The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  She whirled to face him. “What?”

  “Why are you running from me?” he asked, his breath rapid from the haste he had made in following her, his brow drawn into a scowl.

  “Why are you following me?” she retorted.

  “Because you will not talk to me,” Leighton answered, his scowl growing. “What the devil is the matter? Why have you been avoiding me?”

  Constance drew herself up, saying coldly, “I am not in the habit of spending time alone with men who are engaged to other women.”

  “Engaged!” He stared at her blankly for an instant, and then anger darkened his face. “Engaged?” He took two quick steps to her and grabbed her wrist. “Does this look like I am engaged?”

  Then he jerked her forward, and his other arm wrapped around her, holding her tightly against his long, hard body, as his mouth came down to cover her own.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CONSTANCE WAS TOO astonished to move or even protest. His arms were so tight around her that she could not move, and his mouth plundered hers, hot and consuming. She trembled, stunned by the desire that rushed through her at his kiss. She was suddenly on fire, wildly alive to every touch and sensation, her blood thrumming in her veins.

  She had been thinking about his kiss for days, since the first time he had stolen a kiss from her in Lady Welcombe’s library. She had thought about every moment of it, every aspect, recreating it in her mind. Indeed, she had even dreamed about it.

  But none of that compared to the reality. Her heart thundered; her every sense was overwhelmed. His mouth sank into hers, his lips seeking, taking, giving such pleasure that she was almost drowning in it. The fury in his kiss drained away until there was only hunger and a passion so intense that it seemed to fill up every fiber of her being.

  His arms loosened around her, and his hands slid down her body, slowly gliding over her back and onto her sides, his thumbs brushing against the sides of her breasts as his hands moved down to her waist and over her hips. His fingers were spread wide, encompassing as much of her body as he could, and his skin was hot, searing through the muslin of her dress. He rounded his hands over the curve of her buttocks, caressing and squeezing, as he continued to kiss her. His fingers dug into her soft flesh, pushing her up and into him, so that she felt the hard length of his desire pressing into her abdomen.

  Her flesh quivered, her loins turned pulsing and warm, and she yearned to press herself even more tightly against him until they melded together. An ache grew between her legs. She was not certain what she wanted, but she knew that she wanted it very much.

  He pulled his mouth away, murmuring her name in a low, shaken whisper. He kissed her face and throat, his lips and teeth and tongue teasing and nibbling at her sensitive flesh as he made his way down the column of her neck. Constance let her head loll back, mutely offering up her throat to his mouth.

  His hands slipped back up her body and cupped her breasts. She shuddered. Her breasts had ached for his touch, and now, as his fingers gently cradled the soft orbs, she was filled with a satisfaction that was equaled by an ever-growing hunger for more.

  Dominic growled low in his throat, and his mouth came swiftly up to claim hers again. His long fingers gently squeezed her breasts as his thumbs brushed across her nipples, exciting them into hard points. His tongue teased her even as his fingers played with her nipples, arousing her almost unbearably.

  She moved restlessly, yearning for more but not knowing what to do. Her hands moved instinctively, sliding up his chest and around to the back of his neck, shoving up into his hair. His hair slid like satin through her fingers, caressing her skin as she caressed him. Constance felt as if she were sliding down into some fiery pit of hunger, helpless, yet longing for her own immolation.

  There was the sound of high-pitched laughter and the murmur of feminine voices. Dominic stiffened, then quickly straightened and cast a look around him. Taking Constance’s arm, he pulled her off the path and across the grass, then whisked her around a high hedge and into the shelter of a vine-covered arbor.

  Deep in its shadow, they waited, every sense alert, as the sound of the voices drew nearer. Constance was standing only inches from him, her eyes level with his broad shoulders. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his scent, her skin so alive and sensitive that she could feel the very touch of the air on her flesh. His hands were on her upper arms, holding her in place, hot and heavy on her skin.

