To Wager the Marquis of Wolverstone (8 page)

She thought she’d crumble into pieces at
Henry’s feet. She felt as though she’d fold in on herself until she
no longer existed.

At her lack of response Henry grunted and
turned away from where she stood gripping the rail with two hands
least she fall down.

“As usual you’re thinking of no one but
yourself. Know this. I’ll do everything I can to ensure he marries
Amy. I’ll not let you destroy him a second time.”

The tears began to fall as soon as Henry’s
last harsh, angry words were spoken. Through the numbing pain, she
heard his footsteps fade and soon she was alone in her misery.

A wrenching sob escaped her and she
struggled to hold back the sound of her distress. Perhaps Henry was
right. You can’t go back and undo the past. Perhaps it would be
better to simply let Marcus think he had his revenge on her and
then walk away. Was she being selfish? The truth would only bring
him further pain.

As long as Gower suffered, she should be
thankful. She had a home in Italy. And most importantly her son
would be safe from the truth and disgrace of the past.

She’d only just finished wiping the tears
from her face when she heard a man’s heavy footsteps behind her.
She swung round and was frozen to the spot with fear. Her heart
pounded in her ears, her stomach knotted and bile rose in her
throat.

“It’s been an awfully long time, Sabine.
Rather awkward to see your change in station.”

She gazed aghast into the face of the man
she hated most in the world. He had changed little. He still looked
like a monster wrapped in the guise of an angel. His dark copper
hair was immaculately styled over his ears and seemed to surround
his head as if it were a halo. But the angelic look was merely at
face value. His nose looked a good deal more crooked than she
remembered; it gave his face a more rugged look. He’d aged—badly.
Although roughly the same age as Marcus and Henry, he looked years
older. His green eyes in his lined dissipated face silently mocked
her as they swept intimately and indecently over her gown.

“Stay away from me, Gower” she finally
forced out. She tried to step back from him but felt the balcony
railing between her shoulder blades blocking her.

He laughed intimidatingly and crowded in on
her until his chest was flattened against her breasts. “
Lord
Gower, to you, my dear. The past is best left in the past, if you
take my meaning.” His breath stank of brandy and her skin crawled
as a finger traced around her lips. “You may be Lady Orsini now
but, trust me, no one will believe any of your tales from years
gone by.”

She shoved at his chest and tried to squeeze
around him. Just when she thought she’d made her escape, his hand
grabbed her upper arm in a vice-like grip. “If I find you’ve told
anyone
anything
, I’ll make sure you’d wished you’d never
been born. I hear you have a son…”

Her horrified gaze flew to meet his. He was
evil personified.

“I’m sure you’d hate to see anything bad
happen to the little lad, wouldn’t you?”

“What have you done to him?” She cried.

“Shush, will you! Nothing, yet. But I have
men who know how to make little boys disappear.” He leaned in close
and menacing. “If you say one word to anyone about our former
acquaintance…”

He didn’t need to say more. Her ears were
ringing; her frantically beating heart felt as if it would fly from
her chest. She’d die before she let this man hurt Alfredo. She
tried to tug her arm free and felt her dress tear.

“I think the lady wishes you to take your
filthy hands off her.” The intervening words were punctuated with
steel.

Marcus!

Gower stepped away from Sabine and plastered
a sickening smile on his face, raising his hands in the air. “Don’t
get on your high horse, Wolverstone. I’m just a man a little worse
for drink.”

Dark amber eyes, filled with anger, flashed
in her direction. “Are you all right, Lady Orsini?”

She moved quickly toward where he stood.
“Yes. I’m perfectly fine.”

She wasn’t. Marcus could hear the terror in
her voice. “Apologize to the lady, Gower, before I beat you
senseless.”

Gower, making an exaggerated bow from the
waist, almost toppled over. “My apologies, my lady. Please forgive
my boorish behavior, too much brandy.”

Marcus took a menacing step towards Gower
and he beat a hasty retreat. He turned to Sabine and noticed her
trembling like a leaf in the breeze. “Not much of an apology, but I
expected nothing more from a louse like him. He didn’t hurt you,
did he? Perhaps the simplest way to rid the world of that odious
man would be to challenge him to a duel.”

