“Her name is Amy Shipton; she’s the Duke of Cavendish’s daughter. This is her first season.”
What was Marcus up to? Jealousy engulfed her and she could barely breathe, but then she calmed herself. She looked at his mother who was beaming. As she’d surmised, Marcus was doing a favor for his mother, that was all. “Dowager Wolverstone at least seems pleased.”
Henry pulled her toward him as his arm slipped from around her waist. “She should be. She plans to see Marcus wed her at the end of the season.”
Sabine knew Marcus would never marry a girl so young. “I hardly think Lord Wolverstone would be interested in a girl almost young enough to be his daughter.” She looked across to Judith. “He has no need to marry. There are plenty of women willing to share his bed.”
He gave her a victorious smile. “You sound almost jealous. Now, why would that be, given that you once left him? Perhaps you’d like another chance to devastate him? Run out of men to torment in Italy, have you?”
Her hands itched to slap the bitter hatred off Henry’s face. Instead, she remained silent, going through the motions of the dance, refusing to look at the couple dancing nearby.
Henry wasn’t going to let her off so easily. “Didn’t you hear the gasps from the crowd? Marcus has never danced with any debutante before, and certainly not the first waltz.”
She felt her hands get clammy within the confines of her gloves. “And your point is?”
“He is seriously contemplating marrying her.”
Sabine did stumble this time. Her head swirled and she thought she would faint. Henry cursed under his breath and pulled her toward the doors leading onto the balcony. As he waltzed them outside, he urged. “Take deep breaths.”
He waited while she fought to regain her equilibrium. Marcus married? She didn’t know why she should have been so surprised. She’d been relieved when she’d arrived in London and learned he was still unmarried. Blind hope had then enveloped her. She was not too late.
“Marcus understands that it’s time he did his duty and produced an heir. Amy could make him happy. She’s kind, intelligent and beautiful.”
“It sounds as if you should marry her yourself,” she blurted out.
He leaned on the balcony rail next to her. “Why did you seek Marcus out; don’t give me that rubbish about avenging your parents. You don’t need him for that. I know of many men who would like to earn the amount of money you’ve promised Marcus. Men who are much better card players.” His eyes swept her from head to toe. “You also have other incentives that would make a man do anything for you. Why did you go to him?”
She swallowed, her dry throat closing up at the memories his words evoked. She could hardly tell him that when the tournament was over Marcus would relish his revenge and that this was the safest way to achieve her goal. She wanted Gower to suffer as she and her parents had suffered, but not at the risk of Marcus’s life—or her son’s.
“My reasons are personal.”
He stood taking the measure of her, as if trying to assess her true intentions.
“Leave him be. If you ever truly loved Marcus, then let him finally put you behind him and move on with his life. Don’t ruin what his mother has put in train. I believe Amy will make him happy, and so does he. Make him happy. Amy could do something for Marcus that you never could.”
The truth of Henry’s words cut her to the bone. Now she knew that in taking her to his bed, Marcus truly wanted only revenge. There had never been any chance that by becoming his lover more would follow. He’d already selected his wife. He was using her and when he’d humiliated her enough, he’d walk away and marry an innocent, a young girl who was more deserving than she. He’d probably forget he had ever known her.
She thought she’d crumble into pieces at Henry’s feet. She felt as though she’d fold in on herself until she no longer existed.
At her lack of response Henry grunted and turned away from where she stood gripping the rail with two hands least she fall down.
“As usual you’re thinking of no one but yourself. Know this. I’ll do everything I can to ensure he marries Amy. I’ll not let you destroy him a second time.”
The tears began to fall as soon as Henry’s last harsh, angry words were spoken. Through the numbing pain, she heard his footsteps fade and soon she was alone in her misery.
A wrenching sob escaped her and she struggled to hold back the sound of her distress. Perhaps Henry was right. You can’t go back and undo the past. Perhaps it would be better to simply let Marcus think he had his revenge on her and then walk away. Was she being selfish? The truth would only bring him further pain.
As long as Gower suffered, she should be thankful. She had a home in Italy. And most importantly her son would be safe from the truth and disgrace of the past.
She’d only just finished wiping the tears from her face when she heard a man’s heavy footsteps behind her. She swung round and was frozen to the spot with fear. Her heart pounded in her ears, her stomach knotted and bile rose in her throat.
“It’s been an awfully long time, Sabine. Rather awkward to see your change in station.”
She gazed aghast into the face of the man she hated most in the world. He had changed little. He still looked like a monster wrapped in the guise of an angel. His dark copper hair was immaculately styled over his ears and seemed to surround his head as if it were a halo. But the angelic look was merely at face value. His nose looked a good deal more crooked than she remembered; it gave his face a more rugged look. He’d aged—badly. Although roughly the same age as Marcus and Henry, he looked years older. His green eyes in his lined dissipated face silently mocked her as they swept intimately and indecently over her gown.
“Stay away from me, Gower” she finally forced out. She tried to step back from him but felt the balcony railing between her shoulder blades blocking her.
