The Gamble

by Joan Wolf

I could not believe what had happened between us tonight. I could not believe that the ugly, frightening encounter of my wedding night had been transformed into this shatteringly sensual experience that left every nerve in my body quivering with awareness and pleasure.

  He had been so good to me tonight. He had taken such care not to hurt me, to make certain that this second experience was wonderful. I looked at his darkly handsome face, at his disordered black hair, at his strong, perfect body, and tears came to my eyes.

  I love him so, I thought. Please, please, God. Make him love me, too.

  As if he had heard my thoughts, his eyes opened.

  “Did I go to sleep on you?” he asked softly.

  I looked at him with my heart in my eyes. “Oh, Philip,” I said. “I think you’re wonderful.”

  The faintest trace of grimness appeared around his mouth. “I’m not, you know,” he said. And then he reached out and gathered me like a belonging into his arms.

  * * *

  We had two weeks at Winterdale Park before we returned to London. When I am an old old lady, with all of my passions long since dead, I shall still remember those two weeks.

  We lived to be with each other. On the surface, we led the lives one would expect to be led by the master and mistress of an estate as large and as demanding as Winterdale Park. But beneath the surface, we hungered only for each other.

  We would make a date to meet in our bedroom in the middle of the afternoon and spend an hour making love, only to arise and dress and go about our duties as if no interruption had occurred. Then, that very same night, we would fall upon each other as if we hadn’t held each other in a year.

  I didn’t care what the servants thought. I didn’t care who knew about those afternoon assignations, or who saw our knees and fingers touching as we sat over the chessboard at night. I had no shame. My body felt free and shameless and beautiful. Everything about me felt beautiful, because Philip had told me that I was.

  Only one tiny dark cloud existed to cast a shadow over my happiness. I had given myself wholly, body and soul, to Philip, but I knew that there was a part of him that he had not given to me.

  When we made love, then I had all of him. I could feel it. He was there with me, every part of him, body to body, mind to mind, spirit to spirit. But when our bodies parted, then something inside him went away, too.

  I told myself that I was a fool to fret about this. I had a marriage that would be the envy of any other woman in the world. I told myself not to be greedy.

  But I had discovered hidden depths of possessiveness in myself, at least where Philip was concerned. I wanted all of him, and I worried about the part that was missing.

  CHAPTER

  seventeen

  WE RETURNED TO LONDON ON A PERFECT MAY morning when a soft warm breeze was blowing from the south and the cuckoos were calling in the trees. Everything seemed to be in bloom at once: the lilacs, the roses, the pale pink tulips that marched in rows across the front lawn. The red and white hawthornes were out all along the roads and in the pastures the newly weaned lambs alternately played and cried for their lost mothers.

  I was riding beside Philip on the front seat of the phaeton, and now I inhaled the fresh spring air, turned to him, and said regretfully, “I hate to go back to the city on a day like this. The countryside is so beautiful.”

  “Can’t be helped,” he returned. “I have to see my man of business.”

  I knew that, of course. I even thought that Philip himself regretted that we couldn’t remain longer in Surrey. In London, the world would inevitably intrude upon our intense sensual isolation. In London we would become social beings once more.

  I was not looking forward to the change. While we were at Winterdale Park, I had had Philip all to myself. Once we arrived in London, his other life—the life of clubs and boxing saloons and men of business—would claim his attention. I knew it was unreasonable of me to expect that we could live all our lives in the haze of newly married bliss. But the fact of the matter was, I did want that. Or at least I wanted it for a little while longer.

  But the grays were moving forward with their usual efficient, ground-eating strides, taking us ever closer to London, and Mansfield House, and Lady Winterdale.

  “It is going to be so awkward having two Lady Winterdales in the house,” I murmured.

  Philip clucked to his left wheeler to step up. “It’s only for another few weeks. Then the Season will be over and Aunt Agatha and Catherine will be moving back to Bath.”

