Wicked Wager (24 page)

‘We have arrived,' he murmured, and was never more glad to make his escape. Already he was conscious of the interest of the small group of guests who'd gathered at the top of the staircase to the front doors in preparation of being announced. With an enquiring look at Xenia, he whispered, ‘Pray enlarge upon the actual reason we may be of particular interest this evening.'

Xenia's gurgle of laughter was genuine. ‘Why, Perry darling, when you championed your sister last week, before escorting me home, and endorsed society's general disgust over Miss Rosington's conduct, you were signalling that the terms of the wager had been satisfied.'

‘There was no wager, Xenia, beyond your chivvying me to do what any good brother would do to honour his sister, then suggesting that you might like to reward me since you were at a loose end.'

Xenia raised an eyebrow as they mounted the steps, though she was careful, he noted, to rein in her temper. He could see the tiny muscles working at the corner of her mouth and knew that were they in private, she may well at this moment be looking for a convenient urn to hurl at him.

‘That was not how it was, and you know it,' she hissed. ‘Why, all London knows that you and I wagered whether you could bring down the evil creature who destroyed your sister's life by proving to the world that she's not the innocent ingénue she pretended to the world.' She slowed her steps as she brought home her point, which only increased Perry's shame for he knew it to be the truth. ‘It's in the betting books. Good Lord, it was in White's Betting Book and you're a member.' Her eyes, which had flashed fire, took on a softer glow as they were ushered into the warmth. ‘Everyone assumes we're already lovers. Why, Peregrine, for a man with no conscience, you're doing a remarkably good job of trying to appear as pure as the driven snow.'

It was as well they were now at the front doors, stepping into the lobby, the butler announcing in stentorian tones first Xenia and then, “The Right Honourable, the Viscount Peregrine,” otherwise it might have been Perry who lost control of his temper. Nor would it have been solely directed at Xenia, for undeniably there was a good deal of self-recrimination there also.

He'd acted a cad from the start and now he was being feted as if he'd somehow engineered something very cunning. For there was Miss Fotheringay and her aunt, Lady Louisa, fawning over Xenia and purring, ‘At least poor Charlotte can hold her head up high. But can you believe it? I hear whispers that little trollop Miss Rosington has dared to show her face. She's with her aunt, which is why I suppose the butler didn't turn her away.'

A most extraordinary jolt passed through Perry at this news, though he hid the turbulence in his heart behind an implacable stare, allowing Xenia to voice her moral outrage.

‘Come, my dear, we are holding others up,' he murmured when she'd said her piece, taking her elbow to lead her through the crowd, and determining he'd hunt down Miss Rosington. He wanted to hear from her own lips an expanded account of what he'd been so quick to deride the last time she tried to voice her innocence.

He was aware of Xenia's sharp eyes on him as he looked over the crowd. Well, let her see what he really felt, for once.

On every side they were feted and complimented, as if they were the reigning couple of the day, he noted drily. Undoubtedly, Xenia shone in her gown of blue and silver thread intricately patterned on cream silk. It matched her powdered hair, which was naturally blonde, and cleverly supplemented where needed to achieve the extreme fashions of the day.

For some reason it brought to mind the occasion he'd chanced upon Miss Rosington with her naturally dark tresses cascading down her back, a reflection which occasioned the most intense surge of desire for her.

Soon he was collared by a couple of gentleman with opposing political views, which made for some diverting conversation. He was relieved when Xenia found her own coterie of admirers, including Sir Samuel Wray, but once he'd seen she was happily occupied he could not be still. Where was Miss Rosington? Though he might do well to ensure he didn't stand within throwing distance of a convenient urn.

So when he was in the midst of discussing his latest piece of horseflesh with Sir Beadnall and a soft, familiar voice enquired, ‘Satisfied, I trust, Sir Peregrine?' he could not conceal his astonishment. Nor could his companion, whose hooded eyes literally bulged out of his bullet-shaped head.

‘I take no satisfaction in the ill fortune of others, Miss Rosington.' He would have said more, but Xenia was parting the crowd, gliding between them and swinging round with a rustle of skirts, the beeswax candles glinting on her small pearly teeth, bared in a threatening smile.

