The Double Wager

by Mary Balogh

  "Hmm," he replied, "I believe I should find it a little disconcerting to share a bed with a partner who has to practice scales. "

  She laughed. "I miss you, Marius," she said. "Have you not tired of the freckled little chit yet?"

  "You mean her Grace?" he asked, eyebrows raised, hand straying-to the handle of his quizzing glass. "Good Lord, no!"

  He strolled away in the direction of the chairs that had been set out for the audience and suffered through the first aria sung by the Italian. During the first break, before -1 the second selection, he made his excuses and left.

  **********************************************************************************

  Henry chattered brightly during the carriage ride to the opera house. She felt uneasy with Oliver for the first time and wished there were some way of avoiding the evening's entertainment. But cowardice was not one of Henry's vices. She smiled brightly as Cranshawe handed her from the carriage, her face now covered with the green mask, her figure covered with the matching domino. Her companion looked almost sinister, she thought, dressed all in black.

  The atmosphere inside the building was quite different from that in the various ballrooms that Henry had visited. The noise level was noticeably higher. The dancing was considerably less elegant. In fact, the music seemed to provide only an excuse for men and women to touch and ogle one another. Ladies' fashions even among high society favored low necklines and a generous display of bosom. Yet many of the female dancers here made Henry blush with the obvious vulgarity of their dress.

  As Henry preceded Cranshawe to the ground-level box he had reserved, a smiling gallant reached for her hand and tried to pull her onto the dancing floor with a "Dance, m' dear?" as the only introduction. Oliver's black arm encircled her waist and drew her against him. For the moment, Henry was glad of the protection.

  Her relief was short-lived. When Oliver drew her onto the floor to waltz, he held her close, with one hand splayed firmly across her back so that her breasts and thighs came continually into contact with his body. When she raised an indignant face to his, she noticed that his eyes glittered strangely behind the black mask.

  "Don't hold me so close, Oliver," she ordered crossly. "I shall tread on your feet and hurt you."

  He flashed his charming smile. "I should consider it a pleasure to be trodden on by you, Henry," he said. "And I do not believe you are heavy enough to inflict much pain."

  "Even so, sir," she persisted, pushing firmly against his shoulder with her left hand, "I wish to have more room."

  "For one so young, you are a remarkable tease, Henry," lie said, smiling tenderly down on her. "I hold you close merely to protect you from the crowd."

  "I don't like it," Henry said bluntly. "I believe most of the people here have had too much to drink!"

  Cranshawe threw back his head and laughed. "Henry, I never had you labeled as a prude," he said. "I believe you are cross only because these revelers have a start on you. Let us return to our box and -order some refreshments."

  Henry followed him, though she resisted all his attempts to ply her with alcohol. She insisted on drinking lemonade. Soon they were joined by two other couples, who appeared to know both her and Cranshawe. The talk became noisy and vulgar. Henry, who could usually hold her own in any conversation, found herself sitting in uncomfortable silence. When one of the men asked her to dance, she found again that she had to constantly fight to maintain a decent distance from him. At the same time she had to keep her head averted to avoid the smell of liquor on his breath.

  As soon as she could attract Cranshawe's attention on her return to the box, she asked to be taken home.

  "Henry?" he said in surprise. "We have just arrived and have hardly begun to enjoy ourselves yet."

  "I shall never begin to enjoy myself here, Oliver," she said. "Take me home, please."

  "My dear," he coaxed, "you lack experience. Come, let yourself go and join in the festivities."

  "This place is vulgar, and so are the people in it," she said coldly. "I wish to go home."

  "I am afraid we must stay longer," Cranshawe replied, his own voice stiffening. "I have instructed my coachman not to return before midnight."

  "Then we must take a hackney," Henry said firmly, rising to her feet and grasping her reticule.

  "Henry," he said, his tone becoming wheedling, "have I not earned this evening with you? It is true that many people of a lower order are permitted to attend these masquerades, but there are also many people of quality here. Do you not trust me to protect you from insult?"

