The Courtesan's Wager (11 page)

“Why, there is the Duke of Calbourne,” Sophia whispered from behind her fan. “It does show such fortitude that he should come, does it not, Lady Amelia?”

Amelia was jerked out of her contemplation instantly and, without intending to do so, found her gaze going to the Duke of Calbourne. He was, as always, difficult to miss as he was and ever would be the tallest man in any gathering. He did, however, look quite handsome in an excessively tall sort of fashion. He did not look pleased to be at the Prestwick ball, but that could have been because everyone was staring at him.

And then, as she was coming to expect, they stared at her.

It was most uncomfortable.

“I assume he was invited,” Amelia said to Sophia, a bit curtly. She wanted to turn her back on Calbourne, but it was possible he might see it as a slight. Of course, since she had done far worse than slight him at Dalby House, she didn’t suppose that anything else she did would matter now.

“But of course he was invited,” Sophia said. “I should be very surprised if everyone in Town was not invited here tonight. The Prestwicks do have so much to prove, do they not?”

Of course they did, but it was so common to remark upon it. Perhaps she should not have allied herself with a woman who had been a common courtesan. Then again, things could hardly have reached a worse state. If this interviewing of dukes did not turn the tide, she did not know what would.

“But now that it is known that you rejected him,” Sophia continued, waving her fan gently, the wispy curls at her temples lifting in concert with the motion, “I should think that everyone in Town, who would not have crossed the Prestwick threshold last week, will push through the door to see whom you will discard next. Pity that you found Calbourne not to your liking. I’ve always seen certain advantages to large men. Perhaps, once you are married and more experienced, you will come to agree with me.”

If that wasn’t the most . . . the most lurid and vile comment to make to a virginal and innocent lady, then Amelia . . . then Amelia . . . Yes, well, having interviewed a duke for the position of husband might have severely damaged her reputation as an innocent, though being a known innocent had hardly helped her, had it?

“I don’t think that is likely, Lady Dalby,” Amelia answered with cool civility.

Mrs. Warren chuckled. Mrs. Warren was something of a permanent fixture when dealing with Sophia. Amelia, while she had not actively disliked Anne Warren before, liked her less the more time she spent with her, likely because she was suspicious that Mrs. Warren was laughing at her.

“You are amused, Mrs. Warren?” Amelia said with noticeably less civility.

“Lady Amelia, I am often amused by the things Lady Dalby chooses to say. She has a distinct ability to make truth sound scandalous.”

But perhaps only when the truth
was
scandalous. Naturally, Amelia kept that thought to herself.

“Oh, look who has come to entertain us,” Sophia said, changing the direction of the conversation. One hoped. “It is Lord Iveston and his brothers, minus the lovely Lord Henry, of course. Did he and your cousin not leave Town?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Amelia said absently, her thoughts momentarily overtaken by the arrival of the four unmarried Blakesleys, who were, taken as a whole, unfortunately spectacular.

All blond. That was the first firm impression. The eye was positively arrested by the sight of all those gleaming gold heads.

Then tall, so very pleasingly tall. Not at all like the nearly gigantic proportions of Calbourne, but merely so very nicely tall.

And handsome. So startlingly handsome, though not mirror images of each other, they all had blond hair and blue eyes and remarkably fit physiques. Of course, she had met each of them at one time or another, but she’d never actually seen them clustered together in a knot of such raw masculinity before now.

“What a close family they appear to be, to come as a throng to the Prestwick ball,” she said. Cranleigh stood shoulder to shoulder with Iveston, which was not unexpected given what she knew of Cranleigh.

Sophia eyed her with an amused smile before turning her gaze back to the sons of the Duke of Hyde. “They are a very close family, yes, I do believe so, but as to why they are in attendance at the Prestwick ball, surely you know the reason for that.”

“Do I?” Amelia countered.

“They are here, darling Amelia,” Sophia said, closing her fan, “for you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Amelia asked, snapping her own fan closed. She was not entirely certain, but she did think that Anne Warren was smiling in sympathy at her.

