Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series Page 4

  He had been thoroughly distracted by Miss No Name, Miss Sign of Venus, as she ran her fingers through his hair. It felt heavenly. Wondrous. Divine. How long had it been since a woman had simply stroked his hair? Though he’d never admit it if asked, this was one of life’s greatest pleasures.

  Closing his eyes, he’d trusted this stranger more than he had anyone in years, and he couldn’t put reason behind it, only the instinctive sense he’d come to rely upon. He was good at figuring people out, which was why he preferred the company of horses.

  Then, a shadow had crossed over his face, accompanied by a hushed rustle of silk. Drowsily, he opened his eyes to see her gazing down at him. Her soft fingertips petted the shorter hair at his temples and followed the line of his whiskers to the lobes of his ears.

  He’d opened his mouth to tell her that he’d willingly pay her five hundred pounds per annum if she’d never stop, but she shushed him with a shake of her head.

  “Don’t say a word . . . please,” she’d whispered, leaning closer. “I only mean to borrow this for a moment and return it directly.”

  Then she’d lowered her mouth to his.

  The kiss was sweet, filled with promises she had no notion of fulfilling. With her head tilted to the side, her dimpled chin rested against his cheek. He could feel the warm rush of her exhale fan beneath his jaw.

  He fought the urge to return the kiss. He wasn’t interested in tutoring virgins. He enjoyed women who were already broken in and saddle ready. He was no one’s riding instructor. That was a job left for those sods who had to marry to produce a legitimate heir. He had more important things to do.

  However, at the moment, he couldn’t think of a single one.

  The press of her mouth turned to small nibbles, tiny sips that pulled his flesh between hers. The swells of her modest bosom nestled the top of his head, providing him with simultaneous sensations.

  Absently, he wondered if this was still the borrowed kiss or the one she meant to return directly. The more she continued, the more desperately he needed to know the answer. Because, surprisingly enough, he didn’t want it to end.

  Still, Bane controlled the impulse to guide her, to teach her to use her tongue to—

  She opened her mouth, sliding the tip of her delicious brandy-flavored tongue along the seam of his lips, scraping the bottom one with her teeth. He gripped the cushion beneath him. Her fingers flitted about his throat—pausing at his pulse, tracing his Adam’s apple—and then slipped beneath his cravat and collar. She pulled his upper lip into her mouth and suckled him for one mind-altering, devastating moment.

  He was undone.

  Unable to contain this unexpected desire a moment longer, he growled.

  The sound startled her. She drew back abruptly.

  He wished he could have held out longer.

  Covering her mouth, she stared down at him, her eyes blinking slowly as if trying to understand what had happened. If she figured it out, he hoped she would enlighten him, because he was just as baffled.

  “I—” he began, but before he could utter another syllable, his Venus turned on her heel and ran out the door.

  It was for the best, he supposed. After all, he hadn’t had a clue how to finish that sentence.

  The following morning, Bane stared up at the sky blue coffered ceiling in his bedchamber and listened to the commotion in the hallway. His valet was doing his best to dissuade his unwanted guest from barging in, but it sounded as if he was losing the battle.

  He grunted in mild annoyance. However, a man could not lie abed all day, staring at the ceiling, or else he might find himself comparing each shadow and highlight to the exact shade of a certain woman’s eyes. Which, of course, he would never do.

  The door opened, slamming against the wall. “Really, Bane! A guard at the door?”

  “My lord, I—”

  Without breaking his focus from the ceiling, Bane lifted a hand. “It’s fine, Bitters. I am awake now.” Who could sleep through all that caterwauling, if he’d managed to sleep at all? “Better luck next time.”

  When the door closed, Lady Eve Sterling let out a huff. “When Bitters told me you were still abed, I scarcely believed him. You never sleep late. Are you ill?”

  “Ill of company, at the moment.” He groaned and sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed as the counterpane pooled at his waist. Normally, he slept in the nude. Yet today, he was grateful to have already dressed when he’d set to prowling the house in the wee hours before dawn. “Were you concerned for my health, Auntie?”

