Once Upon a Wager

by Julie LeMense

  Of course, he invariably returned to the city with an additional bank draft. Her parents liked to joke that Gareth could charm the stripes off the famous zebra at Astley’s Amphitheater. With a ready smile, he was so undeniably good-looking that most of her friends were madly in love with him. He got whatever he wanted. They both did.

  Which is what made the matter of Alec Carstairs so infuriating.

  “You shouldn’t be spending so much of Father’s money, Gareth. Have you forgotten that I’ll be going to London for the Little Season in September?”

  “How could I? You prattle on about it in every letter. I’ve warned all of my friends. We’re going to decamp en masse to Brighton.”

  “I will ignore your insults,” she said, fighting back a grin. “Tell me, what does Alec think about this Mr. Digby?”

  “You can guess the answer to that, Annabelle. Honestly, Carstairs has forgotten how to have fun. Any day now, I expect to find he’s gone old and arthritic.”

  Even so, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. And tonight, she would not be ignored. Mrs. Markum from the village had made up the most beautiful dress for her. It was the palest of cream silks, shot through with silver thread, and delicately embroidered with tiny flowers. Her hair would be pulled back with the clips Father had given to Mother on their wedding day. They were shaped like butterflies, the wings sparkling with dozens of small diamonds.

  Tonight, she would dare him to find a trace of the girl he pretended her to be.

  • • •

  Just as evening fell, Alec walked up the crushed stone drive to Astley Castle. Despite its rather grandiose name, it was more accurately a fortified manor house, although it did have a moat. Briefly the home of Lady Jane Grey, England’s unfortunate Nine Days Queen, it had also served as a garrison for Cromwell’s forces during the Civil War before passing into the Layton family. Tonight, however, the house gave no hint of its troubled history. Japanese lanterns were strung, not only in the trees leading up the drive, but also in those surrounding the house, and the effect was magical. In the early dusk, a gentle light bathed the grounds, softening the lines of the old home, coloring it with pale pinks and darker purples. Alec heard strains of music and conversation. In fact, it appeared to be a remarkably conventional party, which was something of a surprise. Surely, circus animals were lurking somewhere.

  The oversized front door was open to the evening air, and dozens of people were assembled in the Great Hall, which was brightly lit with wall lanterns. Chandeliers decked with wax candles flickered high above as Gareth’s parents received their guests. Sir Frederick, who often panicked in crowds, was hiding his misgivings well, and Lady Layton was radiant beside him. Gareth stood next to her, dressed in a colorful approximation of evening attire, but he seemed distracted. His eyes were darting the crowd and looking for someone. A footman with the champagne tray, no doubt. Alec did not see Annabelle.

  But then familiar, melodious laughter washed over him, and he turned. A willowy, honey-tressed blonde stood at the center of a crowd of adoring men. Her face was hidden from view, but her gown—the color of moonlight—caressed her curves like a lover. Alec braced himself, every nerve taut. As if sensing his presence, she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

  God in Heaven, he should never have come here tonight.

  Annabelle had been only four years old the first time he saw her. He’d joined his mother on a neighborly visit to Astley Castle, and the little girl had utterly charmed him, struggling to sit still while Lady Layton served tea to her guests. Delicate, soft, and pink, like a rosy-cheeked doll, she’d roused all his protective instincts before kicking him in the shins to gain his attention.

  If only he could see the girl she’d once been in the woman standing before him. Even two years ago, there had been hints of her, hiding in the body of a goddess. But there was nothing childlike about Annabelle now. She was spectacularly lovely, with arched brows, high cheekbones, and cornflower blue eyes that took his breath away.

  Excusing herself from her admirers, she walked toward him with a slow smile. Then again, walking was not the right word. Swaying was the better choice, and all he could do was stand there, heart slamming in his chest as she approached, the gossamer silk gown caressing her curves. Were it dampened—as was the fashion with London’s faster set—it would be almost transparent. Just like that morning when she had gone swimming in the fountain, casting a spell over him like a sorceress.

