by Aileen Fish
“I am. No one has won yet.”
“Excellent.” Reaching the table, he picked up a cup for her and they continued into a relatively quiet corner. “Does that mean the wager is done, or will you continue another night?”
“The wager isn’t done until one of us wins, of course.” She took the cup he handed her and sipped the punch. When she lowered the drink, her tongue swiped across her full, pink lower lip. That simple move was his undoing.
All reason was gone. Ringley drew her deeper into the corner, paying no mind to the crowd around them. “How badly do you wish to win?”
“I always win.” She showed no shyness, steadily meeting his gaze until hers dropped to his mouth.
“Your brother will have my head.”
“My brother doesn’t have to know.”
He chuckled and leaned in. “He always knows.”
“Are you saying kissing me isn’t worth the risk of running afoul of Markham?”
“How are you still unmarried?” He took her elbows, drawing her closer, so close her body met his.
“I’m not looking to marry, my lord. Merely to win a wager.”
A wager, yes, that was all this was. Not a man attracted to a woman, wondering how her lips would taste. Not a fool considering risking the friendship of a man he’d known for twenty years, all for the briefest touch of their skin. Just a wager.
“I always win,” she reminded him.
That rubbed on his nerves. She wasn’t interested in him as a man, not in the least. It was a waste of breath to try to convince her otherwise. Did he care?
Not a jot.
He bent his head and inhaled her sweet gasp just before his lips found hers. Soft, pliable, her mouth was nothing like an innocent miss. And everything he could get lost in. She was dangerous.
It took everything he had to pull away.
Lady Lavinia stared at him as if he’d grown horns. Her sapphire eyes were so round, as were her lips before she pressed her fingers there.
“You’ve kissed your scoundrel,” he pointed out.
“Yes.” Her voice was so breathy he steeled himself to not kiss her again.
“You’ve won.”
She blinked. “I’ve won. Oh, I won!” She spun and looked at the people passing by. No one gave them a second glance. No whispered spread in a wave into the center of the room and back.
Lady Lavinia’s shoulders dropped. “No one saw. It’s not a win if no one saw.”
It was a win on his part, since it meant he hadn’t earned the anger of any fathers or brothers. “We can’t do it again without risking a scandal. No wager is worth that.”
The pain filling her eyes tugged at his gut. “You really want to win, don’t you?”
She fiddled with the seams of her gloves. “I don’t care about that.”
Lifting her chin, he asked, “Then what?”
Her lips trembled. “I liked it.”
He began to laugh but quickly caught himself. “Heaven forbid.”
“You mock me. Please don’t.”
She’d never looked so vulnerable before, so needing of his aid. His protection. As if he stood at the top of a muddy hillside in the rain and the ground beneath him gave way, Lord Ringley fell for her. “I’d never do such a thing. And I have a solution for you, if you’ll permit me.”
“What’s that?” Leeriness shone in her eyes as if she’d remembered who she stood with.
“If you’ll save a dance for me tomorrow night, I’ll do my best to steal a kiss where one of your friends will see.” Oh, he was a besotted fool, and over one kiss.
“I…suppose that would be…perfect.”
He squeezed her hands. “You’ll get what you wanted. You’ll win the wager.”
“Wager?” Her expression was truly blank. “Oh, yes. I’ll win.”
Against his heart’s desire, Ringley took her back to her mother, their dance set having ended some time ago. Then he took his leave, his gambling losses almost forgotten. He didn’t even have a stake in this wager and he’d come out the winner.
*****
I hope you enjoyed Lavinia and Ringley’s story. You can watch their relation develop further in Markham’s story, The Miscreant Marquess.
Please continue reading for some excerpts from other sweet Regency romances by Aileen Fish.
The Rake Takes a Wife
Chapter 1
Fall, 1816, Hambledon, Hampshire
“Yes, I will accept your offer.”
Miss Barbara Hallewell sighed as she whispered her favorite words, then she stabbed herself with the needle in her hands. Drat. She poked her finger in her mouth to stem the bleeding.
