The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (4 page)

Albie shrugged. “After all the trouble I caused you, I’m sure I had it coming, Pippa.” Then he took her hands in his and tugged her back down onto the settee beside him. “How are you feeling today?”

Slightly euphoric after her meeting with Lord Coleboork, but Pippa didn’t think it was wise to mention that part. “Just a slight headache,” she said instead.

“
I truly am sorry about the brandy.” Albie frowned most contritely.

Pippa closed her eyes, still not able to remember anything from the Heathfields’ ball. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve never had a drop to drink before.” And after all the trouble she’d landed herself in, she’d never have another the rest of her days.

“
My fault.” Albie winced. “You were anxious and I told you a sip would settle your nerves.”

A sip? All of this trouble over a sip of brandy. How in the world did men imbibe so regularly? And so much? Poor Albie, all bruised and downcast. Pippa squeezed his hand. “How were you to know I wouldn’t handle a sip?”

“
Well,” Albie’s voice came out more like a squeak. “You had more than a sip, really. My whole flask,” he stressed the last. “I forgot completely about the opium until after you’d swallowed every last drop.”

“
Opium?” Pippa thrust Albie’s hand back in his own lap and sat up straight as a board. “I had opium?” No wonder she didn’t remember a thing. It was a miracle she was up and walking around today.

“
The brandy disguises the flavor,” he said as though that answered anything. It didn’t.

“
Why in the world would you put opium in your brandy?”

“
I don’t like to smoke it.” He shrugged.

That hardly answered her question. “Albie, why are you carrying opium around with you?”

“
Something I started in Bombay. The Chinese have been doing it for centuries. Makes everything seem so much more calm.”

Pippa scowled at the man. She suddenly wished Albie’s face had accidentally met Harry’s fists a couple more times. “Do you know what sort of trouble I’m in, Albie?”

His brown eyes drooped like a chastened puppy. “I’ve come to make everything right, Pippa.” Then before she knew it, he was kneeling before her. “If you marry me, everyone will forget all about last night.”

Pippa’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t help it. There were a million things she wanted to say, but they all got caught in her throat at once.

“
I’ll be a good husband,” Albie promised. “And—”

“
Albie!” She finally found her voice. “What
are
you doing?”

He blinked up at her as though he wasn’t sure. “Proposing?” he asked.

Pippa raked a hand down her face. “Albert Potsdon, get off your knees. You do not want to marry me.” And she certainly didn’t want to marry him.

“
It’s because I don’t have a title, isn’t it?” He raised those sad brown eyes back up at her. “But I’ll make a fortune, Pippa. You’ll see, and—”

“
No, it’s not because you don’t have a title. And I certainly don’t care about the status of your fortune.” She heaved a sigh. “You’re like a brother to me. Marrying you would be like marrying Berks or Harry.” Though neither Berks nor Harry had ever given her opium-laced brandy before.

“
But I don’t know how else to make it right,” Albie replied, pain evident in his voice. “If you had my name—”

“
Then we’d both miserable,” Pippa said as gently as she was able. “I know you, Albie. You want to marry some girl whose eyes brighten when she sees you. An adventurous girl who doesn’t mind running off to Bombay or the Orient or wherever else you want to take her. A girl who will love you all of her days. You know that’s not me.”

“
But I’ve ruined you, Pippa. St. Austell is out there and—”

“
I’m not ruined. And I don’t care one whit about St. Austell, nor that insulting bet. I’m in control of my own person. As long as I stay away from mixes of opium and brandy, no one will make me do anything I don’t want to.” Then she smiled at him and patted the seat beside her so he’d finally get off his knees. “I want the same, you know. A man who will love me just as dearly… And
not
like a sister. I know you love me, but I want more than that.” An image of Lord Colebrooke flashed in Pippa’s mind and her face warmed.

Albie finally sat beside her again and he took both of her hands in his. “My offer stands, Pippa. If the season becomes too unbearable or you simply change your mind, I’ll acquire a special license and we’ll be married in the blink of an eye.”

All things considered, it was rather generous of him. But Pippa meant what she’d said. She wanted more for her future than marriage to her brother’s friend for the rest of her life. “Albie,” she began quietly, “what do you know about Lord Colebrooke?”

“
Colebrooke?” Albie frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know a Colebrooke.”

How could he not? “But he’s the most beautiful…” She let her voice trail off when Albie’s eyes began to sparkle with their usual mirth.

“
Already found my replacement before my proposal is even cold, huh?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Pippa smacked him lightly across the chest, which only made him cower in mock fear.

“
Oh!” he chortled. “You violent Casemores! Take pity on me, I’m already bruised from head to toe.”

