The Gamble

by Joan Wolf

  “Have you quite recovered from your accident, Lady Winterdale?” he asked me in a low voice. I could not mistake the malice that glittered in his droopy blue eyes.

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied evenly.

  “You lead a dangerous life, do you not?” he went on in the same intimate tone.

  I could feel myself stiffen. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of his sleeve. “Think about it, after all. Just two weeks after you forced Winterdale to marry you, you are almost thrown under the wheels of a carriage.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing that isn’t being suggested by other people in town, Lady Winterdale,” he returned spitefully.

  “Charles,” said Mrs. Howard, “I think it is time for us to take our seats. The music is about to begin.”

  I stood for a moment and watched the thin, fair young man and his wife find seats in the middle row of gilt chairs, then I turned to Catherine and Lord Rotheram.

  “I have saved some seats for us in the front row,” he said to me. “Come and sit down. I believe Mrs. Robinson is going to begin with a recital upon the harp.”

  I sat through the ensuing concert in a state of growing distress. Could it possibly be true that rumors were starting that Philip was the one responsible for my accident?

  If it was true, I thought, then the rumor had to have been started by the real culprit.

  He was setting Philip up to take the blame if he was successful in carrying out his threat to do away with me.

  It was frightening to think that I was up against someone that diabolically clever.

  I had to get home and talk to Philip, I thought. There had to be a way we could combat this kind of insidious campaign.

  * * *

  Philip was closeted in the library with his man of business when Catherine and I returned to Mansfield House, and so I went upstairs with Catherine and invited myself into her dressing room.

  “All right, Catherine,” I said, “the time has come to tell. What is going on between you and Lord Rotheram?”

  Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes were like stars. “Oh Georgie, he has asked me to marry him!”

  I enveloped her in a huge hug. “I am so happy for you, darling,” I said. “He seems like such a nice man.”

  “He is, he is. And he suffered so dreadfully for so many years. His wife was very ill, you know. I realize that it might seem callous of him to be wanting to marry so soon after her death, but their last years together were dreadfully painful. He deserves some happiness. And—oh, Georgie, I love him so much!”

  “I am sure that you will make him very happy,” I said. “And he seems just the sort of thoughtful, deep-feeling man who will make you happy, too.”

  She gave me a smile that made her look utterly beautiful.

  “What has your mother to say about all of this?” I asked. “She must be in heaven that one day you will be a duchess.”

  Catherine gave me a mischievous look. “Both Edward and I decided that it would be best to wait until his mourning period is officially over before we break the news to our parents. I don’t think the duchess will be very surprised, but I think Mama will be.”

  I chuckled. “She will be unbearable,” I said.

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “I know.”

  I sobered. “Catherine, have you heard any rumors that Philip might have been the one responsible for my accident?”

  She looked appalled. “No, I’ve heard nothing like that. Why? Are there such rumors going around?”

  “Someone told me that there were.”

  “That’s insane,” Catherine said. “Why would Philip want to harm you?”

  “Apparently the story is that I forced him to marry me and that he wants to get rid of me.”

  Catherine looked distressed. “I don’t believe it,” she said. But she did not sound quite certain.

  Dear God, I thought. If Catherine could find that such a story had a hint of credibility . . .

  “No one should believe it,” I said. “Philip would no more harm me than Lord Rotheram would harm you.”

  There was a definite tartness in my voice. I had to confess that I was annoyed with Catherine for that lack of certainty.

  I had been sitting on the chaise longue, and now I stood up. “I’m a little tired,” I said. “I believe I will take a short nap before dinner.”

  “A good idea, Georgie,” she said warmly. “You don’t want to overdo things on your first day out of bed.”

  I smiled, and wished her happy once more, and went on down the passageway to my own bedroom. I sat down at the writing desk and wrote a note to Philip, which I asked one of the footmen to take to him in the library. I couldn’t risk his going out again without seeing me. It was imperative that the two of us have a talk.

  CHAPTER

  nineteen

  I WAS RECLINING ON THE CHAISE LONGUE IN OUR bedroom, staring at the formal bed of tulips in the small garden behind the house, when Philip came in.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  I turned my head from the window to look at my husband. There was a deep, tense line between his flying black eyebrows and his blue eyes were guarded.

  I said without preamble, “I went to the Duchess of Faircastle’s musicale this afternoon with Catherine, and Charles Howard was there. He made a nasty insinuation that there were rumors going around town that you were responsible for my accident in the park. Is it true about the rumors, Philip?”

  He came farther in the room, but not in my direction. Instead he crossed to the mantel and leaned one shoulder against it. “There’s always gossip in this town,” he said. “It’s the way people in London live.”

  I said, “Do you realize that somebody started that rumor, and that it was probably the man who really was responsible for my accident?”

  He didn’t answer, just continued to regard me with that disturbingly guarded look.

  “For heaven’s sake,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Don’t you see what’s happening here? If this maniac does succeed in making away with me, you are the one who will take the blame!”

  “I see it quite clearly,” he said.

