The Wedding Gamble

by Julia Justiss

  Sandiford’s reassuring words could not ease his guilt. Sarah had spoken to him of this, concern eloquent in her voice. Instead of bending every effort to assist her, he’d played the dictatorial husband.

  So naturally, when in peril she sent to Sandiford. A wise choice, was it not? Unlike him, the captain had neither argued nor questioned, but come at once.

  An equally dismal thought struck him. She must have returned from Stoneacres to confront Findlay—not because she missed her fool of a husband.

  With a heavy sigh, he looked down at her note and read it once more to the end.

  I hope it is within your power to forgive. If not, I will understand, thank you for the happiness you have brought me and pray fervently that a merciful Providence may in future bless you with a wife more worthy than I.

  She had believed his threat to divorce her, apparently. Would she welcome it, and fly back to Sandiford, the man who trusted and supported her? Nicholas had no doubt the captain would be delighted to receive her, and would care naught for the ruin divorce would bring her reputation, and his.

  For perhaps a second, Nicholas entertained the idea of standing nobly aside—and then angrily rejected it. She had pledged herself to him, and he would hold her to it. Damn it, he loved her!

  After Lydia, he had built such a wall of suspicion and distrust around his heart he’d not believed any woman could broach it. Yet, somehow Sarah had.

  Given his past, he might never be able to trust her completely. But he also knew beyond any doubt that, even were the obnoxious captain to reside next door, a permanent thorn in his side, keeping Sarah’s warmth and passion in his arms and his bed and his life would be worth every risk.

  Surely she cared for him a little. The tenderness in her face when she bade him goodbye—was it just this morning?—the way she touched him, loved him that rapturous night, must mean she cherished some warm emotion.

  He would woo her passionately until he won back her respect and earned her affection. Until she no longer regretted the loss of her former love. He’d begin, he vowed, the moment she woke.

  Feeling more hopeful than he had since tearing open the note twelve hours ago, he leaned over to stroke her cheek. Hot, dry skin scalded his hand.

  Panic drying his tongue, Nicholas stumbled to the door and called for Becky.

  While the maid ran for water and cloths, Nicholas mixed the powder the doctor left and carried it to Sarah. Raising her by the shoulders, he shook her gently, then with more vigor, to no avail. He could not rouse her.

  For several hours, he and Becky dipped, wrung out and applied the cold cloths to her face, chest and arms. Becky had the fortuitous thought of tearing a strip from one of them, soaking it in medicine water, and trickling it in her mouth. From time to time she swallowed and they managed to get at least a fraction of the drug in her.

  As his hands worked feverishly, his mind confronted the reality Sarah might die. Wretched as he’d felt before, the agony of that idea made his previous anxiety pale.

  Disconnected images of her flitted through his fear-fogged mind: how she tilted her head and looked at him inquiringly…her charming gurgle of a laugh, and the golden lights that danced in her eyes…her head nestled on his shoulder as, after loving, she drifted asleep.

  He thought of her independence, her stubborn pride, her insistence on driving herself to fulfill what she saw as her duty. He thought what a desert his life would be without her.

  Most of all, he had never in his life regretted anything more than not having told her he loved her.

  Finally, pale dawn light peeped through the curtains. Sarah’s fever seemed lower, though she lay unconscious still. Nicholas’s body ached in every limb and his hands were numb from wringing out cloths.

  Becky glanced at him and must have read the weariness in his face. “Master, will you not lie down? I’ve slept some, but you’ve not had a wink all night. You must rest. The mistress will be needing you when she wakes.”

  In truth, Nicholas wasn’t sure he could force himself to continue much longer. Funny little lights were dancing before his eyes, his head felt as if it might float to the ceiling, and his ears buzzed. But the thought of leaving her terrified him.

  “All right, Becky, I’ll sleep. Here, by her bed.” He dragged a wing chair over. “Wake me at once if—if anything happens.”