‘Gloating in public, Miss Rosington? How dare you show your face when you have destroyed the happiness of my friend, Miss Paige? Now go!'

Her words cut through the chatter of those nearby. Miss Rosington raised her chin and Peregrine saw the tears gathered in her eyes. He stepped forward to challenge Xenia. But then Miss Rosington's aunt was there, her arm upon her shoulder, leading the girl away. He stared after her. Her head was bowed and the forlorn sweep of her shoulders speared the deepest of emotion within him. Not lust, this time, but the most intense, most raw
feeling
for her.

He glanced down, as Xenia had slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. ‘Come, let us walk among the lantern-lit gardens,' she invited him with a secretive smile.

He went, but his world had shattered and he knew himself the vilest creature to walk the earth; totally unworthy of Miss Rosington's love, should she in fact be innocent of an illicit liaison with Harry Carstairs. For he had done nothing to champion Miss Rosington in public.

It was a warm summer's evening, the full moon casting a glow across the manicured gardens, which led down to the river. Several terraces were cut into the slope, and through the trees he could see a couple of ferries plying a trade across the fast-flowing waters.

‘I've waited a long time for you, Perry.' Once they'd gained the seclusion of a copse of small trees, Xenia's little fingers slid inside Perry's coat, seeking his bare skin beneath his white shirt. She rested her head against his chest as she rubbed her right hand gently up and down, sighing her need while he stared dispassionately at the top of her head, preparing to extricate himself, uncaring this time of inciting her rage.

He could not do this. The moment was upon him and he realised that what he'd desired for so many years was ashes compared to what he'd just thrown away.

He'd had his chance in the middle of that public ballroom to state clearly his feelings, to declare his belief in Miss Rosington's innocence. And he'd done nothing.

Now his so-called reward was the lush and bounteous charms of the woman he'd thought he'd desired above all others. A woman without empathy; a self-serving, venal creature with a cankerous soul.

He disgusted himself.

He rested his hand gingerly upon Xenia's coiffure, wondering if she even felt the pressure, her hair was so extreme.

Her hand twined up around the back of his neck and she gave a little sigh of satisfaction. ‘Kiss me, Perry,' she whispered. ‘Do you know, the last time you kissed me was …'

‘Just before you married your first husband. I know. I feared my rage would kill me.' It was true. As a twenty-year-old he'd truly believed he would expire from the force of his feelings. It was the last time he could remember such intensity. But his feelings had been fuelled by rage and pique, not tenderness. No, he did not know how to feel tenderness.

That was why he and Xenia deserved each other. And why Miss Rosington assuredly did not deserve
him
.

He lowered his head. Yes! He'd kiss her, satisfy her desire for a quick fumble in the darkness, and then he'd take her home to her townhouse where he'd spend a night in amorous abandon. He might not deserve Miss Rosington but he deserved Xenia. They were two of a kind: amoral, heartless. The perfect match. His loins should be on fire at the prospect. He'd been living like a monk far too long, lusting after her through two husbands while she'd toyed with him like cat dangling a mouse by the tip of its tail; salivating, savouring the anticipation almost as much as the denouement.

But when his lips touched hers he felt no spark. No flare of desire. No tingling of his fingertips or heat surging to his groin. None of the feelings that had swamped him when Miss Rosington's sweet breath had caressed his heated cheek before her lips had melted beneath his.

‘My darling, I've waited so long for this.' Xenia's lust-laden whisper did nothing to elevate his need. He
wanted
to want her. It would be as much punishment as satiation. Like an automaton he caressed the bosom she bared to him, but the feel of her creamy flesh only served to heighten the disgust he felt for himself.

‘What is it?' Xenia's question was a drawl of unconcern. ‘If it's someone on the path, what do we care? We'll draw closer to the shadows.'

As he gazed upon her, eyes closed, her lips moist and parted in lustful abandon, Perry wondered how he'd ever desired Xenia. She was a husk of a human. He'd always known her capacity for cruelty; perhaps it's why Miss Rosington proved so refreshing. Right now Perry yearned for the milk of human goodness. Of the kind Miss Rosington exuded.

