The Next Best Bride (16 page)

Helena replied numbly, "That was our hope, my lord."

Rand laughed. "I wouldn't say we were afraid of hard riding — we just did not do all our hard riding in the carriage. Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"How could I argue with you, my lord?" Her eyes were focused on his chin as she replied.

Rand wished he could do battle without touching Helena. He hated to see her embarrassed. But that could not be helped. If his grandfather sensed that he wished to spare his bride, he would only make things more unpleasant for her in the end.

"So, you've finally taken a bride and started a serious campaign for children." The old man wore a genial smile, as if he were pleased. Rand supposed the smile was to fool Helena. It certainly did not fool him. "I hardly believed it would happen, myself. I thought you'd lose your nerve and jilt the girl at the altar."

"I must admit, the thought crossed my mind," he lied. "But I find I quite enjoy having a wife in my bed."

The old man watched Helena like a hawk, even as he baited Rand, once again comfortably settled into their old pattern of verbal warfare. "Might have thought of that while you were out gambling till dawn on your wedding night. What is a fitting punishment for such a neglectful husband, my dear?"

Rand tensed. Helena's expression sparked into embarrassment and she seemed to have no answer as she glanced to him in sheer panic.

No doubt she was concerned that he might reveal her indisposition. She knew him disconcertingly well, he reflected. What had Ros told her of the wicked earl? She had sworn to him that she had spilled none of his secrets to Helena. He hoped she had not lied.

He said, instead, "My bride was shy. I wanted to give her time to adjust to me — which she has done quite nicely." He winked at Helena, who choked back an astonished cry. "So I would say a fitting reward would be a son in nine month's time."

The marquess frowned in warning. "Perhaps you ought to be wise, boy — don't count your chickens too soon."

"I'm not counting chickens, Grandfather, I'm counting months."

His grandfather glanced at Helena, but addressed Rand. "I hear the duchess is barren."

"She and the duke have not yet been blessed with children," Helena interjected stiffly. "But my brother Valentine has three, and my sisters Hero and Juliet each have one." Loyal little thing, she was. He wanted to kiss her.

"Your sisters have only girls?" The marquess phrased it as a question, but Rand knew the old man had an intelligence network still, from the time he worked for the government as spymaster during the war with Napoleon.

Rand watched the old man examine Helena. He was all kindly solicitousness. No doubt he knew the names, ages, and foibles of each member of Helena's somewhat notorious family.

Helena bristled. "They each have a daughter. But they have been married only a short time."

Rand poured himself another brandy. "Nothing wrong with girls, grandfather. They liven a place up with all their chatter, and they smell nice, too."

His grandfather seemed disappointed in his comment. "A boy is necessary —"

"Yes." A boy. A son and heir. No man should be without one. "And I will have a son."

"You cannot be certain," his grandfather said, green eyes narrowing. Rand braced himself, recognizing what was next. "Even all the bastard sons you've planted don't guarantee you'll have a legitimate one."

Helena started, but said nothing. Rand did not think his grandfather could even see her reaction, hidden as it was by his resourceful bride twitching her skirts away from the fire.

She could not be happy, he knew. But that was unavoidable. "Thank you for reminding me," Rand said, wondering if he would see another of the disadvantages to having a wife once she had him alone. "There is a new one. His mother should be petitioning you shortly."

Helena stared at him openly.

The old man glanced at her sympathetically, as if he had just realized that she was present. He would have made a splendid Falstaff upon the stage. "Sorry my dear, to shock you." He waved his brandy glass in Rand's direction. "With no ladies usually present, we have grown used to speaking freely with one another."

To Rand he said, "Perhaps we should keep the details of such business away from your wife."

"Not at all," Rand shrugged. "Helena is a sophisticated woman, she is not put off by my peccadilloes or she'd not have married me."

"Would you prefer we take this discussion out of your hearing, my dear? I would not want you to think less of your husband." His grandfather phrased the question in such a way that Rand thought Helena might ask them to defer the conversation.

