To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) (12 page)

For surely it was a game. He could not possibly be unfaithful to the wife he adored and worshiped. Nor would Marcus risk Amy’s reputation. 

Would he?

Prior to Sabine’s return, Marcus was known to be cold and ruthless when it came to women. Sabine ripped his heart to shreds and he’d gone a little crazy when she’d left. He fortified his heart and proceeded to never get romantically involved. He loved and left and broken many a woman’s heart in the process with little care. 

The image of Amy in Marcus’s arms stirred in his gut. At first he was prepared to give Marcus the doubt. Obviously Amy had been upset about something, but Marcus blatantly lied to his face. Told him he’d not seen Amy that evening.

And
he’d lied about the earring.

His heart heavy with painful doubts about the honor and integrity of his friend, he walked out of the store. 

He owed it to his friend to give him the benefit of doubt. He ordered his coach back to Cravenswood Court. He needed to get back to the house party in Berkshire and speak with Marcus.

#

His chat with Marcus was delayed when, upon his return, he
learned the
hosts and their guests had driven to Reading for a day of shopping and museums. 

It was nearing dusk and Henry was impatient for Marcus’s return. He lurked near the stables and was feeding Hercules a carrot when he heard feminine voices over the tall hedge at the side of the stables. 

He sauntered nearer, boredom driving his ill-mannered eavesdropping. He couldn’t see into the garden as the hedge was well above his head, but to his surprise and good fortune, he recognized one of the voices—Amy. Although what he heard made his blood run cold.

“Lorraine, I can’t... I can’t risk it.”

“But he’s so incredibly handsome. I’d risk anything for a night in his arms.
Any
-thing!”

“That’s because you’re my ladies maid and as such you don’t have Society’s expectations on your shoulders. The consequences should I be caught would be very high. You know what will happen to my reputation. I couldn’t bear that.” Henry could almost feel her shudder from where he was hiding behind the hedge.

“But don’t you wish you could have one perfect night with the man you loved before you buckle under and do your duty? One night to cherish forever, before you sell yourself for duty and elevated social position.”

He heard Amy give a small sob. “I don’t think I can do my duty. The thought of a loveless life is too horrific to contemplate.” The silence spoke volumes, her distress palpable. 

“Then why not go to him?”

“Because I can’t marry him,” Amy cried. “He loves another.”

“Then I’d stop drawing these indecent sketches. If anyone finds them they’ll think the worst anyway. He’s naked.
Completely naked
.”

Amy sighed. “That’s simply my imagination. I’ve only ever seen him with his shirt off.”

“Oh la la, you have a very vivid imagination. If anyone else sees these,” he heard paper rustle, “they won’t believe it’s your imagination, my girl.” 

More shuffling of paper and the rustle of items being collected. He heard them as they began to move away toward the house.

“Then they shall remain hidden in my room, away from prying eyes. You can forget...”

Blast, he couldn’t hear more. Henry stumbled back, the hard stones of the stable wall merging with his body to form a fortress around his heart. Amy was in love—with Marcus. It could only be Marcus.
‘I can’t marry him.’
True Marcus was already married.
‘He’s in love with another.
’ There was no doubt Marcus loved Sabine. Or did he? From what he’d seen last night Marcus wasn’t exactly discouraging Amy.

If he recalled, last year it was Amy who rejected Marcus. Perhaps Marcus would have preferred to marry Amy, given she was the duke’s daughter. He could have kept Sabine as his mistress and enjoyed both women. 

Anger flickered and erupted deep in his soul. He didn’t blame Amy. Very few women could resist Marcus’s charm. He’d watched him in action hundreds of times.

Right now he wished he had something to hit. Marcus’s face would do nicely. He clenched his fists tight. Their chat was long overdue...If not for Sabine he’d call Marcus out. 

There was only one thing he could do. Marry Amy and ensure Sabine never learned of her husband’s betrayal. She’d been through enough already. 

His heart felt heavy in his chest and his soul frozen with disappointment. Dreams of being happily married dissolved. But by Jove once they married he’d forbid Amy to ever see Marcus or Sabine again.

