The Courtesan's Wager (15 page)

“Yes, she appears to be,” Cranleigh shot back. “So demure. So reticent. The very blush of feminine perfection.”

“By all appearances,” Amelia concluded snidely.

Stupid man, to be so impressed by appearances. They could all, with very little effort, put on the appropriate appearance. Of course, she found it very difficult to do so with him, but that was surely his fault and not hers. If Cranleigh would only behave appropriately, then she would as well. His having the manner and look of a deckhand was singularly off-putting.

“But Cranleigh makes a point, Lady Amelia,” Iveston said, and because he spoke, she gave him every attention. Cranleigh muttered something under his breath. “What did you speak of with the Duke of Calbourne? I would not have short shrift.”

Sophia was so right; men did find themselves nearly compelled to compete with one another. How odd, yet so convenient if one was aware of it. Small wonder that Sophia Dalby had such a reputation for success with men when she understood them so well. Knowing them did lend a rather obvious air of manipulation to the whole thing. Not that she minded. Far from it. After two years on the marriage mart, she finally felt she had been given a leg up. If only Aunt Mary had bothered to explain things to her before her come out, although it was highly likely that Aunt Mary didn’t understand a thing. There
were
reasons why Sophia was . . . Sophia.

“Why, Lord Iveston,” Amelia said as the ballroom filled, “we simply talked, of nothing in particular. To be frank, he was not so eager to talk as you are.”

“Truly? I’ve always heard that Calbourne is quite adept at conversation,” Iveston said.

“But not, perhaps, adept at being interviewed,” Cranleigh said. “As to that, I should think you’d need your clerk, your chaperone, and your mentor to witness this interview. Will it be valid without them? Will you know what to ask and how to interpret my brother’s responses?”

“I am perfectly capable of speaking to a man without aid,” Amelia snapped.

“I’m sure,” Cranleigh said dismissively. “Practice, have you? Solitary conversation with a man something you do regularly? ”

“That is not what I meant!”

“If you can’t be clear about what you mean, I fail to see how you can conduct a revealing interview,” Cranleigh said.

“I can be perfectly clear, Lord Cranleigh,” she said, stepping in front of Iveston to face his brother. “I should think that you, of all people, can have no doubt as to that.”

“He does grate on one, doesn’t he?” Iveston inserted mildly.

At which point Amelia took a shaky breath and remembered her purpose, a purpose that had nothing to do with the Earl of Cranleigh. He was leaving Town on the first Elliot ship, wasn’t he? Had admitted as much to her himself earlier. He had his plans and she had hers, and there was clearly no reason for their plans to tangle. None. Nothing could be more clear to her than that.

“No, not at all, Lord Iveston,” she said sweetly, refusing to look at Cranleigh. Cranleigh, as he was solidly built, was impossible to ignore completely. “He is merely acting like a brother, a very protective one, though why he should feel you need protection from
me
. . .” She let her voice trail off and smiled sympathetically.

Cranleigh opened his mouth to speak. Iveston made some movement of his arm, Cranleigh grunted, and kept his mouth closed. Had Lord Iveston actually elbowed his brother in the ribs? How spectacular. What an efficient way to get him to mind his own business. She would have to remember that particular move with Hawksworth the next time he said something that annoyed her. Of course, it would be difficult to do as Hawksworth was so rarely standing up.

“He is very protective of me,” Iveston said. “Always has been. I thought at one time that it was because I am the heir, but now I believe it is simply his nature to . . .” Iveston’s voice trailed off and he looked at her to fill the gap.

“Bully?” she said brightly, looking first at Iveston and then at Cranleigh as she said it. Iveston smiled. Cranleigh scowled. She didn’t care. No, that was untrue. She was delighted.

“Oh, yes,” Iveston said, “I suppose that’s possible, but I was going to say intervene. He does have a habit of intervening.”

“Does he?” Amelia said, so enjoying the fact that they had fallen into discussing Cranleigh as if he were not present, and yet he was. So very, completely, and eternally present. Why, she could feel raw energy coming off of him like waves. “He certainly did not intervene in any way that I could see when my cousin Louisa was ruined by your brother Henry in the closet at Hyde House. Perhaps he wanted to see her ruined? Is that possible? ”

Of course, it was Iveston’s brother Henry, as well, who had ruined her cousin. Not a very politic reminder, but she did so want to bludgeon Cranleigh with something and Louisa’s ruination and, to be fair, marriage into their family was such a handy bludgeon.