  “Alec, how nice you could join us this evening. I worried that in the end, something pressing would keep you in London. So often in these past two years, that has been the case.” Once, she’d have embraced him impulsively, laughing all the while. Now, she gave a surprisingly ladylike curtsey, extending one gloved hand. He leaned down to press a kiss upon it, and if his lips lingered a moment too long, he was rather proud of his self-control. It had been just enough to breathe in the scent of her—a familiar mix of honeysuckle soap and the lemon drops she loved. But there was also something new. Something dangerous.

  “I wrote that I would be here, Annabelle. I am man who honors my obligations.”

  She tilted her head, angling it up toward him, her eyes bewitching beneath half-lowered lashes. “Is that what I am now? An obligation?”

  She would scramble his wits if he wasn’t careful.

  “Of course not. We’re old friends, despite the distance between us.”

  He’d been referring to the distance between London and Nuneaton, but he was certain she had leaned closer. His body all but screamed it.

  “Perhaps we can ease that distance tonight.”

  God above. Did she have any idea how that might be interpreted? He managed a self-conscious pat on her shoulder before stepping back, hoping he appeared collected and calm, instead of dizzy with the nearness of her.

  “You are looking very well,” he said after a long pause. “How … big you have become.”

  And with that asinine statement, he turned on his heels, vanishing into the crowd.

  • • •

  Why must Alec be indifferent to her, when so many other men were eager to gain her attention? There was Horace Briarly, the squire’s son from the village. He’d vowed his eternal love these past three years or more. Lord Percival Spencer, the rather rakish heir to a viscountcy in Warwickshire, made every excuse to visit her father with lepidopterological concerns—though it was obvious he had no interest in the hobby. And then there was the widower, Sir Boniface, an amateur artist. He’d already presented her with a number of lovely paintings, although it was embarrassing to have six portraits of oneself. Wherever Annabelle went, men seemed to sprout up like spring flowers.

  But none of them was as endlessly fascinating as Alec Carstairs. So noble and decent. So restrained and responsible. The one reliable constant of her childhood, he’d become the man against whom she measured all others.

  Not to mention the beauty of him. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs, all encased in immaculately tailored clothing. Dark brown hair, still wavy but shorter now than she remembered. Beautiful lips, wide and generous. Prominent cheekbones and a straight nose that flared slightly. Those toffee-colored eyes that always reminded her of Cook’s caramels, still warm from the stove.

  Gaining his attention this evening required a new strategy. But she couldn’t plot effectively if she was caught up in a conversation with Horace, who was heading her way like a hound on a scent. She quickly blessed the wall of potted palms beside the door. With a quick movement, she slipped behind them, escaping out onto the drive.

  As escapes went, it was poorly planned. It was a party, after all. Guests were getting out of their carriages and walking up the meandering stone pathway to the castle entrance. Distracted by thoughts of Alec, she walked directly into a small group of men who were newly arrived. One of them caught her with his arms, steadying her before she could knock both of them down. Glancing up at the blunt-featured man, she offered a hasty apology and spun away. He called afte
r her, but she was in no mood to speak with strangers. She headed into the castle’s elaborate gardens and the swiftly descending darkness.

  Passing clipped boxwoods and yews set in a pattern dating to Elizabethan times, she followed a gravel path into the heart of the gardens where a Roman folly stood, reflected in a semicircular ornamental pond, her fountain at its center. The pond was filled with gold and silver fish, and as a child, she’d loved watching sunlight shimmer on their scales through the water. Several bubbled to the surface at her approach, hopeful and expectant, but tonight, she had nothing to offer but a half smile.

  There was a bench hidden behind the folly, and she took a seat there. Her collision had wreaked havoc with the elaborate coiffure her maid, Mary, had created. Annabelle fumbled with an errant clip, but that sent another wave of heavy hair tumbling over her shoulders. It wouldn’t do to be seen in this state. She could only imagine what Alec would think. At least, the new Alec. The one who was so stuffy. Thankfully, though, she was alone.

