Wicked Wager Read online

  ‘Did he give it to you?’

  Celeste shook her head.

  Raphael was silent a long moment as he studied his manicured hands. A log exploded in the fireplace and the sap hissed from the heat. Slowly he raised his head. ‘Well, my dear, how do you propose to prise this locket—and more information—from Lord Peregrine?’

  Celeste put down her handiwork and sent him a curious look, her fear now under control, despite the fact that Lady Ogilvy and the baron had quit the room. He was less threatening when she knew she could be useful to him.

  ‘What do you suggest, Raphael? I shall soon be your obedient wife and it’ll be your duty to direct me as you see fit. Though that hasn’t stopped you from doing so already.’

  He ignored the jibe. Clearly he was too busy thinking. And appearances suggested his thoughts were in turmoil. Very uncharacteristic. But then, Raphael’s feelings for Harry were singularly uncharacteristic, to her mind.

  He shifted, the continued nervous tic revealing what his habitual cool tone did not. ‘What do I suggest?’ He repeated her question as if he were surprised she should ask. ‘Why, Celeste, you will do what you must to persuade the viscount to impart whatever he knows about Harry. You must encourage him to surrender the locket to you. I am sure he has no idea of the real meaning of its contents, but without that locket, Harry is lost.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s already lost. Lost to us, anyway.’

  Raphael chose to ignore her inflammatory suggestion though his look was cold. ‘You will find a way to persuade Lord Peregrine to give you that locket. I just hope you are equipped with the skills and enticements—’ he shrugged as he stared dispassionately at her décolletage, ‘to persuade him to do your bidding.’

  ‘What if he is difficult to persuade?’

  Her cousin shook his head, his expression pained. ‘Well then, Celeste, you must find the resources that will persuade him.’

  ***

  ‘What a clever boy you are, Perry. Perhaps you deserve part payment on your very … unexpected information.’

  Pouting as she gazed across from the blue velvet sofa in the saloon, Xenia looked at Perry as if she’d like nothing more than to devour him. Once Perry would have enjoyed nothing more than to be devoured by her, but as had been the case lately, the usual surge of desire that accompanied her suggestive comments was absent.

  In its place was simple curiosity.

  Toying with his glass of Madeira, he raised his head to look at his old friend with a frown.

  ‘It’s not like you to offer rewards before your bidding is done, Xenia.’

  She gave him a playful smile. ‘In business, judicious encouragement can sometimes be … helpful to ensure a job is satisfactorily completed.’

  ‘And what would you consider a job satisfactorily completed? You want Harry Carstairs. Why?’

  Xenia looked hurt. ‘Why, to avenge your sister, of course. You are just as eager to do that as I am, surely?’

  ‘Will that reverse the damage done? Do you really think finding Carstairs will mean his marriage to Charlotte will go ahead?’ Perry sighed, his thoughts switching between Xenia’s real motive—avenging Charlotte was a convenient excuse for something else, he was now quite certain—and Miss Rosington. Miss Rosington was hiding something, he was sure, but regardless of whether or not she was, or had been, Harry’s lover, he would not see her ruined.

  No, Perry had now become fixated upon the idea of making her his lover, and not so he could ruin her, though of course he could not hint at this to Xenia. Clearly, Xenia had her own unstated reasons for wishing Miss Rosington brought down, which Perry must discover. Xenia was a formidable opponent. No one would wish to make an enemy of Xenia, and Peregrine most certainly did not.

  However, he needed to learn exactly what motive Xenia had for seeing Miss Rosington effectively destroyed if he were to have any chance of protecting the young woman.

  Strangely, he rather liked the novelty of playing the knight in shining armour … albeit one who would ultimately seduce the delectable object of Xenia’s evil ploy. Now, though, was not the time to pretend he was better than he was. He’d worn the mantle of careless libertine and conscienceless philanderer for too long to know how to change his spots.

