‘Since you have no care for propriety, why should I?’ he said. Then he opened the door and leapt to the street without the help of a groom, slamming it behind him. As if he had not embarrassed her enough, he shouted to the coachman in a voice loud enough for half the street to hear. ‘Take Mrs Challenger home, Wilson. And see that she stays there.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next morning, George came downstairs to find the breakfast table set for one. It was not a surprise as much as a confirmation of what she already knew. She had been awake most of the night, alternately crying into her pillow and listening for a step on the stair that had had never come.
When it came time to rise, Polly fussed over her red-rimmed eyes offering cool cloths, powdering her nose and allowing her to pretend that it was the beginning of a cold and not the end of an argument with a man she had never meant to care about. If Mr Challenger worried so much about the opinions of the servants, he should not have behaved in a way that informed the household, from stable groom to scullery maid, that he hated his wife and refused to stay in the same house with her.
His prolonged absence and the lack of explanation for it was precisely the sort of marriage she’d expected to have. If he had given her the life she had asked for on their wedding day, she would not have shed a single tear over him. She might have retreated from London entirely. In the country, with no ton to gossip about her, there would be no need to worry about social missteps and ruined reputations. Nor would she have to care about what her husband did when he was not at home. He could have spent every night of his life at Vitium et Virtus and she would have neither known nor cared.
Instead, he had tried to seduce her. At least, she assumed that was what had been happening. His behaviour had been very confusing. When she had come down the stairs, he’d acted as if he liked her, smiling and giving her gifts. Then, they’d arrived at the ball and he’d been purposely difficult, refusing to have fun. Then he’d changed his mind and agreed to dance.
The waltz had been magical. He had murmured apologies while holding her in his arms and gazing into her eyes. She had never wanted it to end. Then, they’d gone to the terrace.
Her heart beat quicker at the memory. She could still feel his kiss on her breast. It had been scandalous, but he had been the one to suggest it. Nay, he had insisted. He had been reckless as she tried to be the responsible one. It was not a role she was good at and she had never been so happy to fail.
Once they got home, she had been sure that there would at least be more kissing. Quite possibly, there would be other, even better things, but she had no idea what they would be. He had admitted that he had been wrong about her and was showing signs of becoming less strict. It was as if she had suddenly discovered she had married a handsome, loving gentleman and not Frederick Challenger at all.
But when they’d set out for home, he been worse than his usual, disapproving self. He had been irrationally angry and accused her of things that made no sense at all. Had the kisses on the terrace been some sort of test? If so, she had failed it. Or did the Challenger family have some streak of madness that he had stopped trying to fight against? Or perhaps, whatever was about to change between them was as great a mystery to him as it was to her.
The breakfast room door opened and the butler stopped just inside the threshold. ‘A visitor, ma’am. Mr Challenger.’
‘Bring him to me immediately.’ None of that mattered any more. She turned towards the door with a smile, ready to forgive him, without another thought. Then, she remembered that Jenks would never have introduced his own master as a guest.
Christian Challenger stepped into the room, clearly as surprised to see her as she was him. ‘I expected Fred,’ he said by way of introduction.
‘Hello, Mr Challenger,’ she said as a gentle reminder of a proper greeting.
‘Mrs Challenger,’ he said, stumbling over the words.
‘Please, call me George,’ she said, allowing her brother-in-law a familiarity that she had not yet heard from her husband. ‘Frederick is not here this morning. Would you like to join me for breakfast?’
He hesitated.
Before he could find a way to escape, she signalled a footman to set him a place.
At last, Christian surrendered, thanked her for her hospitality, filled his plate, and ate his eggs in silence.
When he offered no explanation for his visit, she asked, ‘Was there something that you wished to speak to your brother about? And can I help in any way?’
‘I came to apologise,’ he said, looking glumly into his coffee.
‘Whatever for?’
‘I was imprudent,’ Christian said, still not looking up.
‘Everyone is, from time to time,’ George agreed, wondering if her husband set the same rules for his younger siblings as he did for his wife.
Christian nodded. ‘But our family has a reputation for it. Frederick has always said if I wish people to think better of me, I must take care to moderate my behaviour.’
‘That is nothing more than common sense,’ George said. ‘I fail to see what good it does for Frederick to lecture you on a thing which you will discover for yourself.’
Christian looked at her as if this had not occurred to him.
‘You are of age, are you not?’ she prompted.
He nodded.
‘And you do fewer foolish things than you used to, I expect.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed.
‘Then the trend will likely continue. You will grow into just the sort of responsible and respected gentleman you have always wished to be. But until then you must allow yourself the occasional mistake without worrying that others will think ill of you.’
‘Frederick has never made mistakes,’ Christian said with bitterness.
‘I am sure he has,’ George said. If his absence today was an indication, he still considered their marriage to be one of them. ‘He pretends he has not. But he is mortal, therefore he is as fallible as the rest of us.’ When her brother-in-law still looked doubtful, she added, ‘I am his wife and know him better than you.’
