A Wager for Love Page 6

  Lady Elizabeth, with a courage Lavinia had not guessed at, threatened, "Lord Arnedale shall learn of this insult to his sister."

  Lavinia, starting forward made an attempt to check her, but too late, the man had seen her gesture. His voice was patently amused now. "I think not, My Lady. Indeed. unless I am mistaken, and I am sure I am not, that would be the very last thing your cousin wants, wouldn’t it, Miss Davenham?" he taunted.

  Dumbly, Lavinia turned away, trying to control the tears that were threatening.

  "You see," continued the man pleasantly, "I fear if Lord Arnedale were to learn of this little escapade. he might feel disposed to seek retribution, and I’m afraid if he did he would surely lose his life. Do I make myself clear?"

  Lavinia looked pleadingly at her cousin. "I pray you say nothing of this, Elizabeth."

  "So, if you are now ready, Miss Davenham." It was a statement not a question, and before she could reply he swung her easily out of the carriage and up before him on his horse. He closed the door, leaning forward again to address a last word of warning to Lady Elizabeth. "Remember, My Lady, if you have any regard for your cousin. you will say nothing of this. As for Lord Arnedale. you may be sure I shall advise him of my intentions myself." With this cryptic utterance he let up the window of the coach and nodded to the two men standing guard over the coachman and postilion. "Right, let them go."

  For a second he remained still watching the coach driving on down the road. Then, wheeling his mount round, he murmured, "That was most sensible of you, Miss Davenham. I’m relieved to see you didn’t make the mistake of thinking I was bluffing."

  "You could hang for this," was the only reply she could give him.

  "Oh, I think not," he mused. The figure in front of him remained stiff and unbending, as Lavinia held herself as far away from contact with his body as she could.

  His laughter jarred in her ears. "Well, Miss Davenham, if you have nothing further to say, let us be on our way. I must say you appear to be remarkably calm."

  "Surely you did not expect me not to recognise you?" she asked in a tight voice.

  "Dear me, you flatter me indeed. We meet but for the veriest moment and yet you recall me instantly."

  Lavinia ground her teeth in impotent rage. They had scarce covered two hundred yards when the man reined in his horse. "We have a fair distance to cover tonight, and whilst this method of transport is most romantic, I fear ‘tis a little uncomfortable.” He continued in a mocking tone. "What, no protestations, no pleas to be released instantly."

  No, thought Lavinia fiercely to herself, because that is what you want, you want me to humble myself, well I shan’t.

  Having made up her mind on that point, she was surprised to hear him call. "Henry, bring out the coach if you please."

  A luxurious travelling coach, built for speed, a very grand affair in black and silver slung on high swan's neck springs, swung into view.

  "Don’t bother to cry out," he warned. "My men will not make a move to help you."

  "So why warn me?" she asked spiritedly.

  "Merely to save you any embarrassment," he replied coldly.

  "You amaze me. I had thought my feelings of little concern to you."

  There was no reply. He swung out of the saddle, lifting up his arms to help her down. Instinctively she whipped her hands behind her back, a mutinous look on her face. He laughed softly, removing his mask. "Come, I own I prefer my women a little high-spirited, but you have nothing to gain by acting so."

  "Your likes and dislikes are nothing to me."

  "Oh but they will be," he assured her. "Besides, think of your brother and his debts. Remember, I still hold his notes."

  She glared at him, her whole body stiffening. Remember! How she wished she could forget the whole unpleasant incident. As he lifted her into the waiting coach, she said, "I cannot see what you hope to gain by abducting me in this fashion."

  "No? How very obtuse of you to be sure. My other, er, victims, have always been so sure of my intentions."

  "Your other victims," she stuttered. "You mean you make a practice of this?"

  "You might say that," admitted the Earl, amusement rippling through his voice. "However, in your case, there is one slight difference‑I intend to marry you."

  Lavinia gasped anew at his effrontery. She was unwilling to admit‑even to herself‑that until he had voiced his it intentions, she had feared there might be a far more sinister reason for his abduction, namely revenge for her actions earlier in the day.

  "Marry me . . she said in strangled tones.

  "Relieved?" he taunted.

  Lavinia bit her lip. This was dangerous. From the moment she had first set eyes on him, she had been aware of a feeling of unease, which no amount of sensible lectures to herself on the subject of formidable-looking men with dark mocking faces, did anything to dispel. Witness his comment of a moment ago. He was too astute by far. She must be more careful or else he would be able to read her every thought like a book. "Don't be so foolish," she scolded herself. "He is but a man and mortal. Don’t let him overawe you." With these praiseworthy intentions in mind, she rallied a little and retaliated. "No indeed. Why should I be relieved? You cannot really think I wish to be married to you."

  "Wish it or not, believe me, my dear, after this gets out you would fall on my neck and weep tears of gratitude to be offered marriage."

  Seeing her stricken face as the truth of his words sank in, he went on smoothly. "Ah yes, just so . . . However, never fear, it will not get out, for I intend that we shall be married this very night."