  Carefully he put down his wine glass and crossed his legs. He’d come to pay Xenia a supposedly social visit in the palatial home she’d occupied since her second marriage, though really he was here to apprise Xenia on his progress pertaining to Miss Rosington. And most definitely, what Xenia must not suspect, were Perry’s growing feelings for the young woman.

  Deep in his coat pocket he felt the outline of the locket and wondered at its significance. A token of Carstairs’ love for Miss Rosington? She’d certainly blanched the shade of parchment when he’d shown it to her. Yet when he went over their various encounters, he was sure Miss Rosington’s attraction to him had been unfeigned.

  Perry liked to think he was adept at reading the situation correctly but, of course, he couldn’t discount the possibility that he was proving to be as easily duped as the other men in Miss Rosington’s life.

  Nevertheless, the fact the young woman was hiding something did not mean her crimes warranted what Xenia clearly had in mind for her.

  Xenia’s voice was brittle as she examined the half moons of her fingernails, and then her soft, white hands. ‘Surely the reasons behind Harry’s defection are what we need to find out. Why did he disappear? Where did he go? Is he still alive? Charlotte knows nothing. She talks of taking Holy Orders. That is not the Charlotte we love and know. She is distraught. Surely it is our duty to do all within our power to furnish dear Charlotte with the reasons her life suddenly fell apart?’ Xenia affected a sympathetic smile as she rose and made her leisurely progress across the patterned carpet. ‘We need to find Harry Carstairs.’ Pausing before Perry she placed her hand on his shoulder, then very slowly trailed it down the lapels of his brocade coat.

  Uncomfortable, Perry rose and began to pace. ‘I don’t think Miss Rosington can help you, Xenia.’

  Her silence was telling. So was her clipped tone. ‘Don’t tell me the little baggage has hoodwinked you, too.’

  Perry was careful to make his reply noncommittal. Right now he felt a great affinity for a fly caught in a spider’s web, helplessly facing the homeowner. The feeling, though, was fleeting. Xenia thought herself clever, but she was not clever enough to blackmail him. Careful to suppress his fury, he murmured, ‘It is because Miss Rosington holds such little interest for me that that I am loathe to pursue further investigations through the vixen.’

  The fire crackled and the steady tick of the clock marked time in the silence. Slowly Xenia raised her head, her cold blue eyes boring into his. ‘Is that so, Perry?’ she asked softly.

  Chapter Six

  Celeste’s hand shook as she reread the neat handwriting on the note she’d received only that moment from her unlikely admirer. She leaned back on the little chair Mary had placed in front of the fire for her in her bedchamber and closed her eyes while the maidservant waited before her.

  Would she really entertain such madness?

  Bringing the note up to her chest, she rested it against her strongly beating heart.

  What possible reason would Lord Peregrine have for wishing to meet with her alone, unless it were to pursue a dangerous, illicit agenda no proper lady would consent to being involved in?

  She swallowed with difficulty, aware of Mary hovering, but having no answer for her yet. She needed to weigh up her options with care. Certainly, Raphael had sanctioned her to do what she needed to in order to reclaim the locket and to discover knowledge Lord Peregrine possessed.

  But at what cost?

  Undeniably, Celeste was strongly attracted to the gentleman, but she also was not a fool. Allowing herself to get any closer to him would only confirm her as such, for during their last encounter he had indeed proved himself the libertine society—and Raphael—painted him. Yes, she sensed that her attraction wa
s returned, but he’d been interested in her only as his latest conquest.

  And what, if anything, did Lord Peregrine in fact know? It was true, he had the locket, but what value was that on its own?

  It was in this mood of miserable reflection that Raphael found Celeste, and when he’d at last needled out of her the reasons for her state of confusion, he laughed.

  Mary had scuttled out of the room and Raphael now leaned over the back of Celeste’s chair, his hands resting on her shoulders. The heat from his breath warmed her cheek and froze her heart as he murmured mockingly, ‘So the fact of the matter is that you don’t know if you should accept Lord Peregrine’s clandestine invitation to meet you at Romsey’s studio because you fear he has designs upon you, my dear?’