“They are here,” Sophia said softly, “to protect their darling Iveston from a woman such as you, Lady Amelia. Was ever a woman more complimented than that? Three men to defend against a single, fragile woman. It’s perfectly delicious. You are to be congratulated.”

“Lady Dalby,” Amelia said firmly, “I hardly think, that is to say, I am sure you must be mistaken. I have done nothing to Lord Iveston and wouldn’t
think
of—”

“Think of, Lady Amelia?” Sophia interrupted. “But how absurd. You must do all; indeed, hold nothing back. Lord Iveston must be snared, at least as far as an initial estimation of his compatibility with you. Would you marry him without even a conversation to mark the moment? No, no, I know you are eager, but I must insist that you at least talk to the man you intend to marry.”

“That is not
at all
what I meant, Lady Dalby!” Amelia’s voice, raised to an unusual level, caused more than one person to turn and stare at her.

“But then what did you mean, darling?” Sophia said politely. “Certainly you have not marked Lord Iveston off your list? We have just got rid of the delightfully entertaining Calbourne. I do think we should proceed to Lord Iveston, don’t you? Or would you prefer to meet with the Duke of Edenham first? Oh, and there he is! This is turning into a quite grand affair. The Prestwicks shall be so pleased. Miss Prestwick must also be in the market for a husband, don’t you agree? Are you two not of the same approximate age? And still unmarried? Well, some girls do like to take their time about such things. I, however, knew what I wanted and proceeded to acquire it. I should say the same is true of Anne. Mrs. Warren, how old were you when you married your lovely first husband?”

“Eighteen, just,” Mrs. Warren said.

As if what Anne Warren did at eighteen was of any interest to her. Yet, the point had been made, as if she needed it to be underlined. She knew why she was here and she knew what she wanted. Why else go to Sophia in the first place? But she had made
her
point, should anyone look into it. Had she not appeared most uncomfortable and very nearly reluctant to talk to Iveston and his many brothers?

She had.

“I should like to meet Lord Iveston first, if that is quite agreeable to you, Lady Dalby,” she said firmly, her bosom held regally high and her chin quite firm and unyielding. “If the situation requires it, then I shall require an introduction to the Duke of Edenham. He is last on my list, after all, and I don’t see any need to rearrange the order now.”

The fact that Edenham was in all likelihood the most handsome man she had ever set eyes upon was not going to move him up the ladder. She knew what she wanted. She was as much a woman of the world as . . . well, not as much as Sophia, but enough. Enough of a woman to get what she wanted from a man.

She was going to get it before Penelope Prestwick, too.

“Would you be so kind as to lead the way, Lady Dalby?” Amelia said regally. “I would be so pleased to be formally reacquainted with Louisa’s husband’s brothers.”

“Ah, yes, family,” Sophia said with a very wicked smile. Amelia wasn’t entirely certain if Sophia knew how to do
anything
that wasn’t wicked. “You are related by marriage now, aren’t you? How very,
very
convenient. That will make as nice a start as any, though I do think you underestimate the comprehensiveness of London gossip, darling.”

Amelia was not going to think about that, not now, not ever, if given the choice. She was quite certain that, once married, this entire escapade would, if not disappear, become an entertaining and highly amusing story. One day. Eventually. Certainly her husband should be able to arrange it tidily.

“I do think now is the time, Lady Dalby,” Anne Warren said, redirecting the conversation slightly. “Are they not looking this way?”

They were, all four of them. They did not look pleasant at all. They looked, oddly enough, almost hostile.

How very typical.

“Don’t they look charming?” Sophia said, her dark eyes glittering. “They appear very eager to speak with us, which is quite a lovely compliment. Let’s allow them the pleasure, shall we? I do think that now is the time, Lady Amelia, for you to unleash all your considerable experience at sparkling conversation.”

Amelia was quite certain that she had no experience whatsoever at sparkling conversation. She was not going to let that small detail interfere with her sparkling all over Iveston. “I am quite prepared, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said. “If you will lead the way? ”

“Lead the way? Oh, darling girl, no, no. That is not at all how it’s done. They must come to us, you see. I thought that was perfectly obvious. We may beckon them. We may ignore them. We may charm them. But we must never approach them. Men do love to run after things, pursuit being their preferred leisure activity. No one of any intelligence understands why this is so, but the matter, understandable or not, is not up for debate. A man pursues. A woman eludes. It is the way of things.”

