The Wager (4 page)

Brook regarded her over the rim of his glass.
Under his stare she began to fidget. His Catherine had never been one to sit
still for long. Over the years he thought she had learned some decorum, but it
seemed in his presence, she was fast losing it.
Good, I wish her to be unnerved.

"Your brother gave you to me as my prize
for beating him. I am going to claim my prize. You however, have a chance to
adjust the outcome."

"I do? Pray tell me how.
For
as far as I can see, I am an unwilling participant here."

Unwilling?
When her breath is jerking, her
pulse jumping
and her nipples peaking under the silk of her
gown? Her mind may disagree with her body, but the signs are there
. He controlled his burgeoning staff with
difficulty. It was not the time to show his intent in such an overt way.

"I think perhaps you may not be when I
offer you a chance to walk away," he said, noting the way her eyes lit up
with interest. He paused, and her foot began to tap. He regarded it with
amusement. She noticed and made an effort to remain calm. If he hadn't known
her so well, he would have thought she succeeded. However, the signs were
there. The way her fingers ran up and down the stem of the goblet was a
giveaway. To a stranger, it would look as if she was caressing the glass,
almost lover-like. However Brook knew she was imagining her hands around his
neck. Her eyes, usually a dark green, were almost black. He could fancy her
unfashionable deep red hair crackled with her fury. It was enough to make him
chuckle inside. Whatever the outcome, he intended to enjoy himself.

Brook judged to a nicety, the moment to
speak—just before her temper got the better of her.

"Your brother was uncaring enough to wager
you, because he coveted my hunting lodge. No."

He held his hand up, as he saw she was about to
break into a no doubt impassioned speech. "That is the long and short of
it, Catherine. He is greedy, and immature, but also always dissatisfied with
his lot. He needs a stint in the army, or to manage his lands
himself
to learn how to grow up. Always, I hear him
intimating something is not fair, or that x or y has something he wants. Well
if he did as many others do, and managed his fortune, he could have these
things. Instead he wants everything handed to him on a platter."

Catherine sighed. "You are correct, and no,
I will no longer make excuse for him. So, my lord, what do you propose?"

This was it.

"I won you in a wager. Therefore I propose
a new wager, for you to in effect have the chance to win yourself back."
Her eyes brightened.
Aha, so I have
piqued her interest.

"How?" she asked baldly. She nibbled
her bottom lip. It was enough to harden his body and send tingles of awareness
skittering through it.

"We dice, as Jermyn and I did. Only this
time, we decide the prize, before we throw. If you win, you may walk
away."

"And if I don't?"

"Then my dear, the wager stands. I receive
what I have waited all these years for. I get you."

With a sudden movement, she stood and paced the
room. Brook watched her walk. Her skirts swished around her legs. One trim
ankle showed as she turned and walked back to him. Agitation revealed itself in
every step as she came back and stood in front of him.

"When?
Now?"

He shook his head.
"Oh
no, my dear.
I must extract some amusement from all this. After all, I
stand to lose my heart's desire." Would she realize he was serious? Not
that he intended to lose; he would win the wager in by whatever means
necessary, fair means or foul. "I will escort you home, and send a message
when the time is right. We dice at

Chaloner
Court

."

Puzzlement showed in her eyes as it vied with
temper. He wondered which emotion would be uppermost. It seemed that confusion
won.

"Why?"

"Because, my dear, I say so."
And it
is fitting as it was where you
were
to be
mistress.
"Remember, I could have proceeded with my plans straight
away. Instead I am giving you this chance." He stood and took her arm.
"Let me escort you back to your brother's house. Do you know?" he
said in a conversational tone. "I would not have been surprised if you had
not set up your own household by now. Surely that is possible?"

He rested his hand for one brief moment across
her back, as he placed her cloak over her shoulders. The faint tremor gave him
heart. For all her previous declarations she was not indifferent to him.

"Not whilst mama and the children need
me," she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear. "Once the girls
are out, and attached, I will leave. Jermyn can cope with mama and be damned.
However until then, I stay."

"Unless I win."

She looked over her shoulder. "I had
thought this was that. You will have me for one night?" Her voice trailed
off.

Brook opened the door into the long narrow
corridor, and let her walk in front of him. The candles were still alight, and
the route was easily seen.

"Then my dear, perhaps you best readjust
your thought. When I win—again—I will claim you.
As mine.
And not merely for one night.
I was cheated by you
before due to your stupid altruism and misguided sense of duty. I have no
intention of letting that happen again."

***

It was only his hand in the small of her back
that stopped her tripping. Had he really said that? Catherine clamped her lips
together lest she utter what she felt. Hurt, fear, and yes she admitted,
excitement. She was more alive than she had been for many a year. Every pore,
every hair reacted to his presence with tiny darts of awareness that stung and
tingled. It might not be the conventional way, and she had no intention of
losing, but maybe once she had won, he would perhaps woo her in the traditional
manner? Then turn those expectant tingles into reality?

She was under no illusions about him. He would
play to win, and be a hard man to best, but dice was a game of chance. All she
could do was pray the turn of the die would in be in her favor. Her breath
quickened.
At least for the first time in many a month, she
felt enervated and alive rather than just going through the motions.
But
why must he insist on prolonging the wait? With insight, she accepted it was
his way of unnerving her. There and then she vowed not to let him see how he
succeeded.