But first he had to destroy the evidence. Those sketches could never see the light of day. It would devastate Sabine, and after everything she’d been through she deserved better.

#

Henry took a deep breath before entering the drawing room and joining the guests before dinner. His eye immediately found Amy deep in conversation with Caitlin. He scanned the room and found Marcus on his own at the sideboard pouring himself a brandy. He crossed to his side.

“A word with you if I may.”

“Only one? How unlike you, Henry. What have I done now? You’re wearing your saintly frown.”

Henry bit back his annoyance at Marcus’s comment. Right now he felt anything but saintly. He wanted to smash his curled fist into Marcus’s smug face.

“What the hell are you up to?” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m pouring myself a brandy. Shall I pour one for you? You sound as though you need one. Was the estate business worse than predicted?”

He looked around the room. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. “I know what you’re up to. I saw you.”

Marcus handed him a glass of brandy and frowned, “I don’t follow, old chap.”

“You were in the stable the other night. With Amy.”

A slow, smirk of a smile shaped Marcus’s lips. “How do you know that?”

Henry took a step back. He’d walked right into that. “I was looking for
you
.”

He chortled. “You didn’t find me.”

Henry clenched his fist around his glass.
Don’t let him make you lose your temper.
“I know that. Odd time of night to be meeting a young lady in your stables. In her nightdress...”

“Oh, that. She’d had a missive from her father that she begged my help with. You know my father and hers were close.”

“And she had to discuss it with
you
? Alone? In the stable? So late at night?”

“I’ve been advising her.”

I bet you have, bastard.
“About what?”

“I’m not sure I can share her confidences.”

“I wonder what Sabine would think about you sharing—
confidences—
with Amy.”

Marcus’s countenance abruptly changed. The glass banged down on the side board. “What the bloody hell does that mean? It better not mean what I think you’re implying or I’ll knock your teeth down your saintly throat.”

“Why so defensive? Do you have something to hide? I saw her in your arms a few nights ago too.”

Marcus looked over his shoulder. “I was comforting her. Her father is forcing a match with Chesterton, whom she hates. I suggested she work on the Comte.” He nodded his head in a direction over his shoulder. Amy was smiling gaily at the Frenchman. Henry wanted to knock
his
teeth down
his
throat too. 

“Whatever is wrong with you? How could you imply...”

“Don’t make light of this. I know you gave her the earrings.”

Marcus’s gaze turned to cold fury. “As a gift for helping aid Sabine.”

That held the ring of truth. Doubt crept in again. Then he steeled himself. “I heard her talking this afternoon. Amy’s seen you with your shirt off. Explain how an innocent young lady of quality has seen you in a state of undress,” Henry hissed through clenched teeth.

Before Marcus could respond, Sabine arrived at his side. “What are you two scoundrels up to? Marcus, have you been teasing Henry again? He looks as if he’d like to snap you in half.”

Marcus flashed a warning glance at him. “Henry was being a bore. It would appear he’s let the green-eyed monster ruin his evening.”

The fact that Sabine automatically looked at Amy silenced Henry. What had Marcus told her? “Stop pouting, Henry.” She slipped her arm through his and led him across the room to where Amy sat engrossed in her Comte. “Amy is going to play for us tonight. Would you like to turn the music for her?”

Henry couldn’t face her. He couldn’t sit and converse with a woman who was playing her supposed friend false. Worse, Sabine didn’t deserve this. From either of them. If she learned of their betrayal, after everything she’d been through and survived, it would destroy her. 

Henry thought about the sketches. “I’d be honored, but I’m feeling a bit under the weather tonight. My ride to London has left me with a terrible head. Would you think it rude if I retired for the evening?”

Annoyingly, Amy looked relieved. “If you’re unwell, of course you’re excused.”

Sabine concurred and quickly arranged for the Comte to help Amy with her music. Henry was quickly forgotten as Sabine organized Amy’s recital, and with purposeful intent he quietly exited the drawing room and made his way upstairs.

