Lady Allerton's Wager

Beth realised that this was true. Marcus had loosened his grip on the reins and the horses, very well-behaved thoroughbred bays, were trotting at a decorous pace along the path. All of Marcus’s attention was focused on her and as soon as Beth realised it she became acutely aware of the warmth of his regard and the disturbingly intent expression in those dark eyes.

‘Well, yes…anyway…For a hundred years the Trevithicks prospered and Mostyns struggled, but they still held Fairhaven Island.’ Beth glared at Marcus, forgetting for a moment that he had not been personally responsible for wresting it from her grandfather. It was easy to fall back into the stories of her childhood, the enthralling tales of Trevithick treachery. ‘Then my grandfather inherited the estate and came up against your grandfather, my lord, the fifth Earl, George Trevithick.’

‘Ah, the Evil Earl. I have heard much of his exploits. They say that in his youth he was in league with the wreckers and the smugglers and the pirates and anyone who could help him make an illegal profit.’

‘I have no doubt. What is certainly true is that our grandfathers were implacable enemies, my lord, and had sworn to take their fight to the death. One stormy March night my grandfather was sailing for Fairhaven, not knowing that the Earl had already landed there and that the wreckers were waiting for him. There was a gale blowing and in the dark my grandfather did not realise that the shore lights were not placed there by his servants but were a trick of the enemy.’ Beth took a deep breath. ‘His ship ran aground and all hands were lost, along with the chest of treasure the ship had been carrying. My grandfather was the only one to escape ashore, but he was ambushed by the Evil Earl and cut down in the fight. Then the Earl stole his sword, the Sword of Saintonge, that had been in the family for centuries, and took the island into the bargain! Now, what do you think of that, my lord?’

Beth finished, out of breath, and looked at Marcus expectantly. It was a tale for a dark, stormy night rather than a bright day in the park, and it was difficult to believe that either of them were the descendants of men who had struggled to the death for supremacy only fifty years before. That conflict had been ruthless and atavistic, belonging to a previous and less civilised time. Beth allowed herself to consider the man who sat beside her, looking every inch the sophisticated society gentleman. She wondered suddenly just how much of that image was a façade, for she already knew from her dealings with Marcus that if one scratched the surface there was something infinitely more ruthless beneath. As for herself—how far would she go to regain Fairhaven? The stubborn tenacity of the Mostyns was in her blood. Perhaps both of them were true to their ancestry after all.

Marcus encouraged the horses to pick a bit of speed, then turned to Beth with a smile. ‘What do I think of it? I cannot deny that it is a tale that reflects no credit on my grandfather. Yet I have some questions for you, Lady Allerton. What was Lord Mostyn doing sailing in such dangerous waters at night? Why did he have his treasure with him? Was there not something slightly suspicious about his own actions?’

Beth stared. In twenty years she had never questioned the detail of the story. She remembered Maddy, her nursemaid, telling her the tale at bedtimes, by the light of the candle in the nursery at Mostyn Hall. She had imagined the perfidious, flickering light of the wreckers’ lamp on the cliff, the smashing of the ship’s timbers as it broke up on the rocks, the glint of gold as the family treasure tumbled into the depths of the sea…It had never occurred to her to wonder why her grandfather had been carrying so much money on his journey, nor what he had been doing sailing to Fairhaven on a stormy night. Until Marcus had spoken, she had not even thought of it.

Beth wrinkled up her nose, looking at him thoughtfully. ‘I must concede that it is odd…’

‘Indeed. One is tempted to go to Fairhaven to discover the truth of the whole story!’ Marcus flashed her a smile. ‘Would you accompany me, Lady Allerton, if I invited you to join me on Fairhaven Island?’

Beth looked scandalised. ‘Accompany you? I should think not, my lord! A most improper suggestion!’

Marcus laughed. ‘A pity. Yet I do not doubt your loyalty to the notion of regaining Fairhaven for your family.’

Beth clenched her gloved hands together in her lap. ‘It is something that I feel I must do, my lord. My grandfather’s ghost is unquiet…’

Marcus smiled at her. ‘I hope you do not feel that in order to lay the ghost you must foster the quarrel!’ Once again he transferred the reins to one hand and put the other over hers. ‘I have a feeling, my lady, that you and I might settle this feud once and for all.’

This time Beth let her hand rest still under his. ‘I hope that we may, my lord,’ she said, deliberately reading nothing into his words. ‘Might I suggest that you accept my offer for Fairhaven as a first step? It is a very generous offer…’

‘It is.’ Marcus let go of her and picked up the reins again. ‘Too generous. Fairhaven cannot possibly be worth such a sum.’

Beth shrugged a little. ‘How does one assess sentimental value, my lord? To me, Fairhaven is priceless.’

Marcus smiled. ‘I understand that,’ he said slowly. ‘Fairhaven has become your passion, has it not, Lady Allerton? I wonder just what you would do to achieve that obsession.’

Beth stared at him. Despite the fact that his words only echoed what Charlotte had said to her previously, it was disconcerting to hear them from a relative stranger. It was even more disconcerting to read the double meaning behind them. She looked at him very directly.

‘I am not sure that I understand you, my lord. Are you rejecting my offer?’

‘I preferred your original one,’ Marcus said coolly.

Their gazes locked. The sun disappeared behind a grey cloud and suddenly the wind was chill. Beth shivered inside her pelisse, but it was not entirely from the cold.

‘Are you offering me carte blanche, my lord?’