“No man of sense wants to see a girl ruined,” Cranleigh said. His voice was soft, low, but not gentle. He sounded more menacing than soothing and she was quite certain it was intentional.

“A man of sense?” she said, unable to stop herself. She should be ignoring Cranleigh and focusing all her attention on Lord Iveston. She should and she would, once she’d got this conversation behind her. There was something about him, such arrogance and surly disdain of her, which was ridiculous as she was the most likeable girl in Society. Everyone, absolutely
everyone
liked her. She had made it a point to be as likeable as humanly possible, which was saying quite a lot. “Not a man of decency? Not a man of honor?”

“Sense,” he growled at her. “For if she’s ruined, then he is required to marry her. No man of sense wants a ruined girl when he can have one who’s above reproach and gossip and suspicion.”

If that wasn’t the most unkind, unprovoked attack! How completely like him. How perfectly and supremely like the horrid Lord Cranleigh to throw that comment in her face.

“My cousin,” she snapped before he had fully finished speaking, “was and is the most proper, the most lovely girl until
your
brother arranged to meet her in a darkened room and . . . and . . . did something to her! And then he ruined her! It’s common knowledge!”

“It certainly is,” Cranleigh said flatly, which made the whole thing somehow Louisa’s fault, when it wasn’t, or it shouldn’t have been.

“He ruined her!” she said, challenging him to deny it.

“According to her, she ruined him,” Cranleigh said. “What’s more, she’s proud of it.”

Of course, it was at this moment that Amelia realized that Iveston hadn’t said anything in rather a long time, and that she wasn’t engaged in even a spirited conversation but a heated debate, and that the entire room, which was quite full now, was staring at her. At them. At her fighting with Lord Cranleigh, the Duke of Hyde’s son.

Of course it was completely Cranleigh’s fault. Obviously. She couldn’t, not after all these years of appearing perfect, have fallen into public disgrace in a single hour.

Oh, very well, a half hour.

“As they are contentedly married,” Iveston said mildly, “the point seems moot. But certainly no one, for any reason, would want to see a girl ruined.”

Is that what they had been arguing about? How stupid. Of course no one wanted to see a girl ruined. Even the gleam in Cranleigh’s cold blue eyes affirmed it, which was hardly surprising.

It was so difficult to credit that he was the son of a duke. He bore himself like a street tough. A sailor. As to that . . . Molly may have jumped the fence and . . . no, no it was ridiculous. And even if it were not, she was not going to think of her future mother-in-law in such a light. It would make dealing with her at family gatherings so awkward.

“If you believe that, Iveston, then you shouldn’t get yourself involved with Lady Amelia and her infamous interview. You’ll ruin either yourself, or her, or both,” Cranleigh said.

Infamous? Was she infamous? She felt a tiny thrill, uncertain if it were a bad thing to be even slightly infamous after two years out. It might not be so bad. In fact, it might be worse to be invisible, which she certainly had been until tonight. Never before had any gentleman during the Season been more than passingly polite to her and now, now she had two men at her elbows. Of course, one was the thuggish Lord Cranleigh and he was an absolute horror, but the other was the future Duke of Hyde and he was quite nice, entirely pleasant.

How pleasant and serene life could be as his wife. Why, she might go days without knowing if he were in the house or not, he was so very quiet and polite. Certainly, a woman could hardly do better than that, as husbands went.

How lovely. Only a few days after consulting with Sophia Dalby and she had her man. Oh, well, not precisely
had
him, but it was a near thing. All that was left to do was to arrange for him to ask her, ask her father, ask his father, get the license, arrange the day, agree upon the terms of the contracts, sign the contracts . . .

Oh, very well, there were still a few details to be worked out, but she had decided to put all her efforts upon Lord Iveston. As he was sticking to her side so very agreeably, he clearly had made the same decision. The real problem facing her was how to get rid of the ever scowling Lord Cranleigh. He did put such a damper on courtship. It was very nearly amusing. Yes, she most definitely did feel like laughing.