  I brightened. “And then can we return to Winderdale?”

  He turned his head to look at me. His eyes narrowed very slightly at the corners. “Yes. Then we can return to Winterdale.”

  I could feel my lips curve in the kind of smile they had never worn before these weeks I had spent with Philip. “Good,” I said softly.

  The glitter in his narrowed blue eyes was hard and hungry, and I absolutely loved it. My smiled deepened.

  His eyes focused once again on his horses, and he said sternly, “You are a minx.”

  “Yes,” I replied with a combination of surprise and pleasure. “I rather think that I am.”

  * * *

  Catherine was in the green-marble hall when I came in the front door of Mansfield House.

  “Georgie!” she cried in welcome, and came flying to give me a hug.

  I hugged her back. Then, as we separated, I looked in amazement at her changed countenance. “You’ve cut your hair.”

  “Yes.” She shot a small defiant glance at Lady Winterdale, who had come into the hall from the drawing room. “Do you like it?”

  “I think it is excessively becoming,” I said emphatically. “It shows off your cheekbones. It makes you look . . . elegant.”

  Color stained the high cheekbones that the short, feathery cut had so effectively highlighted. “Do you really think so?”

  “I certainly do.”

  The front door had been left open behind me so that our bags could be brought in from the town chaise that had followed us home. As I talked to Catherine I recognized the sound of the footmen’s steps behind me as they carried the luggage, then Betty’s steps came, then those of Philip’s valet. I didn’t hear Philip’s step, he trod so lightly, but I knew nevertheless the exact second when he came up behind me.

  I turned to him with a smile. “Look at Catherine’s new haircut, Philip,” I said. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

  “Very pretty,” he said courteously.

  The color along Catherine’s cheekbones deepened.

  Lady Winterdale came forward with measured steps. “Georgiana. Philip. I trust you had a pleasant stay at Winterdale Park?”

  The expression on her face was sour, and for the first time since I had met her she refused to meet my eyes.

  She had to have known about her husband’s financial problems, I thought, and she was afraid that now I knew about them also.

  To my amazement, I realized that Lady Winterdale was embarrassed.

  I said, “We had a wonderful time. The country this time of year is so lovely. And the house is magnificent, Lady Winterdale. I quite thought I was staying in a Venetian palace.”

  Her eyes lifted, and she shot me a single sharp look. “I have always been very fond of it myself,” she said cautiously. “So fond, in fact, that I scarcely made any changes since the time I went there as a bride.”

  I gave her a sunny smile and nodded as if I perfectly understood.

  Catherine said, “How is Anna? Has she settled in comfortably?”

  “She has settled in extremely well. Thank you so much for suggesting that she have your old apartment, Catherine. It is just the thing for her and Nanny.”

  Catherine looked pleased.

  Lady Winterdale said austerely, “Dinner is in an hour, Georgiana. If you and Philip are to change into evening dress, you had better retire to your rooms at once.”

  “Come along, Georgie,” Philip said, taking me by the arm and turning me in the direction
of the staircase. “Aunt Agatha is right. You ate scarcely anything at the inn we stopped at for luncheon. You must be hungry.”

  I let him escort me up the stairs, and as we went by the door to the bedroom that I had occupied for the whole of my previous visit to Mansfield House, I had the strangest sensation. I think that for the first time I truly comprehended what had happened to me. For the first time I truly understood that no longer was I Miss Georgiana Newbury; instead I was the Countess of Winterdale.

  The days I had spent at Winterdale Park had seemed almost like a fairy tale, but this house was real. Tonight I would sleep in the earl’s apartments, not in my old room. It was I, not Lady Winterdale, who would sit opposite Philip at the dinner table. It was I who would be the one to consult with the cook about the dinner menus and with the housekeeper about the servants.

  It was I who was the countess now.

  Of course, there was still another Countess of Winterdale in residence, and I had a feeling that the relationship between me and Lady Winterdale, which had never been comfortable, was about to become even more strained.