Marcus laughed out loud. ‘You are very frank, my lady! I was under the impression that the boot had been on the other foot! You set the terms of our wager—’

‘You lost the wager,’ Beth said swiftly, ‘and it is because you did not honour your stake that I am offering so much more!’

‘You are offering more financially, I suppose. As I said, I preferred your original—more personal—offer!’

Beth could feel herself blushing and was vexed. She knew he was deliberately provoking her and was determined to stay calm. It was difficult, however, particularly as a tiny corner of her mind was acknowledging the attractions of such a course of action. To offer herself to Marcus in return for Fairhaven Island. It was immoral. It was iniquitous. And it was definitely tempting…

She frowned.

‘The wager was a means to an end, my lord! It is not my usual mode of behaviour to offer myself as part of a bargain!’

‘I see.’ Marcus had allowed the curricle to come to a halt under the bare branches of a spreading oak tree. ‘In that case it was a remarkably dangerous wager.’

‘It was.’ Beth held his gaze. ‘However, if I had lost, I had only to refuse to honour my stake—as you did, my lord!’

‘Touché!’ Marcus laughed again. ‘I must confess myself disappointed, Lady Allerton. I was hoping that you might be persuaded—’

‘Were you? You cannot know me very well, then, my lord!’ By now there was a warning glint in Beth’s eye. ‘I have told you that I am no courtesan! I wish you take me home now, if you please!’

‘Very well!’ Marcus’s tone betrayed amused admiration. ‘I will not tease you any further, my lady. And if it is true that I do not know you well, time can at least remedy that situation!’

The thought gave Beth little comfort. In the first place, she had a strange and disturbing conviction that Marcus did in fact understand her very well, for all his teasing. As for his pledge to know her better, her instinct told her that that could be a very perilous enterprise indeed.

Chapter Three

Another country dance came to an end and Beth applauded enthusiastically and accepted the escort of her partner back to Lady Fanshawe’s side. It was very hot in the Duchess of Calthorpe’s ballroom for there were at least two hundred guests and the event was assured of the accolade of being a crush. The Duchess had chosen white as her theme to create the impression of approaching winter, and it was ironic that the temperature resembled that of the tropics. Hundreds of white candles added to the heat in the ballroom, creating such a fire risk that footmen were stationed about the room with buckets of water.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, my love?’ Lady Fanshawe fanned herself vigorously. ‘It is such a sad crush in here, I declare there is barely a spare rout chair to be had! And all this white is quite dazzling to the eye!’

Beth giggled. As well as the white candles there were filmy white draperies that were threatening to catch fire and droopy white lilies that evidently preferred a cooler climate.

‘You are in looks tonight, my dear,’ Lady Fanshawe continued. ‘That lilac muslin is very pretty and stands out well amongst the debutantes. Poor girls, I fear they will melt into the draperies!’

‘In more ways than one!’ Beth agreed, gratefully accepting a glass of lemonade from Mr Porson, who had been partnering her in the previous dance. He was a worthy young man and he showed signs of lingering at her side, which Beth did not particularly mind. At least she felt safe with him.

‘Mr Porson, do you think—?’ she began, only to raise her eyebrows in surprise as the young man shot away with barely a word of farewell. Kit Mostyn came up and took the vacated rout chair at his cousin’s side.

‘Good gracious, Kit!’ Beth said crossly. ‘What sort of reputation do you have that scares away my innocent admirers? Poor Mr Porson was only indulging in conversation!’

‘I doubt that it was my arrival that scared him off,’ Kit said drily. ‘The Earl of Trevithick has just come in, Beth. Porson won’t want to be seen trespassing on Trevithick’s ground!’

Beth glanced quickly at the doorway and looked away equally quickly, conscious that plenty of people were watching her. She was unhappily aware that she had become the talk of the town during the previous ten days, all as a result of Marcus Trevithick’s attentions. They had driven in the park twice, attended a concert and fireworks at Vauxhall, met at a musical soirée and danced at a couple of balls. That had been sufficient to set tongues wagging and it seemed to Beth that Marcus had done nothing to quell the speculation. He had behaved entirely correctly towards her on all occasions, and yet Beth was aware of something beneath the veneer of convention, something entirely more exciting and dangerous in his attitude towards her.

The interest of the ton was piqued because of the family feud and also because the Dowager Viscountess of Trevithick had made her disapproval of Beth very plain. Only the previous night, the Dowager had cut her dead at the opera and Beth had decided that she would have to avoid Marcus in future. This was not entirely because of his mother’s attitude but also because of some belated sense of self-preservation. Beth knew that she found Marcus all too attractive and she had heard something of his reputation and did not want to become another conquest. Now, however, her resolution put her in an awkward situation, for to shun Marcus’s company at the ball would be remarked upon. Beth fidgeted, drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair as she tried to decide what to do.

She saw Marcus start to cross the room towards her. He had paused to speak to an acquaintance but Beth saw that although he was talking to the man, he was still watching her with a deliberation that was most disturbing. She got hastily to her feet.

‘Kit, will you dance with me, please?’

Kit looked pained. ‘Must I? If this is some elaborate charade to avoid Trevithick—’

‘Kit!’ Beth frowned at her cousin’s lack of tact. ‘How can you be so unchivalrous? Even if it is, I still need your help!’

Kit grinned at her. ‘I only meant to warn you that Trevithick would not be fobbed off! By all means let us dance if we must!’