The Wolfe Wager

by Jo Ann Ferguson

“Do you think they will wed?”

  “Shall we wait until they tell us their plans? There is scanty use in wasting our breath on discussing something about which we know little.”

  Sir Wilbur was not abashed by her admonition, for he laughed. “Lady Mansfield urged me to ask you to stand up with me for the first dance. It is impolite to keep one’s guests waiting too long, you know.”

  Vanessa’s smile faltered as she put her hand on his pudgy arm. Her fingers recalled the strength of Lord Brickendon’s muscles beneath them. She kept her fingers from recoiling, because that would insult the baronet anew. Not that he would take insult. He was too anxious for this match. His eagerness to reassure her that he was gracious enough to forgive her for having him thrown into the street was as false as her smile. If she had been a willow, lacking both fortune and title, he would have never called upon her in the first place.

  As they stood in the middle of the otherwise empty dance floor, with every eye upon them and many tongues wagging, Vanessa looked across the room to where her aunt had her arm linked with Captain Hudson’s. Aunt Carolyn wore the same expression of happiness as Eveline. Vanessa took a deep breath and put her hand in the baronet’s.

  Vanessa nearly changed her mind by the fifth time Sir Wilbur’s foot came down on her silk slippers as he turned her about the room with no attempt to keep to the waltz’s tempo. Her thin slippers could endure only a little abuse, and she feared she would end the evening with at least one broken toe.

  When the baronet suddenly stopped in the midst of one enthusiastic whirl, Vanessa rocked back into something hard. She turned and gasped as she saw Lord Brickendon’s warm smile and warmer gaze. Knowing she should offer him a gracious greeting, she could do no more than stare up into his eyes. Her heart thumped like a child’s ball on the cobbles. She heard Sir Wilbur grumble something, but she paid him no more mind than she did the cut of the viscount’s black velvet coat which, with its stand-fall collar and tails reaching to just above his knees, accented the breathtaking breadth of his shoulders.

  “I am sorry I am late, my lady,” Lord Brickendon said with a smile that sent the deliciously familiar spiral of delight through her. He looked from her to the blustery baronet. “May I hope that I am not too late?”

  Sir Wilbur interjected, “Now see here—”

  “May I?” Lord Brickendon asked, ignoring the baronet as he held his hand out to Vanessa.

  She was astounded how well her slender fingers fit on his broad palm. His other hand settled at her waist as he spun her into the intoxicating pattern of the waltz. He led her about the floor with as much ease as if he had spent many hours of practice with her as her dancing-master. She was certain that Lord Brickendon truly became the master of any skill he attempted.

  “So quiet?” he teased. “Can I believe I am forgiven for my tardiness?”

  “I had feared you would not come,” she whispered, too happy to be coy.

  “I had considered letting you stew in your own juices if you were jobbernowl enough to set your cap on that tripes and trillibubs simply to give your aunt a chance to marry.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, for the lesson would be too painful even for an obstinate woman like you to suffer through.” His low laugh coaxed a smile from her. “All the world and his wife are rumbling about your abrupt change of partners. You are, as ever, kind to give them something to prattle about.”

  “My lord—”

  “Would it unnerve you too much to call me Ross?”

  She said with the honesty she always could use with him, “I would like that.”

  “So would I … Vanessa.”

  Her name on his lips was a caress even more fervent than his fingers on hers. Letting him draw her closer, she found his gaze holding hers as the music washed over them, its gentle rhythms a countermelody to her heartbeat. She was unsure when one dance ended and the next began, but she swirled through each one with him. When he murmured that he needed to speak to her alone, she walked with him out of the ballroom, not caring a rap about what anyone thought of her odd actions, and down the stairs to her aunt’s blue sitting room.

  The distant sound of the music followed them as Ross sat next to her on the settee. With her hands between his, he said, “You never answered my question. Am I too late to keep you from accepting Franklin’s offer of marriage?”