  Constance looked up at him. His head was turned as he peered back through the vines and leaves toward the path where they had stood earlier. She realized how exposed they had been, how easily they could have been seen if anyone had happened to stroll by. She knew the damage that would have been done if they had been discovered in that compromising position; her reputation would have been ruined.

  But even knowing that, it was not the chill of fear that permeated her body down to its bones; it was the glow of passion that his kisses and caresses had awakened in her. Her body still hummed with pleasure, still throbbed with desire. He could have had his way with her just then, she thought, and she would have done nothing to stop him. Indeed, she was sure that she would have urged him on.

  The thought filled her with anger, more at herself than at him. How could she be so weak? So ruled by her passions instead of her head? It was little wonder that he felt free to treat her like a doxy when she was so ready to act like one!

  The Norton sisters and Lord Dunborough appeared finally, walking along a path a few feet from where Constance and Dominic had been standing. The three guests did not look around them, never even glancing across the grass and through the trees to the vine-clad bower where Constance and Lord Leighton were concealed.

  Dominic watched the others until they disappeared into the rose garden. He relaxed, his hands loosening on Constance’s shoulders. She wrenched away from him and started out of the arbor, but he reached out and grasped her wrist.

  “No, wait!”

  “Let me go!” she spat, whirling around to glare at him. “Or do you intend to force me right here in your mother’s garden?”

  His mouth tightened, the skin around it turning whiter, and a light flared briefly in his eyes. “Of course not,” he said tersely.

  “Then let me go.” She cast a pointed look at his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist.

  He released her, holding his hands up and to the side a little as though to show his intention not to touch her again. “I apologize for my rash behavior. I was angry and I—’tis no excuse. I should not have seized you or…” His eyes darkened at the memory, and his gaze flickered for an instant to Constance’s mouth.

  She thought of what he must see, her lips swollen and soft from his kisses, dark with the blood called by her passion. She flushed and turned away.

  “Wait, please,” he said urgently, his voice lower and softer now. “Will you not at least give me a chance to speak on my own behalf? Are you so unfair as to condemn me without giving me an opportunity to defend myself?”

  “How dare you?” Constance blazed, swinging back to face him, her eyes bright with anger. “How can you act as though I am the one who has done something wrong? You are the one who is manhandling a woman, holding her here against her will!”

  “I am not holding you now. Please. I am sorry for acting boorishly. I ask only that you listen to me.”

  Constance gazed at him for a long moment, aware of how very much she wanted to hear his explanation, how much she wanted him to explain away what she had heard, yet knowing that it was probably foolhardy to do so. It was clear that she could not trust herself around the man.

  She crossed her arms across her chest. “All right. I will listen to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  He led her deeper into the garden, bringing her after a few minutes to a wooden bench that lay deep beneath the shade of a spreading willow tree. They were all but hidden from sight and far enough from any path that no one was likely to wander past. She and Dominic turned to face each
other, standing several feet apart.

  “Now, tell me,” Dominic said. “What did you hear? Why do you think I am engaged?”

  “Lady Rutherford herself told me,” she replied. “She said that you are engaged to her daughter Muriel.”

  His eyebrows soared upward. “Did she now?” He looked away meditatively. “She must be very sure of herself. Or very desperate.”

  “It does not seem likely that she would lie,” Constance said. “It would be far too embarrassing to be caught in such an untruth.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I can understand why you believed her.” He came closer to her, reaching out to take both her hands in his, and looked intently down into her face. “But it is a lie, nonetheless. I am not engaged to Muriel Rutherford. I never have been and never will be. I can promise you that.”

  Constance’s hands trembled in his as relief rushed through her. She felt suddenly breathless and lightheaded, as though she might faint, and she moved away, sitting down abruptly on the bench.

  “Constance? Are you all right?” Leighton went down on one knee in front of her, gazing at her with concern in his eyes.

  She nodded. “Yes. I—” She shook her head, not knowing what to say.

