A Wager Worth Making (Arrangements, Book 7)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “No, no, no,” Lily laughed, raising her hands in surrender at last. “Not an engagement, for heaven’s sake. Merely spoken for. Cressida Bowles, I believe.”

  “That cow?” Marianne cried, looking aghast. “She does not get to claim anything, I’ll see to it myself. No man with any regard of mine will have to endure her. Let’s give her Darlington.”

  Gemma and Lily snickered and watched the dancing with amusement, as the cow in question attempted a quadrille with young Mr. Hawker, and Darlington ruined Rosalind’s dance with his airs. They would be well suited indeed.

  “Can we make a match for people we don’t like?” Lily asked Marianne curiously.

  “We can try.”

  “Why is it that people must be so disagreeable at an event like this?” Gemma sighed aloud, watching Mr. Hawker with sympathy. “I take great pleasure in bringing amusement and enjoyment to those in my company, particularly in the dance.”

  “That is because you have a gift,” Lily replied, patting her hand.

  “I do,” Gemma agreed sagely, making the others laugh. She turned fully to them and raised her chin. “I can make any man smile, I guarantee it.”

  Marianne widened her eyes in surprise. “Any man?”

  She nodded once. “Any. I will dance with any man and make him smile.”

  Lily looked suspiciously coy. “Five shillings says you cannot.”

  Gemma snorted and shook her head. “Ten, and I can.”

  “Even the Viscount Blackmoor?” Marianne asked, tilting her head and offering a very small smile.

  “What, that old bear?” Gemma laughed and waved her gloved hand dismissively. “I could make him smile and laugh in the same dance. He does not frighten nor intimidate me. He may be hard and dark and scowling on the outside, but inside he is just as warm and soft as anybody else. Perhaps even more so.”

  “Good evening, Miss Templeton.”

  She froze at the low, slightly rasping voice of the viscount himself standing directly behind her. Her friends tried not to laugh, each clamping down on their lips hard. She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned and gave a little curtsey. “My lord.”

  His stark features were softened in the bright splendor of the candlelight, and his frighteningly blue eyes shone as he looked at her. “Would you care to dance the next with me, Miss Templeton?”

  She heard Marianne give a bit of a choking laugh, but paid her no mind. She swallowed hard and offered a shaky smile. “With pleasure.”

  He inclined his head, and held out a hand for her, which she took, and found him to be surprisingly warm. Who would have thought that the viscount was a real, warm-blooded male and not the statue of ice he was presumed to be?

  As he led her into the next dance, she was further surprised to find him a most capable dancer. Not precisely light of foot, but quite graceful and elegant, despite the astonished and fearful gazes of the other dancers. Did they expect him to begin murdering them all in the middle of the dance? It would hardly be appropriate. Murders were more convenient in dark alleys and abandoned houses, certainly not at Almack’s.

  Blackmoor did not smile at all as they danced and said very little, which was to be expected, as he rarely said anything at all. He answered her every question with short answers, but she never got the impression that he was intentionally being rude or off-putting. They were simple questions, which only required simple answers, which he freely gave.

  His eyes were fixed on her the entire time, regardless of what she or the other dancers did, and instead of finding it disconcerting, she found it almost entertaining. What did he see that rendered such intensity? It might be better to focus on the conversation at hand, rather than the eyes of her partner, as such answers could be dangerous.

  He did not usually attend Almack’s, she reminded him, and he agreed. What rendered this year different, she had asked, and he had replied an interest in not being predictable. He was a better dancer than she had imagined, she had complimented, and he had responded by asking what sort of dancer should he have been. The only question he had asked of her had been if she truly thought he was old, and she had smiled and replied that anyone older than her could easily be considered old in her view without the slightest bit of offense attached, and he had conceded her point, seeming nonplussed.

  As the dance began to draw to a close, she caught sight of Lily and Marianne, now joined by Kit Gerrard and his curious gaze, though all were smiling. She cocked her head at Blackmoor as he led her down the row of partners in the final movement. “Could you perhaps smile, my lord?”

  He looked down at her in surprise, one dark brow raised. “I beg your pardon?”

  She smiled as they took their places at the end of the lines. “I have a wager with my friends, you see. I told them I can make any man I dance with smile. Ten shillings.”

  “I see,” he murmured as they bowed to each other.

  She raised her eyes and took the hand he held out. “You would not wish to make me a liar, would you, sir?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, nor to make you lose ten shillings. But you see, Miss Templeton, I have a reputation to maintain.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I do not smile.”

  Her smile grew as he pulled back.

  He shook his head. “Fetching as you are, tempting though it is, not even you will ruin my reputation.”

  His low voice, and the dark amusement she felt in it, sent a ripple through her. Somehow managing to find her voice, her tongue, and her wit, by the grace of God, Gemma responded, “Then I think you owe me ten shillings to pay my friends. Each.”

  His hand tightened around her for a heartbeat. “Bill me.”

  She huffed slightly as he led her back. “My lord, I do believe that may get to be a rather lengthy bill. I am quite determined, and I do not think my friends will take an IOU.”