  "I wish to go, Oliver," Henry said, her own tone more reasonable. "I should not have come in the first place. I know that Marius would not like it. And, yes, of course you have earned my gratitude. But I shall repay you in time. Now, will you please hire a hackney?"

  "No, I will not." He laughed, grasping her hand and leaning toward her. Come, Henry, let us dance again and forget these maidenly fears. You are not a maiden any longer, you know!"

  Henry tossed her head. "If you are not gentleman enough to take me," she said icily, "I shall go alone." And she turned and stalked from the box.

  She made it into the corridor that encircled the auditorium of the opera house before Cranshawe caught up with her. He caught her wrist in an iron grip.

  "Stop behaving like a spoiled brat, Henry," he commanded in a tone she had never heard from him-before. "Come back into the box."

  "Let me go immediately," she hissed, "or I shall make a scene.

  Cranshawe laughed unpleasantly. "You would not attract much attention here even if you screamed at the top of your lungs. Do you think I am about to let you go now, Henry, when I finally have you to myself?"

  "What do you mean?" she demanded, eyes wide with a mixture of indignation and dawning fright.

  "I have wanted you for quite some tune, my dear," he said, smiling confidently down into her face. "Tonight I intend to have some reward for my care of you."

  "You must be mad!" Henry cried, fear forgotten in a terrible burst of anger. "I intend to leave this place right now!"

  She turned to leave, but before she could move one step, two hands clamped onto her upper arms. Henry kicked out with one foot; her evening slipper came into sharp contact with Cranshawe's shin and he swore.

  "Little minx!" he said between his teeth. "It is going to he a pleasure to teach you some manners. I see that Marius has failed."

  "Don't defile my husband's name by mentioning it," Henry raged, struggling against the hands that were like iron bands around her arms. She was rewarded for her pains by being hauled unceremoniously against his body. She managed to get her clenched fists only waist-high before his arms encircled her and precluded all movement. Although she shook her head furiously from side to side, she could not for long avoid his seeking lips. His mouth clamped over hers without any pretense of tenderness. Her own lips were pressed against her teeth until she Could feel the soft flesh being cut. Her mind soon became aware of the heat of his body pressed against her own, her breasts crushed against his chest, the breath being forced from her body until she felt she could fight no longer. Her head was falling back; the hood with which she had earlier covered her head slipped off, revealing her unruly auburn curls. Henry felt a rising nausea.

  Just when she felt she must faint away for the first time in her life, Henry was suddenly released. Cranshawe muttered an oath and grasped one shin-the same one that Henry had kicked-hopping on the other leg for a moment. Then his attention focused on a young serving boy fleeing along the passageway and he started in pursuit, anxiously patting his pockets to see if anything had been stolen.

  Seeing her chance, Henry gathered her domino around her again, pulled her hood over her head, and fled in the opposite direction. Luck was with her. As she came to the outer doors, deliberately slowing her pace so as not to attract undue attention, a hackney cab was dropping its passengers and making to leave again empty. Henry signaled one of the doormen and he hailed the driver and helped
her inside. Ten minutes later, a very relieved Henry was being admitted into her own home by a footman.

  She climbed the stairs wearily and entered her own room. She stood with her back against the door for a few moments, eyes closed, waiting for her heart to resume its normal beat. She considered ringing for Betty and for a light for her candle, but rejected both ideas. She wanted only to be alone to consider what had happened.

  Henry pushed herself away from the door with a sigh and began to undress herself with the aid of the moonlight filtering through the windows. She pulled on her lawn nightdress and sat down at the dressing table to brush her hair. She sighed again. Marius had been so very right about Oliver. After the experiences of that evening, she now had no doubt that the whole of the story about him was correct. He had befriended her and loaned her a large sum of money only to get her into his power so that he could somehow embarrass his cousin. How far he had intended to go with her that night she was not sure, but she had no doubt that he had intended to ruin her reputation if not her virtue. Had he meant to boast to Marius afterward, or had he intended to drop tidbits of gossip in the right ears so that she would become the talk of the town?

