To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3)

by Bronwen Evans

  He stepped around a large palm and stopped dead. There on the other side of the glass room was Amy. He couldn’t see her face clearly in the dim light, but she was gesturing wildly and appeared to be in some distress. He was about to rush forward, thinking the damn Frenchman was accosting her, when the man with her suddenly pulled her into his arms and placed a tender kiss on her head. She didn’t seem to struggle. In fact, she appeared to melt into his embrace.

  Was this a clandestine affair?

  #

  “Why can’t you get the earring?” Amy pleaded.

  Lord Wolverstone faced Amy under the palms. Amy had met him on Sabine’s badgering, hoping to talk him into snatching her earring back.

  “I can hardly take it without him knowing. If I did he’d tear the house to pieces looking for it. He might even accuse one of my guests of stealing it.”

  Amy’s eyes widened in alarm. “I can’t have that. What if the story of how I lost it was to come out? I’d be ruined.”

  Lord Wolverstone didn’t appear to understand the gravity of the situation.

  “Not ruined. Cravenswood would offer for you of course. He’d never stand aside and see you ruined.”

  “That cannot happen.”

  Marcus’s chuckle grated like boots on broken gravel. “I promise you’ll enjoy being married to Henry.”

  Amy waved a hand in front of her face as she paced back and forward. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be having this conversation with Marcus of all people.

  He leaned closer and whispered, “I know what occurred in Henry’s garden. So, I’m a little confused as to why you have not pressed your advantage. If Henry knew what he had done, you’d be betrothed by now.”

  “Exactly. Please listen to me. That cannot happen.”

  “Why on earth not? What’s wrong with Cravenswood? Your father can hardly object now that he’s the Earl.”

  Amy grabbed his arm when he made to turn away. She couldn’t tell Marcus why she could not marry him. He was a lord who did not understand what it would be like married to a man who did not love her. Her father loved another, and her mother lived a lonely and pitied life, dying of a broken heart. That would not be her fate.

  “I have my reasons and I expect you to adhere to my wishes. He is not to know who the earring belongs to.”

  Marcus frowned. “That puts me in a very awkward situation”-

  Tears welled. -“Please! Please don’t tell him. You must help me get the earring back. You must!”

  Strong arms muffled her anguished cries as he pulled her into his embrace.

  “Shush, Amy. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly. I’ll talk with Sabine. We will find a way to put this right.”

  #

  Henry stepped back into the shadows and stifled a curse. The man who held Amy so intimately was Marcus. But why?

  Questions flooded his mind. What the hell was going on? Why was Amy meeting with Marcus? He’d had enough of this tomfoolery.

  He stayed hidden as Amy walked quickly past him, her scent teasing his nostrils and stroking his senses into painful awareness. Images of her lying beneath him in the lush garden flooded his brain. It took all his willpower not to grab for her as she glided past.

  She stopped at the door looked tentatively up and down the corridor before slipping out. He waited for Marcus to follow. But the bugger left by the outside door, slipping out into the darkness like a ghost running from the dawn.

  “You’re not going to escape me that easily. You’ve got some questions to answer, my friend,” Henry muttered into the darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  The race was exhilarating. The wind ripped her bonnet from her head and her hair now tumbled around her shoulders like a wanton. She’d never felt so free.

  At breakfast, when Henry had challenged her to a race across the fields to the Roman City ruins, she’d eagerly agreed. She loved to ride.

  She’d chosen to ride one of Marcus’s prize geldings and he was big and strong. Toby was a tall chestnut with a big heart. He was sturdy and fast. Yet, she had expected Toby to be no competition for Henry’s gray stallion, Hercules.

  Amy looked over her shoulder, back at Henry. She sensed Henry was holding his mount back, purposely letting her win.