  Being a mere six years his senior, Eve loathed it when he called her Auntie, but it was the least she deserved. Instinct told him she was to blame for the reason he hadn’t slept. Well, instinct and the fact that his Venus had used her name.

  “Merely wanting to make certain I’m in your will.” She breezed in and dropped her gloves and reticule on the cushion of a dark leather wingback chair near the hearth. “Without an heir, surely you would leave everything to me.”

  Most likely, she was here angling for one thing or another, wanting to see if the plan she’d cooked up last night had worked. However, whatever this new scheme entailed still remained a mystery.

  Apparently looking to make herself comfortable, she moved toward the window and flung open the drapes. Sunlight streamed in, stinging his eyes. He winced and scrubbed a hand over his face. He hoped a pot of coffee would chase away the fog from his brain.

  “You hang on my sleeve quite heavily. In fact, your yearly allowance, in addition to your staff’s salaries, all comes out of my pocket. Therefore, it stands to reason you will be well provided for. Unless, of course, you exceed the generous stipend . . .” He paused mid-thought. There could be another reason for her unexpected visit. “Are you in deep again? Is that why you are here?”

  He squinted in order to look at her. She wore her usual false smile and calculating stare above a green riding habit. Her pale hair was pinned beneath a high, feathered hat perched to one side. The ensemble was new, and he was sure to receive the bill by week’s end. “If you have bet on the wrong horse again, I shall be very cross with you. How many times have I told you to bet only on mine?”

  She lifted her eyes to the ceiling he’d been studying for hours, but the hue didn’t hold her attention as it had his. “Is that what you think of me—that I only show up begging for money? You wound me, Bane. Truly.”

  He doubted it but held his tongue.

  “Actually, I came to reprimand you for reneging on our bet, Captain Sharp.”

  Here it was. Eve always liked to renegotiate as she went along. He never reneged. “As agreed upon, when I allowed you to win at cards, I accepted Lady Amherst’s invitation, and I attended the gathering.”

  “Holing yourself up in the study was hardly attending. No one even knew you were there.”

  Apparently, she’d known exactly where he was.

  Standing, he pulled on a charcoal silk banyan and tied the sash around his waist. “As I recall, my acceptance and presence were the only two stipulations of our wager.”

  “Mingling was implied, as you well know,” she said on the way to his dressing table.

  “Then what are you after, hmm? Come to call me out? Will it be swords or pistols?” When she didn’t respond—her focus was on rummaging through a flat walnut box filled with his medals and a few odds and ends—he made a comment sure to get her attention. “I imagine Lord Amberdeen would be more than happy to be your second.”

  She threw something at him. Expecting the mild retaliation, he caught the object squarely in his hand. It was his grandfather’s signet ring. He remembered the pleasure he’d felt when he’d removed it from his cold, dead finger.

  “Resorting to petty cruelty?” Eve asked. “My, you must be in a state. Tell me, what has you so ruffled this morning, or should I say afternoon?”

  His thoughts quickly veered to a more pleasant memory. Venus. She was all he could think of. Her sky blue eyes, her blushes, her wit
, her kiss. “I’m perfectly unruffled.”

  It seemed silly in the light of day. He hadn’t lost sleep over a woman, let alone a virgin, in . . . well, frankly, never. If he wanted a woman, he had her. There had never been any need to lose sleep over one, even when he was a lad. That was, after all, how he’d earned his nickname. He’d had an afternoon tumble with a dairymaid just off school grounds. When he’d rejoined his party, he had a blossom of wolfsbane tangled in his hair. The name Bane had stuck ever since.

  “Hmm . . .” she said, linking her hands before her and casually moving toward the window. “Perhaps a stint at my country manor will put you back in good humor.”

  Typically, the more he thwarted her, the more she revealed. “As you well know, my estate is a mere ten miles from yours. Besides with Gypsy coming in to foal in a matter of weeks, I’ll be dropping by daily.” Though the dark Arabian belonged to him, he kept her at Eve’s stables for the time being, out of harm’s way.

