To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) (16 page)

#

Amy was the center of attention. The gossip spread by Chesterton, Lord Cravenswood’s unexpected proposal, and the unseemly haste to their wedding saw to that.

The engagement celebration was something to see en fete.

Scanning the floor below, her confidence faltered when she spied Chesterton in the mix. She was already feeling like a fish in a glass bowl, and she hoped Chesterton’s presence wouldn’t crack the glass.

Henry squeezed her elbow in support, and her father, for the first time she could remember, accompanied them as well. Unbelievable though it was, the duke was taking an interest. She found it somewhat ironic that now, once she had been gloriously compromised, he let her choose whether to marry Lord Cravenswood. Gone was the rush to see her indecently rushed to the altar.

They descended the stairs together, and she did her best to smile and brazen out the ton’s opinion.

Lords and Ladies Wolverstone and Dangerfield were at the bottom to greet them. The ladies tucked her arm in theirs and escorted her through the crowd. Both ladies were no strangers to gossip. 

The evening from there was a complete blur. She fielded many congratulations, some sincere, others followed with plenty of cynicism. 

Henry claimed his two dances, both waltzes, and the feel of his arms around her made her wish the wedding would take place sooner. Still, her wedding day was only three days away.

She took a sip of her champagne and stood watching him from across the room. He looked so incredibly handsome. His fair hair glinted golden in the candlelight, and his broad shoulders looked massive in his black evening attire. As if a sixth sense kicked in, he turned and caught her staring. The smile that broke over his face…Her heart thought it would burst with happiness. Never did she expect to find love, let alone a man who loved her equally in return. 

Her life was perfect. Well, almost perfect. Once she became Countess Cravenswood it would be absolutely perfect. Tears of happiness welled, and spying the door to the terrace, she decided to take a moment to gather her composure.

Amy hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until she stepped into the cool night air and walked to the balustrade. She closed her eyes and listened to the music and chatter behind her. She wondered how long it would take Henry to seek her out. She wanted a moment alone with him. She’d not seen him alone since his proposal. He’d got down on one knee to offer for her and the look of adulation and love in his eyes had her saying yes without having to think.

A brittle voice filled with malice broke into her pleasant memories. “Bedded one friend and marrying the other. Quite a busy week.”

Creeperton. Amy sighed out loud and turned to face him. Not even Creeperton could ruin her happiness. “Your dirty mind can think what it likes. I’m marrying Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, on Thursday because I love him.”

“What a saint he is. That’s what you think, isn’t it. St. Giles comes rushing in to save your reputation and that of his friend, Wolverstone.”

“There would have been no need to save anyone’s reputation if you had not deliberately misconstrued the situation,” she said through clenched teeth.

Chesterton merely laughed. “You think Henry honestly loves you. What a fool.”

Amy cast him an askance look. “Go away. You know nothing.”

Chesterton leaned closer, and trailed a finger down her arm. She moved away. He let out a harsh bark like laugh. “He’s marrying you because he couldn’t marry Millicent.”

Amy tensed and he noted it. 

“I see you know of Millie, his mistress of over seven years. He was in love with her and she left him—for me,” he said proudly. “Why do you think he set his cap at you? He’s been jealous of me ever since, and once I’d made it known I was courting you, along comes Henry.”

Her heart began a stuttered beat. It couldn’t be true, could it? No. Henry only became interested in her after the night in his garden. The same night he saw off Chesterton at Lady Skye’s ball.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Are you suggesting he’s marrying me simply to spite you?”

Chesterton’s smile was pure evil. “No. Not solely to spite me. I believe he’s marrying you for the very same reason I wanted you. You look exactly like Millicent. You’re a Millicent with the appropriate social standing. After all, there is no way a courtesan brought up on the streets would be accepted in Society.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “I wonder if he’s imagining her as he rides between your thighs.”

Amy felt nausea rise. “What do you mean I look like Millicent?”

Chesterton twirled Amy’s lose curl between his fingers. “You are the same height and build, voluptuous, I believe the word is. You curve in the same way she does. Your hair is black and straight, in fact the same length, and your skin probably a more luscious cream. Your lips could drive a man wild with want, just like Millie’s. Ask him. Ask him what he wants you to do with those lips. He’ll want you to suck his cock just like Millie. I wonder if you’re as good.”

