Justin grimaced. ‘Can you be so sure, Marcus? She sounds mighty determined to me!’
Gower, who was just shuffling his papers into his briefcase, scattered them on the carpet. ‘She, sir, she?’ he stuttered. ‘Good God, my lord, not even the old Earl would have indulged in a wager with a female!’
‘He was missing a trick then,’ Marcus said coolly, ‘for I found it most stimulating!’ He rose to his feet. ‘Good day, Gower. Give Gough my message and if you find his instructions are that he persists in his claim, refer him direct to me. Penn will show you out!’
‘Marcus,’ Justin said, once they were alone, ‘do you not consider this a little unsporting of you? After all, the girl won the bet, did she not?’
‘She did,’ Marcus conceded. He met Justin’s eyes. ‘Truth is, Justin, I would like to meet her again, find out about this passion she has for Fairhaven. It intrigues me.’
‘And this is how you intend to flush her out?’
‘Precisely!’ Marcus grinned suddenly. ‘I could go to Kit Mostyn and ask for his help, of course, but I would wager he will not grant it! So…if I refuse to honour the bet, my mysterious opponent may show her hand again!’
Justin’s lips twisted. ‘You’re a cunning devil, Marcus! But what is your interest in the lady herself?’
Marcus’s grin deepened. ‘That depends—on the lady and who she turns out to be!’
‘And you would recognise her again?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Marcus said slowly. ‘I would recognise her anywhere, Justin.’
‘Pull your chair up a little closer, my love,’ Lady Fanshawe instructed her goddaughter, gesturing her to move to the front of the theatre box. ‘Why, you will not be able to see anything at all from back there! But do not lean out too far! It is not good to lean excessively, for the gentlemen will stare so! Oh, pray do look, Beth!’ Lady Fanshawe leant as far out of the box as she could without falling. ‘It is Mr Rollinson and Lord Saye! I do believe they will call upon us in the interval!’
Beth edged her chair forward an inch and leant backwards at the same time. She had every intention of effacing herself until she was practically invisible. The invitation to the theatre was a longstanding one and could not be avoided, for Lady Fanshawe had been her mother’s closest friend. That was the only reason why Beth had come to Drury Lane that evening, although the play, Sheridan’s The Rivals, would normally have been sufficient to tempt her out. Normally, but not now. The matter of Marcus Trevithick and her ill-conceived wager with him had suddenly become so very difficult that she had no desire to risk meeting him again.
Beth chanced a glance over the edge of the box at the crowded auditorium below. Fortunately it would be easy to be inconspicuous in such a crush. People were milling around and chattering nineteen to the dozen: dandies, ladies, courtesans…Beth drew back sharply as a passing buck raised his quizzing glass at her in a manner she considered to be odiously familiar. Lady Fanshawe did not notice for she was waving excitedly to an acquaintance in the crowd.
It was already very hot. Beth fanned herself and looked around idly. Kit had escorted her again that evening but as soon as they had arrived he had left her in Lady Fanshawe’s company and could now be seen in a box to the left, chatting to a very dashing lady in green silk with nodding ostrich feathers. Lady Fanshawe had taken one look and remarked disapprovingly that one met with any old riff-raff at the theatre and that Kit need not think to foist his chère amie on their attention! Beth had been a little curious, but had tried not to stare. She thought that the dashing lady looked rather fast but, given her own performance at the Cyprians’ Ball, she was scarcely in a position to comment.
As time wore on without mishap, Beth started to relax a little. She felt comfortably nondescript in her rose muslin dress. She had chosen it deliberately because it was so unremarkable and she had tried to disguise herself further with a matching rose-pink turban, but Charlotte had positively forbidden her to leave the house looking such a dowd. Beth sighed. It was a terrible shame that Charlotte could never accompany them, but her cousin had had a fear of crowds ever since she was a girl and the glittering hordes that thronged the ton’s balls and parties terrified her. It was odd, for Charlotte was perfectly comfortable in society she knew, and could travel and visit amongst friends quite happily, but she was never at ease with strangers.
