The Double Wager (30 page)

Sir Peter was not eager to offer hospitality to a rake of Cranshawe’s reputation. Thus, Eversleigh’s advice was followed, and the party returned to the house, Penelope riding with Eversleigh, Philip with Giles, and Miss Manford, blushing and protesting, with Mr. Ridley.

Two hours later, the company dispersed to their several rooms, hastily prepared by the housekeeper. They had partaken of an equally quickly thrown-together meal, and had relived over and over again the events of the previous few days. Finally even the twins had no more to say. Oscar’s colorful comments had been cut off by the pink blanket an hour before.

“I wish to talk to Henry alone for a while, Tallant,” Eversleigh said, explaining why he was not preparing to leave the drawing room with everyone else.

Henry sat down again, and soon they were alone. She kept her eyes on the carpet beneath her feet.

Eversleigh regarded his wife in silence for a while.

“Well, Henry,” he said finally.

She kept her eyes lowered. “It was you who paid the moneylender, was it not?” she said. “And redeemed my ring?”

“Yes, Henry,” he admitted, “and I am sorry for the misunderstanding. It did not occur to me that you would think my note came from Cranshawe.”

She did not reply.

“Will you come back home with me?” he asked. “Or are you serious in your intention to leave me?”

“I shall stay here, Marius,” she said quietly.

“Might I ask why, Henry?” His voice was very gentle.

She hesitated. “I just wish it that way,” she said. “I have not been happy.”

“I see,” he said. “Henry, please do one thing for me. Keep my name and allow me to care for you. I shall not force you to live with me or see me, but please, let me keep you in the sort of life that you are accustomed to. Don't disappear from my life. When you meet the man you will love, I shall divorce you so that you can marry him. And I shall see to it that you are not ostracized from society. I have considerable influence, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, “but I shall not want to remarry, ever.”

“Then remain as my duchess,” he said, “wherever you wish to live.”

“But you will need to marry again,” she said. “You will want a son.”

“No,” he replied.

They lapsed into silence.

“I shall leave in the morning, early,” Eversleigh said at last. “You need not see me again. I shall send Ridley down in a few days to make whatever settlement you decide upon.”

“Perhaps,” she said dully.

“And do not worry about Miss Manford,” he continued. “I shall see her well settled. I believe she would be happier in retirement. I shall have my bailiff find her a suitable cottage on my estate in Kent. She will have a comfortable pension.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You are very kind.”

“Come, my love,” he said, rising to his feet and extending a hand to her. “I shall see you to your room.”

“Thank you,” she said.

They walked in silence up the broad staircase of Roedean and to the door of Henry's room. There Eversleigh took her hand in his, bent, and kissed it.

“Good-bye, Henry,” he said. “You are young. You will forget this episode soon and be happy again as you were when I met you. I am sorry that I have saddened you, my love.”

He turned and entered his own room, which was directly across from hers. He closed the door softly behind him without looking back.

Henry had been sitting in the window seat of her darkened room for over an hour. She had undressed but had not gone to bed. She knew she would not sleep, and she hated to toss and turn in bed.

How would she bear the pain? It was ten times worse than it had been three days before when she had taken a silent farewell of Marius. There he had not known. He had not been so sweetly and so sadly noble. He had not just fought for her honor. He had acted today as if he really cared.

Was it possible that he did care, just a little bit? He had come tearing down from London on horseback, without any luggage at all—he had had to borrow a nightshirt from Peter. He had punched Oliver far more than was necessary merely to bring him to the ground. He had held her and soothed her afterward as if her safety were really important to him. He had begged her tonight to let him care for her, although her refusal to go home with him had offered him the perfect excuse for washing his hands of her. He had offered her her freedom while disclaiming any wish to be free himself. Could something of their marriage be salvaged? Could she possibly oust Suzanne Broughton from his affections, make him forget how and why he had chosen her as his bride?

