To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (6 page)

Henry continued with a wry smile. “And who
else seemed to be missing from the room? It was none other than
Sabine Fournier herself. A coincidence? I think not.”

“Damn it, Henry. I’m not in the mood. This
morning Mother coerced me into agreeing to court Amy Shipton. I
don’t need another lecture.”

Henry sat back in his chair and pursed his
lips. “Amy Shipton.” His head nodded. “She’s a good choice for you,
Marcus. She’s kind, beautiful and as bright as a button. She could
make you happy.”

Why did the image of Sabine’s beautiful face
flash before him whenever he heard the word happy? Sabine would
never make him happy. He would never forgive her for her deceit. He
couldn’t. What if he opened his heart again and she knifed it a
second time?

Marcus groaned.

Henry continued. “Then why did you spend
last evening with Sabine Fournier? She’s trouble. I don’t want to
see you hurt again. Remember I was there to pick up the mess she
left behind her last time.”

“If you must know she has had the audacity
to beg a favor of me.”

Henry’s eyebrow rose. “I hope you told her
to sod off.”

A smile broke over his lips. “Actually, I
have agreed to help her. Her father was one of Gower’s victims and
died in the poorhouse because of it. She wants revenge. She wants
my help to ensure she gets it.”

“If she has a good plan, then I’m in too.
Gower ruined a lot of good people, Millicent included. She lost her
life’s savings.”

“Which I’m sure you will help her
replenish.”

Millicent was Henry’s current mistress.
Henry had stayed true to her for over two years and she was the
main reason why, although he talked about the joys of marriage, he
did not part-take of it. Marcus thought his friend was hoping for a
miracle. That somehow Society would condone a marriage to his
mistress.

“What’s her plan?”

“She wants me to win the Gentleman’s Annual
Whist Tournament.”

“How did she know about your card skills?
You rarely play in public.”

Marcus shrugged. “That’s her strategy. It
doesn’t actually matter if I win or not; rather, I’m to enter and
ensure whoever Gower has backed
doesn’t
win.”

“And that will ruin him?”

“He’ll lose everything. He’s desperate and
has staked everything he owns on Prendergast being in the final
pair. I suspect Lady Orsini is buying up or has bought up all his
vowels.”

Henry grimaced. “Knowing how cold hearted
she is; I doubt she’ll show any mercy.”

Marcus started.
Cold
. When he’d held
her in his arms she’d been anything but cold. She was fiery passion
personified. His blood raged hot at the thought of having her
beneath him again. He’d take his time. He’d learn every inch of
her….

For some reason he wanted to defend her.
“Her parents died in the poorhouse. Gower’s treachery sent them
there. She has every reason to want revenge.”

Henry frowned. “And it begins all over
again. You’re defending her after only one meeting.” He paused and
eyed Marcus sharply. “What happened last night? How did she
persuade you?”

He couldn’t hold Henry’s gaze.

“Shit. You let Sabine,
of all women
,
seduce you
again
?”

“No!” Marcus cursed. “If you must know, I
offered her a wager. She becomes my lover if I win the tournament.
And I intend to win it for her. It is a fair exchange.”

Henry sighed. “What are you doing? That
woman destroyed you once before and now you let her walk back into
your life as if nothing had ever happened? You could have avenged
her parents… wait!” Henry sat up straight. “This is about
your
revenge, isn’t it?” Henry sipped at his drink. “I can’t
say that I blame you. I know what her betrayal cost you. Just be
careful. You could never think straight when it came to Sabine
Fournier.”

“I’m only fucking her, not marrying her.
I’ll wash her from my system, marry Amy Shipton and live a happy
life ever after.”

Henry laughed. “I must admit the idea of
destroying Gower warms my heart. I’ll help you practice.” He looked
around. “But not here. We don’t want anyone to know how good you
are. How about we adjourn to my townhouse for a few hands? I’ll
invite Millicent; she has a very lovely friend over from Paris
visiting with her.”

Before Marcus could reply George approached
with a note on his tray. “For you, Lord Wolverstone.”

Marcus recognized his mother’s aristocratic
crest on the stationery and opened the note.

