The Courtesan's Wager (12 page)

It spoke of desperation, surely, and a lack of discretion, even a certain coarseness that was flatly reprehensible. Surely Lady Amelia understood that, which brought the circle back round to desperation.

He was only thinking of Iveston, who, mesmerized by Sophia Dalby, could not readily fend for himself. He would take care of everything. Amelia Caversham, under the questionable tutelage of Sophia, would not find Iveston easy pickings.

The Viscount Prestwick had rented, for himself and his family, a house on Upper Brook Street, just down from Lady Dalby’s residence. It was a very nice address and the house was well appointed. As it was on the end of the street, it had the advantage of a small conservatory off the drawing room, the scent of green mixing pleasurably with the scent of beeswax candles. Quite a nice house. It was rumored that Prestwick could afford almost anything he wanted. What he wanted, presumably, was a husband for his daughter.

Another girl looking for a husband. This business with Amelia Caversham blatantly pursuing Iveston, Edenham, and perhaps even Calbourne had put a crease in Cranleigh’s firm plans to return to sea and he intended to be done with the entire mess by the end of this ball. Let Amelia, and even Miss Prestwick, if she was observant and had her wits about her, find that Iveston at least was not on the menu for hungry young ladies of a matrimonial bent.

“Lady Dalby, how delightful to see you again,” Iveston said with a curt and perfectly executed bow. Would that his manner was curt; Iveston, now that he had actually met her, seemed to genuinely like the woman. Blame Blakes for that. He had an unnatural fascination and respect for a woman who had made her way through London on her back. Her husband, the late earl, had likely died of exhaustion. “Lady Amelia, Mrs. Warren,” he said, bowing in turn.

“Lord Iveston,” Sophia said when she had risen from her curtsey, “how charming of you. Of course, we expected
you
, but to bring your delicious brothers with you, and all unmarried, that was generous. One might say to a fault?”

“Is there fault to be found in attending a ball, Lady Dalby?” Cranleigh said coldly before Iveston could answer her. “Or is there only fault in being unmarried?”

Sophia smiled at him and said, “But I am unmarried, Lord Cranleigh, thus I would never find being unmarried to be a fault. As you are unmarried as well, would you not agree?”

“I find myself being forced to agree with you, Lady Dalby,” Cranleigh said. “It is a firm expectation of yours, I suspect.”

It was hardly polite, but then neither was interviewing dukes for husbands. She had pushed beyond the boundaries, let her live with the broken fences in her wake.

“Suspect no longer, my lord,” Sophia said, not a hint of shame marking her elegant features. “I do love it when men agree with me, forced or not. In fact, sometimes force adds a certain extra pleasure to the experience. Will you agree with me again, my lord?”

“Don’t punish him, Lady Dalby,” Iveston said softly. “Cranleigh is not possessed of a soft and yielding temperament. He cannot bend against your jests but must stand and crack beneath them. As he is here for love of me, I must protect him, even from so delightful a woman as you.”

Cranleigh turned to stare at his older brother. Truly, he had rarely heard Iveston say so many words in one breath outside the family hearth. It was then, oddly and for the first time, that he wondered if Sophia Dalby might, in some strange way, be good for Iveston.

Most peculiar.

“Perhaps,” Lady Amelia said softly, “if Lord Cranleigh is punished, he might soften and learn the pleasure of yielding.” She was blushing by the end of it.

Well should she blush; it was a most indelicate comment. Cranleigh stared into her eyes. She stared back, her blush fading into white composure.

Sophia smiled. “He might at that. Do you think it possible, Lord Cranleigh?”

“There is no pleasure in yielding,” Cranleigh said, staring hard at Amelia. “A woman of virtue would know that, wouldn’t she?”

He did not name her, but he looked directly at Lady Amelia. His point was obvious.

She blushed again, vigorously. He was not a bit repentant. A girl, no matter who her father was, should not be so coarse in her language or her manner.

“A woman of virtue knows many things, Lord Cranleigh,” Mrs. Warren said, joining in the debate, her fair features showing no sign of a blush, “and the first of which is what pleasure is available to her and what pleasure denied. Certainly yielding to the wisdom and wit of an earl must rank as being pleasurable, or else how is a lady to survive in Society?”