That would teach her to let herself fall into the familiar fantasy. The man she dreamed of was tall and handsome, broad-shouldered, and he stood straight with pride. He had no face, though, which was a problem. Not quite as big a problem as having no name and no chance of ever appearing, but she’d dearly love to know what color his eyes were and how thick was his hair.
Never had she imagined whether that man would be wealthy or common since that minor detail was unimportant. Everything about him was unimportant now. All the joy of romantic fantasies had left her long ago. Marriage was simply a means to provide a living for Mama and her. The income Papa had left them upon his death needed supplementing by their sewing, and even then, they might run out of coal at the end of the quarter.
How different life had become without Papa. Barbara’s gowns were several years old, but she never entertained or went to assemblies beyond the village, so fancy fabrics and the latest patterns weren’t necessary. They’d let most of the staff go. Life was peaceful, though, and she was grateful for what she had.
The jingle of a harness on the street interrupted Barbara’s thoughts.
“Is that a carriage?” Mama asked.
“Who would call here in a carriage? I’m certain it drove on past us.” She continued to sew until someone knocked on the door. Maizy, their housekeeper, bustled by to answer it. After a brief, muffled conversation Maizy entered the salon. “Mr. Jonas Tatum wishes to speak to you, ma’am.”
Mama set her needlework into a basket beside her. “Show him in. Barbara, straighten your hair and take off that apron.”
“He’s not here to see me. He’s Gilbert’s friend. I pray he doesn’t bear bad news.” Her chest tightened when she feared this man brought news of her brother who was fighting with the cavalry. Still, she made herself as neat as possible in the short time it took him to enter the salon, and rose to greet him.
“Mrs. Hallewell, Miss Hallewell. How do you do?”
“We are well.” Mama motioned to a chair before sitting. “Won’t you sit?”
In his buff breeches, gold waistcoat and brown tailcoat, Mr. Tatum could be a handsome young dandy on morning calls. When he caught Barbara’s gaze, his smile melted the icicles hanging from her neglected heart, but his words were a splash of cold water. “You are more lovely than I remember.”
Had he imagined she looked like an overworked servant? Admittedly her brown hair didn’t glow with gold strands in the sunlight, and her eyes looked more like a storm at sea than a violet posy, but she’d never been called haggard. She waited to see if he caught his slight.
He coughed and ducked his head. “Ah, forgive me. I meant ‘even more lovely.’”
“Thank you.”
With chagrin written all over his features, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His thick black hair fell in a wave over his left eye. Those pale blue eyes gleamed with intensity, intelligence. His full lips curved in a gentle smile.
Barbara chewed her lip and fought to hide her disappointment. How she wished his smile betrayed excitement, a bit of anticipation of spending time with her, however brief. Sitting silently, she listened as he and Mama exchanged polite conversation. Clenching her teeth to keep from blurting, Why are you here? she asked, “Is something amiss with Gilbert? Is that why you’ve come?”
Mr. Tatum’s
eyes widened. “No. Forgive me for allowing you to think that. I wrote him to ask his permission to call on you.”
Her heart raced. There was only one reason he needed permission to call. She’d only met him twice, and the last time was two years ago. They’d barely spoken to each other, so he couldn’t have formed an attachment in such brief visits. He couldn’t be there to propose to her, regardless of how much she wished it was so.
“You see, I need your assistance in a small matter. A personal matter. It was Gilbert’s idea, to be honest, to ask you. My grandfather is dying. I know it sounds like a plot from a novel, but he insists I marry before he dies or he’ll leave his share of his business to his secretary, Mr. Faircliffe.”
Mama shook her head slightly and glanced at Barbara. “Are you proposing? If you are, this is very sudden. While you’re a friend of my son and he speaks well of you, that’s hardly enough to make me believe you and she would be happy together as husband and wife.”
