by Jane Feather
The assignation …
Sebastian softly eased open the door and found himself in a long corridor, sconced candles at intervals throwing a degree of light. At the end of the corridor a pool of bright light spilled from the wide landing from which the main gaming salons opened. Serena’s note had said her bedchamber was at the front of the house. He was to look for a red ribbon around the door handle.
His step quickened with his heartbeat as he moved down the corridor, keeping close to the wall. The red ribbon was a splash of color against the cream paint of the door. He untied the ribbon and was inside the chamber before anyone could so much as detect his shadow. The room was in semidarkness, the only illumination a candle on the table beside the bed. Serena rose from the window seat, the soft folds of an ivory nightgown drifting around her, her hair long and loose framing her face.
“You came,” she said.
“Did you think I would not?” He could feel the tension, the anticipation, build between them. “Why did you send for me, Serena?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” she responded softly.
Turn the page for rave reviews of
Jane Feather’s romantic storytelling …
Rushed to the Altar
“Delightfully entertaining. The novel gathers momentum much like a classical opus that ends in a resounding crescendo. … Ms. Feather certainly knows how to titillate the imagination with some sizzling scenes set in a tapestry of bygone days. Rushed to the Altar is hard to put down.”
—Winter Haven News Chief
“A fun and intelligent start to an exciting new series. … I am completely captivated.”
—Fresh Fiction
A Husband’s Wicked Ways
“A consummate storyteller, Feather rises to new heights in her latest Wicked novel of intrigue and desire. Her utterly engaging characters and suspenseful plot combine to hold you spellbound.”
—Romantic Times
“Filled with recurring quirky characters, truly evil villains, and a fearless heroine who is definitely an equal to her hero.”
—Booklist
To Wed a Wicked Prince
“Enchanting and witty … sizzling.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A poignant love story … strong characters, political intrigue, secrets and passion … it will thrill readers and keep them turning the pages.”
—Romantic Times
A Wicked Gentleman
“Will enchant readers. … Filled with marvelous characters—and just enough suspense to keep the midnight oil burning.”
—Romantic Times
“Intriguing and satisfying. … The captivating romance is buttressed by rich characters and an intense kidnapping subplot, making this a fine beginning for Feather’s new series.”
—Publishers Weekly
All the Queen’s Players
“Beautifully moving … rich in period detail.”
—Booklist
“A truly fantastic novel.”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Terrific.”
—Genre Go Round Reviews
A Wedding Wager is also available as an eBook
Also by Jane Feather
Rushed to the Altar
All the Queen’s Players
A Husband’s Wicked Ways
To Wed a Wicked Prince
A Wicked Gentleman
Almost a Lady
Almost a Bride
The Wedding Game
The Bride Hunt
The Bachelor List
Pocket Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Jane Feather
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First Pocket Books paperback edition July 2011
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Cover design by Lisa Litwack; photo © Barry Marcus.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN 978-1-4391-4525-8
ISBN 978-1-4391-5550-9 (ebook)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
A WEDDING WAGER
Prologue
LONDON, 1759
The young man had a spring in his step as befitted a man in love as he made his way down Charles Street, the raucous music of Covent Garden’s Piazza filling the air around him. He was a tall, elegant young man, his tricorne hat edged with the same silver lace as his gloves, his coat and britches of deep gold silk, a fine pair of calves doing justice to silk stockings adorned with golden clocks.
It was a beautiful May morning, well suited to the pursuit of love, the new leaves on the trees still fresh and green, as yet untainted by the polluted atmosphere of the city with its foul-smelling sea-coal smoke mingling with the rotting odors of the open kennels. Windows stood open to the cool, fragrant air, and the throngs in the street seemed to wear a universal smile at the prospect of spring’s new start.
Outside a tall, narrow house halfway along Charles Street, the young man paused for a moment, looking up at the building with an expectant smile on his lips. Then he ran lightly up the flight of steps to the front door and banged the knocker with all the confidence of a visitor assured of his welcome.
He had to wait a few minutes before the door opened slowly. “I give you good morning, Flanagan.” He doffed his hat, his hair glinting gold in the bright sunshine as he greeted the elderly retainer and stepped swiftly past him, again with all the assurance of a welcome visitor. In the narrow hall, he stopped, his smile giving way to a puzzled frown. Bandboxes, trunks, and portmanteaus littered the floor.
“Is someone going somewhere, Flanagan?” He glanced over his shoulder at the retainer, who still stood at the half-open front door.
