Wicked Wager Page 6

  Nevertheless, she faced him coldly as he detained her in the Long Gallery. Lord Cowdril was a keen collector and during his Grand Tour of the continent had amassed an array of treasures from busts of roman senators to coats of armour from all corners of the globe. The sight of Miss Rosington standing level with a Mongol warrior was an incongruous one, but clearly the brief amusement he allowed to show on his face did not go down well.

  Goodness, she could appear formidable, he thought, a spear of excitement heating his loins and shooting up his spine; for he’d expected Miss Celeste to be all forgiveness once she’d gathered that he clearly intended to seek her pardon. No doubt, though, the pretense was for show. She’d not want to appear too transparent. And regardless of whether or not she bore any guilt in her dealings with Carstairs, Peregrine knew that she definitely was not in love with her betrothed and most definitely was susceptible to Peregrine’s charms.

  ‘You do not look as pleased to see me as you clearly were when we met by the mulberry tree just before dinner.’ He smiled as he took in her delectable form with an unashamedly lascivious eye.

  She stared regally through him, her body positioned for a hasty departure. ‘After all but insulting me at dinner, are you not done with your sport, my lord?’ Now, if you’ll pardon me, I must go to bed.’

  Had she not been so haughty he might have joked an insinuation that alluded to the fact that’s where they both intended to end up—together—at some stage before the weekend was over.

  But the conviction of her current performance had him suddenly doubting the foundation on which he’d built her up, for there was nothing in her manner to suggest the experienced jade. Her mouth trembled and she kept casting decidedly frightened looks in the direction of her now-departed chaperone.

  He moved close and put his forefinger beneath her chin. As he tipped her head a little, a sudden, unexpected tenderness washed over him. Miss Rosington looked terrified and, quite frankly, as if she were about to cry.

  In the next moment he caught himself up. No, surely he was being hoodwinked, just like every other susceptible man would be in this instance. She’d honed this helpless act to a fine art and he was about to fall victim like a lovelorn fool. If Miss Rosington and Harry Carstairs weren’t exactly lovers, Miss Rosington was definitely on the hunt for pastures greener than her current marital prospects.

  Clearly there was more to her than had initially met the eye and he must discover what it was. His sister’s happiness depended upon it. Yet Miss Rosington was guilty of something that belied her wide-eyed innocence.

  So, while his mind hardened, he maintained his tender look for her benefit, and was rewarded by her softening expression.

  Slowly, he brought his face towards hers. ‘All this talk of slaves is not talk for gently reared females such as yourself. I was wrong to focus the attention on you, Miss Rosington,’ he murmured. He was nearly there, his soothing voice like a drug, he thought confidently; one she was clearly unable to resist. Soon his lips would be on hers and he’d feel her body sag against his as he conjured away all her resistance.

  ‘My deepest apologies, Miss Rosington. If I could but atone.’

  The stinging slap on his cheek brought him up short. Outraged, he glared down to find her equally outraged face glaring back.

  ‘Did you not hear me, my lord? I said I had forgiven you and there was no need to kiss me into resistance,’ she hissed.

  He shook his head. ‘You said that? Why, every indication—first meeting me at the mulberry tree, and just now—suggested that you were very happy to further what was started in the darkness at Vauxhall.’ He was dismayed by the turn things had taken, though still confident this was part of her play-acting. Of course she wanted to heighten his desire and, while her slap had been rather a shock, it had certainly been a very good ploy. No innocent debutante knew how to balance indignation with subtle encouragement. She thought he wasn’t onto her but now he understood exactly the game she was playing. His cheek stung but suddenly he’d never felt more desire for any woman.

  He considered his next move as he focused on her furious, beautiful little face. Miss Rosington put on the appearance of being upset extremely well. Her bosom, deliciously in evidence beneath her laced-edged rose pink gown, heaved with emotion and her dark blue eyes flashed fire, twinkling like the jewels in her high coiffure.

