Lady Allerton's Wager (7 page)

He had already pulled her to her feet and was steering her through the crowded room with one hand resting lightly in the small of her back. Beth was sharply conscious of his tall figure close beside her, so close that her skirt brushed against his thigh as they walked. She tried to move away a little but found that the press of people forced them together. She could feel the warmth of his touch through the thin muslin of her dress, and suddenly she felt hot and vulnerable. It was no state in which to begin a dance, and when Beth heard the waltz striking up she almost turned tail and fled.

‘No need to look so terrified, sweetheart,’ Marcus murmured in her ear. His voice was warm and persuasive. ‘I promise to behave!’

A strange shiver went down Beth’s spine. She did not dare look at him. She reluctantly moved into his arms and felt only slightly relieved when Marcus held
her at an irreproachable distance from his own body and made no attempt to draw her closer.

They started to circle the floor in time to the lilting rhythm of the music. The faces of the guests spun past them, curious, avid, amused, sharp, and spiteful…It seemed to Beth that the music was whirling faster and faster and that the flickering candlelight washed over them like a kaleidoscope of black and white. Marcus’s face was in shadow, his expression inscrutable, almost distant. Yet despite his apparent coolness Beth could feel a current of heat running between them, intense and strong. She shivered again, convulsively.

Beth had intended to keep a decorous distance between them and to avoid the intimacy of conversation during the waltz, but some compulsion made her glance up into Marcus’s face as they completed their second circuit of the floor. His gaze met hers for a split second and now it was dark and heavy with a passion he made no attempt to conceal. Beth caught her breath on a little gasp and almost lost her footing. Immediately Marcus’s arms tightened about her, pulling her into sudden and shocking contact with his body. His cheek brushed hers, hard against the softness of her skin, causing a feeling of helpless, wanton warmth to flood through her. Beth shuddered in his arms, unable to prevent her body betraying her with its trembling. She saw Marcus’s lips curve into a smile, felt his own body harden with arousal against hers and thought that she might well faint with shock and sheer, sensual delight, there in the Duchess of Calthorpe’s ballroom in front of one hundred and fifty people. It was terrifying but also strangely exhilarat
ing all at the same time, and she was thoroughly confused. She did not risk looking at Marcus again.

The music was ending, the waltzing couples slowing down, breaking apart and walking away. The chatter rose around her and the room suddenly seemed brighter. Beth tried to break free of Marcus’s grip, intent only on putting a little distance between them, but he held on to her, keeping her close.

‘You must give me a moment…’ his voice was husky ‘…if you are not to embarrass me…’

The colour flamed into Beth’s face. She allowed him to guide her skilfully to the edge of the dance floor, where she plied her fan and desperately tried to think of an innocuous topic of conversation. Her mind was dazed, cloudy with desire, and all she could think of was what had happened between them and how she was still trembling with an echo of the passion she had seen in his eyes.

‘It is very warm,’ she said uncertainly, and was relieved to see amusement replace the sensual heat in Marcus’s face.

‘Certainly it is very hot in here,’ he drawled, ‘and between us, Lady Allerton, I should say that it is almost too hot for comfort!’

Beth’s gaze flew uncertainly to his face, but before she could answer, Justin Trevithick appeared, escorting Lady Fanshawe. Beth was tolerably certain that Marcus’s cousin had summed up the situation with one comprehensive glance, for his gaze moved from her face to Marcus’s and his eyebrows rose fractionally as he picked up on the tension between them. Fortunately Lady Fanshawe was decidedly less perceptive.

‘There you are, my dear! You know that we are
promised to Lady Baynton’s rout and positively must put in an appearance before the night ends!’ She beamed at Marcus and Justin. ‘Do you gentlemen wish to accompany us, or do you have other plans?’

Beth felt Marcus’s gaze rest on her. It was not difficult to imagine just what other plans he might have for her. She schooled her face to remain blank, annoyed that he seemed to be able to make her blush at the slightest provocation.

‘Thank you, ma’am, but I believe we are for White’s,’ Justin was saying, with a smile. ‘May we escort you to your carriage?’

