Knave's Wager

  Julian entered the small, tastefully furnished room where a cold meal had been laid out. The door to the adjoining bedchamber was partly open. He closed it.

  He pulled a bottle of champagne from the silver ice bucket, opened it, and filled one crystal goblet.

  Lilies had been cut into the crystal. Lilies bloomed everywhere, in one form or another—upon the wall coverings and draperies and carpets. There were orchids, as well, because he’d once compared her beauty to orchids, and because she’d worn them in her hair—his gift. The first of many gifts, he’d thought. He would shower his imperious mistress with tributes.

  He took his wineglass and walked to the window, where he stood a long while. Evening was hours away, yet black night seemed to be falling already. The heavy clouds had darkened, and rain tapped steadily upon the windowpanes.

  She might have been with him now. They might have stood together, watching the rain draw hurried, swirling patterns upon the glass.

  He would have appeared to watch the rain, but his glance would steal to her face, to study her proud profile. He would not have heard the pattering beat against the windowpanes, only her quiet, cool voice, its cadences rich and smooth, even when animated, when she talked of Derbyshire and her land. Or wistful, as she sometimes was, caught by some bittersweet memory.

  He would have made her laugh, perhaps. But he would not have been quite content until he had taken all the pins from her hair. He would not have been altogether easy until she was in his arms. Then he would sweep her into the storm with him, because hers was a passionate spirit, demanding and willful as his own. Not to be broken or bent. Still, he might have possessed it. Even now, all that was Lilith Davenant might have been his.

  This is how you lose a wager.

  He turned and hurled his wineglass across the room. It struck the mantel and shattered into sparkling shards. Lost—aye, lost her—and all his own doing.

  What had he told Elise? Something about the challenge being irresistible, wasn’t it? A challenge merely. The tart had known him better than he knew himself. She’d comprehended quickly enough the extent of his overweening vanity.

  That was it. Vanity and one thoughtless moment—and his was a lifetime of such moments—had cost him this one woman he wanted above all others. Wanted, he discovered now, as some blade seemed to twist in his chest, more than anything else in this world.

  A few minutes after Mrs. Davenant had left her niece’s room, Susan appeared to dress the girl for the evening. She found Miss Glenwood curled up in a chair, her chin resting on her hand and her brow puckered. She looked up at the maid’s entrance.

  “Oh, Susan, how I wish you and Hobbs had been quicker— though I much doubt it would have helped. It is worse than I thought.”

  “I was as quick as I could be, Miss Cedly,” said the maid. “But Hobbs couldn’t get away in time, and if the missus was to get wind –”

  “She’s got wind of something, and I wish I knew what it was. It must have been dreadful, because she is so miserable, and terribly, terribly confused. Why, she just now said she’d been neglecting me. Have you ever heard the like? And such a long lecture about my gentlemen friends. She said it all so kindly and sadly, I didn’t have the heart to remind her I already knew all that.”

  “Knew what, miss?”

  Cecily stood up and walked to the wardrobe. “I should like to wear the pink muslin, but tonight we’d better do without the lace.”

  “Do without? Your aunt will have my head. You know how she feels about young girls showing their bosoms.”

  “Yes, and I should not wish to upset her, so I must be late going down, and you must be certain to arrange my wrap very carefully.”

  The widow’s party was unusually late arriving at Lady Violet Porter’s rout.

  Lord Robert, who’d been elbowed, backed into, and trod on this last hour, was beginning to wonder how he could have been so mad as to come. He had no one to talk to, and he couldn’t breathe. He’d have done better to spend the evening pacifying his mistress. Julian had warned that an emotional woman like Elise might so far forget herself as to create scenes at the most inconvenient times.

  Then Lord Robert spied Miss Glenwood proceeding slowly up the stairs, her aunt on one side, Sir Thomas on the other. Miss Glenwood met his glance and smiled. Lord Robert promptly began shoving his way through the crowd. He reached the top of the stairs just as the trio did, greeted the widow and the baronet politely, greeted Cecily—took a second look at Cecily—then hastily excused himself.

