The Earl's Prize

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘Amanda!’ Amy said quickly. She was blushing. ‘I am to ask him what?’

  ‘Ask him why he took the blame for his sister’s gambling debts all those years ago. Ask him why he allowed his father to believe it was his fault, not Juliana’s, and why he has never told the truth about it.’ Amanda yawned. ‘Lord, I am so tired…’

  ‘Yes, but—’ Amy grabbed her arm and almost shook her. ‘How do you know this? Everyone says that it was Joss who incurred those debts that almost brought the Tallants down. Why, it is common knowledge—’

  Amanda shook her head, still yawning. ‘As I said—I was Juliana’s best friend in her first season. She confided in me. She was different in those days, Amy.’ Amanda sighed. ‘There was something softer to her then, more gentle. She knew that she would be utterly disgraced if it all came out and she was desperate to marry Myfleet. ’Tis a pity he did not live—he was a good man and would have been a steadying influence. But Juliana was afraid that he would not have her if he knew…Ask Lord Tallant what happened next. I think he will tell you. All I can say is that no breath of scandal ever attached to Juliana’s name and it was Joss who was banished in disgrace…’ She slid down in the bed. ‘Thank you so much, Amy. I am so sorry…’

  It was only a few minutes before the laudanum took full effect and Amanda was asleep, but Amy sat beside the bed for much longer. Deliberating on Amanda’s unhappiness and the ways to prevent blackmail, she also thought of Juliana Myfleet and her love for a good man, and of Joss Tallant, who might well prove to be a better man than ever he had been painted.

  Chapter Twelve

  Joss knew that he was in deep trouble. He had known it for a long time, but had refused to face up to it. He had known it when he had accepted Juliana’s wager purely for the pleasure of spending time in Amy’s company, he had known it when he had paid off Harriet Templeton and admitted to himself that he had no desire to set up another mistress, and he had known it when he had kissed Amy in Lady Carteret’s garden. The only thing that he had not done was acknowledge the truth to himself, indulging instead in a whole range of activities designed to distract his thoughts from their one inevitable conclusion. Now, as he made his farewells to his gambling cronies at a scandalously early hour, Joss was conscious of nothing other than a relief that he had finally admitted the truth. He was in love with Miss Amy Bainbridge and he wanted to marry her.

  The thought was shocking, exhilarating and nerve-racking all at the same time, and he had no very clear idea how it could possibly have happened. Since it had, however, he realised that he had two distinct options: to ignore the malaise and hope that it was of short duration or to act on his impulses, ask for an interview and put his fate to the touch. It was a terrifying thought because he did not flatter himself that Amy would accept him.

  Outside White’s it was raining. The cold night air helped to clear his head, although the thoughts that followed were not encouraging ones. As he walked, Joss enumerated them in his head. Amy thought him a gambler, a wastrel and a womaniser. She hated gambling because of her father’s excesses. She would never, never give herself to a man who had the same weakness. Against his will, he remembered her words when they had discussed marriage:

  ‘I am a lady of independent means and have achieved the security I craved. To my mind that is much better…’

  He could hardly fool himself that his prospects were bright and yet it only served to strengthen his resolve. He wanted Amy Bainbridge with an ardour that made a mockery of all his previous experience. He wanted to make love to her and he wanted to protect her with the same passionate intensity, and now that he had belatedly admitted to himself that he loved her with all his heart, he had not a hope in hell of suppressing his feelings.

  Amy, with her quick wit, shy but astringent, sweet and kind…Amy, small, soft and yielding in his arms…Joss almost groaned aloud. If he had been able to go around to Curzon Street and demand an answer at once, he would have done so. As it was, he suspected he was in for a long, wakeful night.

  It was raining. Somehow Amy had not been expecting that and she stood in the darkness outside Number 12 St James’s with the raindrops dripping off the brim of her hat and pooling on her cloak. She felt damp and miserable and her wet veil kept sticking to her face. The blackmailer was not at home and now she was uncertain just what to do.

  It had not occurred to her that he would not be there. Either Amanda had got the time or the place wrong, or this was a deliberate attempt to keep her waiting and make her more on edge. Amy suspected the latter. She had no desire to huddle on a street corner until Massingham deigned to return, but equally she did not want to leave Amanda to her fate. It was a dilemma.

