The Wager (3 page)

She spluttered and her eyes watered. He had the
gall to ask
her
that? Catherine dug
her nails into her palms to stop herself slapping him. That would be the last
straw in the eyes of the ton.

"Surely the boot is on the other
foot?"

Chapter Three

Brook patted her on the back until her coughing
fit petered out. He was enjoying himself immensely, and he hadn't even begun to
spar with her.

"Walk before Lady
Sefton
catches us," he said as he handed her a fine lawn handkerchief to mop her
eyes. "She will think the worst, that I have insulted you at the very
least." He tugged her in the direction of the park gate until she had no
option other than to move with him.

"You have insulted me," Catherine
said. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and held the handkerchief out to
him. He ignored it.

"No, my dear, your brother did that. I told
him if he lost, you would be my prize, yet still he gambled."

She tried to stop walking, but he wouldn't let
her.

"What? You are saying he knew you would
ask, demand me as the winnings and still he wagered?" She sounded
dumfounded, as well she might.

"Catherine, your twin is a gambler, be
thankful it was me he played, not
Doressy
or
Mellion
.
For he would have lost the
estates, his honor, everything.
Only because I chose to keep quiet was
his cheating not exposed."

She sighed and it hit a nerve deep inside him.

"You knew?"

"I knew even before his bumbling efforts he
would try. He is greedy, weak, and thinks the world owes him. It is time he
learned it does not. And nor do you. Why did you agree?"

Catherine was silent for so long, he thought she
might not answer him. He did not jog her or demand her reply; instead he
strolled, to all intents at ease with her lack of communication. He would not
let her know how much she hurt him by not opening up.

"Because I could not bear to see mama's
face when she found out she had lost everything…again."

"So instead you prostitute yourself? Do you
have so little pride?" He was incensed, his skin prickled. He strove to
keep his anger out of his voice. It would do no good to his cause.

"Pride does not keep a roof over our heads,
or put food on the table. It does not clothe my sisters or pay for their come
outs. It is a cold bedfellow."

"And I am not." He ignored her
astonished gasp. He intended to shake her up, make her think, and if necessary
scare her silly.

"Come, we have walked far enough, let me
escort you to your maid. We must not lose all sense of propriety." He
began to retrace their steps; smiling affably at the people they passed, making
sure none could detain them.

"What about the
wager?" she asked as they neared Betsy.
"When do you want me?"

"Catherine, I have never stopped wanting
you. As to when I will have you?" He kissed her hand very formally.
"You will have to wait and see. I will contact you. Ah," he raised
his voice. "Thank you for the company, my lady. No doubt I will see you at
Lady
Hathersted's
ball. Will you grant me the supper
dance, and allow me to escort you for our repast?"

She had such an expressive face. Brook could see
she wanted to tell him to go to perdition. Instead, she struggled with herself,
and gave him a look of such scorn a lesser man would have wilted.

"It would be my pleasure, my Lord."

Somehow he doubted she meant it.

****

At the ball he knew she didn't.

To be given the cold shoulder whilst dancing
could have been amusing, if her attitude had not alerted the tabbies.
Eventually after seeing more than one hand go to a mouth to shield what was
said, he decided enough was enough. "Desist in this foolishness," he
said
sotto voce
as they swung around the room. He gave thanks the supper
dance had been decreed as a waltz. "You are giving the harpies a chance to
sharpen their knives. Don't you think that over the years we've given them
enough to gossip about?"

She paled and his heart went out to her. He was
not being kind, nor did he intend to be—yet.

"Now behave, be civil, and let us go and
eat." The music had stopped. Her nod was infinitesimal, and she let him
lead her off the dance floor.

"Sometimes, Brook." She invested his
name with scorn. "I truly hate you."

"Sometimes my dear, I truly hate myself. Ah
here's a table, and oh joy your brother has decided to join us. How delightful.
Now he can queue for
all
our
suppers." Brook held out a chair for her, gave Jermyn such a look that he
colored, and walked to where the
supper queue
had
formed. Brook drew out a seat and sat next to her.

"Catherine, if this
situation becomes known to all and sundry, you will only have yourself to
blame.
Smile and be
pleasant. I am leaving soon, and you can begin to enjoy yourself."

"How when I am on
tenterhooks, not knowing what you want from me or when?"

He looked her in the eyes until a blush ran from
her bosom to her forehead. Her breasts heaved under her thin silks, and his body
tightened. If only.

"When?
When I decree.
What?" He waited until she fidgeted. "Why I thought you knew? I want
it all."

She gasped and swayed, and her rosy face paled.

Brook stood up. "I suggest you use your
vinaigrette my lady, you look a trifle grey. Ah Jermyn," he said to her
twin as he approached, a large platter of food in his hand. "Perhaps you
should attend to your sister, she seems a little indisposed.
A
headache maybe?
I must leave." He bowed and walked away.

****

"Well.
After I procured
him food."
Jermyn once more was in
put-upon
mode.

"Jermyn."
Catherine snapped
,
the
purported headache was fast becoming a reality. "You procured him,
me."

That silenced him. With a scowl he thrust the
plate of food toward her. "Here, you want food, eat."

