Lady's Wager (11 page)

“No, miss, for a fine bit of horseflesh like Lord
Woodcliff’s will give my Roland a scare.”

Charlotte frowned, suspecting her aunt’s hand in John’s
sudden desire to dawdle. He was an excellent horseman whose skills had proven
instrumental in their escape from Paris. Charlotte knew he could handle a
gentle horse like Roland no matter whose mount was near. But, as John refused
to venture closer, Charlotte turned her attention back to the company at hand.

“A fine evening, don’t you think?” Lord Woodcliff
remarked.

“Indeed.” Charlotte gripped the reins as the gelding
increased its pace to keep up with Lord Woodcliff’s horse. Seeing her struggle,
he slowed his horse, returning them both to a comfortable speed.

Silence settled between them as they guided their horses
past other ladies and gentlemen riding and enjoying the fine spring air. A
gentle breeze ruffled the hem of Charlotte’s blue velvet habit and she caught
Lord Woodcliff admiring the outline of her legs from the corner of his eye.

She examined him as well, careful not to be too obvious.
He wore a sable colored riding coat with a matching beaver hat, both of which
added to the confidence he exuded in the saddle. It was mesmerizing, so much so
she almost forgot her determination to put an end to this flirtation. She
twisted the reins around her fingers, mulling over a hundred different ways to
inform him of her intention not to marry. However, for every neat phrase her
mind devised, her tongue remained silent.

“Miss Stuart, I must apologize for my behavior this
morning. I was gravely mistaken regarding your intimacy with Lord Marston,”
Lord Woodcliff ventured, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he’d
ridden up beside her.

“Yes, my aunt suspected as much.” After Lord Woodcliff’s
abrupt departure, Aunt Mary had searched for answers to his sudden change in
behavior. When she’d suggested Lord Woodcliff might have misunderstood the
reason for Lord Marston’s visit, Charlotte had grasped at the hope. It was,
unbeknownst to the older lady, what had allowed Aunt Mary to convince Charlotte
to ride this evening. “I was sorry to see you leave. I would’ve liked to have
discussed physicians for your family seat.”

“I, as well.” This was no smug lord facing her from across
the tea table, but the man she’d danced with at Almack’s.

She shifted in the saddle. Now was the time to tell him
she possessed no interest in marriage, but she couldn’t speak. She didn’t want
to end the moment, or watch him gallop away.

“Tell me of Grossmont Hall. Is it beautiful?” she asked,
desperate to change the subject and draw out the pleasant ride a little longer.

“It’s a fine stone manor surrounded by woods. There’s a
small village nearby where the farmers come to market. It’s dull but it has its
charms.”

“More charms than London I imagine.”

“More charms but one.” He eyed her from beneath the brim
of his hat, making her stiffen in the saddle.

“Tell me more about your home,”
Charlotte implored, eager to move the conversation away from affection.

Lord Woodcliff described the land around his father’s
estate, and she pictured herself with him in the country enjoying the pleasures
of the forests and meadows. Although she heard the pounding hoof beats and the
rattle of equipage, she was so lost in her daydream of walking with him on his
estate, she failed to notice the danger until it was too late.

Lord Woodcliff spurred his horse forward and grabbed the
gelding’s reins. The leather tightened around Charlotte’s fingers and she cried
out with pain. She freed her fingers just as Lord Woodcliff yanked the reins
tighter. He pulled her horse and his off the path and out of the way of the
speeding phaeton driven by Lord Devonshire. The lady next to him in the high
seat wasn’t Lady Devonshire but a woman Charlotte knew well from society
gossip.

As the rig continued down the row, the terrified gelding
attempted to rear. Charlotte grabbed the edge of her saddle as Lord Woodcliff
jerked the reins, keeping the dancing horse’s hooves firmly on the ground.

Charlotte released her grip on the leather, her nerves as
tight as the horse’s as it shifted back and forth until at last it settled down
in a fury of disapproving neighs.

