The Courtesan's Wager (24 page)

“You very much have, Duke,” she said, laying the flat of her hand on Cranleigh’s back and trying to push him out of the way. He wasn’t in any frame of mind to be pushed. “In fact, I should greatly enjoy getting to know you better.”

“She certainly would,” Cranleigh said, “unfortunately, she is unable to do so.”

“I certainly am able,” Amelia said, pushing to get around him. As she was wedged rather neatly between no less than five rose shrubs, all of them nicely thorny, he had the satisfaction of knowing she was well and truly trapped.

“Are you?” Cranleigh said, and turning to face her, he very simply and without any trouble at all, ripped a long and gaping gash in her fine muslin gown. With his bare hands.

It was most satisfying.

She stood there, her dress a ruin, the red shawl a ruin, her chemise and stays intact, but that could hardly matter.

There was the sound of rending fabric, to be sure, and then there was silence. Even the throng in the drawing room fell silent. Edenham and Calbourne were most definitely silent.

Amelia was not, at least not for long.

Ignoring Cranleigh completely, something she had long practice at, Amelia gathered her dress and shawl around her and, upon some final ripping from the thorns grabbing at her muslin, she walked like a queen, or a duchess, around Cranleigh to face Edenham and Calbourne as they both stood there in mild shock.

“I shall be At Home on Saturday. I look forward to our conversation,” she said sweetly, as if Cranleigh were not there. As if he hadn’t just ripped the clothes from off her body. Something he’d dreamed of doing more than once, now that he thought about it.

“Lady Amelia,” Calbourne said, elbowing just a bit past Edenham, “allow me to assist you.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking Calbourne’s coat round her white shoulders, still so icily calm that Cranleigh wanted to kiss her out of it. And he could, too. Years of practice and all. “Please, come round on Saturday also, if you wish. It wouldn’t hurt to rethink some of my previous decisions.”

“I would be honored, Lady Amelia,” Calbourne said, looking at Edenham like he’d won at the Newmarket races.

And here she looked over her shoulder at Cranleigh, her look not frozen, but blazing. Just for him. Just for him she blazed. He got rare pleasure out of that.

“You, Lord Cranleigh, are a thug,” she said.

Cranleigh bowed and said, “No need to rethink that, is there, Amelia?”

She didn’t answer him. He hadn’t expected that she would.

“
I
’LL never be able to wear that shawl again,” Penelope Prestwick said, idly shuffling cards by the fire.

“You never liked that shawl much,” her brother George answered her. He was lying on his back on the sofa in the family drawing room, studying the shadows on the ceiling.

“She’s got them all now,” Penelope mused. “All of them. Being interviewed.”

“If you’re clever, you’ll auction that shawl off. You could make a fortune,” George said, caught in his own musings.

“You wouldn’t think a duke would tolerate being treated that way. I certainly wouldn’t, were I duchess.”

“I wonder if you should auction it whole?” George ran his hands down his waistcoat. “Perhaps in pieces is the way to go. Two-inch strips?”

“By the time she makes her choice, whoever’s left will probably leave Town in disgrace at being so publicly rejected.”

“How many strips do you think, at two inches wide?”

“She’s bound to choose one. Why not? I would. I wonder which one? Iveston’s the youngest and he’s never been married. That counts quite a lot. No woman would actually choose to be second, would she? And Edenham and Calbourne already have heirs. No, she’ll choose Iveston.”

“Given how the shawl got itself torn, the thing to do might be to offer it to Lady Amelia, whole, or as whole as it is. She might be willing to pay dearly for the evidence. Especially as she’ll be a duchess soon. She can’t want something like that in someone’s library, framed, on show. You should make the offer, anyway. Let her choose.”

“What?” Penelope said, dropping the cards on the table. “Of course she’ll choose. Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”

“What?” George said, lifting his head from off the sofa cushion. “I’m just agreeing with you, Pen. She’ll choose. Why not?”

“Of course why not? She has every man in Town worth having simply lining up. It’s disgraceful.”

George looked at his sister and then dropped his head back down on the cushions.

“It may be disgraceful, but it’s effective.”

Yes, there was that.

 

 

 

SOPHIA studied the print fresh out of Hannah Humphrey’s shop on St. James’s Street. “It’s very effective, isn’t it?”