Henry leapt to her feet. What was she doing, planning to stay at Roedean, allowing Marius to return to London and his mistress? If she could get up nerve enough this afternoon to almost shoot Oliver Cranshawe and to punch him in the face, did she not have the courage to fight a mere woman for her husband’s love?

Before her resolve could cool, Henry quickly let herself out of her room, crossed the hall, and opened the door to her husband’s room. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She stood with her back against it for a moment, letting her eyes get used to the deeper gloom of this chamber.

Eversleigh was standing at the far side of the room, leaning against the window frame.

“What is it, Henry?” he asked.

“I wish to return to London with you tomorrow,” she said.

There was a pause. “And where do you propose to go when you arrive there?” he asked.

She lifted her chin. “Home with you,” she said.

He pushed himself away from the window and came toward her. She could see that he wore no shirt, only his breeches. “Why?” he asked.

“To fight for you,” she announced defiantly.

He laughed softly as he stopped in front of her. “Absurd child!” he said. “Why do you have to fight for me? Who is threatening me?”

“Suzanne Broughton,” she said. “She shall not continue to have you, Marius. This is the end.”

“Indeed?” he asked softly. “And who is going to stop her?”

“I am,” she said. “You saw this afternoon that I can fight.”

“Heaven help Suzanne,” Eversleigh muttered fervently. “And what do you propose to do after you have left the lady with a pair of black eyes, Henry?”

“Make you love me,” she said.

“And why would you want to force me to do that?” he asked.

“Because you are my husband,” she said, “and I will not share you.”

“Ah,” he said. “And why would you be so selfish, my love?”

“Because I love you!” she hissed at him.

He stood motionless in the darkness. “I see,” he said. “And when did you come to this conclusion, Henry?”

“Oh, I’m sure I loved you when I first set eyes on you,” she said in a rush. “You are so despicably handsome, you see, and I admired immensely that way you have of reducing people to size with your quizzing glass. And when you kissed me—twice—I hated it because you made me feel like jelly inside. Then, when you made love to me that night, I knew I must love you because, although you still made me feel like jelly, I knew I did not wish you to stop. And I was glad afterward that I had not made you go away.”

“Were you, my love?” he said. “Now, how was it that I touched you? Was it like this?” Both his hands enclosed her breasts lightly and then slid under her arms to pull her gently against him. His lips trailed a line of little kisses down one side of her face to her earlobe, which he took between his teeth.

“Yes, like that,” she said, “except that you have never done that to my ear before.”

“Perhaps like this, then, my love?” His hands wandered lower to encircle her waist and then to bring her hips against him. His mouth moved across her throat, forcing her head back, and then up to claim her lips.

Henry seemed suddenly to come to her senses. “Don’t,” she said, jerking back.

“Why not?” he murmured, “I thought you liked it, Henry. Can’t you cope with the jelly?”

“No games, Marius,” she said severely. “Nothing has been settled yet.”

“What a shame!” he sighed. “Can we not wait and settle everything tomorrow?”

“No,” she said, “I know this is all a game to you.”

“You don’t like games, my love?” he asked softly, reaching for the buttons on her nightgown. “Let us get serious, then.” One hand reached for her naked breast, and Henry had to gasp to get herself under control.

“You are not serious, Marius,” she scolded. “You are making mock of me.”

“Am I, my love?” he murmured, his mouth against her throat again. His hands already had her nightgown off her shoulders and were easing it down her arms. “I thought I was making love to you.”

“Oh,” she cried, exasperated, “I’ll not stand for this, Marius!”

“Then you shall just have to lie down for it, my love,” he said soothingly. “What a good idea.” He lifted her into his arms and deposited her on the bed, where he joined her after removing his breeches.

He lay beside her on the bed and trailed his hand lightly down her naked body. “Now, what was it you liked?” he asked. “Can you remember? Was it this?” He leaned across her and kissed one breast, then the other. He took one tip into his mouth and caressed it with his tongue.

“Oh, stop this instant, Marius,” Henry protested. “Oh, this is not fair.”

