A Scandalous Wager Read online

  The warmth of a blush branded her cheeks and she glanced over at Bellamy. He was still looking at her. She wished he would stop. It was doing strange things to her insides. Silly, girlish things.

  The silence stretched. The only sound was her breathing and the rattle of the carriage wheels on the cobbles below them. She was tired of constantly battling her emotions. It was difficult trying to maintain indifference when what she felt was so much more. Anger, desire…shame. What a terrible combination.

  Yet her body thrummed with the awareness of his body opposite her. If she moved her leg a fraction she could touch him. Had he liked her hands on him? He certainly seemed to. He hadn’t liked it when she had burst out of the armoire, halting his seduction. Neither had she, but she’d had little choice at the time as her brain had argued for rational retreat. She had liked him touching her and so had her body. Oh, but there were so many reasons not to complicate this relationship any more than it already was.

  He is going to leave you in two weeks, when the season is over.

  Yes, but why not enjoy yourself for this short time? Why must you always deny yourself?

  Because I am scared.

  Lisbeth closed her eyes—longing for some relief from all she was feeling. When she opened her eyes it was to find Bellamy still studying her with a slight frown upon his handsome face.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said.

  ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I am quite prepared to go on to our next engagement.’

  ‘Countess, there is no use in exhausting yourself.’

  ‘So eager to be rid of me?’ she retorted in a manner which disgusted even herself.

  ‘With all possible haste,’ he replied.

  Lisbeth tried to hide her shock and hurt at his comment. So, he was still angry with her. Well, she was angry with him too. It wasn’t like she started the incident in the armoire, he did.

  She had to remember her purpose for re-entering society and his part in it. She had tried so hard to keep to their agreement and yet after the dance at her grandmother’s soiree he had not asked her to do another wager from his list. She could not lose sight of her goal now. Neither could she let him forget their agreement. It was business, not personal. Both of them had let their baser instincts shadow their focus. It couldn’t happen again.

  She needed to prove her innocence beyond doubt. If she didn’t all her self-worth would be lost and she would have nothing left but this cynical shell which she despised.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you will have to wait to be rid of me until after…’ Digging out her schedule with shaking hands, she attempted to read it in the dark.

  ‘Phelps is next on the list,’ he said, his tone bored. ‘I’m surprised you don’t remember. You must surely have memorised it by now—you have looked at it often enough tonight.’

  Ignoring him, she tapped on the roof and instructed the coachman to stop under a street lamp.

  ***

  Oliver tried to keep his annoyance under control but it was difficult when she kept doing irritating things like leaning half out the window with her backside absorbing his view. Did she have any idea what kind of picture she was presenting him? Was she doing it on purpose? What he couldn’t see in the dimness of the carriage, his mind was more than willing to make up. He had contemplated her backside more times than was healthy as it was. He had held it in his hands tonight and that was something a man did not forget in a hurry. He doubted he would ever forget what happened in that infernal armoire.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Oliver asked with a sigh. The urge to get his foot and give her a little assistance out the window was tempting, especially after her little pantomime in Selbourne’s boudoir.

  ‘Why do you…not have a…lamp in your carriage, Bellamy? This is most awkward.’

  ‘I’ve never had need of one. I may perhaps have one installed tomorrow just so you won’t be teasing me by wiggling your derrière in my direction in a most distracting manner. It is deuced awkward…for me!’ He put his hands on her waist, his fingers sliding deliciously over the dark emerald satin.

  ‘I…the schedule…I have to…’ she said.

  He pulled her back in the window before she injured herself. ‘Forget the stupid schedule,’ he growled, grabbing the vellum.

  ‘No, you don’t understand,’ she said, wrestling with him over it.

  ‘I understand…you’re being completely ridiculous,’ he muttered while trying to avoid her flailing hands. ‘You could have fallen out of the window and broken your neck. Although I see my concerns about your safety do not, for some reason, concern you.’ He had her under control but she still did not realise her fight was lost.

