“I was wondering, Lady Harcourt, since you are well acquainted with Lord Wolverstone, if you knew he’d be entering?” Lord Cornwall asked as he settled on the rug next to her. “I didn’t know he was a good card player.”
“I didn’t either,” Judith responded. “However, if I recall, the man is good at everything,” and she gave a wicked knowing laugh.
A wave of irritated jealousy skittered down Sabine’s spine. “Surely, he stands no chance against these gentlemen. I’ve heard there are professional card players in the tournament.”
The toot of a horn interrupted the conversation. “Well, we’ll soon see.” Lord Cornwall said as he stood up. “That signals the end of round two.” He scanned the tent Marcus’s group was in. “Yes, it looks as if he’s through to the next round.”
When Sabine learned of her enemy’s wager she knew Marcus was the man who’d be able to trounce Gower for her. A good memory and head for numbers gave a player a distinct advantage. If there was anyone who understood numbers and whose memory seemed very long, it was Marcus.
At each of the tables, players sat in two fixed partnerships, the partners facing each other. Partners were assigned at random, and were changed after each hand to avoid any coercing or cheating.
Whist is part luck and part skill. Starting with the player on the dealer’s left, the rounds are played clockwise. Each player throws down one card. The other players have to match it by throwing down a card of the same suit. The idea is to win each round with the highest card of the suit being played. This is called a ‘trick’. There are thirteen tricks in a game and each trick earns a point for the winning pair.
There are also trump cards. The rules of the tournament see the trump suits designated before play begins. For the first deal, it is hearts; second, diamonds; third, spades; and finishing with clubs.
The pair at each table who won the best of three deals would progress to round three. Now there were only eight players left at two tables.
Sabine drew in her breath and took a large gulp of champagne. She wished she could move closer to better view the play but she was scared her intense interest in the game would be noticed.
Luckily, it was Judith who gave Sabine the opportunity to see the game up close. Judith wanted to cheer Marcus on.
They made their way to the tent and Sabine barely stifled her gasp when she saw who was in Marcus’s final pairing. He was playing with Bottomly against Prendergast and a man called Sir Deverell.
Sabine squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what this pairing signified. Marcus had to win. If he did, Gower was finished. It then wouldn’t matter if Marcus was the overall victor or was knocked out in the final round.
Gower had wagered Prendergast to win the field. In other words, Gower would win a huge amount of money if Prendergast was in the final victorious pairing with any other player. If Marcus and Bottomly won this round, knocking Prendergast out, Gower’s bet was lost.
Gower would forfeit everything.
Marcus suddenly noticed her presence and gave her a slight smile. She noted the strain on Prendergast’s face and she began to pray. Could her victory come this quickly? She followed the cards as they were played and noted Marcus and his partner inching ahead.
The next smile Marcus gave her one was filled with triumph and she knew they must be winning.
She could barely keep her breathing stable; her feelings were running amok with the tension. Her eyes began to search for Gower among the crowd in the tent. She wanted to see the look on his face when he realized he was ruined. As if pulled by an invisible force, she looked to the left and there, in the far corner of the tent, was Gower himself. His face was ashen. She could see beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his temples.
She allowed a victorious smile to break over her lips as his eyes met hers. His eyes narrowed in return and his look of despair changed to one of intense fury. His face grew dark red in rage and she could see his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Sabine didn’t care. It took only a few more minutes for a hush to descend on the tent when Prendergast pushed back his chair and shook Marcus’s and Bottomly’s hands in acknowledgement of defeat.
Marcus’s eyes sought her out immediately and she mouthed the words thank you before taking Judith’s hand and leading them both out of the tent.
“How marvelous, Lord Wolverstone has really caused an upset.” With a wink she said to Sabine, “I told you he was good.”
Sabine didn’t quite know how she felt. She had had her revenge, at last. She’d ruined Gower as she had so ardently desired, but somehow the victory seemed flat. She had not experienced the much anticipated sweetness of success. She began now to understand more clearly that when she had approached Marcus for help, she hadn’t been solely hoping to avenge her parent’s deaths. She’d hoped for—well, she didn’t really know what she’d hoped for.
Marcus. She realized she wanted Marcus to love her again. She almost doubled over in agony. Could this be her new beginning?
Fear invaded her body. If Gower was run out of England due to his inability to pay his debts, she’d have no excuse, no reason not to tell Marcus about the past. How would he react? Would he even care? It was both terrifying and exhilarating that soon she might be able to regain the happiness she’d been so sure of ten years ago.
Overcome by her conflicting emotions, Sabine slipped away to gather her thoughts. She walked toward the lake and peace flowed over her as she noted the King’s deer frolicking in the brilliant sunshine from across its shining surface.
She raised her face to the sun and whispered, “I’ve done it, Papa. You and mother can rest in peace now.”
Suddenly life was full of possibilities. A ray of hope burst within her and warmed her cold and tired soul. She didn’t fight the happiness that flooded through her, not this time. It was her turn to walk in the sun.
“You look rather pleased with yourself. I wonder why?”