  She retreated on to the pavement and viewed the dark windows of Number 12 dubiously. Richard had not been at home when she left, or she would have asked him who lived there just so that she had some confirmation of Amanda’s suspicions. She felt conspicuous and vulnerable, despite the thick darkness, and when someone touched her arm she almost screamed.

  ‘Miss Bainbridge, it is you. I thought so, but I could scarce believe it! What the devil are you doing here at this time of night?’

  There was an edge of furious exasperation in Joss’s voice and he took her arm in a tight grip. Amy shook him off.

  ‘Oh! It’s you!’ She looked at him doubtfully. ‘Do you live here?’

  ‘I live just across the road. What are you doing loitering in St James’s, Miss Bainbridge?’ Joss’s gaze skimmed her in the gloom. ‘And dressed like a shady widow as well? Good God, if I did not know better I should say you were visiting a gentleman—’

  ‘I am.’ Amy’s teeth were beginning to chatter and a raindrop edged its cold path down her neck. She saw Joss’s gaze whip round incredulously and she started to laugh. ‘Oh, not in the way that you mean! May we discuss this inside? I am rather cold and wet.’

  Joss took her arm again and turned her firmly in the direction of Curzon Street. ‘No, we may not! That would be utterly improper. I am taking you home immediately.’

  Once again, Amy freed herself. ‘That would be quite pointless for I should only be obliged to turn round and come straight back. I cannot believe that the greatest rake in London is debating morality with me in the street at midnight! Please, my lord—’

  A couple strolled past them and gave them a curious look. Joss gave an irritable sigh. ‘Oh, very well! Come along!’

  He hustled her across the road and in at the door. Amy looked about her with interest. Joss’s chambers were a mirror of the man himself, stark and austerely decorated. Everything was in excellent taste, but it lacked a spark of warmth, as though Joss deliberately strove to eliminate emotion in his surroundings as much as in his life. Glancing at him, she saw that he was watching her and was immediately obliged to revise her opinion. There was enough heat in his gaze to scorch her. Amy turned hastily away, the danger of stepping into the rooms of a notorious rake hitting her just a little too late.

  ‘Belton, a bottle of brandy, if you please, and some wine for Miss Bainbridge.’ Joss was divesting himself of his cloak and hat and passing them to the valet, who had materialised silently in the corridor in front of them. Amy started to feel a little better. There was nothing more respectable than a servant.

  ‘Once you have brought the drinks you may retire,’ Joss continued.

  ‘Certainly, my lord,’ the valet said.

  Amy bit her lip. ‘Oh dear, how perfectly scandalous this is! Perhaps I should not have come in—’

  ‘Of course you should not.’ Joss ushered her into a drawing room where a cheerful fire burned and the candles were already lit. ‘You are here now, however. Would you care to give me your cloak and that rather extraordinary hat?’

  Amy started to struggle out of her disguise. Belton came into the room, set down a tray with the drinks and unobtrusively slipped out again.

  ‘How well your valet copes with such disreputable goings-on, my lord!’ Amy smothered a yawn. The warmth of the room ma
de her feel sleepy. ‘No doubt he has had much practice!’

  Joss did not look amused. ‘No, indeed. Belton and I live a very quiet life.’ He scrutinised her. ‘Amy, you look as though you should be on stage at Drury Lane rigged out in that garb! What is that ridiculous contraption on your head?’

  Amy unpinned the black felt hat and looked at it sorrowfully. It had drooped in the rain and the veil was dripping water. ‘It is dreadful, is it not? At least Mama was never fond of it!’ She broke off as she realised that Joss’s attention was focussed on her hair rather than the hat in her hand. The shining strands were tumbling straight about her shoulders but she could not see why that should be responsible for his slightly stunned expression. She flicked it back a little self-consciously.

  ‘I suppose I look a fright! Would your valet be good enough to dry my cloak?’

  ‘Of course.’ Joss seemed to shake himself and took the soaking black cloak from her outstretched hands. He was careful not to touch her and Amy suddenly understood. A burning blush washed over her as she acknowledged that she was alone with Joss in his rooms at past midnight. It was, as he had said, utterly improper. Yet a small, traitorous tickle of excitement ran down her spine at the thought.