  Oh, how he wanted to kiss her again. The fury in her eyes just made it harder not to.

  ‘I have to go to the Phelps, it’s on my schedule,’ she bit out, giving up on getting back her schedule and digging into her reticule for her pocket watch with shaky fingers. He grabbed it too and her eyes grew huge with shock and disbelief. ‘Give that back!’ she yelled.

  ‘No, I’m taking you home,’ he said, before giving his coachman instructions to return to Blackhurst House.

  When he looked back at Lisbeth she had her pistol out. Blast! Her eyes were now full of panic, her breathing erratic. He knew she would do it, silly woman.

  ‘Put it away,’ he said in his most serious voice. He was sick of this particular threat.

  ‘Give me my watch,’ she demanded with her hand outstretched. ‘Please!’

  He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘When I have you safely in your door, I shall return it to you.’ He kept his eyes directly on hers, trying not to look at the pistol at all. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Now, Bellamy! I want it now!’ she demanded.

  Oliver grabbed the nozzle of the pistol, gave it a twist and a tug, and gained command of the gun.

  The look on her face was priceless. She had gasped, her mouth a perfect O. Obviously, she had not expected his efficient removal of the pistol from her possession. ‘Now, sit down and be a good girl,’ he said, trying to speak as softly and calmly as he could without grinning.

  Her face was flushed, her breathing rapid and heaving, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell forward, knocking Oliver back against the seat.

  ‘Lisbeth?’

  No response.

  She fainted? Well, this was certainly something new.

  Pinned underneath a beautiful woman would normally have Oliver in good spirits, but this was hardly the same situation. He was used to women passing out afterward.

  The carriage pulled up outside Blackhurst House. He manoeuvred around so he could gather her in his arms and on his lap, then pocketed the pistol. And she had the hide to say men were dangerous with pistols! What a grand end to the evening, he thought as he gazed down at her angelic face. Quiet like this, she seemed no more than a child.

  This whole situation was ludicrous. What was he doing here, with her, on this fool’s errand? There was no way they would find Blackhurst’s killer. Frankly, he didn’t care who killed the bastard. Even if it may have been your dear departed brother? Oliver shook the thought away.

  He was meant to be collecting wagers, making money, paying off Henry’s debts. Instead he was obsessing about Lisbeth’s lips and her backside—of putting his lips on that sweet backside—and mauling her in confined spaces. Mauling her? She’d been mauling him! He’d be damned if she hadn’t planned the whole thing, luring him into that farcical oak box to have her wicked way with him. He laughed out loud in the carriage because if he didn’t he just might yell in frustration. John Coachman opened the carriage door.

  Oliver carried Lisbeth up the steps and kicked the door a couple of times with the toe of his shoe. Lisbeth’s head lolled on his shoulder. She moaned his name and her eyelashes fluttered as if trying to open but she stayed unconscious.

  Rollands opened the door. When he saw his precious Countess lying so still in the Earl’s arms, he looked perplexed, then horrified
.

  ‘Good Lord! What has happened?’ the butler asked, still standing in the doorway.

  ‘Let me in and I’ll tell you.’ Oliver followed a red-faced Rollands into the parlour and deposited Lisbeth onto a soft peach-coloured sofa.

  ‘Is she ill? Should I call for a physician, Lord Bellamy?’ Rollands asked, looking apprehensive from his position behind the sofa. Mrs Rollands, the housekeeper, was hovering in the doorway, her face a mask of concern for her mistress.

  ‘No, I don’t think it will be necessary. She fainted, is all; some smelling salts would be handy if you have some.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, my lord, I will get them immediately.’ Her butler scrambled out of the room like Aunt Petunia’s dogs were nipping at his heels.

  Oliver perched himself on the edge of the sofa. He removed a dark wayward curl from over Lady Blackhurst’s eyes and then rubbed the back of his hand over her soft cheek. By God she is beautiful, he thought. Beautiful despite the dark smudges under her eyes which indicated she was not sleeping well. It seemed these last weeks had worn her down at least as much as they had worn him. Oliver was not sleeping well either these days. It had been a frustrating few weeks in more ways than one.