Beth watched as Kit took a fond farewell of his companion and turned to rejoin them for the start of the play. He was just making his way back to their box when Beth saw that his attention had been firmly caught by a slender young lady, very much the debutante, who was just taking her seat opposite. Intrigued, Beth watched as the young lady saw Kit and faltered in her conversation. For a long moment the two of them simply gazed at each other, then the girl gave Kit a half-smile and turned hesitantly away. Beth smiled to herself. Kit seemed smitten and she must remember to quiz him on the identity of the young lady…
She froze, all thought of Kit and his romantic entanglements flying from her mind as she saw the gentleman who had entered the box behind the girl. She recognised his height, the arrogant tilt of his head. She could even imagine those smooth, faintly mocking tones that she had last heard at the Cyprians’ Ball, but which had positively leapt from the page of the letter he had sent her via Gough earlier in the week:
‘My dear lady adventuress…’
Beth’s fan slipped from her shaking fingers and she leant down to retrieve it, trying to shrink into the shadows. Bent almost double, she groped around on the floor and tried to think quickly at the same time. How was she to avoid Marcus Trevithick seeing her when their boxes were almost opposite each other? If she tried to leave now, would she be able to slip away or would she only draw more attention to herself? She cursed the pale pink dress, which had seemed such a good idea earlier but in the dim light seemed to glow like a beacon.
‘What are you doing down there on the floor, Beth, my love? Are you feeling unwell? Do you wish to return home?’
Beth straightened up hastily as Lady Fanshawe’s carrying tones threatened to attract the notice of the whole theatre.
‘I am very well, I thank you, dear ma’am. I had only dropped my fan…’ Her words trailed away as, under some strange compulsion, she looked across the theatre and directly into the dark eyes of Marcus Trevithick. There could not be the slightest doubt that he had recognised her. He held her gaze for a long moment, a smile starting to curl the corners of his mouth, then he inclined his head in ironic salutation.
The play started at last and Beth forced herself to look at the stage and nowhere else. This proved difficult as a wayward part of her seemed to want to look across at the Earl of Trevithick all the time and she had to fix her gaze firmly on the actors instead. She soon discovered that she was one of the few people in the whole theatre who was giving their undivided attention to the stage. The chatter about her scarcely faltered and it seemed that most of the fashionable crowd viewed the play as a diversion from the main business of the evening. Eventually the noise began to grate on Beth, who inevitably found her concentration interrupted. After that it was easy for her thoughts to wander back to the tangle in which she found herself.
When Gough had come to her five days before and told her that the Earl was refusing to honour his bet and give Fairhaven to her, she had been annoyed but not particularly surprised. She had sent the lawyer back to offer a price that she felt was more than fair and had waited, confident that Trevithick would agree this time. It had come as a nasty shock when Gough returned the next day, out of countenance, to relate that he had seen the Earl in person and that her offer had been spurned. Further, the Earl was demanding in no uncertain terms that his client identify herself and discuss the matter with him face to face. This Beth declined to do, but she sweetened her refusal with a far more tempting sum of money. She could afford it and he…Well, she had thought that he would seize the chance to make such a profit. Instead, Gough had delivered the letter.
My dear lady adventuress,
Your offers intrigue me but you should know that I will only do business with you directly. If you choose not to identify yourself it makes no odds; I shall soon know your name and your direction. Then, even if you do not choose it, I shall seek you out…
After that, Beth had not set foot outside the house for two days. Glancing across at Marcus Trevithick now, she acknowledged that she had not felt afraid, precisely, more angry and outmanoeuvred. She had won the wager, but he held all the cards. He was not only refusing to give her Fairhaven, but he was also refusing to sell it to her, and if he discovered her identity he could ruin her by having it whispered abroad that she, a respectable lady, had attended the Cyprians’ Ball. She knew that the wisest thing was to withdraw her offer and retire from the lists, but it seemed that Marcus Trevithick was not prepared to let her do so. She was angry with him, but she was furious with herself for giving him the advantage.