Amy slapped his face, her anger making her hand whip up like a snake. “You lie.”

He rubbed his cheek and grabbed her shoulders in a vice like grip. “Do I? He had a portrait drawn of her. It hangs in his study. Go and view it if you don’t believe me.”

“Get your hands off my fiancée,” Henry’s ice cold tone had Chesterton dropping his hands immediately and stepping back. “Touch her again and you’re a dead man.”

Chesterton held his hands up and backed away. “I have no intention of touching her again.” He turned and walked back into the house, leaving them alone, yet it was hardly private, Amy noticed, since most of London proper were staring out of the window. Did they know she looked like his ex-mistress?

She turned away to hide her pain. 

“Did Chesterton upset you? If he hurt you, I’ll…”

Amy remained silent, fighting for composure. 

Henry didn’t know what was wrong. It was the shimmer of tears in her incredible eyes that tore at his heart.

“Can you take me away from all the prying eyes?”

Henry looked over his shoulder at their audience. “Would you like me to take you home?”

She nodded, then shook her head. “No.” She looked up at him imploringly. “No, take me to your house. No one will think to look for me there. I want to be alone with you.”

Something was definitely wrong. Her voice was brittle. What had Chesterton said to her? This wasn’t the place to find out.

They left quietly, not even saying goodbye to their friends. In the carriage ride on the way to his townhouse, she sat in quiet contemplation. He’d love to know what she was thinking. Chesterton had upset her, but she wouldn’t open up to Henry. With a twinge of envy, Henry saw that the natural accord Marcus and Sabine shared was not yet within in their reach. 

The one thing he’d not anticipated this night was the blood-curling anger he’d experienced seeing Chesterton with his hands on Amy. Possessive raged welled, and he could quite easily have ripped Chesterton’s head from his body. He’d struggled with jealousy all evening at the ball. He wanted to banish every man who danced with her.

He’d never felt this possessive anger over any other woman. Amy was
his
. They belonged together. She was his soul mate. Wasn’t she?

The walk into his house was silent. Amy thanked the footman for his help in descending the carriage, not waiting for Henry’s assistance.

“Timmons, can you organize some refreshments? Tea, perhaps?” he asked Amy. She nodded.

“Very good, my lord. The fire is still lit in the drawing room. I’ll see that it is stoked.”

“No need, it’s rather warm this evening.” Amy’s response drew his eye to the fact that rather than being warm, she looked deathly cold, pale as a ghost.

She took a seat on the chaise lounge and stared blankly into the fire. He went to her and crouched at her feet. He took her chilled hands in his, so small his fists swallowed them.

“What’s wrong, Amy?”

She couldn’t look at him.

“Did something Chesterton say upset you?” He squeezed her tiny hands. “You know you can tell me anything. I’ll always be here for you.”

She looked at him blankly for a moment before saying. “If you’ll excuse me, I need the retiring room.”

He rose swiftly. “Of course. Timmons will show you the way.”

He watched her leave the room with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was dreadfully wrong. If she had a problem or was upset, Amy should be able to talk to him about it. Didn’t couples in love share everything? He thought of Sabine and Marcus. Sabine most definitely let Marcus know when anything was wrong. 

Yet, Amy wasn’t Sabine. She was younger, less experienced, and wounded by a family that didn’t love her. Was this why she was worried? Didn’t she know how much he loved her?

He drained the brandy in his glass. He rested his head on the back of the chair and realized he’d been a fool. He might have proposed, but he’d never said the words. He’d assumed she’d know his heart. When she returned he’d spend the rest of the night telling her, and showing her, just how much he loved her and wanted her—forever.

#

No sooner had Timmons directed her to the retiring room, Amy slipped along the corridor heading straight toward Henry’s study. She had a fair idea where it was located given the number of times she’d been in Cravenswood house over the years.