  Sorrow clamped around her heart, stifling all joy, as his words reminded her that this must be nothing more than a rapturous interlude. She must marry, so she no longer stood in the way of Aunt Carolyn’s betrothal. “No, but nothing has changed.”

  “That is true.”

  She looked at him, mystified, as she heard his amusement. She pulled her hands away from his. If he thought her plight so humorous, she would as lief he had remained distant.

  “Don’t fire that baleful glower at me,” he continued in the same light voice. “Nothing has changed. It took a bit of searching, but I finally convinced someone to tell me about Hudson’s men. They are to stay in garrison here in Town.”

  “Here? He shall not be going to France, too?” She could not hold back her tears. Covering her face with her hands, she wept, for her aunt’s happiness and for her own that she need not throw away.

  “I did not mean to bring you to tears.” Ross pulled a handkerchief from under his coat. “I have been accused of many misdeeds, many which I would not inflict upon your tender ears, but never have I been accused of causing a woman to cry simply because I told her that her aunt was set to wed a carpet-knight.”

  Vanessa took the square of lawn and dabbed at her eyes. “Forgive me. I hate being a wet-goose.”

  His finger beneath her chin tipped her face up. The warm caress of his gaze stroked her face, and her lips parted as an eager breath urged her to put her hand over his. “Sweet Vanessa, when I first met you I saw in you a strength I’ve seen in few others, but be cautious it does not betray you. Tears are meant to be shed. Joy is meant to be spread with laughter. Grief is meant to be shared. Why do you hide yours?”

  Blinking back more tears, she set herself on her feet. His words pierced her to the heart, for they were undeniably the truth. The very same truth she had been ignoring as she continued her single-minded pursuit of Corey’s whereabouts. Ross had never failed to be honest with her. Mayhap that was why she had found it impossible to be anything less than the same in return. He made her smile and laugh and want to be happy again. Not only happy, but to want a rapture that came from the caress of his fingers and the longing for his mouth upon hers. She kept her back to him as her yearning to be honest warred with her fear he would call her an air-dreamer as everyone, even Aunt Carolyn, had.

  Looking down at the damp handkerchief, she whispered, “I have tried to share my grief, to find someone who could ease it, but no one wishes to listen. I believe my brother Corey is alive somewhere in France.”

  “I thought he was dead.”

  Vanessa faced him as he stood. “There is no proof he is not alive.” She clenched her fingers on the handkerchief. “By all that’s blue, I wish someone would do more than tell me there is nothing anyone can do.”

  His hand stroked hers, teasing her fist to soften. “Have you given thought to the fact there may be nothing anyone can do?”

  “No.”

  “That is no surprise.” He brushed the back of his hand against her wet cheek. “You dare to believe the impossible.”

  “Ross …” She shook her head. “No, I cannot say it.”

  “Yes, you can. Tell me what is gnawing at you.”

  The ice around her heart splintered as she knew she must trust him as she had no one else. “Ross, you said you have connections in the government. I have asked someone to check into the reports from Corey’s commanders. They will not answer my queries. I have written to everyone.”

  “Including my uncle?” A smile pulled at his lips. “Was that why you had the misfortune to call on him that day?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, una
ble to halt the color crawling up her face. “I had hoped he could help. I had hoped Lord Liverpool’s ministers would help. I even wrote to Lord Liverpool himself. When he did nothing, I sent a letter to the Prince Regent. If he does not—”

  His finger against her lips silenced her growing agitation. “I shall ask.” Before she could thank him, he frowned. “That is all I pledge. I cannot promise that my questions will receive any more attention than your ardent ones.”

  “But you will try. That is more than anyone has done before.” She wrapped her hand around the finger he had held to her lips. “Thank you, Ross. Thank you so very much.”

  Rising on tiptoe, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. She gasped as his arms enfolded her and pulled her tight to his firm body. The kiss she had planned to place on his cheek was met instead by his lips. The flame she had seen sparking in his intriguing eyes seared her mouth. Slowly her arms rose to encircle his shoulders, ceding herself to the potent pleasure of his touch.