The last was an enormous lie, but Christian seemed to relax a little upon hearing it. Then he frowned. ‘That is all well and good. But I doubt reminding him of his own fallibility will encourage him to help me out of the mess I’ve made.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps there is something I can do.’
‘I have run through my entire month’s allowance at the tables of that damned club of his,’ Christian said in frustration. ‘When he hears of it, I am sure to get a lecture about my irresponsibility. It will be all the worse when I have to borrow my rent money from him later.’
Having received a week’s worth of Mr Challenger’s moralising, she could not help but feel sympathy for him. ‘Is there no way to win the money back without telling him?’ she asked.
‘They will not take a marker at Vitium et Virtus,’ he said. ‘Since I have no cash, they will bar me from the room.’
A thought occurred to her. ‘I have money,’ she said. Quite a bit of it, really, even after what she had spent at the dressmaker’s.
‘I could not take your household money,’ he said. ‘Suppose I lost it?’
‘Then I will say that it was all my fault,’ George said. Considering his current opinion of her, Mr Challenger would have no trouble believing it.
But, suppose she did something so terrible that he wanted to pack her off to the country? He’d said they must remain in town until people had no reason to comment on their sudden marriage. But if he refused to spend his nights at home, gossip was inevitable and not her fault at all. Yesterday morning, he had hinted that he would sleep in the same bed with her as if it was a punishment. But it was clearly an empty threat.
And one day later, an opportunity was presenting itself that wo
uld both help the young Mr Challenger regain his allowance, while making his elder brother so incandescent with rage. No matter what he did to her after, it had to be better than the humiliation of last night’s sudden departure.
She looked at her husband’s brother and smiled. ‘Do not worry, Christian. I have a plan that will render your indiscretion insignificant by comparison.’
* * *
Fred settled back in his chair in the owners’ suite and raised a toast to Nick’s empty place before drinking. He had lost count of the number of brandies he’d had since arriving at the club in the wee hours of the morning. But several of those drinks had been necessary to convince himself that the room he had chosen upstairs was as comfortable as his own home. A mattress designed for fornication did not always provide a good night’s sleep. And the lurid pictures on the wall provided a constant reminder of the things he was not doing with the woman who had been near to fainting in his arms scant hours before.
If she had been anyone else’s wife but his own, the way forward with Georgiana would have been a simple one. Bed her and forget her. But marriage was complicated. Despite what Georgiana had been hoping for, one could not totally forget one’s own spouse when it became convenient to do so. After even a single night of bliss, there might be a child to contend with. And his parents, who could hardly stand the sight of each other, were frequently forced into each other’s company at social gatherings.
After losing his head on the terrace, Fred had stopped to consider what consummating his marriage might mean. But each time he had tried to list the problems it might create, he had glanced at Georgiana—an eager, responsive and carnally curious beauty—and he had been ready to risk his future for a few minutes of passion. He’d sat in the carriage, at war with his own common sense, watching as she touched the breast he had kissed as if coaxing him to do it again.
He had wanted to refuse her and retreat back into the safe distance they’d maintained from each other since their first meeting, but it was too late for that. He was lost. When they arrived home, they would make love. He would worry about tomorrow when it came.
Then she had invoked the name of the demon from his past and he’d realised what he should have known long ago. It was happening again, just as it had before.
A beautiful woman on the dance floor, beckoning to him to come closer. Closer still. A few moments in her arms and his life had changed for ever.
The last time he had been at Vitium et Virtus and not some society gathering. The woman in his arms had been masked. In the heady atmosphere of the room, what had started as a waltz became not so much a dance as a seduction set to music. He had taken her lips as she had shamelessly rubbed her body against his, not caring who saw. The bodice of her gown had been so low that her nipples were clearly visible, erect from teasing against the hair of his chest as they moved.
He had kissed her neck. Her hand had moved lower, caressing him through the fabric of his trousers and leaving no doubt what she wanted from him. It had been no different from a hundred other nights at the club and they were no different from a half-dozen couples on the floor with them that very night.
He’d whispered a suggestion that they go upstairs.
She had taken him by the hand, not just willing, but eager, tumbling with him through the first open door of rooms kept for casual joinings. She’d shed her gown before he’d even managed to close the door and was tugging at his shirt to pull it over his head, stroking his back and trailing hot kisses up and down the bare flesh.
‘Frederick, I want you.’
She had known him, despite his mask. But was that really so surprising? He was there almost every night. Many of the members knew him from life outside the club. His identity had to be an open secret.
‘And who are you, my darling?’ He’d reached for her mask as well, the only scrap of fabric left between her and complete nudity. Who was she? He had to know. A woman of such passion, such enthusiasm, such a prodigious appetite, was not someone he wanted to forget after one night.
She had turned away from his grasp to kiss her way down his belly, undoing the flap of his breeches with steady and experienced hands. She kissed like a courtesan, familiar with the needs of a man, and happy to fulfil them.
