The Wedding Bargain

by Victoria Alexander

“An attribute we can forgive in those long dead.”

  “And over there, the Earl of Latham appears intent upon peering down the rather daring bodice of Lady Pentworth.”

  “Lady Pentworth's bodices are always daring and men are always trying to peer down them,” Pandora said absently, wondering if, again tonight, Max would fail to appear. “I believe it's become an accepted sport on a par with racing or gaming.”

  Cynthia snorted in a manner that would have caused her to faint with embarrassment only a year or two ago. Pandora bit back a smile. Cynthia was indeed coming out of her shell.

  “And there are Lady Everly and Lady Jersey.” Cynthia paused. “I believe Lady Jersey is looking in our direction.”

  “I doubt that.” Pandora sighed and straightened. If indeed Max was amid the humanity clogging the room below her, locating him was proving to be a feat no less difficult than the tasks she had set him.

  “You're right. She's signaling to a servant. No, wait--she's looking at us again.” Cynthia gasped and tugged on Pandora's gown. “Dear Lord, she's coming toward us.”

  Pandora brushed her hand away and paid no attention to her words. There, at the far end of the ballroom, a tall dark-haired man stood talking to a group of gentlemen. His back was to her but his height and build were right. Her heart beat faster.

  “Pandora.” Panic edged Cynthia's voice. “What on earth do you think she'd want with us? No, not us…you alone. I'm no doubt little more than an innocent bystander.”

  A corner of Pandora's mind acknowledged that she should respond, but if that figure was indeed Max…

  “A mere leaf caught in the whirlpool of your escapades.”

  And if it was, she had never imagined he would be the type of man to wear a coat of such a brilliant shade of magenta.

  “Doomed by simple association to suffer your fate.”

  Even so, regardless of the taste of his questionable, though admittedly fashionable, attire…

  “I shall surely have to swoon after all simply as a manner of escape.”

  The gentleman turned, dashing Pandora's hopes, yet providing a tiny measure of relief. She much preferred the dark blue and back evening attire Max usually wore to the jewel tones so in favor with gentlemen these days.

  “Pandora,” Cynthia said in an urgent whisper, and tugged harder.

  “Blast it all, Cynthia, if you don't stop that at once, you may well tear my gown, and that will certainly not improve what appears to be a tedious and probably boring--” Pandora whirled to face her friend in time to see her bob a quick curtsey to a figure just out of Pandora's sight. Pandora's heart sank as quickly as her mind engaged. “--Evening since nothing can ever quite compare with the joys of a few hours spent at Almack's.”

  “Well done, my dear.”

  Pandora turned and feigned surprise at the presence of an Almack's patroness and the undisputed queen of fashionable society. “Why, Lady Jersey,” she curtsied demurely, “I didn't see you.”

  “Indeed.” Lady Jersey laughed, and a measure of Pandora's confidence returned. No matter what stringent rules the Lady held sacrosanct within the confines of the Almack's assembly rooms, it was known, although rarely discussed aloud, that the countess appreciated the humor in the world around her. She turned toward Cynthia. “You are looking lovely tonight, Miss Weatherly. I suspect this season may well be a successful one for you.”

  “You do?” Cynthia's eyes widened and her mouth opened. Pandora nudged her with a discretely placed elbow. “I mean…thank you.”

  “You're quite welcome. And as for you.” Lady Jersey pinned Pandora with a firm gaze that would have made her cringe, if not for the amused look she saw there. “I gather your eighth season--”

  “Seventh,” Pandora said quickly, then groaned to herself at her impudence.

  “--Seventh, of course, is as, shall we say, eventful as ever.” A smile flashed across Lady Jersey's face and vanished, lingering only in her eyes. It would not do for this paragon of social correctness to be seen finding Pandora's lack of deference entertaining.

  “Well, it is rather interesting,” Pandora said cautiously. What on earth could she be referring to? So far this season Pandora's life had been relatively free from anything even mildly untoward.