  He was about to plunge back the way he’d come, when he happened to glance back. He saw Mr. Ventcoeur bend over Miss Glenwood’s small hand. In the next moment, that hand was tucked into Mr. Ventcoeur’s arm.

  Lord Robert left the rout.

  Indecent was what it was.

  What on earth could her aunt have been thinking of, to allow the girl to go about half naked, so that every lout in London could ogle her? And of all the louts to give her arm to, that crude imbecile, Ventcoeur.

  Well, if the aunt didn’t know better, Lord Robert Downs certainly did. He would give Miss Glenwood a serious talking-to. Tomorrow.

  Tomorrow came and went and there was no talking-to, because Lord Robert found no opportunity. The one country dance Miss Glenwood allotted him was hardly conducive to serious conversation. She was winded at the end of it—as was all too evident in the rapid rise and fall of—

  At any rate, by the time they’d both caught their breath, her next partner had stepped in to claim her.

  The following night was exactly the same.

  Consequently, early Monday afternoon, Lord Robert borrowed his cousin’s curricle without permission, called at the house, and invited Miss Glenwood to drive with him.

  She was very quiet until they reached the Park gates. Then she sighed and said she had something to tell him.

  “Yes, well, I have something to tell you, Miss Glenwood,” he answered. Before he could lose his courage, he plunged into the sermon he’d rehearsed.

  She listened very attentively then looked at him in a puzzled way. “I don’t understand,” she said. “When Papa wants to sell a mare, he doesn’t cover the poor animal with blankets, but displays her to best advantage. I’m on the market, you know.”

  “On the what?” he cried.

  “To be married. That’s why I’m in London, isn’t it? That’s why all the girls come. And I don’t at all understand what’s so immodest. Lady Rockridge is quite strict, yet Anne’s frocks are much more daring than mine, and no one’s shocked. Even my aunt had to admit that, though she blushed the whole time. But poor Aunt is so confused.”

  Lord Robert made no answer. Miss Glenwood was a levelheaded girl, and it was quite true about Anne’s frocks—indeed, about most of the gowns to be seen in any Season. All the same, it seemed very wrong for Miss Glenwood to go about in such revealing costumes. She was a child, still. Well, not exactly, but—

  There burst into his mind at this moment a vision of a feminine form in breeches, and he grew dizzy.

  “It’s because they’ve quarrelled, you know,” Cecily continued. “I know it was something dreadful because I heard Aunt Lilith tell Cawble that Lord Brandon was not to be admitted to the house. And your cousin must be just as angry, because he keeps away.”

  Lord Robert shook himself to attention. His cousin he could talk about articulately.

  “Miss Glenwood, I must tell you, Julian would never keep away from anything on account of a woman.”

  “He was not at Lady Violet’s rout Friday, or at Lady Shumway’s Saturday, or Lady Greenaway’s last night.”

  “Saturday was Kean’s first appearance as Othello,” Robert argued. “Naturally, Julian would go.”

  “For weeks and weeks he’s always appeared wherever my aunt is. Yet ever since they quarrelled, we haven’t seen him. I expect he’s just as miserable as she is, and they’re both too proud and stubborn to admit it.”

  “In that case, they’re better off apart, d
on’t you think?”

  “How can you say such a thing?” Her blue eyes flashed a reproach. “You know they must marry. Fortunately,” she added reassuringly, “I have a plan.”

  He was so startled he nearly dropped the reins.

  “Marry? Each other? Your aunt is engaged already.”

  “Well, she can’t many that tiresome, preaching man, can she?”

  “Miss Glenwood—”

  “You’re confusing the horses, Lord Robert. Do call the one on the left to order before takes us into that tree.”

  Lord Robert drew the carriage to a halt.

  “Miss Glenwood—”

  “You needn’t be anxious. It’s a very good plan, and really, quite simple.”

  At this moment, an enormous grey cloud swallowed up the sun. The heavens darkened, and Lord Robert felt a chill at the base of his skull. “Drat,” he said. “It’s going to rain.”

  Miss Glenwood glanced up. “Not for hours,” she said.