“Lord Cranleigh,” she said politely, or as politely as was possible when talking to Cranleigh, “as an interview, such a formal word for what is, in truth, simply a discussion, and as a discussion is simply a conversation, and as yet, no man or woman has been ruined by a conversation, I fail to see the source of your concern. I will not harm your brother. I can say with complete confidence that he will not harm me. You are free to seek your entertainment elsewhere.”

She barely refrained from giving him a shooing motion with her fingers. Barely. She only refrained because she thought he was entirely capable of reaching out and breaking them off at the knuckle.

“She has a point, Cranleigh,” Iveston said.

Amelia smiled a bit savagely.

Lady Dalby was watching her from a few feet distant and nodded her approval, or what Amelia assumed was her approval. Certainly Lady Dalby had done her part in keeping Aunt Mary out of the middle of things. How she had done so, Amelia couldn’t imagine for, even deeply in her cups, Aunt Mary could be so intrusive. Amelia was completely certain that if Aunt Mary had been conscious and not snoring on the sofa, Louisa would never have found herself married to Lord Henry, Iveston’s younger brother. Of course, Louisa hadn’t wanted Lord Henry at all, but rather Lord Dutton, yet she had been distracted somehow by something that had happened in that closet and Dutton had been forgotten from that point onward.

Amelia was not going to allow herself to be dragged into any closets. There were many things that a man might do in a closet to confuse a girl.

“I am quite certain Lord Iveston will not ruin me,” she said, hoping Cranleigh would pester someone else. Her gaze scanned the room and settled on Penelope Prestwick, looking very fetching in white muslin with cream and black embroidery at the hem and her ever-present diamonds at her ears and in her hair. They looked quite spectacular against her black hair, which was obviously why she’d chosen diamonds as her jewel. That, and the Prestwicks were rumored to be fabulously wealthy. “Miss Prestwick is quite lovely, Lord Cranleigh. Perhaps she would be interested in your thoughts about conversation. Unless you fear she might ruin you somehow.”

She oughtn’t to have said that last bit, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself where Cranleigh was concerned.

“She is a beautiful woman,” Cranleigh said, staring across the room at their hostess. Amelia felt a small stab of annoyance to hear him say it. “I should very much enjoy getting to know Miss Prestwick better, but,” he said, turning back to face her, his cold blue gaze piercing her, “I dare not leave Iveston un-chaperoned. You could well ruin him. It might be a family trait, mightn’t it?”

At which point, her annoyance became a gleaming sword of immense weight.

“I would like him to stay, if you don’t mind,” Iveston inserted pleasantly, his brows lifted in question. “I do think that having a witness of sorts can only be to the good. To preserve your reputation, I would not break with tradition.”

Which meant she had no choice at all and had to agree to let Cranleigh hover at Iveston’s elbow. There were worse things; it could have been Aunt Mary. But at least Mary drank.

“Before the music fully starts,” Iveston said, “would you not like to ask me something? I should so hate to come up short when Calbourne insists we compare our interviews.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“Somewhere in your nursery rhymes,” Cranleigh said, intruding yet
again
, “you must have learned that men
do
talk. They compare. They judge. They even, Lady Amelia, are known to make coarse jests.”

“Darling Cranleigh,” Sophia said from behind her. “How generous of you to instruct Lady Amelia, who is surely the most innocent woman of my acquaintance, in the habits of the man about Town. Certainly, if a woman is to find her way to the altar, with the
appropriate
man at her side, she does need keen instruction. Naturally, her brother, the Marquis of Hawksworth, is not the man for the job, as no brother ever is for a sister. But you, you have risen up to help Lady Amelia. I don’t know the last time I’ve seen such gallantry in action.”

Lord Cranleigh was struck dumb. They all were. It was something of a relief.

“Were you next going to explain to her that men also offer marriage? In the best circumstances they offer a lovely cash settlement or a first-rate house in Town. Sometimes, they offer both,” Sophia said with a seductive smile. “Yet sometimes, Lord Cranleigh, a woman would rather have cash than a husband.” When Cranleigh turned white about the mouth, a truly lovely sight, Sophia added, “But obviously, that would depend entirely on the man offering himself up for consideration, and certainly neither you nor your brother would be refused consideration. Isn’t that so, Lady Amelia?”