Page 6 of A Gentleman's Wager
“You ought not to have been where you could see him,” Louisa snatched up the remainder of her linen and shoved it into the chest of drawers.
Bella fell back upon the eiderdown. Sometimes it was more expedient to accept the inanities of the world that rebel against them. “You’re right. I ought to have left the moment I glimpsed him.”
“You ought not to have been there at all.”
“Yes-yes,” Bella apologised. “But could we get past that part, please, do you think? I need to know what I should do about the dinner tomorrow.”
Louisa clawed at her sleeves as if she could scratch the knowledge free of her body. “Really, I suppose you’ll have to brazen it out. The only alternative is to say that you’re ill, and Joshua will never believe it.” Bella was rarely if ever ill.
“Then, I’m to hope he never got a good look at me.”
“Or at least if he did, he holds his tongue.”
Bella coughed. “I’m to rely on a rake not to expose me.”
Louisa held her gaze a moment, then nodded. “I imagine rakes are quite good at that sort of thing. Honestly, Bella, I think I should worry more about what he’ll demand of you to hold his tongue. He could ask almost anything.”
“He could…” Bella mused, suddenly feeling not half so concerned as she had. She’d hazard that negotiating with Viscount Marlinscar might even be fun. Perhaps he’d ask something wicked of her.
“Oh, Bella,” Louisa flung her arms around her. “You always have such a knack of making trouble for yourself.”
“I do, don’t I, but—” she patted Louisa on the arm as if she were the one in need of comforting, “—I think it might work out fine after all.”
“Let’s hope so. Now, you said he was to bring a guest, any idea who that might be?”
“Hopefully not his mistress.”
Louisa gave a squawk that made Bella chuckle.
“It isn’t. It’s a man. I think Joshua even told me his name.” She closed her eyes to recall the conversation. “Wakefield. That’s it, I think. An officer with the 33rdRegiment of Foot.”
Bella wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw her friend’s lips tug into a smile.
-3-
Lucerne
Lucerne, Viscount Marlinscar had almost given up hope of finding the maid who’d dropped from the sky having undoubtedly witnessed him tossing himself off. It wasn’t that Lucerne particularly desired an official introduction, more that he was intrigued by her boldness. As much as he’d come to the countryside to sober up and discover some newfound sensibility, he had to admit, it was damnably dull. It was therefore a delightful surprise to find the minx in the parlour of his nearest neighbour. From all he’d heard, the Rushdales were an old and respectable family, their wealth grown through farming and mining interests. Certainly not the sorts to harbour a wayward chit. She’d been watching him since the moment he entered, her stare bold and smile secretive.
In other circumstances, he would not have paid her any regard. It was clear to Lucerne that she lacked the sophistication he usually sought in his acquaintances. While her friend, Miss Stanley, a petite blonde, was fresh from the fashionable drawing rooms of the ton, if Rushdale’s sister had been near a modiste in the last five years he’d eat his cravat. Not only was her dress last season’s last season, her curling brown hair seemed as eager to escape its pins as she the confines of the room.
Still, he was not one to forget his manners. “Miss Rushdale. Miss Stanley.” He bowed, his companion Captain Wakefield following suit.
“Hallo again, Miss Stanley. What a delight to see you again.”
Lucerne regarded his companion curiously. “You already know one another?”
His gaze flicked expectantly back and forth between the two, intrigued. Wakefield wasn’t one for the London Season, not quite up to snuff for that, so there were limited places they might have stumbled upon one another. Was there some other intrigue here that deserved investigating?
Miss Stanley produced a delicate half-smile. “The captain and I travelled north by the same coach. He was kind enough to help keep the rogues at bay—”
“What rogues?” Miss Rushdale’s brows gathered into a frown.
“—or leastways the reverend and his gouty toe.” Her friend gave a nervous laugh.
“I see.” Lucerne kept his expression determinedly neutral. What the devil had the fool been doing? “You never mentioned any act of chivalry, Freddy.”
No wonder he’d been so keen to join Lucerne on this neighbourly visit. He’d known the chit was here. Lucerne shot him a glance that Wakefield studiously ignored.