Amelia was very much afraid her mouth was hanging agape and presenting a most unattractive view of herself. She snapped her mouth shut.

“But Lady Dalby, by your very words I am becoming famous for interviewing the Duke of Calbourne! Is that not pursuit? Is that not precisely why I am here tonight and why I should speak to Lord Iveston?”

“Darling,” Sophia soothed, “you are confusing the issue completely, mixing together two separate acts that do not require mixing. You will have your interview, indeed, I should be much surprised if Iveston, and even Edenham did not insist upon it.”

“
They
will insist upon it?” Amelia said. She was developing a headache behind her right ear. It took all her composure not to rub the spot. “Whyever for?”

“Pursuit, darling Amelia,” Sophia said softly. “They
must
now pursue. They are men, poor dears, they are very nearly compelled to do so.”

“Lady Dalby—” Amelia said, very much afraid she was sputtering, which would have been entirely unattractive and, as fully one quarter of the room was now staring in her direction and at least ten people actively listening to their . . . well, what else to call it, their argument over how men behaved with women, which really was absurd as no one in the world understood how men behaved with women more than Sophia Dalby, which was the very reason Amelia had gone to her in the first place . . . Amelia’s head pounded, the spot behind her ear spreading upward in an arch of distraction.

“Lady Amelia,” Sophia interrupted, “you must know that men absolutely detest being left out of any competition. You have provided them with a very unusual competition. How can they resist? Surely you can see that.”

Sophia was looking at her as if she were the worst sort of fool, the sort of fool who did not understand men.

Amelia, knowing by now that nothing she said would reflect well on her, said nothing. Perhaps that was the best course when dealing with Sophia. Certainly speaking with her did no good at all.

“Of course,” she said, capitulating completely. Things were slightly, just slightly, out of her hands and out of her control. All she could do was hope that her husband would understand one day all she had endured to find him. “What should I do now?”

Sophia smiled at her encouragingly, which was obviously insulting. “Do? Why there is nothing
to
do. Iveston and his lovely brothers are on their way to you now. Did you expect otherwise? ”

There was only one answer to that.

“Of course not,” Amelia said.

T
HE Earl of Cranleigh, the Marquis of Iveston’s more direct and, some would attest, ruthless brother, watched Amelia Caversham in hushed council with Sophia Dalby, openly consorting with a woman of highly questionable reputation, though there really was no question about it at all, was there? Sophia Dalby was the worst sort of woman and Amelia had taken up with her, openly. Lady Amelia Caversham had made a bad secret of the fact that she was in hot pursuit of a duke for a husband. It was one thing for a woman to want to marry; that was a normal, if annoying pursuit, but to make a list and conduct interviews, that was quite beyond decent and clearly ruinous. How had such a sheltered girl wandered onto such dangerous ground?

Lady Dalby had led her there, naturally.

No matter. A woman, even such a well-bred and, admittedly, beautiful woman as Lady Amelia was not going to be permitted to run through the Prestwick ball and snatch Iveston up like a trinket at the fair. No.

Of course she was beautiful.

There was something about the planes of her face, some deeply etched tracery of feminine nobility, that was compelling in a way that mere prettiness was not. Her eyes were blue, her hair was blond, yet she was not pretty. She was beautiful.

Not that it mattered in the least. Pretty or beautiful, she was not going to trap Iveston into an unwanted alliance, no matter that Iveston himself suddenly seemed less than outraged by the prospect. Cranleigh laid that at Sophia’s doorstep as well. Iveston only recently had come under Sophia’s rather famous spell and, because Amelia was allied with Sophia, Iveston was prepared to make allowances. Cranleigh was not. More to the point, the very fact that Amelia Caversham had chosen to ally herself with the infamous Lady Dalby spoke volumes about her intentions and not a single one was flattering.