Knave's Wager

by Loretta Chase

  He stood, one hand resting on the mantel, his gaze still avoiding hers. His arrogant, handsome face was drawn into tight lines, his mouth set, his green eyes clouded. Yes, he was unhappy, genuinely so. Perhaps that was no more than he deserved.

  “Why, Julian?”

  “You won’t believe it. Too romantic by half.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I could not go to that woman and tell her I had won,” he said quietly. “It was too precious a treasure you offered me. I would not have it debased into a common, sordid episode.”

  She ought to let him suffer some little for all the suffering he’d cost her. At least something for the high price she’d paid to come here: her reputation, honour... her pride. Yet she’d come needing answers, honest ones, and this at least was not the humiliation she’d steeled herself to meet.

  “That was ... noble of you,” she said.

  He uttered one short, contemptuous laugh. “Hardly. Robert was in no danger. I knew I could buy her off.”

  “Still, it would have been cheaper to seduce me.”

  “I’ve behaved cheaply enough, I think. I refused to admit how deeply I cared for you, because my vanity would not bear it. My heart had always been quite safe. It was insupportable to admit that you’d seduced me, body and soul. Gad—to admit I liked talking with you of farming? To admit I delighted in your quick-witted responses to my sophistries? To acknowledge I’d rather argue with you about books, music, art than hear another accept my every word as a jewel of wisdom? Worst of all was to admit I wanted your good opinion—nearly as much as I wanted your person. No, my dear—too mortifying for words,” he said, his voice edged with bitterness. “I would admit none of these until the damage was done, when it was too late to woo you honestly. Why should you accept as truth speeches so like their predecessors?”

  “Why, indeed?” she returned. “I am a paragon in so many ways, according to you—yet far too stupid to distinguish fact from seductive fiction. I swallowed every lie. Naturally, it follows I must disregard every truth. Your logic is astonishing, my lord. Nearly as remarkable as your courage. You repent your wickedness—or so you imply. You admit you care for me—or so it seems. And you promptly prepare to flee for Paris.”

  That jolted him. His sinking head shot up and the eyes he turned to her blazed with anger and hurt.

  “Do you think I’d remain to dance at your wedding, Lilith?” he snapped. “Is it not enough I lie awake nights, seeing you in Bexley’s arms? Lie alone, except for the agreeable voice of my conscience? Yes, that keeps me company with its pleasant refrain: how it might have been me,” he went on furiously. “How I might be holding you... if I had not been such a bloody fool.”

  She folded her trembling hands tightly before her. “There will be no wedding,” she said. “I have jilted Thomas. I, too, lied to myself. I thought I could be a good wife to him, even after my heart was stolen from me.” The knuckles of her clamped hands turned white with the pressure of her grip as she added, “You went to a deal of trouble to make me love you, Julian. I think you’ll have a devil of a time making me stop.”

  He stared at her, his green eyes wide with disbelief. Then it penetrated... at last.

  “By God,” he said hoarsely. “By God, but you are extraordinary.”

  She shook her head. “Afraid, perhaps—or stubborn—I don’t know. Yet I had to come—shameless, brazen as it was of me—because you meant to go away... “She drew a steadying breath. “And I—I could not let you go without a fight, Julian. I can’t. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. Don’t leave me,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Not... not yet.”

  “Lilith.”

  Strong arms reached for her and drew her up against him. “Not yet,” he repeated, burying his face in her hair. “Oh, not yet.”

  His fingers threaded through her hair, stroking, soothing. With a shudder of relief, she relaxed at last in the familiar scent of sandalwood, the comforting strength of his arms, and rested her head against his pounding heart.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t lose you now, Lilith. I won’t.” He drew her head back to look at her. “You’re mine. Mine,” he whispered fiercely.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t understand.” He bit his lip. “Oh, Lord. Lilith?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have something rather shocking to tell you. Perhaps you’d better sit down.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Aunt has gone?” Cecily repeated.

  “Yes, miss. Ordered a hackney and flew out of the house— and her hair not even done up. That was almost an hour ago, and she’s not back yet—and Lord Robert is downstairs waiting.”

  “Then you must go to Mrs. Wellwicke and help her dress quickly. I can’t go without a chaperon, even if I am engaged.”

  “But, miss, hadn’t you better wait for your aunt?”

  “No, I think I’d better not. I shall entertain Lord Robert until Mrs. Wellwicke comes down.”

  “But, miss—”

  “Good heavens, Susan. If Aunt had wanted me to wait, she would have said so, wouldn’t she?” Miss Glenwood responded ingenuously as she slipped past her maid and through the door.

  With Cawble’s keen eye upon him, Lord Robert dared no more than drop a light kiss on his beloved’s forehead. When, a moment later, he learned she intended to go out without her aunt, he was sorely tempted to shake the dear girl.

  “She’ll kill us!” he whispered harshly. “She’ll banish me, she’ll write your father and—”

  “She’ll do no such thing,” Cecily answered. “Mary said she had on her nicest gown and her hair was all unpinned. Besides, I saw the book your cousin gave her. She’s gone to him, of course—so naturally, it’s absurd to expect her to return in time for the party. Thank heaven! When she came back the other day so gloomy, I was at my wits’ end. I was so certain they’d have made it up by then. After all, they were on the road together at least twenty-four hours.”