  Until quite suddenly, she was not.

  “I was sure my eyes had deceived me, but they did not. You are exquisite.”

  The voice belonged to a strange man, his approach almost silent in the soft grass. Annabelle merely edged further into the shadows. “Sir, I don’t wish to be rude, but I would prefer to be alone.”

  “But your beauty holds me spellbound,” he said easily, as if he’d practiced the line.

  She looked up. It was the blunt-featured man. He had light brown hair and pale gray eyes, and while she could not guess at his age, he was far older than she. “This is hardly the time for false flattery. And the party is that way.” She pointed needlessly toward the house.

  He moved slowly toward her. “What is your name?”

  “As you well know, it would hardly be proper for me to say. We’ve not been introduced.” Nor should she be alone with him here in the dark.

  “Such becoming modesty.” He smiled, flashing uneven teeth. “But I insist on knowing who you are.” He took another step closer as he slowly withdrew the glove covering his left hand. “Tell me, my dear, if I trailed my fingers down your cheek, would your skin be as soft as it appears?”

  So he was that sort of man. “You should know that I always carry a small pistol on my person,” she said, her voice impressively calm. “Just in case an unfortunate situation like this one should arise.”

  “Really?” His eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Why don’t I feel my hands along your body, and see if I can discover the place where you’ve hidden it?”

  “Touch her,” another voice ground out, “and I will break both of your arms.”

  Alec. He’d followed her, after all. He was suddenly towering over the stranger.

  “Carstairs, what an unpleasant surprise. The lady and I are having a private discussion.”

  Ignoring him, Alec turned to face her. “Are you all right?” Taking in her disheveled appearance, he added tersely, “Has he hurt you in any way?”

  “No, I am fine,” Annabelle replied, masking her relief. “I merely needed some fresh air.”

  “I meant no harm,” the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely engaging in an innocent flirtation with a desirable woman.”

  “She’s little more than a child,” Alec bit out. And as offended as she was by his comment, this didn’t seem like a time to argue.

  “She is hardly a child, Carstairs,” the man drawled. “If she were, I doubt you’d be treating me to such a manly display.”

  She could sense the tension in Alec. He was keeping his temper in check, but just barely.

  “Who are you?” Annabelle asked. “Why are you here in my home?”

  “Your home?” His eyes widened with surprise. “You must be Miss Layton, Gareth’s sister. He and I are very close friends.”

  “Of late,” she said, “he has been less particular in his friendships.”

  The stranger darkened at that. “As it turns out, we are business partners of a sort. I am Damien Digby, at your service.”

  Gareth had been wrong. She could not like Mr. Digby.

  “How utterly perfect you are, Miss Layton. When your brother spoke of your beauty, I thought he exaggerated. I can see now he was being coy. I will look forward to seeing you inside.”

  With a cold look at Alec, he turned and strode purposefully toward the house.

  • • •

  “Don’t you know enough not to run off without a proper escort, Annabelle?” Alec demanded, anger sharpening his voice.

  At his tone, her own temper flared. “I was more than fine, Alec. I’ve grown … what was the word you used? Oh yes, big. I’m big now, like a sturdy tree out in the lawn. Perhaps if you think on it, you can come up with an even more unflattering term. In the meantime, I will take care of myself.”

  “Don’t be foolish. You don’t know what a man like that is capable of.”

  “You heard him say he meant no harm.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew they were false. She’d seen the look in Digby’s eyes.

  “He is a cad, the very worst sort.” Alec put a hand to the edge of his cravat, as if it were suddenly too tight. “And much as it pains me to say so, you are at an age when such men will seek you out.”

  “I cannot help the fact that I’ve grown up, Alec. I’m sorry the end result of it has been so unfortunate.”

