The Twelfth Night Wager Read online

“Yes, I quite liked it,” she said, breathless. “Though you must admit, the ride was more like a race.”

  He looked at her lips and then her neck. “I can see your pulse jumping. Perhaps you like to race as much as I do.”

  Grace wondered if he was still speaking of horses or something else. Her heart sped as he leaned toward her and brushed his lips across hers. After only a moment, she pulled back.

  “Too soon?” he asked.

  “That question implies such is inevitable, my lord. I can assure you it is not. Moreover, it was uncalled for. I hope I did nothing to encourage such behavior on your part.”

  “No, you did not. But I find it most difficult to be close to you and not touch you. I think you may be a little like me and understand when I say I could not resist.”

  He had not apologized for his impetuous act. Grace sat back on the seat, only then realizing she had been leaning toward him. Brushing off her skirt she said, “I am not at all like you, my lord. You jump into the fray, while I watch from the sidelines.”

  “Ah, but we can change that, can’t we?” he asked with a wry smile that told her it was precisely what he desired.

  “I have no wish to change.”

  It was a lie, of course, but she could not tell the rake she wanted to change, to live as she had not lived before. Or that she had liked the touch of his lips, which she had. Always an observer, more often content to listen to the problems of others and give comfort, she realized with sudden clarity that she might not be prepared to resist a man like him. He could indeed seduce her if she was not careful.

  He lifted her gloved hand to his mouth and kissed it. The gesture sent shivers down her spine. “I would like to see more of you, my lady. There is much to explore between us. We could pursue new interests together. Can you not see it in your heart to forgive me?”

  Ah, there it was, the apology. “I forgive you, certainly. But you already have many interests, Eustace.” Women, in particular, she did not say. “I do not think you need to add me to the list.”

  He ignored her statement and took up the reins, turning the carriage around. “My other interests aside, the affair at Hardwicke’s is only a week away. Perhaps we can find more to share at Wimpole.”

  The ride back was brisk but slower than the race down Rotten Row. Occasionally Eustace glanced at her with a knowing smile, making Grace wonder just how he intended to proceed.

  Chapter 4

  Despite her worries about Lord Pickard’s threats and Eustace’s imminent unsettling presence, Grace found she was anticipating the Hardwicke house party with some eagerness. It had been a long while since she’d been to such an event.

  The weather had cleared and Lady Claremont insisted she and Lady Picton accompany her in her comfortable carriage. So the three women traveled together to Cambridgeshire. Hawkins and the other two maids had gone the day before with the luggage.

  Other guests had already begun to arrive as the countess’s carriage wound its way down the long road leading to the great manor house that was Wimpole Hall. Looking out the carriage window, Grace saw wide green lawns flanking the road. In the distance, the stands of trees had turned autumn colors of red, orange and brown.

  As they pulled into the forecourt of the great house, another carriage, having unloaded, departed. A footman in livery assisted Lady Claremont down, as she was the first to rise. The small gray feather atop the countess’s ivory satin turban wafted in the breeze as she shook out her cloak.

  “I’m always a bit stiff after sitting so long…and a bit bruised for all the tossing about. It is good to be on my feet.”

  Amazed at the older woman’s agility, Grace followed Emily out of the carriage and let the hood of her cloak fall to her shoulders as she looked at the sky. It was a brilliant blue with only a few wispy white clouds. Her spirits rose as she took a deep breath of the fresh country air, so different from the smells of London.

  “I should be glad for a glass of sherry,” said Emily.

  “An excellent idea,” the countess agreed.

  The doors opened and they stepped into the entrance hall. Grace’s eyes were drawn to the geometric tiles that covered the floor. Organized into separate rectangular spaces, almost like rugs, they formed elaborate designs in red, green, brown and the same mustard yellow of the walls. She had forgotten how remarkable they were.

  One tile displayed the Hardwicke motto NEC CUPIAS NEC METUAS, “Neither desire nor fear.” Grace gave a silent grimace at the irony of it. At this moment she felt both: desire for a man who would seduce her for a wager, and fear of a separate man who held a terrible truth. She would have to keep the motto in mind.

