The Bride Price (24 page)

She trudged back to her cottage after pleading a headache to Sarah. The reasons for telling Sarah everything had become jumbled and confused, and she needed to think first.

She opened her locket, irritated by the need to remove the sketch mixed with the desire to keep it forever. She removed the locket instead and set it on the side table. She tried not to think of rich brown hair and warm aquamarine eyes turned mocking and sneering.

She never saw the flower or the note that was snatched from her pillow by foreign hands before she made it home.

A return to London for the tournament tonight! Invitations have been served, servants have been installed, and the games will be merry and fierce. Who are those lucky enough to have a front-row seat? Only the very cream of society—those who look to welcome a new star to their fold.

T
he box arrived as Sebastien was tiredly fumbling for a button. The night had been hell. He’d pictured her face over and over again, stunned, betrayal just starting to surface along the edges of her expression as the duke watched, smirking. He’d had to leave abruptly, to say nothing in response to the duke’s words. He would have committed murder. His fingers had itched to wrap around the duke’s neck and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze until there was nothing left between his hands.

It had taken everything in him to walk away from the urge. Everything.

Benedict had completely gone to pieces, sure that he was going to extract vengeance in the way
he had threatened before. But his chest was so full of hate for the duke that there was little room left for Benedict. He’d simply turned and walked away from him as well.

He examined the wrapped box, not wanting to open it. His butler had told him that the only message that accompanied it was, “You earned it.”

He pushed the last button into place. He’d left Caroline a note explaining, probably poorly, the circumstances. Depending on how the message was read, it could be a positive—that he earned it, as in her heart—which frankly made him shake a bit. Or a sarcastic negative depending on what was inside.

He pushed aside the twine and opened the box to see…the ruby necklace. Something tightened in his chest. Sarcasm then. She hadn’t forgiven him even after reading his note. Not that he had expected it. Things rarely worked out the way he wanted them to.

He closed the lid and tossed the box onto the nearest table. The expensive bauble inside thumped as it hit the wood with jarring finality.

He stepped into his closed carriage, a ridiculously expensive purchase that he had made after seeing Benedict look enviously at a similar model one night. He grimaced in the dark over his show of immaturity.

The streets passed by and the wheels of the carriage clicked along the stones, rotating and ongoing, an echo of his life. Alone, but forever moving forward.

The vehicle stopped at a prospering section of
town. A new, tasteful gaming establishment had been rented for the night, all the facilities in place for an evening full of monetary debauchery. He resolutely stepped down and looked up to see the lights brightly flaring in all the windows. No sleep for the wicked tonight. He walked up the stairs.

“Mr. Deville.” The man at the front bowed. “You’ll find them gathered in the back salon.”

He exchanged a handshake and a palmed note with the man and headed for the indicated room. In the gambling world it was rare not to know or at least be aware of the major players and the managers at each establishment.

The others were hunkered around the room in the back. Timtree raised his glass, and Sloane gave him a smile. William Manning nodded without judgment. The rest didn’t look nearly so friendly, which was fine with him.

The duke and the rest of the older gentlemen, minus Cheevers, who was conspicuously absent, were seated around the area with drinks in hand, or cigars in mouth. Sebastien steadily avoided looking at the duke, his fingernails curling into his palms. There were another ten or so anonymous-looking men standing at the far edge of the room.

The last man entered the area, and Viscount Dullesfield stood. “Very good. The rules are very simple. Each of you will receive one thousand pounds tonight to play, and the person with the most money at the end of the night will be declared the winner.”

And they claimed to be worried about cheating. It would be like a feast for starving men where all
the dishes were laid out at once before they were told to have at it.

“You will each be shadowed in order to keep play fairly aboveboard. You cannot bribe these men as we’ve already ensured that they cannot be bought.”

He thought that highly unlikely. Anyone could be bought. Isn’t that what they were counting on with this tournament?

“Your shadows will rotate on a previously arranged basis. Just pretend they aren’t there, and play well.”

“What games should we play?” Everly asked.

“Do I look like your nursemaid, Mr. Everly? Play whatever you wish, and with whomever you wish. There are plenty of outsiders here tonight who wish to play against the contestants of this tournament. It is only the amount of your purse that will matter in the end.” He pointed to a few men standing near the entrance. “Empty your pockets and give the contents to these men. They will return your items to you at the end of the night.”