  ‘I would not have expected you to be home at this hour, my lord,’ she said, accepting the glass of wine that he passed to her. ‘I thought that you would be gambling at White’s, or—’ She stopped, blushing harder. That was what one got for allowing unruly thoughts to get away.

  There was a glimmer of a smile in Joss’s eyes. ‘I fear that you have improved me even if you did not desire to do so, Miss Bainbridge,’ he said slowly. ‘I am home so early because I find that you have ruined my concentration at cards. As for the rest…’ his smile deepened ‘…I fear that holds little interest for me either!’

  ‘Oh, well…’ Amy attempted to achieve a coolness to match his own although she knew she was looking pink and flustered. ‘Perhaps you will find some new pastimes in a little while.’

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Joss’s gaze held hers intently for a loaded moment, and then he moved away, his manner becoming briskly businesslike. ‘That is nothing to the purpose, however. Come and sit by the fire and tell me what is going on.’

  Amy took a sip of her wine. It was warming and strong and she started almost imperceptibly to relax.

  ‘It is a little difficult…I am here on behalf of another lady, you see. Oh!’ She looked up as a thought struck her. ‘Perhaps you could tell me who lives at Number 12, my lord? It is most important that I find out.’

  ‘I could tell you,’ Joss said, swirling the brandy in his glass, ‘but not until you tell me the whole story.’

  Amy frowned. ‘That is not fair play! I am keeping a secret for another lady and am not at liberty to disclose the whole!’

  Joss shrugged. ‘You will not get something for nothing, Miss Bainbridge! Is the gentleman expecting you or will he be surprised to find the assignation kept by a different lady? I should warn you to be careful!’

  Amy laughed. ‘It is not that sort of assignation, my lord. I am here to assure the gentleman that…’ she hesitated ‘…that he will receive his money in good time.’

  ‘A blackmailer?’ Joss’s tone hardened. He sat forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Then I should also counsel you not to pay, Miss Bainbridge, for blackmailers are seldom satisfied with a single sum. He will return and bleed you dry.’

  ‘I know.’ Amy screwed up her face. She had already thought of this, but could see no immediate solution. If Amanda did not pay, she would be ruined; if she did pay, no doubt she would be called upon to do so again and again. ‘I have told my friend this, but…’

  Joss sighed. ‘Your friend? Amy, are you sure that it is not you who are being blackmailed?’

  Amy pulled a face. ‘Of course not! What reason could anyone have to blackmail me? I have no secrets!’

  Joss shrugged. ‘If you say so, I believe you. It is just that when someone alludes to a mysterious friend, it is usually themselves they are referring to…’

  ‘Oh, I know!’ Amy took another draught of the wine. ‘I realise it sounds most odd and unconvincing!’ She hesitated. ‘If I trust you with the whole—’

  A light flickered in Joss’s eyes. ‘Would you do so?’

  ‘Yes, I think I would,’ Amy looked undecided. ‘I feel a little disloyal all the same.’

  Joss straightened up. ‘Perhaps I can make matters easy for you. I would guess that your friend is Lady Spry and she is being blackmailed about some indiscretion, but because she has no money you have decided to help her pay—’

  ‘Stop!’ Amy held a hand up. ‘You are correct in all particulars, my lord, and I can see that there is no point in withholding the truth from you! Amanda is in desperate straits and I have sworn to help her.’

  Joss shook his head. ‘You are not helping. The blackmailer will not accept a single payment, Amy. You know he will not! Whatever Lady Spry’s secret, he will hold it over her head until she pays and pays again! It would be easier for her just to tell him to publish and be damned.’

  Amy looked away. ‘Like his Grace of Wellington? She cannot. She will be ruined.’

  Joss made a slight gesture. ‘What is it—a love affair? It might be uncomfortable for her, but she will live it down. She is a widow and cannot be ruined by so commonplace an indiscretion—’

  ‘You do not understand. It was whilst she was married to Frank Spry and he threatened to banish her.’

  ‘Even so—’ Joss frowned ‘—Spry is dead and whilst such rumours would be unpleasant—’

  ‘There are letters,’ Amy said, with emphasis.

  There was a silence.

  ‘I see,’ Joss said at length. ‘That does make it considerably more difficult.’

  Amy gave a slight laugh. She pushed the hair back from her face, where it was drying in silken strands. ‘Difficult! If you could have seen her, Joss! She said that she would kill herself if the letters were ever to become public!’