  When he drew his mouth from hers, she heard his command to open her eyes. She wanted to ignore it, to linger in this dream. With his arms around her, with his mouth against hers, with his promise to help her, she could imagine nothing more wondrous.

  She looked up at him and smiled as she ran a daring finger along the cleft in his chin and up the firm line of his jaw. Turning his head, he teased her fingers with a light kiss. He murmured her name as he captured her lips again. She returned his kiss with all the hunger in her soul.

  A choked curse behind her wrenched Vanessa from the ecstasy. She looked over her shoulder to see Sir Wilbur standing in the half-open door.

  “Did you wish something, Franklin?”

  She was shocked by the frigidity of Ross’s voice. The baronet must have been, too, for, when he tried to speak, his voice cracked on the first word.

  “Make sense, man,” ordered Ross, “instead of squeaking like a blasted stuck pig. Otherwise, begone.”

  Sir Wilbur stamped out, slamming the door behind him so hard a vase on a table next to it bounced. Vanessa ran to steady it, then reached for the door. When a broad hand covered hers on the latch, she turned to Ross.

  “I must …”

  “You must what?” he asked, the tenderness returning to his voice. His finger played along her bare shoulder, teasing and tantalizing.

  “Aunt Carolyn will be in a flutter,” she whispered, her voice growing fainter on every word as he turned her back into his arms. “She is so concerned about my reputation.”

  “It is tainted.” He pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. Through a flurry of fiery kisses, he whispered, “There is nothing left but for you to say you will marry me.”

  “Marry you?” Each word was a separate battle as she longed to sink into the sea of sweet passion, which was deepened by each touch of his mouth against her. “That would salvage my standing, but what would it do to your reputation as a rogue of the first order if you leg-shackled yourself to me?”

  Framing her face with his hands, he waited until her eyes focused on his handsome face. “I am not jesting you, Vanessa. Marry me.”

  “Not jesting?” She drew away, trying to make her mind work. Every warning she had ever heard about Ross’s reputation raced through her head. So many women he had dallied with, so many mysteries surrounded him, so often he had taunted her. She must think about this sensibly. Even now, she should not trust him, although he might be the very man to help her find Corey … and although his touch left her weak with the longing for his arms enfolding her to his hard chest. “But I thought—”

  “That I wished nothing but to tease you, so that your eyes sparkled like twin sunlit pools? Or that I would be satisfied to hold you in my arms only when we twirled to the staid tempo of a waltz?” His hands on her shoulders brought her back against him. “’Tis no lark, Vanessa, when I tell you that I wish to have you as my wife. Tell me you wish me for your husband.”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but the sound vanished beneath his lips. Unwilling to fight the dulcet assault on her senses, she knew there could be but one answer. She loved Ross. She was sure of it, for her days were empty without him. Mayhap everything said about him was true, and she was an air-dreamer to believe he loved her as she had come to love him. Mayhap that was so, but she knew her heart would offer her no answer save one.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her lips only a breath from his, “if you think that marrying you will make you as happy as it will make me, yes, I will be your wife.”

  He laughed. “If I think? I was like a man infected by the madness of a Midsummer Moon tonight when I thought I might be too late to keep you from marrying Franklin.” Leaning her head on his shoulder, she could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I have never been as certain of anything as I am that I would have done anything to win your heart.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “… and a party!” Eveline danced around the breakfast-parlor. “We must have a grand party to announce Vanessa’s betrothal!”

  Aunt Carolyn had not stopped smiling since Vanessa had shared the news of Ross’s proposal nearly an hour before. She raised her cup of cocoa, then lowered it, for it had grown cold while they had talked. “Penelope Downing is having a small gathering tonight. No more than fifty people.” She stretched across the round, oak table to take her niece’s hand. “What do you say to announcing your betrothal to Lord Brickendon this evening?”

  Eveline interjected, “Do you think she could keep it a secret any longer?” Laughing, she sat and propped her elbows on the table. The Morning Chronicle crinkled beneath them.

