To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3)

by Bronwen Evans

  “Tinkles?”

  “My guinea pig.” She dropped to her knees again under the nearest bush. “I let him out in our garden next door and he fled through the gate into your property before I could stop him. I thought I saw him in the daffodils behind the bench. Could you help me look for him?”

  Henry could barely form a coherent thought with her bottom now firmly pointing upward once again. His hands inched forward and he pulled them back, anchoring them at his side. What was wrong with him? He’d not been this randy since he’d lost his virginity with the local barmaid at fifteen. Not even Millicent made his blood quicken as much as one glimpse at this respectably covered bottom.

  It couldn’t be Amy. He’d watched her grow up and he’d never once wanted to throw her down in the grass and lick her from head to toe, stopping midway for her pleasure.

  But here she was. Bottom up, in his garden the night after he’d found a very expensive earring. An earring she could well afford. Guinea pig? Could this be a coincident? The Duke of Shipton’s garden did back onto his. The story was plausible.

  He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t very well discuss a scandalous rendezvous with an innocent debutante. She would hardly be innocent afterwards. The duke would shoot him or worse, expect him to marry Amy. He didn’t want to marry Amy. He wanted to know who his mysterious lady was. Then he’d decide who and when he married.

  “Shall I summon your servants to help?” If she was lying she’d hardly wish him to involve her servants.

  She lifted her head and smiled over her shoulder at him. “Would you? How kind. Ask Clements to ensure Patches stays indoor.”

  “Patches?”

  “My cat.” Her eyes welled once more. “She’ll eat anything mouse-like.”

  That clinched it. Amy was far too upset to be lying.

  “What color is Tinkles?”

  Her bottom lip quivered. “He’s about this big,” she indicated a small rat, “and he’s a light brown-gold color.”

  “Like your eyes,” he said without thinking.

  Her face flushed with colour and she started crawling among the bushes once more.

  He stood staring at her cute behind, then with an inward curse he dropped down across from her, and on hand and knees began hunting with her. He began searching the bushes on the right side of the fountain.

  He could hear her quiet little sobs as she searched more frantically.

  He’d once had a puppy that had slipped out of the house and got lost. He too had cried until it was found, so he could understand her disposition. However, intense feelings for a guinea pig were beyond his imagining. “Have you had Tinkles long?”

  A muffled “Not long,” came from the other side of the bushes.

  “You appear rather attached to him?”

  “Tinkles was a gift. I hate losing gifts.”

  A bloody thorn from the rose bush scratched his hand. He pushed it aside only to have it swing back and dig deep into the flesh of his cheek. He let out a string of curses.

  Amy’s head popped up. “Did you say something?’

  “Nothing for your ears,” he mumbled while wiping the blood from his cheek. What was he doing here? Why didn’t he just leave? His head hurt, his hand and face were now bloodied...“A gift? From someone special.” Was this why she was so upset? Tinkles was a gift from a suitor? He rolled his shoulders. He didn’t care for that thought. “Tinkles is an unusual gift.”

  “I suppose.”

  He kept rummaging and whistling—did you whistle for a guinea pig? “Here Tinkles. Tinkle, tinkle little guinea pig. I wonder where you are?”

  Amy actually giggled.

  “Will the gift giver be terribly upset if you lose Tinkles?”

  She hesitated in her answer. “Arh, no. I don’t think so.”

  Still she didn’t say who gave her Tinkles. Curiosity got the better of him. “Who gifted you Tinkles if you don’t mind me asking?”

  More hesitation. She really didn’t wish him to know. “Lord Chesterton,” was spoken softly from the other side of the fountain.

  He rose to his knees and looked over at her in disbelief. He’d ruined his trousers, his head pounded from looking down, and he’d wasted half the morning on a rodent given to her by Chesterton. His morning couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  “I see.” He didn’t see. “You’re not afraid of how angry he may be when he learns of Tinkles’ loss? You needn’t be. I can attest to your earnest hunting. I’ll even replace Tinkles for you. I believe Chesterton wouldn’t notice. I know how angry he can get, but I doubt he’d hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” she scoffed. “Why would he hurt me over an unfortunate mishap?”