  As he was making no motion toward approaching me, I crossed the floor to the fireplace, slid my arms around his waist, rested my cheek against his shoulder, and said, “Well then, don’t you think that we had better make quite certain that nothing happens to me?”

  His arms came up and circled me as lightly as if I were made of porcelain.

  “I have every intention of doing that,” he said.

  His breath stirred my hair and I closed my eyes and leaned the length of my body against him. I said, “You look exhausted. You can’t have been sleeping properly on that narrow bed in your dressing room. You had better come back into your own bed tonight.”

  I was so close to him that he could not disguise the way his heartbeat accelerated at my words. However, when he spoke his voice was quiet and calm. “Do you think so?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I most certainly do.”

  * * *

  By dinnertime I was feeling more fatigued than I had expected to, and when Philip told me that he had to go out for a short while, I decided to go upstairs and wait for him in bed.

  I fell asleep and when I awoke in the small hours of the morning, Philip was not beside me. I felt a flash of anger. If he was sleeping in his dressing room again, I was going to demand an explanation.

  But when I opened his dressing-room door, the room was empty. Nor was the single bed turned down in preparation for an occupant.

  It was four in the morning, and Philip simply had not come home.

  I was hurt and insulted and angry. Surely I had been as blatant as it was possible to be this afternoon. What was wrong with him, anyway? He had been hungry enough for me while we were at Winterdale Park.

  Was it that now that we were back in London he had other w
omen friends to assuage his desire, and he did not want me in that way any longer?

  This was a terrible, terrible thought, and I tried valiantly to push it from my mind. But it would not be banished.

  For another half an hour I lay wide-awake in my darkened bedroom, and then finally I heard the sound of someone entering the room next door. Philip had come home.

  I would give him fifteen minutes, I thought grimly. Then I was going to go into his dressing room, and if he was lying in that little bed, I was going to want to know the reason why.

  Ten minutes crept by, then the door between the bedroom and Philip’s dressing room opened and Philip came in. It was as if an iron hand that had been clasped about my heart suddenly relaxed its grip.

  I looked at him in the light of the candle he was carrying. The front lock of his hair was dripping wet, and so were his eyelashes, as if he had hastily splashed quite a lot of water on his face and neglected to dry it properly. The collar of his nightshirt was rucked under and twisted to one side. He was not walking quite steadily. Or rather, he was walking with such slow and conscious steadiness that it looked suspicious.

  I had seen that kind of a walk before on my father. I sat bolt upright in bed. “Philip,” I said accusingly, “you’re drunk!”

  My voice evidently surprised him, for he jumped, and the candle in his hand flickered alarmingly.

  “Jesus,” he said. “I might have started a fire, Georgie. Don’t startle me like that.”

  His voice was very faintly slurred.

  “Don’t blaspheme,” I snapped. “And you have so been drinking. You can’t deny it.”

  “I have no intention of denying it.” Moving cautiously, he put the candle on the bedside table and got into the four-poster beside me.

  I was profoundly disappointed and beginning to be angry. “Were you at your club?” I asked.

  He drawled in that barely slurred tone of voice, “No. Actually I was meeting with an old acquaintance of mine, someone who has a great deal of influence in the London criminal world. I was hoping he might be able to find out who was hired to shoot that slingshot at you the other day.”

  I thought about this for a minute.

  “And did he have any ideas?” I asked at last.

  “He is going to make inquiries,” Philip replied.

  In the light of the candle he had not yet blown out, I could see his strong chest exposed by the twisted neck of his nightshirt. A drop of the water he had splashed himself with to try to sober up dripped off his eyelash onto his cheek. He did not appear to notice.

  I said, “I gather that this . . . acquaintance . . . is not overly respectable?”

  Philip gave a short, hard laugh. “He is not respectable at all. But he is a powerful man in his own right. If anyone can discover the information I need, it is he.”

  Even though Philip was lying on his own pillow, on his own side of the bed, I could smell the rich aroma of brandy on his breath. I said austerely, “Was it really necessary to get drunk with him?”

  He turned his head to look at me. His blue eyes looked very heavy under his wet lashes. “Unfortunately, it was. He refused any kind of payment, all he wanted to do was to engage in a drinking contest with me. It took a long time. Claven has an enormous capacity.”

  I stared at him in astonishment. “A drinking contest? Why on earth would he want to do that?”

  Philip’s voice was bitter. “Because in my wild youth, I acquired an unfortunate reputation for having the hardest head in Europe. It has led to all sorts of problems for me. Claven simply wanted to see if he could drink me under the table. If he could, then I would have to pay him to look for our perpetrator; if he couldn’t, he would do it for nothing. Believe me, I would have been more than happy just to pay, but he wouldn’t have it.”

  In my wild youth.

  He was twenty-six.

  I said gently, “I gather you succeeded in putting him under the table first.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  I remembered the state of my papa after an all-night drinking bout. “You are going to feel wretched in the morning,” I predicted.

  He groaned. “I already feel wretched, Georgie. Can we please stop talking now so that I can try to get some sleep?”