He cleared his throat. “I had in mind a business arrangement, to be honest. I don’t want to marry, especially not when my days at the shipping company are so long. What I hoped was that Miss Hallewell would pretend to be my betrothed.”
A sigh escaped, but Barbara kept her features composed. A business arrangement, nothing more. “You’d like us to call on him and convince him I’m madly in love with you?”
“There’s no need to go so far as love, but fond of each other will do.”
“Where does your grandfather live?” Mama asked. Barbara couldn’t believe she was considering this.
“In Great Yarmouth.”
Frowning, Mama said, “That’s far to travel just to meet your grandfather. Couldn’t Barbara simply write him a letter as though she’d accepted your proposal?”
“He’d never believe that.” Mr. Tatum jumped up and began to pace. “You’ll both need to stay at his house. We can say the wedding is some months away. He’s not expected to live long, so your visit won’t be more than a few weeks.”
Barbara gasped. He was cold, so callous about the impending death of a loved one. While she had enough practice in her fantasies to pretend she loved someone, she had no desire to assist such a heartless person in his charade. “I cannot help you.” She wouldn’t lie and say she was sorry.
“In return for your aid, I’ll pay for you to stay in London in the spring. My aunt, Mrs. Granderson, will be happy to introduce you to her friends. You’ll receive invitations to some of the finer homes.” He had the decency to look embarrassed at suggesting he pay for her services. “Gilbert felt you’d enjoy the chance to meet someone you’d wish to marry.”
Drat. He had to go and dangle a shiny bauble in front of her. A London Season! She must have heard him wrong. She shouldn’t get her hopes up—there were so many things that could go wrong, the worst being she ended up married to Mr. Tatum. “I don’t think it’s wise.”
“I agree.” Mama sharp words surprised Barbara. She was normally quite skilled at maintaining her poise.
“Your grandfather might live well past summer,” Barbara said. “We won’t be able to keep up the charade that long if I go to London. Or were you thinking I’d go the year after that?”
Mr. Tatum swiped his hand across his mouth. “Forgive me, but I hadn’t thought the entire scheme through. It wasn’t until I received Gilbert’s letter that it occurred to me to ask you.”
Her own brother got her into this ridiculous situation. She’d write him as soon as Mr. Tatum left to give him a piece of her mind. She forgave this man the tactless mention of her not being his first choice, since there was no pretense of a grand romance between them.
Still, the image of London ballrooms enticed her. She and Mama didn’t have the means or the necessary friends to spend spring in Town. A seed of hope began to germinate. “When would we leave for your grandfather’s estate?”
“As soon as possible. When the doctor said Grandfather was so close to death, I came straight away in hopes you’d agree.”
“If we are clear that I do not wish to marry you, I can accept your terms.” She couldn’t meet his gaze, or Mr. Tatum would know how often she’d practiced her response to a proposal, and how much her disappointment weighed on her to agree to a fake betrothal.
He held up his palms as if warding off a great evil. “Believe me, I have no intention of marrying, or I wouldn’t suggest this scheme.”
“But surely you’ll marry one day…to beget an heir at least.” The idea he didn’t want a family at any point in the future made her sad. What a lonely way of life. She shouldn’t care, but she did. She was such a ninny.
“I have many years before I shall require an heir. I work such long hours my wife would nag me to spend time at home.” As if he knew what she was thinking, he added, “I’ll be at home more while you’re there so we may convince Grandfather we care about each other.
Even though he spoke of their phony relationship, she noticed he never mentioned even a pretense of love. Affection, care…those were such timid words for what two people who loved each other should feel. That told her all she needed to know about his character. He might be a friend of her brother, but he was no one she needed to know better. In some small way that made it easier to accept a business arrangement like this. She’d play her part and then be glad to be free of him.
Mama shook her head, her stern voice showing she was still unconvinced. “Barbara, how can you expect to find a husband in London once word gets ’round of your betrothal? No one will want you if you cry off, and they’ll want you even less if Mr. Tatum does the leaving. As difficult as it is for a lady your age to find a husband, you make it impossible with this arrangement.”
