Wicked Wager Page 11

  She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. Whatever lethargy had taken control of her body had also rendered her voiceless.

  ‘Forgive me, Miss Rosington. I wish this as much as you,’ he muttered, as he removed his shirt and climbed, naked, beneath the covers.

  His next words were both shocking, inexplicable and of no comfort at all. ‘‘But please don’t be afraid, for I shan’t hurt you.’ He sighed deeply as he drew the covers up to his chin while Celeste struggled to move away from him. ‘You may not believe me now,’ his voice was grim, ‘but distasteful though my actions are to both of us, they are done to ensure your safety, and preserve the lives of those we love.’

  And then, with the horror, darkness swept over Celeste and carried her thankfully into oblivion.

  Chapter Ten

  Damn! But the wait was challenging his patience. A distinctly testy Lord Peregrine was in no mood for pleasantries as Nelson struggled to find him a waistcoat to suit his finicky mood.

  ‘Not the pink and gold,’ Perry grunted as he rejected the finely worked brocade garment Nelson had just handed to him, tossing it to the floor. ‘Far too cheerful for one as black as I am today.’

  ‘Pink and gold is very good with black, sah,’ commented Nelson calmly, bending to retrieve the offending garment and stroking it almost reverently.

  Peregrine raised one eyebrow and almost smiled. Whenever Nelson believed his master was behaving like a petulant schoolboy, he reverted to the ironic address of ‘sah’—a dismissible impertinence except that, of course, Nelson was a slave. Certainly, such a gross lack of respect would have many masters relegating their errant slaves to manual labour below-stairs, but Nelson was obviously well aware his position was secure.

  ‘Watch your tongue, my good man,’ Peregrine grunted as they both stared at the waistcoat in Nelson’s arms. ‘You’re in debt to me to the tune of two hundred pounds and if I choose to pursue it …’ He raised an eyebrow, not quite smiling at the preposterousness of coming after a slave for money he’d never realise. Last week, during their regular cribbage sessions, when Peregrine took his bath, the situation had been reversed. But of course Nelson was too well trained to allude to this in so many words.

  He merely bowed his incongruously powdered head and replied with heavy deference, ‘Very good, m’lord.’

  Too much deference, Peregrine reflected, when he was ready for some verbal sparring with his slave. Nelson could switch his mood from serious to amused like no one else he knew. And Perry was in the mood for being diverted, now that it was taking longer to obtain the Special Licence he’d hoped, and soon he must pay court to Xenia, something he relished less and less these days.

  ‘So, pink and gold is very good with black, eh? Said by one with an eye to the dusky ladies, Nelson? Does this pink and gold palette set off the midnight shade of your favourite negress? Do you speak from experience, or are you suggesting it to counterbalance my black mood?’ He finished the remark on a suitably severe note.

  ‘A slave gets no opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of the ladies, m’lord.’

  Perry conceded this with a shrug. ‘Then the implication can only be that you think me in a vile humour. Well, I’m sorry you have to suffer for it. I shall try and mend my ways before I proceed where duty calls.’ Lord but he had no wish to see Xenia tonight.

  Not when he was on fire to whisk Miss Rosington—Celeste—far away from this sordid city before her fresh ingenuousness could be tarnished by the vile tongues of people just like Xenia.

  For once nobleness beat strongly in his breast, forcing a reluctant smile as he regarded himself, for the first time, with pride.

  Most certainly he was pleasing himself by making her his bride, but he was doing so in the knowledge that he was saving her from desperate unhappiness. He would give her a good life.

  He just wished arrangements weren’t taking so damn long, for much as he’d like to scoop her up and devour her this very moment, he had to prove that he’d laid the groundwork for how he intended to go on. With measured care contrasted with robust and sinful enjoyment!

  The moment they were married he’d transport Celeste to a delightful abode he’d secured only this morning, which she’d find strewn with rose petals as she crossed the threshold. And that was before she even reached the bedroom. There, he’d arranged for roses in abundance across the white and gold counterpane. The Lancaster Rose, to be exact, for hadn’t she triumphed indeed?