Her throat was dry, her hands clammy. She didn’t wish to believe Chesterton, but Henry had never once told her he loved her. Oh, he’d shown it physically, but was that love, or did Henry want her because she looked like Millicent? The idea of Henry thinking of another woman when he was with her, in her...Pain lanced her body as expertly as a well-aimed arrow hitting the bulls-eye.

The woman whose name he’d spoken in his garden only a few weeks ago—did Millie hold his heart? Was Amy second best, like her mother had been for her father? She had to know.

Who did he really want in his arms? Who did he hold in his heart?

All her life she’d wanted someone to love her just for her. Not her pedigree, or dowry, or social position.
Her!
Was that too much to ask? She thought Henry was that man. The man who’d pursued her, made love to her, asked her to marry him...Was it all a lie? 

She tried to keep tears at bay as she neared the study door. 

She stood before the closed door and took a deep breath. She ran a hand down the worn oak, caressing all the nicks and knots in the wood. So old. If the door could talk, it could tell a thousand secrets. She wished she knew the secret of Henry’s heart, so that what she might find within didn’t have the power to destroy her.

With a shaking hand, she reached and lifted the latch. She gently pushed the door inwards, holding her breath. Forcing herself to look, her eyes swept the walls, willing Chesterton’s words false.

They reached the far right and halted. She sucked in a depth breath to ward off the pain that struck in precise stabs. A black haired woman was smiling down at her. Her face beautiful in its composition, her eyes warm and understanding, her body clothed in an exotic rich burgundy silk, voluptuous in the extreme. 

It wasn’t like looking into a mirror, but the similarities were there. They shared the same coloring, the same body shape and damn Chesterton to hell, the same pout of the lips.

The pain grew in intensity and she doubled over, backing out of the room. She stood trying to breathe through the hurt, holding onto the door to stop herself from crumbling into a heap on the floor.

“My lady, are you hurt?” Timmons voice brought her to her senses. She had to get out of here. She didn’t want Henry to see her like this. Her pain was too raw to face him.

She pushed past the concerned Timmons and raced for the stairs. Reaching the entrance hall, she ignored the stunned look of the footman and tore open the door. Heedless of the shouts behind her, she ran into the night, through Henry’s blasted garden to the safety of her home.

#

Henry, hearing the commotion, strode out of the drawing room, peered over the railings to the entrance hall below and noted the door wide open. “Timmons, what on earth is all this commotion?”

His butler looked up, concern etched on his face. “It’s Lady Amy, my lord. I fear she’s taken ill. She ran off.”

He reached the entrance in record time. “Amy? Where is she?”

Timmons pointed into the dark. “I assume she went home. I’ve sent Simon to check.”

At his words, a panting Simon came back through the door. “Lady Amy ran back to her house. I saw her go safely inside.”

“Thank you, Simon.” He turned to his stunned butler. “You mentioned she was ill.”

Timmons spluttered. “I assumed so. I saw her bent over, holding onto the open door of your study.”

The hand of fear ripped through his skin and clenched his innards in its fist, twisting until he thought his insides would spill from his stomach. “My study? She was in my study?”

“Yes, Lord Cravenswood.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He knew what bloody Chesterton had told her. Fists clenched, he imagined his hands were around Chesterton’s neck squeezing the life out of him. He’d never wanted to kill a man more.

He started for the door. He had to see her. He had to explain. He called over his shoulder. “Timmons, remove the painting in my study and store it in the attic.” As he strode out the door into the night, he berated himself that his butler didn’t even have to ask which one. It was obvious. What a bloody fool he’d been.

#

Amy raced straight to her room, valiantly holding back tears until she reached the privacy of her bedchamber. Once there she dissolved into tears in Lorraine’s arms.

“Whatever has happened? Shush, don’t cry. It can’t be that bad.”

In between sobs, she said, “I look just like her.”

“Like who?”

“Millicent.”

Lorraine’s arms tightened around her and she could hear her utter a few choice words about wishing parts of Henry’s anatomy would fall off.

She drew in a shuddering breath and pushed out of Lorraine’s arms, flinging herself on her bed face down, too ashamed to face the world. “I’m such a fool. I thought he really loved me.
Me!
”