Anthony said, “No. No, Alison, that’s not—I swear I didn’t lie to you about that—”
“You know something, Anthony?” Alison said, cutting him off. “If this were a play, I would have learned about your wager through some third party, and it would all be a huge misunderstanding, and we’d be reconciled in the end. But this isn’t a play, and I—lucky me—I got to hear about it from your own mouth and that of your charming friend Mister Bishop. No misunderstanding. No comedy. Just me, standing in your hallway, hearing you say you’d wagered you could get me into your bed by Wintersmeet Eve. Obviously I’m happy you failed. But I admit to some curiosity about what you’ll do next.”
Anthony grabbed her by the shoulders. “Alison, listen, I can explain, just listen to me—”
“I’m so pleased! Yes, tell me everything. Especially what the stakes are. I’d still like to know that.”
He shook his head. “No. No. Alison, listen, I swear to you I never meant to collect on that bet.” He was breathing heavily, as if some creature had been chasing him. “It was the night you slapped me. I was already drunk and I went home and got drunker. I…said things I shouldn’t have, and Alex said I should teach you a lesson. And I said…I don’t want to repeat it, but I bet Alex I could make you sleep with me before Wintersmeet Eve.”
“You can imagine how special that makes me feel.”
“I want to be totally honest with you.”
“You’ve said that before. Do you even know what that word means?”
“Please! Alison, don’t….” He was crying now. “I had no idea Zara was going to throw us together. I thought, how convenient, I’ll win this bet in two weeks. But everything I knew, all the ways I knew to seduce a woman, they just slid right off you. Then we went to the play and you were so different, you were alive and happy and I didn’t know what to do with that. Every time we met, you’d do or say something unexpected. Then you told me, that night in the carriage, about how often you’d been treated like a prize instead of a woman, and here I’d been trying to do the same thing to you. I felt so ashamed. I knew I couldn’t try to win that wager anymore.”
“That’s a lovely story,” Alison said. “And yet you didn’t call off the bet. Why was that? Too costly?”
He shook his head. “It was just a token. A hundred guilders.”
“Oh, and now I don’t feel special at all.”
Anthony let go of her and turned away. “I didn’t want Alex to know I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He wouldn’t ever have stopped taunting me.” He shuddered. “And then I fell in love with you, and I really couldn’t tell Alex. He would have said the most awful things about us, and I couldn’t bear that.”
“And yet you had no problem listening to him call me a bitch and tell you I’d have spread my legs for him months ago. I wonder what else he’s said about me, all those times I wasn’t listening in.”
He groaned. “Alison, I’ve been so stupid. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
She felt no pity, no sorrow, nothing but a distant echo of the misery she was sure would catch up with her soon. “So, you fell in love with me, you let your bastard of a best friend mock me and harass you, and you did…what? You let the clock run out? That’s why we had to keep our relationship secret until now?”
He nodded. “I was going to miss the deadline, pay Alex, and marry you. And you were never going to know.”
“Right up until Bishop told everyone how you failed to seduce me and wasn’t that hilarious, and by the way, Countess, your husband thinks so little of you he can’t even defend you to his friend. Did you really think losing the bet would make everything all right?”
Anthony groaned again. “Alison,” he choked out, “I love you. I never lied to you about that. I wanted to make love with you because I love you, not because I was trying to win a bet. I swear on my life it’s the truth.”
She considered his words, considered his desperate face. Why was he continuing the charade, now that the deadline had passed? He should have just walked away. She replayed their relationship once more, examined everything he’d said to her, compared it to the story he’d told her just now. So. He’d been telling the truth about something. He really did love her. How sad that it didn’t matter.
“I believe you,” she said, and he looked at her with such hope it froze her right to the core. “It’s a relief, actually. I don’t have to hate myself for falling in love with a man who cared nothing for me. But it means the man who loved me exposed me to humiliation because he cared more about the good opinion of a degenerate bastard than he did about me.” She took his hand, dropped the ring into it, and closed his fingers over it. “I might have forgiven you for everything else, even for being so juvenile as to wager on my virtue, but I cannot forgive you for that.”
