The Courtesan's Wager (32 page)

“How unsociable of him,” Edenham said blandly.

“As to being unsociable,” Amelia cut in, “I should—”

“We must go see your father,” Edenham said, cutting her off, and not at all apologetic about it. “I will have this intrigue with Calbourne settled and him promptly removed.”

“Yes, do that,” Cranleigh said. “I would speak with Lady Amelia while you do so.”

Edenham raised one eyebrow arrogantly and said, “I am not at all certain I find that acceptable.”

“Then become certain of it,” Cranleigh barked.

“A most peculiar family,” Edenham said as he walked into the library. “Must be the American strain introduced by the Duchess of Hyde.”

“Damned arrogance,” Cranleigh murmured, watching Edenham leave the room.

“As to arrogance,” Amelia said. “I can’t think why you thought it your place to intrude upon my interview with the duke. We were getting along famously.”

“I can bloody well see that. You seem to be getting on famously with all the men.”

“All the men on my list, yes. Did you presume otherwise?”

“No, of course not,” he said, being as perfectly obstinate as he always was. “I know how well-behaved you can be when the right eyes are watching you, Amy. ’Tis a fine performance you give, quite worthy of the boards.”

“You make me sound quite common, Cranleigh, when the simple explanation is that I’m behaving as I was taught to behave.”

“And when you’re with me?” he asked, leaning close to her, his body tantalizing in its nearness.

“I behave as
you
taught me to behave,” she breathed, taunting him boldly. Would he never declare himself? Would he never simply ask to have her? “Did you expect otherwise, Cranleigh? What did you think would happen after countless kisses in corners and stair halls? Did you think I would not—”

“Develop an aversion to corners and stair halls?” he said, missing the point entirely, as was his practice. One would think he did it on purpose, being as stupid as a stump, but she was very afraid he came by it naturally.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the spirit of blunt speaking upon her after talking to Edenham, she ought to simply explain what it was she wanted of Cranleigh. Things could hardly get worse; even honesty could do little harm now. It was a sign of the death of civilization as she knew it to even think such a thought. Where would Society be if such thinking took over?

“But not an aversion to you, Cranleigh,” she said, taking the bull by the horns, very nearly literally. She pressed her head against his chest, feeling the heat of him rising up to caress her. She laid her hands upon his ribs and held her breath. In all their encounters, he had been the instigator, she the willing participant. Would he be willing now? Could she, by laying her head against his heart, force him to act?

Cranleigh lifted his head and sucked in a hard breath. One hand came round to hold her to him, his hand gentle on the small of her back, his other arm held away from both his body and hers, as if he were afraid of touching her with both hands, holding her to him, pressing her against him. She drank in the scent of him, feeling his cravat on her face, wanting what he would not give her. Himself. Fully and completely himself.

It was just ridiculous. Two years of this, and nothing. Oh, of course he kissed well enough and she’d decided she wanted him and only him one year, eleven months, and some odd days ago and in all that time and within all those kisses Cranleigh had decided nothing. He had not acted. He had not pursued. He had not done anything. Except kiss her.

It was really too-too impossible of him. She just might marry a duke after all, just to annoy him. He deserved it.

“Yet it appears you have an aversion to me,” she said, pulling out of his tepid embrace. “I’m so sorry to have intruded, Lord Cranleigh. You shan’t be bothered by me again, I assure you.”

She turned and stalked to the doorway to the library, half expecting and half hoping he would stop her, some violent rush of emotion, some blazing declaration, perhaps a tussle on the settee. But no. Nothing. She walked out of the drawing room without hindrance on his part or hesitation on hers.

Very well. If that’s how he wanted to play it, then she would win it, by whatever means possible. And the means had names: Calbourne and Edenham. Either one, if properly motivated, would marry her. She even knew the name of the proper motivation: Sophia Dalby.

“
S
HE looks determined,” Aldreth said.

“And unhappy,” Sophia said. “That’s an interesting combination, isn’t it? I should think things are going to get quite lively now.”

“They’ve been quite lively for some time.”

Sophia glanced sideways at Aldreth and smiled. “You need to get out more, Aldreth.”

