The Wolfe Wager

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  He smiled swiftly. “Are you certain ours will be the only announcement tonight? Those two are as close as a court plaster, and this party would offer a most convenient opportunity for them to proclaim their own plans.”

  “Aunt Carolyn has said nothing of that.”

  “Words are not always necessary.” He stroked her cheek with a single finger. “Haven’t you discovered that, Vanessa?”

  Although she wanted to surrender to the bliss of his touch, she asked, “What have you learned of Corey?”

  “Your brother is alive.”

  She gripped his sleeve and searched his face, fearing she might discover he was teasing her. She could not believe how swiftly he had obtained the information she had sought so long. “Alive? Are you certain?”

  He smiled gently. “Aren’t you?”

  She rose and put her hands on the splintered edges of the arbor. Looking across the empty garden, she whispered, “I had thought I was. I wanted to believe it with all my heart, but I have listened to other doubts too long.”

  “Then listen to me, Vanessa.” He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her back to rest against him. “He is alive. He is a prisoner of war, but he is alive.”

  She put her hand on his chest. “A prisoner?”

  “If my sources are correct—and they always have been—your brother is a prisoner in a château on the Loire.”

  “Then we can retrieve him.”

  He walked away. His hands tightened into fists as impotent fury scored his voice. “Blast it to perdition! Those damn castles are as impenetrable as a spinster’s heart.”

  “There is no way he could escape?”

  “If there is, he has not found it yet.”

  “Oh, Corey,” she choked. She pressed her face to his shoulder and wept.

  Ross stroked her back, wishing he could find some words—any words—to ease her tears. Resting his cheek against the silken softness of her hair, he listened to the ragged sound of her sobs. They threatened to shatter her, but she was strong enough to combat even this.

  “Vanessa,” he called softly. When she continued to cry, he led her back to the arbor. He sat next to her and repeated her name. Her tear-streaked face rose, so he could see the agony in her expressive eyes.

  “I told him I never wanted him to return,” she choked. “Now he is a prisoner of that Corsican beast!” Clutching his ruffled shirt, she gasped, “There must be something we can do. Bribery?”

  “It would take more money than even the Wolfes possess.”

  “Could an exchange be arranged?”

  “I asked, and I was told Napoleon refuses to release your brother in any prisoner exchange.” His jaw grew taut with his furious frustration. “There is an accusation of spying against him.”

  “But they will kill him!”

  “They have not killed him yet,” he answered gently.

  The wild expression faded from her eyes. Brushing the tips of his fingers against her damp cheek, he watched as she closed her eyes and leaned toward him, trust in every motion.

  Ross stood and locked his hands behind his back. She rose, too, and looked up at him, astonished. Not that he blamed her, because she had come to have faith in him. Damn, he had been a stupe to bring her this information today. If he had waited until after this evening, he might not feel like such a blackguard.

  “I must do something,” she whispered. “I cannot let him die thinking I hate him. What can I do, Ross?”

  “Do nothing now.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Give me a chance to learn more. I have secured an appointment with the Prime Minister on the morrow. I vow that I shall endeavor to do everything I can to bring Lord Wulfric home to England alive.” He brushed her hair back from her damp face. “You believe me, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, leaning her head against his chest again.

  Ross was glad she could not see his face as he heard the unwavering trust in her voice. He knew how little he deserved it.

  Pink silk swirled around Vanessa’s ankles as she turned so she could see herself from every angle in the cheval glass. The pink slip ended in a row of flounces below her new gown of white, French gauze. Her gown’s short sleeves and deeply rounded neckline were decorated with the same silk roses as those flowing along its skirt. The edges of her demi-skirt flared as she reached up to her hair which Leale had styled à la grecque. Curls edged her face, but her hair was pulled back sharply and held in place by roses of the same soft shade as her slip.

  Leale clucked like a mother hen with a single chick as she brought Vanessa’s elbow-length gloves. “You look perfect, my lady.”

  “I must tonight.” She bent to be certain the laces on her soft slippers were tied according to Cocker about her ankles. Her open-work stockings peeked from beneath the hem of her slip. Smiling, she opened the bottom drawer of her writing table and took out the locked box.

