Knave's Wager

“Good heavens, why should I think that? If you weren’t respectable, they wouldn’t let you in, would they? But you’re right. I shouldn’t have been amazed at your gallantry. You always know what to say and do to put a girl at her ease. I never feel clumsy when I dance with you.”

He smiled. “You’re never the least awkward, Miss Glenwood, and you waltz exceedingly well. Not at all like a beginner. You’ve been practicing in secret.”

She did not appear to hear the compliment. Her attention had fallen upon something—or someone—past his shoulder. Lord Robert experienced a twinge of irritation. “What is it?” he asked. “Has someone fallen into a fit?”

Her gaze came back to him. It was troubled. “I rather think someone has,” she said softly. “Only look at Lord Brandon.”

Robert drew her into a turn in order to observe his cousin. The marquess’s countenance was black as a thundercloud.

“He looks like murder,” said Robert, taken aback. “He’s a devil of a temper, you know. Usually he doesn’t show it— not in public, I mean. What’s set him off, I wonder.”

“I think he’s quarreled with my aunt,” said Cecily. She sighed. “Oh, dear, how tiresome of them.”

“Quarreled with— Well, it’s none of our business, of course.”

“Of course it is. He can’t go on glaring at her all night. People will notice.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t called my attention.”

“That’s because you’re not a prying busybody. But Lady Enders is, and half a dozen other ladies as well. Now everyone will begin buzzing again. I’m sure I’m not the only one saw how they were arguing. And then my aunt marched off in that horrid outraged Empress of the World way of hers, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off her since. Lord Robert, you must do something.”

“I?”

“You must make him stop.”

“I? Make Julian stop?” he said, aghast. “What do you expect me to do, drag him from the premises?”

Miss Glenwood’s small gloved hand squeezed his, and her enormous eyes opened wider yet. “I know you can think of something,” she said confidently. “You’re so clever. Probably you’ll find some tactful way to let him know he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve—though of course you’d never say anything so silly as that.”

Although the pressure of her hand sent a surge of strength through him, it was not quite enough to conquer all Lord Robert’s sense of self-preservation.

“Egad, I should hope not, Miss Glenwood. Not if I mean to keep all my teeth in my head,” he said, feeling beleaguered as her gaze grew reproachful. “I shouldn’t say so, but Julian’s hideously touchy about any references to your aunt. When he’s in a good humour, he only delivers a set-down, but when he’s moody he... well, he doesn’t know his own strength.”

“Then you must be sure to step out of the way quickly, mustn’t you?” the pitiless girl responded.

The waltz ended far too soon, in Lord Robert’s opinion. He dutifully returned Miss Glenwood to her aunt and saw the girl promptly swallowed up in a crowd of admirers. Then, reluctantly, he made for his cousin’s gloomy figure. Julian’s gaze was not welcoming.

“I’ve had enough of Almack’s,” said Lord Robert. “I think I’ll be going now.”

“I am not your nurse. Do what you like.”

“Still, a man can’t always do what he likes, you know. Most of the time, he can’t even show what he’s thinking, which is even harder... well, for me at least...”

“Robert, I hope you’re not about to honour me with boyish confidences. I’m not in a humour for confidences.”

Not open to hints, either, apparently. Nothing for it, then, but to state the facts... and step quickly out of the way.

“You’ve been staring daggers at her for half an hour now,” Lord Robert said, moving back a pace. “If even I noticed, don’t you think half the world is going to?”

Instantly, the familiar mask of boredom was back in place.

“If this is half the world,” said Lord Brandon languidly, “we’re best advised to seek out the other half tonight, I think.”

Lilith was badly shaken, yet she chatted with her normal composure and danced with her betrothed without stumbling. Tonight of all nights, Thomas danced with her several times, as though Lord Brandon’s vexation had somehow communicated itself to his rival. Not a rival, Lilith hastily amended. She’d already made her choice—not that there had been or could be any choice. It was a husband she needed, not a lover.

Thus she behaved as she always did, and when Thomas had taken her and Cecily home, Lilith invited him, as she often did, to stop for a glass of wine.

Brandon thought her betrothed took her for granted. This wasn’t just. To Thomas, socializing was business, and she’d never expected or wished him to neglect his chosen business on her account. During these quiet times at the end of an evening, Thomas would share with her his thoughts and wishes, reporting on what he’d said and learned. He even solicited her opinion from time to time.

He did not take her for granted, she argued with the sardonic masculine voice in her head. He simply chose an appropriate time and place for private conversation.

Tonight he was occupied with Norway, and vexed at the prospect of a blockade of that nation, for it was Sir Thomas’s firm belief that Norway was the King of Denmark’s problem, as Earl Grey maintained.

Lilith did not remind her fiancé that Lord Liverpool had already taken measures towards a blockade. For one, Thomas was already troubled by his mentor’s actions. For another, she had no wish to prolong the monologue. She had rather hear of the Corn Laws or even the Catholic Question. The technicalities of peace treaties made her head spin.

Her confusion must have shown, because Thomas stopped mid-speech to give her a rueful smile. “Ah, the matter shall be debated all the coming week, and a word or two on my part would have sufficed. Yet every issue these days seems to go against me,” he said, shaking his head. “I am concerned that sufficient precautions have not been taken regarding Buonaparte’s move to Elba. I wish I might have spoken to Castlereagh myself. If only I had been on the spot as Hobhouse was, to carry those dispatches.’’

“One day you’ll have a direct voice in such matters,’’ Lilith said loyally. “I’m certain of it. I wish for your sake you had it now, Thomas.”

“Well, I cannot altogether regret it. Had I gone with the dispatches, I must be away from you, and that I should be sorry for.”

He

set his empty wineglass upon the tray and stepped towards her. “It seems to me you become more elegant every day, my dear. Is that a new frock?”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“It appears different somehow. You have appeared different.”

“A few alterations.” She made herself smile. “A great man ought not be shackled to a dowd.”

He took her hand. “I have never approved of slavishness to every fashion, as you know. Yet you wear the change with dignity, and it becomes you.”

“You hadn’t mentioned it before. I thought perhaps you disapproved of this... this frivolousness.”

“You are never frivolous, my dear. We two are past frivolity, I hope. Still, I am not so aged a fellow as to be unmoved by grace and elegance, though I do not shower you with flattery every minute.”

He brought the hand he held to his lips. The kiss he placed there was a lingering one, as was the glance that fell upon her bodice. Thus, Lilith was not altogether taken aback when her heretofore decorous suitor enfolded her in his arms.

Nonetheless, she stiffened when his mouth touched hers. The warm, moist kiss did nothing to warm her inwardly. On the contrary, her muscles grew more icily rigid, and within was the familiar rush of anxiety... and distaste. In seconds, it seemed, he grew more heated, while she grew frantic to break free. She endured it as long as she could, which was not very long, though it seemed an eternity. Then she made a slight struggle, and he released her.

He appeared not at all happy about it. A few strands of hair stuck damply to his forehead, and his brown eyes were clouded.

“My dear, we are betrothed,” he said, a shade of irritation in his voice; “and you are not a green girl.”