My dearest son,

You are to please attend the Duke of
Barforte’s ball tonight with me and dance the first waltz with Lady
Amy Shipton. I have taken you at your word. We are expected there
promptly at ten.

Love, Mother

Henry must have noted his frown. “Not bad
news I hope?”

“No. Mother has simply instigated her plan
rather more quickly than I’d hoped. I’m to declare my intentions
toward Amy Shipton tonight at the Duke of Barforte’s ball. The
noose is tightening.” Marcus cursed and stood to take his leave. “I
appreciate the offer of practice. But I’m not in need of female
company.”

Henry drained his glass and rose with him.
“It’s started already. I’ve never known you to turn down female
delights before. Sabine’s twisting you up inside.”

“She is not. I merely need a clear head.
Wait for me outside while I enter my name in the tournament.”

With that he departed, ignoring Henry’s
knowing smile and headed towards his fate.

Chapter Six

As Sabine pulled her gloves on with
determined tugs, she was still fuming over her reaction to Marcus.
Thoughts of him made her heart lurch with an intense pleasure she
couldn’t control. She’d not slept a wink; dreams of lying in
Marcus’s arms quickly turned into nightmares. She had given herself
to him, and once he’d taken her, he’d cruelly walked away leaving
her bereft.

She stepped through her front door, on her
way out to visit her friend, Monique Baye. Monique’s family had
also fled France and she now made a living for herself as a modiste
in London. Monique had tried to help Sabine’s parents in their time
of need, but she did not have enough money and by the time she had
earned enough, Sabine’s parents were both sick. Monique had seen to
it that they had had a proper funeral and were not buried in
paupers’ graves. The least Sabine could do was support her friend’s
growing business. Before Sabine left England and returned to Italy
for good, she intended to make Monique the most sought after
modiste in London.

It was the clatter of horses’ hooves and the
sight of Marcus and Henry St. Giles on their fine mounts which
stopped her from entering her carriage. Their mounts weren’t the
only things that were fine. The men astride them turned heads
everywhere.

“Perfect,” she muttered under her breath.
She had thought she’d have a respite from his company for a few
days. She shivered as she remembered that her planned revenge on
her parents’ behalf would see her have to submit to the one man who
would not be able to value her sacrifice.

She almost stumbled as her heart leapt into
her throat. Both men looked so handsome mounted on their impressive
stallions. But it was the dark haired Marcus that drew her eye.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped back
onto the pavement. It was obvious that Henry St. Giles, the blond
demi-god of London, held her in contempt. His barely civil, “Good
day, Madam,” was testament to his feelings at her return.

She acknowledged Henry’s greeting with a nod
of her head. “Gentlemen. To what do I owe the honor of a personal
call at this early hour of the morning?” she said as she smiled
sweetly at Marcus.

He dismounted with a masculine grace that
saw her blush. She couldn’t take her eyes off his muscled thighs,
remembering how they’d felt as she’d pressed shamelessly against
him. Her body hummed at the memory of the power and pleasure his
touch had given her.

As he took her extended hand, he placed a
lingering kiss on her glove, and a tremble of awareness flashed
over her and his amber eyes gleamed with unbridled fire at her
response.

So he’d felt this quickening too.

His eyes glanced at the façade of the house
behind her. “You’ve bought Dowager Spencer’s house I see. You’re
Henry’s neighbor.” He indicated across the street. “Henry will be
able to keep an eye on who enters and leaves your house. Remember
our wager. You’re mine, and only mine, for as long as I
desire.”

She tried to take back her hand from his
warm grasp but he held tight. “I’ve leased her house, actually.
Once my business here in London is completed, I intend to return to
Italy.”

“Only when I allow it.” His tone was a sharp
reminder that he expected her to be at his beck and call.

She gave him an innocent smile. “I still
have two days before you
own
me. I was hoping I’d not see
you until then. The less we’re seen together, the better. I’m
attending the Duke of Barforte’s ball for his daughter’s coming
out. I suspect you won’t wish to attend.” She knew he’d not wish to
attend the ball. There were too many mothers, wanting husbands for
their daughters, in attendance.

“Actually, I too am attending the Barforte’s
ball, but I think I can resist you for one night. After all, I’ve
not thought of you for ten years.”

