The Wedding Wager (2 page)

“Hello, Annette,” he said, hastily turning his head aside. Good Lord, he’d almost lost the bet already! Or would it not count against him if he didn’t kiss back? He decided it was better not to pursue that line of thought.

“Julian! What is it? Do you not love your faithful Annette any more? Can you not see ’ow I have been pining away in your absence?”

From the bloom in her cheeks, it didn’t look as if she were pining away, but that didn’t make Julian any more comfortable, not with her delicious form pressed up against his. Gently, he removed her arms from his waist and was gratified to find that this was easier to do than he had expected. He led her back to the sofa and sat her down, then took his seat at the other end, at what was hopefully a safe distance.

She gazed at him with melting, pansy-brown eyes. He hoped she wasn’t going to make this difficult.

“I have a present for you, Annette. I hope you will like it,” he said, pulling a small jewelry case from his pocket.

She gave him a quick look from under her long eyelashes, then took the case from him. She opened it up and examined the ruby and diamond brooch twinkling up at her.

“It is lovely,
mon amour
. You must allow me to thank you for such a wonderful gift,” she said, sliding closer toward him.

“Er, that won’t be necessary,” he said, edging away.

“Ah, I understand now,” she said, mournfully. “It is to say good-bye, is it not?”

“Yes, darling, I’m afraid it is. And to thank you for so many happy times.”

“I knew it!” she said in a low, ominous voice.

Julian tensed. Annette had never enacted a scene for him before. She’d always been the merriest of companions; almost perfect in fact, except for her tiresome French accent. He knew for a fact that her real name was Annie Forrest, and she’d never even been to Dover, let alone to France. He would also have sworn that her sensibilities were as little engaged as his.

“Julian! ’Ow can you do zis? Cast me off—abandon
moi
, a poor, defenseless woman, to a cold, cruel world!” She covered her face with her hands.

Egad! She seemed about to break into tears. If there was anything Julian couldn’t bear, it was to see a woman cry. Unfortunately, the best way he knew to make it stop was to kiss her, and that was clearly out of the question.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clumsily patting her shoulder. “But there are circumstances. I thought you always knew this would not least forever.”

“Deserter! Villain! You are breaking my heart!” she said with a sob, her soft, rounded white shoulders shaking.

It was hopeless. There was nothing for it but to take her into his arms. Surely a gallant hug was not a violation of his wager.

“Please don’t cry!” he said, stroking her back. “You know how fond I am of you. But really I cannot—”

She lifted her face, and Julian was thunderstruck to see her giggling.

“Oh, Julian darling!” she said, with an abrupt loss of her assumed French accent. “When I saw how solemn you were I couldn’t resist playing with you just a trifle.”

“A dashed nasty trick to play,” he said, laughing at himself now. “You really had me worried!”

“Oh, I am truly sorry. But you need not worry about me. I shall be brave, I shall hide my despair under a laughing face, and hope that in time my heart will mend!” she said, resuming her earlier manner and rolling her eyes theatrically.

“Will you stop it already!” he protested, hastily releasing her from his embrace and moving back to his earlier position. “You will do very well indeed. Now that I come to think of it, the Marquess of Weststoke was most taken with you at that little party we held in Leicestershire. I was pretty sure at the time he wanted to lure you away from me.”

“Oh, Lord Weststoke is most charming, but of course there will never be anyone quite like you, my
galant
Julian.” He read confirmation of his suspicions in her face, in her half-mischievous, half-guilty expression. She would be under Weststoke’s protection within the fortnight or Julian would eat his best chapeau bras.

“But you must tell me why now, Julian? I hope it is not that I have bored you,
mon cher
?” she said, looking worried.

Oh Lord! He’d promised Harry not to tell anyone of their wager. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Annie he’d tired of her. Even if, as he suddenly realized, it was true.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just—”

“Ah, are you going to be married?” she asked, looking at him shrewdly. “How very romantic, to be sure!”

Julian realized he wouldn’t be able to deny it. However, he hadn’t lost the wager. Harry had stipulated that he couldn’t tell anyone, and he hadn’t. Annette had guessed on her own.

“Don’t tell anyone, please,” he said. “It’s of the utmost importance.”

“You know you can trust me to be discreet,” she said with a reassuring smile. “So, tell me about this new bride of yours. Who is she? I hope she is very pretty and amusing.”

He thought of Harry, and decided he didn’t want to discuss her with Annette.

“I’m sorry, I must be leaving now,” he answered shortly, getting to his feet.

“But why hurry away,
mon cher
?” she asked, jumping to her feet and rushing to block his exit. “Surely you can stay just a little longer? You are not yet married, and you know I shall miss you. Why can we not enjoy one more evening together?”

“I must go,” he insisted.

“But I have not yet thanked you for your gift!” she sighed, swaying toward him as he stood in the middle of her delicately patterned carpet. Her rose-scent wafted up to him, and he couldn’t help remembering how much Annie enjoyed her work. An inner voice urged Julian to put his arms around that slim waist just one more time, but at the same time, another voice—a surprisingly strong one, too—told him he’d regret it if he did.

“Good-bye, Annie,” he said firmly, after a short struggle.

“Then just one last kiss!” She flung her arms around his neck and lifted her face to him, puckering her full, plummy lips. “What harm could there be in one last kiss?”

“More than you know!” he answered, chuckling. This time he had no trouble at all silencing the impish voice of temptation.

He lifted her up, set her gently to one side and left. Safely outside the door of her lodging, he exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

He’d done it. He’d met what was probably the most difficult challenge of his wager with Harriet. From now on, it was sure to be smooth sailing.

* * *

Over the next week, Julian successfully avoided a variety of temptations.

