The Wedding Wager (7 page)

“And what reward do you expect for your brave deed?” she asked, with another arch smile.

“A gallant knight knows that brave deeds are their own reward,” he replied.

Momentarily, Harry panicked. It seemed Julian really was able to resist temptation. But she couldn’t give up so easily. “Oh, but such selfless gallantry deserves some reward,” she replied. “At least one dance, perhaps?”

She thought he stiffened slightly, and could almost see him trying to decide whether to accept her bold offer.

Then he smiled, and said, “How could I spurn such a glorious reward?” He took her hand, and led her back into the ballroom.

Just then the musicians began to play a waltz.

Harry stiffened as Julian took her hand in his, and put his other hand around her waist. Then she forced herself to relax. The waltz had not yet become fashionable when she had made her debut into society, but luckily Lady Dearing had had the forethought to teach her the steps. Harry knew that Julian’s hand on her waist was merely a part of the dance and not necessarily amorous. Still, his touch felt amazingly, disturbingly intimate.

He smiled down at her in an encouraging manner; no doubt he thought she was still unsettled by her earlier encounter with Henry VIIIth. Nervously, she smiled back. As the music began, she tried to relax and follow his lead.

Suddenly she realized that despite all the years they’d known each other, it was the first time they’d danced together. She wasn’t surprised to find Julian was a graceful dancer, and after some initial stiffness, she found herself responding easily to his guidance and even enjoying the gliding and twirling movements of the dance. She remembered now that she had always enjoyed dancing; it was just the accompanying flirtation and small-talk that she had found difficult.

Pray heaven she could find it in herself to flirt now. She looked up at Julian, and saw him looking down at her.

“I was wondering when you would look up, fair Diana,” he said.

“I am sorry, Sir Knight,” she replied. “I was merely minding my steps. I have only waltzed once before.” She blushed as soon as the words left her mouth. It hadn’t been her intention to appear so unsophisticated.

“Oh, but you dance
divinely
!”

She chuckled. “As a goddess should?”

He laughed too. She watched his face, but found it difficult to read, particularly since his eyes were partially hidden by the helmet. He was flirting lightly, elegantly, and very likely it meant nothing. She would have to step up the pace of her efforts, or it would all be in vain.

She forced her lips into a worldly pout, and asked, “So, Sir Galahad, do you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress?”

“I do. Of course, damsels in distress are always extremely beautiful so it is no great hardship to do so.”

Oh, he did have a smooth tongue! But perhaps it was all just in play. Had she really captured his interest?

“So is it true what they say, that you are never tempted by the ladies you rescue?” she asked. She had hoped to sound coy, but even to her own ears her voice sounded breathless.

“If there were no temptation, there would be no virtue,” he said. “In fact, the greater the temptation, the greater the virtue.”

Perhaps it was the champagne, but Harry was beginning to enjoy this game of double meanings.

“So how virtuous are you feeling tonight?” she asked recklessly.

He paused, and she noticed that his breathing had quickened.

“Very,” he replied briefly.

Heavens, he
was
tempted! Harry felt herself being swept up in a whirlwind of emotions: excitement, elation, and a slight, odd tinge of disappointment. That was foolish; she would lose the bet if he remained faithful to her. She couldn’t let him win. That was why she was here.

Julian must have sensed her agitation.

“Are you feeling quite well?” he asked.

“I do feel a trifle warm,” she replied, recognizing her opportunity. “Please, Sir Galahad, may I trouble you for one more favor? Will you escort me for a turn in the gardens? I’m sure some fresh air will set me to rights, but I fear going alone.”

He hesitated, hopefully because he was fighting temptation. She was clearly demented, for she couldn’t decide whether to be thrilled, disappointed or terrified when he finally nodded.

“Very well, fair Goddess. Your wish is my command.”

Julian led the mysterious lady out of the crowd. He didn’t think anyone noticed as they passed through the open doors at the end of the ballroom, into the relative coolness of the June night.

He probably shouldn’t be heading into the gardens with her, but what could he do? Leave her to be prey to more ravening oafs like that Henry VIIIth? He couldn’t do it.

Despite her exotic beauty and her ready wit, the lady had an odd air of vulnerability. Poor little soul, she’d had a nasty fright, and he couldn’t help pitying her, even if catty persons would say she had brought it on herself by wearing such a deliciously scandalous costume. Somehow, he had the feeling that this masquerade was the first time she’d done anything like this.

He also had the strangest feeling that he’d met her before, but that was impossible. He would have remembered, surely?

That slender figure so tantalizingly revealed through the classical drapery she wore. Those adorable little feet, in those delightfully frivolous sandals. The graceful line of her neck, those soft, white shoulders. Her scent—sweet and innocently alluring—lilies of the valley, he realized. No, he couldn’t have forgotten this exquisite lady.

Wordlessly, he led her toward a stone seat in a secluded corner of the garden, under a fragrant, overgrown rose arbor. Nearby a fountain gurgled, the sounds of music faint in the distance. Julian could hear other couples moving about in other corners of the garden, but he and the mysterious lady seemed quite alone. She sat down, and he joined her, keeping a discreet distance between them and reminding himself that he was here merely to protect her while she recovered her composure.

Silently, he watched her. He really ought to look away, but found that he couldn’t. He noted the quickness of her breath and the fast beating of the pulse in the hollow of her throat, and found himself longing to press his lips just there.

He looked away then, and just in time. What was wrong with him? He’d exercised perfect self control for so long; he was just two weeks from victory. So why was he struggling tonight to keep from gathering a lovely stranger into his arms?