She turned and walked away from him, listening for the sound of him following her, but her footsteps made the only noise on that frozen roof. She imagined she could feel him watching her, his gaze weighing her down, and she thought about running down the stairs to get away faster, but she would probably fall if she did. So I do care whether I live or die, after all.
She thought about looking for the Dowager to tell her she was leaving, but decided she’d had enough of the North family for one night. Safely in her room, she let Belle unfasten all the tiny buttons, stripped off the gown and kicked it into a corner, then, wearily, picked it up and put it back on its hanger. When she got into bed, her toe bumped into something hard and sharp-edged. She reached under the bed and found the one Wintersmeet gift she hadn’t wrapped. The first edition advance copy of Flanagan’s book of plays. She couldn’t bring herself to hurl it across the room, so she shoved it further under the bed and fell asleep, still tearless, her fist clenched on the pillow as if daring the nightmares to return.
She woke, dazed, to full sunlight. I’ve missed breakfast, she thought, and hurried through her toilette to burst into the dining room and find no one there. One of the servants pointed at the Dowager’s dressing room and said, “Milady asked to see you when you rose.”
Mystified, Alison entered the room and found the Dowager seated at her dressing table, having her hair brushed by one of her maids. She saw Alison in the mirror and turned, waving the girl away, then rose and crossed the room to embrace Alison.
“My dear, I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both,” she said. “I was so surprised—honestly, I had no idea the two of you were courting. I should be angry you kept it a secret, but I’m just so happy to welcome you to the family I can’t find it in me to do so.” She grasped Alison’s hands and kissed her lightly on both cheeks, then looked at her hands in some surprise. “You’re not wearing it?”
“Milady, I don’t understand.”
“My betrothal ring, dear. Anthony came to me yesterday morning to ask me if I wouldn’t mind you having it. Don’t tell me he forgot to give it to you!”
The Dowager’s innocently pleased smile made Alison angry. He’d dared to involve his mother—! “Milady,” she began, keeping a level tone, “I thank you for your generous gift, but I do not intend to marry your son.”
“But—Anthony assured me your affections were definitely engaged. I may not approve of his lifestyle, but I have never known him to be mistaken in that regard. How could you treat him with such casual disrespect as to pretend to care for him?”
“Milady, if anyone has been toyed with, it is I.”
The Dowager drew back, her eyes going cold. “How dare you suggest my son would treat you with disrespect? I have never seen him so joyful as he was yesterday when he told me how he loved you!”
“Three months ago your precious son wagered he could get me into his bed by last night. You have no idea how grateful I am that he failed!”
The Dowager’s eyes went from cold to furious. “You dare make such allegations, you vicious…harpy!”
“Better a harpy than a fool who’s too willfully blind to see the truth about her degenerate son! Maybe if you’d
been a better mother, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now!”
The Dowager sucked in an outraged breath. “Get out. Leave me at once.”
“Milady, I’ll be happy to leave. In fact, I’m going back to Kingsport immediately. Let the other ladies take what they want from my wardrobe. I won’t need it. And if I never see another member of the North family again, I will die happy.”
She stormed out of the room and slammed the door to the bedroom that would only be hers for the next few minutes. She changed out of her morning gown into sensible traveling clothes, packed up what few things she cared about, and gave Belle a severance bonus. “If you need references, write to me at Quinn Press in Kingsport,” she told the girl. “Thank you for everything.”
“But…why are you leaving, milady?” Belle said, her eyes wide.
“You’ll hear about it soon enough,” Alison said. “Just remember, Belle—if anyone asks, make sure to tell them he lost the bet.”
She carried her own suitcase through the halls of the palace, trying not to think about why she knew them so well. In the yard, she asked for a carriage that would take her to the coaching station for Kingsport. In half an hour, she was on her way home. She still hadn’t cried. She thought she never would.
