The Wager Read Online Free Page B

narrow
corridor, and let her walk in front of him. The candles were still alight, and
the route was easily seen.
    "Then my dear, perhaps you best readjust
your thought. When I win—again—I will claim you. As mine. And not merely for one night. I was cheated by you
before due to your stupid altruism and misguided sense of duty. I have no
intention of letting that happen again."
    ***
    It was only his hand in the small of her back
that stopped her tripping. Had he really said that? Catherine clamped her lips
together lest she utter what she felt. Hurt, fear, and yes she admitted,
excitement. She was more alive than she had been for many a year. Every pore,
every hair reacted to his presence with tiny darts of awareness that stung and
tingled. It might not be the conventional way, and she had no intention of
losing, but maybe once she had won, he would perhaps woo her in the traditional
manner? Then turn those expectant tingles into reality?
    She was under no illusions about him. He would
play to win, and be a hard man to best, but dice was a game of chance. All she
could do was pray the turn of the die would in be in her favor. Her breath
quickened. At least for the first time in many a month, she
felt enervated and alive rather than just going through the motions. But
why must he insist on prolonging the wait? With insight, she accepted it was
his way of unnerving her. There and then she vowed not to let him see how he
succeeded.
    "Of course, my lord," she said in as
even a tone as she could manage. "I will prepare for a short visit to
Chaloner Court
.
I trust you will have room for my maid?" Not even for him could she dismiss
all the proprieties.
    "But of course." They reached his
carriage, and he helped her inside. "However, I suggest you prepare for a
slightly longer stay than perhaps you envisage."
    Surely
he is toying with me? He is not expecting me to simply up sticks and move in if
he wins? We would both be banished from the ton, and blackballed everywhere. He
could not wish for that? Scared
as to just what his reply might be , Catherine decided
not to ask the question.
    Over the next few days, she wished she had not
been so reticent. No communication came from His Lordship. Her brother wore a
permanent reproachful look as if everything that had happened was her doing,
and her mama had once more begun to bewail her daughter's unmarried state. If
anything was guaranteed to make Catherine jump and her heart beat faster every
time the footman handed her post, that was it.
    It was typical that when his missive was
presented to the house, she was out. Persuaded to attend a luncheon picnic with
some friends, she had gone with reluctance. The ladies, all long married,
chattered about attentive, or inattentive husbands,
and redecorating. The men, including one Lord Broxburn ,
invited to keep her company, spoke of hunting, and the newest pugilist.
Catherine was bored and restless. The thought that perhaps she could plead a
headache soon became a reality, and she was glad to return home, spurn any
advances by the interested Lord, and retire to her room.
      Once
there she unpinned her hair and uncaring how wet it became, sank into the warm
bath prepared for her. The headache was now hitting her skull like a
broadsword, and all she wanted was to sink into bed, Lady Merton's supper dance
be hanged. She would send her excuses.
    Betsy bustled in as she relaxed and let the warm
water soothe her.
    "My lady, there is a letter for you. It's
on the table. I think it's from Lord Fredericks." Catherine could tell by
the maid's voice she was seeing a great romance rekindled. If only she knew the
truth.
    "Hand it to me in here, please?" If it
was from her nemesis, she needed to know just what it said. Her hands shook as
she took out the single sheet of parchment and scanned the contents.
    Chaloner Court Friday, three pm. A
coach will call for you at ten.
    Short, to the point, and Friday was the
following day. Damn him, he didn't intend to