  "How very considerate to be sure," replied Lavinia, unable to hide her bitterness.

  The Earl’s eyebrows rose. "Considerate? Acquit me of that, my dear. It is merely that my wife, like Ceasar's, must be above reproach."

  Lavinia could only stare at him in stunned disbelief. She could still hardly believe that this was happening to her. It was like a dreadful nightmare, only this time there would be no waking up. She glanced up, caught the Earl's sardonic gaze on her, flinched and looked hurriedly away. For sheer arrogance she had never met his equal, and in Rome, where the nobility held themselves very much aloof from the common herd, she had experienced arrogance in plenty. She searched her mind for some suitably quelling remark and, finding none, continued to stare out of the window into the pitch black darkness of the night.

  The coach was moving now at a smooth, fast pace, so much more comfortable than her cousin’s carriage. Her tormentor lolled easily opposite her, placing his feet on the pale blue satin covers of the seat. He did not seem disposed to make idle conversation, but something pushed her to say,

  "What I cannot understand is why you should want a wife

  at all."

  The eyebrows shot up again. "Did I say I wanted a wife? How very remiss of me to be sure. ‘Needed’ was the word I should have used, and in any case I really feel my reasons, such as they are, can be of little interest to you."

  Her face flaming, Lavinia fell silent, as the hooded eyes rested consideringly on her. "I suggest you try to get some sleep, we have three or four hours travelling ahead of us. I should hate you to fall asleep during the ceremony." So saying, he lay back against the seat and closed his eyes.

  Pride forbade Lavinia from asking exactly where he was taking her and where their marriage was to take place. Gritting her teeth, she watched him covertly for a few minutes. Odious creature, how could he lie there for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Her pretty mouth curled in something resembling a passable copy of the Earl’s own famous sneer. Of course, she was forgetting that this was not out of the ordinary for him. "Why," she thought to herself, stoking the fires of her anger, "I dare I swear he does this every week."

  Seeing that this train of thought was going to be unprofitable to say the least, she pondered on a way to escape from her dilemma. The coach was travelling far too fast for her to contemplate jumping out. Her eyes rested on the Earl. He was breathing
easily, the long dark lashes lying like twin fans against the pale skin.

  Lifting her eyes from his recumbent figure, she looked idly round the carriage. Suddenly she stiffened. The Earl was wearing a greatcoat of black cloth, carelessly open, and from one of the pockets protruded a pistol, the silver mountings picked out in the bright moonlight entering the coach. Lavinia was all too aware of her quickened heartbeat. Surely he must hear it. But no, apparently not. That must be the same pistol he had put at Elizabeth's head. What could it be more fitting than that it be used against him. She edged forward experimentally‑there was no response from the Earl. She coughed, quite loudly. He did not move a muscle. She would set one last test. Keeping her eyes on his face, she picked up her reticule, holding it firmly in one hand, and then let it drop with a resounding bang to the floor of the carriage. Nothing happened. The delicate lashes never even quivered. Breathing out carefully, and moving forward gingerly, she stretched out a hand. She could not quite reach. Wriggling a little nearer to the edge of the seat, she tried again. This time she was successful. The metal of the pistol was cold to her touch. Her fingers tightened round it and she made to pull it from the pocket.

  With appalling speed the somnolent figure moved. Her wrist was arrested and enclosed in a merciless grip, causing her to cry out instinctively with the pain, her eyes flying to the Earl's face in chagrin. He was watching her with lazy amusement. "A nice try, my child, but I am too old a hand at this game to be caught out like that. Tell me, what did you intend to do once you had the pistol? Shoot me?" He laughed a little unkindly. "Still, perhaps it would be safer if I removed temptation from your grasp."

  Whilst she looked on in wretched dismay, he opened the window and threw the pistol out. "Now come over here."

  "Why?"

  "Why?" One mobile eyebrow quirked, "Because I say so, my child. Now are you going to come, or must I come and get you?" he asked with silky menace.

  She got to her feet, nearly falling as the coach lurched a little, only the Earl’s grip on her wrist preventing her from losing her balance.

  "Ah yes, that was most wise of you, my dear."

  Wordlessly she subsided in the seat next to him, stroking her bruised wrist. Once again he composed himself for sleep. For half an hour Lavinia sat rigidly staring out into the darkness, all too conscious of the man next to her, as every jolt and sway of the coach brought him into close contact with her. She could almost believe he was doing it out of sheer devilment, and was not asleep at all. If so .. . She tossed her head. She would not give him the satisfaction of betraying her fear. Eventually, however, despite her resolve, her eyelids started to droop as the swaying motion lulled her into sleep. Her eyes closed and her breathing deepened as her body relaxed.

  The man at her side, smiling a little ruefully, contemplated her from beneath lowered lids. Her head started to fall, a sudden bend in the road threw her against him and her head fell onto his shoulder. The saturnine features tightened for a second, a strange unfathomable expression crossing his face fleetingly. He scrutinised his now defenceless bride-to-be. Not strictly a beauty, but with a certain something despite that. Spirited, certainly. His mouth thinned a little. Too spirited, she would soon learn that he would brook no crossing of his will. The Earl admitted to himself that he knew little of gently reared, virtuous young ladies. He smiled in the manner so familiar to his acquaintances. One woman was much like another. With this thought he closed his eyes.

