Knaves' Wager (29 page)

Lilith let him rage on. He was entitled. She had insulted him deeply, betrayed him repeatedly. He could devise no words harsher than those with which she'd already flogged herself. Nevertheless, no words either could produce would ever change her heart. She stood, and endured, and when it was done and he'd gone at last, she ordered a bath and calmly walked up to her room to prepare for the evening ahead.

The letter was delivered shortly after Lilith had arisen from her bath. It lay on the tray next to the cup of herbal tea Emma had prepared. The handwriting was unfamiliar. It was, however, a woman's hand.

Within a few sentences, the sender's identity became painfully clear. Lilith turned the page over.

"I tell you, Madame, for him I care nothing. If he is in misery all his days, I should not be troubled. But you, I think, suffer as well, and I prefer you did not, for you have done me so much good."

Then it came, all of it, the entire story of the "knaves' wager," as Elise titled it: Lord Brandon's efforts to keep Robert from disgrace, and Elise's refusal to yield her so-easily-managed lover. The letter continued:

"You will wonder what wicked devil inspired me to so vile a game with another's virtue. I answer, Madame, that I never believed your virtue in danger. Ah, and how I wished to see the noble marquess taught a lesson — to see him thwarted, just once. For I must tell you he was abominably insolent. To be humbled by such a man was more than my pride could bear.
Alors
, I perceive his strong attraction to you. I see as well he is doomed to fail, and so I goad and challenge him.

What would you have me do? Plead and weep? Throw myself at his feet? Beg for mercy from a man who thinks women weak and mindless, like infants?

In my place, you would have defied him. But you are a great lady — his social equal — and I am merely
une fille publique
. So I put you in my place, as my champion. And you did defy him.

Today he tells me I have won. But I see I have won more than our wager. He is not so arrogant now. This time it is the great lord who seeks mercy. Well, I have given him what he wishes — not for his sake, or Robert's, or even for the girl's — but for yours. You have given me better revenge than I hoped. I will not repay you by bringing shame upon you and your family. Also, to tell you frankly, I am paid well for my forbearance.

There is but one matter more. Not important, perhaps, for you may be happy to see the last of him. He leaves in two days' time for Paris. This time, I do not think he will return.

The room was spacious and luxurious, yet not ornate. Golden threads glistened in the green draperies and in the chair coverings; otherwise, gilt was at a minimum. Several choice landscape paintings hung in elegantly simple frames upon the walls.

Above the large marble fireplace loomed a man's portrait. Tall, stern, forbidding, he glared down his hawklike nose at the woman who stared defiantly back.

Beneath the wig, Lilith thought, his hair would be thick and raven black — perhaps streaked with grey at the temples, for this was not the portrait of a young man. The mouth was thinner, and the lines there and at the corners of the eyes were more deeply etched. The eyes themselves were not quite the same green — but what artist could capture that colour?

An intimidating figure he must have been, the late Marquess of Brandon. What would he have made of the woman who stood in his drawing room, her hair unbound, streaming down her back, her tall, slim body draped — and scarcely concealed — in slate-blue silk?

Lilith heard footsteps approaching. She turned to the door, straightened her spine, and raised her chin.

The man she awaited burst through the door, then stopped short, visibly composed himself, and proceeded more slowly into the room. He halted some distance from her.

Lord Brandon had been dressing — and was not alto-gether done, she thought wryly. His neck-cloth was crooked, and the knot was loose, clumsily tied.

"This is an unlooked-for honour," he said. He sounded short of breath.

"I should hope so," she said. "I don't know many ladies who are in the habit of paying late-night calls."

"Not to single gentlemen." He glanced about the quiet room. "And certainly not without escort. Have you taken leave of your senses, Mrs. Davenant?"

"I have come to take leave of you," she answered frostily. "Since you are far top busy to take proper leave of me. I suppose you meant to depart without a word. Paris, I understand."

"You are well-informed."

"Not so well as I could wish. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity."

