Wicked Wager (19 page)

Celeste ran a hand across her pallid forehead. Dully she asked, ‘Have you seen Harry?'
The man I woke to find in my bed? The man who was complicit in ruining me after I saved his skin at your request all those weeks ago?
Of course, it served no purpose to say this. It would only whip up Raphael's ire, and her life would be a good deal easier if she kept her head down and accepted everything that suited Raphael.

‘I have made arrangements to see him tomorrow.'

Tears pricked at her eyelids. ‘Won't
you
tell me how it was that he …?'

‘Your chastity is preserved, even if your reputation is not. However, that will not matter once we're in Jamaica. I'm sorry, Celeste, but let us consider the matter closed.'

Silently she digested this. ‘Why are you keeping secrets from me, Raphael? I have been ill used, and I accept that I can't change what's happened. But surely I deserve to know why.'

Raphael looked at her with pity. ‘It's true that I do not love you, Celeste. But nor will I deliver you a truth which puts your life in jeopardy.'

***

A plethora of emotions stormed through Peregrine as he watched Miss Rosington escorted from the ballroom on the arm of her betrothed. Righteous anger, though, was quickly succeeded by simple pain at the depth of her betrayal.

All the time she'd pretended she was in love with Perry, she'd been consorting secretly with Harry Carstairs.

Why?

His grief in that moment was almost debilitating, though why he should feel it so keenly, he couldn't explain. It wasn't as if he'd done more than kiss her several times. She should not have got under his skin in so short a time.

Xenia glided up to him, Charlotte clinging to her arm. His sister had pulled away earlier as he'd exhorted her to leave but now she was back with Xenia, his old friend saying crisply, ‘I think it's time your poor sister should be escorted home. She's been through a great deal tonight and it appears you can do more for her, Perry, than I can.'

Guiltily Perry acknowledged he'd shirked is filial responsibilities in the weeks since Charlotte had been jilted by Harry Carstairs. Observing that his sleeve was quite damp from the girl's tears, he tried to put aside his own misery. Charlotte was to have married Harry Carstairs; Perry's disappointment was not on such a scale.

He checked himself. Yes, it was. With each meeting, Miss Rosington had occupied an increasing proportion of his mental energy. What had begun as a wager had quickly turned into a delightful diversion. Yet the connection between them had been instant and the strength of it had made him reassess his views on matrimony.

And he'd offered for her. With his heart in his mouth he had asked the most important question a man could ask and his joy had known no bounds when she'd accepted.

Peregrine had never seriously considered marriage before. Now he was convinced he'd never entertain the idea again.

Not after having been betrayed in such a manner.

Yes, betrayed, just as Charlotte had been, and had he not taken it upon himself to avenge Charlotte's shame—only to be duped by the very woman who claimed, herself, to have been duped—he would be happily enjoying his bachelorhood, as before.

‘You know Miss Rosington and Mr Carstairs planned to elope tomorrow night.' Xenia's eyes danced as she waited for Perry's reaction while they crossed the ballroom. ‘Yes, Perry, she planned to elope the very night you'd intended inviting her into your bedchamber. Oh, don't pretend that wasn't your plan.' Xenia tapped his shoulder playfully with her fan. ‘Not that she was going to sleep with you. You should know that, for her maid reported to my good Annie that Miss Rosington was overheard hatching the plan with Harry Carstairs, to do what she had to in order to gain access to your bedchamber and reclaim that which Harry needed in order to make good his escape.'

‘I don't believe it.' He spoke woodenly, as if he felt no emotion, while inside his heart was an emasculated wreck. ‘What do I possess that would be sufficient to drive Miss Rosington to such extremes?'

Charlotte had strayed a little distance away and Xenia put out her hand to draw her back. His sister looked as if she might collapse upon the spot. ‘As you're not attending to me, Perry, I shall take your sister home. She needs more than you can offer her right now.'

Absently he agreed with this, while in his mind he went over the similarities between his situation and Charlotte's. What an elaborate plan, though the truth had been so simple. It had been just as he had thought from the first: Miss Rosington and Harry were lovers.