She tormented him with her hands and tongue until finally, he’d picked her up bodily and tossed her on to the bed, if only to have a chance to finish undressing.
When he’d turned back, the mask had slipped, giving him his first glimpse of her face.
His brother’s wife lay before him, legs spread, her own hand tangling in the chestnut curls between them. ‘Frederick,’ she’d said breathlessly and held the other hand out to him in welcome.
He had grabbed his breeches and run. And he had not stopped running until Waterloo.
He filled his glass and spoke to the place Nick should have occupied, wishing that his spirit might be there to hear his confession. ‘If you can hear me, old friend, come back to us and take the burden of this place from me. I have lost the stomach to take pleasure in it. And now…’
He shook his head, amazed that he could be so easily tricked. In a single afternoon, Caroline had transformed the sweet, awkward girl he’d married into the sophisticated temptress that had all the men in the room dancing attendance on her, including him.
When he’d called her out for her behaviour, she’d had the gall to argue, quite logically, that there was no way she could have known a family visit would displease him. She’d said that he was being the irrational one.
Then, he’d proved her point by running away, just as he had after the incident with Caroline. There had been no reason for it. She was his own wife, not someone else’s. The disagreement between them could not be settled if he did not go home to talk to her. He would have to, eventually. But what would he say to her when he did?
‘Mr Challenger, there is a problem in the game room.’ Snyder, the porter, stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, but head dipped in deference, as if sorry for the intimidating figure he could not help but present.
‘Handle it,’ Fred said, tired to the bone of difficulties created by other people’s lack of control.
‘It is Mr Christian,’ Snyder said, waiting to see if the instructions had changed now that Fred knew it was his brother causing the problem. ‘He has been playing all evening and is losing rather badly.’
‘And where did he get the money to do that?’ Frederic said, giving the porter a dark look. ‘Westmoor said he left here the other night with nothing but lint in his pockets.’ He had been expecting a contrite visit from the boy on that very subject. Nothing would prevent future excesses faster than having to beg for a loan to cover them.
Then, a terrible thought occurred to him. ‘No one here gave him credit, did they?’
‘No, Mr Challenger,’ Snyder said, frowning. ‘There is a lady with him.’
A woman, perhaps. But whether she was a lady was yet to be determined. In his mind, Fred sorted through a list of opera dancers and courtesans that Christian had associated with. All were either too poor or too sensible to give money back to the man who was supposed to be keeping them. That meant the woman staking him was likely older, perhaps a widow, but more likely the wife of a gentleman.
Christian was nearly three-and-twenty, old enough to make his own way in the world. But Fred could not simply stand by and watch the fellow ruin himself on some Jezebel at Vitium et Virtus. He had learned for himself the dangers of alluring women in masks and the way a single night with the wrong one could alter one’s life for ever.
It was also his job to prevent scandals that would reflect poorly upon the club. If something Christian did here led to a duel with a jealous husband or, God forbid, caused him to blow his brains out over bad debts and a heartless jade, it would be Fred’s fault for not stopping him sooner.
‘Very well. I w
ill take care of him, you deal with the woman.’ He pulled himself out of the chair and walked to the gaming room with Snyder following a step behind.
When they arrived, it was just as the porter had said. Christian was at the tables with but a single chip left in front of him. He also lacked the common sense to be upset by the fact that he had squandered everything he had. He turned to the woman next to him, a blonde in low-cut, scarlet satin. ‘I am out of money, again.’
‘Help yourself,’ she said, pushing half of her large pile of chips in his direction. Then she shuffled the cards in her hand with the facility of a dockside gambler and began to deal.
‘It is not right that the two of you should collude,’ grumbled another player. ‘We are playing drumhead, not whist.’
‘We are not colluding,’ the woman replied with a smile and tossed a handful of chips in his direction as well. ‘I am beating him. I shall win those back from him and you as well, just as I did the last time.’
‘The hell you will.’ Fred stared at his brother’s companion and thought longingly of that time, just a few days ago, when her voice had not been as familiar to him as his own.
Georgiana looked up at him, tipping her chin up defiantly, and half closing the blue eyes in her disguised face. ‘I fail to see why not. The gentlemen at this table tonight lack both luck and skill.’
‘Put down the cards and leave immediately, or by God…’ Words failed him. He turned to his brother. ‘And you!’
Christian shrugged. ‘There is no harm in letting her play another hand. She has not lost once since arriving at the table. She has the devil’s own luck.’ And now, he was looking at her with the same awed smile that Fred had seen on his friends when they’d spoken of her.
‘She has something of the devil, at least,’ Fred agreed.
‘And her husband is a very lucky man,’ Christian said, with admiration.
Was it some sort of divine punishment that his brother was looking at his wife in a way that was practically lustful? When it had happened to Fred, it had been an accident. But Christian knew.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 14
