By Way Of A Wager

by Solomon, Hayley Ann

  Day became night and the candle burned down low as Miles gazed at the sleeping figure. His face was filled with tenderness as the shadows danced and flickered across her face. From time to time, her little white hands would clench and unclench and His Grace discovered in himself the most passionate desire to hold them, to stroke each finger, to kiss the tips and to never stop. Her gorgeous mane of hair was tumbling down from the ridiculous woollen cap she’d chosen to affect. Thank goodness, at least, she’d had the sense not to crop it.

  He considered putting an end to the charade, then laughed. If this was the way she wanted it, he’d play her at her own game! It would be interesting to see what would come of it. Life was suddenly full of promise. Her gentle snores had deepened, indicating a sleep of great depth. Seizing his opportunity, he tenderly tucked the soft tendrils back in their woolly prison. Shrugging, he gingerly found himself a space in the great bed and rolled Cassandra over so that she was properly tucked. Her legs were very close to his, her breathing deep and calm.

  The duke closed his eyes. This was harder than he had expected. Her small frame exuded such warmth, such promise. If only he could cradle her gently in his arms, he was convinced he’d sleep. No! On his honor as a gentleman he could make no move. No matter that before the week was out she’d be his wife, like it or not. Less, if he could arrange it. Unfair to take advantage. He was bound in conscience to let her be. He sighed.

  She shifted. Drat the girl, what was he expected to do? Her body moved closer to him, her scent pure torture. Despite the muddy clothes and the faint smell of cod, her own unique perfume wafted maddeningly into his nostrils. He wanted to shake her awake. She wasn’t playing fair.

  No, by prolonging the charade he was not playing fair. She was tired, that was all. Her arm dangled across the bed. What could he do but climb under it? He’d wake her if he tried to put it back. Her head snuggled forward, a hair’s breath away from his chest. This was madness! The duke groaned. Hadn’t the wench caused him enough trouble for one day? Her lips blushed with promise.

  Firmly the duke closed his eyes. His body was taut as he tried desperately to think of a distraction. Sheep did not help. He’d counted seventy before Cassandra’s little nose had touched his chest. That did it! There was no way he could endure another hour of such sweet and unrelenting torture. With a sigh he extricated himself from her delightful tangle and wrapped a gown firmly around his rigid form. Tiptoeing down the hall, he made his way resolutely to the sickroom where Frances was fast asleep and Rupert in much the same state.

  The duke resolved not to be too hard on the young scamp. Honesty compelled him to admit that Cassandra was a handful. Far too strong-willed to be left in the charge of someone as good-natured as Rupert. It was all partly his fault for leaving her in the first place. He should have guessed she’d lead his ward on a regular song and dance. The girl had pluck and courage. Not, however, a particle of sense when it came to affairs of the heart.

  Poor Rupert had looked so dejected at his ticking off. The duke had maintained his cold grandeur the whole course of the evening. He was angry, really angry. If something had happened to his life’s treasure he would have been forever anguished. He’d lived with tragedy. That would have been as nothing in comparison with Cassandra’s death. Thinking on it, his body tensed. All was well now. He must dwell on that and let the past be forgotten. Rupert and the twins were his joy. He’d be lenient with Lyndale.

  As if sensing this new mood, Rupert opened an eye. The duke grinned the engaging smile that had made him the idol of his family. Rupert sat up, bathed in happiness. He could not stand to be estranged from his guardian. Darling Miles! It was so good to have him back and in spirits!

  “How is Mr. Marshall?” Rupert asked.

  Miles cocked his head quizzically. Well, he could hardly expect the scamp to betray Cassandra’s secret, now, could he? “Fine. He’ll be just fine. Resting soundly as a log, I can tell you that! Couldn’t sleep for the snores!”

  Rupert could not resist a boyish whoop. “Snoring, now, is he? Well, I never! You’d best catch some sleep, Miles. Long day ahead tomorrow. Good thing you hired Messrs. Brandon, Brandon and Longey! After our last crossing I could do with some traveling comforts!”

  “Hard, was it?” The duke looked sympathetic.