  “Do you believe me?” he pressed her. “I swear to you that I am telling you the truth. Ask Francesca. Ask my parents. I have not made Muriel an offer.”

  Constance looked at him. His face was grave, his blue eyes dark here in the deep shade of the tree and filled with an intensity that she had never seen there before.

  The heavy weight that had pressed upon her chest for the past day was lifted now, and filling the space it had left was an uplifting joy. “Yes,” she murmured, scarcely trusting her voice. “Yes, I believe you.”

  Relief flooded his face, and he smiled at her, then raised her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Thank you.”

  He sat down on the bench beside her, still keeping her hand in his. He raised it again and laid a kiss upon her palm, cradling her hand against his cheek.

  Constance gave in to a moment of weakness and leaned her head against his arm. Then, with a sigh, she straightened.

  “Why would Lady Rutherford make such a claim when she could be so easily found out? It would be humiliating to have you deny it.”

  He shrugged. “I presume she was hoping that you would not have the courage to ask me outright, that you would assume I had been deceiving you. Or perhaps she was hoping she could force my hand, that if she announced it, I would simply acquiesce. Give in to the pressure.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  Dominic gave her an amused glance. “Because Lady Rutherford does not know me. She is used to bending others to her not inconsiderable will. Her husband and her children dance to her tune. I know how haughty and ill-natured Muriel is, how much she expects to get her way. But I can tell you that she does not cross her mother. I suppose that Lady Rutherford might have thought she could bully me, as well.”

  Dominic sighed and stood up, beginning to pace. “There is no engagement. Or even any sort of understanding between us. But it is my parents’ dearest wish that I marry Muriel. They have been plaguing me with it from the day I became heir to the title. My parents wish it, and Lady Rutherford wishes it, which means that Lord Rutherford wishes it.”

  “If all these people wish it, does that mean that eventually you will agree?” Constance asked, her newfound happiness beginning to crumble around the edges.

  “No!” he retorted sharply. “God, no! I would as soon take a viper to my bed as wed Muriel. Indeed, there would probably be little difference in the two.”

  “But do your parents not realize how much you dislike the match?” Constance asked.

  Dominic let out a snort. “My parents do not care what my feelings regarding the matter are. That is not important. All that is important in their eyes is the estate. The family.” He sighed and resumed his seat beside her. “Redfields is a large estate, but the lands have been much encumbered over the years. The family needs an infusion of gold, you see. My father has chosen me as the sacrificial lamb to bring about this happy result.”

  “And the Rutherfords are wealthy?”

  “Very.” He nodded. “Despite all their pretensions, Lord Rutherford’s title is not an old one, and there is the taint of trade in their background. Lady Rutherford’s grandfather, you see, made a fortune in the wool industry, enough to snare a nobleman’s daughter for his son and a baron for his granddaughter. Now Lady Rutherford is eager to make her daughter a countess.”

  “I see.”

  “They cooked up the scheme between the two of them, my father and Lady Rutherford. It suits them perfectly, and the wishes of the persons involved do not matter. One must do one’s duty. The family is all that is important.”

  “And what of Muriel?” Constance asked, though she was rather sure that she knew the answer to that question. Muriel had made it clear that she considered Leighton her property.

  “I think she is agreeable. She is proud and ambitious, much like her mother. She aims for an earl only because there is little prospect of anyone higher. If she thought she had any chance of Rochford, believe me, she would try for him. No doubt I would be far down on her list were it not for the fact that she is beginning to feel desperate. She finds me…lacking in the proper respect for my position.” He quirked a smile at Constance. “But no doubt she feels sure that she will be able to crush all levity out of me once we are married.”

  “I imagine she is capable of that,” Constance agreed. “I must confess that I am glad you are unwilling to marry her. I cannot like Miss Rutherford.”

  “Neither can I. I knew that my father hoped to force the match upon me at this party. That is why I had planned to stay well away from it.” He paused and looked at her. “Until Francesca told me that you were planning to attend.”