‘Do you care to take a walk during the interval, Beth?’ Kit enquired, from beside her. ‘It might be pleasant to stretch our legs…’
Beth came back to the present, looked around and realised that the curtain had come down at the end of the first act. She glanced across at Marcus Trevithick and saw that he was already moving purposefully towards their box. So much for her half-formed hope that he would not dare accost her there! She took a quick breath.
‘A walk? Yes! No…I am not sure…Yes!’
Kit looked understandably confused. ‘What the deuce is the matter with you, Beth? You’re as edgy as a thoroughbred mare!’
Beth grabbed his arm. She could see that Marcus had been delayed by an acquaintance, but he was still watching her with the concentrated attention of a predator. There could be no question that he meant to approach her.
Beth took one last look and hurried out of the box. ‘Yes, by all means! Let us walk! This way!’
She steered her cousin out of the doorway and plunged into the corridor outside, making for the place where the crowd was thickest.
‘Steady on, Beth!’ Kit protested, as he was buffeted on all sides. ‘You’ll have us trampled in the crush!’
It was inevitable that such tactics, whilst they might delay matters, could not put them off forever. It was only a matter of minutes before someone recognised Kit and stopped him for a word, whilst the pressure of the crowd pulled Beth from his side before she had even noticed. Seconds later she looked round and realised that her cousin was nowhere in sight. Marcus Trevithick was, however.
He was leaning against a pillar just a few feet away from her, arms folded, as though he were prepared to stay there all night. His black gaze was watchful and faintly amused. Beth felt her breath catch in her throat. For one moment it seemed as though the press of people would whisk her past him, but then he stretched out one hand in a negligent gesture and caught her arm, pulling her to his side.
‘Well, well! My mystery lady—at last! Have you any idea of the balls and routs I have endured these past few days in the hope of catching sight of you, ma’am?’
There were prying eyes and ears all around them. Beth strove to keep her face blank and give nothing away, though her heart was hammering.
‘Good evening, my lord! I am sorry that you have put yourself to such trouble on my account!’
Marcus gave her a look of brilliant amusement. ‘Thank you! It was worth it, however, for now I have found you again!’ He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and steered her out into the corridor. The crowd had lessened now and they could stroll along without too much difficulty. Beth looked around for rescue, but none was immediately forthcoming.
‘I only wanted to speak with you, you know,’ Marcus said reproachfully. ‘I was utterly intrigued by your offer and wished to discuss the matter with you—’
‘Is that not why you employ a man of business, my lord?’ Beth asked, keeping her bright social smile in place. ‘To relieve you of such onerous tasks?’
‘Generally. But this would hardly be onerous.’
Beth found the warmth in Marcus’s tone difficult to resist. She glanced up through her lashes and saw that he was smiling at her. It made her feel strangely hot and cold at the same time and she almost shivered. She made an effort to gather her scattered senses.
‘If you had but honoured your wager, my lord, such a situation would not have occurred!’
‘True.’ Marcus bent closer and she felt his breath stir the tendrils of hair by her ear. ‘But that would have defeated my object—of seeing you again, sweetheart!’
Beth stopped dead and glared at him. ‘Do not call me that!’ she hissed. ‘You must know I am no…no lightskirt for your tumbling!’
Marcus grinned. ‘Then why behave like one, ma’am? A dignified request to buy Fairhaven might have elicited a more dignified response!’
Beth could have wept with frustration. What had started as a light-hearted idea—to visit the Cyprians’ Ball—had caused more trouble than she could ever have imagined. She wondered what on earth had possessed her to dance with Marcus Trevithick and to further the masquerade. At the time the opportunity to trick him out of Fairhaven had seemed too good to miss, amusing, clever even. She had congratulated herself on her ingenuity—and on her courage! Now she could see that the wager had been the product of too much wine and excitement. She tightened her lips in exasperation.
‘It was an impulse! Which I now bitterly regret!’
‘Understandably. If you are indeed the lady you pretend to be, what could be worse than a version of the events of that night circulating amongst the ton? Dear me, ma’am, it does not bear thinking about!’
Beth coloured up furiously. ‘You would not do such a thing!’
‘Why not?’
