The Marriage Wager

by Candace Camp

  His engorged shaft sprang free of the confining cloth as she pushed his breeches down, her fingers skimming over the curve of his buttocks and down onto the backs of his thighs. She gave a final push, and the cloth fell down his legs in a last caress. Dominic stepped out of his breeches and kicked them aside, his body taut with desire.

  Constance curled her hand around him, her fingers teasing up and down the hard length. He sucked in his breath and, after one small jerk of surprised pleasure, stood still under her ministrations, though she could see the quiver of strain along his thighs, indicating what the effort cost him. Seeing that, she was drawn to reach out and slide her hands over his thighs.

  Everything about him was so new and intriguing—the textures of his skin, the sounds of his hunger, the shape and strength of his musculature, the myriad signs of his arousal. She wanted to taste and touch and explore them all in this one night, to take every precious memory of him that she could.

  She pulled her eyes from her contemplation of his beautifully masculine body and looked up at him. His face was heavy with passion, his eyes slumberous and dark, his lips full and slack.

  “When you look at me like that…” he breathed, then stopped, swallowing. “It is all I can do not to explode.”

  “I love to look at you,” she told him honestly, and her answer brought a laughing groan from him.

  “Constance, you will have me tumbling you like a green lad,” he warned hoarsely.

  “I would not mind,” she murmured, her fingertips stroking up the length of his surging manhood and teasing onto the heavy sac that lay behind.

  He made a muffled noise and moved his legs apart, giving her questing fingers access to him. She cupped him as though measuring his weight. Then she released him and lay back on the bed, her arms stretching languorously above her head.

  She smiled up at him as he gazed at her, his eyes roaming hotly over her body. She was amazed at her own boldness, at the delight she felt to have his eyes upon her naked body.

  Dominic climbed onto the bed and straddled her. Leaning back on his heels, he placed his hands upon her chest and moved them slowly down her body. He took his time with her, caressing and stroking, seeking out each little spot that caused her to moan or sigh or writhe with pleasure.

  He slipped his fingers between her legs, opening her to him. He watched her face as he caressed her, his fingers separating the slick folds, teasing and stroking, circling the tiny nub until she dug her heels into the sheets beneath her, arching up off the mattress, almost sobbing with the need that thrilled through her.

  The pleasure built in her, propelling her toward that shattering conclusion that she remembered so well, but just as she approached it, he slid his hand away.

  “Not yet,” he murmured, and bent to kiss her breasts.

  She was hot and pulsing, aching for release, and she groaned in protest at the delay, but the touch of his tongue and lips on the soft flesh of her breasts was a delightful counterpoint to the heavy throb of need between her legs. Each flicker of his tongue, each pull of his mouth upon the hard bud of her nipple, elevated her desire, yet it was teasingly not enough to send her racing to completion.

  Constance moved her hips restlessly on the bed, sighing his name. “Dominic…please. I want you. I want to feel you inside me.”

  His answer was a groan of pure lust, and he moved between her legs, lifting her hips and sliding into her. Constance was aware of a faint soreness, but her body was too eager for him to pay heed to that. She took him into her, wrapping her legs around him and luxuriating in the way he filled her.

  Then there was no holding back, only a hard, slamming race to fulfillment, their bodies hungry and demanding, moving together to the completion they both desired. Dominic let out a hoarse cry as he shuddered to his climax, and Constance turned her head, sinking her teeth into his arm to hold back her words of love as she, too, found her sweet release.

  He collapsed upon her, breathing raggedly. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured against her skin. “I think you have finished me.”

  With a low growl, he nuzzled her neck, rolling over onto his back and carrying her with him, so that she lay stretched out on top of him. Constance chuckled and raised her head, looking down at him. She felt that she could have gazed at him forever. His face was soft with contentment, his eyes lambent, his cheeks flushed. Love rose up in her so fiercely that it was all she could do to hold back the words. But she knew she must not say them. She could not offer that most precious piece of her heart to him and face the pain of not having her feelings returned.