  ‘So you agreed to help her. Of course. How much money is he asking?’

  Amy looked down. ‘Twenty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Two-thirds of your fortune. Amy, you said that now you had the money you felt secure at last—’

  ‘It is nothing,’ Amy said quickly. She swallowed hard. ‘I have thought about this, Joss. Amanda has been a good friend to me. Besides, I shall still have ten thousand pounds—less the sum I have already spent…’

  Joss said nothing. His face was shadowed and still. ‘And the name of the blackmailer?’

  Amy stared. ‘It is Clive Massingham. Surely you knew? I thought…If he lives at Number 12…’

  ‘No one lives there presently,’ Joss said. ‘It has been empty, which I suppose makes it a useful address for a blackmailer to take.’ He stretched and stood up. ‘I will go and see Massingham, Amy, and retrieve your friend’s letters for her. In the meantime I suggest you return and reassure her that all is well. I will get in touch with you as soon as I have them.’

  Amy got slowly to her feet. She felt relieved but puzzled by his offer of help. ‘You will go to see Massingham? But why?’

  ‘To help you, of course.’ Joss raised an eyebrow. ‘He is not the sort of man with whom you should be arranging a midnight rendezvous. It will also save you wasting your winnings on him. He will never be a good cause.’ He smiled. ‘Now you should go home, Amy.’

  Amy was watching his face. ‘Yes, in a little…How will you make Massingham give up the letters if you do not pay him? He will not be persuaded easily!’

  Joss’s expression hardened. ‘I think I can persuade him, though perhaps Lady Spry should be prepared to leave town for a little until the matter dies down.’

  ‘I had thought of that,’ Amy said. ‘I plan to take Amanda to Nettlecombe with me for a space.’

  Joss’s face softened. ‘I do not understand it, but it seems you must for ever be helping waifs and strays, Amy—’

  Amy met h
is eyes very directly. ‘It is not my sole prerogative, is it, Joss? What about yourself?’

  Joss had been moving towards the door, but now he paused. ‘What do you mean?’

  Amy held his gaze. Now that the moment had come for her to ask for the truth she felt acutely nervous. ‘Why, I mean that you are going to a deal of trouble to help me now, but that is nothing compared to what you did to help Lady Juliana.’

  Joss’s jaw tightened. She saw a muscle move in his cheek. He walked slowly over to the fireplace and laid his arm along the mantel, resting one booted foot on the fender. He looked relaxed, but Amy knew he was not. The tension in him was as taut as twisted steel.

  ‘Who told you about that, Amy? I cannot believe that Juliana—’ He broke off. ‘It was a long time ago and no doubt you have heard a garbled tale.’

  Amy moved across to him. She touched his arm very lightly. There was anger and gentleness in his eyes, warring for mastery, and it made her heart contract.

  ‘I heard that you took the blame for all of Lady Juliana’s gambling so that she should not be ruined and might marry Lord Myfleet. Is my informant wrong?’

  For a long moment Joss stared down into her eyes, then he pulled away. His tone was clipped. ‘No, she is in the right of it! Lady Spry, I presume? Juliana swore she had never told anyone, but I did not believe her!’ He took an angry pace across the room. ‘Damnation, of all the things that I did not wish you to know—’

  ‘I do not understand,’ Amy said tremulously. His anger shook her. ‘I do not understand why you took the blame and allowed your father to banish you, and I do not understand why you did not wish me to know—’

  Joss was looking furious. ‘Oh, you understand well enough, Amy! I took the blame out of misplaced chivalry, in the same way in which you wanted to save Lady Spry from Massingham!’ His tone was savage. ‘Juliana is my little sister and she was a different girl then. Oh, she was wild, and she gambled too hard, but she was gentler—she could have been so different if our childhood had not been as it was!’ Joss brought his fist crashing down on the mantelpiece. ‘Juliana came to me in tears and told me that she had made huge losses at the gaming table. I confess that when she told me the sum I was shocked. She was in despair—Myfleet was on the point of proposing and I knew she was head over heels in love with him. I also knew that if the scandal of her losses came out our father would send her away and ruin it all for her. Myfleet would have forgiven her, but our father never would! He was always unbending and she…she had lost eighty thousand pounds! She almost brought the family down! To my father the dishonour was more important than anything else!’