  “Beg pardon, my lady.” A liveried servant stepped up behind Lady Jersey and handed her a neatly wrapped packet. She nodded in dismissal and turned her attention back to Pandora.

  “I have been entrusted by an old and dear friend to deliver this to you.” She handed Pandora the package.

  “What is it?” Pandora's brows pulled together. The parcel was wrapped in tissue and tied with a blue satin ribbon, a card tucked beneath the knot.

  “I would suggest you read the note first.”

  An odd, heavy feeling settled in Pandora's stomach, a cross between anticipation and dread. She pulled the card free. The crest of the Earl of Trent stared up at her. Her heart beat faster. Beneath the crest, the familiar hand read: Test number eleven.

  She sucked in a sharp breath.

  Given the times we live in, this should suffice for the girdle of the Queen of the Amazons.

  She jerked her gaze from the card to meet Lady Jersey's amused eyes. “Is this--”

  “There's no need to open the package here, it merely contains a personal article of mine. However, I believe you will wish to read the note on the other side.”

  Pandora turned the card over, not certain if the tremble in her hand was due to surprise or annoyance or excitement.

  Test number six: The patronesses of Almack's have been known to devour men whole on occasion, the modern equivalent of man-eating mares. You may consider them tamed.

  Pandora shook her head. “I don't understand.”

  “It's quite simple, my dear.” Lady Jersey smiled. “The Earl of Trent has enlisted my help, and through me the rest of the Lady Patronesses.”

  Shock coursed through her. “He told you about--”

  “Your little game?”

  Pandora swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Indeed he has. I find it quite delightful.”

  “Delightful?”

  “Most certainly. I have always been rather fond of Trent--and rather fond of you as well.” Lady Jersey leaned toward her in a confidential manner. “Watching you careen through society these last eight--”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven years has been most entertaining. However, while your independence is a trait that will serve you well, it is not the sort of thing I would like to see other young women emulate.” She glanced pointedly at Cynthia, who smiled weakly. “It is past time you were safely wed. You and he will be the match of the season, perhaps the match of any season, and I shall have had a hand in it.”

  Pandora drew a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, Lady Jersey, but there is a very distinct possibility Trent will not win.”

  Lady Jersey laughed. “I doubt that. He has always been quite resourceful. In addition,” she raised a brow, “I have always considered you to be rather intelligent, and I cannot imagine why any woman who was not a complete ninny would want Trent to lose.”

  “I've tried to tell her that,” Cynthia said.

  “Splendid.” Lady Jersey nodded approvingly. “It appears you have a fair amount of good sense. Hopefully, your influence will rub off on Miss Effington.”

  Cynthia's chin raised and she looked for all the world like a soldier accepting a dangerous assignment from his commander. “I do try, but she is exceedingly stubborn.”

  Pandora gasped. “Cynthia.”

  “She is an Effington,” Lady Jersey said under her breath, and exchanged a knowing look with Cynthia.

  Pandora nearly choked from indignation. “The fact that I am an Effington has noth--”

  “On the contrary, my dear, your heritage, on both sides of your family, I might add, has everything to do with it. Which is precisely why I am confident all will turn out well. I had feared this season might not be as enjoyable as those of past years
, but now I am confident it will be quite lively after all. Good evening.”She turned and swept down the gallery, the crowd parting before her like a well-dressed, and properly behaved, Red Sea.

  “She said I have good sense.” Cynthia's awed gaze followed the countess's retreating form. “She thinks my season will be successful and--”

  “And she knows about the game.” Pandora's voice was grim. “If she knows, everyone knows. If it hasn't already, it's bound to become the talk of the ton.”

  “Surely you didn't expect it to remain a secret?”

  “Quite frankly, I hadn't considered it at all.” Pandora thought for a moment. “But I daresay I don't relish the idea of everyone watching my every move.”

  Cynthia raised a brow. “Everyone is always watching your every move.”