  The earl’s apartment was at the very end of the corridor, and the bedroom and both dressing rooms had large windows that looked out upon the small back garden. I stood with Philip in the bedroom and looked around at the graceful four-poster bed draped with pale blue tapestry hangings, at the comfortable silk-upholstered chaise longue and the well-appointed writing table. Pretty landscapes decorated the walls and over the chimneypiece hung a portrait of an eighteenth-century lady with high, powdered hair and a patch on her cheek.

  From the dressing rooms that opened off either side of the bedroom I could hear the sound of servants unpacking our bags.

  I said to Philip, “I cannot quite believe that this has happened. I feel as if I belong back down the hall in my old bedroom, not here. Suddenly, I am having a very hard time picturing myself as Lady Winterdale.”

  “You will soon grow accustomed to your new role,” he replied. “Catherine knows you and loves you. The servants know you and respect you. With you it is not a case of the pariah come home, as it was when I became the earl.” He walked over to the window and stood looking out at the terrace and garden, his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

  The pariah come home.

  My heart was wrung for him. Was that how it had been?

  I answered my own question. Yes, that must have been exactly how it had been.

  I went to him, slipped my arms around his waist, and leaned my cheek against his shoulder. “We’re two of a kind, then,” I said lightly. “A blackmailer and a pariah. Clearly a match made in heaven.”

  At that, he chuckled. I loved it when I could make him laugh.

  He said, turning to face me, “I don’t know about you, but I am quite extravagantly hungry. Shall we get dressed for dinner?”

  I dropped my arms and stepped back. “An excellent idea, my lord. And after dinner, will you be going out to your club?”

  “No,” he said, “I believe I will remain at home this evening. The trip from Surrey was rather tiring.”

  “Oh, what a shame,” I murmured demurely.

  “But not too tiring,” he said.

  I smiled.

  “Go get dressed, Georgie,” he said dangerously, “or I promise you, you won’t get any dinner at all.”

  “I’m going, I’m going,” I said, scuttling hastily through the door to my dressing room, where Betty waited to help me change into an evening dress for dinner.

  * * *

  Dinner was rather as I had expected it to be. Lady Winterdale was relegated to my old place, which she knew was proper but which made her excessively unhappy. She expressed her unhappiness by being even more condescending than was her usual wont, but Philip and I—and even Catherine—pretended to listen to her while letting her barbs pass harmlessly over our heads.

  It occurred to me that something was definitely going on in Catherine’s life to have made her so much more confident. The frightened little mouse she had been when first I came to London had almost disappeared. I wondered if Lord Rotheram had anything to do with this transformation, and I felt a twinge of concern. I didn’t know what Lord Rotheram’s situation was, and I didn’t want Catherine to be hurt.

  After dinner, Lady Winterdale and Catherine went out to a ball and Philip and I remained at home. We played chess for a while in the upstairs drawing room. I thought I was actually becoming quite proficient at the game. Philip now gave up only his queen, one of his knights and two pawns when we played.

  Of course, I hadn’t beaten him yet, but to my glee I had actually got him in check twice. I had hopes for the future.

  In the weeks to come I would look back with pain and longing on that first night we spent together in Mansfield House as man and wife. Everything between us was as it had been at Winterdale Park. I was so attuned to him that my body ignited with passion the moment he touched me. He kissed me and I opened my lips and kissed him back. I lifted myself to take him inside me, and he penetrated deeply, moving back and forth, lifting me to the heights of mindless ecstasy.

  Afterward, as we lay clasped in each other’s arms, I felt the sweet protectiveness of his embrace and thought about how desperately I loved him and about how I might break through that last invisible barrier that I sensed still lay between us.

  The next day Frank Stanton arrived at Mansfield House, and everything between Philip and me was changed.

  * * *

  It was late in the morning. Philip had left for the offices of one of his business associates and I was preparing to go out to the circulating library with Catherine, when Mason came to tell me that a Captain Frank Stanton had called to see me.