One night of gambling? More bets. Apathy overtook Sebastien as he surrendered his pocket money to a keeper. They were each given their hefty packet of one thousand pounds. He looked at the denominations, then at the faces of some of the other men. Stakes would be high tonight. He was used to such things, but some of the men present never left their fluffy boudoirs.

As they made their way into the main room, he tossed around the idea of just sitting at the edges with his thousand pounds in hand. At least half of the contestants would gamble it all away. Another
quarter would lose most of it before the night was out. If he just kept his thousand pounds, he’d likely be near the top and the others would be aghast at him not playing.

He mulled it over, then threw himself into a chair at the hazard table. He tossed fifty pounds onto the table. Self-destruction at its finest.

“Deville.”

He looked up to see the Marquess of Edsfield address him before sitting down.

Sebastien’s curiosity overcame his malaise for a moment. “My lord.”

“Call me Edsfield, Deville.”

As if they were on the same social level. Curiouser and curiouser. The Marquess of Edsfield had never given him a moment’s notice before.

Sebastien nodded and made another bet. He toyed with an unlit cheroot while Edsfield made his bet, far more conservative in nature.

“I hear congratulations are in order.”

Sebastien watched the dice. “For what?”

“For the competition.”

He indicated the pile of money. “It isn’t over yet. I’m hardly the only one at the top.”

“Ah.” Edsfield smiled. “But there are but a few games left and in some of your favorite pastimes, yes?”

He stopped fiddling and lit his cheroot. “Perhaps.”

“Then I can but give early congratulations—hedging a bet, if you will.”

He exhaled and watched the marquess place another bet.

“What are your thoughts on the Corn Laws, Deville?”

Sebastien placed his next bet, trying not to betray his surprise. Half of him was sick with the whole thing, and the other half was eyeing the power already being laid before him if he but reached out to take it.

“Edsfield, what are you up to, my good man.” Baron Lockwood approached from his other side. “Not troubling Mr. Deville with any of your twaddle, surely.”

The marquess looked like he was going to object, but then he leaned back. “Not at all. Join us, Lockwood.”

Lockwood took the seat, reaching over to shake his hand. “Deville, good to see you back in London.”

The world had gone mad. Irrevocably mad. “Likewise.”

“Been reading about the competition in the papers for weeks, and the wife is ready to murder someone to get an invitation for the final days. Wouldn’t miss tonight’s events for anything.”

Sebastien gave a cursory look around the hell, half expecting the madness to produce the baroness and a dozen of her closest twittering confidantes.

“Gads man, of course I didn’t bring her. Can you imagine? I hear the widow Noke has been trying to get into one of the clubs for years though. A lovely pair on that one. Enough to tempt any man to want to gain her subscription. Prime property.”

Harriet had once promised him unimaginable
pleasures if he’d sneak her into a gaming hell. The thought of both the woman and the activity left him completely uninspired now.

“On that note, there’s some prime property up near the border of Thurston Place, Deville,” the marquess said, idly fingering the sides of his glass. “I can probably find a good bargain on it for the right sort, should you know of someone.”

Thurston Place was on some of the most prime land in the country. Any bordering land would be valuable. He had been looking to purchase land near that area for years.

The offer would be good only as long as he won though. That was very apparent. If he lost, the land would be off the market or offered to the winner.

The game swirled around him, both the one he was currently competing in and the greater one that beckoned him forth. These were men who wouldn’t normally approach or even acknowledge him, and here they were tentatively bidding for his favor.

He tossed in another bet and continued to play the game and win.

“Caro?”

Caroline stopped her forward progress at Sarah’s call. She turned and let her catch up.

Sarah gripped her sleeve. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon.”

“I was doing some tasks for the earl; I’m sorry I didn’t send a note.” She was sorry for a lot of things.

“Do you have time to talk?”

She took the other girl’s arm in hers, guilt, a now-familiar companion, rearing its dark head. “Of course. How are you?” she said as they made the turn into the west wing, toward Sarah’s room.