“Effective as what?” Anne asked.

“Why, as a prompt, naturally,” Sophia said.

“Sophia,” Anne said with a sigh, “I can’t understand any of this. How is this going to help Lady Amelia get a husband? No husband can want this sort of thing going around about his future wife.”

“No, I shouldn’t think he would,” Sophia said with a laugh that was not entirely polite.

“You haven’t got some secret revenge going against Lady Amelia, have you? She seems a sweet girl, innocent of even good sense.”

“Yes, she does have that air about her,” Sophia said pleasantly, holding the print in better light, studying it with a grin of almost animal satisfaction.

“Sophia?” Anne prompted. “This isn’t about revenge, is it?”

“Against that darling girl? Don’t be absurd, Anne. You’re seeing . . . why,” Sophia smiled, “you’re seeing an Indian behind every tree.”

It was not at all confidence inspiring as a reply.

 

 

 

AMELIA stared out the first-floor window and felt whatever confidence remaining within her tear into pieces, much like Penelope Prestwick’s red shawl. They were lined up. Literally. She was formally At Home and they were lined up, nearly into the center of Berkeley Square, blocking traffic, both foot and horse.

Aldreth House was large, indeed grand, but the butler, Yates, hadn’t been prepared for such a large crowd and so had begun to refuse admittance, which resulted in the crowd growing. Apparently, when a man could not get what or where he wanted, getting it or there, or her, became
all
he wanted. She hadn’t understood that about men at all. But she would have wagered her dress, the Prestwick shawl, and her reputation that Sophia Dalby did. And, in fact, she had wagered just that.

“Yates? ”

“Yes, my lady,” Yates said. He looked overwhelmed, very nearly sweaty.

“Send someone round to Dalby House. Have the messenger request Lady Dalby’s presence here, as soon as is convenient for her.”

“Yes, my lady,” Yates said. He sounded relieved. Clever man.

 

 

 

“BUT, darling, how glorious,” Sophia said when she was admitted, to the protest of the men standing at the door. “You have them precisely where a woman wants a man, standing at the ready, eager to provide her with every pleasure. Isn’t this fun? ”

It was not fun.

Sophia had come alone, for which Amelia was grateful. She couldn’t have borne dealing with Anne Warren just now. Or with Aunt Mary. Mary, ever since the night of the Prestwick ball, had not been readily available. She would have suspected that Aunt Mary was busy with Mr. John Grey, Sophia’s brother, since it had recently and most shockingly been revealed to her by Mary herself, rather more deeply in her cups than was usual even for her, that she had at some younger point in her life engaged in some sort of relationship with Mr. Grey.

Amelia was positive that it was the most innocent and tenuous of relationships. Or nearly positive. Still, that Aunt Mary had at one time been on more than speaking terms with an Indian, and worse yet, clearly would like to be on more than speaking terms with him again, well, the only reason that Amelia did not suspect that Aunt Mary was abandoning her function as her chaperone was because Mr. Grey was at the Dalby estate of Marshfield Park. Which left her with only one conclusion available, that Aunt Mary had abandoned her because of the scandalous events on the night of the Prestwick ball.

Just when a girl needed a chaperone most, she was left with Sophia Dalby. That was an odd form of justice, to be sure.

Yates had shown Sophia into the library at the front of the house and they were looking out the large window together, Sophia in delight and Amelia in horror.

“This isn’t at all what I expected, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said.

“No?” Sophia asked brightly. “You didn’t expect to be pursued by every available man in Town?”

“Of course not!” Amelia said sharply, keeping her gaze out to the street below. “And
he’s
not even available,” she said, pointing. “I met him at a musicale a year ago and he’s married! Lord Stilby or Stillbough or some such.”

“Are you certain?” Sophia said, her brow furrowed in disappointment. “Perhaps she’s died.”

“Then he should be in mourning!”

“A man can only mourn for so long and then he becomes tired of it,” Sophia said. “Men are so easily bored, particularly when it comes to remembering women.”

“That is not the point, Lady Dalby,” Amelia said. “I only wanted, that is, I only agreed to consider dukes. These men, this crowd, is not a crowd of dukes!”