And now Miss Rosington was to waste herself on another husk of a human. A man who quite possibly had used her as badly as Xenia had. Miss Rosington had warmth and strength and honour, but that counted for nothing when she was positioned as she was: a pawn in the lives of others who would use her as it pleased them.

‘Perry?' Xenia opened one eye and frowned. Even the soft moonlight couldn't hide the grooves of displeasure that marred her expression and highlighted her essential hardness. ‘Perry, where are you going?' The lazy drawl was replaced by panic. Perhaps she read his feelings. Perhaps he was not so inscrutable after all.

‘I'm sorry, Xenia.' He shook his head as he took another step backwards. ‘I can't do this.' He prised her fingers off him.

‘What do you mean?' She could not believe that he no longer desired her; that the curl of his lip and the dull light in his eye represented the alienation he felt towards what she was, what she represented.

But she wasn't stupid and it didn't take long before her confusion turned to an emotion far more predictable than devastation.

Anger. That was always Xenia's preserve. She was not used to being denied what she wanted and she wasn't about to let Peregrine go without a fight. Not without him feeling the lash of her tongue and the heat occasioned by any slight upon her dignity.

She drew herself up and advanced with all the stealth of a she-lion, a creature Perry knew was as ferocious and dangerous as she was impressive in elegance and hunting prowess.

‘You've always wanted me, Perry. So what has changed? It's that lily-livered little Miss Rosington with her cheeseparing ways and her cloying innocence, isn't it?' Her face was a mask of hatred.

Perry shook his head. Of course he'd deny it. He'd do what he had to in order to protect Miss Rosington, for she did not need another reason for Xenia to hate her. No, Xenia had never hated her. She had used her,
pretending
that she hated her for a crime she'd known all along she had not committed.

Xenia's lips bared in a rictus of a sneer. ‘You wanted her but you didn't get her. Now all you can think about are her creamy, virginal wares? Because that's the kind of man you are, Perry. You're low and vile. Like me. You don't deserve her and you know it.'

‘Yes, I know it. But I deserve you, Xenia. Because, as you so rightly pointed out, you are low and vile. Like me. Shallow and heartless. We're two of a kind. We'd deal well together. The trouble is, I've lost the stomach for simply existing as a worthless creature without any redeeming qualities.' He arrested her flailing arms, gripping her wrists, shaking his head as he added, ‘Don't lose your temper now, my dear. There are too many people to witness it. I'm sure that when my remorse has well and truly worn off I shall be begging to share your bed.'

She tried to wrench her arm free and slap him. Instead she had to satisfy herself with a gob of saliva that landed on his cheek, which he merely wiped off with the back of his hand while he shook his head in pretended sorrow.

‘We are all creatures of our birth, Xenia. You might parade yourself as a lady, but the truth will always out.'

‘How dare you!' she hissed.

He did not stay to hear more.

Chapter Seventeen

Celeste didn't care about the nearby voices or the fact her nocturnal wandering would be a cause for even greater shame. Alone and determined, she trod the path towards the river. She'd barely been alone outdoors other than in her own garden her entire life. This was a rare freedom, and a welcome retreat from the heat and hostility indoors. The moment her aunt had been waylaid she'd taken advantage of her opportunity. What did it matter if she were discovered cavorting naked with a footman on the grassy slope? Her reputation couldn't be in worse tatters. There might even be some satisfaction in having something for which to be honestly condemned.

Goodness, though, wasn't that Lady Busselton's husky purr? The sight of that evil woman disappearing into the gardens with Lord Peregrine earlier had made her want to scratch her eyes out. Well, they deserved each other. She tried to console herself with the thought, but it was hard when the pain of Lord Peregrine's heartless agenda kept intruding like shards of glass piercing her heart. How the two of them must have laughed as she, a naïve little maiden, had played right into their hands.

She stopped. If that was Lady Busselton she heard then she had no wish to venture closer. Swinging round, she started off at right angles, hoping to reach the sanctuary of a copse of small saplings before she was observed, though the couple she could make out just off the path did seem very preoccupied with one another. The woman's heavy breathing and slight moan made her almost retch. If it was them, she hated them both. Together they'd hatched a plan to bring about her ruin, and because it suited Raphael he'd not championed her. Perhaps he'd even been part of it. She still was in the dark.