  Her fingers paused on Corey’s last letter, but she did not open it as she had so often. She slipped it into her bodice before lifting a gold choker with a single diamond from the box. It was the one piece of her mother’s jewelry she had never been able to bring herself to put on, because her mother had been wearing it the night she fell ill with the fever that had taken her life. Tonight Vanessa wanted to have a bit of each member of her family with her.

  “Leale, please bring me the small, velvet box from the back of the armoire,” she said as she ran her fingers along the gold strand. If only her mother could be with her tonight to see that the lessons Lady Wulfric had tried to inspire in her recalcitrant daughter had been learned.

  Leale was unusually discomposed as she handed Vanessa the box that was no larger than a half crown. Vanessa opened it and took out the signet ring. She slipped it over her middle finger. With the bulk of her gloves beneath it, the ring fit. She ran her finger over the crest of the Marquess of Wulfric. She had wanted her father to wear this ring to his grave, but her aunt had insisted it must be kept for his heir. Aunt Carolyn has assumed that Vanessa would send it to Papa’s cousin who, with Corey’s supposed death, could claim the title. Now she knew for sure that Corey was alive. With luck and Ross’s help, she soon would be able to give this ring to Corey.

  Vanessa endured her aunt’s fussing and then stood for Eveline’s inspection. They concurred with Leale, although she saw her aunt give the signet ring an odd look. Aunt Carolyn said nothing as Quigley announced Lord Greybrooke.

  The earl seemed distracted, for his greeting was perfunctory. He swept Eveline out the door to walk her the few steps to the house next door.

  “Could Mr. Clarke have so quickly rejected the earl’s plea for Eveline’s hand?” Vanessa asked.

  Her aunt wore a puzzled expression as she turned from the window where she was watching for Captain Hudson. “What are you prattling about, Vanessa?”

  “Lord Greybrooke. He was quite terse.”

  “Dear child,” she said with a laugh, “it is not unusual for gentlemen to be overwhelmed by the hubbub of a betrothal.”

  “But my betrothal is a secret still.”

  “Do you think Eveline could refrain from sharing the news with her fiancé?” Patting Vanessa’s arm, she turned back to the window. “Have pity for poor Lord Greybrooke. Probably he is anticipating—with much foreboding—when he is the butt of jokes by his tie-mates on the end of his bachelor days.”

  Vanessa was not convinced, but said no more as Captain Hudson entered the house a step ahead of Ross. Following her aunt and her beau out of the house, Vanessa considered mentioning her concerns to Ross. She missed her chance, for they were greeted by an exuberant Penelope Downing.

  Kissing Vanessa’s cheek, she exclaimed, “How happy I am for you, my dear! And for me! I’m so pleased you are going to announce—”

  “Penelope!” warned Aunt Carolyn in a low voice. “Hold your tongue. It shall not be long before you can loosen it to flap as you wish.”

  “But I am so happy.” She continued to twitter lik
e an overweight songbird as Vanessa walked with Ross up the curved stairs and into the ballroom.

  The room was a near twin to the one in Aunt Carolyn’s house, but was decorated in flamboyant scarlet silk on the walls and an endless swath of gold across the ceiling. Chairs followed the walls, but no one sat. The guests turned to watch Vanessa enter the room on Ross’s arm. She was sure many of them had guessed an announcement was forthcoming. Penelope could hide nothing.

  “Do not be so down-pinned,” Ross said beneath the lilting tune being played by a small orchestra.

  “I shall not!” She gave him her happiest smile. “Think how excited Corey shall be for me when he returns to find me married. He used to tease me that no man would want to marry an ugly hoyden like me.”

  Ross scanned the gilded room. “Your Season has proven your brother quite wrong.”

  She wondered whom he sought with his intense stare. “Ross, is something bothering you?”

  “I wish this night was over.” He smiled dimly.

  Recalling Aunt Carolyn’s words, Vanessa did not pursue the matter. Ross would survive the hazing of his friends easily. She smiled as she imagined them—many years from now—laughing together over their nervousness tonight.