  So she simply smiled and bent to place a tender kiss upon his chest, then laid her head upon it. They lay in contentment, unwilling to move, extending the moment of pleasure. He twined his fingers idly through her hair, wrapping it around his hand and bringing it to his lips. Constance drew lazy circles on his arm.

  She could feel him relax beneath her, his hand growing heavy and sliding from her hair. Carefully, she rose onto her elbow and looked at him. He was asleep, his face relaxed, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. Her heart squeezed tenderly in her chest.

  How could she bear to leave him?

  In that moment she was horribly tempted to stay. To take her things back out of her bag and put them away, to let the Rutherford women depart on their journey to London without her. Dominic might not love her, but she had brought him pleasure. Surely that was enough to build on. It seemed too much to ask of her to give all this up.

  With a sigh, she turned and lay back on the bed. She stared up at the tester above them. She knew she could not do what she was thinking. She loved Dominic too much; she could not let her desires override what she knew was right. She could not hold him to the pledge his gentlemanly code of conduct had forced him to make. She had to set him free.

  She propped herself up on her elbow again and studied his face. It was late, and she knew that she should get some sleep, but she did not care. She could sleep tomorrow. Right now, this moment, was the last that she would ever have of Dominic.

  So she watched him sleep, sometimes dropping her head to his shoulder and lying against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her head.

  Finally, when she began to fear that the servants might soon be up, she eased from the bed and tiptoed over to where her clothes lay. She pulled on her nightgown and dressing gown, belting it securely. Picking up her candle, burned down now to a stub, she cast one long look back at the man sleeping in the bed. Then she opened the door and looked cautiously outside.

  There was no sign of anyone, so she slipped out into the hall, shutting the door noiselessly behind her, and hurried down the corridor to her room. She reached it and closed the door behind her before the tears came.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WHEN CONSTANCE FINALLY dried her tears, she washed up and put on the brown bombazine carriage dress that she had set aside for the journey. She knew that it was useless to try to sleep before she left. She was too sick at heart to go to sleep, and in any case, an hour or so of rest would do her little good.

  She folded her nightshift and dressing gown away in a bag, then sat down to pen a letter of thanks to the Countess, a polite necessity despite the Earl’s behavior toward her. Nor did she feel that she could leave without writing a note to Francesca to thank her for her friendship and her many kindnesses. Constance knew that she was taking a risk, but she simply could not be so rude as to leave without a word. She would leave the missives on the table in the entry where the servants put the mail and calling cards. Francesca would not be likely to arise until late in the morning, and by the time she went past the table or a servant brought the envelope to her, Constance would be almost to London. And Lady Selbrooke, she reasoned, even if she received the letter earlier, would be happy that Constance had left and would not bring up the subject with Dominic.

  So, having worked her way around to it, Constance decided that it would be no riskier to leave a letter for
Dominic himself. After all, the same logic applied to him as to Francesca—he would arise late—and anyway, if Francesca knew she had left, she would tell Dominic immediately. So she wrote a letter to Dominic, which she could not manage to do without a tear or two, but she blotted them away and persevered.

  When she was all done, she sealed the three notes and went quietly downstairs to leave them on the table. Afterward, she returned to her room and sat down beside her trunk to wait for the Rutherfords to awaken.

  The servants were up before Lady Rutherford appeared at Constance’s door, and her maid looked with surprise at Constance’s trunk and bag sitting at the foot of her bed. Constance gave Nan a coin and pressed her not to tell anyone about Constance’s departure, assuring her that she had written to the Countess. The maid looked somewhat doubtful but nodded as she slipped the coin into her pocket.

  A few minutes after Nan had left the room, Lady Rutherford appeared in the doorway. Constance jumped to her feet, picking up her smaller bag.

  “I must send for a footman for the trunk,” Constance said.