Sarah bit her lip and shook her head. Caroline nodded and waited until they were out of the hall and away from the servants’ ears. Sarah dismissed her maid, who curtsied to them before leaving.

“I’m doing terribly,” she uttered as soon as the door had closed. She flopped into her dressing chair, and Caroline sank into the maid’s chair to the side, a reflection of her existence.

“What has happened?”

“Everything, everything about this tournament has happened.”

“I don’t understand.”

“William tells me I’m being irrational about the whole affair.”

Caroline blinked at her from the fog. “You’ve confided in William?”

“Yes.” She picked at her skirt. “You haven’t been around as much, and I’ve also been busy with fittings and things, and he is always near. He has a ready ear, and I have been making use of it.”

“Oh.” She felt the need to apologize again and readied herself to make a good one.

“I kissed him,” Sarah blurted.

Caroline felt her eyes widen impossibly. “You kissed William?”

“Yes.” She cringed. “He rebuffed me very nicely, but I made quite the fool of myself.”

Caroline remembered the looks she had seen
William give Sarah and thought that maybe she hadn’t made as much a fool of herself as she thought.

Sarah rose and paced around the room. “I knew before this competition started the contestants weren’t playing for my hand. That I was merely the bride price, but I hoped, Caro, deep inside that one of them would be my knight.”

She stopped pacing and closed her eyes. “Father tells me over and over what a great match this will be and how proud he is of my conduct. I am ecstatic to please him, I am. But other than a few gruff words he barely speaks to me. I’m like a costly statue that needs to be taken off its shelf and dusted every once in a while. But then I go right back on the shelf. He talks to you more than he does to me, and you aren’t even his daughter.”

Caroline’s heart stopped, her breath caught in her chest, lodged like a hot air balloon in a tree. “I—”

“I’m going to be just like Mother, aren’t I, Caro?”

“Of course n—”

“I thought perhaps Mr. Everly was interested in me, really me, but then he went and had that vulgar Marjorie Widwell out in the maze. I saw them rutting against the cupid. I’m amazed the stone didn’t tumble to the ground.”

Caroline’s mouth dropped before she could stop it.

“And I realized I had just been trying so hard to put on a brave face, to try and get someone to see me that I was willing to overlook any
flaws.” She slumped into her seat as far as her stays allowed. “I want to please Father, but the more I get to know William, the more I dread the outcome.”

“Perhaps if you said something to the earl—”

Sarah closed her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t. There is only one more week. Can you imagine the scandal? I would be ostracized completely. Father would toss me on my ear.”

“William—”

“Doesn’t want me.” She chuckled humorlessly. “He said it wasn’t to be.”

“But—”

“He’s illegitimate and landless. I only found out by hearing Mr. Deville make a comment on it, including him in their ranks.”

All manners of things clicked in her mind. Why William looked familiar, his mission, his diplomatic status, to whom he reported.

“But I don’t care. I don’t need him to be those things. I would listen to my heart for once, Caro, just like you.”

“That didn’t get me anywhere good, Sarah,” she said, somewhat lamely.

“But you took the chance.” She took an audible breath. “You keep taking the chance.”

Caroline looked at her sharply. Sarah turned her head to the side, studying the tapestry on the wall. “I—I saw Sebastien Deville leaving your cottage one night.”

The balloon ripped and Caroline plummeted through the branches. “Oh.”

“I’m not angry with you. Why would I be? I
hardly have a tendre for Deville. Besides, William explained the circumstances to me, and I hope for the best for you.”

“He did?” How could he explain something she could not?

“Yes. And everyone has noticed the changes in Mr. Deville. How could one not?” She swallowed. “But he is in the lead. And—and Father says he will surely win.”

“He is not so bad, Sarah.” She smiled forcefully. “When he is not making bets. I daresay he will keep you in style should you marry.”

Sarah shook her head, a tear falling down her cheek. “I want to run away now, Caro. To India or France. Somewhere on your list.”

Caroline sat down next to her and pulled her head against her shoulder. “I know,” she whispered.

And both of them knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Sebastien idly peered at his facedown card as the deal continued. A smart gambler knew when his luck turned. It was the defining characteristic between a man who won or lost little, and one who lost it all.

His luck had turned almost immediately after his third drink and the addition of his seductive new shadow.