The Wicked Wager (15 page)

“I am happy to find my fiancée taking an
interest in plants. I am partial to them myself. If it were not for herbs, I
would not be alive today. Why, when I was in India I came down with yellow
fever and …” said Lord Raikes

“I am a little cold, My Lord,” Emma cut in.
She was pleased that Lord Raikes had tried to defend her interest, but her mood
had rapidly plunged once she realised that meeting Richard would be even more
difficult now with the presence of Lord Raikes.

Prudence would not allow them breathing
room in the coming days. She also had no interest in hearing him talk of
pestilence, diseases, or exotic animals.

Lord Raikes immediately took her meaning
and seeing the look of frustration on her face, he gently steered her towards
the house.

He said, “I think it will be easier for our
gardener to meet you at night, for if he is found strolling the hallways, he
can always say I requested his presence. I can invent a terrible fever that I
caught in some exotic country and only a certain type of herb can relieve the
symptoms. Since he is the head gardener, who better to call upon for
assistance? I can even make the ailment embarrassing, so no one dares to
question too closely.”

Emma smiled at him in genuine delight for
the first time. He was worthy of being a friend to Richard. Why, Lord William
Raikes had the potential to be as evil as the earl himself.

Emma could finally see herself liking the
man.

***

The real earl watched Emma’s face light up
at something his friend had whispered into her ear. Watching her laughing, he
wondered uneasily if he had made a mistake by bringing his handsome friend into
the equation. William was not only rich, but he was also famous.

Irritably, he yanked a perfect daisy from
its roots and flung it away. He would have to warn the man to keep his hands
off her and to stop making her laugh or to whisper anything in her ear … why he
would tell him not to speak a word to Emma ever again.

He stood up, and disregarding his character
as an old man, he briskly walked towards a pond he knew of. It was hidden from
the view of the main house and edged with weeping willows. The whole effect was
sad yet beautiful.

He chose a particularly morose looking
tree, whose branches almost touched the water shimmering below. He climbed high
enough so he wouldn’t be spotted and pulled out his tobacco.

He wanted to sit in peace and not be
discovered while he chose the best and most horrendous words to describe his
best friend.

His creative mental process
was disrupted when the sound of voices floated up
towards him. He quickly moved his position to further conceal himself from
prying eyes.

“I need more time,” someone whined.

“I have given you almost a year. If you
think you can attract the earl with your pathetic attempts, then you are
mistaken. You are already wearing gowns one year out of date. Don’t think I do
not know that half your clothes are altered to mimic the latest styles. I could
never forget that hideous orange colour, no matter what you fashion it into.”

“That is not true! I have plenty of new
clothes. I went to Paris and had an entire wardrobe made.”

“My dear child, you went to Paris a year
and a half ago. Some relative took pity on you and provided you with a few
measly dresses. Since England is so behind the times, naturally those dresses
seem the height of fashion right now. But what will you do next year? You have
been out for a while now, and not even in Paris could you catch a man. You are
getting desperate, and we both know why.”

“I am sure papa can provide me with another
season, and when I do marry, I promise to pay you handsomely.”

“Your father has no more money. He is
swimming in debt, and you know it. He will not be able to provide for another
season. I doubt you will ever marry well, but for the moment your secret is
safe.”

“Thank you …”

The voice cut in harshly, “Don’t thank me
until you hear me out. I saw a pretty brooch that you wore last night. It took
my fancy. Rubies, if I am not mistaken. Bring it to me, and you may have
another month.”

“But that is not mine! My grandmother let
me borrow it. I am to return it to her. I cannot give that to you.”

“Well, then we have nothing more to say to
each other.”

“No wait, I have pearls …”

“I
want
the brooch.”

“Fine, I… I will bring it to you tonight.”

“Thank you, and next time I will not meet
you like this. I prefer to keep my transactions discreet. Leave a note in my
work basket when you have anything of value to give me, else do not bother
seeking me out.”

The earl sat puffing his pipe as he went
over the conversation. The voice had been unmistakable. It had been Prudence
begging for more time from Lady Babbage. He had been right, that old woman was
up to something.

It was clear that she had some damning
evidence against the girl. He was surprised to learn that the Barkers were in
financial difficulty. They seemed well dressed, though Emma had mentioned Mrs
Barker behaving just as desperate as her daughter.

Was Lady Babbage blackmailing the mother
and daughter, or was Mrs Barker simply willing to be the duke’s mistress to
restore their financial situation?

The entire incident left a bad taste in his
mouth. How could that woman be so heartless and demand payment from someone so
young? He had never liked Prudence, from what little he had seen or heard of
her, but all he felt at the moment was pity for the girl and disgust at Lady
Babbage’s behaviour. He debated telling Emma.

Emma would be just as disgusted, but would
she be able to hide her feelings from the vicious woman? It would be harder for
her to pretend. Blackmailing a gardener for some odd job was different from
demanding payment from a helpless young girl.

Whatever indiscretion Prudence had
committed, it did not seem fair that Lady Babbage held it over her head like a
sword.

He extinguished his pipe in distaste. He
could not tell Emma, at least not yet. She would never be able to treat the
Lady courteously, or keep up the pretence of being unaware of what was going on
in the house.

He would have to alert William and ask him
to keep an eye on things.

***

“Do I need to beg your forgiveness once
again, Lady Arden?”

Catherine missed her lips and instead
wetted her chin with the tea.

