Once Upon a Wager (32 page)

“That won't be necessary,” Marworth said with a brief smile, as he pulled a ring with several brass keys from his pocket. “His landlady was more than accommodating.”

After a nearly noiseless entry, they passed into a narrow hallway, two doors opposite each other at the bottom of the stairs, two more at the top. Digby's was the second to the left, bathed in a slant of moonlight from a small window.

Slipping up the stairs, they stopped outside his door, Marworth ready to reach for another key, when the door suddenly swung open, and a dark figure rushed out, barreling toward them He crashed into Alec with a satisfying thump before crumbling to the floor at his feet. Too bad Digby hadn't bothered to watch where he was going.

“May we assume that you're going out?” he asked as the bastard struggled to force air back into his lungs. He was dressed in undistinguished clothing, a bag and its contents splayed beside him. “What are you doing here?” Digby wheezed as he tried to regain his footing. “You have no right to accost me in my home.”

“I'm not sure it's yours anymore,” Marworth said. “It seems your rent is in arrears.” Together, they pushed him back into a dingy parlor and closed the door behind them.

“I'm free to go if I please,” Digby insisted. “I've not been charged with a crime.”

“Please,” Marworth drawled. “We all know several charges are forthcoming. Even as we speak, you've busied detectives from Bow Street to the Peninsula.”

“What of it? You can't hold me here.”

“Go ahead, then. Try to push past,” Alec said. “I'd welcome the opportunity to wring your neck.” In fact, nothing would give him greater pleasure. His hands fairly itched to encircle the man's throat, and squeeze just so.

“You have a habit of trying to separate my head from my body,” Digby sneered.

Really, the man's bravado, given the circumstances, was offensive in every way. Alec rewarded it with a vicious jab to his gut, and Digby doubled over in agony, clutching his stomach. “I can stay away from the head then,” he said, “if you like.”

“Do you know what the punishment is for slandering a peer?” Marworth asked casually.

“I didn't plan on being here long enough to find out,” Digby panted, slowly righting himself. “Miss Layton and I would have been far from London by now, if Jane Fitzsimmons—that dried-up spinster—hadn't interfered.”

Yet another excuse to punish the man. Alec slammed his fist into Digby's jaw, and a resounding crack echoed in the room.. “Mention either woman again,” he said, brushing spittle from his knuckles, “and you won't live to see the morning.” Really, he hadn't expected this confrontation to be so rewarding.

“I am starting to believe that's inevitable,” Digby slurred, wiping his sleeve across his mouth to sop up the blood streaming from it. “I think you broke my jaw.”

“It looks like a few teeth have gone missing as well,” Marworth pointed out, as Digby spit several onto the floor. “But back to your fate … ”

“Why the hell are you here?”

“For justice, of course, but while I would like to see you hang for your crimes, Dorset here has another plan. I think you will prefer it.”

“What did you have in mind?” Digby was swaying on his feet.

“There will be a public trial if you are formally charged with your crimes,” Alec said. “Painful truths will come out. I don't want either Miss Layton or Miss Fitzsimmons to suffer through that.”

“Say the word, then,” Digby said, suddenly sounding hopeful. “I will vanish. You'll never hear from me again.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “I'd rather see you drown in the Thames than go free.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“Your regiment expected you back last week. Which makes you a deserter.”

“That was an oversight on my part. I'll happily return to my regiment, if that's what you're proposing. I will leave for Brighton right now.”

“You're not going back to Brighton. I've arranged to have you transferred to a new regiment, once the flogging is done with. Escorts are waiting for you downstairs.”

“What do you mean … flogging?” Digby's eyes were wide with horror.

“The Royal Hussars want three hundred lashes.”

“That will flay me to pieces!”

Would that Alec could be there to see it. He deserved far worse, because of what he'd done to Annabelle. “You'll be sent to the front lines with the 2nd Regiment of the Foot. The paperwork is already on its way to the Peninsula.”