  Henry realized suddenly that, although she had escaped from him with no more than a brutal kiss, he could still damage her reputation. She had gone with him to a place where no respectable lady of the ton would be seen, and now she understood why. And she had been recognized there by at least the two couples who had shared their box for a while. How naive she had beenl

  How would Marius react if he found out? Henry had mental images of his scorn. She could picture him sweeping her from head to toe with his quizzing glass. She imagined him sending her away to one of his more remote estates, perhaps even divorcing her. She would never be able to appear in society again if that happened. Not that she would care, she tried to convince herself. She would persuade Peter to send her back to Roedean and she would spend the rest of her days there, where she had always been happiest.

  But she could not fool herself. It was true that she loved Roedean, true that she could live quite happily there without the distractions of high-society life, but she could no longer live happily without Marius. She wanted his good opinion, his friendship, his love. But she had effectively cut herself off from any of these. For one wild moment she considered going to him next morning in his library and confessing the whole. But she knew she could not. She could not bear to think of the look of disappointment or anger that she would bring to his face. And, most of all, she could not break her promise to Giles. Somehow she was going to have to get herself out of this mess.

  Henry had been unseeingly regarding her own darkened image in the mirror while the brush moved mechanically through her hair. But suddenly her eyes focused on the faintly moonlit reflection of the wing chair behind her that stood beside the empty fireplace. The brush dropped with a clatter to the dressing-table top, and she spun around on the stool, eyes wide.

  "How long have you been sitting there?" she demanded.

  Eversleigh considered. "Since about a half-hour before your return, my love," he replied affably.

  "What do you want?"

  "Partly to know that you are safe," he said. "But I see that you are." He rose leisurely to his feet and proceeded to light the branched candles that stood on the mantelpiece.

  "Marius, you are supposed to be playing cards tonight," Henry accused, her voice trembling slightly. "I did not expect you to return much before morning."

  "Did you not, my love?" he replied, giving her a long, hard look.

  Henry rose to her feet and gave her husband a bright smile. "Well," she said, "now that you know I am safely home, you need not wait up. Good night, Marius."

  Eversleigh lowered himself into the wing chair again and looked maddeningly at his ease, clad in a blue velvet dressing gown and slippers. "Did you enjoy your music tonight, my love?" he asked conversationally.

  Henry opened her mouth to reply, looked into his half-closed eyes, and shut it again. She looked down at her hands. "You know I was not there, do you not?" she said.

  "You did not miss much," he assured her. "Signora Ratelli was somewhat off-key tonight, I believe. Though, of course, I am no connoisseur of music.

  Henry did not reply. She continued to stare at her hands.

  "Where were you, Henry?" he asked softly.

  She looked up at him. "I went to the masquerade at the opera house," she said, and then added with a defiant tilt to her chin, "with Oliver."

  "Ah, quite so," he said, still with his maddening air of nonchalance. "And did you enjoy yourself?"

  "Yes, I did, very much," she lied.

  "You are home early," he observed, "for one who was enjoying herself.

  "I was supposed to be at the concert," she replied defiantly. "I did not wish to arouse suspicion by returning home late."

  "An admirable forethought," he commented.

  Henry could stand his amiability no longer. "Marius," she cried, "if you are angry, say something or do something. Don't play cat and mouse with me!"

  "My love," he said, eyebrows raised in surprise, "what should I have to say or do? You have made it abundantly clear in the past that my wishes and my feelings mean nothing to you. All that is left for me to do is to try to ensure your safety."

  "Oh, that is not true," she flared. "I do care for your feelings and wishes."

  "Do you, my love?" he asked gently. "Forgive me. I must have misinterpreted everything you have said to me and done since our marriage."

