Knave's Wager

Moments later, having expressed appropriate sentiments regarding Mrs. Davenant’s ill health and feigned fascination with Bexley’s imbecilic explanations for her headaches, Lord Brandon was striding rapidly down the corridor. So intent was he upon his plans that he did not observe Elise’s approach until it was too late.

“A moment, milord,” she said, taking hold of his arm.

He was about to shake her off, but a glance at her face stopped him. Her dark eyes glittered an angry warning.

Fortunately, the corridor was empty. Leading her to one side, so that he could keep watch on the stairs for late arrivals, he politely asked how he might serve her.

“You might serve by keeping to our agreement,” she snapped. “It was simple enough. But you play another game as well, I think.”

“There is only one game I am aware of, mademoiselle.”

“I am not blind, milord. Little passes in your Great World that does not reach me. I comprehend what you have done. Our bargain, you find, is not so simple as you thought, so you arrange to win another way. You keep Robert from me, and use as bait that pretty child with her golden curls and so-blue eyes.”

“I see you have been spending too much time alone, brooding,” said his lordship. “Otherwise you would not have persuaded yourself that a mere girl—pretty or no—gives you any reason for alarm, or that I have any need to hedge my bets.”

“Do you not? How long is it now? Nearly five weeks, I think.”

“You were so generous as to give me eight. I see no reason for haste.”

“But reason for other precautions, no? Is this your honour? I trusted your word as a gentleman. Why did you tease me with a bargain you never meant to keep?”

“I fully intend to keep it,” he said, controlling his swelling anger. “Do you call me a liar, mademoiselle?”

Though he’d kept his voice level, the tart must have sensed she was treading on thin ice. “I only wish to be assured,” she said in lighter tones. “Can you blame me? To win our wager, you need only seduce Madame Davenant. Why do I see Robert kept from me meanwhile? That was no part of it.”

“I have done nothing to keep him from you,” he said as patiently as he could. “If you believe he’s playing you false, you must deal with that between yourselves. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be going.”

For all her assurances to Cecily, Lady Enders was not at all easy in her mind about Matthew’s tardiness.

It was Matthew who’d hastened to Lady Violet Porter’s assistance during the battle at Redley Park, and Rachel had not at all approved the assiduousness of his attentions.

Forced to relinquish Lord Fevis to his wife, Lady Violet was free to pursue other game. This evening, Lady Enders had perceived the smile the woman threw Matthew when she arrived. Consequently, Rachel little doubted it was Lady Violet her husband was reconnoitering, not lemonade.

This was why, as the curtain was rising, Lady Enders left her box and stepped into the corridor.

Thus she saw Lord Brandon lead the demi-rep round the corner by the staircase. Judging by the woman’s tones, she was in a temper.

Rachel told herself she had no interest in their discussion. This was a public corridor, and she had as much right as anyone to walk there. She needed to drop a hint to Mr. Porter, didn’t she? And wasn’t his box that way?

Just before the comer, however, she stopped dead. The tart’s words rang perfectly clear now. Perfectly, monstrously clear.

Lady Enders did not wait to learn more. Trembling with shock and indignation, she turned and hurried back.

Lilith, who had every sort of trouble but the headache she’d claimed, was bent over her desk, reviewing accounts, when she heard the tap at her study door. Expecting Cawble with the tea she’d ordered, she didn’t bother to look up when she bade him enter.

“Is this a new cure for the headache?” a low, familiar voice asked.

She jumped from her chair, knocking over a stack of papers. “How did you get in?” she gasped.

“Bribed the footman. Your butler was otherwise occupied, thank heaven. He is lamentably incorruptible.”

This evening, a deep-blue coat made Lord Brandon’s hair glint blue-black. His linen was blinding white, nearly as dazzling as the diamond that shot sparks from the folds of his neckcloth.

His tall, broad-shouldered figure made the small, cluttered room seem a narrow cell. Lilith herself felt like a peasant. She wore an old grey muslin day dress whose right sleeve bore a spattering of ink stains. It was her working costume.

Stunned at his entrance and embarrassed by both the room’s and her own appearance, she could only watch helplessly as he gathered up the papers. To her dismay, he did not return them to the desk, but commenced perusing them.

“These are scarcely two days old,” he said reproachfully. “It is bad ton to pay one’s creditors before one has been dunned twenty-five times at least. I must warn you against the practice. The upper orders are obliged to set proper examples for their inferiors.”

“I see no merit in driving to bankruptcy tradespeople who serve me in good faith,” she said. “Nor do I see how this is any business of yours. You will please to give them back— and leave this house.” She put out a shaking hand for the papers.

He turned away from her and continued to thumb through the stack. “Ye gods,” he said. “This is only the past month’s? Thank heavens I leave all that to my secretary. I should never have time for anything else. Why don’t you leave it to Bexley? What’s the point of marrying a rich man if you don’t let him pay your creditors?”

“I have no intention of presenting my betrothed with a pile of debts. May I also repeat, this is none of your concern. Nor have you any right to invade my privacy—particularly at this unseemly hour.”

He did not even look up as he answered. “I know you’re angry with me, my pet, but I wish you wouldn’t make stuffy speeches. It spoils my concentration and— Aha!” He spun round, holding aloft the pawnbroker’s ticket. “What is this? Have you played too deep at piquet, wicked girl?”

Heat tingled in her cheeks. “Even the most well-regulated households at times have need of ready cash.”

“Ah, yes. An unplanned expense. What was it? That ghastly co

rset? Or perhaps a provocative negligee—black lace, I hope—for your wedding night?”

It was scarcely a cry, more a painful catch of her breath, but he heard it, for he dropped the papers on the desk and moved to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he asked gently, “What is it?”

“Let go of me. It is no great matter. The blue silk... some alterations... Madame—well, she did it all practically overnight. I wished to pay at once, in thanks for her trouble.”

“So you pawned your silver? Higginbottom didn’t tell me matters had reached such a pass.”

“I will have something at the end of the month. I have enough now—or nearly—but I’d rather keep it in reserve. Cecily may need stockings or ribbons—or her fan may break, or some catastrophe.”

If he did not take his hands away soon, she would be stuttering. As it was, she had to stare hard at the diamond stick pin to maintain any composure.

He released her. “I see.” He stepped back to the desk, picked up the stack of papers, and thrust them into his coat. “This is utterly absurd,” he said. “You should not be tormenting yourself with creditors. Why should you not have new gowns if you want them? Why should you not have whatever takes your fancy? What have you done to deserve penury?”

“I am not tormented. I don’t want any new gowns. And I most certainly will not permit you to pay my debts. If I would not permit my betrothed—”

“Don’t preach at me, Lilith. It’s bad enough I must see you shackle yourself to that staid Parliamentarian. I will not watch you pinch and scrape in the meantime.”

There was again the barely contained anger she’d heard the night before.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t speak this way.”

He moved to her again. “What does it matter what I say? Who’s to hear it? Is it so villainous that I don’t wish to see you suffer? Come, my love,” he said, lightly touching her cheek. “I have so few real amusements. This is amusing, truly it is. To keep a woman for my rival will be a novelty. I’ve never attempted such a tiling before, you know, and we are told love makes men do the oddest things.”