  Her heart warmed. He looked handsome. His hair was also messy from the wind. The golden curls, rumpled and windblown, made him look—a thought flashed through her mind—as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

  Banishing that thought, she found it hard to swallow, and it wasn’t from the warm wind rushing into her mouth. He was beside her now and she soaked in his powerful thighs gripping his stead as he urged Hercules on. Her gaze continued travelling over him, across his shoulders and chest, down powerful arms to elegant hands gripping the reins. Magic hands.

  “What prize to the winner?” he shouted.

  She laughed into the wind. “I win, I chose. You win, you chose.”

  His wicked grin was instant. He gathered his stallion, kicked his heels, and bending low over his horse’s head, he took off. That’s why he’d been holding back. He’d been keeping his stallion fresh.

  Her smile deepened. He would win, and with a thrill tingling her insides, she wondered what he’d ask for as his prize.

  The huge Roman wall was no more than a few yards away and already Hercules had passed through the gap into the overgrown plain that contained the ruins. Henry swung his horse around to greet her with a triumphant smile.

  She drew Toby up beside him. “That’s not fair. You’re horse is faster and stronger.”

  “You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” He jumped from his mount and walked to help her dismount. “You didn’t have to accept my challenge.”

  “True.” She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked around nervously. They were alone. Unchaperoned. The towering ancient walls blocking them from the rest of the world.

  He tethered their horses to the wall and then offered her his arm. “Do you know anything about the history of this place?”

  She shook her head, struggling to concentrate on their surroundings. All she could smell and see was Henry.

  “These walls supposedly used to enclose a Roman city.” He pointed to the right. “An amphitheatre is just over there. Shall we explore?”

  “It’s strange to imagine people living here in a city hundreds of years ago. I wonder what will remain of our houses and lives in a thousand years from now.”

  At her words, Henry stopped and looked around him. “I hadn’t really considered that much. I’m hoping my descendents don’t let my estate run to wrack and disrepair like these ruins.”

  She moved into the center of the tumbled stones. “It’s funny to think that in the future, someone else could stand on this very spot and think about us as the past. As history.” She paused and looked over the ruins. “Makes you want to ensure you live a happy life.”

  He frowned down at her. She hadn’t notice how close he’d come. “Is your life not happy?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not unhappy.”

  He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “You deserve a life full of happiness.”

  “You don’t believe in duty, then. My mother told me a life was not about one’s happiness. A life of privilege comes at a cost—duty.”

  He nodded. “I have only recently learned the real meaning of the word duty.” He looked to the sky and back to her. “When Richard died.”

  She reached and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Of course you understand duty.”

  “Perfectly all right. I never expected to become the earl. Life was easier, more enjoyable, when everyone didn’t look to me. Now I understand why Richard did crazy things to let off steam.”

  Amy remembered how Richard died, drowned swimming the Thames on a dare. “I hope you’re never that stupid.”

  He simply smiled. “So what duties are you expected to perform?”

  “Look pretty, smile at everyo
ne, and marry to strengthen the bloodlines and coffers.”

  “That doesn’t sound too onerous.”

  She nodded. “That is what everyone thinks, but sometimes I feel like jumping into the Thames like your brother. If I have to smile and be pleasant to one more man whose only interest in me is my family connections and dowry...”

  “I see.”

  She rounded on him and crossly said. “I very much doubt it. You have choices.”

  “Choices? What choices.”

  Her face heated and she sat down on a pile of stones deflated. She debated whether to tell him but he appeared genuinely interested. “Who and when you marry.”

  “Sometimes I’m not sure I do,” he said softly.

  That made her mouth fall open. Was he being pressured to marry? She thought of Richard’s fiancée. Rumor was Henry would honor the engagement. So, was Millicent the woman he wished to marry and couldn’t? She longed to ask him who his mystery woman was, but then he’d know it was her in the garden.

  “Lord Wolverstone—Marcus, tells me your father is pushing you to accept Chesterton.”

  She nodded her head miserably. “I can’t stand the man. His touch makes my skin crawl.”