“No!” Sabine cried and gripped his arm. It
was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him and it sent a jolt
of scorching heat, like the touch of a branding iron, right up his
arm. “That is, I prefer to hurt him where he will feel it the most,
in his pocket.”

There was more in play here he suspected.
Sabine was hiding something, something about Gower. She appeared to
be unusually petrified for such a feisty woman.

“Did he threaten you?”

She looked into his face and seemed to
collect herself. “No. He was simply drunk and overstepped his
bounds.”

She was lying. For once he could read every
nuance on her beautiful face. Perhaps his years of experience meant
she could no longer fool him. He was no longer the green,
love-struck calf who would have done anything for a mere smile from
her ravishing lips.

She looked at her dress and then back at
him. “You’ll have to excuse me. I will have to go home. I can’t
return to the ball; he’s torn my dress.”

Unbridled rage engulfed him. How
dare
Gower lay a hand on Sabine! He started at these thoughts. They were
possessive and intensely territorial, as if Sabine was his to
protect. Yet she’d never been his. Except that soon, he would
own
her. After the tournament she would be his and at his
bidding only, and he would not have her sleeping with any other man
during their arrangement. He had insisted on that. Jealousy raged
within him like a wildfire and he couldn’t dampen it down.

“He seemed very eager to become better
acquainted with you. Was it your plan to seduce him too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I shudder at the
thought of the man touching me.” She eyed him with surprise.
“You’re jealous!”

The dark flare of anger scorching his veins
told him that she had sensed the truth; though he was loathe to
admit to it. “Not jealous, merely a sense of possessiveness over
what I consider to be mine. It’s a primitive male instinct, you
know, nothing more, nothing less.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “There
is no need to be jealous and you know it. He’s the last man on
earth I’d ever willingly allow to touch me.”

The venom in her voice appeased his
jealousy. So she really did hate the man, and with good reason.
What he had done to her parents was heinous.

He looked her over and the simmering tension
that lay between them was reignited. God,
how
he wanted her!
He prayed that when the tournament ended this rapacious hunger for
her would be satiated. He wanted to move on. Henry was right. He
needed to look to the future and there was no future with a woman
like Sabine. He could not trust her with his heart—or—in fact, with
anything. Look at the game she’d instigated with Gower, and the
wager she’d accepted with him. She’d sink to any level, it seemed,
to get what she wanted.

“Since you cannot return to the ball, I
shall escort you home.”

He saw the pulse at the base of her
delectable collar bone quicken in response to his proposition. She
licked her lips and he hardened immediately, longing to put her
luscious lips to good use.

She eyed him coolly. “Aren’t you worried
that you’ll disappoint your mother? Or Amy Shipton?”

He gave her a taunting smile. “Now who’s
jealous?” He’d expected an angry denial but instead she dropped her
gaze from his and turned her back to him.

He watched her delicate shoulders shudder as
she struggled for composure, and after several minutes, she said,
“It would seem that I am more human than you.” Her quiet words
chipped at the block of ice surrounding his heart. “After what we
shared in the past, it’s difficult to imagine you married to
someone else. You expect me to come to your bed while you are
engaged to another.” He saw her shoulders slump. “The Marcus
Danvers of old would not be so cruel—to me—or to Amy Shipton.”

“I can’t believe you have the audacity to
comment on my behavior. Wasn’t it you, who ten years ago swooned so
eagerly in my arms, surrendering willingly to my kisses while all
the time playing me false? If one man was not enough for you then,
why should one woman be enough for me now?”

Sabine whirled around to face him. “Two
wrongs do not make a right. Amy Shipton is an innocent. Don’t use
her as part of your vengeful plan against me.”

“I have no intention of hurting Amy.
Presently I have no understanding with her or any other woman for
that matter.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“But I am in search of a wife. You have your
son; I too would like children. Amy Shipton seems an ideal
candidate. She’s loyal to her friends, has a kind heart and is very
beautiful. Once I learned how devious women could be, I set my
sights lower. There’ll be no grand love for me, it’s safer that
way. I won’t be disappointed a second time.”