  Their investigations had yielded very little in the way of physical evidence, but a disturbing picture of her husband was beginning to form, and her list of suspects capable of his murder had grown to terrifying proportions.

  Oliver looked down at Lisbeth. Her lips were relaxed and open slightly. He was taken back to when those lips were on his, hot with passion, not so very long ago. His eyes moved lower to where her breasts strained against the fashionably low-cut bodice. He remembered the feel, the weight, of those glorious globes in his hands, of having said breasts squashed against his face only moments past. It should have been an occasion worth celebrating. Alas, it was not to be, and taking advantage of an unconscious woman was not his style.

  Instead, he put a cushion under her head and adjusted her skirts so she was the picture of unconscious ladylike composure. She was not as unflappable as she always put on, it seems.

  He looked up to see Rollands re-enter the room. He passed a small vial of smelling salts under the Countess’s nose and very effectively brought her back to conscious clarity.

  ‘Rollands?’ Lady Blackhurst asked in a confused voice and then looked at the woman. ‘Mrs Rollands?’ She then focused on Oliver her expression still a little wistful, as if she thought she was dreaming.

  ‘Bellamy?’ she queried, in a wispy voice. ‘Bellamy!’ she repeated but this time her eyes were wide open and accusing. ‘Where is my watch?’ she demanded, sitting up.

  ‘Right here, Countess,’ Oliver replied, placing the silver watch, with the Blackhurst crest, in her palm.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking at the watch. She put her other palm up against her forehead as if dizzy.

  ‘I’ll get you some nice warm milk, you poor dear,’ Mrs Rollands said, patting Lisbeth’s hand before she and her husband left the room.

  ‘Do you faint like that often, Countess? Perhaps your corset is too tight, I could —’

  ‘No, I do not and no, you definitely cannot,’ she said vehemently. ‘And don’t you ever interfere with my schedule or my watch again.’ She crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘I think you depend on your schedule far too much,’ he countered, crossing his arms over his chest in imitation.

  ‘I don’t care what you think, Bellamy.’

  ‘Oliver, my name is Oliver.’

  ‘Well, how very nice for you,’ she shot back.

  Her eyes were flashing like crystallite daggers and by rights he should have stab marks all over his chest or at least in the vicinity of his heart. He supposed, in hindsight, he should have let her have her silly schedule and have done with it, but she’d been driving him crazy with it for weeks.

  ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea you would get so upset.’ He could see his apology wasn’t gaining him much ground. Not the forgiving kind, apparently. What a surprise! Not the rational kind either but that was an altogether different thing again. ‘You looked tired. I thought I was doing the gentlemanly thing.’

  ‘Then don’t,’ she said, shuffling a little further up on the sofa.

  The urge to smile was tugging at his lips again because she was so incredibly easy to tease. ‘I wouldn’t go putting ideas in my head, Countess,’ he warned, shuffling up the sofa too.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said, looking more uncomfortable by the moment, crammed as she was up against the edge of the sofa.

  Shrugging his shoulders and sighing as if it was a nasty job she had just ordered him to do, he moved closer still. ‘Well, if you feel so strongly on the matter,’ he whispered, just before he lowered his head and put his lips to hers.

  Lisbeth’s eyes closed involuntarily as she let the pressure, the heat of his lips, consume her. There was a strange light that lit behind her eyelids and she felt like sighing. She wished she didn’t like his kisses so much. She wished he wouldn’t keep doing this to her—it was hard enough to keep him under control, keep him at arm’s length, keep him from getting too close to her and her teetering heart. Oh, but the kiss was so soft, so sweet. Why was it he could make her forget everything but his lips on hers, the taste of him in her mouth where his tongue explored with searching, searing strokes? She sighed despite herself, and put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. And, oh, how she wanted to forget, just for a little while.