  “Hard? The devil! You have no idea ...” He broke off, unwilling to divulge more. No need for the duke to scrutinize the details too carefully. He was too astute by half! He gave an elaborate yawn.

  The duke cocked his eyebrows, then relented. “Good night, old fellow. Sleep well.”

  “You too, Miles. Hope old Andrew doesn’t keep you up all night!”

  Miles neglected to say he was certain that he would. Instead, he closed the door lightly and padded back to his chamber.

  A candle was burning. Alert, the eighth duke opened the door cautiously. Any prowler caught by him would have a lot of answering to do. No prowler. Only a hungry Mr. Marshall reading notes by candlelight.

  “Good evening.”

  “Good evening.” Suddenly shy, Cassandra felt the whole world had burst into masses of shining stars. Strange how Miles had such an effect on her. It seemed like years, not days, that they’d known each other.

  “Care for a glace fruit?” she asked.

  Not bad, since she’d been munching from the bowl intended for him all along. Miles grinned. “Why not? Are there any cherries left?”

  Cassandra looked dubiously at the bowl. “I rather think I ate the last one. Sorry!”

  “Never mind, a nut will do.” Miles picked up a nutcracker and looked at his love curiously. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No! I can’t think why not, rather stupid really.” Cassandra came dangerously near to a blush. How could she tell the man that waking up in his bed had the most curious effect upon her, leaving sleep quite out of the question?

  Miles teased her. “Well, you seemed to be doing just fine an hour or so ago. I left you snoring most amiably.”

  Cassandra gasped. “Me? Snoring? Never! Why, I never snore! Besides, you’ve not been in the room this evening! I took particular note to wait up for you.”

  The duke cracked his nut. “Did you? Why?”

  Cassandra blushed a definite crimson. The conversation was getting difficult. “Oh, I don’t know. Wanted to thank you, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Most extraordinary circumstances, were they not? I can’t help but wonder at your precipitancy. What you did there was really above and beyond the call of friendship, you know.”

  Cassandra bit into a peach. The duke had a right to be astonished. There was little she could say in explanation. She hated being tangled in a web of lies. It seemed the more she came into contact with him, the deeper she became enmeshed.

  “When exactly did you meet my Rupert?” The devil was in the duke and he knew it. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

  Cassandra was vague, muttering some unintelligible nonsense. Miles could just make out “Oxford” and “horse” in the gabble. He nodded, as if accepting the offering. Cassandra looked relieved.

  “Take off your hat, Mr. Marshall. I’m sure the fire will suffice. It’s warm enough in here.”

  Cassandra’s heart lurched. Out of the frying pan into the fire! There was no doubt that sweet though this time with the duke was, it was nevertheless going to be fraught with pitfalls. “No!”

  The duke feigned surprise. “Why ever not?”

  “I ... uh ... personal reasons!” Even to Cassandra the excuse sounded lame.

  The duke took pity on her. “Personal reasons. Yes, I think I understand. You wear the hat out of sentiment. I too have a lady love. At home. In England.”

  Cassandra’s heart sank. This was not what she wanted to hear. Why should she be surprised that the duke had an attachment? It was only natural, after all. She had no claim on him. None whatsoever. If anything, the duke’s words confirmed her desire to keep her identity a secret. If he discovered her in this compromising situation he would certai
nly be compelled by honor to wed her. She did not want that. Not at all.

  “I also have a keepsake. I like to keep it with me. A trifle really, but nonetheless comforting.” He hesitated, a small smile of impish mischief sparkling behind his eyes. “Would you care to see it?”

  Cassandra’s heart was heavy. The day had been filled with so many wild emotions. Those that fluttered in her heart now were the heaviest.

  “No!”

  “No?”

  “No!” Cassandra shook her head vigorously. The masquerade was bad enough. She refused to invade the duke’s privacy in such an underhanded way.

  “Why not? I’m proud to show you. After your behavior today I deem you a friend. It is good, at times, to unburden oneself to a friend.”

  The duke turned his back to Cassandra. Pulling back the coverlet, he let his hand wander until his fingers grasped the object in question. “Here. Look at this.”