“Are you all right? Let me see your hand.” Lord Woodcliff
took her shaking right hand and pulled off her glove. He drew each of her
fingers between his thumb and forefinger to check for injury. The pain vanished
and a more profound trembling slipped in beneath his gentle caresses. “The
glove appears to have prevented any real damage, though your fingers may be a
little sore tonight.”

With one fingertip, he traced the thin red mark left on
her palm by the reins. The feathery sweep of his skin against hers increased
the hurried pace of her heart. She closed her hand to catch his, as eager to
stop the intoxicating sensation as to hold on to it and him. He didn’t pull
back, but remained linked with her, his eyes drinking her in as though he’d come
close to losing something precious.

“Can you continue?” he asked as the voices of riders and
the whinnies of their agitated mounts reminded them of where they were.
Thankfully, the other riders were too busy recovering themselves and settling
their own horses to notice Charlotte and Lord Woodcliff’s intimate exchange.

“I think so.” With reluctance she opened her fingers to
release him, hating the coldness which met her palm as he pulled away.

Lord Woodcliff took the gelding’s reins and guided it back
onto the path, clicking both horses into a slow walk. He handed her the reins
and she took them, glad to have something to grip which kept the shock of the
last few moments from knocking her off the horse.

“Lord Devonshire should know better than to drive so fast.
He could’ve hurt someone,” Lord Woodcliff complained.

“It’s not just horrid of the Duke to race through Rotten
Row, but to do it with his paramour by his side.” Lady Devonshire had once been
renowned for her wit and beauty. Now, with her beauty faded by illness and age,
her husband paraded about with his mistress. If Lady Devonshire couldn’t avoid
such a fate, how could Charlotte? “How can a man be so cruel to his wife?”

“A man may also suffer at the hands of a woman,” Lord
Woodcliff countered.

“A woman has more to lose from a poor choice than a man.”
She opened and closed her hand, torn between her heart and her fears. It was a
fool’s wager to marry and allow time to reveal the true nature of a spouse.
Charlotte wouldn’t accept such a gamble. She’d followed her heart once before
with the Comte and been wounded. This time she’d follow her mind. “Therefore,
I’ve chosen to eliminate the choice and guarantee my future happiness by not marrying.”

She regretted the words before they’d even faded away, but
there was no taking them back.

Lord Woodcliff stopped his horse, causing the gelding to
halt too. “Do you have so little confidence in your own judgment?”

“No, but I know the way a man can deceive a woman, so she,
no matter what her judgment, is doomed either now or ten years hence.”

“Haven’t your aunt and uncle set a better example for
you?”

“They’re the minority.”

“So you intend to become a spinster out of fear some man
might betray you?” Lord Woodcliff’s horse stepped back and forth feeding off
his rider’s agitation. “I thought you a braver lady, Miss Stuart.”

“I’m braver than you realize. It requires a great deal of
strength to withstand the opinions of others, especially men who, for the first
time, find their charming words refused.”

“I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of my sex. If I
knew the man who’d given it to you, I’d call him out.”

“Then call out all men, for they’ve all conspired to form
my opinion.”

“Women can be just as cruel.” Lord Woodcliff walked his
animal around Charlotte’s mount, his eyes never leaving hers as she turned in
the saddle to watch him. “I’m sure Lady Redding has informed you of my father’s
current situation?”

Charlotte nodded, ashamed to admit she listened to gossip.

“He chose for love once and he was very happy—they both
were. But fate was not kind. He wasn’t as prudent in his second choice and
they’ve both suffered. So have I.”

Lord Woodcliff maneuvered his horse closer to Charlotte’s
so his right leg was touching the hem of her riding habit. “I’ve learned from
my father’s misfortune and when I marry it will be for love and I’ll always be
faithful. I know, despite all your protestations, you have feelings for me as I
have for you.”

Charlotte dropped the reins in shock. Yes, she cared for
him but she couldn’t admit it. She couldn’t be vulnerable or give herself up so
easily. Even if he never betrayed her like the Comte, she might lose him as
she’d lost her parents. She couldn’t suffer such heartache again.

He took her hand and swept the back of it with his thumb,
his touch as stunning as his admission. Her reasons for not wanting him faded
under the steady caress and the nearness of him.

