Knaves' Wager (24 page)

Miss Glenwood appeared to consider. "Perhaps you're right," she said after a moment. "It must be the strain telling on me. Aunt won't let me stir a step without her any more. I assumed that was because she didn't know what else to do with herself. And, naturally, when I heard all that long lecture about you, I was bound to think she must be a bit irrational, How could she imagine I didn't know all that already?"

The cloud within seemed to grow heavier and darker then.

"About me?" Lord Robert said uneasily. "I hope she wasn't repeating a lot of idle gossip."

"Not at all. But such obvious facts, I'd be utterly feather-brained not to be aware of them. Really, there was no need to tell me you couldn't possibly be a serious suitor. Even if you weren't desperately in love with that beautiful Frenchwoman, what on earth would you want with an ignorant country girl? Certainly I'm not grand enough for you, and naturally your family must object. I couldn't blame them, could I? After all, my portion would hardly keep you in neck-cloths."

The sophisticated man of the world blushed hotly, which must have vexed him, because he grew altogether unrea-sonably irate at the perfectly reasonable way in which Miss Glenwood had just discounted him.

He did not see, he told her, why there was any need for her aunt to warn her against him. Had he behaved improp-erly? He hadn't even attempted to kiss her — though he had no doubt Ventcoeur had, such an unprincipled, crude char-acter he was. Her aunt didn't warn Miss Glenwood against any other fellows, though Lord Robert had seen them all ogling and gawking in the most
obscene
way. As to portions, he had far less need of a huge dowry than Beldon had.

"I may be a younger son," he raged, "but I'm certainly not so pinched for funds that I have to dodge the bailiff. I'm very shocked, Miss Glenwood, indeed I am, that you'd for a minute think I'd ever marry for money, or be looking out for some duke's spoiled, stuck-up daughter just to please my stiff-necked family."

"Of course not," she answered calmly. "That would be so silly, when you practically have a wife already — and very beautiful she is, too. Also clever, I expect, or you'd be excessively bored, being so very clever yourself."

"Miss Glenwood," he said, acutely uncomfortable, "this is not a proper subject to discuss."

"Very well. What would you rather talk about?"

While he was desperately seeking a topic, his cousin's spirited cattle began snorting and prancing with impatience. Experienced horsewoman that she was, Miss Glenwood's gesture must have been instinctive. She only reached for the ribbons, and her small gloved hand touched his.

Then she blushed… and bit her lip… and hastily folded her hands in her lap.

Lord Robert looked at her pink, downcast profile and at the soft, full lip caught between her perfect white teeth, then at the dainty gloved hands.

While he was looking, the ribbons somehow transferred to one hand while the other took hers.

Her long lashes swept up slowly.

"Oh, Lord," he said.

"You should not be holding my hand," she said softly.

"I know," he said. "I can't help it. Miss Glenwood."

"Yes?" Her face was lifted to his, her lips slightly parted. There was an odd ringing in his ears, and Lord Robert had a curious sensation of falling — which, in a manner of speaking, he
was
, because his own face lowered to meet hers… and before he knew what he'd done, he'd kissed her.

Being a level-headed miss, the young lady ought to have boxed his ears. She did not. Thus the kiss continued a deal longer than it should have done. Long enough so that, when he finally remembered to stop, he could not possibly pretend it had been a mere friendly token of goodwill.

"Oh, my," she said.

"Miss Glenwood, I do beg your pardon. I don't know — "

She gazed at him in admiration. "Oh, but I think you
do
. That was ever so lovely. Really, it was a revelation. Rodger las never kissed me like that. All I ever get from him or James is a peck on the cheek, and only when they're in exceedingly good humour."

"Yes, Miss Glenwood, but I'm not your brother. I wouldn't
be
your brother," he added vehemently, "for anything in this world."

"Wouldn't you? What would you like to be?"

Lord Robert took a deep breath, tore his gaze from her blue, unwinking one, and stared fixedly at the horses.

