To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3)

by Bronwen Evans

  What would he feel like if she were the one fondling him? What would he think if she crawled out from under the bed and offered to help? Scandalous! The desire to do so, to touch him...she almost let out a moan herself.

  She pulsed all over. His sounds grew louder, the bed creaked and groaned under his movements, the headboard banging in a steadily increasing rhythm, until finally he let out a roar and cursed like a blue-blood pirate. She felt him flop onto the bed above her on a drawn out sigh, and she watched Henry shudder and relax, slowly working his manhood until it went soft. His breath still coming in rasps.

  Yet Amy didn’t feel relaxed at all. Her nerves strung tight. Her body primed like a pistol about to fire. Good God, she wished she could touch herself in the same way.

  In the ensuing silence Amy wondered what he had been thinking as he stroked himself. He’d more than likely dreamed about the lady whose name he’d uttered as he lay atop her in the garden on that titillating night.

  Her arousal vanished, and her salacious thoughts halted altogether when an object hit the floor. It appeared to have bounced off the bed. It must have been lose on the bedclothes. It glittered in the sunlight spilling into the room.

  Her earring.

  He’d been holding her earring.

  She watched him clean himself up with his handkerchief. “Pathetic, one fumble in a darkened garden and you can’t get the woman out of your mind.”

  Amy shoved her fist in her mouth.

  Without thought her fingers inched out from under the bed, reaching for the gem, only to snatch them back when Henry sat up.

  The heady joy dissipated when she remembered he didn’t know who she was. He’d simply taken his pleasure to a nameless, faceless woman.

  She slid further under the bed when Henry bent and retrieved the earring. He stood, straightening his clothes, and placed the earring in his pocket. He buttoned up the placket of his trousers.

  He briefly glanced at himself in the mirror, tidying his hair before pivoting, collecting his gloves and leaving the room. Amy breathed a sigh of relief but waited a good ten minutes after she heard Henry’s booted feet descend the stairs. Then she crept out from under the bed, noted her flushed countenance and knew she had to seek fresh air.

  #

  Henry needed some fresh air. His mouth worked to swallow past his disbelief.

  Amy Shipton was his mystery lady, he was sure of it. Little Amy. His neighbor.

  Tinkles! He bet there never was a Tinkles. The bloody conniving...an hour he’d been crawling in the dirt looking for a guinea pig.

  He’d like to put her over his knee and spank her till her bottom turned red. That’s not all you’d like to do.

  He’d like nothing more than to turn around, march back up the stairs, and pull Amy Shipton out from under his bed and lay her firmly atop it, then do all the things he’d just dreamed of doing.

  She was his mystery lady.

  Why else would Amy Shipton be in his room and under his bed? He’d obviously caught her hunting for her earring.

  At least Henry now knew who the earring belonged too. He hadn’t quite known what to think when he’d glimpsed a pale, delicate hand in the cheval mirror, inching out from under the bed toward the piece of jewellery that had rolled onto the floor. He’d been holding it while he’d dreamed of lush curves and satin skin.

  Then he’d taken a longer look in the mirror, letting his eyes drift up the gloved arm and follow it to its owner, and he’d seen Amy cowering under the bed.

  What had she felt as she watched him? Had her stormy eyes widened in shock, or had she grown aroused, her body heating, her heart racing, seeing his hand gripping his erection...

  Images and memories of the lush feminine body, Amy’s body, as he lay atop her in his garden, had aroused him to an explosive finish. Christ, if merely thinking about her could bring him such ecstasy, what would actually making love to her be like?

  If he’d known she was watching, he wouldn’t have been able to last more than a minute. Already the thought of her seeing his primitive male display made his groin ache, and he felt himself begin to harden again.

  He’d known instinctively not to confront her. She’d have been mortified, and he had yet to work out why she was keeping her identity a secret.

  She obviously felt at least desire for him, as she’d not run screaming from the garden. He could still hear her moans of pleasure in his head.

  The puzzle deepened.