He laughed intimidatingly and crowded in on her until his chest was flattened against her breasts. “Lord Gower, to you, my dear. The past is best left in the past, if you take my meaning.” His breath stank of brandy and her skin crawled as a finger traced around her lips. “You may be Lady Orsini now but, trust me, no one will believe any of your tales from years gone by.”
She shoved at his chest and tried to squeeze around him. Just when she thought she’d made her escape, his hand grabbed her upper arm in a vice-like grip. “If I find you’ve told anyone anything, I’ll make sure you’d wished you’d never been born. I hear you have a son…”
Her horrified gaze flew to meet his. He was evil personified.
“I’m sure you’d hate to see anything bad happen to the little lad, wouldn’t you?”
“What have you done to him?” She cried.
“Shush, will you! Nothing, yet. But I have men who know how to make little boys disappear.” He leaned in close and menacing. “If you say one word to anyone about our former acquaintance…”
He didn’t need to say more. Her ears were ringing; her frantically beating heart felt as if it would fly from her chest. She’d die before she let this man hurt Alfredo. She tried to tug her arm free and felt her dress tear.
“I think the lady wishes you to take your filthy hands off her.” The intervening words were punctuated with steel.
Marcus!
Gower stepped away from Sabine and plastered a sickening smile on his face, raising his hands in the air. “Don’t get on your high horse, Wolverstone. I’m just a man a little worse for drink.”
Dark amber eyes, filled with anger, flashed in her direction. “Are you all right, Lady Orsini?”
She moved quickly toward where he stood. “Yes. I’m perfectly fine.”
She wasn’t. Marcus could hear the terror in her voice. “Apologize to the lady, Gower, before I beat you senseless.”
Gower, making an exaggerated bow from the waist, almost toppled over. “My apologies, my lady. Please forgive my boorish behavior, too much brandy.”
Marcus took a menacing step towards Gower a
nd he beat a hasty retreat. He turned to Sabine and noticed her trembling like a leaf in the breeze. “Not much of an apology, but I expected nothing more from a louse like him. He didn’t hurt you, did he? Perhaps the simplest way to rid the world of that odious man would be to challenge him to a duel.”
“No!” Sabine cried and gripped his arm. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him and it sent a jolt of scorching heat, like the touch of a branding iron, right up his arm. “That is, I prefer to hurt him where he will feel it the most, in his pocket.”
There was more in play here he suspected. Sabine was hiding something, something about Gower. She appeared to be unusually petrified for such a feisty woman.
“Did he threaten you?”
She looked into his face and seemed to collect herself. “No. He was simply drunk and overstepped his bounds.”
She was lying. For once he could read every nuance on her beautiful face. Perhaps his years of experience meant she could no longer fool him. He was no longer the green, love-struck calf who would have done anything for a mere smile from her ravishing lips.
She looked at her dress and then back at him. “You’ll have to excuse me. I will have to go home. I can’t return to the ball; he’s torn my dress.”
Unbridled rage engulfed him. How dare Gower lay a hand on Sabine! He started at these thoughts. They were possessive and intensely territorial, as if Sabine was his to protect. Yet she’d never been his. Except that soon, he would own her. After the tournament she would be his and at his bidding only, and he would not have her sleeping with any other man during their arrangement. He had insisted on that. Jealousy raged within him like a wildfire and he couldn’t dampen it down.
“He seemed very eager to become better acquainted with you. Was it your plan to seduce him too?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I shudder at the thought of the man touching me.” She eyed him with surprise. “You’re jealous!”
The dark flare of anger scorching his veins told him that she had sensed the truth; though he was loathe to admit to it. “Not jealous, merely a sense of possessiveness over what I consider to be mine. It’s a primitive male instinct, you know, nothing more, nothing less.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “There is no need to be jealous and you know it. He’s the last man on earth I’d ever willingly allow to touch me.”
The venom in her voice appeased his jealousy. So she really did hate the man, and with good reason. What he had done to her parents was heinous.
He looked her over and the simmering tension that lay between them was reignited. God, how he wanted her! He prayed that when the tournament ended this rapacious hunger for her would be satiated. He wanted to move on. Henry was right. He needed to look to the future and there was no future with a woman like Sabine. He could not trust her with his heart—or—in fact, with anything. Look at the game she’d instigated with Gower, and the wager she’d accepted with him. She’d sink to any level, it seemed, to get what she wanted.
“Since you cannot return to the ball, I shall escort you home.”
He saw the pulse at the base of her delectable collar bone quicken in response to his proposition. She licked her lips and he hardened immediately, longing to put her luscious lips to good use.
She eyed him coolly. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll disappoint your mother? Or Amy Shipton?”
He gave her a taunting smile. “Now who’s jealous?” He’d expected an angry denial but instead she dropped her gaze from his and turned her back to him.
He watched her delicate shoulders shudder as she struggled for composure, and after several minutes, she said, “It would seem that I am more human than you.” Her quiet words chipped at the block of ice surrounding his heart. “After what we shared in the past, it’s difficult to imagine you married to someone else. You expect me to come to your bed while you are engaged to another.” He saw her shoulders slump. “The Marcus Danvers of old would not be so cruel—to me—or to Amy Shipton.”