Before the man could respond, a harsh voice came from the shadows behind the staircase. “As it happens, Sullivan, yes. My stepdaughter and I are traveling to the Continent.” A gentleman of middle years, with a thick crown of iron gray hair and the ramrod posture of a soldier, stepped into the light.
“This is rather sudden, is it not, sir?” The Honorable Sebastian Sullivan regarded General Sir George Heyward with sudden suspicion. “Serena said nothing to me about traveling when I saw her yesterday evening.”
“I daresay Serena was unaware of my pla
ns,” the gentleman responded carelessly. “But she is aware of them now. I am afraid she’s unavailable at present. She has much to do in preparation for our departure this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” The young man looked aghast. “I … I don’t understand, General Heyward.”
The general took a pinch of snuff before responding with a half-smile, “I see no reason why you should, Sullivan. My plans are no concern of yours.”
Sudden anger sparked in Sebastian’s clear blue eyes. “I consider Serena’s plans to be very much my concern, sir.”
“Then you are even more impudent than I gave you credit for, young man. You have no claim on my stepdaughter now or ever.”
Sebastian controlled his anger with a supreme effort. It was true enough. Serena was not her own mistress. She lived under the authority of her stepfather, who had made no secret of the fact that he barely tolerated the Honorable Sebastian’s frequent visits to the house unless they concerned play at the tables in the gaming rooms abovestairs. “May I see her, sir?” He kept his tone moderate.
“She’s too busy for visitors,” Sir George responded with a dismissive gesture.
“I find that I am not, sir.” A clear, light voice spoke from the stairs, and both men turned swiftly. The young woman who had stopped halfway down the flight, one hand resting on the banister, regarded them gravely. “Come up, Sebastian.” She went back upstairs.
Sebastian didn’t wait for the general’s permission. He followed her at a run, taking the stairs two at a time. At the top, she turned aside into a small parlor that overlooked the street. The window stood open, and iron carriage wheels clattered on the cobbles below.
“Serena … Serena, my love, what is this?” Sebastian tossed his hat onto a chair and took a step forward, his hands outstretched. “What the devil did the general mean? He says you’re going away this afternoon.”
“Yes, we are.” She made no move to take his hands, and after a moment, he let them fall, gazing at her in bewilderment. “To Brussels, I believe.”
“Why?”
“Business affairs.” She shrugged lightly. “Sir George feels that we can conduct our business better on the Continent. Who am I to disagree?”
“You can’t go, Serena … you can’t mean to go … what about us?” He stared at her, his eyes stricken.
She shrugged again. “Apart from the fact that I have no choice, Sebastian, I think I’m ready for a change. London grows tedious, and the play at the tables has lost its excitement here. The gamesters don’t play as high as we need them to, and the authorities are becoming unpleasantly watchful. We need to move on.”
“What about us?” he repeated, his voice strangely flat.
“What about us?” she responded. Her eyes were a startling violet in a complexion as smooth and pale as clotted cream, but they were without expression as she looked at him steadily. “We had an enjoyable dalliance, my dear, but that was all. All it could possibly be, given our circumstances. My stepfather would never consider an alliance with a penniless aristocrat, even if your family could be brought to contemplate taking one of faro’s daughters into their midst.”
She laughed without humor.
“Don’t tell me, Sebastian, that you ever contemplated anything more than a pleasant but short-lived flirtation. Because I certainly did not. If I gave you that impression, then I am deeply sorry for it.” She brushed a stray ringlet, black as a raven’s wing, away from her cheek as she spoke.
Sebastian’s face was suddenly ashen. “You know that’s not true. I love you, Serena. You love me … you know you do.”
She shook her head impatiently. “You’re so young, Sebastian. What do you know of the world? I was afraid you would be upset, which is why I wanted to tell you myself, but believe me, my dear, I have never loved you. I cannot afford to love anyone. You will find the right woman soon enough. But I am not that woman.”
Silence greeted her words, then he spoke very quietly. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I don’t know you at all.” He turned on his heel, picked up his hat, and left the parlor, closing the door softly behind him.
Serena stood still, staring at the closed door, her face expressionless, her eyes unreadable. The slam of the front door seemed to shake the house, startling her into movement. She went to the window, looking down on the street, watching as Sebastian strode towards the Piazza without a backwards look.
“You did your work well, I trust … sent him to the right-about?” The general’s voice behind her made her jump slightly. She didn’t turn to face him, but her mouth was set, her shoulders rigid.
“As you ordered, sir.” Her voice was cold. “Just as you ordered.”
“I would not have imposed that interview upon you, but since you insisted on seeing him, you have only yourself to blame if it distressed you. Hurry now, we leave for Dover in one hour.”