  Most likely she was worried about her reputation. A lady’s reputation was all she had to ensure a good match. She was the daughter of a duke after all.

  He’d once recommended Amy as a suitable candidate to become Marcus’s wife. Why had he never considered that she’d be perfect for him? Millie – she looked too much like Millicent.

  He briefly wondered why Amy wasn’t already betrothed. He stopped in his tracks and frowned. Hell, she wasn’t, was she? Betrothed? Is that why she was so desperate to retrieve her property? It was scandalous what had occurred in his garden. It might ruin a match for her.

  He continued on his way to the stable, his temperament somewhat dismayed.

  He hoped he wasn’t too late and that she did not already belong to another. What a silly sod he’d been to have a woman of Amy’s ilk in his street and not have noticed.

  When mounted, he set his horse to a gallop and quickly caught up with the rest of the men. He eyed them all in a new light. Was there anyone here who could be a rival for Amy’s hand?

  Comte Le Page, the enigmatic Frenchman who owned estates in France and England, was rumored to be wife hunting. He’d been one of the men flocking around Amy at Lady Skye’s ball. Henry hoped Amy hadn’t fallen for the dark, swarthy type, or he was in trouble.

  Then there was the Earl of Roehampton. Bertie was nothing to look at, true, but he was one of the wealthiest men in the Kingdom and Amy’s father would look favorably on a match.

  “Is something the matter?”

  Marcus’s question interrupted his analysis of his competition. He’d not even heard him riding up.

  “Who drafted the guest list for this gathering, you or Sabine?”

  Marcus looked over the men riding in front of them. “Strange mix isn’t it. Sabine. And I believe Caitlin helped make up the list.”

  For some reason Henry hesitated revealing he had learned the identity of the lady whose earring burned in his pocket. Something was going on here. Marcus had been pushing Amy’s cause vigorously.

  Marcus continued. “I think they’ve taken it upon themselves to find Amy a husband. Sabine wants to repay Amy for her kindness. Sabine feels she owes her since Amy helped save her life.”

  “I’m sure Amy doesn’t need any help finding a husband.”

  Marcus nodded. “True. However, Sabine says Amy’s father is determined to see her married by the end of the season and is pushing a match with Chesterton.”

  Henry’s heart clenched. Chesterton wasn’t good enough for Millicent or Amy.

  “I feel the need for speed.” With that Henry gathered his stallion and took off at a gallop.

  The power of the horse beneath him focused his mood. The air raced passed his face and the rush of speed dimed the irrational anger at the thought of Chesterton married to Lady Amy Shipton.

  The image of her hiding under his bed would not diminish, and made him desperate to have her on his bed and under him. He knew what that meant. The only way that would happen was through marriage.

  The power of the ride sent a surge of release through him.

  Yet, he didn’t really know her. He knew she was kind, generous and beautiful, but he did not know her heart. What did she want out of life? Did someone already own her heart?

  The idea that she loved another made his anger grow. He felt that rush and roar of primitive jealousy pouring into his body.

  If you want her go and get her. Woo her you damned fool.

  He’d never seriously needed to know how to woo a woman. Perhaps desire was the
answer. She’d not been immune to his—he couldn’t call their night in his garden a seduction...

  He might not be a rake of Marcus’s experience but he knew enough about women to know he could seduce her. She’d been more than eager in his arms. If she surrendered to him, then she was obviously interested in marriage. For any surrender led directly to them becoming wedlocked.

  He decided there and then that nothing would please him more.

  Chapter Six

  The following afternoon bloomed into a glorious sunny day, and yet even though the sun shone, Henry had no idea how he was going to woo Amy. However, God must have listened to his prayers because Henry found himself partnered with Amy for Sabine’s torturous treasure hunt. They had ten items to collect, with some of the clues more like a foreign language than Queen’s English. Still, he was determined to make the most of the opportunity that Sabine had gifted him. An afternoon in Amy’s company.