He heard her draw in a deep breath at his
insult. He caught himself just in time and just stopped himself
from pulling her into his arms and soothing the hurt he saw
register on her face.

Instead, with his characteristic charming,
predatory smile, Marcus stepped closer to her. “Speaking of not
being disappointed, I am looking forward to my victory. I promise
you you’ll enjoy our reunion.”

She straightened up to her full height which
still only saw the top of her head reach his shoulders. “It would
be unwise for anyone to see me leave with you. I shall slip through
the gardens and meet you at your carriage.”

And before he could argue, she had turned
and descended the outside stairs and, like a ghost, disappeared
into the gathering gloom.

Marcus turned back into the ballroom. He
couldn’t dampen the growing excitement circulating in his blood.
Soon he’d finally be able to take his fill of the woman who’d
haunted his dreams for years. Surely then he could wipe her from
his memory.

As he made to step back inside, an arm came
across the door to prevent him. “Where would you be hurrying off
to?” Henry peered over Marcus’s shoulder at the empty balcony
behind. “Your mother bade me fetch you. She thought Sabine may have
cornered you.”

“Since when have you been so eager to do my
mother’s bidding? I don’t need a nursemaid. Bugger off!” And he
pushed his way past Henry and into the crush of people.

Henry dogged his footsteps. “You aren’t
leaving, are you?”

Marcus continued his path toward the stairs,
eager to leave the crowded room. He watched Henry’s perceptive gaze
scan the room. “Sabine seems to have left too.”

“She had to leave. Gower accosted her
outside and ripped the sleeve off her dress. I arrived just in time
or there could have been an ugly scene.”

Henry cursed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left
her out there alone but I couldn’t stomach her apparent act of
being so heart-broken.”

Marcus threw an accusing look at his friend.
“You took her outside? Why? I hope you are not meddling in my
business.”

Henry shrugged and smiled at a young lady
he’d previously danced with standing nearby. “She became overly
upset when I mentioned you were considering marrying Amy.”

But Marcus refused to countenance what that
might imply and as the two men entered the hall. Marcus strode
purposefully toward the door. “Leave
me
to deal with
Sabine,” he hissed under his breath at his friend.

Henry halted half way and called after him,
“You’ve been warned. Don’t do anything stupid. She cannot be
trusted.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Marcus growled and
walked out into the night, the anticipation of the forthcoming
pleasures scorching a path in his veins.

Chapter Eight

Sabine had not seen Marcus since he’d
delivered her home two nights ago after the Barforte’s ball. For
that she was thankful. She needed the time to compose her battered
nerves. Soon, very soon, she hoped her long awaited revenge against
Gower would come to fruition. But then the most agonizing aspect of
the painful saga would begin. She would have to fulfill her side of
the wager she’d been forced to make with Marcus.

She stepped down from her carriage,
listening to Judith’s chatter, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching
fact that her plan hinged on the outcome of today’s events.

The Annual Gentleman’s Whist tournament was
being held at Richmond Park on the outskirts of London. The area
was perfect for the masses who would gather for the day’s free
entertainment. The park allowed for a family atmosphere with
picnics and children’s games, and of course the placing of
wagers.

The beautifully manicured grounds was
playing host to countless carriages and hundreds of horses, as the
fine weather had drawn in an enormous crowd.

Sabine had talked Judith into accompanying
her. However, Lady Harcourt had needed no coercing when she heard
Marcus had entered. She, like all of Society, was surprised. Marcus
had never been a man to play cards before.

The second round was well underway when the
two ladies arrived and Sabine breathed a sigh of relief upon spying
Marcus still at one of the tables inside the large tent. He’d
survived the first round.

It promised to be a long day. There were
over fifty gamblers partaking which was hardly surprising given the
size of the purse—two-hundred thousand pounds, which meant there
was one-hundred thousand pounds for each of the two winners.