She moved past the fireplace in a rustle of silk, and paused at the sofa. No, it was better not to sit down. She felt stronger upright. She let her fingers trail lightly over the silken embroidery.

"Women are excessively curious, are they not?" she continued. "It is a known failing of our gender. We have a regrettable need to be enlightened on every matter that appears to concern us. For instance, I have been the object of a wager."

She threw him a glance from under her lashes, and saw his colour deepen. "It is very tiresome of me, I know, but I long to be apprised of the details," she added. "Lilith, don't — :

"Have you truly lost? You see, I have no idea how much time you had to seduce me. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to tell me the truth."

"Eight weeks," came the low reply.

"Good heavens! So much? And how odd." She calculated rapidly. "I thought you'd been in London but
seven
. Unless my addition is at fault, you might have seduced me the other day, and won your wager. I realise, of course, you were anxious about the children. Yet we were already delayed by the storm. Another few minutes could not have made a great difference."

"A few minutes?" he asked with something like his customary coolness. "Please consider my reputation."

"All you had to do was bed me," she shot back. "Surely you hadn't bargained how long you'd be about it. I do not recollect, in any case, making any effort to prevent you. On the contrary — "

"Stop it!" He moved a few steps nearer. "I know well enough what I've done and what I am."

"I don't," she said. "It seems I know nothing about you."

"That's true. You knew a stranger, a man I created for the occasion." He turned away to the fireplace and took up a poker. There was no fire, but he thrust angrily at the coals laid in the grate while he went on. "You said the other day my words were always lies and easy speeches. It was worse than you know. You asked for truth. If you can bear it, I suppose I can bear to tell it."

"I want the truth," she said.

He told her. He explained how he'd employed two of her servants to apprise him of all her plans. That was how he'd happened to be at Hookham's — and everywhere else she went. He told how he'd bribed the clerk to block the aisle, ordered Ezra to ply the Enderses' coachman with drink, maneuvered their walk at Redley Park. All this and more — all his strategems.

"I was awake to every opportunity, you see," he said. "I would have said anything, done anything. Scarcely a word or gesture escaped me but was deliberately intended to weaken you. Every wile and guile I ever learned, Lilith — and new ones I invented. Never was there such a calculated siege," he finished, his voice weary.

She had not suspected — not the half of it — and was mortified at her naivete. Still, he'd gone to considerable lengths. Any woman must be flattered by so painstaking a pursuit.

"So
that
is why I succumbed. No wonder. What mere female could be proof against such an onslaught? My conscience is quite clear, then," she said, glaring at him. "But
you
, after putting yourself to such trouble — why did you not reap the fruits of your labours the other day?"

"I could not." His gaze was still locked upon the grate.

"Why was that? An attack of conscience? But you haven't any, as you've just explained. Was I not sufficiently eager? Or was there some other way you found me… inadequate?" she asked, her chin determinedly aloft.

He turned round. "Good God, woman. How can you imagine such a thing? The one matter I never lied about was wanting you. In that I was never false."

"Then why, Julian? And don't repeat your ludicrous speech about my vulnerability. Pray have some respect for my intelligence."

She waited through a long silence. He would tell her the truth. He must. And she would bear it, whatever it was, because she must.

"It was what I saw in your eyes," he said at last. "Or what I thought I saw — but that was enough."

"What was it?" He must have felt her gaze hard upon him, but he wouldn't meet it.

"I thought it was love."

She stood proudly still while hot embarrassment swept her face. "Oh."

"Naturally, I was delighted. I had only connived for your person, not your heart. Indeed, I was in raptures." He struck the coals savagely, once, then replaced the poker in its rack.; "Overjoyed to discover I'd made you love a man who didn't
_:
exist."

"I can see that must have been a blow to your pride," she said evenly, though her heart lightened within her. "Still,: was it worth losing your wager? Was it worth sacrificing your cousin?"

He threw her a surprised glance, then looked away again. "What do you know of that?"

"I had a letter from Miss Fourgette. I must admit there was some consolation in learning the stake was not money or property. My honour for your cousin's. Abstract, but equitable, perhaps. Why did you deliberately lose?" she asked.