Aldreth made some noise, but said nothing. Well, but what could he say? His daughter had been not quite as discreet as she ought to have been in her amorous adventures and it had landed her in a very peculiar position. Cranleigh, of course, had mismanaged the thing entirely, but men did that so regularly that it really bore no comment. When the sun came up every day, was it necessary to remark upon it? So with men. They did try, by every appearance, but they succeeded so rarely that a woman was hard-pressed not to pity them their awkward incompetence, particularly in regards to women.

Why, just look at Amelia. She had, like any healthy girl of good family and pleasing looks, wanted to marry as well as she possibly could. Nothing wrong with that, nothing at all. Cranleigh, like most men, had stumbled into her orbit, been rendered nearly helpless by desire and appreciation of the most basic type, and proceeded to clumsily woo her. Clumsily, badly, and ineptly. Nevertheless, he had, quite obviously, ruined her for any other man.

They were at complete cross-purposes, which anyone could see, anyone who’d seen them kiss over the past two years, that is. In this room alone, she estimated that there were at least three who’d seen them kissing. Hardly discreet, but that was part of the charm of first love. Discretion required a certain level of sophistication and experience. It was almost sweet that Cranleigh, a man who had been out upon the world, had fumbled it so completely with Amelia.

How completely like a man lost in love.

That Amelia couldn’t see how lost Cranleigh was only proved how lost in love
she
was.

As a couple, they could not have been more beautifully suited.

“I do think we’d suit,” Calbourne said to Aldreth. “It’s perfectly obvious by the look on her face now that she and Edenham did not get on well together at all.”

“I beg your pardon,” Edenham said to Calbourne. “She looked perfectly delightful when I left her. ’Tis Cranleigh who’s responsible for her current ill temper. As to that, I was under the impression that Lady Amelia was quite docile and extremely pleasing in her character.”

“Only if one finds docility pleasing,” Sophia said. “Not every man does, you know.”

Edenham looked at her conspiratorially, which was not at all discreet. Men. They did miss so many nuances of communication because of tromping about being indiscreet. Calbourne, not a fool by any measure, took good note of Edenham’s look.

“You’re not interested in her at all, are you?” Calbourne said. One could almost describe it as an accusation.

“Of course I am. I’m not opposed to marrying again. I quite enjoy being married,” Edenham said. “But what of you? You surely never thought of marrying again until this list was thrust upon you.”

“I certainly did,” Calbourne said. It was perfectly obvious that he was lying. “It’s just that I didn’t think to find myself on some young woman’s list.”

“But were so flattered to find yourself upon it, once it was created?” Sophia said.

Calbourne didn’t answer.

Sophia sighed inwardly and looked at Aldreth. Aldreth was looking across the room at Raithby. Raithby, standing with Penrith, was smiling at Amelia quite cordially. And Amelia, looking only slightly distracted, was smiling back.

Cranleigh came into the room then from the drawing room, scowled at Amelia, scowled at Raithby, Penrith, Calbourne, Edenham, Sophia, John and his boys, and, really, the list was too long. Better to say that he didn’t scowl at Eleanor Kirkland or Lady Jordan or Hawksworth, though he might have frowned at Hawksworth. It was so difficult to tell from across the room. He positively ignored Markham, and what he had done?

Lady Jordan, Eleanor firmly tucked at her side, which by the expression on Eleanor’s face was entirely Lady Jordan’s idea, joined their conversation without any hesitation, or indeed, preliminary.

“Is this what you intended? To make mockery of my family and my ability to properly chaperone my nieces?” Mary, Lady Jordan, said, obviously directing her charge at Sophia. Aldreth raised a single dark eyebrow and waited for Sophia to respond.

“What I intended? I don’t know what you mean, Lady Jordan. Certainly my wish is for Lady Amelia to enjoy her Season and to make a fine marriage. Isn’t that what we all wish for her? ”

“I do,” Eleanor said swiftly, her charming little chin lifted in defiance of whatever Aldreth or Mary might say. “I wish the same for myself, Lady Dalby, and when I’m out, I shall very certainly seek your counsel.”

“You most certainly shall not!” Mary said, her cheeks quite flushed by the statement. By her tone, one would assume in horror and not delight. Ah, well. “I agreed to allow you to . . . to . . .”