A dark shadow descended over her bright day. She swung around at the sound of her nemesis’s voice and took a step back. Gower looked utterly enraged. He was standing far too close. Keeping calm, she replied, “It’s a beautiful day. Why would I not be happy?”
His mouth tugged on a cheroot. He blew the smoke insolently into her face before adding, “I think it has something to do with Marcus Danvers knocking Prendergast out of the tournament.” His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. “I couldn’t understand why Marcus would suddenly enter.” He moved closer. “It was you. You asked him to.” He towered over her threateningly but she refused to cower, not to this man, not ever again. Marcus’s victory had given her sudden strength.
He spoke through clenched teeth. “Do you know what else I’ve learned today?” His voice dropped to a menacing hiss, as, flicking the cheroot away, he grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh. But Sabine refused to acknowledge the pain. “A certain lady has been buying up all my vowels.” She peered over his shoulders. “Marcus won’t save you this time. He’s still playing.”
“Let go of me, you bastard.” Anger flared and she gave him a back hander across the face. He didn’t see it coming and it was enough to knock him off balance and for Sabine to break free of his hold. “You’re right! I did buy up your vowels. I hold your very existence in my hands. How does that feel?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the trickle of blood where her rings had caught his lip. Emboldened, she pushed on. “If you don’t leave England by the end of this week, I shall call in your vowels and let everyone know you’re bankrupt.” She leaned in closer, overcome by a surge of confidence. “I’ve always known how morally bankrupt you are. Now you’re going to be financially bankrupt too.”
He didn’t attack her as she’d expected—or perhaps even hoped. Her pistol was in the pocket of her skirt and she was prepared to use it unhesitatingly.
Instead, he snarled, “I don’t think so.” An evil smile broke over his lips. “You don’t want Marcus to know what happen
ed ten years ago. That’s why you came up with this silly plan and got Marcus to enter the tournament, isn’t it? You get your revenge and no one has to know what a little slut you were back then, especially not Marcus. You don’t want him to know under any circumstances because you understand what he would have to do.”
An icy uneasiness chilled her warmth. He moved closer once more. “What would you do to keep Marcus from learning the truth?” A finger roamed down her neck heading toward her bosom. His touch made her stomach heave. “You know what he’d do if he ever found out, don’t you? You also know that I’m deadly with a sword and if he issues a challenge, I get the choice of weapon.” He leaned in and spoke into her ear, his breath making her recoil in revulsion. “You will sign over all the vowels to me. And then you will leave England and go back to Italy where you belong. Besides, think of Alfredo. What if something were to happen to the boy…” He bit down hard on her ear and she had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Horrid memories of the past blazed to life again, paralyzing her with fear.
He stepped forward, viciously squeezing her breast. “And for all the trouble you’ve put me through, I think I’ll give myself a bonus. You are to come to my bed. He laughed at the look of utter horror on her face. “Why should Marcus have all this deliciousness?”
Sabine simply stood mute, all her dreams evaporating like a ghost racing the dawn. She stood shaking her head, unable to believe what was happening. Her brilliant plan lay in tatters at her feet.
He moved away from her as voices floated near them on the breeze. “Friday, it’s to be then. You’ll bring me the vowels on Friday. I’ve a house near Holborn which I use for entertaining. We’ll make a night of it.” He bent and kissed her hard on the lips. “I’ll be waiting.” With that he turned and left her standing alone in Richmond Park, a quaking mess of jangling anger and fear.
Her one moment of glory had been annihilated in a split second. Her enemy knew her too well. She had three days. She drew in a shuddering breath. Tears welled in her eyes. She would not let Gower win again. But she had to do this on her own. She would not risk Marcus getting hurt. She’d already hurt him enough.
She angrily wiped the tears from her eyes, pulled herself together and calmly walked back to where Judith waited for her with her band of merry followers.
There was only one thing to do. Give the vowels to Gower and then flee England, get her son to safety and protect Marcus from the truth.
Gower would be able to carry on with his life as if nothing was amiss once she left England, as she could never call in the vowels from Italy. He’d simply ignore them. Worse, far worse, she would have to give up her tentative hope of a life with Marcus. But then she didn’t even know if she stood a realistic chance of any life with him. Henry St. Giles was right. Marcus would be perfectly happy with Amy Shipton.
She didn’t know what devastated her the most. Knowing that she’d failed to inflict revenge on Gower or the fact that she’d never see Marcus again. She drew up short to re-consider her position.
She had three days only. It would take a bit of organizing to pack up her house, to cancel the lease and to book a passage back to Italy.
If she knew Marcus, he would call on her to make good on their wager tonight. He would not wait to taste his revenge.
She placed her hand over her heart, trying to control its fluttering. She squeezed her eyes tight. She could have one night at least.
Excitement replaced the pain; the sensation racing its way through her body like a raging river. It made her long to be in his arms and experience the delight she was certain she’d find there. Just for once, she wanted to make love with the man who’d owned her heart and soul for the last ten years.
After everything she’d endured, she deserved it.
They both deserved it and perhaps it would allow Marcus to find peace.
That would be her parting gift to him.
