Seductive Wager

by Leigh Greenwood

  Their good understanding continued for two more days. They spent more time with the weapons, Charles even brought a dart board for her to use as a target with the dagger, and he taught her to play cards. She read to him occasionally, but that bored him and he fell asleep.

  Valentine did her best to see they weren’t disturbed. She never stayed more than a few minutes herself and always seemed to discover some urgent need for Charles whenever he joined them. Kate didn’t realize they were being thrown together, but Brett did and wondered what Valentine was up to. He knew she was a shrewd observer who never missed anything for long, particularly if the intention was to keep it from her. She was up to some mischief, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. After all, he couldn’t order her to stay in her room when it was her own inn.

  The next day was particularly sunny and Dr. Burton agreed to let Brett spend some time in the garden if he would stay in his chair. “I don’t want you walking unassisted, and you’re not to stay out long. It could be fatal if you were to develop a chill. It’s really too early to be getting up, but a little exercise and sunshine might do you good.”

  After lunch, therefore, Valentine ordered at least half the furniture in the inn carried out to the garden where they spent the next two hours luxuriating in the sun and trying to decide what to do with Kate’s inheritance. Kate still thought of herself as penniless, so when Valentine asked what she was going to do with her castle, she was nonplussed.

  “What castle are you talking about?” she asked in genuine bewilderment.

  “Your home. You said you had no family. Did you not inherit?”

  Kate looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know. I mean, I never knew. No one ever said anything about it.”

  “It’s yours,” Brett said unexpectedly. “It’s not entailed.”

  “How do you know?” she demanded, her voice sharp and metallic.

  “Your brother’s lawyer told us when he explained why Martin couldn’t bet his estate.”

  “Bet what estate?” Valentine exclaimed, agog with curiosity. Brett didn’t stop to explain.

  “You’re probably a very rich woman.” He didn’t sound the least bit pleased by the prospect. “I don’t know why I didn’t think to mention it before. I suppose my illness drove it out of my mind.”

  Valentine didn’t understand half of what Brett was talking about, but she understood enough to know Kate was not the poor, dependent girl everyone thought her to be, and she could tell Brett didn’t like the change. She would have been ready to bet her best necklace he wouldn’t let her go, but if she had money in her own right, how was he going to stop her? She looked at the two young people, each lost in their own thoughts, and her heart chuckled with anticipation. There were going to be some fireworks before this day was out.

  “If this castle is yours,” Valentine said, merriment in her eyes, “you must chase away the old memories. Have you a moat and drawbridge?” Kate smiled and shook her head. “But surely you have a dungeon. You can bury the skeletons and paint it bright yellow.” Gradually Kate responded to Valentine’s efforts to make her laugh, and within minutes they were remaking torture chambers into wine cellars, using racks for quilting frames, branding irons to create needlepoint designs, and the iron manacles to hang up curing hams.

  Brett was disgusted at the turn in the conversation and took no part in it, but he was no more pleased when Charles reported some letters had arrived for him, and he excused himself with visible reluctance. Oddly enough, the ladies found nothing seemed quite so funny after he’d gone, and they soon went inside.

  Some very intensive thought took place in their three rooms that afternoon.

  Valentine’s mind was set on pure mischief; she had decided that Brett should marry Kate. The poor girl obviously adored him—she didn’t have a single thought in her head that wasn’t bound up in Brett—yet she wouldn’t give in to him all the time. Valentine understood Brett well enough to know that part of the reason he held women in such contempt was that they had done exactly what he wanted all his life. Kate loved him completely and passionately, but she would fight him every step of the way before she would let him ignore her feelings and reject her judgment.

  Brett wasn’t used to any opposition, and Valentine positively burned to see him brought to his knees by a woman strong enough to give him back word for word and deed for deed. She felt sure Brett would never marry anyone who did not fight against his suffocating iron will. He might think he only wanted someone who would provide food for his lusts and satisfaction for his passions, but he would only bestow his name on a woman whose character he admired and whose strength he respected.

  Valentine adored strong men and secretly wanted to be dominated herself, but she was a very forceful woman and had ultimately controlled the men who had loved her. Naturally it was too much for her self-control to stand by and see Brett escape without being brought to heel. She promised herself she would attend their wedding if she had to walk all the way to London.

  Kate derived virtually no pleasure from her thoughts. She found it impossible to believe Ryehill was hers. She had never known who inherited after Martin, but she had never been given any reason to think it would be hers. Now she paced her room trying to ignore the nagging fear that some obscure cousin would materialize and snatch it from her before she learned if Martin had left her anything to inherit besides debts.

  But she would have to wait until she got back to London and could see her uncle to answer that question. If it turned out there was something left after the debts had been paid, then all her problems would be solved. She didn’t need much money; even a small amount would enable her to live quietly somewhere far away from the prying eyes of society. She had always known, though she hadn’t admitted it to herself because of the terrible consequences, that the story of her leaving Ryehill would someday get out, maybe not now or all at one time, but once people learned she had gone with Brett unchaperoned, her reputation would be ruined and society would never accept her. If she had enough money to live, it wouldn’t matter.