Chapter One
London, 1762
Jasper St. John Sullivan, fifth Earl of Blackwater, surveyed his twin brothers with a quizzical smile. “So, my dears, I’ve done my part, and ’tis up to you now to fulfill the terms of our esteemed uncle’s will.”
The Honorable Sebastian Sullivan raised a questioning eyebrow at his twin, who was staring blankly at the rich Aubusson carpet at his feet. “Well, Perry, Jasper has his bride. What are we going to do about finding our own?”
“It’s insane, worthy of a bedlamite,” the Honorable Peregrine declared, raising his eyes at last. Ordinarily serene, those deep blue eyes flickered with derision. “Somehow each of the three of us before the old man’s death has to marry a woman in need of spiritual or moral salvation in order to share equally in his fortune. What kind of nonsense is that?”
“But think of that fortune,” Jasper said gently, taking a pinch of snuff. “Nine hundred thousand pounds, my dear Perry, is not to be sneezed at.” He dropped the enameled snuffbox back into the deep, lace-edged pocket of his coat.
“’Tis riches almost beyond the dreams of avarice,” Sebastian agreed with a short laugh. “But I’ll believe it when I see it. ’Tis some trick of the devil, I’ll lay odds.”
“You could be forgiven for thinking that.” Jasper chuckled. “Our esteemed uncle is the devil incarnate, whatever he might prate about repentance and his wholehearted return to the bosom of the church.”
“But can we really take him on trust?” Sebastian pressed. “He could rewrite his will at any time, while we’re struggling to turn some lost female onto the paths of righteousness.”
Jasper shook his head. “No, I doubt that, Seb. Viscount Bradley has a strange sense of honor, and he’ll not leave his fortune away from the family if he can help it. He just wants to watch us squirm.” He set down his sherry glass on the mantel behind him. “Well, I assume you still have most of the five thousand pounds he gave you to aid you in your quest, so I suggest you get to it. There’s no knowing how long the old man will last.”
“Oh, he’ll probably never give up this mortal coil, just to spite us,” Sebastian declared.
His elder brother laughed. “He’ll hang on as long as possible, you can count on that.” He picked up his bicorne hat and silver cane on his way to the door. “I’ve a dinner engagement, so you must excuse me.”
The door closed behind him, and the twin brothers regarded each other in silence for a moment. “So what now?” Peregrine asked. “I’ve been putting off even thinking about the whole ludicrous proposal, but Jasper’s right. He has his bride, so we have to do our bit. But where do we start to look for our own fallen women? Not that I think, for one minute, that Clarissa was ever a fallen woman.”
At that, Sebastian laughed, thinking of his elder brother’s new wife. “No, I suspect you’re right there. But London’s teeming with the real article, Perry. Just take a stroll through the Piazza.”
“I’ve never found whores appealing,” his twin stated. “And I’m damned if I’m going to marry one, a fortune notwithstanding.”
Sebastian grinned. “I’m not
so nice in my taste, brother. A tasty tidbit from one of the better class of nunnery can provide fine entertainment. At least you know where you are with them.” A shadow crossed his face, not missed by the ever-observant, ever-sensitive Peregrine.
Peregrine said nothing, although he knew his brother was thinking of Serena Carmichael, the woman he had loved, the woman who had cast him aside without explanation. In the three years since Serena’s betrayal, Sebastian had amused himself as he saw fit but had never allowed a relationship with a woman to go further than superficial dalliance. He had chosen his mistresses from the ranks of the Cyprian corps, opera dancers and orange sellers, and once or twice had dallied with courtesans from the upper echelons of Society, but never anything serious.
Sebastian rose from his chair, stretching luxuriously before heading for the door. “Well, I’m on my way. Harley has a pair of chestnuts he’s thinking of selling. I’ve a mind to look them over. They’d make a fine matched pair for that neat curricle I’ve been hankering after these last twelve months.”
“How’s that going to advance your search for the perfect bride?” His brother followed him to the door.
“The appurtenances of wealth, my dear brother, are irresistible to the kind of women we need,” Sebastian said airily, stepping out onto Stratton Street. He set his hat on his head at a jaunty angle. “Will you come?”
Peregrine considered the question. “Oh, why not? I’ve nothing more interesting to do this afternoon.”
“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me, brother.” Sebastian waved his cane at a passing hackney.
Lord Harley was on the point of going out when the brothers arrived at his house on the Strand. He greeted them with a languid wave as they stepped out of the hackney. “Seb … Perry … to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’ve a mind to look over those chestnuts of yours, Harley, if you’re still interested in selling ’em.” Sebastian tossed a coin to the jarvey.