Interlude
He stumbled through the dark hallway to what he hoped was the study door. Turning on the light seemed like too much work, and besides, there were mirrors there, and he didn’t want to see his face right now. Anyway, he didn’t need the light to find the liquor cabinet, which said a lot about his life, that and the fact that he could identify every bottle inside it by touch. Brandy, he thought, that’s the stuff, and picked up the decanter and hugged it to his chest, then felt around until he found an armchair, fell into it, yanked out the stopper and had a good stiff drink straight from the bottle. It wasn’t very good brandy, but it didn’t have to be; all it had to be was alcoholic.
He’d killed something inside her. He’d seen it in her eyes, there in the moonlight. He’d done something to her you should never do to another human being, let alone the woman who’d trusted you with her heart. A woman who’d already been betrayed so many times. He took another drink. He’d tried to explain, and the thing of it was, she’d listened and then told him in so many words that she could never forgive him because he was weak and easily led and, basically, not a man. She hadn’t shouted or sworn at him. She’d just walked away, leaving him standing on a cold roof holding a ring he’d hoped to see her wear. And he deserved it. He deserved every word she’d flung at him and a thousand others she hadn’t. He drank again. The brandy wasn’t working fast enough. He could still see her eyes.
The light went on, making him wince. Alex said, “I know you’re disappointed at losing our little wager, Tony, but I didn’t think you’d take it quite this hard. You planning to take that brandy to bed with you?”
“Damn you, Alex,” Anthony said. He set the decanter down hard on the floor and went to the desk, yanking out the center drawer and rummaging in it until he found a small purse. He threw it at Alex, who fielded it neatly, his long dark face amused. “Count it if you like,” he said. “You’ve won.” He sank back down into the chair and took another drink. The world was starting to get fuzzy.
Alex poured the coins into his hand, then back into the purse. “Really, Tony, you’re acting as if this wager mattered,” he said. “Who cares that some priggish, stuck-up bitch won’t sleep with you? Her loss, if I—”
Anthony hurled the decanter at Alex’s head, which barely missed him to smash on the wall behind him, and followed it up by leaping out of his chair and shoving Alex backward so hard they both nearly tripped. Alex ended up pinned against the dripping wall, Anthony’s arm pressed across his throat.
“Shut up,” Anthony snarled. “Don’t say another word, Alex, or by heaven I will crush the life out of you.”
Alex had gone limp when Anthony pinned him, but now he gave him a startled look, then began to laugh just as if Anthony’s arm wasn’t poised to crush his windpipe. “You fell in love with her,” he chortled. “That’s just rich, Tony. Set a trap for her and be caught in hers instead. Did she find out what you’d planned? Is that the reason for this death by alcohol poisoning you’ve embarked on?” He laughed again. “Oh, poor boy—”
Anthony pressed harder, and Alex’s voice cut off. He grabbed at Anthony’s arm, choking, but Anthony was taller and heavier and filled with brandy and rage. “Killing…me…won’t…fix it,” he wheezed.
Anthony released him. Alex, clutching his throat, slid down the wall to sit at its base. “Sorry, old friend,” he said when he’d regained his breath. “Still, plenty of other lady fish in the sea, right? Let me take you somewhere, get you some real female companionship—”
“Get out,” Anthony said. He leaned down to pick up the purse Alex had dropped and felt the world spin. It took him a couple of tries; the purse kept moving around. Anthony finally snared it and threw it at Alex’s chest so hard it bounced. “Get out. And don’t come back. We’re finished.”
Alex looked surprised. He stood up, clutching the purse. “Now, you know you don’t mean it. We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
Anthony looked his former friend up and down. He saw a man several years his senior who tried to dress and talk like a younger man. He saw a lean face with early lines of dissipation etched into it. He saw a mocking mouth that, now Anthony thought about it, never had a kind word for anyone when a sarcastic, biting one would do.