“Maybe not, my love,” he soothed, “but it creates wonderful jelly, does it not?”

“Oh!” wailed Henry as he lifted himself from the mattress and lowered his weight on top of her.

“I have just had an inspiration,” Eversleigh whispered against her ear. “I think maybe it was this that felt so good.”

He parted her legs with his own and entered her deeply. Henry moaned and was lost. Soon her arms and legs were around him, urging him on to the climax that was very close for both of them. They both cried out when it came.

Henry wriggled out of Eversleigh’s arms when he moved to her side. She lay on her back, staring up at the canopy above her head. “I shan’t let you go back to Mrs. Broughton after this, you know,” she said belligerently.

“Shan’t you, my love?” he asked sleepily. “And what makes you think that I want to go back to Suzanne?”

“Because she is all woman,” Henry said severely, “and I am not. I look like a boy. I don’t curve out at the hips and I have small breasts.”

He laughed softly. “Naughty, Henry,” he said. “You are not supposed to mention bosoms, Giles told you. You might embarrass me.”

“Well, it’s true, anyway,” she grumbled.

“Yes, it is, is it not?” he agreed, surprise in his voice, as he levered himself up onto one elbow. “Look! No curves, no bulges. Strange! You felt very much like a woman to me a few minutes ago.” He lay back down and closed his eyes.

“Even so, I shall make you love me,” she persisted, hurt. “I shall make you show me how I may entice you and tell me what pleases you.”

He opened one eye and regarded her sleepily. “Always wear your bonnet in public,” he said mildly. “May I sleep now, Henry?”

“No!” she said firmly. “First you will promise to give up Mrs. Broughton.”

“I promise, I promise,” he agreed meekly.

“No, I mean really promise.”

“Ah. I really, really promise, then.”

“You are being quite absurd,” she scolded. “Will you be serious?”

“What, again?” he asked, leering across the bed at her.

Henry slammed over onto her side and lay facing away from him, staring into the darkness. Soon she was aware of the warmth of his body close behind her. An arm encircled her waist.

“Henry,” he said softly against her curls, “what a jealous little child you are. I have never loved Suzanne. I have not touched her since the day I met you except to halfthrottle her this morning when she would not tell me where you were. Do you not know that I love you more than is good for me?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she snapped.

The arm around her tightened and he rolled her onto her back and into his body. “Silly little freckle-face!” he said. “How could I help loving you? When you first ran head-on into me at that dreary come-out ball, you bowled me off my feet. I was completely enchanted, and have been ever since. Don’t you know how you have turned my world upside down? I thought it obvious enough. I have followed you around to every social function of this infernal Season like a lap dog just because I was bursting so with pride to display you as mine.”

“What about that wager?” she asked doubtfully.

“Ah, you know about that, do you?” he said. “Well,
touche,
my love. What about yours?”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that did not make any difference. I loved you regardless.”

“And I loved you regardless,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really. And I will add this. I believe that was the most fortunate double wager ever made, my love.”

“Oh.”

“Now, will you let me sleep, Henry?” he asked wearily, peeking at her through one half-closed eyelid. “I have been living a celibate life for so long—with one memorable exception—that I fear I shall have to take this marriage very gradually again for a while. Advancing age, you know.”

“No,” she said. “I want to start finding out what pleases you. Is it this?” She leaned across him and blew a light kiss on his neck where it joined his shoulder.

“Minx,” he commented. “I should have let you shoot Cranshawe and been hauled off to Newgate.”

Iron-hard hands suddenly grasped her hips, and she found herself lifted up and deposited on top of his body.

“This might prove the death of me, my love,” he sighed, “but I’ll show you.”

“Absurd!” she murmured into his ear.

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Mary Balogh
was born and educated in Wales and now lives with her husband in Saskatchewan, Canada. She has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been
New York Times
bestsellers. They include the
Bedwyn
saga, the
Simply
quartet, the
Huxtable
quintet, and the seven-part
Survivors’ Club
series.