He stood, one hand resting on the mantel, his gaze still avoiding hers. His arrogant, handsome face was drawn into tight lines, his mouth set, his green eyes clouded. Yes, he was unhappy, genuinely so. Perhaps that was no more than he deserved.

"Why, Julian?"

"You won't believe it. Too romantic by half."

"Tell me."

"I could not go to that woman and tell her I had won," he said quietly. "It was too precious a treasure you offered me. I would not have it debased into a common, sordid episode."

She ought to let him suffer some little for all the suffering he'd cost her. At least something for the high price she'd paid to come here: her reputation, honour… her pride. Yet she'd come needing answers, honest ones, and this at least was not the humiliation she'd steeled herself to meet.

"That was… noble of you," she said.

He uttered one short, contemptuous laugh. "Hardly. Robert was in no danger. I knew I could buy her off."

"Still, it would have been cheaper to seduce me."

"I've behaved cheaply enough, I think. I refused to admit how deeply I cared for you, because my vanity would not bear it. My heart had always been quite safe. It was insupportable to admit that you'd seduced me, body and soul. Gad — to admit I liked talking with you of
farming
? To admit I delighted in your quick-witted responses to my sophistries? To acknowledge I'd rather argue with you about books, music, art than hear another accept my every word as a jewel of wisdom? Worst of all was to admit I wanted your good opinion — nearly as much as I wanted your person. No, my dear — too mortifying for words," he said, his voice edged with bitterness. "I would admit none of these until the damage was done, when it was too late to woo you honestly. Why should you accept as truth speeches so like their false predecessors?"

"Why, indeed?" she returned. "I am a paragon in so many ways, according to you — yet far too stupid to distinguish fact from seductive fiction. I swallowed every lie. Naturally, it follows I must disregard every truth. Your logic is astonishing, my lord. Nearly as remarkable as your courage. You repent your wickedness — or so you imply. You admit you care for me — or so it seems. And you promptly prepare to flee for Paris."

That jolted him. His sinking head shot up and the eyes he turned to her blazed with anger and hurt.

"Did you think I'd remain to dance at your wedding, Lilith?" he snapped. "Is it not enough I lie awake nights, seeing you in Bexley's arms? Lie alone, except for the agreeable voice of my conscience. Yes,
that
keeps me company with its pleasant refrain: how it might have been
me
," he went on furiously. "How I might be holding you… if I had not been such a bloody fool."

She folded her trembling hands tightly before her. "There will be no wedding," she said. "I have jilted Thomas. I, too, lied to myself. I thought I could be a good wife to him, even after my heart was stolen from me." The knuckles of her clamped hands turned white with the pressure of her grip as she added, "You went to a deal of trouble to make me love you, Julian. I think you'll have a devil of a time making me stop."

He stared at her, his green eyes wide with disbelief. Then it penetrated… at last.

"By God," he said hoarsely. "By God, but you are extraordinary."

She shook her head. "Afraid, perhaps — or stubborn — I don't know. Yet I had to come — shameless, brazen as it was of me — because you meant to go away and…" She drew a steadying breath. "And I — I could not let you go without a fight, Julian. I can't. It doesn't matter what you've done. Don't leave me," she said, almost inaudibly. "Not… not yet."

"Lilith."

Strong arms reached for her and drew her up against him. "Not yet," he repeated, burying his face in her hair. "Oh, not
yet
."

His fingers threaded through her hair, stroking, soothing. With a shudder of relief, she relaxed at last in the familiar scent of sandalwood, the comforting strength of his arms, and rested her head against his pounding heart.

"I love you," he said.

"Yes."

"I can't lose you now, Lilith. I won't." He drew her head back to look at her. "You're mine.
Mine
," he whispered fiercely.

"Yes."

"You don't understand." He bit his lip. "Oh, Lord. Lilith?"

"Yes."

"I have something rather shocking to tell you. Perhaps you'd better sit down."

20

"Aunt has gone?" Cecily repeated.