  Celeste kept still, terrified of revealing her revulsion. Raphael rarely touched her and now the gesture was not one of tenderness, which his next words confirmed. He stood up suddenly and came round to stand in front of her, blocking her heat with his elegant, threatening bulk. Reluctantly Celeste met his cold, implacable look. How much he reminded her of Michelangelo’s David, albeit with his clothes on, though the thought of the alternative made her tremble with horror. Physically perfect but utterly cold. ‘There is no contest for your susceptible emotions to win, my dear,’ he said crisply. ‘You will meet with your apparently lovelorn libertine, for that is the only way you will gain possession of the locket. Is that not so?’

  Celeste raised her chin and forced herself to meet his eye as he rested his arm against the mantelpiece and stared down at her. In a small voice she whispered, ‘Is the locket so important, Raphael? After all, it’s Harry you want, isn’t it?’ She sighed, crumpling the paper in her hands. ‘Besides, how will I gain possession of Harry’s locket without danger to myself? To meet Lord Peregrine alone is perilous. Surely you would not sanction such a thing.’

  Raphael rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, then shrugged. ‘Clearly you’ve devised a winning strategy already, else the viscount would not be so taken.’ He smiled a little. ‘And taken he is, though whether that’s because he’s fallen desperately in love with you in a remarkably short time or you’ve been somewhat blatant in advertising your availability, I daresay you’re in a better position to tell than me.’

  ‘You’re a cruel man, Raphael.’ Celeste dropped her eyes as she straightened in her chair, his words finding their mark. ‘I’ve done no more than you required of me.’

  ‘Not yet, Celeste. You’ve not yet done what I require of you, and in sending you off to meet his lordship, I very much fear your foolishness risks all the gains you have made.’

  Angrily Celeste jerked her head up. ‘How dare you insult me like this, Raphael,’ she said in a low voice, rising to her feet and striding over to the door in a froth of skirts. ‘If you don’t trust me, then I will not meet him. You’re right, he’s dangerous, so why would you thrust your future wife into the lion’s den?’ Gripping the doorframe, she met his steady look. ‘Henceforth I shall have nothing more to do with wicked Lord Peregrine, for what you say is true; his goal is seduction and I am risking my reputation every time I’m with him, alone or otherwise.’ She didn’t know whether to cry from relief at having made such a decision or wilt from despair at having acknowledged the truth of it. Raphael’s words cut deep. Lord Peregrine was only interested in her because she’d flagged her availability.

  Or … she trembled at the alternative reason for his lordship’s interest to which Raphael had alluded. If Lord Peregrine believed she was the last to see Harry Carstairs, was that the sole reason he’d pursued her from the start? Briefly she touched her lips. Had the passion and excitement during their several illicit encounters been on her part alone?

  Now she really was going to cry, for the truth was it would be pure folly to have anything further to do with a gentleman whose clear aim had just been revealed as no more real and admirable than her own. The trouble was, her heart had well and truly been engaged.

  Raphael’s voice drew her out of her reverie. ‘You are my best chance of regaining Harry’s locket, Celeste, and if you didn’t realise it already, I must make clear that Harry’s entire future rests on its return. Why do you suppose he used it as the vessel containing the note telling me of his danger? So that if he fell foul of his would-be attackers I would be able to use it to claim his inheritance.’

  A fit of trembling seized her and Raphael smiled as he ran his eyes down to her feet before fixing his gaze on her face. ‘I know you are frightened, Celeste, and I know you are attracted to Lord Peregrine. But you are sensible. You know the risks you run in being caught alone with him just as you know that whatever happens, you can not allow even a whisper of scandal to damage your reputation. Nevertheless, you must accept his invitation. I insist upon it, with the caveat that you behave with your usual modesty and good sense. After you return Harry’s locket to me, with no unfortunate repercussions or any lapse on your part, you will be well rewarded, my love.’

  Celeste put her hands to her temples and shook her head, resting her brow against the doorframe as she struggled against the tears that threatened. The more Raphael revealed of his feelings for Harry, the more she realised the barren life to which she would be condemned after she became his wife.