"I don't mean to be forward, but I do wish you'd settle it in your mind," she said. "You can't be in love with two women at the same time, you know, and if you're not in love with me, it would be most unkind to confuse me with such agreeable kisses. I can't afford to be muddled at present. I have too many responsibilities."

With the matter thus set so plainly before him, Lord Robert could hardly foil to grasp it. In fact, he was mortified. He could not understand how he could have been so obtuse.

"I'm afraid I'm very much in love with you, Miss Glen — Cecily," he said, his face scarlet.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I was beginning to feel quite ridiculous. I've been in love with you ever so long."

Relief quickly succeeded astonishment. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. There could be no other response to such a sweet, frank avowal but another fervent kiss. But as he drew away, the reality of his situation hurtled upon Lord Robert like a runaway carriage. Her disapproving aunt, bound to throw obstacles in their way… as though his own family wouldn't be quick enough to do that, though she was hardly in the same category as Elise — Good God! Elise!

"Egad!" he blurted out. "Now I'm in a devil of a fix."

"Not at all," came the confident response. "So long as we've got matters straight between us, we can mend everything else — because two heads are ever so much better than one, aren't they?"

16

Whatever other problems two heads might solve, that of Elise was Lord Robert's alone. No gentleman could possibly expect a gently bred innocent to advise him how to be rid of his mistress, especially when he'd solemnly pledged to many that mistress in two months' time.

Accordingly, feeling like the lowest species of cur, Lord Robert drove to his lodgings.

As he opened the door, the scented atmosphere nearly turned a stomach that was already in knots. His mistress's affectionate greeting sent his conscience into screaming fits. He thought perhaps his confession could wait until tomorrow, but he'd no sooner thought it than he remembered Cecily's sweet, innocent mouth. He backed away as Elise moved to embrace him.

"What is this?" she cried. "You cannot be angry with me. What has your poor Lise done to make you so cold?" She retreated as well. "Ah, but you are often so, I find. I think so much time in grand company makes you despise me."

He swallowed. "I don't despise you. Not at all. You've been — you've been wonderful to me. Better than I deserve. That is to say, I don't know why you've stuck it out so long."

She turned glistening eyes upon him. "So long? But I told . you
forever
. Have I not promised? Have I not pledged myself to you?"

"Yes, well, maybe you shouldn't have." Lord Robert took another deep breath, made himself look her in the eye, and said, "I'm afraid I've fallen in love with someone else."

Her dark eyes opened wide in shock. He turned away and moved to the mantel.

"I didn't mean to," he said, picking up one of the framed silhouettes that stood there. "It just happened. I think it happened weeks ago, but it never occurred to me. I never dreamed I could love anyone else. But I do, and — and so I came to ask you to let me go. You can't want to marry a man who's in love with another woman."

He replaced the picture and waited.

There was a long silence. Then she said, her voice hurt but gentle, "Ah, my poor Robin. You have some infatuation, I comprehend. Well, I must be patient. It will fade, and you will find me still waiting."

"Elise, I'm sorry, but it's not like that," he answered, vexed at her humouring him. "I'm going to marry her — as soon as I can."

Mademoiselle Fourgette promptly swooned.

An hour later, Robert drove away, in worse case than when he'd arrived. He'd talked until he was blue in the face, and Elise — usually so perceptive — had been utterly unable to understand him. She was thoroughly convinced his new passion was but a whim.

At length, torn with guilt and not a little frustrated, he'd tried to buy his mistress off. Half his trust fund he'd promised. It would be hers forever. He'd have papers drawn up immediately.

Then she'd fainted again, and when she revived, there was no talking to her at all, because she was hysterical. She could not think, she told him. Her head was spinning. It was too much to take in at once. He must give her time to recover from the shock. He could not be so cruel as to press her now — and to speak of money!

Still, Robert told himself as he brought the carriage to the mews, he would press, because she must be got to go away peaceably. Good God — what if she took to haunting him, as Lady Caroline had haunted Byron all last year?

What if they met up in public and Elise created a scene?

She very well might. Julian had warned about that only the other day. Cecily might understand, but her aunt — Gad, if Elise enacted any scenes in front of the widow, he and Cecily would be done for.