  All he had to do was say the right thing and she’d be his for the taking. He calculated the distance to his bedchamber to be only a hundred yards to the right along a corridor, dimly lit and away from the rest of the guests. They would not be discovered, though clearly Miss Rosington was a risk taker. She must be to have risked so much to meet a single man at the mulberry tree and to kiss him at Vauxhall, with her betrothed not ten yards away. No, he decided, Miss Rosington was not averse to making lovers of the men she found attractive.

  ‘Then I am even more of a cad than you thought at dinner and there is only one way to atone.’ Swooping, he brought his mouth to hers, covering her lips as he held her tight, the sweet, unutterably desirable flavour of her feeding through his veins as she went limp in his arms and her arms twined around his neck. He hardened as she cleaved to him, just as he’d imagined she would. His breathing became erratic as her little tongue touched his, drawing from his very depths a groan of frustrated desire, for he must have her now or he would explode.

  Quickly he scooped her into his arms, but to his surprise she wrested herself free of his embrace, stumbling to regain her balance as unwillingly he let her go.

  Her face was wild, her eyes wide with something he couldn’t define: terror, disappointment, the remnants of her own frustrated desire?

  ‘I must beg your pardon for giving you every reason to think that I had forgiven you for taking liberties, earlier, my lord.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I do not! Nor can I be alone with you, as I have gone to great pains to make clear! Ever!’

  She looked about to turn on her heel and flee down the passage. Confused, but above all disappointed beyond belief, he waylaid her with an honest question.

  ‘Is that because you don’t trust me, Miss Rosington, or because you don’t trust yourself?’

  She crinkled her brow and bit her lip, gestures of confusion, which he found more irresistible than any practiced piece of outright seduction. ‘Both, my lord, now please don’t detain me further—’

  He reached out his hand as if trying to coax a small animal. Now he didn’t feel like he was play-acting. He truly wanted to banish her resistance, which sadly, he realised, was very real.

  ‘Come Celeste, if I may call you that. Forgive me. Let us start again. Let me kiss you, one more time. Please? That’s where it’ll start and end.’ It was ridiculous how fear and disappointment were making a fool of him. Suddenly he wanted her, not as a conquest, but as a delightful surprise he could unwrap, layer by layer. She was as sweet and innocent as she was fiery and mysterious. He’d never been confronted by such a potent mixture in a woman.

  ‘You know that’s not true, my lord,’ she whispered, stepping backwards. ‘And that’s why it must end … why everything must end … between us. Goodnight.’

  End? Oh no, this was not how it was going to end. Calling on every reserve for the means to supply him with the necessary inspiration, Peregrine found himself saying urgently, ‘If it’s Harry you want, then it’s not over between us.’

  Cryptically phrased, but the words found their mark as he’d grasped for straws. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open as she took the bait, supplying him with more information than he could have hoped for as she whispered, ‘You know where Harry is?’

  Oh, but he was clever. Why had he not understood before that she’d been casting around in the dark for news of her lover—or whatever he was to her— who’d gone missing the night they’d both fled together? Xenia thought Miss Rosington was keeping his location secret, but the truth was that Miss Rosington was seeking Harry, just as he was.

  He was just congratulating himself on
matching her wits when she asked suspiciously, ‘What proof do you have?’

  ‘My word is not good enough?’

  She hesitated. ‘Why should I trust you when I suspect you are toying with me, my lord?’ Her shoulders slumped and a look of great distress crossed her lovely features. ‘Clearly you knew from the outset that I … was acquainted with Harry.’

  Well, that was true enough. But the more he toyed with her the more he wanted her. He ran his hands over his coat, thinking.

  And felt the locket in the lining of his pocket.

  ‘Perhaps this will persuade you,’ he said, holding it out.

  For a moment, he thought she was about to faint.

  Chapter Five

  Celeste had always been impressed at Raphael’s ability to hide his real feelings. Lord, she hoped she was succeeding even moderately at concealing the confusion and fear that churned in her breast following her late-night encounter in the Long Gallery with Lord Peregrine.