She swallowed her surprised exclamation.
Marcus attending a debutante’s ball? Hardly! He was obviously going
to keep a close eye on his prospective prize.

She smiled brightly in farewell. “Until
tonight then, gentlemen.”

He tightened his hold on her hand and
offered a gallant bow. “Two days then. Enjoy your freedom while you
can. You’ll be otherwise engaged once the tournament is over.”

She looked up and down the street, all the
while trying discretely to pull her hand free of his grasp. While
maintaining a polite smile that she hoped indicated mere
acquaintance rather than intimate friendship. She hissed under her
breath, “I know the terms. You don’t have to keep reminding me.
Remember, you promised you’d be discrete. Don’t call on me at my
house—
ever again
!”

He let her hand go and stepped back. Sabine
turned to enter her carriage.

“Then don’t force me to come looking for
you. You approached me, Madam. I’m the one helping you. Don’t
forget that. We agreed on a wager between us and I suggest you
honor it…. But wait, I forget. Perhaps you need reminding of what
honor is.”

She stumbled and choked back a curse,
sending him a look that would send meeker men fleeing.

A neighbor descended the steps next to her.
Just what she didn’t need, gossip about her relationship with a
notorious womanizing scoundrel, just when she was trying to ensure
her respectability in this town.

“Are you all right, Lady Orsini?” Marcus
called, grim determination in his question.

Through gritted teeth she replied,
“Perfectly, thank you, Lord Wolverstone. Thank you for stopping by
with the message.”

“Until tonight, my lady. I hope I have
delivered my message satisfactorily and it is fully
understood.”

She entered the carriage and slammed the
door. “It was most succinctly delivered. I remember it word for
word. I shan’t forget the meaning,” she paused and looked him
directly in the eyes, willing him to feel some smidgen of regret at
his behavior, “
ever
.”

With that she drew the curtain and banged on
the roof, indicating the carriage should move on, quickly. She had
to put some distance between them before she did something very
unladylike.

Sabine was still full of fury as she took
her seat in Monique’s sitting room. She smoothed a hand over her
hair, trying to compose herself.

Marcus’s behavior confirmed her worst fears.
He hated her, and was bent on extracting his pound of flesh. His
revenge would be to see her humiliated, just as she had humiliated
him all those years ago.

Pain rippled across her chest and no amount
of rubbing would stop the ache of what could have been and should
have been. Worse, try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to
hate Marcus.

Being with him stirred something inside her
that she had believed long dead.
Hope
. If she could extract
her revenge against Gower, and send him fleeing from England,
broken and penniless, never to return, then she could perhaps
settle here again and earn Marcus’s forgiveness. He hadn’t married.
And she was a widow.

There was hope.

She touched her lips, running her fingers
where his mouth had taken hers in delicious assault. She hadn’t
meant to succumb quite so easily to his touch, but her reserve
melted under the strength of his desire for her. Besides, she’d
wondered for ten years what it would be like to be taken by such a
man.

But she still longed for… she longed for
something she knew Marcus could not give, at least not to her.

Tenderness, love and his heart.

For she’d held it in her hand once
before…

“Sabine, it’s wonderful to have you back in
England. And you’re now a Contessa, of all things.” Monique bent
and kissed her on both cheeks, laughing gaily. “You’re still as
beautiful as ever.”

Sabine smiled. “You mean, for my age. I
can’t believe it’s been ten years since we last spoke.”

“You haven’t aged a bit. Whereas I,” she
indicated her body, “I have become even more voluptuous. It’s
better than saying fat, non?” Her smile crumpled disarmingly and
she leaned over and placed her hand on Sabine’s where it lay in her
lap. “I’m so sorry about your parents. I should have tried harder
to…” Monique’s breath caught at the memory and her eyes filled with
tears. “They were always good to me.”

Sabine patted her hand reassuringly. “Oh,
Monique, it was not your fault. I’m grateful for all that you did
for them and that they had someone who cared for them at the end.”
Monique sat back and dried her eyes with her handkerchief. Sabine
added angrily, “No. I know who is to blame and he will pay and pay
dearly. He will end up in the same situation he placed my parents,
the poorhouse.” The silence was deafening. Sabine tried to lighten
the moment. “By the way, you’re not fat. I’ve missed you.”