  Lord Robert drew her farther into the room. “That was a terrible scheme, darling. When I saw your aunt this afternoon—gad, I’ve never felt so guilty in my whole life. And she never scolded—not once. I wanted to crawl into a hole, really I did.”

  “Well, we hadn’t any choice, had we?” was the unrepentant answer as Miss Glenwood plopped down onto the sofa. “There’s nothing like an elopement for getting the concentrated attention of one’s elders, is there? And there’s nothing to feel guilty about, because we didn’t run away, did we? Besides, haven’t they worried us half to death, the two of them? The nightmares I’ve had of that tiresome Sir Thomas married to my splendid aunt and turning her into a prim, fussy, miserable old woman. With her hair in those nasty coils. And a lot of bald little fussy children whining at her.” She shuddered.

  Lord Robert glanced at the door outside which the butler hovered, then took a seat beside his darling girl. “Don’t get your hopes up about any other sort of children,” he warned sotto voce. “Hillard said Julian was packing for Paris.”

  “Then he’ll just have to unpack, I daresay,” Cecily retorted. “When it comes to obstinacy, he’s no match for my aunt.”

  “You don’t know Julian.”

  She smiled up at him. “Don’t I? Would you care to place a wager, my lord?”

  ***

  “I think you’re labouring under a misapprehension,” Lord Brandon said slowly. “I was preparing to flee the country, like a coward—but it wasn’t because I despaired of making you my mistress. I couldn’t—that is, I can’t—” He realised he was fiddling nervously with his neckcloth. Abruptly, his hand dropped to his side. “I don’t want you as my mistress.”

  Her gaze fell to the carpet and the colour rose to her fine, high cheekbones.

  “Damn! That’s not how I meant—By God, why must this be so curst impossible! That imbecile Bexley did better, I’ll warrant,” he muttered, clenching his fists and glaring at his evening slippers. “I want—I love you,
with—with all my heart. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first clapped eyes on you. Lord, why the devil should you believe that? Another of my confounded treacle speeches.” He gritted his teeth. “Lilith Davenant, would you—Drat it! I’m a thorough wretch and I couldn’t have treated you more shabbily—and I know I deserve to be miserable all my days—but I wish you’d let me try to be better, as ...as your husband. I know there can’t be a worse prospect in all the United Kingdom,” he added hurriedly, “but I swear I’ll be a good one—or die trying.”

  Slowly her head rose, and two slate-blue eyes fixed wonderingly upon his flushed countenance. “My hearing is failing me,” she said breathlessly. “It sounded as though you just asked me to marry you.”

  “I did,” he said, appalled at the wretched state of his nerves. “You wonder how I can have the temerity, but the fact is, I haven’t any choice.”

  “Well. Indeed.” Her gaze reverted to her hands, folded in her lap. “I’m struck all of a heap.”

  “No more than I.”

  “That’s because you’re overwrought. This is what comes of giving rein to one’s emotions. We have descended into melodrama. Later, when you’re cooler, you’ll think better of it.”

  “I most certainly will not!” Panic abruptly superseded indignation. “Or do you mean you don’t think much of it? No, of course you wouldn’t,” he answered miserably. “What a fool I am. Irresistible as a lover, perhaps, but as a husband—heaven forbid. You’ve already had one of my ilk, haven’t you? You’re hardly likely to make the same experiment twice.”

  “I’m older and wiser now,” she said, “yet I love you.”

  “Yes, but what’s the good of that if you won’t marry me?” he complained ungraciously, scarcely heeding her through the black gloom overpowering him. “Now, naturally, after you’ve cursed me with this fiendish ogre of a conscience. Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m behaving abominably. Robin isn’t half so infantile. I suppose I should take my punishment like a man.”

  “I wish you would not always be ramming thoughts into my head and words into my mouth, Julian,” she said with a touch of impatience. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t marry you.”

  He gazed blankly at her.

  “Well, did I?” she asked.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “I was only trying to allow you time for second thoughts. I was sure you’d taken leave of your wits momentarily. Unfortunately, since you seem to persist in the ailment—”

  “You wicked, teasing, cruel girl.” He moved nearer to drop to one knee before her.

  “Very likely I am. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of it.”

  “I’ll gladly endure all the torments of the damned,” he joyfully assured her. “The question is, are you prepared, my love?” He captured both her hands in his. “I want to parade you about in public and make my friends die of envy. I want to snatch you from your dancing partners and hold you as close as I like when we whirl about the room. I want to live with you. I want to rattle my newspaper at you during breakfast and quarrel with you about politics and the servants and the rearing of our children. I want to talk with you and tease you and care for you. I even want to trudge with you through muddy fields, to worry about the rain and the crops and fine cattle.”