"Of course, my lord," she said in as
even a tone as she could manage. "I will prepare for a short visit to

Chaloner
Court

.
I trust you will have room for my maid?" Not even for him could she dismiss
all the proprieties.

"But of course." They reached his
carriage, and he helped her inside. "However, I suggest you prepare for a
slightly longer stay than perhaps you envisage."

Surely
he is toying with me? He is not expecting me to simply up sticks and move in if
he wins? We would both be banished from the ton, and blackballed everywhere. He
could not wish for that?
Scared
as to just what his reply might be
,
Catherine decided
not to ask the question.

Over the next few days, she wished she had not
been so reticent. No communication came from His Lordship. Her brother wore a
permanent reproachful look as if everything that had happened was her doing,
and her mama had once more begun to bewail her daughter's unmarried state. If
anything was guaranteed to make Catherine jump and her heart beat faster every
time the footman handed her post, that was it.

It was typical that when his missive was
presented to the house, she was out. Persuaded to attend a luncheon picnic with
some friends, she had gone with reluctance. The ladies, all long married,
chattered about
attentive,
or inattentive husbands,
and redecorating. The men, including one Lord
Broxburn
,
invited to keep her company, spoke of hunting, and the newest pugilist.
Catherine was bored and restless. The thought that perhaps she could plead a
headache soon became a reality, and she was glad to return home, spurn any
advances by the interested Lord, and retire to her room.

 
Once
there she unpinned her hair and uncaring how wet it became, sank into the warm
bath prepared for her. The headache was now hitting her skull like a
broadsword, and all she wanted was to sink into bed, Lady Merton's supper dance
be hanged. She would send her excuses.

Betsy bustled in as she relaxed and let the warm
water soothe her.

"My lady, there is a letter for you. It's
on the table. I think it's from Lord Fredericks." Catherine could tell by
the maid's voice she was seeing a great romance rekindled. If only she knew the
truth.

"Hand it to me in here, please?" If it
was from her nemesis, she needed to know just what it said. Her hands shook as
she took out the single sheet of parchment and scanned the contents.

Chaloner
Court Friday, three pm.
A
coach will call for you at ten.

Short, to the point, and Friday was the
following day. Damn him, he didn't intend to give her time to plan.

"Betsy, we are going on a journey."
Who knew how it would end?

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

To arrive for three meant setting out early, if
like Catherine you had every intention of stopping for lunch at a posting inn.
Obviously Brook had known she would want to do so. The journey was a pretty
one.
Chaloner
Court sat in the Hertfordshire
countryside, a few miles north of the market town of
St
Albans
. The travels had been broken at a small coaching inn, where
she found she was expected. He had thought of everything. It was a hostelry
renowned for its excellent food, and Catherine ate a well-prepared luncheon,
before tidying herself and continuing with her journey. Now his machinations
had started she was eager to proceed with the wager.

She arrived at the gates to the Court to find a
tall, imposing man, wearing the
Chaloner
livery,
standing in the middle of the drive. The coach stopped and he put his head in
through the window aperture.

"My Lady, I've been asked to escort you.
Please to step out?" He opened the door and stood, waiting for her to
alight. Puzzled, she stood and let him help her down, to stand on the gravel.
If this was another of Brook's ways to keep her off kilter, then he had
succeeded. Her body was tingling with anticipation, and the butterflies in her
stomach were doing the waltz.

The man closed the door on an indignant Betsy.
"Your mistress will join you
soon,
you will be
taken to settle in." He rapped on the side of the coach, and it moved off
at a somewhat faster pace than it had moved before.

Now
what?
Amused rather than
apprehensive she stood next to the…
the what
...?
Groom, factotum?
As the minutes ticked by Catherine began to
feel the chill. The sun might be out, but the nights had not yet drawn out and
as the afternoon passed, what heat in the sun was lost. She shivered, and
wished she had a warmer outfit on. Her travelling dress and cloak were pretty,
and practical, but were for spring sunshine and daytime travelling on a coach,
not standing on a dusty and breezy driveway.

"My lady, I'm sorry for the delay."
Her companion looked anything but.

"As I am.
And irked, and somewhat out
of sorts.
If I contract influenza, what use will I be to your
master?"

The poor man looked bemused, as well he might.
Behind them she heard the sound of hooves. Moreover, it seemed he heard them as
well, because relief spread all over his face, as he turned. Catherine tried to
resist the temptation to see just who and what was approaching. It was not
possible. She also turned. Cantering toward them was Brook astride one of the
largest horses she had ever seen, and leading a pretty dappled mare. With she
noted,
a conventional saddle on the spare horse. If it was
for her, she was both delighted and wary. He had remembered one of her greatest
joys in the country was to ride astride, not side saddle. Though dressed as she
was it would not be decorous. She wondered where she was expected to ride to
and why? The Court was less than a mile away. Why take her out of the carriage
just to ride there, at this time of the day. It made no sense.

"Will you ride…?" He paused and looked
her up and down. Her muscles clenched, and her mouth went dry. The looked
seared her to the center of her soul, and her pulsed raced at his innuendo.
"With me?" he continued. She choked on nothing and he grinned.

 
"My
dear, you owe me," he said.