  Wrapping up in a blanket, Nicholas leaned his head on the chair’s padded arm. Despite his anxiety and grief, he was asleep in a moment.

  Slowly Sarah rose to consciousness to discover her chest afire, her wrist throbbing and her parched mouth filled with a bitter taste. Wanting nothing so much as a drink of water, she reached toward a glass.

  Her hand fell back, startling her. She realized she was in her bed at Stanhope House, and terribly weak.

  Oddly, Nicholas slept in a chair beside her. His shirt wrinkled and cravatless, his hair untidy, he rested his unshaven face on one hand. Dark circles, black against the pallor of his skin, shadowed his eyes.

  Concern jolted her awake. And then she remembered.

  Findlay had come after her with a knife, his lips curled back in a snarl as he called her names she didn’t even recognize. Though she dodged his first furious lunge, inevitably, he caught her.

  Trapping her against the fireplace, he pinned her arms behind her. Still mouthing obscenities, he methodically slashed her bodice, making the cuts shallow so that some rent only cloth, some pierced skin. Finally, growling this time he’d make his mark indelible, he forced her wrist up and sliced open the scar.

  Faint with pain and terror, she heard Sinjin roar her name, saw him burst in, sword drawn. Findlay shoved her aside and grabbed his own sword from above the mantel.

  She seemed to remember a clash of steel before a cold faintness stripped her fingers from their hold on the fire screen and she fell into darkness.

  Had Sinjin brought her home? She felt a rush of gratitude. Dear Sinjin, who had come without question, and without question saved her life. Thank Providence he would be out of the country so the horrific scandal sure to follow this escapade would not touch him.

  It would tarnish Nicholas. No wonder he looked ill! Probably he was waiting for her to wake so he could tell her where he meant to send her during the court case. Where she might stay while a divorce bill went forward.

  Was this the last time she would see him? Despite the fire in her body and the ache in her heart, she cherished this one, lingering chance to gaze at him.

  Through her despair a tinge of humor emerged. Never had she seen her impeccable husband look so unkempt.

  He stirred, groaned and opened his eyes. Sarah noted how bloodshot they were, how pale and drawn was his face. Her alarm revived.

  “N-Nicholas,” she croaked. “Are you all right?”

  He jolted upright. “Sarah? Oh my God, Sarah!”

  He stumbled to the bed and touched her forehead with trembling fingers. “The fever’s nearly gone, praise heaven!”

  “Are you ill? You look dreadful.”

  Nicholas seized her uninjured hand and kissed it fervently. “If I do, ’tis all your fault. What a scare you’ve given me! But you must be thirsty.”

  He caught up the bedside glass and held it to her lips. She drank it down without stopping.

  “Thank you, Nicholas. I tried to reach it, but I seem to be amazingly weak.”

  “’Tis not surprising after what you’ve been through.”

  Cold reality snuffed the joy of seeing him. “I’m so sorry, Nicholas, I—”

  “No, Sarah, ’tis I who am sorry! When I read you intended to confront that madman, I was never so frightened in my life. You sweet, courageous fool.”

  “I had to, Nicholas. I tried to think of another way, but nothing less would stop him.” She sighed unhappily. “The scandal will be dreadful, I’m afraid.”

  “No one knows you went to Findlay’s. I gave out to the servants that the activities of London proved too much, and you collapsed at a friend’s. ’Twill
be no scandal.”

  Sarah took a deep breath and regretted it as hot prickles blazed across her chest. “I must go forward with this, Nicholas.” Bittersweet longing and regret filled her. “I expect you will divorce me, and I don’t blame you. I’ve been a shockingly poor bargain of a wife.”

  “Don’t say that,” Nicholas cried. “I know when you needed me most, I failed you. But I promise to do better. I don’t want a divorce, and I won’t let you marry him.”

  “Findlay?” Sarah shuddered. “I wouldn’t consider it.”

  “Sarah, Findlay is dead. That’s why there will be no scandal. You don’t need to testify.”