  The sapphire lace kerchief. In a wave Cassandra knew why it had looked familiar. It was part of the wardrobe the duke had procured for her. She’d lost it the first day she’d confronted Wyndham. And here it was, in a foreign land, across seas, in the duke’s very own bed!

  What could it mean? She was in no state to grapple with its significance. The duke had spoken of love. Was it possible? Possible that he’d offered marriage out of affection, not duty? Adoration not chivalry? The thought was too precious to just dismiss. She’d ponder it on the trip back. Tonight she’d just savor for what it was. Time alone with her heart’s delight.

  “Do you play cards?” Miles pulled the belt of his rope tighter and looked Cassandra directly in the eye. If only she knew how much he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the madness. Still, life with her could never be said to be boring!

  “Cards?” Cassandra was lost.

  “Yes! Piquet, poker, rummy, that type of thing. Go in for a little flutter now and then?”

  It was on the tip of Cassandra’s tongue to deny she ever gambled. She stopped midthought, the vision of the challenge she’d thrown to the duke fresh in her memory. It might be interesting to get a glimpse of his style. Not cheating, really. Just a little firsthand observation.

  “Yes. Yes, I do from time to time.”

  Miles looked at her quizzically. From out the great desk came a new deck, clean and glowing in the half light.

  “You cut?”

  Cassandra nodded. There was no way she was going to get any more sleep that night. Not with Miles so very close. This evening was precious. The last they’d ever spend together. It surprised her how much the thought pained her. She dealt the cards quickly. The duke was impressed by her expert handling. Obviously no novice, this one. A lady of many talents!

  Cut after cut. Deal after deal. They were well matched, Cassandra fiercely concentrating, the duke languid. The first few rounds went to an exhilarated Miss Beaumaris. The duke hardly seemed perturbed.

  The next few went to himself. After that, there was no stopping him. It seemed that the more Cassandra concentrated, the more he won from her. It was annoying and delightful at the same time. The man offered a real challenge to her intelligence. Not even her wily brother could hold his own as well as this man did. If truth were told, Cassandra was actually having fun, the large pile of nutshells gradually diminishing before her eyes as the duke systematically won them all back. Thank heavens the stakes were so manageable! Cassandra could not help but breathe a satisfied sigh.

  By the time they finally did fall asleep, he over his wine, she over her last remaining nutshells, the sun was just beginning to dawn over the horizon.

  EIGHTEEN

  Consistent with their reputation, Messrs. Longey, Longey and Brandon had done the duke proud. The Prince Regent was a vessel to be reckoned with. Stable and strong, it bore little resemblance to the dingy that had ferried Cassandra and Rupert across the morning before. His Grace’s yacht could well have been regarded by some as a national treasure.

  What was more encouraging was that its crew comprised a good deal of the trusted servants of His Grace’s household. Though Pickering and Pomerey were absent, Vallon was to be spied brandishing a full set of ducal coat hangers and any number of well-starched neckties. Familiar, too, were a couple of poker-faced footmen who, with much aplomb, graced the portals of the castle on sea.

  The duke was led to remark that it was a pity the grooms had not come along, too. He could have done with a morning’s ride. Cassandra detected the humor lurking behind the chance remark, and her eyes gleamed. What fun the duke was when one got to know him! Not at all the man she’d imagined. Had she really called him a gilded lily? The thought made her want to cringe. How could she have?

  The duke exuded more forcefulness and energy than ever she had seen in a man. Though he gambled, he gambled with purpose. And he won. Always he won. Cassandra thought of her impetuous challenge and sighed. Her wager had been too precipitate by far! Perhaps, now that circumstances had altered, he’d release her from the contest. She hoped so. Or did she? Her heart was crying treason. It was best she busied herself with something else.

  Rupert was at her side. “You all right?”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “Look, I’m awfully sorry about this whole mess,” he said.

  Rupert looked so contrite Cassandra had to laugh. “Don’t be. It was me who got you into it, not the other way round!”

  The young man eyed her ruefully but did not have it in him to gainsay her. “I think you’re an awfully good sport you know.” His smile deepened, shyness returning.