  “That may be your best speech yet,” she said softly. Her cool blue gaze had softened too. “I’m afraid you’re in a very bad way, my lord. Still, if ours is a long engagement, perhaps you’ll come to your senses in time.”

  He uncoiled his long form from its position of supplication to take a more satisfactory place beside her on the sofa.

  “It’s true I feel rather giddy at the moment,” he answered, “but I strongly doubt I shall ever come to my senses. Or perhaps I have at last. I don’t know. I really am quite confused, weak, and dizzy. I had better take hold of something.”

  He gathered her close to him. Then his fingers crept into the gleaming, copper-lit curls framing her face. His gaze lingered on the haughty countenance that had so entranced and intrigued him from the start—the cool alabaster of her skin, the smouldering blue smoke of her eyes, the wanton ripeness of her generous mouth.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Her mouth curled into a wicked smile that made his heart thump like a legion of marching infantry.

  “So you do,” she answered. “A costly mistake, I think.”

  “Indeed, I hadn’t expected so high a price as marriage, madam. But what else is one to do? A mistress may be lost on a wager—or led astray by the next good-looking, sweet-talking rogue to cross her path. Marriage it is, then,” he said, his voice low, fierce, possessive.

  His kiss was fierce too, hungry, demanding. Yet there was at last peace of a sort within. And so, when she drew away after a moment or two, Julian quieted himself with the reflection that there would be time and time enough. Against every odd, Lilith Davenant would be his. Lady Brandon. His marchioness. The thought threw his heart crashing against his ribs.

  “There’s just one thing,” she said, her fingers playing with the curls at his ear.

  “Anything,” he answered hoarsely.

  “Well, actually, three things. There is Diana next year, then Emily the year after, and Barbara the next. Oh, and Claire—that makes four. But she will not be ready for a few years after that. Four more nieces, Julian.”

  “Four of them?” He sat back abruptly. “Perhaps I have been hasty. I don’t believe I can survive any more of your nieces, Mrs. Davenant.”

  “They’re very sweet girls,” Lilith defended. “Darling girls, just like Cecily.”

  He shuddered theatrically. “No, not like Cecily. Anything but that.”

  “You can’t be provoked with Cecily. Recollect she did come to her senses in time.”

  “She was never out of her senses,” he retorted. “Not for a moment. I’ve never heard of such a coolly calculating little minx as that one. If her cousins are anything like her, I shall advise England’s entire male population to make for the South Seas at once.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, because she likes you immensely. She was taken with you from the start, you know,” Lilith said. She reached up again, this time to stroke his stubborn jaw.

  He brought her hand to his lips. “Was she?”

  “Oh, yes. Because you were dark and devilish-looking. ‘A bad, beautiful angel,’ she called you—although she was comparing you to a horse at the time. All my nieces will dote upon you and make me jealous.”

  “Will they, just goddess? It seems the managing has begun already.” He pressed another kiss upon her hand. “I see what our marriage will be like. You’ll lead me about by the nose. What a pathetic prospect.”

  “Ah, yes, my lord, but such a seductive one. And poor me—I’m so susceptible to seduction.”

  He grasped the back of her head and brought her mouth to within an inch of his. “Indeed. Thank you for reminding me. In all my horror of impending nieces, I’d very nearly forgotten about that.”

  “Not until after we’re wed, Julian,” she said primly.

  “Oh, no. Of course not.”

  “Your reformation must begin at once. There is not a minute to be lost. I am resolved.”

  Resolved or no, a devilish promise lurked in smoky blue depths. “Yes, my love. And I respect you for it, indeed I do,” he said. “Naturally, I can wait.”

  “Deceitful knave,” she said.

  “Yes,” he breathed as his mouth covered hers.

  Author's Note

  For the story’s purposes, the debut of Mansfield Park has been advanced a few weeks. Miss Austen’s novel was published in three volumes on 9 May 1814.

  Discover Loretta Chase

  Scandal Wears Satin

  Silk is for Seduction

  Royal Weddings Anthology

  Last Night’s Scandal

  Don’t Tempt Me

  Your Scandalous Ways

  Not Quite a Lady

  Lord Perfect

  Mr. Impossibler />
  Miss Wonderful

  The Last Hellion

  The Mad Earl’s Bride

  Lord of Scoundrels

  Isabella

  The English Witch

  The Lion’s Daughter

  The Sandalwood Princess

  The Sandalwood Princess

  Viscount Vagabond

  The Devil’s Delilah

  The Royal Bridesmaids Anthology

  About the Author

  After a heroic attempt to be an English major forever, Loretta Chase stoically accepted her degree but kept on reading and writing. As well as working in academe, she had an enlightening if brief life in retail and a Dickensian six-month experience as a meter maid. In the course of moonlighting as a corporate video scriptwriter, she succumbed to the charm of a producer, who lured her into writing novels -- and marrying him. The union has resulted in what seems like an awful lot of books and quite a few awards, including the Romance Writers of America’s Rita. Heralded as “…the long awaited successor to Georgette Heyer” by Library Journal, Loretta Chase’s historical romance novels have been published all over the world.

  To learn more, please visit www.LorettaChase.com.