  Unfortunately, Amy didn’t look so happy about the situation. For the life of him he couldn’t fathom why she bristled every time he came near. It seemed logical to deduce her heart favoured another. It must be Le Comte. Bloody damn Frenchman.

  The guests, in their pairs, were sent out in different directions. The two of them had been sent toward the formal gardens near the back of the property. The manicured grounds overflowed with rose bushes, citrus trees and Sabine’s favourite flowers. The centre piece of the large expansive hedged-row gardens was a bubbling fountain, very similar to the smaller version of his fountain in his garden in London, and in the distance was the summer house.

  “The first clue says, ‘Look in the green where water meets the Gods’. Whatever can Sabine mean?” Amy stood at the top of the garden stairs and surveyed the acreage before her.

  He put his hand up to his brow to shade the sun. “The fountain looks very familiar.” Amy’s face flushed a pretty pink colour. She could hardly admit she recognised the fountain’s design or she’d be admitting to him that she’d been in his garden. “The fountain in my garden is similar, although much smaller, but I do believe the focal point is Aphrodite.”

  Amy clapped her hands. “Oh, yes. Water meets the Gods must be the fountain, and the look in the green is,” she spread her arms wide, “the garden.”

  Clever girl. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  She slipped her hand over his arm and smiled, her joy in puzzling out the clues touched him. If she was determined to win, he’d help her.

  “What is the prize if we win,” he asked her.

  “Apparently the winner gets to choose whatever prize they wish.”

  “As a gentleman, I insist that if we win you may choose. If we win, what will you choose?”

  She smiled at him and said, “That’s easy. I’d like to name Orsini Rose’s foal.”

  His heart thudded in his chest at such a simple request. Orsini Rose was Marcus’s prime breeding mare and his wedding gift to Sabine.

  At his silence she said, “You think my prize strange.”

  “No. Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “I hope the birth goes well. Foaling sometimes ends in tragedy, especially if it’s the mare’s first foal. Are you aware of that?”

  She plucked a rose and twirled it under her nose. “Death is part of life isn’t it? Life is not all roses, there are also thorns.”

  “True. Sometimes you don’t appreciate the rose because of the thorns.” He added wistfully, “I didn’t really appreciate all my brother did for me, and our family, until he was gone.”

  “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. To make light of life and death...”

  He plucked the rose from between her fingers and tapped her nose with it. “The day is too beautiful to be morbid. We have a prize to win.”

  She laughed gaily and the mood lifted. “Come on, we should hurry. Games are played to win, Lord Cravenswood. It might be the only time I ever get to name a thorough-bred.”

  He couldn’t agree more with her sentiments. Games were played to win and he meant to win their private game. More pointedly he meant to win her heart.

  They reached the fountain and both had to shield their eyes from the water’s glare. They stood staring around them trying to ascertain where the next clue could be found.

  “I see it,” Amy cried. She pointed at the statue in the middle of the fountain, “there’s a piece of paper tied around Aphrodite.”

  She looked at Henry expectantly and he gallantly offered, “I’ll retrieve the clue, shall I?”

  “That would be super, thank you.”

  With a sigh he sat on the edge of the fountain. “You’re going to have to help me remove my boots.” She chewed her bottom lip, looking adorable. “I’m not ruining my best boots for a silly treasure hunt.”

  She nodded in agreement. “I’ll do it instead.” She sat beside him and said, “Look away.” She shooed him with her hand. “Hurry, we don’t have time to get those boots off. I’ll get the clue.” Amy stared pointedly until he turned his head away. He heard her slippers plop to the ground and the rustle of skirts as she removed her stockings. Then a squeal as her feet hit the cool water.

  Unable to help himself, Henry turned at the excited sound. The sight of creamy skin greeted him and made his throat dry and his groin heat.

  Amy waded determinedly toward Aphrodite her skirts hiked up and her long, slender limbs on display. The sun gave her white skin a sparkling glow. She looked like a pagan goddess. His own flesh and blood Aphrodite. She was exquisite.