The room grew quite warm, and Barbara fought the urge to fan herself. She avoided looking at Mr. Tatum, not wishing to see his pity—or whatever emotion he might feel toward a plain, dowerless woman such as she. “I am only five-and-twenty, not a spinster yet. No one will know of our betrothal, so there’ll be no repercussions. You’ll accompany me to his grandfather’s home. Mr. Tatum can present me to his grandfather, and we can slip away before anyone’s suspicions have been raised.”
“I will introduce you as the family of my comrade at arms should anyone visit while you’re there. I’m certain my aunt will agree to sponsor Miss Hallewell next Season if I tell her of some great service Gilbert did me on the battlefield. You see? This scheme will work to everyone’s benefit. I will inherit Sir Waldo’s business without being leg-shackled, and Miss Hallewell will have her Season.”
She was to have a London Season. The possibility was within her reach. The only thing lacking was Mama’s approval. She held her breath in anticipation of Mama’s agreement. Although she knew Mr. Tatum only a little, she trusted him to protect her reputation in such an arrangement, or Gilbert wouldn’t have suggested he ask her. Visiting Sir Waldo’s estate would be a holiday of sorts, a chance to live in the comfort she hadn’t known since she was a child.
Truthfully speaking, she’d never known the sort of comfort Sir Waldo must live in. The gossips claimed his income was far above her father’s. And the meager inheritance Father had left them meant she’d have to work the rest of her days or marry a local man who lived comfortably, if there were any men nearby she would consider. Hambledon didn’t have a lot to offer regardless of how pretty or accomplished a young lady was.
Her mother had been silent too long. All the excitement building inside Barbara began to fade. Despite all the possible problems, the chance to see London was too exciting to miss. “Mama, will you allow it? May we tell Sir Waldo we are engaged?”
At her mother’s quick shake of her head, her dark ringlets bounced about her neck where they escaped her bonnet. “I do not like this. There are too many ways it can go wrong, and you would be ruined. Then there are the specifics. Your wardrobe. You do not have enough fashionable gowns to dine at Sir Waldo’s table for weeks on end. He will wonder why his grandson has chosen someone beneath his notice.”
; Mr. Tatum approached in long strides. “I’ll give Miss Hallewell an allowance generous enough to buy gowns, if she needs them, and anything else either of you requires. But Sir Waldo doesn’t leave his bed, so we needn’t dress as formally as you might fear. I daresay Miss Hallewell is beautiful enough that my grandfather won’t notice her attire.”
He thought she was beautiful? Heat crept up her neck just as butterflies fluttered in her belly. No, it was more likely he was saying that for Mama’s benefit.
“But the servants will notice,” Mama insisted. “And servants will talk.”
“I’ll inform the butler to expect the mother and sister of my dear friend, who have come to enjoy the sea air while recovering from an ailment. If Sir Waldo says differently, one could blame it on his feeble mind. But the servants would never say anything to him directly, so it’s unlikely he’d have the chance to contradict anything we say.” Mr. Tatum remained standing in front of Mama, one eyebrow lifted as if he were speaking to a colleague rather than a prospective mother-in-law—a pretend prospective mother-in-law—awaiting her response.
Mama studied Barbara for an endless moment. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
“It would mean so much to me to have a Season, Mama. Your father was a gentleman, so no one would look askance at Mrs. Granderson sponsoring me. I will have the chance, at last, to change our circumstances by being exposed to such gentlemen as we might meet in Town. Do say we’ll go with Mr. Tatum to Three Gables.”
Her mother’s features softened as a soft exhale slipped between her lips. “If it’s what you truly wish, I will allow it. But keep in mind I’m leery about this scheme. Something will go wrong. I know it.”
Barbara ignored the grim warning. There was hope for her future, hers and her mother’s. In all likelihood, she would be married by this time next year. She turned to Mr. Tatum, her grin so wide her lips hurt. “When do we depart?”