  The hours passed in a blur of music and dancing with Ross and listening to her aunt’s anxious questions. Was Vanessa nervous? Did Vanessa want some wine to put roses in her cheeks? Did Vanessa think she should sit and rest? Her color was too high, wasn’t it?

  Soothing her aunt, who was fretting her gizzard, Vanessa saw Eveline gesture to her, but had no chance to talk to her as Aunt Carolyn urged her to come to stand near the orchestra where Ross was waiting. Aunt Carolyn puffed Vanessa’s sleeves and fluttered about, pulling a bow here, adjusting a flounce there.

  Ross watched with a smile. Taking Vanessa’s hand, he said, “You are trembling. Are you frightened?”

  “I shall be happy when this night is over, too.” She was astonished when his smile wavered. It returned, but it was the cool one he had worn when they first met. As if he had shouted it, she knew something was bothering him. “Ross, what is wrong?”

  Eveline pushed through the arc of the crowd and hissed, “Vanessa, I must speak with you!”

  “Now?” She glanced at Ross who had not answered her. He was gazing at the opposite end of the room, his face naked of expression. Something must be wrong, but what could it be?

  “Please, Vanessa,” Eveline whispered. “I must speak with you. Now!”

  “What—?” She was interrupted when a glass of champagne was thrust into her hand. Offering Eveline a regretful smile, she had no time for more because her aunt was raising her glass.

  Joy filled Aunt Carolyn’s voice. “Drink with me to the health of Lord Brickendon and the future Lady Brickendon, my niece Lady Vanessa Wolfe.”

  Cheers drowned out the sound of crystal clinking as the toast was drunk to the soon-to-be newlyweds. Vanessa struggled to smile when Ross offered her a sip from his glass, but she gave up when she saw Eveline turn away, tears awash on her face.

  Looking back at Ross, she discovered his gaze was on Eveline, too, as her friend pushed her way through the well-wishers. His smile remained steady, but Vanessa was even more certain something was wrong.

  Terribly wrong.

  Vanessa sighed as she climbed the last step to the second floor. From the ballroom, she heard the strains of her favorite waltz and the enthusiastic cacophony of conversation.

  But Eveline Clarke and Lord Greybrooke were no longer among the Downings’ guests. After searching nearly every room of the house for her friend, Vanessa guessed they must have departed. Eveline should have known better than to leave without a chaperone, but that did not worry Vanessa as much as her bosom-bow’s tears. She had to know why Eveline had needed to speak to her so desperately. She prayed it had nothing to do with Ross’s peculiar behavior since the betrothal announcement. After a single dance, he had vanished as completely as Eveline.

  Voices sounded from the other side of the hall. Hope burst forth. Could Eveline and her earl have been so close all along?

  Vanessa reached for the half-opened door. Her fingers froze as she identified the speakers. Sir Wilbur Franklin! Bruce Swinton! Could these be the friends Ross had insisted must attend tonight?

  “We are a pair of catollers,” said Mr. Swinton. “We should have known better than to try to best you at your own sport, Brickendon. You have proven to be the victor in this wager by winning Lady Vanessa Wolfe’s hand.”

  “Yes,” said the baronet, “and what do you do next? Do you wed her? Or is simply winning the wager the end of it for you?”

  Vanessa pressed her hands to her mouth to silence her cry of heart-deep despair as she saw Mr. Swinton toss several coins on the table. Sir Wilbur grumbled, then followed suit. Ross’s satisfied smile as he scooped them up told her the heinous truth. She meant nothing to any of these men other than the chance to win a pot.

  “When will the wedding bells toll the death of your bachelor life?” Sir Wilbur persisted. A sly grin was taut on his lips. “Or shall you take yourself a wife and continue your ways? The lady is clearly unhappy here in Town. Wed her, get her with an heir to your title, and send her off to the country alone.”

  “You have my life all mapped out for me,” Ross answered. “It is most convenient to have friends who care so much about my well-being. Or could it be that you wish to win back these coins?”