  The butler approached with a footman in tow. “Lady Claremont, may I take your cloak…and that of your companions?” He looked toward Grace and Emily who stood slightly behind.

  “You may, my good man. And Lady Leisterfield, Lady Picton and I would welcome some sherry, as well, as soon as it can be arranged.”

  The butler smiled, obviously well acquainted with the countess’s ways. “I will make sure your maids have readied your rooms, my lady. Harrison here”—he gestured to a young man with dark hair at his side—“will show you to the drawing room where the other guests have gathered to take refreshment.”

  The countess thanked him as they shed their cloaks and followed the footman through a short corridor. It opened onto a large room with yellow walls and a rose-colored carpet with a border in an elaborate design in blue, white and brown. Several guests were being served drinks from silver trays. The ride to the country house had been bumpy if not overly long, and while there was a fire in the hearth warming the room, having shed her cloak Grace was happy for the sherry to ward off the November chill.

  As she sipped her drink and listened to Emily and Muriel speculating about the activities for the week, Grace looked around at the other guests, but the auburn-haired man whose face she sought was not in attendance. Apparently Eustace had not yet arrived. Grace shook her head once to clear her mind. She shouldn’t be thinking about him.

  In front of the fireplace, she spotted Lord and Lady Ormond gazing up at the portraits of the Earl of Hardwicke and his wife Elizabeth just as their hosts entered the drawing room and began greeting their guests. Now sixty-one, the earl was the most elegant man Grace had ever met, his white hair framing his kind face and blue eyes. And his wife was a true gentlewoman.

  As Grace watched, the Ormonds turned toward the center of the room to be welcomed by their hosts. Mary spotted her then, and walked toward the three women, Lord Ormond following after with his longer but slower strides.

  “Grace, how wonderful you and Emily have come!” Mary exclaimed. “Now I shall have riding companions!” Beaming at Lady Claremont she asked, “Was this your idea, Countess?”

  Ormond caught up with his wife as Muriel responded. “Humph! It was, indeed. Time they were both out and about. And if it takes my urging to accomplish the deed, so be it.”

  Mary grinned, her affection apparent. “I’m so glad you did. And it seems we will have splendid weather for the week.”

  A footman approached Lord Ormond. “Your chamber is ready, my lord.”

  “Very good,” said the tall, dark-haired marquess. Taking his wife’s hand he announced, “Ladies, we shall see you at dinner.”

  * * *

  Christopher was late. He arrived just before the evening meal, having been delayed by his meeting with Sir Alex and John, Lord Russell, on the issue of Catholic relief, a matter of some importance to the Whigs in the Lords and Commons. He was most anxious to speak with Lord Hardwicke, who was also a fellow Whig and a firm supporter of Catholic emancipation, but even more Christopher was anxious to see Lady Leisterfield. He could still taste her sweet lips. Could still smell her scent of orange blossoms. She would have been in his bed before now if his promise to Ormond to be discreet hadn’t put a damper on his usual schemes.

  “Lord Eustace,” said Hardwicke’s butler, “you’re just in time for dinner. They�
��ll be sitting down momentarily. Lord Hardwicke has been asking for you. He was worried you might have met with miscreants on the way.”

  Christopher smiled and handed the man his hat. “No, fortunately I did not. Well, unless you consider members of Parliament such. I had no intention of missing dinner when I know Wimpole has a fine kitchen. Just show me to my room and I’ll change.”

  Soon he was escorted into the gilded green dining room and to his place. The other guests had already been seated. Across from him sat Alvanley and Lady Ormond, and on either side of him a lady new to him. Neither, he reflected sadly, was the beautiful blonde who occupied his thoughts.

  A few places down the table he saw her sitting next to Ormond. There was a gallant on her other side with whom she was conversing. The shimmering coral gown she wore embraced her curves, modestly revealing the creamy mounds of her full breasts. Would that she was close enough he could speak to her. Close enough he could inhale her delicate scent. Memories of their morning ride assailed him—

  Perhaps it was just as well she was not so close. His fervent interest in the lady might be too apparent, which would not do.