“Well, of course, darling,” Sophia soothed. “There are only so many dukes to go around. But you can’t have expected all the other men in Town to be discarded without the opportunity of presenting themselves for your scrutiny.”

“I certainly did expect that! I expected precisely that, and why should I not? Dukes, Lady Dalby, dukes are—”

“But darling,” Sophia interrupted, “men can’t be sorted quite as easily as all that. Of course, a woman
will
sort them, naturally, but they never tolerate being obviously sorted. I thought you understood that. Men are quite unyielding in that regard. They simply must be seen to measure up, to compete and to best all other men. Of course, they can’t, but they must feel they’ve had their day, you see. I thought I had explained all this to you. The need to compete? The drive to win?”

Yes, that did sound unhappily familiar.

“Then this throng has nothing to do with the events at the Prestwick ball?”

“Don’t be absurd, darling,” Sophia said. “Of course it does. Didn’t you expect some sort of a response to having the dress nearly torn off your very lovely body?”

Amelia had no answer to that. She was too appalled to even blush.

“Oh, look, there’s Cranleigh now,” Sophia said with a smile. “Fighting his way in, I see. He is rather a brawler, isn’t he? I begin to wonder how you escaped the conservatory with your chemise intact. You were wearing a chemise?”

“Just wondering,” Sophia said casually, keeping her gaze on the street below, where Cranleigh truly was . . . brawling, just like a common sailor.

“He appears to be trying to get them to disperse,” Sophia said. “Small chance of that. He’s quite outnumbered.”

He was that. Cranleigh, built not unlike a young ox, was pushing and shoving and punching all the men who stood between him and the door to Aldreth House. There had to have been thirty men, conservatively. He didn’t seem to care.

Amelia felt her heart hammer to bursting in her chest just watching him.

Fighting his way to her? That was precisely to the point.

“Will your butler allow him entry, should he make it to the door?” Sophia asked. “Oh, that was a cunning blow,” she said, sounding almost wistful. “I must say, Cranleigh can hold his own. I do find that an attractive quality, don’t you?”

She most certainly did.

“Why, look at that,” Sophia said, smiling at the scene below them. “I do think Cranleigh has just hit Calbourne on the mouth. Calbourne doesn’t look at all pleased, but then, who would? ”

Amelia shamed herself completely by standing riveted at the window, watching Cranleigh hit everyone within reach just to get to her door. He
was
a complete brawler. It was slightly adorable of him.

“Was that Dutton who just took a fist to the belly?” Sophia said. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Shaking her head in obvious amusement, she added, “That does seem to happen to him quite frequently, by all reports. I’ve heard a rumor, unsubstantiated, naturally, that he might not be allowed back into White’s. He appears to instigate all sorts of violence in the other members. He always seemed so pleasant to me.” Sophia shrugged and smiled. “But then, I do find most men to be pleasant, don’t you? ”

Amelia dragged her gaze away from Cranleigh, who was now arguing with Calbourne and pointing at Edenham. Edenham was here as well? Amelia had just enough time to scowl in annoyance at Sophia before Penrith leaned down to help Dutton to his feet, and was shoved by Dutton into Edenham for his efforts. Edenham did not look pleased.

Neither did Dutton.

Neither did Penrith.

“Penrith, too?” Sophia said. “You
are
doing well, Lady Amelia. I thought he had the beginnings of an
affaire
started with Lady Paignton. You seem to have quite eclipsed her.”

Amelia couldn’t help herself. She preened. Just a bit. If Lady Paignton were standing here, she’d snap her fingers in her face.

“I want to say again that I did nothing to encourage any of these gentlemen. I can’t think what’s got into everyone,” Amelia said. “All I did was talk to Calbourne. That’s all.”

Sophia’s dark brows rose in mock astonishment. Amelia was quite certain it was mock.

“That’s
all
? Darling, don’t think you can dissemble with me. I was there. Of course you only talked to him, no one thinks otherwise, but it is what you said to him that began all this. Once you had spoken honestly and clearly to one duke, did you not think that all the others wouldn’t demand the same? They are men, darling. They are not going to step aside and let another man take the field, as it were. Fighting is in their nature. Just look at Cranleigh if you require even more proof.”