Iveston laughed. The Earl of Cranleigh could not see what was so vastly amusing about being verbally bludgeoned by a trio of women.

“You’re overmatched, Cranleigh,” his brother George said, his gaze focused on Mrs. Warren. She was a pretty thing, all white skin and glowing hazel eyes, her ginger hair gleaming in the candlelight.

“Hardly,” Cranleigh said tightly.

“I must agree with Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia said. “It is not possible, at this early stage, for the earl to be in any danger at all from the three of us. Why, are we not mere women?”

Precisely.

“
At this early stage
?” Iveston said, dipping his head. “That sounds ominous, Lady Dalby. What do you intend?”

“Only what you yourself will agree to, Lord Iveston,” Sophia said. “Is that not why you are here tonight? Or had it been your intention to attend the Prestwick ball when the invitations were issued weeks ago?”

She was playing the pure coquette. Cranleigh was not amused by it. Glancing at Amelia Caversham, he was of the impression that she was equally unamused.

“I should think that over half of those in attendance tonight had declined,” George said, “until the details of your interview became widely known.”

And here all eyes turned to study Amelia, as was only to be expected. To his surprise, she did not blush and avert her gaze. Instead, she lifted her chin and her bust and stared thoughtfully at Iveston. As if she were considering him! As if she had the right to just snatch him up.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Sophia said, gazing at each of the brothers in turn, even though Josiah had yet to say a word. Smart lad.

“What’s odd?” Cranleigh said. “That a woman would debase herself and her family name by exhibiting such poor judgment?”

Amelia swallowed heavily, but she did not lower her gaze. He was reluctantly impressed. He pushed all thoughts of admiration from him instantly.
Nearly
instantly.

“Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia scolded with a seductive lifting of her sable brows, “you surprise me. I had it from the duchess that you were widely traveled. Do you mean to say that you learned nothing of the various cultures of the world in all those miles put beneath your feet? Certainly a woman should always be commended for doing her utmost to make a good marriage. Do you not agree?”

“Of course I agree,” he said. “But this is hardly—”

“Hardly ordinary,” Sophia interrupted. “I so agree with you. But then, Amelia Caversham is hardly ordinary, which I think must be obvious, especially to you.”

His gaze went to Lady Amelia. He had neither the time nor the inclination for these feminine games of man-baiting.

“Especially to the Duke of Calbourne, I should think,” Iveston said, surprising him again. When had Iveston become so talkative, and with a woman, too? “You caught him wrong-footed, it’s being said. ’Tis quite a rare thing, that.”

“Darling Lord Iveston,” Sophia said, “if it’s being said, it’s being said by the duke himself. Certainly he was as charming and as entertaining as he ever is and certainly Lady Amelia found him quite—”

“The word was
tall
, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said with some force. “The Duke of Calbourne is quite, quite tall. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Iveston?”

Amelia Caversham turned her striking blue eyes upon Iveston and very nearly tried to burn him with an intense gaze ripe with meaning and invitation. Even Cranleigh could feel it. By George’s slight cough, George felt it, too. Josiah remained silent, which was something of a miracle.

 

 

 

IT was a miracle of sorts. Amelia had spoken, interrupting Sophia and her unfailing ability to make herself the center of male attention, and by speaking, she had garnered attention unto herself. The very avid attention of each Blakesley male. It was quite lovely.

Of course, it had required her to be very rude and very obvious, and yet she had their full attention, which certainly must be all that should matter. All she cared about for the present was that Lord Iveston, who truly was a quite respectable-looking man, was staring deeply into her eyes.

His brother, the irritable Lord Cranleigh, who spoke far too much and not at all pleasantly, was staring at her bosom. She could feel it, and she thought it perfectly dreadful of him. Of course, her bosom was perfectly lovely, but did he have to make such a point of it? He clearly, if she had to judge only by this most recent conversation, had no restraint and very nearly no civility at all. She forced her gaze back from Cranleigh to Iveston.

