Seductive Wager

by Leigh Greenwood

  For long moments neither moved nor spoke. But as the euphoria of their pleasure subsided and the full realization of what had occurred began to sink in, Kate started to shake uncontrollably. She bit her lip hard and held her body rigid, but it was no use. Nothing could stop the onslaught of shock and mortification. The tears came first as glistening dewdrops on the ends of her lashes, then ran down her cheeks in ever increasing rivulets until her pillow became wet with her remorse. Brett attempted to comfort her, but she tore free of his embrace.

  “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, her eyes bright with tears. She put her gown to rights and snatched up a heavy robe which she buttoned up to her chin.

  “Keep your voice down,” Brett whispered imperatively. “Someone might hear you.”

  “Do you think I care now? Can they ruin me any more than you already have?”

  “No one ever needs to know what happened.”

  “You’re worried about what somebody else might think, but I’m concerned with what I think, what I feel. I’m the one who has to hold up my head and pretend to be an honorable woman. I feel unclean.”

  “If no one knows, it won’t be as bad.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?” Kate demanded, staring at him like he was some form of exotic beast. “Are you so utterly insensitive you can pretend nothing more has happened than a few moments of harmless pleasure? Tell me, conquering hero, how am I going to face an honest man, should one be so foolish as to ask for my hand? Do I smile prettily and say, ‘I’ll be delighted to accept your offer, kind sir, but I feel I must tell you there is a little something missing. Mr. Westbrook took it, but I won’t mind if you don’t.’ Or should I accept gratefully and let him discover on our wedding night that I’m used goods parading as new cloth?”

  Brett was stiff with anger, but he was also honest enough to admit the truth of what she said. “I can’t alter what’s happened, but I’m sure something can be done,” he said with a half-goading tone.

  “Something has already been done,” Kate rasped. “You couldn’t have destroyed me any more completely if you had stripped me of my pedigree and proved me of bastard birth. Go away!” she cried, some of the passion and anger wrung out of her voice. “Can’t you see I’m crying, and I hate to cry in front of people I dislike.” She buried her face in the pillows, and gave way to wracking sobs that shook her body from one end to the other.

  Brett was trapped. He couldn’t leave the room, but his presence was doing nothing to help calm Kate down; in fact, it only caused her to cry harder. He couldn’t even work off his own rage by hurling curses at the huddled figure in the bed. As much as he hated the appalling muddle, he was too honest to throw the blame on anyone but himself; still, that didn’t prevent his being angry with Kate. Impotent fury boiled within him, but he could find no outlet other than rapid pacing about the small room, the sight of Kate’s huddled figure a continual accusation which further exacerbated his raw nerves.

  “You don’t have to cringe in the corner like you’re caged with a rabid beast. I promise I won’t bother you again,” he muttered angrily.

  “You’re just as lethal,” Kate said, lifting her head from the pillow. “And you’ve given me sufficient proof of how to value your assurances of safety.” She gave a sob and buried her face in her pillow once more.

  “For God’s sake, woman, you’d drive a saint to cursing with your incessant harping.”

  “Since we know you’re no saint,” Kate hiccupped, “I guess I’d better cover my ears before they’re violated as well.”

  “By God, if I don’t strangle you before the night’s out … !”

  “I wouldn’t call upon God so often if I were you,” Kate advised, not the least intimidated by his threats. “If He ever gets a good look at what He’s created, He’s likely to burn you to a cinder.”

  “You vixen!” Brett raged, giving free rein to his anger. “I ought to break your beautiful neck. It seems nothing else can still your spiteful tongue.”

  But somehow the tension was broken and both of them felt their anger begin to subside. “You’re vile, loathsome, and you have no sense of shame,” Kate said. “You’ve ruined me for a few moments of pleasure, and now you’re threatening to break my neck if I don’t stop reminding you of it. No doubt you would enjoy ravishing me for the rest of the night, but I don’t think I would like it. I don’t see why you cant sleep somewhere else, but I’m too tired to argue with you. Just know that if you so much as come near me, I’ll stab you with this nail file.”

  Shaking with rage, Brett opened his mouth to speak.

  “And don’t say another word,” Kate ordered, forestalling him. She mounded up the pillows and settled back against them. “There’s nothing more that can be said.” Then she wrapped her robe more securely about her and held tightly to a long and very sharp nail file she had taken from the bedside table.

  Though she would die before she admitted it to Brett, Kate knew she was as responsible as he for what had happened between them. It didn’t matter that she had been half asleep or that he had refused to heed her pleas to release her, she was painfully aware she had responded to his every move, had even encouraged him to continue when he might have stopped. True, he was more experienced than she and should have been the one to hold back, but she had known the consequences of such an encounter and still she had begged him to continue. It mattered not that she had used no words; her body had spoken a language he could not misunderstand.

  Why would she have done such a thing? She had admitted the attraction almost from the first, but that was no reason to throw herself at him in complete disregard of the consequences of such an action. And it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had been in love with him; she was still unmarried and as such was ruined. She had left Ryehill with three advantages—beauty, birth, and virginity. Now she had thrown away the only one which could make the others worthless.

