To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (5 page)

She needed to close this wager and flee with
what little dignity she still possessed.

Wrenching herself out of his arms, she
backed away from him.

His voice sounded hoarse. “Perhaps I’ll not
have to wait until after I win the wager to take you. As always you
seem eager for the sport.”

The hard edge in his voice raised the hair
on the nape of her neck. Yet the icy glint of triumph in his burnt
amber eyes held a hint of something else that made her struggle to
turn and walk away. Was it regret?

“I can wait to taste your body, for there
are plenty of willing women to appease the ache in my cock.”

The shocking words made her gasp, but she
refused to comment. Hurt beyond belief, she struggled to hide her
pain. She adjusted her clothing speedily. . She had to leave. She
pulled her dress back into place, as though it were a suit of
protective armor, being all the while fully aware of his dark eyes
watching her.

If only she knew what he was thinking, he’d
be much easier to manage.
Manage!
But only in her dreams….
Never had she expected him to react like this. Once her clothing
was firmly back in place and she was feeling more composed, she
lifted her head, only to see him smiling at her, the glow of desire
still in his eyes.

She could only stare at him with a sinking
feeling of horror as he offered her a knowing smile.

“Are you jealous, my love?”

“No. And I am certainly
not
your
love.”

“True. You never were, were you,” he added
sarcastically.

Her senses somewhat restored by his cutting
remark, she glared back at him. “Think what you like of me. All
that matters is that I have your agreement to help me.”

The desire fled from his gaze and his mouth
firmed into a disapproving line. “In three days I’ll win the
tournament and then I’ll collect. You will come to my bed, when and
where I desire it.” His eyes narrowed and his hands rose to his
hips. “You’d better not be thinking of reneging once I’ve won. I’ll
come after you and you’ll not like my anger.”

“If you win, I’ll give you your pound of
flesh, and I hope it chokes you,” she retorted and sweeping around
him, she made for the door.

Chapter Five

Marcus didn’t need the forthcoming meeting
with his mother to put him in a bad mood. He woke this morning with
Sabine’s scent and taste still swirling around him. He hoped that
soon satisfying his carnal need for her would diminish somewhat the
pain of her betrayal. He could look back on the past and shrug his
shoulders, as if her deceit in eloping with another man hadn’t
altered his life or persona at all.

Unfortunately, the pleasure he’d found in
Sabine’s kiss had not diminished his desire for the vexing French
beauty. Rather it had reignited a flame that had refused to die.
He’d woken with a rampant erection, desirous of another
encounter.

As Parsons, his stoic valet shaved him he
made the decision to take Sabine into his bed the night he won the
tournament. The sooner he bedded her the sooner he could send her
away. He was desperate to extinguish his burning hunger for her.
Then, and only then, could he finally move on with his life.
Move on.
He knew his appointment this morning with his
mother was about moving on.

A full fifteen minutes before the requested
meeting time, and perfectly groomed, Marcus made his way to his
mother’s, Collette’s, drawing room. He knew what the meeting would
be about. She wanted an heir for the Wolverstone name, but more
importantly, she wanted grandchildren.

He’d learned very quickly that a woman set
on grandchildren was a force to be reckoned with, especially when
it was his mother, the reigning Dowager of the
ton
.

Worse, he loved his mother and had terrible
trouble denying her anything. He remained a bachelor largely
because she had been content to let him sow his wide oats up to
now. Dowager Wolverstone had wanted her son to find the right
woman. Little did she know that he’d found loads of
right
women. They were right for bedding, which is all he wanted from any
female. He did not trust any of them, certainly not enough to give
them his heart.

He’d give them his name, perhaps, but not
his heart.

However, over the last few months, since his
thirtieth birthday, Collette’s patience concerning his taking a
wife had disappeared like the grains of sand in an egg timer.

As he stood outside his mother’s room, he
knew the timer had run out of sand.

He knocked and waited for her to bid him
entry. .

“Come in, dear.”

He strode in with a grin on his face. “How
did you know it was me,” he asked as he kissed his mother’s
proffered cheek.