  “Dead?” Shocked, she sagged back against the pillows. “Did Sinjin—?”

  “No. They were dueling on the landing. Findlay tried to break for the stairs, and fell.” Nicholas made a noise that sounded like a growl. “More’s the pity! I should have taken great pleasure in driving a blade through his heart.”

  “Bless Sinjin,” Sarah murmured.

  “Sarah, I know how you feel about him, how you’ve always felt, and I know he cares for you. But we took vows. I want to honor them. This time, won’t you let me stay and nurse you? Can we not begin again?”

  A wild, impossible hope soared through her. “Do you mean, after all the trouble I’ve caused, you still want me?” Her heart commenced to beat at double time, and she dared not look at him as she awaited his response.

  “More than ever.”

  Her glance shot up. Nicholas was smiling, his sincerity unquestionable. Exultation robbed her of breath.

  Then her conscience prodded. “Before you decide, Nicholas, I must confess I can no longer keep our bargain. You see—” she twisted the coverlet between nervous fingers “—I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  To her surprise, Nicholas grinned and eased himself on the bed. “Have you, now? The prospect sounds delightful.”

  “But you don’t understand,” she wailed. “You’ve seen how—impassioned I become about those I care for—my family, the tenants at Stoneacres. I shall be demanding and possessive.” Her courage nearly failed her, but she forced herself to make it plain. “What I mean is, I—I can no longer tolerate your mistress.”

  “What mistress?”

  She gave him an aggrieved glance. “Nicholas, do not trouble to deny your understanding. I saw her there, at my presentation ball.”

  His grin vanished. “You saw—! No, ’tis impossible!”

  “Then her twin sister accosted me in the ladies’ withdrawing room—wearing a necklace of robin’s-egg rubies. Besides, from what Mr. Baxter said, several hundred other guests saw her dancing with you as well.”

  “He told you that? No wonder you were so angry! Believe me, my darling, ’tis a lie. First, I never bade her to your ball. I’ve not been able to prove it, but I suspect Findlay had Weston forge an invitation, just to foment trouble. Second, I hustled her away before she ever reached the ballroom.”

  Before her disbelieving brain could comprehend the full impact of that, he seized her hand. “I swear to you, I’ve not seen Mrs. Ingram except at social functions since I asked for your hand. I love you, sweet Sarah. I want no woman but you.”

  She stared, her mouth falling open. Could she have heard him aright? He loved her? Her heart swelled.

  He grinned again. “You could kiss me,” he suggested.

  She leaned eagerly toward him—and remembered the last, worst part of her confession. Must she tell him? Yes, her conscience insisted.

  “There’s one other matter.” She felt her face flush. “I must warn you I may sometimes f-forget myself.” He looked at her blankly. “As I did our last night.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Our last night was wonderful.”

  “Now, Nicholas, you told me most plainly you didn’t want a spirited, passionate wife!”

  “Not want—?” Nicholas shook his head violently. “I never said anything so cloth-headed!”

  “You most certainly did!”

  “I must have been foxed.” An arrested look crossed his face. “You mean every night of our marriage might have been like the last, had I not made that bacon-brained remark?”

  “Perhaps not every night. You did teach me—things.”

  Nicholas cupped her face in his hands. “So did you teach me. That I wanted no other—I dismissed Chloe weeks ago! That in spite of the past I could love beyond doubt. Yes, let us forge a new bargain.”

  He slipped off the bed and went down on one knee. “Will you take a chance on loving me, my one and only darling? I promise a return you will never regret.”

  Gambler’s words still. Sarah gazed at the earnest entreaty of his eyes. Could she really commit herself, heart and soul, to this unrepentant gamester?

  Had she not already made that decision? “My dear husband,” Sarah said as she urged him back on the bed, “that’s the one gamble I’m prepared to take.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-4006-7

  THE WEDDING GAMBLE

  Copyright © 1999 by Janet Justiss

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