But she said, rather stiffly, "Not at all, my lord. I would not think to criticize my husband's habits, and I could never think less of him."

Rand suppressed the wince that threatened at her words. If she could never think less of him, than he supposed he was quite low in her estimation right now.

The marquess's sharp gaze studied her for a moment. If there was one thing the old man couldn't stand it was a weakling or a liar. Rand was glad Helena was neither. For the old man would certainly test her. With a harsh look at Rand, he demanded. "You've verified the child is yours?"

"Yes. I had a look at the brat not two weeks ago." Rand was very much afraid to look over and see if Helena had fainted yet. She had not. "Spitting image of the old man."

The marquess had a hint of admiration in his voice when he said, "Eight sons in as many years." There was no quarter in his gaze, however. "Yet a dozen bastards does not guarantee you'll get one true heir on your wife."

"True." Rand could think of only one way to end the conversation, for Helena's sake. "Would you care to make a wager?"

"What?" His grandfather and Helena both stared at him as if he'd run mad.

"A wager," he repeated. "If I have a son within ten months of my marriage, you will gift me Saladin from your stables."

"You would wager on such a chancy thing?"

"I don't consider it chancy. I have produced nothing but sons so far, haven't I? And my bride is a willing girl with serviceable hips." He avoided looking directly at Helena as he made that comment.

"You are not jesting? You would wager on such a matter with me?" The old man's eyes lit with a love of the game.

Rand shrugged, and tossed down the last of his brandy. It was excellent brandy, just as his grandfather had said to Helena. "I made the wager to all of London a week ago, why should I not make a similar one with you?"

Helena put her sherry glass down abruptly. But she said nothing.

Even his grandfather seemed flabbergasted by his pronouncement. "You wagered on your own wedding day that you'd have a son within ten months?"

Rand poured himself another brandy, certain that he'd need it tonight, when Helena got him alone. "I did." Perhaps he should head back to London tonight, give her a few weeks to let her temper cool? But then he might lose his bet.

"Fool." The old man's tone wasn't condemning. "I suppose I will be expected to cover those wagers when you lose?"

"Don't you always cover my losses? Wouldn't want to ruin the family name."

"You have a wife now. I thought you'd put these games behind you," his grandfather lied with a straight face. "You are likely to lose this bet."

Rand was relentless. "If you believe so, you must be eager to take me up, then. What can you lose?"

"Saladin. He's a prime Arabian stud. You know his value well enough. But that is only if I lose the wager. What do you put up if you lose your wager?"

More months under your thumb. But that went without saying. "What would you consider the equal of Saladin?"

"A gift for your wife, perhaps?" The old man glanced at Helena as he declared, "No more women petitioning me to support your bastards for five years."

Five years? "Done." The price was steeper than Rand had anticipated. But no matter, he would win the wager. And Helena would not be subject to humiliating conversations about her ability to bear children for some time to come — his grandfather hated to lose a wager.

Folkstone, the butler, announced dinner just then, sparing Rand any need to act as though he were pleased with himself.

He took Helena's arm to lead her into the dining room, and though her gaze was cold, he felt a shudder pass through her. No doubt she was grateful for the call to dinner. Poor girl. She had no idea that drinks had been the warm-up before the true, oh so civilized, hostilities commenced.

* * * * *

Helena readied herself for bed with quiet fury. He had bet on the begetting and birth of their own child as if it was a game. Not only with his grandfather, but with all of London. On his wedding day.

For the first time she believed he would not have been unhappy if she had been carrying William's child when she married him. To him a boy child was all that was important. Worse, he had told her so, honestly. She had been the fool who did not believe any man could be so indifferent.

She tried to calm herself as Marie helped her off with her gown and unfastened her corset so that she could breathe freely again. She had no real right to berate him, much as she wished to tell him exactly how despicable his behavior had been. However, she could not keep silent if she saw him tonight. She was simply too angry.