  The whole nature of their relationship was now turned on its head. How long had he known of her interest in finding Harry? She thought back to their first encounter. That had been pure chance, she was sure of it. But after that? Why, coincidence had continued to throw them into each other’s orbit until suddenly, at Lady Cowdril’s house party, he’d produced the one thing Raphael would sell his soul for—or rather, Celeste’s.

  Celeste shivered. She was almost beyond caring for the whys and wherefores. Whether Lord Peregrine was a philanderer or had set his sights on Celeste for reasons relating to his sister, the fact was that every time Celeste found herself in Lord Peregrine’s arms, she was speared with the consciousness any chance was worth taking if it resulted in a happier alternative to marrying Raphael.

  Lord Peregrine might have started out with ulterior motives, like she had, but he was just as affected as she by their closeness, she was certain.

  This evening, following her return from the lovely Jacobean estate by the river, Celeste watched her betrothed amidst his own surroundings. He appeared the most languid and carefree of gentlemen as he lounged with his guests, between walks in the gardens or over refreshments in the saloon, discussing local events and entertainments. His mother had engaged Celeste for the last hour on matters pertaining to the forthcoming wedding. There was the wedding breakfast to organise and the order of the day.

  Celeste’s heart was never less engaged, but she did her best to appear dutiful. She didn’t dislike her future mother-in-law. Lady Margery had always been kind to her and seemed somehow to understand Celeste’s inability to be truly excited. After all, it wasn’t as if Raphael had ever evinced a great enthusiasm to wed Celeste, either.

  But there were protocols, and once it was over and done with they could all get on with their own lives and interests.

  Finally the saloon was cleared of all but Lady Margery and Baron Rutherford, a constant companion these days of Raphael’s widowed mother. When these two were ensconced on chairs in front of the fire, Celeste glided over to her betrothed and, seating herself with her handiwork, said the words she knew would test his ability to hide the state of his heart. Oh, but it would be good to be the one to cause disharmony in his breast.

  ‘Lord Peregrine knows where Harry is.’

  The flare in Raphael’s eye and his involuntary gasp told her more than his measured tone. Though her head was bent in apparent concentration of her needlework, she was secretly thrilled by his agitation and the tic at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘You have met Lord Peregrine and he has told you all this? How remarkable.’ He raised an eyebrow while his right foot tapped the floor.

  But of course there’d be more; why had she not thought of the ramifications of her foolish words?

  Celeste tried to rein in her growing fear. Now he’d begin the questions and she needed to have the answers that would please him. Or rather, not displease him.

  Raphael rose in his usual languid fashion and began to pace. A deep furrow ran between his eyebrows as he ran his thumb along his lower lip.

  Celeste hunched further over her work, working the stitches through blurred vision, desperately wishing she’d approached the conversation with more care; that she’d practiced her answers so there was no chance he’d suspect how her own feelings had been engaged.

  ‘So Lord Peregrine knows where Harry is and he told you this.’ Raphael spoke under his breath, turning his inquisitorial gaze upon her. The topic was not one to be overheard. ‘What I would like to know, my dear, is why Lord Peregrine should have divulged such information to you. It seems a rather extraordinary coincidence.’ He looked steadily at her, and Celeste felt the unspoken threat like a cold shard of metal worrying more than just her conscience.

  She swallowed and glanced at her future mother-in-law at the far end of the room, glad now of her presence as Raphael went on, ‘What, in our esteemed viscount’s eyes, do you suppose could possibly connect you with Harry? Miss Paige has not identified you. Surely you did not lie to me when you said you’d destroyed the message contained within the locket? The locket went missing the night of Harry’s disappearance, you assured me, though you knew so much depended upon it.’ His pale, searching eyes needled her very soul as he added warningly, ‘Perhaps you did not tell me everything about that night, Celeste.’

  Celeste forced herself to meet his look. ‘I did not lie, Raphael, when I assured you that I removed the message as you instructed me …’ She took a breath, adding bravely, ‘after your … oversight … in forgetting to destroy Harry’s communication before you thrust his locket—and me—into the night to provide him with the salvation he requested.’ Should she reveal the full truth? The fact that she’d stuffed Harry’s desperate plea into the seam of one of the petticoats she’d removed for Harry? Surely the tiny missive could not possibly have been found, else Lord Peregrine and his sister would have been trumpeting Celeste and Raphael’s sins all over town long before now.