  “Oh, no, you needn’t bother. Just leave your bags here. My coachman and groom will bring them down for you when they fetch our things,” Lady Rutherford replied so graciously that Constance was taken aback.

  Of course, she reasoned, Lady Rutherford had every reason to make it easy for her to leave, thinking that it would advance her plans for her daughter. She went downstairs with Lady Rutherford and climbed into the carriage. She sat on the seat facing Lady Rutherford and Muriel, the less-preferred spot, as it faced the rear.

  Constance did not care for that. She had no interest in watching the scenery, anyway. Her intent was to close her eyes and at least pretend to sleep; that way, she would not have to try to carry on a conversation with Muriel or her mother.

  Constance looked out the window. She had hoped to have a last look at Redfields, but it was still dark outside, and the building was little more than a blacker outline against the sky. The front door was open and the entryway lit, as was the corridor window above it. She watched as the coachmen and the groom carried out the Rutherfords’ luggage and her own, and fastened it to the back and top of the carriage.

  Her stomach was a knot of nerves as she waited, fearing that Dominic would awaken and somehow know that she was leaving—and at the same time wishing just a little, deep inside, that he would. But as it happened, no one appeared at the front door. The luggage was loaded, and the carriage rolled slowly away from the house.

  Constance closed her eyes, not trusting herself not to cry and determined not to do so in front of Muriel and Lady Rutherford. She had not believed that she could sleep, but with the motion of the carriage and the rumble of its wheels, she began to slide gradually into slumber.

  She was awakened by shouts. She opened her eyes, confused for an instant. The carriage was slowing down. Realization of where she was and what she was doing came back to her in a rush. She straightened up.

  “What is it? Why are we stopping?” she asked, looking over at Lady Rutherford.

  “I haven’t any idea,” the older woman said coolly, drawing aside the curtain over the window and looking out.

  Constance, too, pushed back the curtain beside her and peered out. Dawn was breaking to the east, a line of gold across the horizon, with pinkish clouds above it. The carriage had come to a standstill, and two men on horseback were outside the carriage door. One of them swung down off his horse and walked over to the carriage.

  “My lady?”

  “Yes?” Muriel’s mother leaned out the window. “What is it? What is all this shouting about?”

  “Lord Selbrooke sent me, ma’am. He wishes you to return to Redfields at once,” the man answered, sweeping off his hat and bowing respectfully.

  Constance drew in a sharp breath. No! They could not return!

  “Return? Whatever for?” Lady Rutherford asked.

  “I don’t know, ma’am. But he requested it most urgently. He said it is of the utmost importance.”

  “I see. Well…I suppose we must, if it is of such import.”

  “Lady Rutherford! No!” Constance could not keep from crying out. Her plan would be in ruins if they returned now.

  “Turn around and go back,” Lady Rutherford called up to her driver. As the carriage began its unwieldy turn, she pulled her head back inside the carriage and looked at Constance coolly. “Don’t be silly, girl. How would it look if we did not return?”

  “I don’t know,” Constance retorted honestly. “But it will ruin everything. I can’t…”

  “Don’t be nonsensical,” Lady Rutherford told her shortly. “Dominic cannot force you to marry him. If you don’t want to, just say so. I shall tell him that I will take you back to London with me, and that will be that.”

  “But why is Lord Selbrooke calling us back?”

  Lady Rutherford shrugged. “We shall soon find out. Perhaps Lord Leighton has seen the error of his ways.” Her eyes glinted malignantly at Constance; then she turned to look back out the window.

  Had her letters been discovered early? Constance wondered. Did Dominic and his parents know that she had fled rather than announce their engagement? Or perhaps the maid, despite the coin Constance had given the girl, had rushed straight to the butler with the news that Constance had left. But even if that had happened, why would Lord Selbrooke call her back? She was doing what he wanted without his even having to bribe her.