  She made no move to try to sleep but stared vacantly before her seeing nothing but her own bleak thoughts.

  Brett paced the room, glancing up at Kate every few turns; her eyes never once turned to his tall, athletic figure as it stalked the room, sending his muscles rippling in anger and frustration. The nail file remained tightly grasped in her right hand and the bedclothes held under her chin with her left.

  Brett was preyed upon by so many conflicting emotions it took him close to the rest of the night to sort them out. He was not used to having accusations of guilt flung at him, and he was unaccustomed to any kind of self-chastisement, but his enormous wealth and undisciplined youth had not destroyed his innately fair and honest character. Even though his rage continued to feed on his sense of ill-treatment, it did not prevent him from admitting he had seriously compromised Kate’s future and that it was up to him to make some kind of atonement. But the truth was bitter gall that kept his anger hot.

  He was angry at her for showing him so irrefutably the injustice he had done her by making her the victim of his unbridled lust, regardless of her encouragement. Even though he had never given any thought to the plight of a gently born girl without money or the protection of a family, he knew he should have stopped himself before it was too late. Until tonight, he had confined his activities to mature women who were of the same mind as he and knew how to play the game according to the rules.

  He was angry at her for having the temerity to throw his misdeeds in his face. He had done things he was not proud of before, but no one had faced him down or caused him to apologize. Yet this girl, with no one to support or protect her, had called him the worst names she knew, and he had practically admitted he deserved them.

  He was angry because Kate wouldn’t somehow disappear and relieve him of the responsibility he had so thoughtlessly assumed and then made worse by his unbridled lusts. How in heaven’s name was he going to find a situation for a penniless girl of extraordinary looks which wouldn’t end up with her becoming someone’s mistress? It was impossible to leave her unprotected; she’d be devoured b
y the town wolves in less than a fortnight.

  He was angry because she had touched something within him no one else had even managed to find, something he had taken pains to hide. Now he knew he wouldn’t be able to push her off on some distant relative, or leave her with a job-service bureau and forget about her. He wanted to know what was going to happen to her. And that wasn’t all. In some as-yet-hazy way, he realized he wanted her to be accepted by her own class, not as an employee or mistress, but as an equal.

  Finally, he was angry at her for disturbing the precision of his thoughts, for making him feel all these emotions. Never before had he bothered to concern himself with what other people wanted; he had certainly not sat for hours wracking his brains trying to come up with a solution to a problem that showed every indication of being insoluble.

  He should have headed straight for France and left Edward to settle her in London. Then maybe he wouldn’t have the nagging feeling he had behaved like a cad and it was his responsibility to compensate her for the consequences of his irresponsible folly. Something had to be done, but it might be weeks before he could find a permanent solution. He could hand the whole problem over to his lawyers, but he wanted to involve as few people as possible. Why had he accepted Martin’s wager? One unthinkingly chivalrous act and look what it had gotten him into. It was beginning to seem like he would have to take her to France.

  The pit of his stomach knotted and threatened to rise into his throat. He was horrified to discover he was pleasurably excited by the thought of keeping her with him. He cursed himself roundly. Lord, he was starting to act like a romantic fool. Nothing was more sure to jeopardize the success of his mission or make his work more nearly impossible than having a mettlesome girl on his hands with too much beauty for her own good and far too little sense about the world. If he wanted to spend all his time presiding over her entertainment and driving off seducers, then by all means he would take her along. He would have his hands full long before they reached Algiers.

  Brett threw himself into the chair. He would drive himself to violence if he didn’t stop thinking of Kate and her seductive allure. It was time he began to give some thought to his mission. The task before him was not an easy one. If he was to keep the dey of Algiers from provoking the French into invading his country, he would have to be a very clever and persuasive talker; the emissaries of el-Kader certainly would be, and they would have bribes to offer as well.

  Brett’s thoughts continued to revolve around Kate until the first rays of the morning sun came streaming through the bedroom windows.

  The clatter from below proclaimed the house was up and readying for the new day. Brett woke feeling so bruised and sore he knew it would take several hours of heavy exercise to get over the effects of spending the night in that horrible chair. Kate still sat with the nail file in her hands, her eyes following him as he moved about the room. All the anger and fear had gone out of them, but they were wary and held an accusing glitter.

  The memory of last night burst upon him in one devastating rush. Even though he had been half asleep, he knew he had enjoyed a sensual experience more glorious than any before. The memory of Kate’s welcoming lips, her velvety skin, her enveloping warmth caused his hunger to rise up unappeased and his groin to tighten painfully. Cursing silently, Brett rose out of his chair, determined to leave the room as soon as possible. He knew if he did not remove himself from her presence quickly, he might be tempted to approach her again, and he dared not think of what she would do to him with that nail file.