  Chesterton was a bully with a vicious temper. He was known to fly off the handle at the tiniest slight. “I suppose he wouldn’t.” What else could he say?

  They searched on for another half an hour and covered over half the garden before his thumping head finally got the better of him.

  Amy seemed determined to keep looking. He stood and wiped his hands together to remove the dirt and said, “I’m sorry, Amy, but I have to go. I’ve an appointment.”

  She sat back on her haunches. “Oh, I don’t wish to hold you up, my lord. You’ve done more than enough. Thank you for trying to help me find Tinkles. I’m stupidly fond of the little thing.”

  He nodded. “Send me a note and let me know if you find him. You have my permission to keep looking for as long as it takes. I’ll send over a couple of footman to help.”

  She nodded and tears fell once more. Embarrassed, she immediately turned back to her hunting. With one last long full gaze at the most delicious bottom he’d seen in a while, Henry left her to it.

  Good lord, the man was a saint. He’d helped her search! For an hour he’d crawled around on all fours, grass staining his beautiful trousers, whistling and calling for Tinkles when his head must have been thumping as if a steam train was running through it.

  An imaginary guinea pig.

  Amy Shipton you deserve to be whipped. How could she do that to him in his condition? Obviously hung over and his head swathed in a bandage.

  She shuddered. If he’d called her bluff and gone for help...But he hadn’t. The waterworks to the rescue. Men hated tears.

  She felt dreadful at her deception, but really! What was a girl to do when caught looking for an earring she’d lost when she’d let a man take liberties with her person? A man who hadn’t cared who she was, or worse, thought she was someone else.

  She’d thought the idea that Chesterton had given her Tinkles would see him abruptly leave. But he hadn’t.

  Why should her reputation be ruined for one small oversight? Her mother expected her to do her duty—to marry to ensure one’s position within the ton. Why should she? What of her own happiness? She admired Henry, was already a little in love with the man, but that made the situation unspeakable. To marry a man you worshipped and then have to watch him give his heart to another. She’d rather be ruined!

  How long would it take Henry to discover who the earring belonged to? She had to get Sabine’s help. Marcus couldn’t reveal her identity. As soon as Henry showed him her earring the game would be up. It would ruin her life and Henry’s. He loved another.

  She’d been stupid to search his garden. He was immediately suspicious when he found her here. If Marcus said anything...Henry would know. What would she say if he openly confronted her?

  She could see Henry’s doubt clearly in his eyes.

  She’d thought, after the condition he’d been in last night, he’d never be awake this early.

  The only thing she could think of to get rid of him was to tell him an even bigger whopper. Lord Chesterton. She’d worked out from his demeanor last night that Henry had no love for Creeperton. Still he’d offered to intervene on her behalf. Why did he have to be so gallant? She was feeling little better than a slimy snail for making him search for a non-existent rodent.

  Drat the man. But how could she stay ang
ry at a man who’d got down on his knees for her? She shook her head. Saintly St. Giles.

  Even more reason why he could not discover her identity. She would force such an honorable man to wed a woman he didn’t love. Especially if he loved another! It would be the situation with Marcus all over again.

  To be stuck with a husband who left her each night to spend time with the woman he loved would be torture. She’d not watch quietly while he spent his life with his other family. She couldn’t bear it. To wither away inside like her mother...

  She quickly rose. Time was not on her side. Then she looked at her dress and groaned. Blast. She’d have to change before she met with Caitlin and Sabine.

  She refused to contemplate what she would tell her friends. She wasn’t at all sure they wouldn’t push her to marry Henry. They thought he was a wonderful man too.

  She just wished she didn’t think him so wonderful as well. She didn’t know if she’d be able to say no to a proposal from Henry St. Giles.

  Chapter Four

  “Christ, what happened to you?” Harlow’s words echoed Marcus’s concerned curse as his two friends sank into chairs across from him at White’s-the-club not the brothel.