Service was much better at White’s than it was at St. Austell House. Jason glanced up from his empty whiskey glass, and a moment later a footman had handed him another, just the perfect amount. Perhaps he’d just stay here and never return home.

“
Ignoring me, are you?” Daniel Cardew asked, breaking Jason from his thoughts.

“
I beg your pardon?” Jason sat taller in the overstuffed leather chair and re-focused on his friend.

Cardew gestured across the room. “I said…There’s the one man in all of London who doubts your virility.”

Jason glanced in the direction Cardew had indicated to find Albert Potsdon, a bit downcast, truth be told, slinking through the doors. ‘The man’s an oaf.” And he was. Who would bet against Jason, for God’s sake? No one in his right mind.

“
Looks like he’s been standing in for the punching bags at Gentleman Jackson’s these days,” Cardew added in
sotto voce
.

Berkswell must have been busy after his impromptu visit to Jason’s breakfast room that morning. Potsdon had been completely unblemished the night before. Jason supposed he should feel a bit guilty for sending the rabid Berkswell in search of Potsdon, but he wasn’t. The oaf had supplied Pippa with an entire flask of brandy, after all. He deserved whatever punches landed his way.

Albert Potsdon caught Jason’s gaze from across the room and started towards the small group of men assembled together. What the devil did the man want with Jason? Retribution for sending Berkswell in his direction? Well, he could turn right back around and leave the way he’d come.

“
Berkswell find you?” Jason asked when the man reached him, not able to hide his smirk.

“
Harrison Casemore,” the man replied.

Ah, so Heath was right. The younger Casemore’s fists were more fearsome than the elder’s. “And now, what? Looking for Cleasby to cry off from your wager?” Jason drawled.

The young gentleman narrowed his eyes on him. “Why would I do that?”

“
Because you’re sure to lose five hundred pounds?” Jason suggested, which earned him a peal of chuckles from his friends.

Albert Potsdon snorted.

“
Do you even have five hundred pounds to lose?” Cardew asked, merriment dripping from his words.

Potsdon folded his arms across his chest like a stubborn, petulant child. “When Cleasby pays me
my
five hundred pounds, I’ll make a fortune with it. A wise man would follow my lead.”

“
Very sure of yourself,” Jason replied.

Potsdon snorted again, not a terribly attractive trait, that. “Very sure of Pippa…er…Lady Philippa, I mean.”

His words were drowned out by a chorus of laughter from the assembled men. But Jason had caught the very familiar way with which Potsdon had referred to Pippa and irritation settled in his belly. “Is the lady a paragon of virtue, then?” he asked, knowing the answer before the question left his lips. Philippa Casemore might be the perfect lady in the light of day, but uninhibited as she had been the previous evening… Well, he’d gotten a glimpse of what lay beneath her perfect exterior. Virtuous she might be on the outside, but inside hid a passionate woman just waiting to be discovered by the right man, a very practiced man.

“
Virtuous and everything that is sweet and innocent,” Potsdon said. “So stay away from her.”

A smile twitched at Jason’s lips. This was hardly the first time he’d been told to keep his distance from a woman. But there was something amusing about being warned away by a man covered in bruises. “That’s not really in the spirit of your bet, is it? Hardly seems sporting. Poor Cleasby.”

“
Sporting,” Potsdon dismissed the comment with a roll of his eyes. “More like looking out for you, St. Austell. Lady Philippa knows her own mind and even your silver tongue wouldn’t dissuade her from her path.”

That Jason doubted, but he couldn’t help goading the man who’d foolishly bet against him. “And what do you know of her path? Do you carry a tendre for the lady, Potsdon? Is that why you’re so certain of her? Does she live high on a pedestal in your eyes?”

“
I’ve known her since she was in leading strings. And if ever there was a lady who knew her own mind, it’s Philippa Casemore.”

“
Oh, and what does the lady desire, then?”

“
More than I can offer her,” Potsdon muttered so quietly Jason barely heard him, but the words and more importantly, the heartfelt way they were expressed, echoed in Jason’s ears.

“
What did you offer her?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“
An easy escape from
you
,” Potsdon replied with more bitterness than was warranted.

A proposal, then, was it? Jason’s stomach twisted at the thought. Whoever Pippa Casemore deserved, it wasn’t Albert Potsdon. Jason downed the whiskey in his glass, rose from his seat, and smacked Potsdon on the back, harder than was necessary. “A wise man would find Cleasby and find a way to cry off from his bet.” Then he tossed his hand in the air to his friends as a salutation and started for the exit.

The service at St. Austell House was lacking, but at least there no imbeciles like Potsdon were allowed entrance.