  Wearily, she looked up at him. ‘I once thought you cared for me, Raphael.’ Her voice caught. ‘But how can you when you subject me to such … danger? I understand the risks, but what if I miscalculate and it’s not my fault? What if my reputation is besmirched because Lord Peregrine is more dangerous than I’d believed? Raphael, release me from this madness, for I don’t know if I can safely follow through what you would have me do.’

  Before she’d finished speaking he was in front of her, gripping her wrists, lowering his face so that she could smell the brandy on his breath. Now that it had come to this, Raphael was quick to show where his true feelings lay; she should not have been so disappointed.

  A surprised, haunted cast to his ascetic features made him seem more human in that moment. ‘Forgive me if I’ve insulted you, Celeste. I regret it now.’ His voice was urgent as his eyes searched hers. ‘Surely you realise how much I care for you? Lord, we’ve grown up together, but is my honesty not to be commended? No, I cannot love you as your foolish heart seems to require but as I shall have the care of you, I swear that I will treat you with the respect and kindness you deserve.’ He brought their clasped hands up to his face and kissed her fingertips. His dark eyes sought hers with feverish intensity and his nostrils flared. ‘Celeste, I need you to gain possession of Harry’s locket. It contains valuable information Harry depends upon if he’s to stay safe. Do this one thing for me and I shall ask nothing more of you. Immediately upon our marriage we shall sail for Jamaica, where you will be mistress of vast estates. Give me a son and then I shall grant you the liberties to follow your heart. All I’m asking in return is that you fulfil this one simple task.’

  She knew how much Raphael hated it when she cried, but as the tears fell he chose not to notice. Releasing her, he left swiftly, saying abruptly over his shoulder as he entered the sanctuary of the passage, ‘Call Mary in so you can give her your answer. You can tell Lord Peregrine that you’ll meet with him as soon as he desires.’

  Chapter Seven

  Late that afternoon, accompanied by Mary, Celeste entered the viewing rooms of the celebrity painter whose work she admired and who’d recently enjoyed wide public acclaim for his series of vignettes featuring a beautiful society matron. For Celeste to view them in the company of her maid and on the eve of her marriage would not be considered beyond the realms of respectability. Her conversation with her secret admirer, however, might well be. For what Raphael had requested of her would require a level of coquetry and skill she feared she did not possess.

  The smell of turpentine and oils struck Celeste with force as she raised the pink and green striped skirts of her fashionable chintz à la française to step across the threshold and into the long gallery, which was located in a
lofty attic lit by large skylights. She’d dressed with care—or rather, Raphael had overseen with care the way Mary had dressed her—in a new season’s gown that was cut low across the bosom, and filled with a lace fichu. She’d felt beautiful when her toilette had been complete and she’d stared at her reflection and seen hope luminescent in her clear blue gaze, her powdered hair topped with a somewhat rakish straw hat festooned with flowers.

  Raphael had poisoned that image when he’d declared, ‘Innocence and experience,’ as he’d assessed her critically. ‘What designing rake would not be intrigued?’

  The fact that these words came from the man who would soon be her husband and who, himself, felt nothing of such sentiments should not have pained her so greatly. She’d gracefully inclined her head in response to his bald stipulation that she needn’t return until she’d completed her mission. After all, her heart was equally without desire for Raphael.

  Now it pumped with a different sensation. Did the locket have such meaning that Raphael would truly sanction her to do anything to reclaim it? She felt ill with excitement; still, this was not how she wished matters were ordered.

  The fact that Raphael was using her, trading her, without compunction, was one thing.

  But what of Lord Peregrine? He did not love her. In all likelihood he’d sought her out due to his suspicion of her involvement with his sister’s betrothed; which, of course, meant his motives were as calculating as Raphael’s.

  But each time her thoughts returned to the combustion of their brief, passionate exchanges, she could not rid herself of the feeling that Lord Peregrine had felt something for her that was real and pure.

  Even if he had not intended such feelings to intrude.