highness. And when I learned how he had given up his scholarly hopes to serve you, and—”

  “Scholarly hopes?”

  “His studies at Cambridge. He was asked to stay, you know, and continue his work. Perhaps join the faculty.”

  “Who told you such a thing?”

  “His old professor at Cambridge. Jack’s family insisted he leave the college to come and serve you after his elder brother was married.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” He waved a hand to enforce the command and then rose, looking none too pleased. He paced for a moment in silence as she watched with icy limbs, a dry mouth and a thudding heart.

  “You wish me to believe this was all unintended? Just the flow of circumstance?” Bertie said, coming to a halt nearby.

  “My wishing you to believe it does not make it any less true, Highness. Jack is the most loyal man you will ever meet. And it was never my intention to give offense, despite my reservations.”

  Bertie stalked away again, his hands clasped behind his back, looking as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he turned to her.

  “Very well, I release you from our agreement…with the understanding that I am released as well. The expenses incurred will now fall to you, madam, as debts to be paid.”

  She felt the color draining from her face. She looked down at her costly blue silk, which suddenly felt more like a prisoner’s shackles than elegant couture. The half smile on his face said he read her reaction well.

  “Now that you see the limitations this marriage places on your future, what if I were to give you a second chance to cast your fortunes with me?”

  “What?” She pushed to her feet and swayed slightly.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond brooch.

  “Jack’s family is ambitious. This could be just the start of a very stylish and luxurious life for you, my dear. And the making of Jack’s career. Many men in government have been helped along by wives willi
ng to do their part…in a prince’s bed.” He held out the brooch with a knowing expression. “We could forget all of this unpleasantness and start again.”

  Was he serious? Had he heard, believed nothing that she had said?

  Her heart sank at the thought of all that was stacked against them—Bertie’s disapproval as well as Jack’s family’s, and now a host of fresh debts that must be paid. Would Jack regret that their marriage had cost him the prince’s trust and the financial security and opportunities that came with it?

  “You are more than generous, Highness, to offer such an opportunity a second time.” She forced herself to stand tall. “But my heart and loyalties are now Jack’s. And though I wish to be loyal to my prince, there are things I cannot render to you without being even more disloyal to the one who holds my heart.” She felt her face might shatter from the effort her smile required. “I would not, could not betray him in another’s bed. Not for all the jewels and riches and palaces in the kingdom.”

  Abruptly, he strode for the side door, calling for Jack A. Dandy, who appeared in seconds, peering curiously at her.

  “Cranmer,” he declared, “show Mrs. St. Lawrence around the gaming tables and give her some chips to play.” His voice was cool and imperial. “Clearly, she’s of a mood to test her luck tonight.”

  She left the library feeling unsteady and disoriented, glad for the support of Dandy’s arm. What had just happened with the prince? Did he believe her? Did he understand that in loving Jack, she meant no disrespect toward him? Was he furious? Would he seek retribution? It unnerved her that she had no more answers now than when she went in to see him.

  “Jack,” she said quietly, gripping Dandy’s arm. “Where is he?”

  “He’s with the prince,” Dandy said, patting her hand as it lay on his arm. “Come now. I’ll show you how the betting’s done.”

  22

  JACK TRIED not to look as if he was pacing outside the library door. He couldn’t help feeling he should have shouldered his way in and faced Bertie with her. Several times, he stepped to the door. Twice his fingers actually gripped the knob. They had intended to speak to the prince together to reveal their marriage. Why hadn’t he just barged in with her?