  Sure enough, the cloud moved on and the sun shone brightly again. Nonetheless, Lord Robert felt as though the cloud had settled within him. “Miss Glenwood,” he said gently, “you really oughtn’t be contriving any plans. It’s none of our affair, and even if it were, it wouldn’t do any good, because Julian’s a hardened bachelor. If they’ve had a row, maybe it’s for the best.”

  Miss Glenwood appeared to consider. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said after a moment. “It must be the strain telling on me. Aunt won’t let me stir a step without her any more. I assumed that was because she didn’t know what else to do with herself. And, naturally, when I heard all that long lecture about you, I was bound to think she must be a bit irrational. How could she imagine I didn’t know all that already?”

  The cloud within seemed to grow heavier and darker then.

  “About me?” Lord Robert said uneasily. “I hope she wasn’t repeating a lot of idle gossip.”

  “Not at all. But such obvious facts, I’d be utterly featherbrained not to be aware of them. Really, there was no need to tell me you couldn’t possibly be a serious suitor. Even if you weren’t desperately in love with that beautiful Frenchwoman, what on earth would you want with an ignorant country girl? Certainly I’m not grand enough for you, and naturally your family must object. I couldn’t blame them, could I? After all, my portion would hardly keep you in neckcloths.”

  The sophisticated man of the world blushed hotly, which must have vexed him, because he grew altogether unreasonably irate at the perfectly reasonable way in which Miss Glenwood had just discounted him.

  He did not see, he told her, why there was any need for her aunt to warn her against him. Had he behaved improperly? He hadn’t even attempted to lass her—though he had no doubt Ventcoeur had, such an unprincipled, crude character he was. Her aunt didn’t warn Miss Glenwood against any other fellows, though Lord Robert had seen them all ogling and gawking in the most obscene way. As to portions, he had far less need of a huge dowry than Beldon had.

  “I may be a younger son,” he raged, “but I’m certainly not so pinched for funds that I have to dodge the bailiff. I’m very shocked, Miss Glenwood. indeed I am, that you’d for a minute think I’d ever marry for money, or be looking out for some duke’s spoiled, stuck-up daughter just to please my stiff-necked family.”

  “Of course not,” she answered calmly. “That would be so silly, when you practically have a wife already—and very beautiful she is, too. Also clever, I expect, or you’d be excessively bored, being so very clever yourself.’’

  “Miss Glenwood,” he said, acutely uncomfortable, “this is not a proper subject to discuss.”

  “Very well. What would you rather talk about?”

  While he was desperately seeking a topic, his cousin’s spirited cattle began snorting and prancing with impatience. Experienced horsewoman that she was, Miss Glenwood’s gesture must have been instinctive. She only reached for the ribbons, and her small gloved hand touched his.

  Then she blushed... and bit her lip... and hastily folded her hands in her lap.

  Lord Robert looked at her pink, downcast profile and at the soft, full lip caught between her perfect white teeth, then at the dainty gloved hands.

  While he was looking, the ribbons somehow transferred to one hand while the other took hers.

  Her long lashes swept up slowly.

  “Oh, Lord,” he said.

  “You should not be holding my hand,” she said softly.

  “I know,” he said. “I can’t help it. Miss Glenwood.”

  “Yes?” Her face was lifted to his, her lips slightly parted. There was an odd ringing in his ears, and Lord Robert had a curious sensation of railing—which, in a manner of speaking, he was, because his own race lowered to meet hers... and before he knew what he’d done, he’d kissed her.

  Being a levelheaded miss, the young lady ought to have boxed his ears. She did not. Thus the kiss continued a deal longer than it should have done. Long enough so that, when he finally remembered to stop, he could not possibly pretend it had been a mere friendly token of goodwill.

  “Oh, my,” she said.

  “Miss Glenwood, I do beg your pardon. I don’t know—”

  She gazed at him in admiration. “Oh, but I think you do. That was ever so lovely. Really, it was a revelation. Rodger has never kissed me like that. All I ever get from him or James is a peck on the cheek, and only when they’re in exceedingly good humour.”

  “Yes, Miss Glenwood, but I’m not your brother. I wouldn’t be your brother,” he added vehemently, “for anything in this world.”