It felt cold outside after the stifling heat of the ballroom. Beth drew her velvet cloak more closely around her and tried not to shiver. Marcus kissed her hand before helping her up into the coach, and murmured that he hoped to call on her the following day. She was almost at a loss for a reply, half-longing to see him again, half-afraid of the feelings he could evoke in her.

As she settled back in the coach, Beth reflected that it seemed strange now, but she realised that she had barely given a moment’s thought to physical passion in her whole life. She had married almost from the schoolroom and had considered herself happy with Frank Allerton, but he had rarely troubled her for his marital rights and had treated her with all the indulgence of a fond parent. No hint of passion had disturbed the even tenor of their relationship. From the vague comments that Charlotte had occasionally made, Beth had realised that there could be a great deal more to marriage than she had shared with Frank, but she had largely dismissed such matters as simply not for her. She had met a few personable men during
her widowhood and had even enjoyed the company of some of them, but had never felt moved to indulge in a love affair. She realised now that she had even begun to believe that she was simply not very interested in love.

Then Marcus had kissed her and it felt as though a whole new side of her personality, both emotional and physical, had been brought to life. Curled up in a corner of the carriage, listening vaguely to Lady Fanshawe’s chatter, Beth reflected that Marcus had awoken something she had not even been aware was sleeping: a hunger to experience emotion and passion in vivid detail.

And it was the first of these that was the problem. If she had only wanted to take a lover, matters would have been simple. Marcus was there and he was eminently suitable, eminently desirable as a lover. Beth felt the warmth steal over her again. It was a tempting thought, yet she knew that she could not accept it. Newly awakened, her feelings were craving satisfaction as much as her body was, and the thought was terrifying. Against her better judgement she liked Marcus. She enjoyed his company, his conversation, his humour. She knew she was in danger of loving him, too quickly, careless of the risk. It was in her nature to be impulsive, but on this one occasion she had to be more careful and protect herself against this danger. For though she knew Marcus wanted her, she could not be confident that his feelings were engaged any more deeply than that. It hurt her to think it, but she knew she was right.

‘Would you mind if we do not go on to Lady Baynton’s rout, dear ma’am?’ she asked Lady
Fanshawe in a small voice. ‘I am a little fatigued and would prefer the quiet of going home.’

Her godmother shot her a concerned look. ‘Of course, my love. You do look rather done up! I suppose that it is country living—you are simply not prepared for such a dizzy round of events as we indulge in here in town!’ Lady Fanshawe fidgeted with her reticule. Her voice changed a little. ‘Beth, dear, I do not mean to pry, but I feel I should warn you about the Earl of Trevithick…’

Beth shifted slightly on the seat. ‘There is no need to warn me, ma’am,’ she said sadly. ‘No need at all.’

‘Beth, I do declare you are in a brown study this morning!’ Charlotte Cavendish put down the dress she was holding and viewed her cousin with a puzzled eye. ‘I asked you if you preferred the mauve or the green and you said both! Are you not feeling in plump currant? You need only say if you wish us to stop!’

Beth shook herself. They had been wading their way through the dizzying pile of goods sent round that morning by the Bond Street modistes. There were dresses, shawls and spencers, scarves and tippets, stockings and petticoats, gloves, fans and hats. The crimson saloon looked like an eastern bazaar and Beth felt utterly unequal to choosing anything from the selection. Not that her mind was on the task in hand. Not at all. She had spent the best part of the night and most of the morning dwelling on Marcus Trevithick; on his high-handed manner and his infuriatingly mocking tone, on the dark face that could soften into a warmth that took her breath away, on the forceful attraction of a man who was quite beyond her experience. Any minute she was expecting—hop
ing—that the bell would ring and he would have fulfilled his promise to call on her. And at the same time she was thinking that to foster any hopes of him was the greatest folly.

‘The pale blue suits you to perfection, Lottie,’ she said hastily, admiring the way that the figured silk mirrored her cousin’s bright eyes, ‘and I would take the ivory muslin and the grey as well.’

‘That is all very well for me, but what about you?’ Charlotte questioned. ‘You do not seem very interested, Beth, and this is the finest that Bond Street has to offer!’