  “Then the solution is simple. You’ll have to find someone else. Surely there is some man who doesn’t make your skin crawl,” he asked with eyebrow raised.

  Caution. “Perhaps.” She craned her neck to gauge his expression but the sun shaded his face.

  “What are you looking for in a husband?”

  “I’m not sure this is a proper subject–”

  He sat down beside her. “Even for friends? We are friends, are we not? You’ve lived next door to me all your life. Sabine did not raise any objections to an outing unescorted. She knows she can trust me.”

  But could she trust herself. She couldn’t seem to breathe when he looked at her with his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. His lips beckoned. She wanted a taste as much as a young street urchin wanted sweetmeats.

  In a husky voice she answered him. “I don’t want much. I simply want a man who loves me.” When he remained silent she said, “I know I’m supposed to think of family alliances, fortunes, and bloodlines, but I won’t be left to live the rest of my life alone, unloved, while my husband finds joy with his other family.” A tear slipped from her eye and Henry gently brushed it aside with his thumb.

  Now he understood a little more about her. Henry knew of her father’s second family, as did most of the ton. His heart softened realizing what it must be like to be the family the duke saw only as a means to do his duty.

  “Is that why you released Marcus? You saw how he loved Sabine.”

  She nodded. “He would have been a good choice. Handsome, rich, and kind. A better choice than Creeperton.”

  At her wistful sigh, Henry’s fist clenched as jealousy stabbed its way into his heart. Was she in love with his best friend?

  “I too will only marry for love. Or at least a woman I believe I can grow to love. My parents had an arranged marriage too.” He took her hand in his and ran his thumb over her palm, satisfaction flooding his limbs at her tremor. “I grew up in a large house but it definitely wasn’t a home. I was not abused in any way but there was little love in my home. I don’t want my children growing up in a cold, emotionless family.”

  Tears welled in her eyes at his words. He wanted to lighten her day, take away her pain.

  He moved closer. “I’m going to claim my prize now.”

  For one tense moment, he held her gaze, and then he raised his hands to cup her face, as he tipped it up and brought his lips down on hers.

  It was a gentle kiss.

  A kiss that he hoped told her he wasn’t about to pounce on her like the first time. A kiss meant to worship.

  But Amy leaned into him, and with just one taste all his good intentions fled.

  He took her lips, then her mouth, and before long he kissed her with the raging need he’d kept pent up for so long.

  Ragged, desperate, aching need welled and poured through him, and into the kiss. He didn’t stop to think. One step beyond control, edged with wildness he’d never felt before. Her lips were as ripe and luscious as he remembered. The soft cavern of her mouth made a delicious feast.

  One he fully intended to gorge on.

  To take his fill until his famine was quenched.

  Without restraint.

  And his body surged with triumph because she let him.

  His lips moved on hers, steely and firm, so different than the night in his garden. Now, they were masterfully commanding, demanding in a way that sent hot thrills down Amy’s spine.

  His arm snaked around her, pulling her further into his embrace and she didn’t fight it. His hand anchored her head so she was his to devour.

  She should stop him, push him away, but her body wanted more. All she cared about was experiencing more, tasting more, feeling the same hot thrills she’d experienced in his garden.

  Her lips parted, letting him fill her mouth, letting his tongue lay claim as he had once before. No other man had kissed her like this. He mastered her in a manner she found exciting, thrilling, and sensually stimulating.

  The overwhelming physical sensations wreathed her mind and hazed her wits. She wanted more, all... For the second time in her existence desire stirred and roared to life.

  She wanted... to kiss him back, to make him sweep her up in a dizzying passion. She wanted him in whatever way would appease the hungry need inside.

  Her hands had come to rest against his chest, and she had enough wits to slide them upwards to his shoulders, broad and hard, then farther into his nape, and the honey-colored curls. She let her fingers sink into the silky softness.

  She played.