  Trying to ignore the tantalizing appeal of her loveliness, Brett poured some cold water into the basin and washed his face. He wondered if anyone would think to bring his shaving water or if he was going to have to get it himself; and his boots and coat needed serious attention before he could wear them again. His trunks hadn’t been unstrapped the night before, but it was too much trouble to have them brought in just to look for a new coat. He would have to spend at least part of the morning in the same clothes. It would be a relief when he could return to his usual routine. He caught a glimpse of Kate’s exquisite countenance in the mirror and realized that was a forlorn hope. Nothing in his life would ever be the same again. In less than twenty-four hours, she had smashed the tenor of his existence beyond repair.

  “I’m going to be gone for most of the morning,” he said, breaking the silence. “I don’t know who’s up yet, but no one ever lifts so much as a spoon around here without Mathilda’s knowledge. She’ll see to you when she gets here.”

  “Just go away,” Kate said in a flat voice. “I can take care of myself. I always have.” She seemed drained of all her vitality, but her eyes were still tightly focused on his every move. The bright light that burned in their azure depths showed that her unflagging spirit still burned brightly.

  Brett busied himself with his shaving equipment. He was in no mood to talk; besides, he didn’t know what to say to her. If he had any sense at all he would pay as little attention to her as possible. Just the sight of her sitting huddled outside with the gold of the sun making her like something alive was enough to cause his passions to stir. He could almost feel her skin beneath his fingertips, smell the fragrance of her hair, taste the sweetness of her mouth, but he hadn’t the least doubt she would use the nail file on him if he approached her again.

  A vigorous knock was heard at the door and Mathilda’s hearty voice easily penetrated the wood panels. “Are you up, Mr. Westbrook?” She waited a few seconds then tried the door; it was still locked. “Drat the man,” they heard her say. “I’ll bet the lazy boy is still asleep. And his shaving water getting stone-cold quick as a cat can lick her whiskers. I hope he doesn’t think I’m going to stand out here until it pleases him to wake up.”

  Having delayed only as long as it took him to find his dressing gown and pull it over his bare torso, Brett opened the door.

  “Humph! So you are up. Pity you couldn’t say so,” Mathilda grumbled and pushed past him into the room. “I hope you had a good night’s rest, miss.” Kate had pulled the covers almost up to her eyes at the sound of the first knock. The nail file was nowhere to be seen.

  “I slept f-fine,” she stammered, trying to avoid Mathilda’s eyes.

  “Let me take care of this man so I can get him out of the way, and then I’ll help you get ready for breakfast. I’ve already got a girl grinding coffee beans and fixing to scramble eggs to go with some sausage and fresh-baked bread.”

  “I can’t possibly eat that much,” Kate said, feeling uncomfortable with so much attention. “Coffee and toast would be just fine.”

  “Humph!” Mathilda sniffed. “A young girl like you needs more than coffee and toast to keep the flesh on your bones. It’s a right cold day, too, and you’ll never be warm in that drafty coach without something to fill your stomach.” She turned to Brett.

  “You hurry up with your shaving while I see about your boots. You’d better give me your coat, too.” Brett retrieved the garment from the wardrobe.

  Mathilda looked put out. “What do you mean, putting that man’s clothes up for him?” she scolded, turning to Kate. “We women are all alike, spoiling a man and making him think we’re obliged to wait on him hand and foot. Let him hang up his own coat next time, or wear it like it is.”

  Kate couldn’t repress a smile, but Brett wasn’t amused. “Miss Vareyan was sound asleep when I came in,” he informed Mathilda. “I may be spoiled, but I haven’t yet been reduced to depending upon you or any other woman.

  “Such indignation,” Mathilda taunted, smiling wickedly. “I never knew a man to get the wind up if he wasn’t guilty of something.” She didn’t notice Kate had turned ashen and had nearly slipped out of sight under the covers. Brett’s face gave nothing away.

  “Get out of here, you old termagant,” he teased. “I’ll be through shaving in ten minutes, and I expect you to be hack with my coat and boots before the soap is off my face.” He pushed her steadily toward the door. “And they’d better be spotle
ss. Not a single speck or a wrinkle.”

  “If you’re so particular, you can do them yourself, Mr. London dandy,” she shot back at him. “You’ll get what my girls can do and no more.” She opened the door and was gone; Brett began choosing razors.

  “It won’t take me long to shave. I’ll have my breakfast in the coffee room. I imagine everyone will try to make an early start. They ought to be gone before lunch.” He finished shaving one side of his face and started on the other.

  “It’ll take most of the morning to fix the coach window. While that’s being done, I’m going to take a ride to work out some of the stiffness. Just let Mathilda know if there’s anything you want.” He completed the last swipe with the razor and rinsed his face. As he patted his skin dry, Mathilda ambled in without knock or invitation. She grinned when she saw he hadn’t yet put his razors away.

  “I told you the service was quick. Good, too,” she said as she handed him his boots. Brett packed his razors away, forced his feet into his boots, and quickly put on his shirt and tie.

  “I always knew Michael kept you for something besides scorching the meat,” Brett said, grinning provocatively as he let Mathilda help him into his coat. Mathilda let out a deep, rumbling laugh that set her rolls of fat to dipping and swaying like swells in a rough sea.

  “If you aren’t the worst! Get out of here before I empty that pitcher over your handsome head,” she threatened.