He cleared his throat, and asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

She nodded. “I am quite well, thank you. But there is something I must tell you . . .” She went silent, twisting her hands nervously in her lap.

“What is it?” he asked, curiosity aroused.

“I have lied to you,” she said. “I am
not
unwell. I asked you to come out into the garden because I wish to be alone with you.”

Her voice was strange, husky, alluring. Julian forced himself to ignore that. In rising suspicion, he sprang up from the seat.

“Was it Farley? Or perhaps it was Heatherton who put up to this?” he shouted.

“I don’t understand,” she said, wincing. “What do you mean?”

“My
friends
have all been placing bets as to when I will fall victim to some beauty’s charms. Has one of them sent you to trap me?”

“No,” she said emphatically, then put a hand up to her mouth. Her shoulders began to shake, as if she were struggling to hold back tears.

Then he remembered the ordeal she’d just been through.
That
had not been feigned. He sat back down, putting a comforting arm around her. “Oh, I am a brute. Please forgive me.”

She stiffened, and seemed even more nervous than before. He released her, but not before he felt that sensation of familiarity again.

“I should be asking
your
forgiveness,” she said. “I have lured you out here under false pretenses, but I assure you it was not on one of your friends’ account, but my own.”

Julian didn’t like to disappoint her, but he didn’t dare listen to any more. He thought of Harry, of their wager, and forced himself to rise from the seat again.

“No, please don’t leave yet!” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

Gingerly, he settled himself back down on the seat, but forced himself to study a nearby statue rather than look back at the beauty at his side.

“I must tell you why I wanted to see you alone,” she said.

“Will you stay and listen to my story, please?”

He knew it would be wise to leave, but found himself agreeing, against his better judgment.

“I am a widow,” she began, and then paused, seeming to gather her courage before continuing.

Julian felt a sweat break out on his forehead.
Please, not a widow!

“It was an arranged marriage,” she continued. “My husband was much older than I. He was a respectable man, but so domineering, and not—not very
affectionate
. Do you understand?”

Almost against his will, he looked at her. Her face was slightly averted, but even in the moonlight he could see her cheeks had reddened with embarrassment.

“Yes, I understand,” he said, with feeling. He knew there were men who took their own pleasure, quickly, without a thought for their ladies’ comfort or enjoyment. He’d never understand why. Leisurely, playful lovemaking made the final climax all the more worthwhile. But now, when he looked at Diana, lovely nervous Diana, he found himself seething with rage against the man who had used her so cheaply.

“I have vowed never to marry again,” she said. “I cannot bear the thought of being so controlled again by a husband. But I have never known . . . tenderness . . . from a man. And I wish to. I have heard that
you
can be very tender, and . . . kind.”

She looked at him, seeming half frightened, half hopeful. The slightest breath of a breeze brought her scent to him, sweet and elusive. Lord! What was he going to do? It was if a feast had been placed before him, but he knew he should not partake.

“You know who I am?” he asked, struggling for control.

“Yes,” she replied in her mysterious, low voice. “You are Lord Debenham.”

“Can you tell me
your
name?” he asked. “Can I see your face?”

“No—please!” she begged, raising a protective hand to her mask.

Diana was so very agitated. Reminding himself again of Harry and the wager, Julian fought down the urge to take her in his arms, and cleared his throat.

“Diana, your husband was a damned fool. You are so beautiful, and you deserve so much better. But this isn’t the right place, nor am I the right man. I am sorry, more sorry than I can say. There are reasons why I can’t do what you wish. Please understand.”

She had watched the earlier part of his speech with a hopeful expression, but as he concluded, her shoulders began to shake again.

“Oh dear, I knew I could never do this correctly!” she exclaimed, burying her face in her hands.

Damn! He’d made her cry. This was unbearable. He pulled off his helmet, sidled over on the seat, and put his arms around her. He loved how she felt: the warm, velvety skin of her bare arms, the firm-soft feminine body leaning towards him enticingly. She laid her head on his shoulder, but trembled as he gently stroked her shoulders. He ached with the desire to soothe her timidity, and to teach her the pleasures she asked for, pleasures that would surely exceed anything she could possibly imagine.

“Diana, you are irresistible,” he said hoarsely.

She raised her head and looked up at him, moonlit eyes glittering strangely through her mask. They seemed to be pleading with him - for what? To be gentle? He would be.

“Don’t be afraid. I would never hurt you. Do you believe me?”

She nodded, her lips parted invitingly.

With that, the last shreds of his self-control disappeared.

He bent his head down toward her, and noticed she was holding her breath. She was nervous, and more than ever he was certain it was the first time she’d done anything so bold. He had to make this right. He wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

Suddenly he froze. He’d said almost the same thing about Harry.

He released Diana and sprang up from the seat. “I can’t do this. I can’t!”

“What have I done wrong?” she asked. “Please, tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I may never have such a chance again!”

The frantic tone of her voice tore at his insides somehow. He knew if he stayed much longer, he might not be able to stop himself again.

“It’s not your fault, but I must go,” he said, pacing in front of her as he tried to think of something to ease her distress. “You are very beautiful and under other circumstances, I would be more than happy to do as you wish, but you see, I already love someone else.”

He stopped in his tracks, feeling as if he’d been seared by lightning. He’d blurted out the first excuse he could think of, and it suddenly struck him that it was true.

This wasn’t about the wager, or his uncles, or his estate any more. None of those things mattered if he couldn’t have Harry. Ever since he’d come up with the notion of marrying her, he’d been building a picture in his mind of what their life together would be like. How they’d ride, play and work together, how he would reintroduce her into society and make sure everyone knew exactly what a splendid person she was.