“It was the tone of your knock. It sounded
annoyed. You hate it when I summon you.”

He took the seat across from her. He admired
his mother tremendously. Not just her graceful beauty, for she
still turned heads at almost a half-century, but for her composure
and loyal heart. After his father’s death, she could have
remarried, should have remarried. Yet, she could not bring herself
to dishonor her husband’s memory. If only there were more women of
his mother’s nature, women whose love was true and ever-lasting.
His father had chosen well, while he had chosen like a fool….

He left his bittersweet memories behind and
prepared himself for battle. “It’s not so much the summons as the
reason behind it.”

His mother laughed gaily. “If you know the
reason, why haven’t you done more to progress my wishes. I’ve left
you alone for the last three months and nothing….” Her smile
vanished. “And now I hear Sabine Fournier, has returned to London
in a new guise (she was never disguised so I think guise is the
word you mean), as the Contessa Orsini.”

His smile remained plastered on his face
with an effort. “Why should that concern me?”

She sighed and shook her head. “When will
you learn, my boy. I see and hear
everything
. I heard she
purposely attended Lady Somerset’s ball to seek a meeting with
you.”

Marcus uncrossed his legs. “Lady Orsini is
of no concern to me. She’s in my past and is of no
consequence.”

“Rubbish,” Collette spluttered. “She is the
first woman you loved.”

“Loved, as in past tense. I have no feelings
for Sabine now.”
Liar
. You have feelings for her, but none
you can discuss with your mother. An image from last night of
Sabine’s golden tresses spilling over her naked breasts set his
mind racing. . He hastily re-crossed his legs.

She studied him quietly before giving a
triumphant smile. “I’m very pleased to hear you say that. Sabine
Fournier almost destroyed you once. I’ll not sit by and let her do
it again.”

“Nothing Lady Orsini could do would ever
have any impact on me, mother.”

“Then you’ll not mind paying court to Lady
Amy Shipton.”

Marcus rubbed his brow, his headache
worsening. “Paying court?”

“As you don’t seem to care for one
particular woman, I thought
I’d
find you a wife.
Grandchildren, my boy, I want plenty of them before I’m too old to
enjoy them. I’ve waited long enough. I’d like to see your
engagement announced by the end of the season, and an autumn
wedding would be super.”

His mother was nothing but direct. He
admired that about her. She didn’t play games. “Does the lady know
of this plan?”

“Her mother does. And she approves,
regardless of your well deserved reputation. Amy is the most sought
after debutante this season. She’s beautiful, but best of all she
has a brain. I know you’d be bored with a simpleton.”

His lips turned up with a hint of a smile.
“Your idea of beauty and mine might be quite different,” he
teased.

“Oh, it’s not my idea. I simply chose a
woman who looked very much like all your mistresses. I assume that
is your preference. A woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a much
fuller figure— voluptuous I believe the look is called.”

His face flared with heat and he choked back
a snort. How did his mother know of such things?

“Amy is the exact opposite of Sabine
Fournier, and considering you’ve never bedded a fair-haired woman
since her, she would be what I assume you would desire.”

Now that statement from his mother was too
close for comfort and exceedingly embarrassing.

“I have no idea how you came by that piece
of information and I don’t wish to. But mother, really…”

“You’ve got to get on with your life.” Her
hands were waving which wasn’t a good sign. It meant she was
winding up for a passionate explosion. “You’ve let Sabine Fournier
rule your life for almost ten years and I’ll not put up with it
anymore. You’re a wonderful, warm man if only you’d let people
close enough to see it. Do not judge all women by one jezebel’s
actions. I had hoped your parent’s marriage would demonstrate how
wonderful a family could be.” Her voice broke on the last sentence.
“I still miss your father terribly.”

“I do know how wonderful your marriage with
Father was. I’ve never seen two such devoted people. That’s why I
have not married. I haven’t found that with anyone.”