  ‘I must be truthful, Raphael.’ She couldn’t keep it from him and indeed, he would continue to needle her until she confessed. A dampening thought indeed. Raphael was adept at making her feel as helpless as a butterfly on a pin. ‘A tiny fraction of the message was caught in the glue behind Miss Paige’s picture when I tore it out. Just a few letters only—’

  ‘And how might that be sufficient to explain Lord Peregrine’s interest in you, my dear?’ He was breathing quietly, but heavily. ‘Since you have just assured me the message could not have fallen into his hands.’

  Celeste glanced across at Lady Ogilvy staring out of the window in the distance and wished she were closer. Shrugging, she regarded him miserably, unable to find a reason that would satisfy him.

  ‘Curious, my dear.’ Raphael shook his head, choosing to appear more sorrowful than angry, though perhaps it was easier to adopt this course since his mother and Baron Rutherford were approaching. He lowered his voice. ‘I hope you have not been indiscreet, Celeste, for I find it difficult to understand how you can have gained a philandering stranger’s trust to the extent he would so willingly divulge information that is, let us say, not in the public domain.’

  Celeste’s cheeks burned though she tried to bravely hold Raphael’s look. ‘As you know, Lord Peregrine was a guest of Lord and Lady Cowdril during the weekend and … we were much thrown together.’ She swallowed. ‘Naturally I was terrified of speaking to him, in case his sister had indeed recognised me that fateful night at Harry’s townhouse, though it appears I am safe on that score. Nevertheless,’ she took a deep breath, ‘at dinner the talk turned to slaves and later, we were in discussion regarding you being a slave owner while Lord Peregrine is in opposition to slavery—’

  Raphael interrupted her with a sigh. ‘Please get to the point, Celeste, and tell me how you managed to charm the abolitionist libertine Lord Peregrine into revealing to you this extraordinary information. No doubt you flirted shamelessly with him.’

  Celeste dropped her eyes and nodded. ‘I did, Raphael, for I thought that
where Harry is concerned …’ She raised her head and finished defiantly, ‘you’d not care what I did as long as you discovered the information you were looking for.’

  Raphael appeared unperturbed by her charge. ‘As long as you are discreet, Celeste, I don’t care what you do.’ He smiled as he leaned against the mantelpiece. ‘Now tell me, where is Harry? That is all I am interested in, though I am somewhat surprised you did not tell me this news earlier.’

  Celeste licked dry lips. Her eyes blurred as she stared at the black and white work she’d nearly completed, deeply afraid now of Raphael’s reaction and wondering how she might mitigate any possible damage she’d done by venturing along this ill-chosen path. ‘Well, Lord Peregrine didn’t tell me exactly where he is,’ she said slowly, ‘however, he showed me the locket.’

  ‘Good God!’

  She hid her smile, terrified though she was. He was as shocked as she’d known he would be, and by all that was holy it felt good to spear Raphael with something that wasn’t cold indifference or irritation, even though the consequences for her could be dire.

  ‘How on earth …?’

  Celeste had never seen him lost for words. Indeed, she, too, had not known what to say when Lord Peregrine had held out the sparkling treasure in the palm of his hand. As Celeste had gaped at it, she’d nearly fainted at the memory of watching Raphael receive it from the breathless street urchin before, without a thought, he’d sent Celeste, protesting and terrified, into the cold dark night. But the oversight in forgetting to remove the damning words, which Harry had penned and concealed in the locket, was his alone, and he knew it.

  Nevertheless, Celeste knew now he’d have no compunction in risking her safety once more, though this time her feelings were mixed. Certainly it would be dangerous. In fact, she felt sick at the churning of her susceptible heart to any future encounters with Lord Peregrine. Her fingers tingled and her head swam at the prospect but still there may be compensations, she thought with wild hope as she waited for him to formulate a predictably measured response to her extraordinary news.