“Here,” Lord Raikes said, producing a snow
white handkerchief.

She glanced at him questioningly.

“The tea may dribble down onto your dress.
I am partial to that colour on your skin and would not like the cloth stained,”
he replied.

Mortified, she grabbed the handkerchief and
quickly wiped away the liquid.

“You did not answer my first question. Do I
need to apologise? I had not meant to tease you this morning. No, don’t try and
convince me that it was nothing … you have not looked at me once since the
incident, not during our stroll, or through the entire dinner.”

Catherine glanced around looking for an
escape.

“Do I frighten you?”

“No!” she snapped, her eyes flashing
angrily as she finally met his gaze.

“That’s better. I will try and never tease
you again.”

She nodded distractedly, trying to inch
away from him.

He had sat next to her as soon as Lady
Babbage had retired for bed. No one else seemed inclined to end the night
early, and she had been enjoying the festive feel the newcomer had brought with
him.

Everyone wanted to talk and to flirt;
somehow with the sun setting people felt the thrill of risk, and prolonging the
bed time added to the adventure. They changed and grew bolder as the hours sped
by. The politeness that had dictated the conversations all day seemed to slowly
ebb and skate the bounds of propriety.

It was the wine, she concluded, that
loosened tongues and put odd thoughts in one’s head.

“I never realised how well green
compliments blue. I confess, I have never noticed how beautiful this material
is, it skims the body taunting ones imagination,” he said, touching the edge of
her moss silk skirt.

She leapt up, her own light blue eyes
glaring into darker ones.

“I think I would like more tea, My Lord.”
She turned away, only to whirl back around and say, “I cannot sit here and
listen to you speak so. How can you? When you know you are to marry my cousin,
who is like a sister to me. I implore you to keep your smooth tongue to
yourself. I have not been in London or out in society, hence do not know how to
play games of this sort. Think of me as a country bumpkin rather than a
sophisticated Londoner, please, and choose your words carefully.”

He rose to his feet, and a brief flash of
pain crossed his face.

“I think you are a beautiful bluestocking,
and I wish circumstances had been different. Please trust me, do not think of me
so harshly. I know everything against me seems black right now, but do not hate
me just yet. I implore you to give me time to explain.”

“Even if you were not betrothed to my
cousin, I would still find it hard to ignore your arrogance. In every tone and every
word you speak, there is a command. I am afraid hate is too harsh a word to
use. Indifference is what I truly feel for you and concern for Emma. That girl
has lost her head over a handsome face,”she said, walking away.

Lord Raikes grinned. So she thought he was
handsome. As for being indifferent, he knew enough about women to know that
Lady Arden, in spite of her denials, was in fact very aware of him.

Catherine stared at the snowy white
handkerchief in her hand. She had forgotten to return it in her agitation to
get away. Now she would have to go back and face him again.

She glanced at the fire burning in the
grate and contemplated throwing it in. It would be childish, she finally
conceded.

That man was a rogue. He dared to flirt
openly with her and say things no gentleman would utter. Her cheeks burned, and
furious tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She hated the man and wondered
how long she would have to suffer his odious presence. She seemed to embarrass
herself every time she met him.

 A dark patch at the edge of the
handkerchief captured her attention for a moment. She squinted at the
embroidery at the corner of the cloth and blinked away the tears to see more
clearly.

She frowned. The initials were W.S.R; why
did the earl have W.S.R sewn into his handkerchief. Should it not be R.A.H? Her
initial suspicion returned.

Was that man truly Richard Hamilton or
someone else? He did not match the description Emma had given her. He behaved
like an earl and had the lordly habits down pat, yet her uneasiness did not go
away.

From the very beginning, something had not
seemed right. She wondered if Emma had a lover, and this was her way of
introducing him to the duke. She could have intercepted the letter and begged
this man to pretend to be the earl. Maybe her aim was to show how much better
than the earl this man truly was.

She grimaced in annoyance. Her imagination
was taking flight; as if Emma would practice such a deceit. If anything, it
would anger the duke if the truth came out, and he would forbid her cousin to
have anything to do with the man.

Why, she ruthlessly asked herself, was she
trying to convince herself that the earl was an imposter?

She had imagined the earl as a male version
of her cousin, fun loving, bold, and charming, with no interest in anything but
the outdoors.

She had expected a boy. Instead, she was
faced with an intelligent man who was well read, interesting, deep, and an
introvert. No wonder she was confused. He was nothing like what her cousin had
portrayed him to be. She had not been prepared, and that was it. That was the
only reason for her antagonism. Their meeting had started off on a wrong
footing, and what with one thing and another, the situation had become worse.

She did not think she could be friends with
him any longer, though for Emma’s sake, she would be polite and keep her
distance.

His flirting must have charmed more
sophisticated women, while she had only been subjected to a few immature
efforts from the village lads. He had taken her by surprise, his words shocking
her.

With growing mortification, she realised
she looked like an even bigger fool now than she had with tea dribbling down
her chin.

Maybe flirting so boldly was all the rage
in London. She had been living in a secluded village and been unaware of how
society had progressed. He must have simply been saying things that were
expected of him, and she had overreacted, taking his meaning to be more than he
had intended. Perhaps he had no interest in her, and her outburst would have
only highlighted her misplaced pride.

The stupid handkerchief could have had his
great aunt’s name embroidered for all she knew. Angrily, she turned and left
for bed without wishing anyone present goodnight.