Beth let a pale green scarf float through her fingers and stood up, moving over to the window. ‘I am sorry. I think I am a little tired from last night. We were back very late, you know, and I did not sleep particularly well.’

Charlotte frowned a little. ‘I wish I could come with you to all the parties and balls, Beth! Lady Fanshawe is the sweetest person imaginable, but I am not entirely sure she is up to snuff! Why, she told me she was hoping that Sir Edmund Netherwood might make an offer for you, when everyone knows he is the most tiresome old fortune-hunter and has been through three wives and their dowries already!’

Beth giggled. ‘You need have no fears on that score, Lottie!’ She sobered. ‘All the same, it would be so much more fun if you could accompany me about town. I do not like to think of you sitting here on your own whilst Kit and I set the town by the ears!’

‘Speaking of which, Lady Fanshawe said that you met with the Earl of Trevithick at the ball,’ Charlotte said casually, examining the stitching on a fine pair of kid gloves. ‘She said that he was most attentive, Beth!’

Beth blushed. She looked away, down into the street, where a flower-seller was just setting up a stall on the corner opposite.

‘Yes…I…Well, I could not really avoid him…’

‘Oh, Beth! Did you really want to?’

Beth raised troubled grey eyes to her cousin’s blue ones. ‘No, not really.’ She spoke in a rush. ‘I like Lord Trevithick a great deal, Lottie, but I am afraid…’

Charlotte was folding up the material, but now she let her hands rest in her lap. ‘Afraid? Of how you feel about him?’ she asked shrewdly.

Beth nodded, avoiding her gaze. ‘He is just so very different from Frank!’

Charlotte laughed. ‘I should say so!’

The doorbell shrilled, making them both jump. Carrick, the butler, strode into the room, carrying a flat packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He proffered it to Beth.

‘This parcel has arrived from the Earl of Trevithick, madam. There is also a note…’

Beth shot Charlotte a startled look, and then tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, written in the strong scrawl that she had come to recognise:

The note drifted to the floor as Beth slit the parcel with her letter opener. Her fingers shook slightly.
Inside was a document, dated that very morning, granting the Island of Fairhaven in the Bristol Channel to Elizabeth, Lady Allerton, and her heirs in perpetuity. Again, it was signed in a strong black hand with the one word, Trevithick. There was also a bundle of other papers, some of them ancient manuscripts written in Latin on paper so old and thin that the light shone through. Beth riffled through them in disbelief, seeing the history of her beloved island so suddenly and unexpectedly in her hands.

Charlotte had picked up the note and was reading it. She looked doubtfully from the letter to Beth and back again.

‘Oh, no! I cannot believe that the Earl is prepared to humour you in this mad obsession!’

Beth could not quite believe it either. ‘I suppose that it does not matter to him,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘He has so many other estates more valuable. Fairhaven has only its sentimental worth, and that only matters to me!’

‘I wonder what he means by saying that he intends to regain Fairhaven,’ Charlotte said thoughtfully, ‘and what he wants in return for his gift!’

Beth looked up, startled.

‘Why, nothing! He is paying his debt, that is all! He lost the wager—’

‘Do not remind me of it!’ Her cousin pursed her lips. There was a twinkle in her eye. ‘Sometimes you are so naïve, my love! In my experience there is no such thing as something for nothing! Ten to one, Trevithick has some kind of bargain in mind! It might
be that he seeks your good opinion, which would be reassuring, or it might be that his intentions are dishonourable.’

Beth could feel herself blushing again. She had not told Charlotte that the Earl had already offered her
carte blanche
, for she knew it would only fuel her cousin’s fears. ‘Oh, no, I cannot believe—’ She met Charlotte’s sceptical gaze. ‘Well, perhaps…’

‘You know you suspect it yourself!’ Charlotte said drily. ‘What exactly happened during that wager, Beth?’

Beth felt herself blush harder. ‘Why, nothing! Only…’ She evaded Charlotte’s penetrating gaze. ‘I suppose he did…does…perhaps admire me a little…’

‘Quite so. That being the case, I think you should be careful. Trevithick is not a man with whom to indulge in an idle flirtation! He is far too dangerous!’

Beth was momentarily distracted. ‘Is he? I was not aware that his reputation was
so
bad.’