  Her sweet charm had well and truly breached his calculating, dissolute exterior and she needed to know how highly he held her in regard, for that—and for so much more.

  And then he’d show her what it really was like to be loved and revered.

  He licked his lips as his manservant worked his way around him, his body on fire as he contemplated discovering his new wife’s wondrous delights. He must restrain himself, though, in the beginning. Prove himself a lover with finesse and take things slowly, for she was a virgin and he’d never bedded a virgin. He wanted her to enjoy herself as much as he certainly was going to.

  ‘Have I forgotten anything, Nelson?’ he murmured, staring at his reflection.

  Nelson stepped back and regarded him with a critical eye. ‘I do not think so, m’lord. You look every inch the gentleman of fashion.’

  ‘No, I mean with regard to tomorrow. The moment I have the Special Licence in my hands and the parson on hand, I’ll send a note round for Miss Rosington to meet me at the townhouse I’ve secured for us. No one will be the wiser if we spend the first night there before we embark for France.’ Excitement filled him but he frowned as he dusted a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘She’ll need someone to attend her in the beginning, of course. You’ve seen to that, I take it?’

  Nelson nodded.

  ‘But you’ve been discreet? No one knows anything of our plans?’

  Nelson shook his head, but he did so with the faintest crease between his brows and immediately Peregrine demanded, ‘Well, what is it?’

  Nelson paused, uncertainly. ‘Discretion has been the order for the day for both of us, m’lord, but I did fancy one of the under housemaids was stoking up the fire at the far end of the room when you made mention of something pertaining to arrangements. I do not believe she could have heard, but I did become aware of her only as she quit the room.’

  Peregrine swung round. Lord, he wanted Celeste this instant like he’d never wanted anything. Now that she was so close to becoming his, and had chosen to throw in her lot with absolutely no reservations to be with him, he had to protect her. Like a bear.

  ‘We can take no chances.’ His throat felt dry just at the thought of holding her against him tomorrow, not to mention all the other things he would do. Strange, he’d thought his emotional state would calm in the interim, but the opposite was happening. He was like an impatient schoolboy. ‘See that Miss Rosington receives a message not to go out this evening. She intimated she would not, but I would prefer to reiterate that, to make certain she comes to no harm. Nelson, I’m charging you with this. Find someone reliable to pass on my concerns and to tell Miss Rosington I will send her full details in the morning.’

  Nelson inclined his head. ‘You are determined, m’lord.’ His large mouth stretched into a rare grin. ‘It is good to see you charged with a noble mission.’

  Peregrine raised an eyebrow and forced himself to stand straight and not to sag with the onerous duty thrust upon him tonight. ‘Yes, Miss Rosington is a noble mission. A noble, worthy one. She’ll be good for me, Nelson.’

  For the first time, as he stared critically at his reflection, he was not speared with disgust at his failings. Even his pathetic attempt at nine years old to save his drowning mother was imbued with a different light, for hadn’t he tried? Since he could remember, his uncle, into whose care he’d been thrust after being orphaned that dreadful day, was wont to regard the attempts of Peregrine and his father pathetic failures. ‘You lost her. You let the prize get away,’ he’d slur with that twiste
d lip when he was in his cups. ‘And hell will claim you for it … here, have another drink with me.’ He’d burdened Peregrine with his vices and his misery for almost as long as Peregrine could remember.

  Recently Peregrine had learned that his uncle had made Peregrine’s mother a marriage offer she had rejected in favour of Peregrine’s father. Perhaps his uncle never forgave his brother for having won what he had wanted.

  And Peregrine had let his uncle’s bitterness poison Peregrine’s sense of self.

  Miss Rosington had changed all that.

  Now, as Peregrine drew back his shoulders and stared into his eyes in the looking glass, he saw a handsome, dark-haired man with an honest face. No irony marred the resolve of his mouth or the clear intent of his gaze.

  Indeed, he’d never been more resolved and intent on doing good in his life than now. Miss Rosington needed rescuing. Miss Rosington was worth fighting dragons over.

  Miss Rosington would redeem him because she would inspire him to be the man his father—not his uncle—regarded him.

  With a sigh he turned. ‘And now I must pay my respects to Lady Busselton.’