  “Wouldn’t you? What would you like to be?”

  Lord Robert took a deep breath, tore his gaze from her blue, unwinking one, and stared fixedly at the horses.

  “I don’t mean to be forward, but I do wish you’d settle it in your mind,” she said. “You can’t be in love with two women at the same time, you know, and if you’re not in love with me, it would be most unkind to confuse me with such agreeable kisses. I can’t afford to be muddled at present. I have too many responsibilities.”

  With the matter thus set so plainly before him, Lord Robert could hardly fail to grasp it. In fact, he was mortified. He could not understand how he could have been so obtuse.

  “I’m afraid I’m very much in love with you, Miss Glen—Cecily,” he said, his face scarlet.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “I was beginning to feel quite ridiculous. I’ve been in love with you ever so long.”

  Relief quickly succeeded astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind. There could be no other response to such a sweet, frank avowal but another fervent kiss. But as he drew away, the reality of his situation hurtled upon Lord Robert like a runaway carriage. Her disapproving aunt, bound to throw obstacles in their way... as though his own family wouldn’t be quick enough to do that, though she was hardly in the same category as Elise— Good God! Elise!

  “Egad!” he blurted out. “Now I’m in a devil of a fix.”

  “Not at all,” came the confident response. “So long as we’ve got matters straight between us, we can mend everything else—because two heads are ever so much better than one, aren’t they?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Whatever other problems two heads might solve, that of Elise was Lord Robert’s alone. No gentleman could possibly expect a gently bred innocent to advise him how to be rid of his mistress, especially when he’d solemnly pledged to many that mistress in two months’ time.

  Accordingly, feeling like the lowest species of cur, Lord Robert drove to his lodgings.

  As he opened the door, the scented atmosphere nearly turned a stomach that was already in knots. His mistress’s affectionate greeting sent his conscience into screaming fits. He thought perhaps his confession could wait until tomorrow, but he’d no sooner thought it than he remembered Cecily’s sweet, innocent mouth. He backed away as Elise moved to embrace him.

  “What is this?” she cried. “You cannot be angry
with me. What has your poor Lise done to make you so cold?” She retreated as well. “Ah, but you are often so, I find. I think so much time in grand company makes you despise me.”

  He swallowed. “I don’t despise you. Not at all. You’ve been—you’ve been wonderful to me. Better than I deserve. That is to say, I don’t know why you’ve stuck it out so long.”

  She turned glistening eyes upon him. “So long? But I told you forever. Have I not promised? Have I not pledged myself to you?”

  “Yes, well, maybe you shouldn’t have.” Lord Robert took another deep breath, made himself look her in the eye, and said, “I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”

  Her dark eyes opened wide in shock. He turned away and moved to the mantel.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he said, picking up one of the framed silhouettes that stood there. “It just happened. I think it happened weeks ago, but it never occurred to me. I never dreamed I could love anyone else. But I do, and—and so I came to ask you to let me go. You can’t want to marry a man who’s in love with another woman.”

  He replaced the picture and waited.

  There was a long silence. Then she said, her voice hurt but gentle, “Ah, my poor Robin. You have some infatuation, I comprehend. Well, I must be patient. It will fade, and you will find me still waiting.”

  “Elise, I’m sorry, but it’s not like that,” he answered, vexed at her humouring him. “I’m going to marry her—as soon as I can.”

  Mademoiselle Fourgette promptly swooned.

  An hour later, Robert drove away, in worse case than when he’d arrived. He’d talked until he was blue in the face, and Elise—usually so perceptive—had been utterly unable to understand him. She was thoroughly convinced his new passion was but a whim.

  At length, torn with guilt and not a little frustrated, he’d tried to buy his mistress off. Half his trust fund he’d promised. It would be hers forever. He’d have papers drawn up immediately.

  Then she’d fainted again, and when she revived, there was no talking to her at all, because she was hysterical. She could not think, she told him. Her head was spinning. It was too much to take in at once. He must give her time to recover from the shock. He could not be so cruel as to press her now—and to speak of money!