  He turned to face her as the next dance began, his pale eyes somehow more intense than before. “I will be happy to pay the balance of the bill to you some other time. I couldn’t care less what your friends think.” He bowed over her hand, and then swept away, taking some of her breath with him.

  She pursed her lips in thought as she watched him go, barely mindful of her friends now gathering around her. That was the most disconcerting man on the planet, she was sure of it, and yet she was intrigued. She gnawed on her lip as he made his way through the crush as easily as if they parted for him alone, and never looked back.

  Then he reached the doors and he turned, his eyes instantly colliding with hers. Her teeth froze on her lip and her head tilted of its own accord as she took him in. He held her gaze for a number of heartbeats, and she could have sworn he almost smiled as he left the room at last.

  There was something about him that gave her pause, but not for any fear or apprehension. She knew his reputation and his manner and had seen him around London for years, had certainly been curious about him, but never had she expected the sort of wit he had shown during the dance, nor that he, with all his reserve and coldness, would banter with her, short though it had been.

  She was determined now. She would make him smile, despite his reputation.

  And just let him attempt to withstand her efforts. She never lost.

  She turned to her friends with a mischievous energy coursing through her.

  “You did not succeed, Gemma,” Lily said with a bright smile.

  “Yet, Lily,” she pointed out. “Raise it to a pound. I will make him smile before the Season is out.”

  Marianne’s lips pursed, knowing Gemma’s finances were hardly extravagant. “A whole pound just to make one man smile?”

  She looked at her sharply. “Ask me again and it will be two. Besides,” she added softly, glancing back at the door where Blackmoor had just exited, “I have a very strong suspicion it will be worth it.”

  Chapter Two

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Lucas looked up from his breakfast to find Kit Gerrard standing boldly in the doorway of his di
ning room, arms folded, stance defensive.

  “Eating,” he said simply, gesturing to his plate.

  Kit blinked once. “You know what I mean.”

  “Do I?”

  His friend’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with Gemma Templeton?”

  Lucas slowly raised a brow. “Are you come to protect the innocent woman from the murderous villain? Here to ask after my intentions?”

  Kit exhaled irritably. “Blackmoor, you know perfectly well that I trust you and your judgment. I would leave my wife alone with you in a darkened room without batting an eyelash.”

  “That is because your wife would eat me alive.”

  Kit’s composure broke for a smile and he shrugged. “True, but you would be perfectly mannered. I’m not afraid of your intentions for Gemma. I just want to know what they are. For your sake, I have to ask what you are doing.”

  Lucas sat back and set his fork aside, measuring his old friend with a steady gaze. They had not been particularly close until recent years, but their friendship was longstanding. “Ideally, I will marry her.”

  It was fortunate he knew of Kit’s skill with composure and reserve, for the untrained observer would have found the reaction lacking. But the sudden grip on the chair, wide eyes, and lack of breathing spoke volumes of his friend’s surprise.

  “Marry?” Kit finally said on a faltering gasp.

  Lucas nodded slowly, his mouth in a firm line.

  “You swore you would never marry again.”

  Lucas allowed himself a small, mirthless smile. “I told you last year I was considering marriage.”

  “Yes, and with all the haste of considering new drapes,” Kit shot back. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “What is this?”

  Lucas sighed and gestured to a chair. “Sit down.”

  Kit hesitated, eyes surveying his friend with wariness. Then he exhaled and took the indicated chair. “All right, go ahead.”

  Pushing the remains of his breakfast aside, Lucas turned to face him more directly. “I meant what I had told you last year. I was considering marriage. Rolling it around in my head, testing the taste of it on my tongue, that sort of thing. Then a few months ago I was at my estate and riding my new stallion across the grounds when a neighbor fired a rifle without warning, and the blasted thing threw me over a jump and I quite literally saw my life flash before my eyes. I…” He shook his head as an echo of the cold fear hit his chest again. “I could easily have broken my neck.”

  He made a face, agonizing memories of that day, and the subsequent days, flitting through his mind. He wouldn’t tell Kit what had happened, the extent of his injuries, or the torment of the experience. And how it had changed him.

  “It was too close,” he continued, “and it shook me greatly. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, hoping I hadn’t broken anything, and wondering what I had done with my life. I had spent years being miserable and alone, and that was no way to live.” He shook his head and shrugged. “So when I recovered, I determined I wouldn’t wait any longer. Marriage was suddenly important, and trying to be something more was important. And then I further received notice of my cousin’s increasingly ruinous behavior, and I absolutely could not let him inherit what I’ve worked so hard for. He is stupid and vain and would drain the estate for his own needs. My tenants would suffer greatly.”

  He looked over to find Kit wearing a pensive expression. “So… You are looking to marry because you’re facing your own mortality?”

  Lucas rubbed his forehead and heaved a sigh. “I suppose.” It was far, far more complicated than that, but it was enough.

  “And aiming to sire an heir to prevent your cousin from inheriting.”

  “Yes.”

  Kit frowned and cocked his head. “Are those really the proper reasons to make such a hasty decision? Marriage is quite a significant step, and you’re being rather sudden about it.”

  “Says the man who married a woman to save her reputation, and with only two days’ notice.”