  Lord Ormond, seeing the direction of Christopher’s gaze, raised an eyebrow. Christopher forced a smile and dipped his head in greeting, just as Lady Ormond sitting across from him drew his attention.

  “Good eve to you, Lord Eustace.”

  “And to you, my lady. And you, Alvanley.”

  Introducing himself briefly to the two brunettes on either side of him, Christopher attempted to keep the conversation moving along through dinner. One was the daughter of a fellow Whig and companion of the other, who was young and apparently unattached by the way she was flirting with him. Carrying on with many women while desiring only one was proving to be exhausting. Generally he took women on one at a time. Not so this game. He was forced to at least appear to pursue several at once.

  He had been right about the food served at Wimpole. Tonight, after a most savory soup, they feasted on turbot with lobster sauce, succulent baked chicken in fruit sauce and roast pork, accompanied by fresh roasted vegetables from the estate gardens. It was a most satisfying meal, especially welcome since it was all he’d eaten since breakfast.

  As he finished his last bit of pork, Alvanley shot a glance at him from across the table. “You intending to join the fox-hunt? I understand there is to be one.”

  “Yes, I was quite certain our host would indulge us,” Christopher admitted. He welcomed the challenge of riding to hounds. The fact the sport could be dangerous with its quick turns and jumps made it all the more exciting.

  When the desserts arrived—all manner of cheese, nuts, puddings and tarts—Alvanley again spoke up. “No apricot tart, I see,” his face registering his disappointment.

  “No, your usual fare is not here, but the apple and raisin tarts are quite delicious,” said Lady Ormond. “Content yourself with one of those. Variety, Alvanley, according to the poet William Cowper, is the very spice of life.”

  Alvanley chuckled. “Apricots, my lady, are spice enough for me.”

  Christopher snuck a glance at Lady Leisterfield, who was eating one of the tarts Lady Ormond praised. When she licked the juice of apples from her bottom lip, Christopher paused in the consumption of his own dessert, his groin reacting at the enticing sight of her pink tongue slowly savoring the sweet liquid.

  The brunette at his side chatted on about the balls she had been to. He barely caught a word until his name was mentioned. “Oh, Lord Eustace, you were ever so handsome when I first saw you at the Claremont ball.” She managed a blush, nattering on about what he’d been wearing at the time.

  “Forgive me if I failed to recall our meeting.”

  “Regrettably, we did not meet then, my lord. But I am ever so glad to have this week to know you better. Wasn’t it fortuitous that Lady Hardwicke should seat us together?”

  Ominous was more the like. “Why yes, Miss…”

  “Wentworth, my lord. Priscilla Wentworth.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss Wentworth.”

  He turned from the loquacious brunette to glance again at Lady Leisterfield, who was listening to something Ormond was saying. Christopher found himself frowning and recognized it as a pang of jealousy. Which was impossible. He was never jealous.

  Christopher’s musings at this new emotion were interrupted when their host Lord Hardwicke stood and raised his wine glass in toast to his guests. “Welcome all!”

  His toast was returned as everyone raised their glasses and took a drink of the very good red wine.

  Setting down his glass, the earl continued. “Lady Hardwicke and I do hope you enjoy your time with us. I thought to advise you on some of the activities we’ve planned. There will be shooting of pheasant and partridge on the morrow, and of course archery and lawn games for those wanting calmer pursuits, assuming our good weather remains. For those of you who did not bring your own mounts, horses will be made available. My stables are at your disposal. Later in the week we will have a fox-hunt, and there will be card games each day in the library.”

  To this there were exclamations of what a grand week it would be.

  “Oh yes,” Lord Hardwicke added. “Lady Hardwicke reminds me there will be music in the evenings to entertain, and at the end of the week we have invited other guests and neighbors to join us for a ball.”

  At this several guests shouted, “Hear, hear!”