  Perhaps it was Dominic who had sent the servant, not the Earl. Perhaps he was angry with her for leaving with only a note of explanation when he had been ready to sacrifice his entire future for her.

  Constance’s hands knotted together in her lap. She did not think that she could bear to face a furious Dominic. She remembered the anger in him when he had told her what his brother had done to their sister. Constance did not want to have such a gaze turned upon her.

  She wished desperately that she had not left the letters.

  The ride was an agony of nerves for her, and by the time they arrived back at the stately old house, she was almost numb with dread. Reluctantly she climbed down from the carriage after Muriel and Lady Rutherford, and followed them to the front door. To her surprise, she saw that two footmen had come out and were unloading their luggage from the carriage.

  She walked into the house to find Lord and Lady Selbrooke standing in the entryway. Lady Selbrooke’s face was a cool mask of hauteur; Lord Selbrooke looked thunderous. Constance glanced to one side and saw that several people had come down the stairs, most of them in various stages of dishabille. Dominic was in front, on the bottom step. He was dressed in a shirt and breeches, though clearly his clothes had been hastily donned, for his jacket and waistcoat were missing, and his shirt was not tucked in. His hair was still rumpled from sleep in a way that even in her present state of anxiety she found rather endearing. He appeared, she realized, not angry but puzzled.

  Francesca was a few steps up from Dominic, wrapped in a brocade dressing gown, her hair tumbling loosely down her back. Behind her several more guests ranged up the stairs. Constance noted Calandra and Lord Dunborough, as well as all three of the Nortons. Everyone looked sleepy and confused, as though they had been pulled from their beds.

  Constance turned her gaze back to Lord Selbrooke, feeling even more puzzled than before. She had no idea what was going on, but the look of calculation as well as anger in his eyes was enough to convince her that he had some sort of mischief in mind.

  “Well!” he exclaimed, looking straight at Constance. “Miss Woodley! So this is how you repay our hospitality?”

  “Father, what is going on?” Dominic asked sharply, coming down the remaining stairs and taking a few steps forward. “Constance? Why are you with Lady Muriel?” His eyes swept down her, taking in her gloves and bonnet and traveling dress. “Where have you been?”

  Constance straightened, shooting a glance toward the other guests standing on the stairs. She could not explain this in front of everyone. />
  But she did not need to worry, for Lord Selbrooke was going on, giving her no chance to speak. “I will tell you what is going on. I awakened this morning to find that we had been robbed!”

  There was a collective gasp from the guests on the stairs. Constance stared at the Earl blankly. Whatever she had envisioned the man saying, it had not been this.

  The tableau was broken by the entrance of the two footmen who had gone out to unload the carriage. They carried a trunk between them, and Constance and the Rutherfords automatically parted to let them walk through. They set the trunk down on the floor in front of Lord Selbrooke. Constance saw with some astonishment that it was her trunk.

  “Lady Selbrooke’s ruby necklace is gone,” the Earl proclaimed, gazing straight at Constance. “What have you to say for yourself, Miss Woodley?”

  Constance gaped at him.

  “Are you mad?” Francesca cried from the staircase, and she ran down the steps toward her father. “Surely you cannot think that Constance took the necklace?”

  “I am certain of it,” the Earl retorted, still looking only at Constance. “Why else did she run away like this? A trifle odd, is it not, that Miss Woodley disappears on the same morning that the necklace does?”

  Again there was a murmur from the staircase.

  Anger shot through Constance, stiffening her spine, and she said clearly, “I took nothing from this house, my lord.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Dominic look consideringly from her to his father. Pain seared through her. Surely he could not suspect her!

  “Indeed?” The Earl cocked one eyebrow and nodded toward one of the footmen, who knelt and unfastened her trunk, opening the lid.

  There, on top of her folded clothes, lay a small box. The footman turned toward the Earl, and he nodded. The footman handed him the box, and the Earl opened it. Inside was a folded piece of black velvet.