  But that meant cutting herself off from Brett as well, and that was a prospect she couldn’t face yet. Her love was too new and untasted, her youthful optimism too bountiful to accept the brutal finality of separation. Every time she saw his face, pictured his powerful body, remembered the wild passion of that first night, her hope was renewed that something would happen to bridge the gulf that separated them. The very thought of calling such a vibrant and sensual creature her husband started her senses racing and her whole body tingling.

  But cooler and more objective thinking brought her up against the realities of the situation, and she spent the remainder of the afternoon in a despondent mood.

  Chapter 13

  Brett’s thoughts were more clearly set out, but no less difficult to accept. The first letter came from the foreign minister’s office and contained Brett’s new instructions. Lord Thunderburke stated in no uncertain terms that it was “damned inconvenient of you to get yourself shot while you’re working for the Foreign Office. You’re supposed to be on your way to Paris and Rome, not lying up somewhere recuperating.” The work of making new plans had clearly made serious inroads into his lordship’s store of patience, and his instructions were succinct.

  Brett was to proceed to Calais as soon as he got this letter. A ship was already waiting which would take him down the coasts of France and Spain, through the straits of Gibraltar, and then along the coast of North Africa to Algeria. When he arrived in Algiers, he would follow his previous instructions. The situation there was developing quickly and he was-to proceed with caution and as much speed as possible.

  Brett uttered several pithy oaths, but he had actually received the instructions he expected. Taking the nature and timing of his mission into consideration, there was really nothing else Lord Thunderburke could have done. Nevertheless, he cursed.

  What was he to do about Kate? This business of inheriting Martin’s estate had caught him off guard
. Why hadn’t he remembered it instead of accepting Kate’s word for her poverty? Now that she had money and somewhere to go, he could not continue to put her off. She didn’t have to depend on him any longer. If she got away from him this time, and he wouldn’t put it past Valentine to help her, she would go straight to that cursed uncle and he might never get her back.

  Brett pulled himself up with a mental jerk. He’d never acted like this over a woman before, and he didn’t understand why he should be doing so now. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t essential that she stay with him, that he’d get along without her just as he had gotten along without all the others, but he knew better. He didn’t know what he wanted from her, but every time he remembered the taste of her sweet mouth or the feel of her wondrously soft skin, he suffered fresh agonies of desire. He could not lose her, and damn this wound for keeping him so helpless.

  The second letter threw him into a towering rage. He had written Edward to ask if anyone knew what had happened at Ryehill, and now he wished he hadn’t. After finishing the letter, Brett paused only long enough to crush the pages in his hand before delivering himself of some ripe curses; then he stalked to the door and shouted for Charles, all the while heaping curses on Martin, Boyngton, Sedley, and a nameless young man who Edward said had seen them in Dover and couldn’t wait to tell anyone who would listen. It was clear that too many people knew too much about what happened at Ryehill for it to remain a secret much longer; however, he was the one who had made the mistake of accepting the bet and of leaving the castle with Kate. After that, everything else was inevitable.

  “Somewhere in the village there’s an English cleric by the name of Humphries,” Brett barked as soon as Charles entered the room. “He’s usually drunk before noon so you’ll have to sober him up, but I want him here right after dinner. He’s going to perform a marriage. Talk to Valentine. You’ll find him a lot faster with her help.”

  “Y-your marriage, sir?” Charles stammered. He was an experienced servant and used to receiving unusual orders, but this time he was barely able to keep his eyes from starting from his head.

  “Yes, my marriage. Charles Hunglesby has written me a damned impertinent letter, even for him. It seems Boyngton talked too much and Sedley is nosing about as usual. The upshot is this whole mess is about to leak out, and he practically ordered me to marry Miss Vareyan to save her reputation. And not a word of concern for me, his friend of I don’t know how many years. I’ll kill Frank Boyngton if I ever see him again.”

  “Does Miss Vareyan know?”

  “No, and you’d better not get that priest here too early. I’ve got to have time to prepare her, and I’m not at all sure how she’s going to take it.”

  Dinner that evening was a strain on everyone.

  Brett was uncommunicative and returned clipped monosyllables to any remark addressed to him. He saw this marriage as a public admission of guilt and had to constantly curb an urge to lash out at Kate as the cause of his humiliation.

  The more she thought about it, the less Kate wanted to return to Ryehill. After thinking that everything would be all right if she only had somewhere to go, she realized that even the ends of the earth wouldn’t be far enough to escape from her love of Brett.

  Valentine believed lovers had to suffer great misery before they could be happy, so she nearly laughed aloud when Kate snapped at Brett for one of his cutting remarks. She had refused to lift a finger to help Charles until he had told her the whole story, and now she couldn’t resist the temptation to drive Brett hard. He was as thoughtless and selfish as he was handsome, and he deserved to be made miserable. Still, only a man of Brett’s sensual appetites could appreciate a prize like Kate.

  So Valentine chatted happily, answering her own questions and never waiting for Kate or Brett to respond. She was a naughty creature who loved to twitch others where it hurt. She always felt a little guilty afterward, but she could no more stop the devil in her from rearing its head than she could give up dying her hair.

