Page 70 of The Notorious Dashing Viscount
“This man here,” Lord Raisin said, clearly enjoying himself, “accepted a wager with one Mr. Simon Dudley. The terms of the wager were quite simple. Boasting that he was a fine flirt and rake, and able to secure the attentions of any lady he wished, the viscount claimed that he could thaw even the Ice Queen’s heart. Mr. Dudley wagered that he could not, and since then, you’ll notice that the viscount has spent a great deal of time with Lady Isolde. To win his bet, you understand. I believe the wager was for some fifty pounds,” he added, as if it mattered.
“That’s not how it happened,” Clayton heard himself say, voice weak.
Lord Raisin raised his eyebrows. “No? Do correct me, then.”
It was Simon’s idea. He chose Lady Isolde as the mark. I… I wanted to back out, but… the words queued up in Clayton’s head, refusing to come out of his mouth. It was probably for the best. They were excuses, and he had never seen them laid out quite so clearly and disgustingly before.
I am a truly vile man.
“There has been some interest in the wager since it was originally set,” Lord Raisin continued, once it was clear that Clayton was not going to continue speaking. “Side bets, andso on. That is how I came to know about it, of course. Most gentlemen find it a shocking thing, myself included, but it seems that Viscount Henley does not feel the same. I don’t wish to level accusations, Lady Isolde, but I can’t help but feel that your recent attention in the gossip columns might have been due to his efforts. That would make it look like he was thawing your heart, would it not?”
Clayton’s eyes were drawn to Isolde, as they always were. This time, however, he would rather have kept his gaze fixed on the toes of his boots. He didn’t deserve to look her in the eye. He didn’t deserve to look at her at all.
Her face was deathly pale. Perhaps it was the moonlight, or perhaps it was simply news that he’d made a bet over her affections, like he was casually wagering on a horse at a race.
“Isolde…” he began, voice raspy, but James cut him off.
“Don’t use my sister’s name in that manner!” he hissed. “How dare you speak to her at all? Lord Raisin, is this true? Can you provide proof?”
“I have several friends who will attest to the existence of the wager, I am afraid,” Lord Raisin responded. Perhaps he was trying to be serious, but a smile kept tugging at the corner of his mouth, no matter how firmly he tried to pull it down again.
“Oh, heavens,” the duke moaned, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Did anyone see her come here with the viscount?”
“She did not come with me,” Clayton tried to point out desperately, but nobody was listening to him.
Frankly, he didn’t blame them.
And then Isolde turned to face him, and it was as if all the noise and chaos stopped. The distant music faded away, the noise of chatter and laugher stopped dead. There was only him and Isolde, and he could not bear the way she looked at him.
“Is it true?” she said quietly. “You haven’t contradicted anything Lord Raisin has said. Is it true that you accepted awager to make me fall in love with you? Can you deny it?”
Silence. He couldn’t bring himself to lie and say that it was not true. No doubt Lord Raisin would love to provide his proof.
But neither could he admit to it. Perhaps the truth was just too awful to face.
“I meant what I said to you,” he heard himself say at last, voice trembling. “I… I was trying to tell you the truth. You deserved to know it.”
“You are nothing but a deceiver,” she declared coolly, her voice controlled and measured. “I can scarcely comprehend how I ever placed my trust in you. I can hardly believe that I ever entertained such notions....” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I’m such a fool.”
“It’s not your fault, Izzy,” James said urgently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Lord Raisin was shuffling closer, as if he were thinking about putting a consoling arm around her, but she stepped abruptly away, into her brother’s embrace. “None of this is your fault. He is the one to blame.”
This remark was punctuated by a glare from James. Clayton regarded him steadily, not saying a word. There was nothing to say, was there?
“We can’t stay here all night,” the duke said, avoiding looking at Clayton at all. “We can talk about this matter in the morning, but nothing is to be gained by standing here and hearing… hearing the whole sordid story laid in front of us.”
“Your Grace, I…” Clayton began, but the duke held up his hand. He looked tired, more than angry.
“No, thank you. We have heard enough from you. As you can imagine, me and my family do not wish to see you, speak to you, or be reminded of your existence in any way. We are leaving now. Don’t contact us again. It goes without saying that you will not contact Isolde ever again. If you consider yourself a gentleman at all, you’ll take it upon yourself to make sure thatthe two of you never meet again. Good day, sir.”
Putting an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, the duke steered her away. No more words were exchanged. Lord Raisin hurried after them.
James, however, hung behind, turning to face Clayton.
Clayton knew what was coming. James was no boxer, and he saw the fist coming in plenty of time to duck.
He did not duck. James’ blow caught Clayton on the jaw with an echoing crack, hard enough to send him staggering sideways.
Face white and teeth clenched, James advanced, fists curled tight at his sides. Clayton straightened up.