Lord Iveston, who would one day be the Duke of Hyde, was tall and of a somewhat narrow frame, an altogether elegant-looking man with light blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Iveston’s brother Cranleigh, not nearly as blond and with eyes the color of an arctic wolf, looked very much like a common sailor. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, but that did not disguise the fact that he was powerfully built and rather thick about the neck. Common. He clearly took after his mother, the American-born Molly, not that she would ever allow such a thought to even enter her head once Molly was her children’s grandmother.

Now that she had seen Iveston with his brothers, and now that she had spent an hour with Calbourne, she was more certain than ever that she wanted Iveston. Edenham, with his trail of broken wives and nursery full of children, was off the list. Well, not completely off, but barely on. She was not so foolish as to mark off Edenham before Iveston had been fully secured.

He was very nearly secured now. He was staring at her, after all, and he did not look too displeased, and she was a more than merely attractive girl, and her father was a duke.

That should settle things nicely, shouldn’t it? Sophia was completely unnecessary from this point on. Now that Iveston had noticed her and actually approached her, she could manage on her own.

The first order of business, besides inducing Iveston to beg for her hand in marriage, was to make it clear to Cranleigh that he was unwelcome. The other two could stay or go, she did not much care which. But Cranleigh, the sailor, had to go. He was rude and arrogant and he was not at all shy about giving every appearance of entertaining an actual dislike of her. Certainly, if he found reason, however paltry, for disliking her, he should keep it to himself. Besides, there was no reason at all for anyone to dislike her, especially a man who looked like a sailor.

“Calbourne is quite tall,” Iveston said mildly, answering her. “I believe it suits him, though, don’t you, Lady Amelia?”

“I believe it does,” Amelia answered with a soft smile. “It does not suit me, however. Is excess in any form ever truly desireable? ”

Iveston smiled blandly. The sailor scowled. And then Sophia said, “Lady Amelia is a woman with very set standards, which is surely commendable, even admirable. Too many of our young girls today marry simply anyone who shows the slightest interest. Lady Amelia has far more confidence in herself than to treat herself so lightly.”

“I think we all understand what Lady Amelia’s standards are,” Cranleigh said, nearly snarling.

Bother it.
Couldn’t he find a puppy to kick? Was he going to stay by Iveston’s side all night? That might become nearly unpleasant.

“But of course, Lord Cranleigh,” Sophia said sweetly, “that is the entire point. What is the use of having standards if no one knows what they are? Stop me if I have this wrong, Lord Iveston, but, knowing of Lady Amelia’s standards and her rigorous pursuit in maintaining them, are you not intrigued by her?”

“I find everything about this exercise intriguing, Lady Dalby. Were you going to interview me, Lady Amelia? I did make the list, did I not?” Iveston said.

He was almost smiling. It was a quite a coup as everyone knew that not only did Iveston rarely leave his house, but when he was caught out, he even more rarely smiled. He certainly never spoke. It was one of the reasons that Society had deemed him a bit peculiar. Though, speaking to him now, he seemed more retiring than peculiar. She could manage a retiring husband, it might even be very convenient to have one. Certainly no sane woman would enjoy having a husband of Cranleigh’s type, who scowled and bullied out of pure habit.

Cranleigh did make a most powerful impression. A most unpleasantly powerful impression.

“You’ve heard about that, Lord Iveston?” Amelia said, before Sophia could speak first.

“Everyone’s heard about it,” Lord Cranleigh snarled, not at all discreetly.

Sophia smiled and tilted her head. Amelia spoke quickly, having observed that Sophia tended to tilt her head coquettishly before speaking to men.

“And you are not offended?”

“To have made your famous list? Not at all,” Iveston said, looking at her shyly. It was quite charming. “I feared only to have not made the list at all.”

“It is not an actual list, Lord Iveston. I am not so crass as all that,” Amelia said, planning her wedding breakfast as she spoke. Iveston seemed nearly desperate to sign the marriage contracts, which was so delightfully pleasant of him. Things were going to work themselves out beautifully.

“And particularly as there are only a very few men who meet Lady Amelia’s standards, certainly they need not be written down,” Sophia said in an excessively sweet tone.

Bother it, she had to pay strict attention or Sophia would run away with the entire evening. She’d have time to plan her wedding breakfast later.