Julian. Of course. Julian always knew what to do. First, unfortunately, there'd be hell to pay about borrowing the curricle. Still, he'd only tip up fierce for a while, and after, he'd order brandy. Then Robert would ask his advice.

Accordingly, when Julian had returned to the house to change for the evening, Lord Robert squared his shoulders, marched up the stairs, and knocked at the door.

He found the marquess standing by the window, staring out. "What do you want now?" Julian asked.

Stammering a good deal, Robert made his confession to his cousin's back.

"Sims would not have let you take the curricle if he did not trust your skill," was the dispassionate response. "Feel free to drive yourself to perdition."

"Yes, well, that's very kind of you," Robert said nervously.

"Indeed, I am a model of every Christian virtue."

Julian turned round. His face was its usual mask of boredom. Obviously, then, he could not be miserable, regardless what Cecily believed. Tired, perhaps.

"I hate to bother you," Robert said, trying for airiness, "but I'm in a devil of a fix, don't you know? You see, I borrowed the curricle so I could take Miss Glenwood driving — "

The black eyebrows rose slightly. "Her aunt permitted the girl to drive with you?"

"Well, not exactly — though I don't see why she shouldn't. Anyhow, she'd gone to Lady Enders's. Still, Mrs. Wellwicke. didn't raise any sort of fuss. Don't see why she should. No harm in a fellow taking a girl out for a drive in an open — "

"Good God."

"I beg your pardon?"

The marquess turned back to the window. "Get out," he said.

"But, Julian, I have to speak with you. It's very important. Elise — "

"Go to hell."

Man of honour or no, Lord Robert saw no alternative but to confide these latest developments to Cecily. Julian clearly was not going to be any help. He was apparently in a perfectly hideous fit of the blue devils. Even Hillard had quietly advised Robert to keep out of his cousin's way.

If Julian wouldn't help pacify Elise, the poor distracted woman might very well do something rash. It was only fair to prepare Cecily for that eventuality.

The information was relayed that night in short bursts while they danced.

Cecily accepted the news with her usual imperturbability, and told him not to worry about
that
. The major problem at present was Aunt Lilith.

"She was terribly disappointed in me because I went driving with you," said Cecily. "And so we had another heart-to- heart talk, and now you and I must be exceedingly cautious."

Caution, it turned out, meant that Lord Robert was not to attend every single affair she did. Cecily had promised her aunt she'd not spend so much time with him.

Cecily had not promised anything else, which must have made her conscience perfectly easy regarding the notes which thereafter travelled surreptitiously between the marquess's and the widow's town houses.

While these letters were being exchanged, the owner of a few dozen far more torrid ones was weighing her prospects.

Elise suspected within three days of the event that the widow had given Lord Brandon his
conge
. Elise heard of his reappearances at several of his old haunts, and saw him herself at the performance of
Othello
.

Therefore, she put off Lord Robert, visited with her friends, and listened to the shop girls' talk. Before a week had passed, her suspicions were confirmed: Society noted with disappointment that Lord Brandon had once again vanished into the depths of the
demimonde
.

Little more than a fortnight remained of the stipulated seduction period. He would lose, as Elise had been certain he would. She was equally certain his pride would not permit him to revert to his previous threats.

Perhaps he no longer cared what became of the letters or of Robert. On the other hand, what of the girl Robert was so eager to marry? Surely the marquess would wish to forward this oh-so-suitable match. In that case, he was bound to offer more than a mere half of Robert's paltry trust fund — and more likely to pay. Once wed, Robert might conveniently forget what he owed his mistress for two years' fidelity. Besides, Robert could not legally promise any portion of his trust fund until he was twenty-five. He might be wed before then.

Mille. Fourgette concluded that, of her two options, the marquess was the lesser risk. She would gamble on him.

When, at the end of her week's recovery, Lord, Robert called to renew his pleas, Elise was adamant: she would
never
give him up. He'd made a terrible mistake, but she'd forgive him, and would wait until he came to his senses. She did not, however, promise to wait quietly.

My Darling Cecily,