Page 9 of A Private Wager
He’d been so eager to see her again, to kiss her again, that he had left the house early, hoping she might have done the same. As he’d approached the folly, he’d heard the sounds of a struggle, of angry, raised voices. Muffled by the trees and hedges, it had never occurred to him that one of those voices might be his cousin’s. What he’d seen upon entering the folly had made his blood grow cold. But only for a moment. Then his pulse had begun to race, fueled by a fury unlike anything he’d ever known. He lunged forward, grasping Barton’s arm and hauling him backward, pulling him off Lucy and sending the other man sprawling into the dirt and leaves.
“How dare you ever treat a lady in such a manner!” War snapped, his words clipped and angry.“I should call you out!”
“Do not! Please!”
That impassioned cry had come from Miss Dawes. She had managed to get to a seated position, but there was blood runningdown her arm from the tear in her sleeve, and a bruise was already beginning to form on her cheekbone, where Barton had struck her. She was thoroughly disheveled but remarkably calm, all things considered.
“You cannot possibly have any concern for him,” War stated stiffly.
“I have concern for my reputation, my lord. No woman has ever benefitted by men fighting a duel for her honor. It only serves to spread gossip farther and wider than it would have traveled otherwise,” she replied, her voice slightly tremulous as she climbed to her feet.
Glancing constantly between her and Barton, who was also getting to his feet, War knew that his battle with his cousin was far from over. Whatever Barton’s crimes, the man’s pride would not let him simply walk away, no matter that he’d clearly behaved in a heinous manner.
“Miss Dawes,” War said, “You should return to the house at once. I shall seek you out there after my cousin has been dealt with.”
Miss Dawes stared out through the arches of the folly and then looked back at him with an expression that was utterly forlorn. “It’s too late for that.”
As Barton’s attention appeared to have been drawn by something else, War risked a glance over his shoulder to see what had caused the sudden shift. Several of the guests stood there, all of them gaping at the tableaux they created: Miss Dawes, bloodied and battered in her torn clothing, and he and Barton, ready to pulverize one another like prize fighters at a fair. Their discovery in that situation was nothing short of disastrous.
With so many witnesses, he had to trust that Barton would not attack—at least for the moment. Removing his coat, hedraped the garment over Miss Dawes shoulders. “I will escort you back to the house. We have much to discuss.”
“Such as your wager?” she snapped.
War sighed. “Yes. Amongst other things. And it is clearly not safe for you to walk alone. My cousin cannot be trusted.”
“That appears to be a trait you share, my lord. But, yes, I will accept your accompaniment for the walk, though I feel there is naught left to be said between us,” she agreed quietly.
War disagreed. Given the number of witnesses that had just observed her in her present state of dishabille as he and Barton prepared to fight for her honor, there was a great deal left to be said. Though, in truth, it could be summed up in a very short question: He would be asking Miss Dawes to be his wife.
***
Lucy was still shaken, her trembling knees concealed by her skirts and her hands clasped tightly in front of her to halt their quaking, or at least to prevent others from seeing it. She could hear the whispers of the gathered crowd as they watched her walk past, the viscount at her side. It was beyond humiliating. The attack from Mr. Warfield was bad enough, but the humiliation if anyone had heard his statements about the wager that had prompted the viscount’s attentions…she couldn’t bear that. Having never been a great beauty and only pursued by gentlemen for the sake of her fortune, the idea that his pseudo courtship was simply for the sake of a wager was utterly mortifying.
As they neared the house, there was a group of people gathered on the terrace, eagerly watching their approach. No doubt someone else had raced back to inform them of the entire debacle. It was the sort of salacious gossip that would spread far and wide. A prickling of unease settled over her as the implications of that began to sink in.Ruin. Complete and utter ruin.
They’d no more than reached the top of the terrace steps when her aunt came rushing through the French doors. “Lucy! Oh my heavens, what a morning this has been! Come inside at once!”
The command was punctuated with a hard glare from her aunt in the viscount’s direction. Hoping to stave off any further unpleasantness, Lucy disentangled herself from him and hooked her arm though her aunt’s. She didn’t glance back at him. No matter how tempting it was to do so, she refused. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Within minutes, she was in her chamber, a maid helping her to remove her ruined gown. Her cuts and scrapes were treated with a salve, and her hair was tidied up. Though it all, her aunt was silent, and that silence hung heavily in the air. It was positively maddening.
“Yell. Scream. Shout. For pity’s sake, do something!” Lucy cried.
“There is naught to do at this point, Lucy, but pray—pray he is honorable enough on make an offer for you!”
“No! I will not marry that wretched man! All of this, Aunt, it was all—” Lucy stopped abruptly. She was unable to say it, unable to admit the truth of why he had been paying court to her.
“It doesn’t matter what was, Lucy, only what is…or what appears to be. You were unchaperoned in a garden with two men. You are bruised and bloodied, and they were brawling over you. You must marry one of them—the viscount or Mr. Warfield. Whichever of them comes up to snuff first, you will accept, girl. You’ve no other option. Your father would never permit you to remain under his roof with such scandal attached to your name!”
Her aunt spoke the truth. She knew that. Her father’s new wife and the child she carried were all he concerned himself with. It wasn’t jealousy or even self pity that made her think such a thing. It had been made abundantly clear that she was anunfortunate reminder to his new wife of her predecessor. And the means to see her banished had just been gifted to them in a pretty package. Not even her aunt would be able to save her from her father’s wrath, fueled by the whispered words of her stepmother.
Lucy wasn’t even aware that she was crying. The tears simply fell unheeded from her eyes, rolling over the fullness of her cheeks and dampening her already ruined gown. But her aunt offered no further scolding. Instead, she simply sat down beside her on the bed and wrapped Lucy in a warm and loving embrace, holding her gently as she cried. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Since her mother’s death when she was a girl of only fourteen, it had been her aunt who dried all of her tears. But this was a situation her aunt could not get her out of. Widowed, the woman was dependent on her father’s generosity, and if she were to offer Lucy aid against his will, he’d withdraw every last pence of support provided to her.
“I’ve made a mess of it all,” Lucy sobbed woefully.
“I think it is fair to say that the viscount and his cousin made a mess of it all,” her aunt stated pragmatically. “You are not the first woman to be charmed by a too-handsome man, and you will certainly not be the last. Regardless, we must simply hope that one of them will make you an offer.”
Lucy shuddered. “Then, let us hope it is the viscount. He has behaved horribly, but at the very least, he is not cruel.”