  Henry folded the newspaper he’d been reading and touched his head. The gash had still been weeping a bit when he awoke at the ungodly hour of eight this morning, and Smitters, his butler, had fashioned a small bandage. He knew he looked ridiculous.

  “A drunken stumble on my way home.” There was no way he was confessing his sins to these two. Instead, he laid the paper on the table beside him and took another sip of his brandy. He felt the warmth slide down his throat.

  With a flick of his fingers Marcus summoned a footman and ordered himself and Harlow a drink. He raised an eyebrow. “How many brandies have you had today?”

  Henry frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “How many?” Marcus asked without a trace of humor. “I feel you are drinking too much of late my friend, which is unlike you. You weren’t drunk when I left you at Lady Skye’s ball, so what happened on your way home?”

  Henry gave a curt reply. “I went to Mrs. White’s fine establishment, if you must know.”

  Harlow tugged at his sleeve and laughed. “Not solely to drink I hope. I can think of more...” Harlow’s smile disappeared when he saw the fleeting flash of guilt on Henry’s face. “Oh, my God, you did just drink.” He shook his head. “Christ, Henry. You’re a bachelor. Buck up man. This dry spell is getting ridiculous.”

  Henry didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “What if you lost Caitlin? Or you lost Sabine? What would you do? I suspect there would not be enough brandy in the world for either of you.” He picked up the paper again and opened it blocking his view of his soon to be ex-friends if they carried on like this.

  Marcus bashed the paper aside. “That’s bloody different and you know it. Sabine’s my soul mate”-

  -“And for almost ten years, you moped and drank, and used mindless sex to forget her. So don’t preach at me. Either of you.”

  Henry stilled the rush of anger by leaning back in his chair, downing the rest of his drink, and calling for another just to spite them, the bloody self-satisfied.... Bugger them.

  He eyed them both warily. “What are you doing here at this hour, anyway? Normally I have to drag you away from your wives—and son,” he said, staring pointedly at Harlow.

  The two men looked at each other. This can’t be good. Henry squirmed in his chair, wishing he had another engagement to go to so he could leave without stating a lie.

  Harlow grinned at him. “Actually we’ve come to meddle, and before you object, just remember how you meddled in our relationships.”

  Henry’s mouth dropped open. “I did not meddle, much. I certainly didn’t help. In fact, I almost drove Sabine away.”

  Harlow ignored him. “We both feel it’s high time you found a wife.” He paused. “A suitable wife. Let me be perfectly clear. One that is not Hilda.”

  “Oh, how the mighty have changed their spots,” he drawled sarcastically. “You once told me wedlock was to be avoided at all costs.”

  “Wedlock to Hilda, yes. Marrying Hilda would be a slow and painful death,” Marcus added.

  “I agree.”

  Both men’s glasses halted at their lips when they heard Henry’s agreement.

  Henry shrugged. “I realize that I should not have to suffer my brother’s mistakes. He would not have wanted that for me,” he added softly.

  Both of his friends nodded. “Richard seemed to have an affinity with Hilda. You do not.”

  Marcus rubbed his hands together. “This makes our conversation much easier.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I have a challenge for you.”

  Harlow interrupted. “We have a challenge for you. A challenge we feel will lead to great joy.”

  Henry merely stared at the two of them. His wariness grew. They looked far too pleased with themselves.

  Marcus carried on. “We challenge you to find a wife by the end of season”-

  -“That’s only six weeks away,” Henry felt the weight of the earring in his pocket. Hmmm. One of the reasons he’d hoped to meet these two scoundrels today, was to see if they recognized it.

  Marcus feigned shocked surprise. “I know you’re out of practice but surely a rake like you can woo a woman in six weeks. Besides, you haven’t even heard the forfeit.”

  “I can hardly wait,” the sarcasm made his mouth turn down. He lifted his glass, “Well, what is the forfeit? Something dastardly I’ll wager.”

  Marcus gave a sly smile and Harlow tried to look angelic with little success.