  “Of course,” I said kindly. I was feeling quite in charity with him since learning that his lateness and his carousing had all been done for my benefit. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. The stubble of his beard prickled my lips. “Good night, Philip,” I said.

  “Good night,” he mumbled.

  I tucked the coverlet around his shoulder and left him to his slumber.

  * * *

  He was still asleep when I awoke at eight, and I left him sleeping while I dressed in my dressing room. I breakfasted with Catherine and when I learned that she and Lady Winterdale were attending a ball at the Mintons’ that evening, I decided that I would go also and that I would insist that Philip accompany me. I thought it was important that we be seen together, and even more importantly, that we be seen to be on good terms.

  After lunch, I confronted Philip in the library, where he was once more going over papers.

  He looked like a man with a headache.

  “Do you feel up to going to the Minton ball with me this evening, Philip?” I asked. “I know you can’t be feeling well, but, in the light of this nasty rumor that is going round, I think it is important for us to be seen together.”

  He raised his eyes from the ledger in front of him and regarded me. He looked haggard. “If you’re going, I’m going,” he said. “I’m not trusting you out of my sight until we’ve found out who is responsible for these accidents of yours.”

  I said righteously, “I have never been able to understand why gentlemen drink when it leaves them feeling so wretched the following morning.”

  He sighed. “I’m not up to arguing that point with you right now, Georgie. What time do you wish to leave?”

  “After dinner,” I said.

  He shuddered at the mention of food.

  I turned away to leave the library.

  “Are you going out this afternoon?” he asked sharply.

  I hesitated. “Frank is coming over to visit here at the house,” I said. “He has been so nice about coming to ask about my health, and sending me flowers, that I thought it would be only polite to see him.”

  His eyes dropped once more to his ledger. “Just don’t go out with him,” he said.

  It was an order, not a request.

  I bit my lip. Then, “All right,” I said. I walked to the door, opened it, and closed it softly behind me so as not to jar his aching head.

  By dinnertime Philip’s headache seemed to be improved, even though he ate very little of the food that Lady Winterdale had ordered for our meal that evening.

  It occurred to me that he could not have been doing a great deal of drinking during the weeks I had stayed at Winterdale House before our marriage, for I had certainly never seen him as under the weather as this.

  Of course, this morning he had as good as told me that he didn’t drink the way he used to in his wild youth.

  I thought that this was very good news indeed.

  There was a line of carriages in front of Minton House in Berkeley Square, and we had to wait twenty minutes before our chaise pulled up to the front door and we could alight. It was raining, and the Minton footmen were out with huge umbrellas to escort the guests from the street to the brilliantly lit white-marble front hall.

  The ball was being held on the second floor, in the largest of the drawing rooms, and as Philip and I were announced I could have sworn that at least half the heads in the room turned to look at us.

  I immediately slipped my arm through Philip’s and smiled up at him brilliantly.

  The reckless eyebrows lifted. “Don’t overdo it, Georgie,” he advised dryly.

  “Nonsense. We’ve just returned from our wedding trip. I should look like a radiant bride.”

  I batted my eyes at him.
>
  The corner of his mouth quirked.

  Lord Henry Sloan came up to stand in front of us. “Lady Winterdale,” he said to me with his infectious smile. “How lovely to have you back among us again. You have been missed.” He nodded to Philip. “Winterdale. How are you?”

  “Very well,” Philip said tersely.

  Lord Henry turned back to me. “You have recovered from your accident, then, Lady Winterdale?”

  I smiled into my ex-beau’s curious hazel eyes. “Yes, thank you. The stupidest thing, you know. My poor Cato was stung by a bee.”

  “Indeed?” Sir Henry looked thoughtful. “So that is what happened.”

  I had invented this excuse earlier, and I thought it was very clever of me. Philip said nothing.

  At this moment, the orchestra struck up a waltz. Philip took my hand. “My dear?”

  Once more I bestowed upon him my radiant new-bride look. “I should love to.”

  As we circled the room, I could feel people watching us.

  “I don’t like this at all,” I muttered.

  “Neither do I,” said my husband. “If the villain has gone to all this trouble to plant suspicion about me, then he must be serious indeed.” I saw a muscle clench in his jaw. “Damn! Claven had better be able to find out something for me. If he doesn’t, I shall be forced to kill all of the men on your father’s list, and that could be rather awkward.”

  “Philip!” I stared up at him in shock and horror. “You wouldn’t kill innocent men.”

  He gave me a very bleak look. “Why not? I’ve killed an innocent man before.”

  I could feel my heart accelerate. “What do you mean?”

  Before he could answer me, however, the music stopped, and we found ourselves standing next to Catherine and Lord Henry Sloan, who had danced the waltz together.

  Lord Henry grinned at me, and said, “I have the strictest orders from my brother Rotheram to engage Lady Catherine for all the waltzes. He is deathly afraid that someone is going to steal her away from him before he can officially claim her for himself.”

  Catherine turned deliciously pink.

  “I see that you are in your brother’s confidence, Lord Henry,” I said.