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Are you peaking? Stop it.”

  He could no more stop drinking in the arousing sight of her than he could stop breathing. “Amy,” he said, his voice raw with need. “Do you know what a stirring sight you are? You’re a water nymph.”

  He couldn’t look away. She grabbed the clue from the statue and turned to wade back.

  She would not look at him. It was scandalous the amount of flesh she was displaying but she liked to win and it was not only a test of brain-power but of speed. They had to beat the other teams. When she reached the edge of the fountain she risked at quick glance at him.

  His hand was extended to help her from the water but that would mean letting her skirts get wet. He saw her predicament and swept her into his arms, lifting her clear of the water.

  Amy should shout, protest, tell him to put her down but the words died on her lips. She could only watch dazed as he carried her to the grass and gently slid her down his body until her bare feet touch the fresh earth. All thoughts of winning the treasure hunt vanished like a ghost racing the dawn.

  Her breath came in short, rasps.

  She couldn’t look away from the blatant desire etched on Henry’s handsome features. They stood looking at each other, heat and need rising with each blink of their eyelashes.

  Henry’s eyes darkened as he cupped her face. “So, beautiful,” he whispered.

  The look in his eyes was one she would never forget. Such longing. More and more she wished she knew his heart.

  Reluctantly she stepped away. “I want to win, Lord Cravenswood. We must hurry. Turn your back and read the second clue while I redress,” and she handed him the scrap of paper.

  On a sigh Henry obeyed her command and began to read the words out loud. “Toward the setting sun you go, to the porch of the house that is not a home.”

  Amy scoffed. “That’s easy. The summer house.”

  Once again Henry offered her his arm and she happily accepted it. “Have you thought of a name for the foal?” he asked.

  “Of course. Athena if it’s a girl and Hermes if it’s a boy.”

  “Greek names?”

  “My brother’s tutor would let me listen to the stories he told of the Greek Gods. Athena is the Goddess of wisdom, warfare and strategy. She’s very clever. Athena will need that to win races. Especially against the stallions.”

  Henry laughed at her logic. “She may be kept for breeding and never race.”

  “In that ca
se she will need strength to breed a champion. Hermes is the messenger of the Gods and has to be flight of foot. He’ll be a champion racer.”

  “You’ve had an interesting education.”

  She couldn’t help her temper flaring at his words. “For a woman, you mean. I think a woman needs to be clever to survive in this, a man’s world.”

  “Survive? You’re one of the lucky women who live a life of privilege. You have a father, brother and soon hopefully a husband to ensure your survival.”

  “Why are men always so literal? I don’t necessarily mean survival in the physical sense. There is more to surviving than physical comforts bring appeased. What about a woman’s emotional needs? She must find a way to live in a world where she has very few rights. Men hold all the power.”

  Henry halted and turned her to face him. “I know what you are saying and why. I realise that like my parents, your mother and father did not marry for love. But you cannot let their relationship cloud your judgement. Look at Lord and Lady Wolverstone and Dangerfield. I don’t believe Sabine or Caitlin believes they are merely surviving.”

  “They are the exception I’ll give you that.”

  “No. Not the exception. I, for one, will only marry a woman I love. Relationships are not about power. Marriage should be a partnership of equal standing.”

  Her heart flipped in her chest. Why couldn’t a man like this love her? This is what she longed for. He was what she longed for. He spoke of love. This was her chance. Ask him. Ask him if his heart belongs to someone.

  But before she could force the words from her mouth, a piercing scream filled the air.

  The both turned in the direction of the summer house, bumping heads on the way. A woman was crawling up the steps of the summer house. Henry looked at her and she said one word, “Go.”

  He took off at a sprint and Amy tried to catch up. He’d already lifted the distressed woman into his arms, and had forced open the doors to the summer house by the time she arrived completely out of breath.

  The woman was still moaning and it didn’t take long for Amy to realise why, she was heavy with child. Henry was placing her gently on top of the day bed and Amy rushed to her side.