“I said we’re finished, Alex,” he said. “I can’t believe I ever thought you worth listening to. If I’d been strong enough to tell you the truth, I’d be with her now. I let you say things about her I never should have put up with because I didn’t want you to mock me for falling in love. She might have forgiven me for the wager, someday, but she’s never going to forgive me for caring more about what you thought than about her.”
“And why shouldn’t you? Who is she, anyway, compared to what we’ve been through together? When your father died—”
“My father would be ashamed to know how I’ve wasted my life since I met you. You’re worthless, Alex, you spend your life battening on the wealth and hopes of others, always looking for a way to tear people down instead of lifting yourself up. I ruined my life, but you damned well helped me do it. Get out.”
Alex’s face had gone red during this speech. “And I suppose it’s my fault you’re a drunk and a womanizer? You think your precious Countess could bear to know everything you’ve done in my company? That she’d still love you when she knows who you really are?”
“Haven’t you been listening, Alex? She doesn’t care if I live or die. She despises me almost as much as I despise myself. You can’t make my life any worse than it is. Now get out or by heaven I will throw you out.”
Alex sneered. “So, you think I can’t make your life worse? Wait until news of this wager gets around. And, my dear boy, you can be assured it will get around.” He slammed the door behind him.
Anthony sank back into his chair. The air stank of brandy and Alex’s noxious perfume. He wasn’t nearly drunk enough yet. He went back to the liquor cabinet and found a bottle of a colorless liquid that didn’t smell like much of anything. He took an exploratory sip and felt it burn the lining of his throat all the way down to his stomach. Oh, yes. This would do the trick.
“Anthony? Anthony!”
He groaned and lifted his head. His mother, blurry and dancing in the midmorning light, loomed over him. He found he was on the floor, leaning against the chair, the half-empty bottle of mystery liquor tipped over on the carpet beside him. The room still smelled of brandy and cologne.
“Is this true? Did Alison actually refuse you? Please look at me, Anthony. Must you always deal with disappointment by becoming too drunk to stand?” His mother reached down and tried to pull him to his feet. He used the chair to push himself into a standing position, then used the chair again to maintain it. He wasn’t hung over, he was still dr
unk.
“I spoke with Alison this morning and she had the utter nerve to lie to me about why she’d refused your suit. I am so sorry you were mistaken in her, though I must say I didn’t think her the type not to just say she didn’t want to marry you—”
“Mother,” Anthony said, desperately trying to get her to stop swaying, “she was telling the truth. There was a wager. I’ve destroyed everything. I betrayed her.”
The Dowager went silent. Then she poked her son in the chest, making him wobble and sit down in the chair. “Explain,” she said.
He told her everything. The wager, what had come of it, his change of heart, his inability to face Alex. What she said, what she did, how she’d walked away from him on that tower. And, in harsh detail, how he’d betrayed the love of his life.
When he finished, his mother continued to look down at him. He rubbed his hand over his face and said, “Mother—”
“Don’t say another word, Anthony,” she said, and her voice was like sharpened steel. “I have stood by you all these years. I told everyone I believed you had a good heart, even when you drank too much and gambled too much and got far too close to far too many women. And now I am so ashamed of you I almost want to walk out of this house and let you drink yourself to death. How dare you treat any woman with such callous disrespect? Your pride is hurt, and you think that entitles you to demean someone else? Let alone someone like Alison Quinn?”
Anthony groaned. “I know, Mother. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t told myself.”
“Then let me tell you something new, Anthony. You need to grow up. You’ve spent the last six years since your father died in a state of permanent adolescence, and I let it slide because I loved you and I always told myself one day you’d wake up and realize you were tired of the drinking and the betting and the whoring. So some of this is my fault. But most of it is yours. You don’t deserve a woman like Alison because you’re just a boy in all the ways that matter. A man would have stood up to that awful Mister Bishop, whom I’ve never liked. A man wouldn’t have made that wager in the first place.” She prodded the bottle with her toe. “And a man wouldn’t deal with his disappointment by diving face-first into a bottle.”
Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1) Page 19