He was the one who'd agreed to a wager to expose her, yet he was the one who'd lost his heart. He'd been well and truly hoisted by his own petard; duped by Miss Rosington as his sister had been by Mr Carstairs.

For a short moment he envied the strength of such single-minded passion, before a rush of pain coursed through him. It took all his willpower not to raise his head and bellow like a crazed beast across the ballroom before collapsing to his knees.

Instead he merely looked Xenia in the eye, trying to pay her the attention politeness required in the circumstances, for she clearly had more to say.

‘I'm sure Miss Rosington was very fond of you, Perry, for who could not be, but this was not about love. Before I go, I have to tell you that Miss Rosington was sent by Mr Carstairs to retrieve the locket Charlotte had taken.'

‘Nonsense!'

‘My dear Perry, why would Miss Rosington pretend to be interested in you when she was carrying on with Harry Carstairs? Of course she had an ulterior motive.'

Xenia had a point.

He clarified, ‘The locket containing Charlotte's likeness, which Charlotte hurled at me in disgust the morning after Harry disappeared?'

‘That's right, though it contained more than Charlotte's likeness. The locket had six numbers engraved behind the miniature.' They were near the entrance now and Xenia spoke more quickly. ‘The locket was given to Harry Carstairs with a letter outlining how to use it to claim his inheritance. Carstairs was to marry Charlotte that week; only he didn't love Charlotte, he loved Miss Rosington whose dowry, alas, was too meagre to fund the high life they both required. So when Mr Carstairs realised just how great his inheritance would be, he tossed Charlotte over. Ah, but how can we forget
that
night. However, in his haste Harry lost the locket. He was lost without it for he had no record of the numbers required to open the safety deposit box, which contained his handsome reward.' She brushed Perry's cheek with her fingertips as though to soften the blow. ‘When Miss Rosington learned you, Perry, had the locket, Carstairs sent her to entice you into her lair. And very susceptible you proved, too.'

Perry blinked and shook his head. ‘It's all nonsense. Miss Rosington is marrying her cousin. Not Carstairs.'

‘Lord Ogilvy always has been her intended, but she does not love him. You know that. No, she intended running away with Carstairs just as soon as she'd retrieved that locket. Since she prevailed upon you to hand it over without her being required to actually sleep with you, or visit your bedchamber, she had no more need of you.' She clicked her tongue. ‘I'm sorry, Perry. It's hard for a man to hear a truth like that. I know you'd grown fond of her and you feel cheated of the means by which were to have won our wager.' Flicking open her little ivory fan, she regarded him over the top. ‘And now, if you won't, I shall see Charlotte home. She looks half dazed, the poor child. Your Miss Rosington has a lot to answer for.'

His
Miss Rosington? The trouble was, that even after all that had happened, he still wished she could be his.

Chapter Fourteen

At midday, two days following the terrible event that had changed Celeste's life forever, Mary announced that Raphael was waiting in the drawing room and that he intended taking her to see the animals in the Tower.

‘He says he'll not have your ill health on his conscience, and that as you're so soon to be wed you must go out at least today to take the air,' Mary reported.

Celeste, who was still in bed, pulled the covers over her head and declared she had no intention of ever seeing another human being ever again, much less any mangy, half-starved performing animals.

Then Raphael came marching up the stairs, throwing the door open and saying in unusually jovial tones, ‘Enough of your moping. Get dressed, Celeste, and let me prove you'll not be consumed by fire and brimstone for showing your face in public. I intend showing the world I'm not ashamed of you. Isn't that what you want?'

There was very little she could do to resist his single-minded determination to venture out with him. Once they were at the Tower, though, Celeste was nevertheless conscious of the interested stares and obvious whispers of more than a few patrons. And she knew it wasn't her imagination.

Raphael had selected her gown: a bold and lavish confection of blue brocade adorned with scarlet bows. It did not match her mood by any means and she refused to be drawn by her betrothed's uncharacteristic banter as he sauntered over the cobblestones, drawing her so fast in his wake she had to cling to her flat-topped straw hat to stop it blowing away, despite the ribbons beneath her chin. They were cousins and they were betrothed; she had no need of a chaperone yet she'd never felt so vulnerable or in need of one.