“Don’t think to sway me. You haven’t exactly
been looking. Well, not looking in the right places. You don’t
marry mistresses.” She pulled her pleading, helpless look. “Would
you do this for me? Will you at least meet Amy and consider the
idea?”

He could never deny his mother when she was
like this. Besides, Amy was exceedingly beautiful in that dark,
Celtic manner. He’d have no trouble rising to the occasion of
begetting an heir and the much wanted grandchildren.

He usually stayed well away from debutantes
but he remembered the dark beauty. She’d caught his eye at a ball;
he couldn’t remember which one. One of the other beauties of the
season had spitefully spilt a drink on one of the wall-flowers, and
Amy had stepped forward in her defense and proffered a cutting
remark to the perpetrator. Then she had escorted the ugly duckling
away to be cleaned up. He’d admired her for her compassion and
good-heart.

His mother was watching him with a raised
eyebrow.

Perhaps letting his mother select a wife
wasn’t such a bad idea. His disaster with Sabine flashed through
his mind. He’d made a complete hash of it the first time on his
own. His mother would know the young lady’s character better than
he ever could. He wanted a woman who would be true to him, who
would be an excellent and caring mother and who could step in and
fill his mother’s shoes within Society. A high expectation he knew.
But who else was better qualified to find his mother’s replacement
than the woman who had previously held the title of Lady
Wolverstone?

“You’re over-thinking this, Marcus. Why not
pay attention to the girl and see what develops. That is all I’m
asking?”

“May the devil take you, Mother! You know
that is not
all
you’re asking. The minute I step out with
Lady Amy Shipton, the
ton
will assume I’ve selected her to
become the next Lady Wolverstone. I’ve never once encouraged a
virginal miss.”

“Mind your language, please.”

Marcus tipped his head back and laughed.
“You can discuss my preference in bed partners but I cannot utter
the word
virginal
?” He shook his head. “Sometimes Mother,
you really are priceless.”

He rose and walked to kiss her goodbye. “I’m
leaving. I’ve promised to meet Henry at the club, although of late
he’s become a pain in my rear. He’s almost as bad as you. He’s
enraptured of Harlow’s marriage to Caitlin. He believes true love
will make us content.” He gave a harsh laugh. “He doesn’t realize
how rare true love is.”

Mother and son shared a special smile. She
said, “Well, I do. And I know Amy Shipton is the right woman for
you if you’ll simply give her a chance.”

As he made his way to the door, he made a
final comment over his shoulder. “As you knew you it would, your
wish prevails. Set your plan in motion in regards to Amy. Simply
tell me where I have to turn up and I promise I shall be on my best
behavior.” He paused before he exited and gave his mother a stern
look. “But if I don’t like her, I will not be persuaded. Do I make
myself clear?”

“Perfectly, my dear.”

He closed the door behind him on his
mother’s triumphant smile. Knowing his mother, his life as a
bachelor was now on borrowed time. He should make merry while he
still could.

He immediately thought of Sabine, picturing
her naked and in his bed.

His pulse quickened and his body
hardened.

It was best he got on and enjoyed his
freedom while it lasted.

Marcus hurried up the steps of White’s set
on finding Henry and getting his friend to take his mind of his
predicament. He strolled into the cool interior of the club and
found Henry reading the paper at their normal table near the back.
No sooner had he taken his seat than a glass of brandy appeared on
a tray before him. “Keep them coming, George. It’s going to be one
of those days.”

“Yes, my lord,” and George, the ever patient
and efficient servant discreetly fetched the decanter and left it
on their table.

Henry peered over the top of his paper with
disapproving eyes. “Why am I not surprised? This requirement to
drink yourself senseless has nothing to do with last night, does
it?”

“No.”

“Funny. I can’t remember you joining me in
the card room as you said you would.”

“I was waylaid.”

Henry folded the paper neatly and laid it on
the table. “Waylaid? Is that what they call it now? By whom may I
ask? Lady Somerset reappeared in the ballroom rather suddenly
without you, I may add.”

Marcus blushed and he gulped back the
alcohol in his glass.