  “As Franklin boasted too soon, you will have no need of these few pennies now that Vanessa Wolfe and the Wolfe fortune are yours,” came Swinton’s answer. “We are stuffing a fat pig in the tail by paying off this wager.”

  Hearing Ross’s triumphant laugh, Vanessa fled. She could listen to no more. How could a man she had believed loved her treat her heart in such a cavalier manner?

  She avoided the ballroom. Tears scorched her face, and she would let no one learn of her shame. No one, but the three men who had considered her to be of such small value that they were willing to make a May game of her.

  She closed her eyes as she dropped to a settee in an empty room at the back of the house. Eveline must have learned of the wager and had tried to warn her. It was too late, for she had swallowed Ross’s clanker. Hiding her face in her hands, she surrendered to tears at her betrayal by the one man she had dared to trust.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vanessa said nothing to Ross as she loosened the ribbons to her bonnet in the foyer of her aunt’s house. The betrothal ball had, at long last, reached its ignoble end. She wished she could disavow the truth, but Ross’s laugh as he collected his winnings, which seemed more important to him than her heart, rang through her memory. It was a reminder that his love was only goat’s wool.

  Once she had been able to stop the flood from her eyes, she had washed her face and returned to the ballroom. Avoiding Sir Wilbur and Mr. Swinton had been simple, for they must have left immediately after their conversation with Ross. She doubted if anyone had noted her long silences and, if they had, she was sure they would have labeled it wedding nerves. She had danced with many of the guests, but had managed to avoid suffering through a waltz with Ross. If she had been in his arms, her pretense and her poise would have been shattered.

  Aware of Quigley, an ever-vigilant watchdog, waiting in the shadows, she said, “Good night, Ross.” She did not meet his gaze. The sweet fires in his eyes might lure her into forgiving him for toying with her as if she was no more important than the turn of a card.

  He stroked her arm in a gentle invitation to the rapture she had believed was genuine. “Must you go so soon? I thought we might have a glass of wine for a private celebration. I had not guessed I would be prevented from saying more than a score of words to you all evening by those drearily cheerful well-wishers. Are you so tired you cannot spend a few minutes with your fiancé?” His soft laugh sent warm ripples through her.

  She suppressed them. That she should be thrilled by the sound of his voice when he had betwattled her add
ed to her shame and anguish. She had been a cabbage-head to believe him once. She must not again.

  “I am quite fatigued.” It was the truth. She was tired of his deceptions.

  “That is no surprise. A full evening following the distressing news I brought you this afternoon is enough to sap anyone.”

  She almost asked him what he was speaking about, then realized she had forgotten Corey’s misery while she suffered her own. “I have had worse days.”

  “I know, but I wish you never had to abide another.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek, and she flinched at his beguiling touch. His volatile expression became a frown. “You are as skittish as a spring lamb. What is wrong?”

  “I told you. I am fatigued.”

  He seemed to accept her swapper. And why not? She had never been false with him, save hiding the truth of her hopes for Corey. Even that, she had revealed to him.

  “May I come by to take you for a ride in the Park tomorrow after my meeting with Lord Liverpool?” He tipped her chin up with a single finger, so she could not avoid his eyes. His smile had not changed, but she asked herself why she would expect it to. He never had been honest with her. “I thought we might ride along the Serpentine again, but where we shall not be interrupted by troops of soldiers and children.”

  Stepping away, she said, “I am so exhausted, Ross. I think I shall stay late abed.”

  “I shall not call until three.” She heard his amusement as he went on, “By exactly two, Mrs. Downing will be clattering her carriage through the Square, so sleep shall be impossible.” He grew serious again. “I hope to have something to tell you after my meeting with Lord Liverpool, but do not be disappointed if it takes a few days for even the Prime Minister to obtain the intelligence we need.”

  “If you call here—”

  “I would as lief that no one but you and me knew the course of my conversation with the Prime Minister.”

  “Aunt Carolyn—”

  “Has too many friends who delight in gobbling like brainless geese. I feared Penelope Downing would explode before our betrothal was announced.” Taking her fingers, he pressed them to his cheek. “Say you will ride with me in the Park tomorrow afternoon.”