  “Well, I thank you.” Cassandra made a grand bow. “I confess I’ll be very pleased to see land again. Also, a long, clean lacy dress would not go all that amiss. I can hardly stand to wear these breeches any longer. As for this hat, well, it’s so scratchy I can hardly bear it, and my hair keeps threatening to come tumbling out! I have the most unmanageable mass, you know.”

  Viscount Lyndale grinned. “Yes, I’d gathered! Not long now, Mr. Marshall. I’ve rather missed Miss Beaumaris you know.”

  “Have you?” Cassandra cocked her brow. “I daresay she’s missed you too!” Her tone altered. “I expect she’ll be utterly delighted to see Frances.”

  “Yes. Don’t forget, it’s imperative you act surprised. Miles has the most uncannily suspicious mind, you know. He’ll skin me alive if ever he gets whiff of this exploit.” Rupert looked whimsical.

  Cassandra grimaced. “Well, we’ve made it this far. Let us hope our luck continues. Harrington is in for a shock! I can hardly wait to see his face when Frances walks in. Violet will have an apoplexy, I’m sure.”

  “By all accounts she deserves to. Hush, here’s Miles.”

  Cassandra whirled around in time to see His Grace fixing her with a rather penetrating stare. Remembering herself, she made a hurried bow. His Grace inclined his head.

  “It looks as though we’re set for a smooth passage. The men are just casting off. You’re not prone to seasickness are you Mr. Marshall?”

  “Nnooo ...” Cassandra did not sound convincing.

  Miles smiled sympathetically. “I see you need something to take your mind off the passage! I have a good cheroot in my cabin. I’d be honored if you’d join me there.”

  Rupert, somewhat uncharacteristically, broke in on his guardian. “I don’t think so, Miles. You see ...”

  “I don’t believe I was addressing you, Rupert! Mr. Marshall?”

  “Well, I uh ...” Cassandra was at a loss for an excuse. The duke was gazing at her with a fascinating twinkle, and she found she was no match to his will. The man was impossible! One look from him and she lost all her composure. It was unheard of.

  “Thank you. Yes. Thank you.” She was burbling like an idiot.

  Rupert shot her an anguished glance. The yacht lurched. “I’ll join you!”

  The duke relented and bowed. “By all means, Rupert!”

  In no time at all the trio was headed for the sanctum of His Grace’s cabin. The sixth earl of Surrey w
as already there, perched somewhat precariously on the tip of a rose brocade chaise longue. His old spirits were rapidly returning, and he greeted the party with a broad smile and an eloquent handshake for each. Cassandra’s eyes met his as she made her requisite bow. The twinkle in his bright eyes matched her own. What a relief it was that she had the support of Rupert and Frances. Between them, they should be able to dupe the duke long enough for the landing.

  Miles moved over to his bureau and drew out a long, slim case. His arm extended as he passed around the cheroots, remarking conversationally that he would be very pleased to hear their opinion. Frances shot Cassandra an anxious glance. He need not have worried, she was gamely selecting her cigar. The hint of a smile lingered in the duke’s eyes before he moved on to the next of his guests.

  “Fond of tobacco, Lord Beaumaris?”

  “Frances. Please call me Frances.” His lordship was regarding the duke with something approaching hero-worship. That same expression was mirrored in Rupert’s eyes. Cassandra felt a slight impatience. She nonchalantly dangled the cheroot from her mouth. It was all her traitorous sibling could do to stop laughing.

  Miles was at her side. “Allow me, Mr. Marshall.” With a deft sweep of the wrist he hit the cheroot. Cassandra inhaled with a swagger. She’d watched it done dozens of times.

  The smoke curled inside her, escaping through her throat and down her nostrils. For an instant she felt she’d choke; then she needed to breathe. With a splutter she opened her mouth and coughed, desperate to inhale clean air.

  In a trice Miles was at her side, his hand firmly tapping her back until the fit had passed. Eyes streaming, Cassandra was still bewilderedly holding the cheroot.

  “Not to your taste, I fancy.” The duke gently removed the offending cigar. “The aroma is uncommon. A blend unique to the East, I gather. What think you of it?”