“I can’t believe you have the audacity to comment on my behavior. Wasn’t it you, who ten years ago swooned so eagerly in my arms, surrendering willingly to my kisses while all the time playing me false? If one man was not enough for you then, why should one woman be enough for me now?”
Sabine whirled around to face him. “Two wrongs do not make a right. Amy Shipton is an innocent. Don’t use her as part of your vengeful plan against me.”
“I have no intention of hurting Amy. Presently I have no understanding with her or any other woman for that matter.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“But I am in search of a wife. You have your son; I too would like children. Amy Shipton seems an ideal candidate. She’s loyal to her friends, has a kind heart and is very beautiful. Once I learned how devious women could be, I set my sights lower. There’ll be no grand love for me, it’s safer that way. I won’t be disappointed a second time.”
He heard her draw in a deep breath at his insult. He caught himself just in time and just stopped himself from pulling her into his arms and soothing the hurt he saw register on her face.
Instead, with his characteristic charming, predatory smile, Marcus stepped closer to her. “Speaking of not being disappointed, I am looking forward to my victory. I promise you you’ll enjoy our reunion.”
She straightened up to her full height which still only saw the top of her head reach his shoulders. “It would be unwise for anyone to see me leave with you. I shall slip through the gardens and meet you at your carriage.”
And before he could argue, she had turned and descended the outside stairs and, like a ghost, disappeared into the gathering gloom.
Marcus turned back into the ballroom. He couldn’t dampen the growing excitement circulating in his blood. Soon he’d finally be able to take his fill of the woman who’d haunted his dreams for years. Surely then he could wipe her from his memory.
As he made to step back inside, an arm came across the door to prevent him. “Where would you be hurrying off to?” Henry peered over Marcus’s shoulder at the empty balcony behind. “Your mother bade me fetch you. She thought Sabine may have cornered you.”
“Since when have you been so eager to do my mother’s bidding? I don’t need a nursemaid. Bugger off!” And he pushed his way past Henry and into the crush of people.
Henry dogged his footsteps. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”
Marcus continued his path toward the stairs, eager to leave the crowded room. He watched Henry’s perceptive gaze scan the room. “Sabine seems to have left too.”
“She had to leave. Gower accosted her outside and ripped the sleeve off her dress. I arrived just in time or there could have been an ugly scene.”
Henry cursed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left her out there alone but I couldn’t stomach her apparent act of being so heart-broken.”
Marcus threw an accusing look at his friend. “You took her outside? Why? I hope you are not meddling in my business.”
Henry shrugged and smiled at a young lady he’d previously danced with standing nearby. “She became overly upset when I mentioned you were considering marrying Amy.”
But Marcus refused to countenance what that might imply and as the two men entered the hall. Marcus strode purposefully toward the door. “Leave me to deal with Sabine,” he hissed under his breath at his friend.
Henry halted half way and called after him, “You’ve been warned. Don’t do anything stupid. She cannot be trusted.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Marcus growled and walked out into the night, the anticipation of the forthcoming pleasures scorching a path in his veins.
Chapter Eight
Sabine had not seen Marcus since he’d delivered her home two nights ago after the Barforte’s ball. For that she was thankful. She needed the time to compose her battered nerves. Soon, very soon, she hoped her long awaited revenge against Gower would come to fruition. But then the most agonizing aspect of the painful saga would begin. Sh
e would have to fulfill her side of the wager she’d been forced to make with Marcus.
She stepped down from her carriage, listening to Judith’s chatter, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching fact that her plan hinged on the outcome of today’s events.
The Annual Gentleman’s Whist tournament was being held at Richmond Park on the outskirts of London. The area was perfect for the masses who would gather for the day’s free entertainment. The park allowed for a family atmosphere with picnics and children’s games, and of course the placing of wagers.
The beautifully manicured grounds was playing host to countless carriages and hundreds of horses, as the fine weather had drawn in an enormous crowd.
Sabine had talked Judith into accompanying her. However, Lady Harcourt had needed no coercing when she heard Marcus had entered. She, like all of Society, was surprised. Marcus had never been a man to play cards before.
The second round was well underway when the two ladies arrived and Sabine breathed a sigh of relief upon spying Marcus still at one of the tables inside the large tent. He’d survived the first round.
It promised to be a long day. There were over fifty gamblers partaking which was hardly surprising given the size of the purse—two-hundred thousand pounds, which meant there was one-hundred thousand pounds for each of the two winners.
Sabine could see the bookmakers all around the park still busy taking bets. She scanned the crowd but couldn’t see Gower, but she knew he’d be here. He’d be sweating until the very end.
Sabine wore a hat with a large brim to obscure her features. She didn’t really have to hide her identity as there was no reason why she shouldn’t be there. If Gower came across her, with Judith at her side, he wouldn’t be at all suspicious of their attendance. After all, half of the ton was here today, all eager to have a wager on the outcome of the tournament.
The ladies settled on a rug under the trees not far from the officials’ tent. The two women attracted a lot of attention. Many of Judith’s admirers stopped by to share a drink and to discuss who they believed would be the victors.
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