“Yes?” Aldreth prompted. As Amelia was his daughter and Mary his sister by marriage and Amelia’s chaperone, what Mary had allowed was entirely of interest to him. Mary seemed suddenly and uncomfortably to realize that. Also, belatedly. “You allowed what, Lady Jordan? Precisely what?”

“I, ah, I,” Lady Jordan said, slightly flushed. Eleanor looked on in frank delight. What a charming girl. She would be a true delight once formally out. As this visit was to her uncle’s home during an At Home, it was hardly to be construed as being truly out. “I agreed to allow—”

“
You
agreed,” Aldreth interrupted. “Interesting. Please continue.”

“I thought it was in Amelia’s best interest to allow her some freedom, that is, to allow Lady Dalby to aid Amelia in seeking, that is, in finding—”

“A husband,” Edenham said. “Yes, that bit has always been very clear.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “A particular type of husband. When the list was proposed, it seemed, I mean to say, it didn’t seem, there didn’t seem to be any—”

“Any reason not to attempt it,” Sophia said. “And it did do so brilliantly precisely what it was intended to do. You were very wise and very brave to take your niece’s future so firmly in hand, Lady Jordan. Aldreth could not have chosen a better chaperone.”

A remark that resulted in Eleanor letting escape the smallest giggle.

“And the results,” Sophia said, “the results speak for themselves. Lady Amelia will be married as soon as she wishes, I should think.”

“You mean that,” Calbourne said, his eyes starting to shine with mirth. “The list. The interviews. The men. All designed, all approved, and now Lady Amelia shall have her husband. Who, I should like to know? Edenham has clearly been your agent through all.”

“
Clearly?
How flattering,” Sophia said. “Edenham, I had no idea you were so devoted to me. We must do something about that, mustn’t we? I do feel I’ve been shortchanged, not even a bracelet to mark your devotion. How niggardly of you.”

“Calbourne, you mistake the situation entirely,” Edenham said, staring at Sophia in frank appreciation. She did so enjoy it. “Once there was an affirmed list, all dukes or heir apparents, how could I not be found on it? I do not bear insults of that type or degree. I am a duke. I deserve to be on a list of dukes. ’Tis no more complicated than that. As to marrying, I do believe I shall marry. Perhaps not this Season, but some other one.”

“You were delighted to be considered as a possible husband for Lady Amelia,” Calbourne said. His tone was not flattering.

“Why not?” Edenham said.

“Yes,” Aldreth said stiffly. “Why not?”

Calbourne had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable, which was only proper, then he smiled and regained his good humor, as was only proper, and said, “No reason at all, Aldreth. Your daughter is quite lovely in every regard. The man who wins her will be fortunate, indeed.” Which was, again, only proper.

“I don’t think Amelia cares about her list anymore,” Eleanor remarked, sounding as casual as she possibly could, but not quite casual enough. They all turned to stare at Amelia, who was standing in quite animated conversation with Raithby and Penrith, both men looking completely charmed by her. Cranleigh, who was standing near John and his boys, did not look charmed in the least.

“I do agree, Lady Eleanor,” Sophia said. “The list is crushed and beneath Raithby’s boot, I should say. Or might it be Penrith’s? So difficult to discern at this distance. Aldreth, I do wish you had smaller rooms in this house. Anything, anything at all, could happen at this distance.”

She did hope so.

C
RANLEIGH was not so distant from Amelia that he couldn’t see everything. He could hear nothing, but that hardly mattered. What he saw was more than enough. But what could he do? He’d done too much already.

He’d kissed Amy, and he’d kissed her again. Again upon again upon again. He’d lost count of it all. He’d lost his way. He’d come near to losing his honor. But he hadn’t lost the most important bit: a duke for Amelia.

He would not steal that from her.

He was no duke. He was only a man who could not resist her.

He could not remember precisely when it had started, what had started it, why he had succumbed to the temptation of her mouth. Had he not always wanted her? Had he not been born with this fascination, this hunger for her? It seemed so.

It had started when he met her, a simple meeting, a shared look, nothing to cause remark. But he had felt the jolt, felt something break loose upon looking into her eyes.