“But I am a Hussar,” Digby said weakly, fresh blood pooling in his mouth.

“The army no longer has a horse to spare for you, and the 2nd needs men. It has been in more battles than any regiment should, and its numbers have been decimated. You'll be in the thick of the fighting.

“And there's something you should know,” Alec continued. “The general in charge of the 2nd Foot has a fearsome reputation. Anyone caught gambling is dealt with severely, and soldiers fleeing from the battlefield are shot on sight.”

“Why are you doing this?” Digby said, his voice panicked.

Alec pinned him with a cold stare. “We have lost too many good soldiers on the front lines. I'd rather see you die to save one of them than have to kill you myself.”

The morning was new, and as the sun rose over the horizon, Alec felt an unexpected lightness. Despite the fact that he had just, in all likelihood, consigned a man to his death, he couldn't muster any remorse. Perhaps Digby would find redemption in dying for his country, but little else would save him from damnation.

After passing Mars over to a footman, he walked up the front steps of his St. James Street residence. Before he'd even raised his hand to knock on the door, it swung open, revealing his wide-eyed manservant. “Goodness, Potter.” He smiled. “That was unexpectedly prompt service. Is it time to review your wages again?”

“You have a visitor, my lord. She has been here for quite a few hours, in fact. She is unescorted, and of course, that is not at all the thing, but I could hardly turn her out. A lady like that is not safe on the streets alone.” He'd never seen Potter, who was congenitally unflappable, in such a state.

“Such a lady, she is, my lord! She calls to mind that painting of an angel you have at Dorset House. May I say if Miss Layton was the inspiration behind it, it does not do her justice.”

The rest of Potter's words were lost as Alec swept past him and headed for the small front parlor, where guests were usually seated. He pushed through the doorway, scanning the room for a glimpse of Annabelle. When he didn't see her, he moved toward a settee facing the fireplace and peered over its edge. She lay there sleeping, still dressed in her ball gown from the evening past. His eyes caressed the sweep of her brow, the generous swell of her lips. He resisted the urge to touch them with his own. What had happened to drive her here at this hour?

Her eyes fluttered open, their blue depths crystalline in their sparkle. She blushed, and hurriedly sat up, brushing her hands over the creases in her dress. She was adorably tousled, her hair a tumble of curls and dislodged pins. “Alec, you are finally home.”

He liked the way that word sounded on her tongue.

“Potter told me you were here,” he said, coming around to the front of the settee. “You must know you're risking your reputation again. You cannot visit a bachelor's lodgings.” It was what a responsible person should say, but his voice lacked conviction. His heart had nearly burst at the site of her.

“Given the behavior of so many in society last evening, I'm no longer sure I wish to stay in its good graces,” she said. “You have been treated abominably.”

She'd always been loyal, his Annabelle. But there was an air of sadness about her. She'd braved the early morning and its dangers for a reason. “Something is the matter,” he said. “Will you tell me what it is?”

“I learned any number of terrible things last night.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Not only about my father and Gareth, but also about bets that were made, and letters that were never delivered.”

It had happened, then. She'd learned the truth. “It's not always easy to understand the decisions people make,” he replied carefully. “Everyone has done things they regret.”

“Alec, I asked you this once before, but you would not reply. I need you to answer me.” She was looking up at him, one hand gripping the edge of the settee. “Why did you participate in the race that day?”

He felt a flash of panic. She deserved his honesty, but there was every chance she would never forgive him. He had yet to forgive himself.

“You have been told what the stakes were. At least, as they were first presented.”

She nodded imperceptibly.

“The truth is … I wanted you for myself. I've wanted you since I saw you dancing in the fountain.”

She leapt up if she'd been burned by a cinder from the fire, and hurried past him to the opposite side of the room.

“But not as some sort of prize,” he insisted, following her with his eyes. She was standing by the window a few feet from him. “I came upon Digby discussing the wager with Gareth. I'm not sure your brother even realized what the bastard was proposing, but I did, and I wanted to kill him for it. You stumbled upon us when I had my hands around his neck. You probably saved his life.”