  Eversleigh rose to his feet and came toward her. Henry stood her ground, though she swallowed nervously.

  "Henry," he asked softly, "do you love Oliver Cranshawe?"

  Her eyes widened. "No!" she whispered.

  "Because if you do, and if he can convince me that he truly loves you," he continued, "much as I distrust him, I shall release you. We can still have an annulment, you know."

  "I do not want an annulment," she said.

  "Do you not?" His eyes focused suddenly on her mouth and remained there. He reached out a hand to cup her chin, and with a very gentle thumb drew down her lower lip so that the torn skin where Cranshawe had pressed the flesh against her teeth was visible. He closed her mouth again and kept his thumb lightly on her lips.

  "He has been kissing you," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

  "Yes."

  He looked deeply into her eyes for several uncomfortable moments. "Has he been making love to you, Henry?" Ike asked gently. "Have you been to bed with him?"

  "No," she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. And then the unspeakable happened. His face suddenly blurred before her eyes and she felt hot tears on her cheeks.

  His hands warmly framed her face and his thumbs brushed aside the tears. She was still gazing into his eyes.

  "Henry," he said softly, "don't cry, my love."

  As the first sob shook her, his mouth covered hers, open, warm, moist, and infinitely gentle. He avoided putting pressure on her bruised lips. But his tongue lightly traced them and passed over the cuts inside, soothing and comforting. Henry felt more sobs and more tears coming. There was such a wonderful feeling of safety and rightness about the moment. She, who had always fought against any man's dominance, welcomed now the strong arms that encircled her and the warm, strong body against which site leaned.

  Henry was not sure how or when the kiss changed course. She was only hazily aware after a few minutes that her arms were around his neck, one hand thrust into his hair, and that her body was arched tautly into his, eagerly responding to its heat. His tongue was now plunging deeply into her mouth, boldly exploring its surfaces and fencing with her own tongue. One hand was undoing the buttonholes that extended down the front of her nightdress to the navel and was reaching inside to cup first one breast and then the other.

  She did not resist when Eversleigh drew the lawn material away from her shoulders and let the nightgown fall into a heap on the floor. She did not struggle when he lif
ted her and set her down on the cool white sheets of the bed. She watched him wide-eyed as he shrugged out of his own dressing gown and nightshirt. She received his weight on top of her with a sort of wild relief.

  And then sensation took control. Marius' taut male body was heavy on her, his hands first on her breasts, coaxing the nipples to an almost-unbearable hardness and then moving up over her shoulders and down her back until he clasped the lower half of her body ever closer to his. His mouth covered hers again and moved down to caress her throat, her shoulders, and finally, her breasts.

  Henry felt completely surrounded by the man she loved and wanted, but she still lay with muscles taut, in an agony of unfulfillment. She waited feverishly for she knew not what. And then he was in her, too, the shock and pain completely depriving her of breath for a moment. She was sobbing again without realizing it, holding herself steady against his entry in total disregard of that momentary stab of pain. And then he was moving in her, deeply and surely taking her to that unknown destination.

  Henry became vaguely aware that someone in the room was alternately moaning and gasping, and sometimes saying his name. She knew, without shame, that it was her own voice that she heard. She heard him murmuring soothing words against her ear, but could not translate the sounds into any everyday meaning.

  And finally it was coming, that total sense of giving and belonging that she had fought against for so long and that she now craved with all her being. The thrust of his body was slowing and her own inner being was opening and relaxing against him, allowing him to penetrate the deepest secrets of her womanhood. She bit down on her lower lip as it happened, stifling a cry of wonder and delight. Her fingernails dug into the strong muscles of his back. He sighed aloud against her face and relaxed all his weight onto her unresisting body. They lay thus for several minutes, united, man and wife.

  Finally, Eversleigh withdrew from her and moved to her side. He gathered her damp, relaxed body into his arms and gently kissed first one closed eyelid and then the other.