  Unfortunately, the sire to her foal, Rhamnous, was unpredictable of late, crashing through the stalls, biting the groomsmen, and making the other horses nervous. Bane had seen it happen with former racing Thoroughbreds before. Some had a hard time letting go of the thrill of competition. Yet sooner or later, they mellowed. Either that or broke one of their legs trying to escape and race one last time.

  “True,” she murmured, toying with the edge of the dark velvet drapes. “However, since I’ll be hosting a party, it would be rude of you to simply pop over and not stay for the duration.”

  Bitters knocked on the door and brought in a tray of coffee and cakes, leaving it on the console by the door before disappearing without a word. That was precisely why he liked his valet. He didn’t feel the need to speak for the sake of filling the air with the sound of his voice. A very admirable quality.

  Bane picked at the cake, ensuring there weren’t any currants hiding inside. His cook seemed to believe they were food of the gods. She put them in nearly every pastry. Since she was the same cook his father had once employed, he didn’t have the heart to tell her he despised them. “Your guests. Your rude nephew. I don’t see how this concerns me.”

  “Without another male, the party will be uneven.”

  “Again . . .” He let his words trail off, leaving his lack of concern hovering overhead as he chewed the rum-soaked cake appreciatively. He guzzled the first cup of coffee and then poured another without offering any to Eve. He wouldn’t, not until she told him why she was really here.

  “Then you leave me no choice but to force your hand,” she said.

  Ah. Here it was. He broke off another piece of cake. Finding a currant, he flicked it to the plate with the tip of his thumb. “This promises to entertain.”

  For years, she’d been trying—and failing—to get him to attend one social gathering or another. He’d given in twice this Season, and the only reason had been because he thought she’d finally stop needling him. Apparently, it had the opposite effect. She still wanted more, though he could not fathom the reason.

  “I’m prepared to offer you something you’ve been wanting for the past seven years.”

  He turned and saw that she regarded him from across the room, expectant. “You’ve piqued my interest, I’ll grant you that. What have I wanted from you these past seven years?”

  “My silence on the matter of your plot for revenge and refusal to marry.”

  She was forever pestering him, so that was a wager indeed. If she could keep to her part of it.

  The revenge against his grandfather wasn’t finished. Even with the old man dead, Bane’s title restored, and Ravencourt—his family’s estate—now in his control, there were two final components. One, he had to find the man responsible for carrying out his grandfather’s orders—of murdering his parents and then trying to wipe away all proof of Bane’s existence—and make certain he paid the highest price for his crime. And two, the family name would die with Bane. There would be no heir—no direct bloodline to his grandfather, at any rate. Bane was determined to be the last of the Fennecourts.

  With this ultimate revenge, he’d have the old man turning in his grave for all eternity.

  “Your permanent silence on the matter is a prize worth seizing, and all for the price of my attendance?” He crossed his arms over his chest, unconvinced.

  She smiled. “Well . . . not quite all.”

  “Ah, I thought not. Out with it. All of it, if you please. No altering the bargain once set in place.” He considered her fortunate that he was bored enough—and empty enough, of late—to listen.

  Eve held out her gloved hand and began by lifting her index finger. “Your attendance—which means that you will not leave the party or the grounds at any time unless we are having a shared outing. Your participation in all social events—cards, parlor games, and dinners, as well as dancing. And last, you must abstain from sexual congress for the duration of the party.”

  “The first two points are very well thought out, and I commend your thoroughness.” He frowned. “However, the last one puzzles me. Why should my abstinence or lack thereof matter to you?”

  She waggled those three fingers at him. “It matters because your charm and good looks won’t last forever. There will come a day when you are lonely and too vile a creature to procure your own bed partner. Perhaps all this is because I want you to have a sample of your future life.”

  Or perhaps not.