She watched him mutely.

“I couldn't let Digby get away with his vile proposal. So I proposed a new wager, one he couldn't resist.”

“I was no longer to be traded for my brother's debts?” she asked quietly.

“God, no! I bet Digby 10,000 pounds that I would beat him in the race. It was everything I had on my own at the time.” He heard her sharp intake of breath. “If I lost, he would win more than he was owed. But if either Gareth or I won, he would forfeit all claims on the Layton family.”

“Father owed him money too. Gareth was not alone in this.”

Since Sir Layton's visit, he'd suspected as much. “One of the terrible ironies is neither Marworth nor I can find any evidence that Digby placed bets on the Sherford-Chetwiggin race. He planned to cheat them from the start.”

“So you decided to fight him for us,” she said with a dawning smile.

He looked into the fire. “No, Annabelle. It was nothing as noble as that.” He was swamped by a familiar wave of guilt. “I could have stopped the race from ever taking place. I could simply have given Digby the money. He'd have taken it. But I wanted to win for you. I wanted to play the hero for you one last time, like all those games from our childhood, so that I could finally put you in my past.”

“What do you mean, put me in your past?”

God, this was hard to admit. “My father had plans for me. They didn't involve you or the Layton family. I went to Gareth's party to see you and say goodbye. I was going to return to London and take my place in Parliament. I was going to marry someone suitable, probably Jane Fitzsimmons, and make a name for myself.”

He could see that he'd wounded her terribly. Her face was ashen. “I have never been suitable, have I?” she whispered.

“No, that's not it,” he said gently. “You have never been ordinary, which is a very different thing. You were my childhood friend, but after that morning in the fountain, I could no longer pretend that was all I wanted you to be. That made you unsuitable, because desire and passion and love are very messy emotions. They are a distraction when you're supposed to spend all of your time accomplishing important things, as my father intended.”

“But what about you?” she asked, her eyes inexpressibly sad. “Didn't you want a different sort of life for yourself?”

“I wanted my father's respect, not only for me but also for my mother. We were inextricably linked. Whenever I disappointed him, she, too, paid a price. For years, I was willing to sacrifice everything else—including my friendship and the chance at a future with you—in order to be worthy of his love. After the accident, though, it was no longer enough. I went away because it was the only way I could regain some semblance of control over my life. I'm not sure he ever forgave me for leaving, but at least he and my mother grew closer once I was gone.”

“But why the war?” Her eyes were unwavering as she approached him.

“I raced that day for a pathetic reason, one that cost Gareth his life. And when I found you in the wreckage …” He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “I put myself in harm's way, because that was exactly what I'd done to you. There was nothing noble about it.”

“No, Alec.” She was beside him now. “Father and Gareth did that. They didn't intend to, of course. My brother tried to sneak me away. That's why I was dressed in boy's clothes when you found me.” He looked up, astonished. “Gareth was going to take me to Arbury Hall, but Digby was at the stables when we arrived. I tried to hide in Father's carriage, but in a panic, I climbed into Gareth's by mistake.”

“You remember what happened?”

“Only bits and pieces. Gareth and Digby were talking. When you arrived, Digby pushed for an earlier start. He must have been worried that you would inspect the carriages. I could hear the horses being harnessed. I was too afraid to move.”

“What else do you remember?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“The terrifying sway of the carriage. Flying through the air. A terrible, slashing pain.”

He took her hands in his, kissing each one gently before releasing them. “I'd give my life to have saved you from that pain. I would do anything, risk anything for you.”

She ran a finger down his cheek. “You say you are not noble. You are the most noble man I've ever known.”

He cleared his throat and stepped away. “We have to find a way to get you home, Annabelle. I have a small carriage without my crest. I will ask Potter to have it called up, and hopefully, at this early hour, we'll pass without notice.”