Pleading a headache, Sabine arranged for Lord Cornwall to escort Judith home, her friend’s appreciative smile indicating her pleasure with that arrangement, and left. She had much to accomplish before tonight for it was her intention to make her part of the wager a night that would last her a life time.
Chapter Nine
It had been a long day and an even longer night. It was close to midnight before Marcus finally won the tournament. The pressure had eased off him once he’d ensured Gower was ruined at the end of round three.
He and his sixth round partner, were victorious—the outright winners. Although he’d won one-hundred thousand pounds, he didn’t care about the money. He was satisfied that Sabine had been able to avenge her parent’s treatment by Gower.
Yet he felt uneasy and somewhat troubled. He should be feeling elated. He’d won their wager and Sabine would be in his bed very soon. A sharp pang of regret rocked him as he made his way toward his carriage, undoing his cravat as he walked. His victory felt hollow. He’d forced her to her come to him like a whore—bought and paid for.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
A sharp pang of regret sliced through him. What he wanted was for her to come to him of her own accord. To tell him she’d made a mistake all those years ago and that he was the only man she’d ever loved. Then he wanted to start to learn how to believe in her and trust her again.
He laughed at himself. He wanted a fantasy.
He wearily climbed into his carriage, uncertain of his next move, when a movement flickered in the darkness and caught his eye. “Who’s there?”
A vision of beauty suddenly leaned forward, visible in the moonlight spilling in from the open carriage door.
It was Sabine.
“I thought I’d save you the bother of hunting for me. Don’t say I never pay my debts. Thank you, Marcus. Thank you for today.”
He didn’t say a word. His decision was made the instant he locked eyes with Sabine. He closed the door and banged on the roof. The hatch opened. “A change of plans, Jeeves; take me to Roberson House.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Marcus leaned back against the squab, cursing the rapid beating in his chest. He was almost giddy from desire. The woman who’d haunted his every waking moment and pleasured him in his dreams was his to take.
When he entered and found Sabine seated inside, the impact of all he’d won hit him like a rampaging bull.
She was finally his.
He wished she’d stop licking her lips, it was driving him insane.
Giving into his need he said, “Come here,” and a thrill raced down his spine as she readily obeyed. He pulled her onto his lap. “I can’t wait.” He kissed her passionately. He hadn’t meant to admit his craving for her, or to succumb to his body’s driving need. “I’ve thought of nothing but undressing you since I saw you that first night at Lady Somerset’s ball.”
“Marcus…” She shivered at the desperate desire that swept over her body when his mouth settled on the swell of her bosom.
“I promised myself that when I entered your body it would not be a rushed coupling. I’d savor you until I’d had my fill. But God help me, you are driving me to the brink…”
With a curse, he rose and placed her on the seat opposite and went down on his knees before her.
He slid his hands up her limbs, pushing her skirts up as he went. His lips found the inside of her thigh and he seared her skin with his searching kisses. She could barely sit still. Her breath came in small rapid pants.
The sensuous path he made up the inside of her leg spoke of pleasure beyond imagining. She’d heard whispers about a man’s intimate kiss, but she had never experienced it. Sabine had no idea that it would feel so exciting, and yet so wicked, all at the same time.
“We don’t have enough time for what I’d really love to do to you, with you, but I can’t wait to taste you.” His voice was intoxicatingly sensuous. “I swear I’ll have you screaming my name before we reach Roberson House.”
Desire played over her skin in ascending ripples of resp
onse. When she looked into his eyes, their color dark like molten honey, her legs parted of their own accord, allowing him greater access. His groan only inflamed her passion.
He used his hands to part her even further, until she felt open and exposed. He kissed higher up the inside of her leg, his lips setting her on fire. A soft moan escaped and she didn’t care.
“Marcus, oh, God…” she gasped into the confines of the carriage.
“Don’t hold back. I want to hear your cries.”
She could feel how wet he was making her and he hadn’t even touched her yet. When the touch of his fingers finally came, the beguiling strokes raised a throbbing need inside her that built and grew until she could barely sit still.
His tongue traced a molten path closer to the apex between her thighs, leaving a cool trail behind; elsewhere her skin was hot with a feverish need. His unhurried movements fed her impatience. She let out another enraptured moan as his tongue swept closer to the part of her that desperately wanted his attention.
Just as she felt his warm breath at her core, he suddenly drew back. She looked down. Her skirts were around her waist, laying her feminine flesh naked to his possessive gaze. He reached out and ran a finger over her glistening womanhood and then raised his wet finger to his mouth. She could see it covered in her juices. He sucked it and licked his lips.
“Ten years. I’ve waited ten years for this. You’re worth it.” He didn’t hide the hint of smug male satisfaction in his voice.
She should have felt ashamed but she didn’t. She’d never responded sexually to any man before; yet, he only had to look at her and she grew wet, But wet for him alone.
She spread her legs wider, biting her lip to stop herself from begging him to continue kissing her.
Finally, after one more lingering look, he leaned forward and touched her with his tongue, just lightly caressing her. Her body recognized the sensation and she pushed her hips forward begging for more.
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