And he would come to her tonight. After all, he wanted to win his wager. She sat before her dressing table and Marie began to work on taking down her hair. Three deep breaths to calm herself. He would come. He had yet to give her the promised daily lesson. In seven nights of marriage he had yet to forget. What would it be today? How to gamble with the lives of those one should cherish?

Marie, her maid, was little more than a child. But she was perceptive enough to know that her mistress was angry about something. Her hands trembled as she took down Helena's hair, pins dropped from her shaking fingers.

Matters did not improve when Rand strode into the room as if it were his own. Marie gasped and dropped the hairbrush she held. He said brusquely, "You may go, girl."

Marie went, hastily, eyes down. Before she was at the door, however, Rand called her back. "Wait."

Marie waited, though it was obvious that she was afraid of what he would say. But, as if he realized suddenly that the girl was terrified of him, he smiled and said softly, "Don't come to the room tomorrow until the countess rings for you."

Helena felt a flush of warmth spread through her as she realized the implication of his words. "Yes, Marie," Helena added, hoping the girl did not notice anything amiss. "I will ring for you when I need you in the morning."

"Very well, milady," Marie said, bobbing quickly and leaving them alone.

Helena turned to glare at him. He had not even given her the courtesy of a knock. Of course not. He could not risk losing his wager because she refused him entry.

She noted that Griggson had done the honors of undressing his master and Rand wore only a loosely tied silk dressing gown the same deep green as his eyes. As if he had not shredded her patience and good will at dinner, he said with utter nonchalance, "The hour is too late for me to act the model for you. Are you ready for your lesson?"

Helena was tempted to throw a slipper at him. "Which one is this? The lesson in treating my elders as if they are fools? Or using my progeny for wagering."

He quirked a brow at her and leaned against the doorframe of the connecting door as if no longer certain of his welcome. His reply was patience itself — a lesson for a backward child. "I didn't wager my child, Helena. I wagered my personal ability — on how quickly I could father a son."

Exasperation made her speak her mind freely. "You cannot wager on such a thing."

He shrugged. "Tell that to those who wager against me. Tell my grandfather. I didn't hear you chide him for putting up Saladin. He seemed to think wagering one stud against another a fair bet."

One stud against another. Aggravating man. He would not admit he was in the wrong even if he thought so himself. She sighed. "What if I am barren?"

He came forward as if that was all the invitation he needed. His hands were warm upon her neck as he massaged the tight muscles of her shoulders. "You are not."

How was it that he could speak with such authority she could almost believe him. "What if I have a girl?"

"Then grandfather wins the wager." His gaze was heated as he stared at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table. "And we must try again."

He bent to press a kiss to her neck. "What does it matter? Surely you will not mind if grandfather wins and I have to fulfill my part of the bargain."

She choked out the words, determined not to chide him. What he did with other women was surely none of her business. "No more ... illegitimate ... children."

"Yes." He smiled bracingly, as if he saw the effort it cost her to be sophisticated about her marriage. "Although, it would chuff grandfather to know I don't mind that part at all."

"No?" Did she truly want to hear this?

"Why should I?" He knelt down and put his head against her breast, right where her heart was beating distinctly. "I can spend the time making legitimate children with you."

He flicked at the tip of one nipple with his tongue and sent a shiver down her spine. "You must admit, I have yet to complain that making love to you is a chore I wish to avoid."

"No." She traced the curve of his ear with one finger. She knew she should be angry with him. But somehow, he made it impossible. "I begin to think you would keep me in bed all day if you presumed I would agree."

"Indeed." He slipped her dressing gown from her shoulders and let the silk pool about her waist. "When I thought of having a wife, I had not considered how pleasant it would be to retire to a woman already in her nightclothes."

He traced her collarbone with his mouth, warm little kisses that traveled through her in pleasant waves. "I need do no more than walk into your room. No flowers, no wooing, no worry that you will refuse me."

"I am grateful to know that I have made your life so convenient." She put her hand over his mouth, to stop his drugging kisses. "Although, if you truly meant what you said, and I am to have rule of my own life —"