  “Nagging me even as you promise to nag no more,” he said, not amused and not convinced. “You’ve managed to force your opinion of my life into this bargain. I have a feeling you will not be able to resist, even once I am declared the victor. No. Your reasoning is too flawed. We both know the only reason you pester me about marrying is because you believe your way of thinking far superior to mine.” From the beginning, she thought a better revenge tactic would be to marry a gypsy girl and further taint the Fennecourt bloodline. The prejudice behind such an idea made him ill.

  “All right,” she said with a sigh. “Then the truth is, telling you that you can’t do something almost always ensures my success.”

  That made more sense. Still, he would gain nothing from this bargain. “If my only prize for all I will suffer is relief from your nagging, then this proposition is highly one-sided.”

  “It would be, if not for one more coin I’m placing on the table.” She smiled in a way that reminded him of a lethal wolf’s trap. Something told him he was about to spot the bait. “I have the name of your grandfather’s secret solicitor.”

  He stilled, the tip of his cup halting against his lower lip. His breath rushed against the dark elixir, causing ripples that nearly splashed over the rim.

  Bane lowered the cup. “How did you discover his identity?” Shirham, the family solicitor, had known next to nothing of the late marquess’s plot, neither had he known the name of the person who’d carried out his grandfather’s diabolical orders. In all the years of searching through records, no evidence had been found concerning the secret solicitor’s identity.

  Eve grinned, dangling the bait directly over the trap. “A letter, which I have in my possession. It came to me by accident shortly after Mangus’s death, little more than two years ago. You knew he died, didn’t you?”

  He’d heard. Shortly after Bane had proven his legitimacy and secured the title and all the lands warranted to the Marquess of Knightswold, he’d removed every servant who’d once been loyal to his grandfather. Unlike the monster his grandfather had been, however, Bane had settled them all with generous stipends and recommendations for other posts. Mangus, beyond the age for service, had gone to live with a widowed sister in Downend.

  Bane thought they’d parted on decent terms, considering. Apparently, the old codger had still held a grudge against him. “Then he knew all this time?”

  “No.” Eve shook her head. “What he told us when we’d questioned him was true. He never knew of the plot, nor did he witness any clandestine meeting between your grandfather and the secret
solicitor.”

  He was losing patience. “Then how?”

  “I read his letters. Years ago, he wrote to his sister about a series of weekly visits to an obscure tavern in the next township.” She flitted her fingers as if shooing an errant bee. “He made nothing of it at the time, but it sparked my interest enough to drive there and ask the old tavern keep if he remembered.”

  “And?”

  “I was fortunate enough to speak with him. A good thing, too, because within days of our conversation, consumption claimed him.” Her eyes gleamed, knowing she had Bane on the hook. “Which, in the end, leaves me the sole proprietor of the information you’ve sought for so long.”

  Her tone made it sound like a mere trifling thing. Yet she knew he would do anything to complete his own revenge.

  The odds were suddenly in her favor. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  Bane’s brow lifted, which reminded him of Venus and the way her expression had told him that she had little patience for games. Ah, Venus, if only you were here in this room instead of my pesky aunt . . .

  “Then tell me, what’s in it for you? What will you win if I choose to fail, because we both know I have never lost unless I’ve wanted to,” he said, feeling the need to remind her.

  “Gypsy,” she said without hesitation. “Once the foal is weaned, she stays with me.”

  He felt as if she’d slapped him, and he reeled back reflexively. “Out of the question. She was never yours to keep or even to consider.”

  Undeterred, she shook her head. “Jester is quite fond of her, and I enjoy seeing them together.”

  In the short time Gypsy had been at Eve’s estate, the mare had formed an attachment to a gelded skewbald pony they called Jester, which had been given to Eve by Bane’s late uncle. Together, Gypsy and Jester made quite the odd-looking pair.

  “I wanted to keep her safe. I never gave you any reason to believe anything else.” Then it suddenly occurred to him. This was the reason she was here. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  Eve drew in a deep breath, as if debating whether or not to continue her game or simply be done with it. She sighed. “Amberdeen won’t end his pursuit of my land. You know how much it means to me, especially after your uncle . . . died for it.”