  He met that statement with a long moment of silence, merely watching her in the moonlight, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I don’t think that is the right word.”

  She didn’t want to find out which word he would choose instead. Her confidence had been battered enough for one evening. “I have to return to the party.” She started to move away, but he put his hands on her shoulders to still her.

  “Have you really taken to carrying around pistols, Annabelle?”

  “Of course not. I was bluffing. I would never ruin the line of this lovely dress.”

  His eyes sparked briefly with amusement, and perhaps admiration. “Lovely as your dress is, you can’t return to the party looking as you do. Let me help you.”

  He reached down to loosen one of the diamond clips tangled in her hair, and slowly worked it free, standing so close she had to remind herself to breathe. He smelled of sandalwood and crisp, clean linen. “This one will also have to be reset,” he said, moving to the other clip, his amusement fading. In moments, the rest of her hair tumbled down to her waist, and he ran his fingers through its long length in an effort to smooth it. Then he cleared his throat, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “I’m not much of a lady’s maid.” He tucked the clips into her gloved hands and stepped back.

  “People will wonder what we’ve been doing out here in the dark,” she said, daring him to think of her that way. But his face was inscrutable, and she fought back a stab of frustration. “Of course, no one would suspect you of misbehaving. You are far too honorable. You’re practically my brother.”

  “I am not your brother, Annabelle. And I’m not as honorable as you think.” Abruptly, he turned toward the castle. “Follow me to the servants’ entrance, and go up to your room from there.” She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Go straight to your maid,” he called over his shoulder. “Dinner will be served soon. Your absence will be noticed if you don’t hurry.”

  He was dismissing her, because she was a foolish girl he neither wanted nor needed. It was evident in every terse, clipped word.

  When they reached the house, she passed quietly through the doorway leading into the kitchen. In the confusion, as the staff prepared trays of food to be brought up for dinner, she was able to slip by unnoticed. In moments, she was up the stairs.

  • • •

  Only when she’d vanished from sight did Alec allow his careful control to slip. The ghosts of his past were all around him. He and Gareth and Annabelle, rolling down the hillside over there on that warm spring day, laughing aloud as governesses and tutors ran after them, bemoaning grass stains and inap
propriate behavior. That long ago summer night, sitting with Annabelle on the bench behind the folly, her hand in his, because while she loved to look up at the stars, she was frightened of the dark. That afternoon when he’d come down from Oxford for a visit, and she leapt into his arms. His only searing thought had been, “how beautiful you’ve become.” That morning two years ago, when everything changed.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep. It had been intensely hot, even at that early hour of the morning, so he’d gone for a walk, hoping for a breeze. Hearing her laughter, he’d been drawn to it, never expecting to find Annabelle dancing in the fountain, a pagan goddess of the dawn, water coursing over every nearly naked curve. The pink tips of her breasts had been visible through her wet shift, and he’d felt like the worst sort of lecher for wanting her. Even now, he hardened at the memory, his mouth dry as dust.

  Annabelle was free in a way he’d never been, full of life and laughter. She was warm, vital, and sparkling, like flames in the night. But never had someone been more unsuited to the path that he must follow. His happiness was not his own. It did not matter that he wanted her, that he could no longer deny his desire. How shocked she’d be to know that while he had been untangling her hair, he’d been imagining it wound around him, her body naked beneath his own.

  Chapter 2

  Annabelle returned to the party just as the first course was served, hopefully with no one the wiser. No one besides Alec, at least. She sensed him watching her at every opportunity, but whether to keep her safe or avoid her path, she didn’t know. Course after course was served to the throng of seated guests. There were soups, sweetmeats, and baked fowl; meats, terrines, and savory tarts; sugar-glazed fruits and desserts—all presented by white-gloved servers moving with almost orchestral precision.

  Even without the butterflies they’d planned on, it was perfect. If only Alec would ask her to dance, the evening’s earlier trials could be overlooked, but he hadn’t asked. She despaired that he ever would.