A few of his friends were in town already, so true to his agreement with Harriet, he accepted a friend’s invitation to a masculine party. However, he was a bit taken aback to discover that his friend, having had a recent streak of luck at the gaming tables, had provided not only the usual wine and cards as entertainment, but had also hired a few Cyprians to liven up the occasion.

Somehow, Julian managed to flirt lightly with the buxom charmer who singled him out for her attentions until his host and the other guests were either three parts drunk or had wandered off with their own chosen ladybirds. Then he handed her a handsome largesse for her trouble, and slipped quietly away.

Later in the week, he attended Lady Brandon’s ball, one of the first of the Season. Lady Brandon was good-natured and hospitable, and he knew she had been a friend of his mother’s. He didn’t have the heart to refuse her invitation, particularly since she knew he was in town. Besides, he’d promised Harry.

Once there, he couldn’t help but dance with any number of pleasant young ladies. Unlike some young bucks, he couldn’t offend his kind hostess or her fair guests by brooding about in a corner in an attempt to look rakish, or by refusing to dance anything but waltzes. Truth be told, he actually enjoyed the lively rhythm of country dances. At present, they were also much safer than the more intimate waltz, although he couldn’t avoid that, either.

He did manage to gracefully turn down suggestions by several of his partners that they might enjoy a turn on the terrace. Pretty as some of the young ladies were, he knew better than to indulge them. He wouldn’t still be a bachelor at the age of five and twenty if he hadn’t learned to avoid such potentially compromising situations.

As he’d promised, he visited Harry on the following Tuesday. They spent a pleasant day out of doors, but when he told her how easily he was passing her test, she only laughed at him, saying it was early days to be foretelling victory. Julian returned to London doubly determined to prove her wrong.

The next week passed in much the same manner, and the following one as well. Harry spent her time as usual, helping her father run their estate, including the stud farm that was their pride and joy. She enjoyed Julian’s visits, particularly since she usually did not see so much of him during the London Season.

She also observed him closely, looking for early signs of strain from his self-imposed celibacy. It could be only a matter of time, surely, before he succumbed to temptation. However, she rather hoped it wouldn’t happen too soon. She didn’t want to admit it, but she would miss his visits.

* * *

Harriet steadied the chestnut mare around the turn as they approached the makeshift fence at the far end of the paddock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another horse and rider coming down the nearby ride. It was Julian, and he was early.

She turned her attention back toward the upcoming jump; too late, for Circe sensed her lapse of concentration. Harry flew over the fence; unfortunately, the mare remained on the other side.

Annoyed but unhurt, Harry sprang back to her feet and dusted off the skirt of her riding habit. How had she allowed Julian to distract her so? At least she had managed to hold onto the reins; she didn’t need Julian teasing her about
that
as well as her ignominious tumble.

“You little witch!” she said sternly as she came around the fence toward the horse, waiting on the opposite side of the fence with an expression of spurious equine innocence. As Harry reached the mare, she heard Julian call out.

“Harry, I thought I taught you better!”

“You distracted me,” she retorted, watching him ride up to the paddock gate on his tall roan. “To be sure, it is my own fault for not concentrating.”

She remounted, and urged Circe back into a canter. Heading toward the fence again, she put all other thoughts aside. She knew she had to ride with supreme confidence, or Circe would sense her ambivalence and refuse again.

This time they cleared the fence in perfect form.

“What a nice little mare you have there,” said Julian, applauding.

“Yes, but it is the greatest shame that she can’t be trusted for one instant. I fear I shall never succeed in transforming her into a reliable mount.”

“Don’t be so distrustful! Don’t you know anyone is capable of improvement, from a horse to a confirmed rake?” he asked, grinning.

His smile was dangerously charming. If Harry didn’t know better, she might start imagining his efforts at reformation were on her account. Or that he would succeed.

“It’s a little early to be crowing victory,” she said.

“You don’t think I can stay the course, do you? Well, I’ll prove you wrong.”

“We shall see,” she replied amicably. She wasn’t surprised Julian had managed to hold out thus far. Surely it was too early to worry. There were still nine long weeks to go before their bet would run its course. Nine weeks full of gaiety and temptations. Plenty of time for some lady to lure him into dalliance, thought Harry, with a surprising tinge of regret. Of course, when the bet was over, she would see less of Julian. She had best enjoy their time together while it lasted.

“Shall we go for a ride?” she asked, to change the subject. “There’s a young bay I think you might like to try.”

Julian agreed, and they set off toward the stables so that their tired mounts could be properly cared for. A quarter of an hour later, they had set off down the lane, Julian mounted on the bay hunter prospect, Harry on a young dappled gray gelding.

“He’s a pretty thing, ain’t he?” Julian commented, looking at Harry’s horse. “A bit showy for a hunter, but he looks sound enough.”

“Troubador is a sweet fellow,” she said, fondly patting the horse’s velvety shoulder. “He should make some lady a fine hack. I’m just putting the finishing touches on his education.”

“Do you have a buyer in mind?”

“Lady Dearing is interested. She is looking for a handsome mount to ride in the parks.”

Harry eyed Julian curiously. Lady Dearing was a wealthy widow, exactly the sort of woman he probably favored. She might not be in the absolute first blush of youth; but her golden good looks, opulent figure and lack of a jealous husband should make her an ideal partner for a carefree young buck like Julian.

“I’m sure she’ll be quite pleased with Troubador,” Julian answered, seeming quite unconscious.

For some reason, Harry couldn’t resist probing further. “Do you know Lady Dearing?”

He looked at her shrewdly before replying. “Yes, but not in the Biblical sense, if that’s what you’re thinking! I’ve met her at a few parties, but our paths have never really crossed.”