“Don’t let your fears govern you, but be honest with
yourself as I’ve been with you.”

Hyde Park disappeared as he shifted closer, his eyes
heavy, his head tilted as though he meant to kiss her. She leaned toward him,
her lips parted, eager for him to make her forget her past and her worries. The
sharp smell of leather and sandalwood shaving soap filled her senses and her
mind whirled like the night at Versailles when she’d drunk too much champagne
and run through the gardens under the bright stars. She raised her face to his,
her eyes closed, waiting in anticipation.

Then someone cleared his throat from behind them.

She pulled back to see John sitting atop his mount a short
distance away.

He wasn’t the only one watching them.

The gravity of the situation hit her like a low branch and
anger snuffed out her desire. “If you cared for me you wouldn’t try and
compromise me in such a public place, for your benefit.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You did.”
Just like the Comte.

“I apologize if I’ve offended you.” He jerked up straight
in his saddle, bristling beneath her accusation. “It won’t happen again.”

Lord Woodcliff kicked his horse and the animal took off
down the path in the direction of the phaeton, the powerful hooves ripping up
small clumps of earth as he and his mount tore down Rotten Row.

Charlotte fought the urge to
dig her heels into the gelding’s side and make the poor beast catch up to Lord
Woodcliff. She wanted to fall into his arms, beg him to banish all her worries
and fears. But she remained still as the gelding bent its head for another
dandelion. If she ran after him, she’d be in his grasp and he’d know it. This
fear was more terrifying than the loneliness threatening to overwhelm her.

*****

Reaching the Woodcliff mews, Edward flung the reins at the
groom, dismounted, then stormed into the house. He threw open the library door
and the knob hit the wall with a bang.

“So all is not well with the young lady?” His father
remarked without looking up from his book.

“She says she has no intention of marrying.” Edward paced
in front of his father. “The woman is impossible.”

George snapped his book shut. “Preposterous. Every woman
plans to marry.”

“Not this one. She’d rather be an ape leader than risk
being betrayed by her husband.”

“And you’d betray her?”

“Of course not, I love her.” The realization jerked him to
a halt. He shouldn’t care so deeply for her, not after the accusation she’d
flung at him in Rotten Row, but he did. It made him want to bang his head
against the wall in frustration. He’d been a fool to confess his feelings to
such an obstinate woman or to keep chasing after her, but he couldn’t stop.
When he’d held her hand, he’d felt her desire for him. He also understood why
she wouldn’t admit her feelings to him or herself. The near miss with the phaeton
had reminded him of how easy it was to lose a loved one. The fear and pain of loss
could guide a person for years. After his mother’s death, the need to ease his
suffering had driven his father into his stepmother’s conniving arms. Edward’s dread
of making a similar mistake had forced him across the Channel to Europe, and
now the same concern was guiding Miss Stuart’s decisions.

George rubbed his chin then fixed Edward with a pointed
stare. “You’re not still pretending poverty, are you?”

“Even if I am, it has no bearing on the situation.”

“Of course it does. It gives her one less reason to trust
you.” George jabbed his book at Edward. “You’re a fool for not telling her the
truth.”

His father was right. It was probably the reason she’d
accused him of trying to compromise her in public, though her accusation wasn’t
entirely without merit. He’d tried to kiss her because he’d wanted to and he’d
thought it would draw out her regard for him. He pressed his knuckles to his
hips. It would take more than charming words, tender caresses, or even the
truth of his situation to overcome her deep rooted concerns, and his. “I want
her to love me for who I am, not my money.”

“Money would make it easier.”

It would, but then he’d never be sure which had helped her
overcome her objections. If she’d give him a chance, spent time with him
instead of running away, she’d realize how happy they could be together. If
they both let down their guards and were honest with one another, it would make
all the difference. It had during their time at Almack’s and again today before
the reckless Duke had ruined everything. Edward was willing to try. It was
convincing Miss Stuart to do the same which seemed impossible.

“If the woman won’t have you, then find another,” George
mumbled, thumbing the pages of his book. “No point wagering everything on this one
if she’s too stubborn to appreciate you, rich or poor.”