  ***

  Finally outfitted in a black velvet ensemble, set off by the offending pink and gold, which Xenia had at once admired, Perry was admitted to the grand saloon belonging to his hostess where the small party expecting him at Cosgrave House was already in attendance.

  Sir Samuel Wray and a gentleman introduced as Mr Danvers were playing cards in front of the fire, but Xenia waved Perry over from where she sat upon the sofa, hitherto deep in conversation with her friend.

  ‘You kept us waiting, Perry,’ she admonished him, tapping him playfully on the shoulder with her fan as he bowed before them. ‘You remember my goddaughter, Mariah, don’t you? She’s been in a fever of anticipation to see you again.’

  With mild surprise, he observed the blush that spread across Xenia’s young companion’s face before she averted her cheek with a stammered protest.

  Good lord, another one, he thought, and knew he ought to feel sorry for her. Xenia had brought her along to humiliate her for her amusement, and the young woman was playing right into her hands. He almost felt like making up to Miss Morecombe if only to annoy Xenia, but he no longer had the palate for cruelty. Miss Rosington’s refreshing innocence had tapped into some well of goodness he’d not known existed in his cold, black heart.

  Ignoring Xenia’s barb and Miss Morecombe’s blush, he took a chair opposite the ladies. ‘What titillating news had you two so absorbed when I was announced?’

  He waited for the inevitable list of unfortunates Xenia would no doubt reel off. The greater the fall from grace, the more Xenia relished the tale.

  Xenia was quick to oblige, and Perry listened with a sense of detachment as he studied the prurient gleam in her eye beneath her arched eyebrows, the pursing of the lips he once fancied he’d relish beneath his some day, and the tautness of her lushly rounded body which finally was to be his reward for more than a decade of patience. Now he felt not the slightest desire.

  Beneath lowered lashes, his old friend slanted him a knowing look as she prepared to deliver the coup de grace to her story of scandal and disgrace; perhaps she sensed his detachment, for she faltered for the merest moment before the ignominious ending tripped off her tongue.

  ‘A salutary tale, would you not agree, Mariah? Perry?’

  ‘Makes uncomplicated matrimony sound very appealing.’ Perry sent both unmarried ladies a bland smile.

  Miss Morecombe stammered something; Xenia merely ran a languid gaze from the floor up the length of his satin encased legs, lingering on his groin as she murmured, ‘Widowhood is infinitely preferable.’ She gave a gentle sigh, adding, ‘A widow has far greater licence to sample life’s possibilities without being shackled to them.’

  ‘Marriage has done you no harm, Xenia.’ Perry was able to sound more robust now. ‘You have two fine boys at school and are considerably richer in assets than you were before you had a tiresome husband—or two—to consider.’

  ‘Granted, they gave me wealth and my sons. I was fond of each of them in their way.’ Xenia looked wistful and for a moment Perry imagined she was gripped by the poignancy of some distant memory. Then her mouth twisted and she said, ‘But husbands are only for advancing one materially, and increasing one’s status. One does not choose to marry one’s lover. Is that not so, Perry?’

  He thought of Miss Rosington. He’d wanted to make her his lover once. His uncle had conditioned him to believe that physical desire precluded marriage. A wife was to be an obedient brood mare. A man took a mistress so he could discard her the moment his wandering eye found some delectable morsel he preferred.

  Certainly, he could think of few couples who’d married solely for love and those who had, he’d once thought rash.

  He changed the subject. ‘You are making Miss Morecombe blush. Perhaps she disagrees, yet does not feel in a position to contradict you, Xenia.’ Rising, he indicated the recently vacated card table. ‘Shall we play a game of whist, ladies?’

  Obediently they rose, Xenia complaining mildly, ‘And why should Miss Morecombe not feel confident to contradict me, Perry, if her thoughts run counter to mine? Robust argument is far more pleasing than insipid accord.’ She looked severely at her goddaughter. ‘Mariah must grow up able to hold her own in all company. Even dangerous company, like yours, Perry,’ she added playfully.