  Surely, Christopher thought, in all of that he could find time to be alone with Lady Leisterfield. Then he recalled the folly that was built on the grounds, a medieval tower near the small lakes that would make a perfect setting for an assignation, and he smiled to himself.

  Ormond rose to lead all in a toast to their wonderful host and hostess, the Lord and Lady Hardwicke.

  Christopher raised his glass with the others, but his gaze was fixed on Lady Leisterfield.

  * * *

  Grace was grateful to join the ladies for tea in the yellow drawing room after dinner; it would give her a moment to gather her thoughts before the gentlemen joined them. She and Emily had taken a seat near the fire and were chatting with some of the other women, including the two brunettes of attractive countenance that had occupied Eustace at dinner. The younger one speculated that she might be the object of the viscount’s wager. It amused Grace to think so many women delighted in the prospect, as if being targeted by a rake were not something that should be more of a concern.

  After some minutes, Emily turned to Grace. “What will you do while the men are hunting the birds tomorrow?”

  “I thought to walk through the gardens after breakfast, but in the afternoon, as long as the weather is good, I should like to ride. They have lovely green hills here at Wimpole.”

  “I shall leave that to you and Lady Ormond, as I do not have the seat you two do. Perhaps the countess and I will have a game of cards. They’ve set up tables in the library for whist, vingt-et-un, piquet, and loo, and Muriel, as you know, is ruthless at whist.”

  “One would never know it to see her as she is now,” noted Grace, looking across the room to where the dowager countess was holding court with some of the other ladies, a feather of crimson rising from a striped turban of cream and the same color red.

  “She always wins,” pronounced Emily. “The working of her clever mind is quite a thing to behold.”

  “And one need not play cards with her to observe it,” agreed Grace with a smile.

  The doors of the drawing room opened with a whoosh and the men, apparently having finished their port, joined the ladies.

  As soon as he entered the room, Eustace looked in her direction. With a deliberate expression he strode toward her, making her heart flutter as she took in his tall lithe body and handsome visage. His eyes met hers and she couldn’t resist a smile. She had missed him in the small time he’d been with the men—and all during dinner while the beautiful young woman sitting next to him occupied his attention.

  “Ah, Lady Picton and Lady Leisterf
ield, how nice to see you,” said the smiling Eustace. “The table at dinner was too long, and you were both too far away to allow any conversation.”

  Grace was unsurprised when he offered to show her a particularly interesting painting of Lord Hardwicke in the red room just next door—surely for his nefarious purposes he would try to get her alone—so with Mary’s encouragement to enjoy the rake’s company in mind, she made her apologies to Emily, who said she wanted to speak with the countess about their card game tomorrow, and took Eustace’s arm.

  They walked through to the smaller room used for family dining and paused before the painting of the earl.

  “What is it you find so fascinating about this painting, my lord?” Grace asked.

  Eustace took her hand and kissed it. “You have caught me out. While I thought to show you the earl arrayed in the robes of the Order of the Garter, I also wanted a moment alone. I have missed you, my lady, since our ride together. Have you been busy?”

  She made a small laugh and withdrew her hand. “It has scarce been a week, my lord.’

  “Eustace.”

  “Very well. Eustace.”

  “It seems longer. Do you have plans for tomorrow, my lady?”

  “A walk in the gardens, perhaps. I thought to ride in the afternoon.”

  “May I join you? I brought my chestnut and would be pleased to exercise him with you. I will shoot in the morning, of course, but after a ride with a beautiful lady would be most pleasant. What say you we see the grounds of Wimpole together?”

  She felt a bit like she was being herded, but what harm could the man do to her while sitting on a horse? Besides, she would welcome the opportunity to see the lands around Wimpole Hall again. And it seemed Eustace enjoyed a good gallop as much as she did.

  “Yes, all right.”

  Eustace gave her a smile and looked at the painting of the earl. The older man was arrayed in elaborate robes of dark blue and red velvet with a red sash across his chest; the epaulets, satin shirt and neck cloth were white—the same color as his hair. Eustace began to tell Grace of the ceremony at which the honor had been bestowed some years earlier.