Really, she wanted to retreat back into her safe bedchamber and hide. She was glad she'd soon set sail for Jamaica. It was too painful to be confronted with all she'd lost, here in England.

When they were on the battlements of the South Tower, Raphael seemed disposed to pointing out the many views of note, and the barges upon the river. Celeste couldn't care in the slightest about the view. Her heart was breaking.

Yet she'd never seen Raphael more carefree.

An enormous raven alighted on the crenellated battlement against which they rested and she moved away, stumbling into Raphael's embrace. She didn't miss the slight shudder he gave at the contact before he put her away from him.

Yet when an old beggar shuffled by and boldly put out his hand, she was surprised that instead of disgust for his shambling appearance and rags, Raphael rummaged in his purse for a coin. She closed her eyes against the pain of knowing he had as much love for her as any beggar that crossed his path, blinking with surprise to see the glint of gold as the beggar's palm closed over not a coin, but the locket Raphael had gone to such pains to have Celeste reclaim.

Sweat prickled her scalp as she caught a glimpse of the ragged creature's familiar eyes, which darted guiltily away from her gaze before he pulled down his cowl and shuffled away.

A quick intake of breath made Raphael turn in her direction, but his expression was guileless and his tone almost careless as he said, ‘Yes, I know more than you, Celeste, but don't look at me with such opprobrium. I am not behind your fall from grace.'

She didn't know what to say, stammering as she pointed to the disappearing shambling creature. ‘You gave him the locket.'

‘The truth is, I've been shielding you since that shameful night, for you've had enough to bear, my dear.'

‘Shielding me?' She stared. ‘You've not shielded me from anything, Raphael.' Tears rose close to the surface. ‘You've thrust me into the thick of it. You forced me to attend Lady Montague's ball when you must have known I'd become a target. I was publicly shamed!'

Raphael considered her a moment. ‘Ah Celeste,' he said softly. ‘If only they were the
worst
of the rumours swirling around. If it were possible to whisk you off to Jamaica right now in order to protect you from what I fear would truly break your heart, I would.'

‘Don't you dare speak to me of protection, Raphael,' she muttered. ‘You care nothing for me! You'd sacrifice me to the wolves if it furthered your happiness. Tell me, why did you give the locket to that
beggar
? Only it wasn't a beggar, it was Harry, wasn't it?'

Raphael rested his hand on the battlement and shook his head. ‘My dearest Celeste, do not look at me as if I'm the devil incarnate. Reserve your anger for your erstwhile admirer Lord Peregrine, who agreed to his lover Lady Busselton's wager in which you were the spoils. Little did I know I was playing right into his hands by begging you to discover from him whatever you could.' He reached across to touch her cheek, his expression aggrieved, but she drew back. Unperturbed he went on, ‘Only when the news was about town that Lord Peregrine and Lady Busselton's wager was even listed in the Betting Book at White's was I forced to act in a manner that would protect you as best I could.'

Celeste clutched her hand to her heart. ‘No!' she whispered. ‘It cannot be true.' He'd made mention of a wager in the vaguest of terms when she was still recovering, physically, from her ordeal. When he'd not elaborated she'd dismissed the idea. Forgotten it, even.

She shook her head wildly as she stepped back, stumbling on the flagstones. ‘Lord Peregrine would never have done such a thing! He may be a libertine but his regard for me was real!'

She had to believe it or her entire perception was off kilter. Seizing for crumbs, she cried, ‘But he didn't ruin me, did he, Raphael?' Her breath came quick and fast now. ‘Harry did! Your beloved Harry! Someone coerced him and he played along. What do you think of him now? Of the man who would be part of someone's twisted plot to see me ruined. For that's what it was, wasn't it? I was an innocent pawn, nothing more.'

Raphael glanced at her before gazing into the distance. ‘Lord Peregrine only had to see you ruined, my dear,' he murmured. ‘Not be personally responsible. Was it his abhorrence of innocence that was at the root of that? Or his devotion to Lady Busselton?'

Anger gave her backbone. ‘Well, Raphael, Harry may have used me and you may not love me, and but Lord Peregrine
did
. I know it. We were running away together. Eloping! I was responding to a message supposedly from him, only I was tricked into going to Harry's residence.'