  After the dessert dishes had been taken away, Valentine and Kate rose to leave Brett with his brandy. It was the first evening they had eaten in the dining room and they were unsure whether to observe the formal custom or stick to their recent practice of talking long after the dishes had been removed.

  “Don’t go,” Brett said, motioning them back to their seats with a frown. “I received some letters from London today, and I think we should discuss what to do about Kate.” He kept playing with his brandy glass, reluctant to come to the point, and Valentine settled back to watch. The only way he could have gotten her out of the room would have been to push her out, and then she would have listened at the keyhole. Kate leaned forward expectantly, ready to listen to anything Brett suggested but determined to make up her own mind.

  “You both know I was supposed to be in Paris over a week ago. Today I received new orders. I’m to leave as soon as I’m able to travel.”

  Kate’s body stiffened and the color drained from her face. It had finally come; he was going to leave her.

  “There’s a ship waiting at Calais this very minute to take me to the Mediterranean. I leave at dawn tomorrow. I have lost a lot of time with this wound, and now I must move as quickly as possible.”

  Kate clenched her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. She had known it would happen and she’d been trying to prepare herself for it, but hearing it was a shock.

  “I received a second letter from Edward,” Brett said, turning to Kate, “and he tells me everyone knows I killed Martin. No one seems to know you were with me, but it’s only a matter of time before someone finds out and your reputation will be lost forever. To prevent such an unfortunate situation, I’m offering to marry you. By the time we return from Africa, our marriage will no longer be news, and your uncle and I will be there to shield you from any persistently curious tongues.”

  Sacrebleu! Valentine cursed inwardly. How could he have been so stupid as to propose in that insulting way.

  Kate listened to Edward’s news with a sinking heart, but the moment Brett’s proposal passed his lips, her eyes began to blaze. By the time he finished delivering himself of the infamous proposal, she wished she could die of mortification. He was the most incredibly blind and insensitive blockhead she had ever met, and she had to be an even greater fool to be in love with him.

  She made a tremendous effort to control her voice before she spoke, but she was shaking and she didn’t sound calm. “I appreciate your concern for my reputation,” she managed to say from between clenched teeth, “but I’m afraid I must refuse your flattering offer.”

  Now the battle will start, Valentine thought gleefully.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said?” Brett demanded, regarding her impatiently but without surprise. “All London knows half the story, and any day now they may get the rest. Marrying me is the only hope you have.”

  Mother of God, Valentine thought, I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s actually making things worse.

  Kate lost her temper. “My only chance,” she hissed in sulfurous choler, “was to have never met you in the first place. How dare you offer me marriage in such a degrading manner. I should have pushed you into the sea with Martin.” The force of her anger was too great for her to remain seated and she stood up in her place, her blue eyes cutting through the air like swords of steel and her long tresses bouncing in her agitation.

  “From the way you’re carrying on, you’d think I’d asked you to become my mistress instead of my wife.”

  “If you had asked me, I might have agreed,” Kate retorted, stunning both Brett and Valentine, “but I wouldn’t marry you to save you from torture.”

  “Good God, girl, you act like the name of Westbrook belongs to some country bumpkin.”

  “The name may have been honorable when you took it, but it’s become rather soiled since then.”

  Brett brought his good hand down on the table with a resounding crash. “Well have no more of that unless you
want to be whipped.” His black eyes clouded and the lids rode low. He was making an extraordinary effort to control his temper, but he was rapidly losing the struggle. Like every man of ancient lineage, the defense of his name was an inbred instinct, and it was impossible for him to allow anyone to abuse his name and still hold up his head. His pride was embedded in the honor of his name, and on that foundation rested the essence of his being.

  “Is it your normal procedure to whip females when they disagree with you?” Kate demanded.

  “Much more, and you’ll find out what I do to anyone who casts slurs on my family name.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Kate purred. “I didn’t cast slurs on your family, just on you.”

  Brett sprang up, but Kate skipped nimbly out of his reach. He knew he couldn’t catch her, and would only make a fool of himself if he tried. “I have offered you the protection of my name,” he said, drawing himself up stiffly, “and I still stand by that offer.” He turned to Valentine. “See if you can talk some sense into her. She’s clearly deranged,” he said, and slammed out of the room.

  “I won’t marry you,” Kate shouted after him. “Not if you begged on your knees.” Her voice caught in a sob and she picked up a vase from the sideboard and threw it at the door. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

  “To be sure, it was an ugly vase,” Valentine commented cryptically. “I do not think I wanted it anymore, but calm yourself, ma petite, before you break anything more. I think I like everything else.” She smiled, inviting Kate to resume her seat, but she had already begun to pace furiously up and down the room. She was tearing her handkerchief to bits and mumbling curses under her breath. Valentine watched in silence for a few minutes.

  “Sooner or later you must sit down and face your problem with a calm mind.”

  “Why?” Kate demanded angrily. “Brett won’t listen to anything I say.”

  “Not while you throw vases about the room.”