  A thrill shot to her core. Her touch affected him, because he slanted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers in heated persuasion.

  Unlike their previous fumbling in the dark, Amy grew emboldened. She hesitantly kissed him back—tentative, unsure of anything except of her need for more.

  His response momentarily frightened her. A storm of passionate desire raced through him and into her, almost as if he were pouring his soul into their kiss.

  The power, the hunger—the raw need she sensed behind it—should have shocked her, but instead she embraced it. Clinging to him with abandon.

  Her tongue tangled with his, exploring, tempting her further into sin.

  Through the kiss, through the hard pressed lips, and the warm hands that held her tight against his unyielding body, she sensed a primitive male satisfaction. He was pleased with her acquiescence. Pleased she had responded to his touch.

  She was falling and soon would not be able to stop. She detected heat, welling pleasure, and the addictive power of his touch. He called to her at some feminine level she’d never broached before. And for a moment she was scared she’d lose herself in him. That mustn’t happen!

  She broke the kiss on a soft cry. Stared, stunned into his passion filled eyes. The green so dark it was almost black. Desire stared back. His desire.

  She wrenched out of his arms and tried to stand but her legs were weak. She gripped his shoulders for support.

  He whispered, “I’d race every day in order to receive that prize.”

  She quickly looked away from his knowing gaze. Flustered. “Perhaps I should talk to Sabine about how trustworthy you are.”

  He laughed out loud, merriment and something akin to male pride dancing in his eyes.

  He left her to compose herself while he fetched their horses.

  His hands lingered slightly too long as he helped her mount. “Care for another race tomorrow?”

  She edged Toby clear and gathered the reins. Before she galloped off she gave one parting shot. “Perhaps I’ll ask the Comte to race me tomorrow.”

  The smile immediately disappeared from Henry’s face and with a very feminine chuckle she urged Toby forward. That will teach him for being smug.

  She
tried not to think about the kiss on the long ride home. What she did think upon was the fact that her earring wasn’t in Henry’s pockets today. While he’d ravished her mouth, her nimble fingers had checked.

  She’d talk to Marcus tonight. Time was running out. He had to obtain the earring for her.

  If Henry was interested in courting her, she’d let him but with the risk of being completely compromised still hanging over her head, she’d not relax until the earring in was her possession. Or she knew Henry’s heart.

  He kissed her as if he couldn’t live without her, but he was a rake. Didn’t they all kiss like that? She wished she had more experience. Perhaps she should kiss the Comte to test her theory.

  Frustration at her circumstances dimmed. Surely if Henry could kiss her like that, perhaps his heart didn’t belong to another.

  Tonight she would not let Marcus slip away until he confessed all. If Henry had a mistress she damn well wanted to know. Marcus would have to overcome his sensibilities and tell her the truth. She would not let the fact a young unmarried woman was not supposed to know about such things stop her investigation. If anyone knew Henry’s heart, it would be his best friend. What did Marcus not wish her to know?

  #

  Marcus’s weary body simply wanted its bed. He’d been busy all evening avoiding both Amy and Henry. This match making business was exhausting.

  He desperately wanted to join Sabine in their cozy bed, especially since he imagined the erotic welcome he’d find there. Ever since she’d learned she was increasing, she’d not been able to keep her hands off him.

  His heart swelled in his chest and he couldn’t believe how happy he was. Life was extremely good and he wanted Henry to have the same.

  Sabine was with child. He didn’t even care if it was a boy or a girl. As long as wife and child were healthy, that’s all that mattered. He’d tried to wrap Sabine up in cotton wool when she gave him the news. If anything happened to her, or the baby... His body chilled as it always did. The thought of losing her again—permently. His life would be over.

  So he bit back an impolite, devilish curse, when one of his servants handed him a missive. If it was from Henry or Amy he’d throw it in the fire. He’d tell Sabine she was right and bloody well steal the earring and expose the two of them himself.