  Kit was neither amused nor impressed by the attempt at needling. “This isn’t something to take lightly, no matter what your reasons.”

  Lucas raised a brow. “Do you remember my first marriage? I’ve learned my lesson. I was hardly going to marry the first girl I came across. This will take time and careful consideration, a determination of compatibility… Never mind what my end goal is, I am going to do this properly.”

  “And Gemma?” Kit asked, looking mildly satisfied. “Where does she fit into this?”

  “She is the one who triggered the idea in the first place. Years ago, if I am being honest. And…” Lucas hesitated for a moment and lowered his eyes. “It was always going to be Gemma,” he admitted with a raw honesty that was unlike him.

  There was no response from his friend and Lucas reluctantly submitted to his curiosity and looked up.

  Kit wore a bemused smile and his brow was creased. “Are you in love with Gemma Templeton?”

  Lucas snorted and rolled his eyes, finding comfort in derision. “Please, I hardly know her well enough to claim anything of the sort, which is why I intend to court her. I simply think that she would suit my tastes and needs.”

  “I could draw up a list of several women who would do that for you. What makes Gemma so special?”

  That nearly made him laugh. What made her special? He sat back in his chair and raised a superior brow. “If you don’t know, there is no point in discussing it.”

  Kit suddenly grinned, as he was becoming more and more prone to do under his wife’s influence. “Fair enough. Do I need to give you a warning? She is a dear friend of my wife…”

  “Save your breath,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’ll not harm her in any way, shape, or form. Besides, she still needs to accept me. There is plenty working against me, and there’s no accounting for taste.”

  Kit rose and clapped him on the shoulder. “Best of luck to you, Blackmoor. Marianne will be delighted to hear this.” He chuckled as he started from the room.

  Lucas nearly sprang to his feet. “She can’t tell Gemma,” he barked, suddenly panicked. “I can’t… That is…”

  Kit turned and gave him an indulgent smile. “Believe it or not, my wife can be trusted. She likes you, Blackmoor, and she’s been speculating all night. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “Because you worry about me?” Lucas suggested, relaxing just a little.

  Kit laughed once. “Because Marianne was beside herself and I would not know a moment of rest until I had something to tell her.” He nodded and turned from the room. “But I do worry about you.”

  Lucas twisted his lips in a half grimace. He didn’t mean to worry his friends, but neither was he going to consult with them before making decisions regarding his life. His reserve had always suited him before, and it would suit him still.

  His reasons were true, and he could not explain the urgency behind them any more than that. Not without delving into a dark part of his history that he would rather leave in the past. He much preferred moving forward and attempting to be alive again.

  He did need to marry, and he did need to produce an heir. He was not about to let Thornacre go over to Lewis, who was without question the biggest waste of space that had ever come into any family of decency. In both size and habit. That prospect alone was enough to terrify a man with an entail, but when he added in the rest…

  He returned to his seat and winced at the sudden twinge of pain, the most annoying evidence of how close he had come. He never looked at the scars, and he didn’t need to.

  He was a man with nothing but scars, and most were not visible.

  He was no candidate for any sort of husband, but there was no question in his mind anymore. He would do the one duty he had yet to fulfill, and he would do it his way.

  And if Gemma Templeton would have him, he would take her.

  But he couldn’t deny that the idea of a second marriage made him a trifle anxious.

  The woma
n was different, quite drastically so, but he was the same.

  What if the problem lay with him?

  “I heard you had an interesting dance partner last night.”

  “Oh, yes she did,” her mother crowed, sitting near the fire with a gleeful glint in her eyes.

  Gemma rolled her eyes and yanked a stray thread on her secondhand gown. Her brother-in-law was a wonderful man, but he took his relationship with her far too seriously. Even Caroline was not this overbearing. And she never took Gemma away from practicing her music.

  “Oh, you mean Mr. Palmer?” she asked innocently as she tightened the strings on her violin. “Yes, I was quite surprised to be asked. You know he only dances with those in their first Seasons.”

  Despite her mother’s chuckling, Spencer was not amused. Being a father of three children, he had learned how to perfect a scolding look.

  Fortunately, Gemma was immune.

  “That is not what I mean,” he told her as he sat back in his chair and drew his leg up. “You danced with Lord Blackmoor.”

  Gemma matched his pose in the most lady-like way possible, setting the instrument aside. “I did,” she confirmed, lifting her chin.

  “Why?”

  “Because he asked.”

  “You know what they say about him.”

  She snorted and rolled her eyes again. “Yes, and I also know what they say about us.”

  Spencer stiffened and his eyes turned hard. “You know that’s not the same thing.”

  “Oh no?” she asked, tilting her head. She glanced across the room at her mother, then leaned forward and hissed, “How much truth is there in the general estimation of our financial straits, Spencer?”

  “Well, I…”

  “Because it’s far worse, and you know it,” she overrode, stealing another look at her mother, who was too focused on her embroidery to hear anything. “But what the lovely members of Society don’t pity is our troubles. They are inclined to find fault with Papa for apparently mismanaging the grand fortune we supposedly had in our past, and ruining my chances at a good match, and how we must have done something positively horrid to end up this way.”