  “But this is entirely different. This is serious. No doubt wagers are already being laid as to the outcome of the contest.”

  “Forgive me, Pandora, but if I were to bet, I'd place my money on Lord Trent.”

  “Why would you do that?” Pandora pulled her brows together in annoyance. “You are my dearest friend. Where is your sense of loyalty?”

  “Apparently, it's overshadowed by my good sense.” Cynthia grinned. “Don't forget, he has already passed three of the twelve tests.”

  “He has not,” Pandora snapped and waved the packet at her friend. “This cannot count for more than one test. Those are the rules.”

  Cynthia laughed. “The rules? You, of all people, are insisting upon rules?”

  “There simply has to be rules.”

  “Does Trent know of these rules?”

  “Not yet.” She narrowed her eyes. “But the moment the irritating fox comes out of his den I shall inform him exactly how this game is to be played.”

  “I should like to see that.” Cynthia studied her for a moment. “Lady Jersey was right you know. You have provided a considerable measure of entertainment through the years. And this game you're playing with Trent may well be the most amusing of them all.”

  “I'm so pleased my fate will provide the world with a bit of entertainment,” she said wryly and turned back to gaze once more at the crowd on the lower level. There was no need to continue to search for Max. Lady Jersey had obviously done his work for him this evening.

  Pandora stared unseeing at the eddy of bodies below her. Whether he knew it or not, by involving Lady Jersey--and therefore all of society--Max had upped the stakes. It was now a question not just of her future, but of her pride. Despite any disturbing feelings he might stir within her, she could not now allow him to win.

  Regardless of how she had unwittingly earned it in the first place, the Hellion of Grosvenor Square had a position to maintain, and no mere man, no matter how charming and handsome and clever would be allowed to best her.

  Her reputation was at stake, and with each passing day, she suspected, so was her heart.

  Chapter 7

  A Foul is Charged

  “This--” A delicate chemise drifted softly on the papers spread before Max on the floor. He looked up in surprise. Pandora stood glowering down at him. “--Is not in the spirit of the game.”

  “It's not?” He picked up the undergarment and studied it curiously, trying to resist a triumphant grin. He knew if he waited long enough she'd come to him. She was not used to being ignored. “I thought of all your tests this one was precisely in the spirit of the game.”

  “You were wrong.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared. “Whatever are you doing on the floor? That's certainly not a position I expected the Earl of Trent to be in.”

  “Oh, I don't know.” He leaned back on his elbows. His gaze wandered from the toes of her boots peeking from beneath her skirts, up the length of her leg to the curve of her hip and higher, appreciating the intriguing way her crossed arms underlined her breasts, and still higher, past the creamy skin of her throat to her lips, full and inviting, to settle on her eyes, flashing with annoyance. “I find this position quite delightful.”

  “Do you, indeed?” she said, in a tone a shade less haughty than that of a moment ago and just a touch breathless. “You look like an undisciplined schoolboy.”

  “I feel rather undisciplined at the moment.” His gaze dropped back to her mouth and she bit her bottom lip in a nervous gesture. “Although I don't recall my studies being quite so interesting as they are now.”

  “Interesting?” Her voice rose.

  “Very.” He wondered if she'd resist if he reached out and pulled her to the floor.

  “What exactly are you studying?”

  He smiled wickedly.

  “I mean, what is all that?” she said quickly, waving at the books and papers scattered over the carpet.

  The information he'd compiled thus far on the legends and myths of Greece had overtaken his desktop and spilled onto the floor and he'd discovered it was easier to be organized with everything spread out. He'd found numerous versions of the labors of Hercules, ranging from the writings of the ancients to those of obscure Oxford scholars to Lord and Lady Harold's works. He patted the carpet beside him. “See for yourself.”

  “I would prefer to stand, thank you.”

  “As you wish.” He shrugged.

  “A well-mannered gentleman would get to his feet at this point.” Unease sharpened her words.