  “And you?” Vanessa asked, her happiness brightening every word. “How long can you keep your secret?”

  When Aunt Carolyn insisted on being told the rest of the news, her smile grew broader. Standing, she folded her hands in front of her. “We have much to do. Eveline, you must write to your father posthaste. I realize Lord Greybrooke intends to call on him to present his suit, but your father should hear such wondrous tidings from your hand. I shall send a message to Penelope that I must speak with her this afternoon.” She tapped a finger against her chin as Eveline rushed out to do as she had been bid. “If I tell Penelope that we wish to announce your betrothal, she is sure to spill the secret on any ear that will heed her. And Eveline—”

  “She is a prattle-box,” Vanessa owned.

  “She must stay in today, or she’ll babble the news to the whole Beau Monde. I must discuss this with Victor. Oh, he should be here any minute.” Without looking at Vanessa, she went out of the room, still debating aloud how she would handle the ticklish problem.

  Vanessa, left alone, leaned back in her chair. Ross would be amused if he saw how flustered Aunt Carolyn was. Last night, he had urged her to delay announcing their betrothal until he could be sure his friends would be present, for he wanted to share their happiness with them. She jumped to her feet as she realized she must send him a note, so he could let Penelope know which of his friends to invite. How would he explain that to Penelope? She laughed. Ross would charm her neighbor into believing any loud one he devised.

  Going into the blue sitting room, Vanessa took a sheet from the writing table. It was a delicious feeling to know this letter did not have to be written in secret. If Ross was able to break through the stone wall set up by the government, she would never need to write another clandestine letter. Once Corey was safe, her last missive to the government would be a thank you.

  “My lady?”

  “What is it, Quigley?” she asked without looking up as she reached for a bottle of ink.

  “Lord Brickendon, my lady.”

  Her fingers halted inches from the bottle, and she drew them back slowly. A mixture of excitement and astonishment flowed through her that Ross had beat up her quarters, but she presented a serene face to the butler. Rising, she said, “Show him in.”

  The butler nodded.

  Hoping she did not look a complete rump, Vanessa wished for a glass bigger than the one over t
he mantel. She adjusted her short sleeves, which were the same lilac as her muslin skirt. The white bodice matched the flounce at the hem. Realizing her hair was loose about her shoulders, she pulled a ribbon from the trio edging the Vandyke ruff and tied her hair back at her nape. She had no time to do more before she heard Ross’s assertive footsteps.

  When he entered, she admired the flattering cut of his coat and the way his shining boots followed his lean legs. He held out his hands, and she put hers in them.

  “I was just about to write a note to you,” she said, her delight at seeing him adding music to her voice. “Aunt Carolyn suggests we announce our betrothal at the Downings’ soirée this evening. If you will tell me whom you wish to invite, I shall arrange for them to be there.”

  He did not return her smile. Instead he enfolded her hands in his. “I must speak with you. Now! Alone!”

  “Ross—”

  “It is about your brother.”

  Vanessa was glad he held her hands as her suddenly weak knees threatened to dump her face first onto the floor. She whispered, “The garden.”

  “Is it private?”

  “I don’t know.” She tightened her hold on his hands. “Ross, what is wrong?”

  “I shall tell you in the garden.”

  The stern set of his jaw warned her that prying his message from him would be impossible. She had waited for so long to hear of Corey. She must wait a few moments longer. But what had Ross discovered so quickly?

  Going down the back stairs, she led him across the brick terrace to a small arbor set in the very center of the garden. Rose vines arced over it, leaving the interior scented with freshly overturned earth and cool with shadows.

  Vanessa sat on the wooden bench. Ross did not sit next to her until she reached up to take his hand with both of hers. The lace at his cuffs tickled her icy fingers as she whispered, “You told me that grief is meant to be shared. Is that why you hesitate? Is the news about Corey so bad?”

  “Your aunt is in?”

  “Yes, but she shall be leaving soon with Captain Hudson.”