  I was taken completely by surprise. Frank was supposed to be with his regiment in Ireland.

  I said to Mason, “Please show Captain Stanton into the drawing room, Mason. I will be right down.”

  Catherine gave me a curious look. “Who is this Captain Stanton, Georgie?”

  “An old friend from home,” I replied. “His father is the local squire.”

  “Oh yes, I believe I’ve heard Anna talk about him.”

  “Won’t you come and meet him?” I asked cravenly. I must confess I was not looking forward to facing Frank by myself.

  “Oh no, you will want to see such an old friend without a stranger looking on,” Catherine said. “She gave me a grin. “One of the nice things about being a married lady is that one can actually be by oneself in the same room with an unmarried gentleman.”

  I could not hide from myself my own reluctance as I went down the great circular staircase. It was not that I did not want to see Frank, I told myself. I just did not want to see a Frank who was angry and hurt, and I was very much afraid that this was the Frank I was going to see.

  He was staring into the alabaster fireplace when I walked into the downstairs drawing room, and for a moment I stood in silence contemplating his familiar broad back and smooth sandy hair. Then he sensed my presence and swung around to face me.

  “Georgie,” he said. His pleasant tenor voice was raspy. His level gray eyes were too bright. “I heard from my father that you were to marry Winterdale,” he said. “I came as soon as I could get leave from my regiment, but I see that I am too late. It’s true, then? You are Lady Winterdale.”

  “Yes, it’s true, Frank.” I advanced into the room toward him, smiling as serenely as I could. “Now please don’t look as if the world has ended. You know that there was never any possibility of a match between the two of us, and this marriage is exactly the thing for Anna. We have just returned from Winterdale Park in Surrey, where Anna is to make her home, and I can assure you that she will be very happy there. You know how worried I have been about her future, and now that particular problem is solved. She will have a home for the rest of her life.”

  He left the fireplace and came toward me. “And what about your life, Georgie?” he said intensely. “I’ve heard stories about Winterdale. I know some fellows
who knew him when he was younger. He cut his teeth in every brothel and gaming hell in Europe. It makes me positively sick to think of you married to a man like that.” He was close enough now for me to see that he was actually trembling. “Dear God, Georgie, why wouldn’t you marry me? Anything would have been better than this!”

  I could feel hot anger sweeping through me. “Philip is my husband, Frank,” I said, trying to keep my voice quiet. “I do not think you should speak about him to me like that.”

  “You don’t know what kind of man he is, Georgie . . .” Frank was beginning desperately, when I heard a step at the door.

  “Mason tells me that we have company, my love,” Philip’s voice said. “You must introduce me to your friend.”

  He had never called me my love before. My heart leaped at the words, even though I knew instinctively that they had been said solely to irritate Frank.

  I turned to look at my husband and was shocked by the icy look on his face. I wondered how long he had been standing in the doorway before he had made his presence known by that deliberately loud step.

  I said in a voice that was not quite steady, “My lord, may I present Captain Frank Stanton, an old childhood friend from Sussex.”

  Frank bowed stiffly from the waist. “Lord Winterdale.”

  Philip barely nodded in return.

  An exceedingly uncomfortable silence fell, which neither of the men made any attempt to break.

  I asked Frank where he was staying.

  “A friend of mine, George Thomas, has a bachelor apartment in Jermyn Street,” he replied. “I’m staying with him.”

  “And for how long do you plan to remain in town?” Philip asked, in a voice that made it quite plain he hoped it would not be for very long at all.

  “I have a month’s leave,” Frank replied. His gray eyes glinted like steel. “And I believe I will spend most of it in London.”

  The atmosphere in my drawing room was growing tenser by the minute. I understood why Frank was so out of humor. He was upset and wounded because I had married someone else. But I could not understand my husband. Why on earth should he be behaving so nastily to poor Frank?