  “A well-mannered lady would never drop an article of feminine underclothing in the face of a man. Besides, you yourself have proclaimed me a rake, a rogue, a scoundrel, and a beast.”

  “You could at least be a well-mannered beast.”

  “Could I?” He got to his feet in a leisurely manner. “What, then, would be the point of being a beast?”

  “The point?” She stared at him nervously.

  “Indeed. A well-mannered beast would never meet an unmarried, unchaperoned lady in a secluded parlor or a graveyard--or,” he stared down at her, “in the privacy of his own home.”

  She swallowed hard. “Well, perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps you are not a beast after all. Perhaps--”

  “Oh, but I am.” He was close enough to note the rise and fall of her breasts with every breath. “Beasts disregard the dictates of society much as hellions do.”

  “Do they?”

  Close enough to see her blue eyes darken with--what? Desire? “They do. And beasts don't hesitate to use every advantage to get what they want.”

  “They don't?” She fairly sighed the words.

  Close enough to bend his head and touch his lips to hers. “And beasts never play games they do not intend to win.”

  “They…” She caught her breath. His lips brushed across hers and she jerked back, as if burned by the contact between them. He suppressed a resigned sigh. She stepped out of his reach. “You will not win this one.”

  Pandora drew a shaky breath. “However, that's precisely what I wish to talk about.”

  “Ah yes.” He hid his disappointment with a chuckle. “I rather expected to see you before now, given your eagerness to speak with me.”

  “Eager?” At once her tone sharpened. Apparently, any lingering effects of their near kiss had vanished. “Not at all.”

  “Really? I got the distinct impression from your notes that you were most anxious to meet with me.”

  “Notes?” She widened her eyes as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Surely you remember? Your brief, but nonetheless demanding messages insisting I call on you?” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Of course, I could be confusing you with some other woman eager--”

  “I wasn't eager,” she said sharply. “I do seem vaguely to remember dashing off a letter--”

  “Or four.”

  She lifted a shoulder in an offhanded shrug. “Regardless, impressions can often be misleading.”

  “From the notes you barely remember, I gather you wish to discuss rules for our game--or was that another mistaken impression on my part?”

  “Rules are essential,” she said, without looking
at him. She wandered the fringes of the library glancing at a book here, an object there. “Without rules, why, anarchy will prevail.”

  “We can't have that.” He struggled to keep his expression solemn. Through the years she'd disregarded the rules of society. Her insistence on them now was both amusing and an indication of her concern over his ultimate victory. “What did you have in mind?”

  She tilted her head and cast him a pleasant smile. “First, you cannot pass two tests with one accomplishment. You cannot claim to have acquired the girdle of the Queen of the Amazons and tamed man-eating mares at the same time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it's not fair.”

  “Not fair to whom?”

  “Not fair to the spirit of the game,” she said primly.

  “As I said before, I think it's entirely in the spirit of the game.”

  “Well, you're wrong.” She wandered to his desk and idly glanced at the writings littering the desktop. “Second, you cannot purchase your way through the tests.”

  He raised a brow. “The spirit of the game again?”

  “Exactly.” She picked up a paper and a frown creased her forehead. “This is what you've been studying? Greek myths?”

  “Specifically, the labors of Hercules. It's been most enlightening.” He'd found discrepancies rampant; some accounts referred to the hero by different names, and many did not even agree on the specific tests themselves. To his delight, he realized if there was no definitive reference, he was free to interpret the challenges in any way he wished.

  “I see.” Her frown deepened. She dropped the paper back on the desk and turned to face him. “In addition, there must be a limit on the time you have to complete the tasks. I cannot allow you to go on forever.”

  “That too would probably promote anarchy.” He nodded solemnly.

  “No doubt.”

  “Still,” he said with a deep sigh, “this game may take forever.”

  “It may. Would you prefer to forfeit now and save yourself the humiliation of defeat?”

  “Absolutely not, as I foresee neither humiliation nor defeat.”At least not for me. “However, if you would like to concede at this point…”