  “If you don’t find a wife of your own choosing by the end of the season, you will offer for and marry Lady Amy Shipton.”

  Henry’s drink sprayed the room as he choked on the liquid. A coughing fit ensued. “Amy Shipton!”

  “Last year you thought her perfect for me,” Marcus insisted. “She’d make you an excellent wife. She’s beautiful, kind, generous, and her father’s a duke.”

  If he’d been having this conversation a few days ago he’d disagree. But since this morning he’d come to realize Amy was beautiful. She had the same dark, sultry beauty as Millicent. Maybe that was why he’d never considered her. It was too soon after Millie.

  He feigned disinterest to ensure his friends did not scent victory. “One slight flaw in the challenge gentlemen. What if Amy says no?”

  “Then you’ll ensure she can’t say no.” Harlow had always been the ruthless one of the three; it came with the privilege of the dukedom.

  Henry steeled his voice. “Are you suggesting I compromise a lady?” With a guilty start he guessed he’d sort of accomplished that last night. Only he had no idea who.

  Marcus tried to balance Harlow’s ruthlessness. “Then perhaps you best ensure it doesn’t come to that.”

  Henry thumped his glass on the table. His head ached, he’d had little sleep, he spent the morning crawling among the plants, and he had no humor for these two mischief makers. “Absolutely not. I may have decided not to honor Richard’s betrothal and marry Hilda, but I’m a gentleman. A gentleman does not compromise a lady. That is not the way to start a marriage.” Especially if he wanted a love match.

  Marcus and Harlow sighed and shared a look before Marcus said, “Then you leave us no choice. Find a woman you do wish to marry and convince her to accept you or...”

  “You do have a choice. You can stay out of my personal affairs.”

  A shiver of unease snaked down his spine, which he straightened. He was in the right. Nothing they could do would make him accept this challenge.

  “If you had personal affairs, we would. But you’ve been behaving like a eunuch for far too long.”

  Henry felt his face heat at Harlow’s sneer.

  Marcus sat back, his elbows on his knees, his fingers touching in a tripod. “Unless you accept our challenge, I’m going to Dowager Spencer and I’ll tell her you’re desperate to marry by the end of the
season. In fact, we shall offer to help her arrange a fine match.”

  “Christ, you bloody...” He gripped the arms of his chair so as not to punch the smug look off Marcus’s face.

  Spears of icy fear tore at his stomach. If Lady Dowager Spencer, his great aunt and the authority within the ton, heard he was seriously looking for a wife, his life would be turned upside down. He wouldn’t be left alone for five minutes. She’d make it her mission to parade every available debutante in front of him. She’d descend on Cravenswood Court and not leave until he was leg-shackled. She wouldn’t care to whom. His life would be a living hell.

  “Bastards.” His so called friends didn’t even look at him with pity. They merely kept drinking with smirks on their faces.

  Defeat slipped through him like a ghost. “So, let me get this right. I may choose a bride by the end of the Season, or you two reprobates, or Dowager Spencer, thrust one upon me.”

  “Or you marry Amy Shipton.”

  “Why are you so set on pushing me at Lady Shipton? She’s my annoying neighbour.”

  Marcus’s gaze softened. “I know you both.” He slapped his chest above his heart like a warrior. “I know you’d be perfect for each other. You’re kind, generous, and honorable. That’s why I know that if you accept this challenge you’ll not renege.” He sat back and threw his arms up. “For God’s sake, why not try courting her? What have you to lose?”

  The earring moved in his pocket. He did wish to marry. But marry the right woman. A woman he could come to love. A woman who had fire in her soul and hot blood in her veins. A woman like the siren in his garden. Christ he was lusting after a woman he knew nothing about. He didn’t even know what she looked like.

  As much as he hated to, he’d have to tell them. He cleared his throat and tried to sound as if he’d not been cornered by a rampaging bull. “As it so happens, I may have found a lady that I’m interested in.”

  “Thank Christ,” he heard Harlow mutter.

  “What is her name?” Marcus asked, immediately suspicious.