Would he never learn? She had had enough.
"What I want, I fear I will never get.
For you to grow
up and take responsibility for your actions.
Learn how to be a man, not
a pathetic specimen of humanity."

He gaped. Catherine lost her temper. With a look
of utter contempt, she stood up and walked away. Maybe Brook would not have
left.

 
She was
in luck; he was waiting at the entrance, talking to the doorman.

 
"Brook." She knew she was begging.
Damn, do I have no pride? It seems not, not
where he is concerned.
"My Lord.
Please can
you escort me home?"
To
your home.
Finish this, let me
start again
. "I have a headache, and Jermyn? He is unavailable."
And unreliable, not sensible, and has no
regard for anyone than himself.

 
She
waited, her body tense, her senses screaming at his presence. They knew and
accepted, even if she did not, how she had missed him.

"Of course."
He nodded to the doorman and a hovering
footman.
"My carriage and Lady Catherine's cloak.
Quickly."
Such was his mastery, Catherine
thought, amused; they did as he bade immediately.
 
Before she had time to think what she had
asked, she was in his coach, and they were moving away from the ball.

What next? Dare she ask? She had nothing to
lose.

 
"Brook," she said earnestly.
"If I have put you into a position of awkwardness I am sorry, but I
snapped. I could not remain with Jermyn without doing him an injury. That
would
have given the tabbies something
to gossip about. You are right. We have pampered and protected him and it is
wrong. I daresay I cannot get mama to change but I intend to. He is selfish,
self-centered, and thinks nothing of anyone unless it is to his benefit. I have
had enough. Do what you will and let this nightmare end."

He rapped on the roof of the carriage and stuck
his head out of the window aperture. "My town house if you please,"
he instructed the coachman. Once the coach moved away, Catherine felt his gaze
on her. It was harsh and intent. She squirmed.

 
"What?" she asked. "What
next?"

He stared at her, his eyes intent. "That
depends on you. No, you will wait until we arrive at my home. Then and only
then will you decide how this proceeds." To her annoyance, he lay back on
the swabs and closed his eyes.

 
She
seethed in silence. The coach swayed over the cobbles, and Catherine stared out
of the window. What would happen? Only now after all this time did she realize
how much her rejection had hurt him. She had believed it was the correct thing
to do. Now she wasn't so sure.

The coach stopped and he opened his eyes.
"Ah, we are here." The door was unlatched and he stepped out, only to
lean back and hold his hand out for her. "Come."

To her annoyance she obeyed instantly. What was
it about Brook that reduced her to helplessness?
 
She let him assist her out of the coach and
looked around, with no idea where they were. Had he not said they were going to
his town house?

"The mews."
He answered her unspoken query. "I thought
we deserved some privacy. Come." He took her hand and Catherine let him
lead her across a lane and through a narrow door in a tall stone wall. Once
through the door, the scents of spring flowers assailed her senses. It was so
unexpected in central
London
that she stopped abruptly. "Oh how lovely.
A scented
garden?"

"It was my mother's doing. It reminded her
of the country. She disliked town and only came on sufferance to be with my
father when he sat in Parliament. She was happiest at

Catherine felt the soft touch of leaves
underfoot and then he was escorting her into the house. The corridor she found
herself in was dark and dank. She shivered; the air was cold, the atmosphere
intimidating, and she wondered what would happen next.
 
I seem to be doing a lot of
wondering and not much finding out.
But how could she discover what was
happening if he would not tell her?

Brook seemed not to be fazed by the dark and
towed her along after him at a rapid pace. At last he stopped, opened a door in
the wall and then ushered her through the opening.

She blinked; it was a cozy study, masculine but
not cold or harsh. Three walls were lined with books, a huge fireplace half
covered the fourth. In it a fire burned, the flames crackling and sparking,
sending flickering shadows to dispel the darkness created by the pool of lights
from the candles. On a large oak table several books sat, some open. Catherine
itched to see what they were.
 
It was
such a personal room; she wondered why he had brought her there?

 
His arms
rested on her shoulders as he drew her cloak from her. His touch elicited
forgotten memories, and she leaned into him. For one brief moment she could
have sworn she felt his lips on her neck, but it was such a fleeting sensation,
she didn't know if she imagined it or not. Then her cloak was taken away, and
he turned her towards a long comfortable looking chaise. "I think perhaps
we should sit. I have a proposition to put to you."

Chapter Four

Brook gathered his thoughts. His idea may well
earn him a hard elbow in the groin. It took all his control not to cover
himself. To give himself time to decide what to say he walked to the decanter
and poured two glasses of port. The ruby red liquid shone rich and warm in the
candlelight.

"I remember you would drink port with
me," he said as he handed her a goblet. "I trust you will not
decline?" How stilted he sounded. Brook cursed under his breath; he must
appear pompous and old. It was not the effect he was striving for.
"Your health, Catherine."
He touched his glass to
hers. She smiled but made no comment. Her eyes sparkled as she drank.

"Well as you are drinking it I can trust it
isn't poisoned," she said, just as he was sure he had to shake her and
demand she vocalized what was in her mind.
"Unless you
are very talented at sleight of hand?"
He was, but he had no
intention of imparting
that
fact.
"So."
She put her glass down on a side table.
"What next?"