  Constance looked at him, then quickly away. The warmth in his eyes unsettled her. She was very glad to learn that Lady Rutherford’s tale of his betrothal to her daughter had been nothing but a fabrication, but she was also well aware that the factors that had made his father pursue the match were still there. The family required an heiress for Dominic’s bride. He was not for her any more than he had been a moment earlier. He had not deceived her; he had not acted the part of a cad. But, still, one day he would have to marry to please the family. Constance knew that it would be complete folly to let herself even start on that slippery slope that led to love.

  “But you are not one to shirk your duty,” she said quietly.

  His gaze flickered over to her. He studied her for a moment, then answered just as quietly, “No, I suppose I am not. Though I have done my best to ignore it for the last two years.”

  Constance looked at him. His jaw was set, the usual amused expression utterly gone. Looking at him thus, she had little trouble believing him a man who had gone to war for his country, who had fought and bled and led men into battle. He had known sacrifice.

  She reached over and laid her hand gently atop his. It was the same gesture of comfort and consolation that she had given him at the gravesite of his sister. He smiled, a bare curving of his lips, and he turned his hand, taking her hand in his and raising it to his mouth, gently pressing his lips against her skin.

  A frisson of pleasure ran through Constance at the touch, and she quickly edged away, hoping that he had not seen her response.

  “I was almost engaged once,” she said.

  She could feel him grow still beside her. After a moment’s pause, he said, “Almost?”

  “Yes. He proposed, but I told him that I could not accept.”

  “Did you not love the man?” Dominic asked carefully.

  “I did. Or thought I did. Perhaps it is not love when one can recover from it as quickly as I did.”

  “But you refused.”

  “I could not marry him. My father was ill. I had to stay and nurse him through his illness.” She looked at Dominic then. “I understand the call of duty and its preced
ence over other things.”

  “And what of the man? What did he do?”

  She shrugged. “He accepted it. He went on with his life. He married a year or two later.”

  “He was a fool,” Dominic growled, his eyes boring into hers. “He was a fool not to wait for you.”

  Constance’s breath caught in her throat. Dominic’s gaze, heated and intense, sent desire shimmering through her. She remembered the way his hands had felt upon her body earlier, the taste of his mouth against hers. Unconsciously, she leaned toward him.

  In an instant his hands were on her arms, pulling her up and into his lap. One arm curved around her back, supporting her, and his other hand went to her chin, tilting her face up for his kiss. He kissed her long and deeply, and she clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. All modesty and shyness seemed to have fled from her. She pressed brazenly up against him, returning his kiss.

  With his free hand, Dominic roamed the front of her body, caressing and exploring her as his mouth ravaged hers. He was hampered by the layers of her clothes, and impatiently his hand delved beneath the neckline of her dress, finding the smooth bare skin of her breast and curling around it. Constance started in surprise at the unaccustomed touch of his fingers on her naked flesh, but after that instant of astonishment, her skin responded, turning hot and tingling, her nipple tightening into a hard bud.

  Nothing had prepared her for the things that Dominic was doing to her, the wild sensations he was arousing within her. She felt as if she were on fire, and everywhere his mouth or hands touched her, her flesh grew even hotter. When he caressed her breasts, they swelled, pleasure flooding through her, and at the same time, they ached even more, yearning for his touch.

  She squeezed her legs together, for it was there that the desire was pooling, molten and insistent. A pulse throbbed deep in her abdomen, and she yearned for more, though she was not sure what it was she wanted.

  Constance kissed him harder, her tongue tangling with his, seeking the satisfaction she craved. She could feel him hardening against her hips, his desire prodding at her soft flesh, and she wiggled restlessly on his lap. Dominic made a choked noise, and his lips left her mouth, kissing frantically down her throat and onto the white plain of her chest. He found the soft white mounds of her breasts and kissed the quivering flesh gently, working his way across her breasts and down to the fleshy button of one nipple.