  The coach flew on through the night, and Lavinia slept dreamlessly against the Earl’s shoulder. The coach slowed and turned into a drive, flashing through the gates and on up the carriage way.

  The lodgekeeper, disturbed from his slumbers to open the gates, watched for a second before returning to the warmth of his bed, grumbling to his spouse. "The new Earl, a resty devil. You never know when he's going to turn up, and a woman with him this time too. His grandfather would turn in his grave if he knew."

  His wife answered drowsily. "It will be the new Countess. The housekeeper was telling me that they are to be married from the hall."

  * * *

  Before the carriage jolted to a standstill, the Earl gently pushed the still slumbering Lavinia upright, an expression of fleeting amusement softening the harsh features, so that when she did awake it was to find the Earl already stepping from the carriage. Despite her weariness and fear, Lavinia could not repress a small start of delight as she had her first glimpse of the house. It was old, Tudor, she guessed, and although it was dark. she could make out the E shape of it, the walls clothed in a creeping vine,. framing the mullioned windows.

  "Oh how lovely." she murmured.

  "So you approve your new home if not your husband," remarked the Earl drily, but before she could reply, the door swung open to reveal a large hall illuminated by what seemed to be dozens of enormous chandeliers. Saltaire followed her eyes with amusement. "A fancy of my grandfather's. He saw these in Italy and brought them back with him." He shrugged his shoulders. "A trifle ornate for my taste, but at least they light the place well."

  "Yes indeed." murmured Lavinia. "I have seen many like them in the palaces in Venice, They make them there on a small island."

  If the Earl was indulging in this small-talk out of politeness for his bride-to-be’s natural diffidence, he did not betray it, merely smiling coolly.

  A small, plump woman bustled forward, bobbing a curtsey. "My Lord, Miss Davenham." Lavinia stiffened at the woman's use of her name, but the tight grip of Saltaire’s fingers on the flesh of her upper arm warned her not to betray her surprise.

  "Is everything ready. Mrs. Robbins?"

  "Yes, My Lord. The vicar has been here this hour past." She turned to Lavinia, her face wreathecl in smiles, "We were all so pleased when we heard you wanted to be married in the family chapel, Miss. It will be so romantic,just the two of you." She heaved a sigh. "All the Earls have been married from here."

  "But not at the dead of night. surely?" Lavinia asked drily, her sense of the ridiculous coming to her rescue.

  The grip on her arm tightened again. "We have already kept the vicar waiting long enough. You have no need to embellish yourself, my love, you look enchanting enough."

  Steadfastly, Lavinia refused to meet his eyes, knowing if she did he would see the fear they held. Mrs. Robbins, seemingly completely unaware of the undercurrent of hostility between them, held out her hands for Lavinia’s cloak, saying admiringly, "Such a lovely gown, if I may be so bold as to say so, Miss."

  Smiling a little sardonically, Saltaire led her forward, out of the hall and down a narrow stone flagged passage. "This is the old part of the house," he murmured softly. "Rumour has it that one of my ancestors found this passage extremely useful; it used to run for a couple of miles beyond the house, but it fell into disuse and had to be blocked up when my grandfather was first married. At one time the chapel was used regularly by the household and the family."

  Lavinia shivered a little as the damp cold of the stone penetrated her thin soles, and she knew from the amused glance her companion gave her, that he was aware of her unease. Suddenly the passage opened out into a small but extremely beautiful chapel, and in any other circumstances she would have thought a wedding held here would indeed be blessed.

  The ceremony was simple and brief. The ring the Earl produced was heavy and old fashioned and slightly on the large side. Eyes heavy with tears, she felt the weight of it on her finger. It was no heavier than the weight upon her heart at this travesty of the marriage she had one day hoped might be hers. There was silence in the chapel. She glanced upward to find three pairs of eyes fixed on her face. The vicar, a small, smiling person, eyed her kindly. "You may kiss the bride, My Lord."

  Lavinia shrank instinctively and just had time to see the flash of mockery in the satanic face before it blotted out the light. The Earl’s mouth brushed hers lightly in the merest breath and then he lifted his head, but not before whispering languidly in her ear. "Such dread, my dear. Anyone would think you have n
ever been kissed before."

  She trembled violently, refusing to meet his gaze, but he was not to be thwarted.

  "Well?" he prompted.

  She glanced round wildly, but they were completely alone. The vicar was busying himself about the altar, and had his back to them. The housekeeper and the butler, who had witnessed the ceremony, had tactfully melted away.

  Slowly and deliberately she rubbed at her mouth with her handkerchief, saying coldly, "I have received kisses a plenty, Sir, but none as unwelcome as yours."

  His eyes darkened and she felt the hiss of his breath as he stepped forward gripping her arms painfully. "You will regret those words, Madam wife, no-one speaks to me like that."