  ‘Dangerous? I am not dangerous.’ He frowned as he held out his arm to Miss Morecombe, disliking the epithet he’d always relished when he had an eye for the ladies but great caution when it came to becoming embroiled in anything that might propel him to the altar.

  He’d not thought his roving eye would be content to remain fixed. His uncle had done a good job persuading him it was not for men like them.

  But he’d chosen well. He’d enjoy watching his own wife grow and blossom by his side, a loving helpmate.

  Sir Samuel was rising from the fireplace, holding out Miss Morecombe’s chair, requesting that Miss Morecombe take his place in the game that the others had chosen to continue.

  ‘Ah, Perry, just you and I,’ Xenia sighed after she’d dispatched her clearly nervous goddaughter to the company of the three card-playing gentlemen. ‘I never see you alone these days.’ She began to walk, indicating over her shoulder for him to follow her. The saloon was vast, with three clusters of seating, fine objects from around the world arrayed upon plinths and enormous oil paintings staring down from the walls. Cosgrave House was the family home of Xenia’s late husband, and by virtue of the son Xenia had borne him, would be hers until the child came of age in fourteen years. Xenia had done well, but Perry knew she was rash with money and she frequently lost great sums at gaming. Perhaps, in her usual style, she was considering her next ploy to shore up her future.

  Perry’s own fortune, perhaps?

  Behind a large gilt-edged decoupage screen, which looked as if it had been brought back on his travels from the Far East by Xenia’s father, Xenia halted, and Perry’s unchecked progress brought him into closer proximity than suddenly made him comfortable.

  In this light she looked like a faery queen, the wax candlelight glinting on the jewels that adorned her high, powdered coiffure, her deep blue eyes sparkling with desire and mischief, her mouth pouting prettily. The instant image was in every way desirable but quickly displaced by the memory of what Perry knew her to be: venal, calculating and cruel.

  Yes, cruel. And he’d been her ally. Disgust bubbled up inside at the thought that he’d agreed to her wager that night at the theatre.

  But for now he must be careful not to offend Xenia, for she was unpredictable.

  ‘I have been busy, Xenia.’

  ‘Too busy to make time to see me, that’s true.’ She arched into him and raised her face from his chest, just like in the past, though she’d never allowed him to kiss her more than briefly. He remembered the many occasions when he’d left her company, churning with unsati
sfied desire, breathless and determined to one day have this beautiful woman who’d made him her confidante and who teased and tantalised him so unmercifully. ‘It’s hard when old friends cannot make the time to strengthen the bonds of felicity so necessary to maintain mutual trust,’ she murmured. ‘I have missed your company. You’ve always been so dependable, Perry.’

  ‘Between husbands and lovers?’ He made sure his tone was light, not accusatory, and to his relief she responded in a bantering tone. The soft voices from the rest of the company at the far end of the room intruded faintly.

  ‘I thought perhaps you were angry with me, Xenia.’

  She sent him a look of surprise. ‘Because you’ve not yet administered justice to that conniving wench Miss Rosington?’ Xenia gave a little laugh. ‘Perhaps we should all be grateful to her. Your sister is well rid of that low creature, Harry Carstairs; and if Miss Rosington and Mr Carstairs want to scandalise society and bring disgrace upon their families with their illicit liaison, what business is it of mine? Granted, their shabby behaviour inspired me with vengeance when I first heard of it, but now I think Charlotte has made a lucky escape.’

  Perry kept himself as rigid and unresponsive, as he judged to be safe under the present circumstances. Xenia would lash out if he defended her offensive allegation against Miss Rosington or appeared to lack enthusiasm for her company.

  Forcing a smile, Perry arrested Xenia’s wandering hand, briefly brushing the back of it with his lips before giving her a bolstering and equally brief squeeze of the shoulders.

  ‘The others will be getting ideas about us, Xenia, if we do not show ourselves.’ He offered her his arm and she, after a hesitation and a suspicious look, took it.

  With a dignified tilt to her chin as she walked with him, Xenia said, ‘Perhaps you think that without your mission accomplished I will not reward you with what was promised?’

  Perry chose his words carefully, and invested his look with something more suitable than the acute distaste he now felt at the prospect of sharing Xenia’s bed. It was certainly not the time to reject her.