Now all he had to do was find Amy’s room and confiscate the drawings before they fell into the wrong hands. Then he’d show Marcus his evidence and make him see sense. She could already be with child.

He did know what he’d have to do. He’d offer for her. He would not let Sabine’s or Amy’s plight become public. It would hurt too many people. 

It didn’t take him long to reach Amy’s room. Sabine, or was it Caitlin, made sure he knew where Amy’s room was the minute he’d arrived for the house party.

With a fervative look up and down the corridor, Henry placed an ear to her door, checking the room was empty before letting himself in. Upon entry he stilled, assailed with emotions. He was immediately arrested by the feminine sights and smells. Luckily Amy’s maid had left one candle burning. It was enough light to allow him to search with ease. 

To the left stood the bed, a large four-poster that required small steps to ascend. The sheer curtains were untied, ready for their mistress to slink into the bed and slumber. 

He breathed deep. Under the window was her writing desk, and next to that stood a low dresser with an oval mirror. A vase of white lilies, their scent perfuming the air, reminded him of her. Her skin carried the same perfume.

Desire clenched his gut. Memories of the way Amy’s body molded to his, how he’d breathed her in, set his body on edge. Even knowing the way she’d behaved with his friend, and that she loved another, he still reacted to her allure.
No wonder Marcus could not resist her
.

Cursing himself, he quickly closed the door behind him, crushing his response under a wave of righteous anger. He didn’t have much time to find the drawings. If anyone found him in Amy’s room—quite frankly the problem would be solved. He’d be forced to marry her and this mess could be put to bed.

However, while his body wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever known, his heart balked at marrying a woman in love with another. A woman who could behave so dishonorably. 

Chapter Nine

God damn it to hell. It should be simple enough to find drawings. He’d searched her writing table. While it contained paper it certainly didn’t contain any drawings, especially not of an intimate nature.

He searched her luggage but the cases were empty. He’d even entered her dressing room and rummage through her under garments and other clothes. 

Stifling a sigh he calmed his impatience. He still had time.
Think!
Where would a young lady hide incriminating evidence of an affair?

He stood in the middle of her bedchamber and drunk in the essence of Amy. The room was as neat as one of Prince Regent’s hedge rows. Nothing was out of place. He recognized this trait in Amy. Her appearance was immaculate. The picture of the perfect duke’s daughter.

How she had them all fooled.

He cocked his head to one side and considered the only piece of furniture he’d not yet searched. Her bed. 

He picked up the lighted candle from the dresser and moved closer. He put it on the side table next to the bed. Something caught his eye. A piece of bed linen hanging down. The rest of the linen was tucked under the mattress with almost military procession. Why was this piece loose?

Pushing the curtain aside he sat on the edge of the bed and lay back, propped on her pillows. His arm hung down the side of the mattress. It hung in exactly the same location as the stray linen. With certainty his hand slipped under the mattress and his fingers gripped paper.

Success.

With trepidation he pulled Amy’s private etchings into the light. His muscles tightened, he had to force himself to look. Almost with one eye closed he drew the first image closer. 

“Bloody hell.” He caught his breath—every muscle he possessed froze. His mouth dried as he realized what, or more importantly, who, he was staring at. He sat up. His wits had brutally focused.

They were images of a naked man. 

The man was very clearly him.

He began to leaf through her work. His body hummed with shock and then amusement and then with blinding desire.

Amy had talent. The images were intricately drawn. The lines and shading making the images come alive.

The drawings were very erotic. The erotica of an innocent. He could see the naivety in the hesitant charcoal lines. His manhood was drawn sometimes flaccid and sometimes erect, not quite anatomically correct and somewhat blurred, the outlines smudged as if she were embarrassed.

He flushed with heat as he gazed upon himself through her eyes. She’d made him look like a Greek God. The knowledge shook him.

He marvelled at what he looked like through her eyes. Pure unbridled masculinity. Pure beauty. Pure sex. 

He lay back and closed his eyes on a groan. Marcus knew. Marcus knew Amy’s heart. He’d been playing a game all along. He could throttle his friend for what he’d put him through these past few days.