  This was so unfair. They had been tangling words and wills for so long it seemed, and now he knew she was nothing but a swooning female. Now, in his arms for the second time tonight and with him kissing her so pleasantly, she hardly knew what to do.

  All she really knew was when he kissed her she felt free, free of everything she’d been before. Free of the Black Raven and its clutching claws. He made her…feel. Like a woman who was desirable and deserving of passion. She had been deliberately cruel to him and yet he would not let her deter him. Instead, he just kept chipping away at her. If he knew how close she was to shattering into a million deadly shards he would possibly reconsider his determined efforts and move far away—Scotland perhaps, or Iceland.

  ‘Stop thinking,’ he rumbled near her ear as he kissed her neck.

  ‘Oh.’ All thought deserted her. How obedient her mind had become to his demands. If only it would listen to hers the same way.

  His mouth was caressing her jaw and neck. His kisses burning their way towards her collar bone.

  It was so nice to be held…but no, she must concentrate and make him understand he could not do this to her. He could not sweep her away completely. Her heart couldn’t take it.

  But he was so very good at distracting her, the cad. So she did the only thing which was sure to make him see it was foolish to keep trying to seduce her.

  When her hand connected with his cheek he was quick to take it prisoner. He smiled. ‘If you are going to slap a man for doing what he has just been dared to do, then you should really put a little more power into it—make the effort worthwhile.’

  She raised her other hand but saw the look of challenge in his eyes and let it fall to her side.

  ‘Giving up so easily, Countess? Tsk, Tsk, I would have expected more of a fight than that.’

  Fighting against his superior strength? She already knew how fruitless an effort it would be. Her past was full of unsuccessful attempts to fight off a stronger opponent. But Nathaniel was dead now and could no longer physically hurt her. Still, wrestling with Bellamy in the carriage had also proved he was far stronger than she.

  ‘Go home, Bellamy.’

  He smiled again and leaned closer. ‘I know you are all bluff, Countess,’ he whispered, and then kissed her on the nose.

  Stunned, Lisbeth gaped at him. Then he chuckled, damn the man.

  She was about to speak when Mrs Rolland’s wide form arrived with the warm milk.

  ‘Would you like some, my lord?’

  He g
ave her a grin. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Rollands. I think I will leave Lady Blackhurst in your capable hands. She has had a…trying night.’ He stood, turning towards Lisbeth who was still watching him warily.

  ‘I look forward to seeing you again soon, Lady Blackhurst.’ He gave her a bow and kissed the hand that had slapped him. He straightened to his full height again and turned towards the parlour door leaving her aching in his wake.

  Lisbeth fell back against the sofa.

  Mrs Rollands handed her a cup and smiled. ‘Lord Bellamy is very handsome, if I may be so bold as to say.’

  ‘Yes he is,’ she replied, tired, confused and defeated.

  ‘He seems very attentive. He looked so worried when he brought you in.’

  Lisbeth glanced up at her housekeeper. ‘Did he?’

  ‘He made a great fuss of making sure you were comfortable. I was watching him from the doorway.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lisbeth said. She was surprised he hadn’t just tossed her on the sofa like a discarded coat. Especially after the way she had acted tonight.

  ‘Just to make sure he wasn’t taking advantage, if you get my meaning.’

  Lisbeth did know what she meant. And he had taken advantage. She could still feel his lips on hers. Warm, soft, confident. Where had Mrs Rollands been then?

  If only Bellamy knew about her past, about what had happened between her and Blackhurst, surely he would want nothing to do with her. He would know her deep shame and be disgusted, just as she was of herself.

  ‘He was very attentive. Such a gentleman.’ Mrs Rollands sighed wistfully. ‘I’ll let young Millicent know you are home. Would you like a bath?’

  She nodded. The housekeeper smiled, picked up the tray, her many keys jingling as she moved. Lisbeth had always found it a comforting sound.

  So, he had charmed Mrs Rollands? Typical. Even her butler seemed to have thawed towards him. Her own emotions were in turmoil when it came to Bellamy and she didn’t know what to think.