Marcus’s tone was mild, but when she glanced up at his face Beth saw that he was watching her intently. It was exactly the problem that Charlotte had hinted at, the one that Beth had not even anticipated. If the Earl of Trevithick let it be known that he had had an encounter with a lady indecorously disporting herself at the Cyprians’ Ball, no one would believe in her innocence. And yet some instinct told her that he would not do that to her. Her troubled grey gaze scanned his face and she saw the hard lines soften a little as a smile came into his eyes. Suddenly she was acutely aware of him; of the smooth material of his sleeve beneath her fingers and the hard muscle of his arm beneath that, of the warmth of his body so close to hers and the disturbing look in his eyes.
‘Just tell me your name,’ he said softly, persuasively.
‘Beth, my dear! There you are!’ Beth jumped and swung round, tearing her gaze from Marcus. Lady Fanshawe was bearing down on them, her good-natured face wreathed in smiles. Her gaze moved from her goddaughter to the Earl of Trevithick and her smile faltered slightly in surprise, but she recovered herself well.
‘Oh! Lord Trevithick, is it not? How do you do, sir? I had no notion that you knew my goddaughter!’
Beth was aware of a sinking feeling as she watched Marcus bow elegantly over Lady Fanshawe’s hand. She knew that her godmother, voluble as ever, was about to give her identity away completely.
‘It is so delightful to see that the younger generation has ended that tiresome estrangement between the Mostyn and Trevithick families!’ Lady Fanshawe burbled. ‘I have never quite understood the cause of all the trouble, for it was an unconscionably long time ago and over some trifling matter such as a lost battle—’
‘Or perhaps a lost island, ma’am!’ Marcus said smoothly. Beth felt his dark gaze brush her face and deliberately evaded his eyes. ‘In fact, I was hoping that your charming goddaughter—’ there was just a hint of a query in his voice ‘—might tell me more about our family feud, for I confess it fascinates me!’
Lady Fanshawe beamed, accepting Marcus’s other arm as they strolled slowly back towards the box. ‘Oh, well, Beth will be able to tell you the whole story, I dare say! All the Mostyns are steeped in family history from the cradle!’
‘I see,’ Marcus said slowly. Beth could feel him m
oving closer to his goal, but for some reason she felt powerless to intervene and direct the conversation into other channels. And Lady Fanshawe was so very good-natured, and seemed pleased that the Earl was showing such an interest…
‘You must know the family extremely well, ma’am,’ he continued.
‘Oh, indeed, for Davinia Mostyn, Beth’s mama, was such a dear friend of mine, was she not, Beth, my love? It was such a tragedy when Lord and Lady Mostyn were killed in that horrid accident! But then Kit inherited the title and Beth married Frank Allerton…’
Beth felt Marcus’s arm move beneath her fingers. She caught her breath.
‘You did not tell me that you were Sir Francis’s widow, Lady Allerton,’ Marcus said gently, smiling down at her. She could see the triumph in his eyes. ‘He was a fine man and a great scholar. His treatise on hydrostatics formed part of my university studies. I remember his work well.’
‘Thank you,’ Beth murmured, looking away. ‘Sir Francis was indeed a fine academician.’
They had reached their box now and discovered that the second act of the play was about to start. Kit was already in his seat and looked up, startled, to see both his cousin and Lady Fanshawe escorted by the Earl of Trevithick. The two men exchanged a stiff bow, and then Marcus took Beth’s hand in his.
‘I should deem it an honour to call on you, Lady Allerton,’ he murmured, his gaze resting on her face in a look that brought the colour into her cheeks. ‘I understand that you are staying in Upper Grosvenor Street?’
Beth hesitated. ‘We are, but—’
‘Then I shall look forward to seeing you shortly.’ He bowed again. ‘Good evening, ma’am.’
Beth bit her lip as she watched his tall figure make its way back to the party in the Trevithick box. It seemed that the Earl was difficult to refuse. And now that Lady Fanshawe had told him everything he needed to know, his position was well nigh unassailable. With a sigh, Beth tried to direct her attention back to the play. She wondered what his next move would be.
Lady Allerton's Wager Page 4
