Page 6 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
People often speak of getting a bad taste in their mouths when faced with the disgusting or morally reprehensible. Albert invariably experienced the same hideous peppery, vinegary, vomitus tang in the back of his throat. Though it pained him to admit, he expected nothing less of his father. It was Bloomsday whose actions were uniquely execrable.
“What sort of man sells his daughter’s virtue for a horse?” Albert said aloud. Bloomsday's eyes shot up as if he’d just noticed him standing there. The Duke turned very slowly in his chair and set his arm lightly on the backrest.
“Albert,” he said, his voice as warm as his smirk was frigid. “I didn’t know you were here. Come, have a seat.” He said it as though there were any familiarity between the two of them anymore—but they were worse than unacquainted.
A coolness raced down his spine at the thought. He refocused on Bloomsday. “If you were half full of sense, you’d get up from this table now and get your daughter out of this place before this lecher has a chance to further taint her purity and tarnish her reputation.”
To Albert’s eternal irritation, Bloomsday pulled up a smirk to rival the Duke’s. “He’s everything you said he would be, Lucius.”
The two old bastards laughed.Laughed!
“On the contrary,” his father said. “I’ve had my eye on dear Edna for many years now—ever since I realized what a beauty she would grow into back when she was barely more than a child.” The foul taste on Albert’s tongue redoubled. “It is because I respect her purity and her father," the Duke continued with a nod to Bloomsday, "that I've waited this long to declare my most honorable intentions for her.”
Albert sneered, every muscle in his back tightening painfully. “Like you declared your intentions for Lady Eugenie? Or for mother?”
His father snarled at the mention of her name like he always did. Albert was not supposed to speak of them, especially not his mother. Everyone was to pretend as she had never existed, or if she had existed, that she was a good woman who just quietly died one day rather than having left him in disgrace.
“Listen here, you meddlesome little ratbag,” his father hissed, “this issue is no concern of yours, so why don’t—?”
“Here.” Albert reached into his pocket and took out his purse, heavy with golden crowns and sovereigns. He threw it on the table with a thud and turned his gaze on Bloomsday. “Enough for two horses, you snake. Deal me in.”
“Miss Worthington has caught your eye as well?”
Albert bristled at the suggestion. Even though the lady was undeniably eye-catching, that was inconsequential to the current business. He had no interest in marriage in any case, but the last thing he would want was to be saddled with a father-in-law who numbered the Duke of Craster among his friends. That’s all he needed to know about the man to know he was a scoundrel.
“If I win,” Albert said, his voice low and gravelly. “You have to promise that you will not let this libertine anywhere near your daughter.”
“What, ever?” Bloomsday’s chubby face slumped with a grin, and he brushed back the crimpy hazelnut hair hanging over his eye. “What’s that worth to you, Craster? More than a horse, I’d wager.”
The Duke’s icy eyes sparkled with indignation though it was clear from the turn of his lip that he was excited despite himself. He looked up at Albert. “If your terms are that I should never see her, then mine are that I shouldalwayssee her. Marriage.”
“Now, hang on,” Bloomsday began.
“If you put marriage on the table, then I’ll raise the stakes accordingly.” The Duke paused, kindling the electricity in the air. When Albert glanced over his shoulder, it was painfully obvious every man in earshot was eavesdropping on their unusual negotiation. “I’ll put up my entire draft team: six strong stud horses and the Parisian carriage they drag. Can you match that, boy?”
“I’ll see your horses and your coach and match it with…” Albert swiped his tongue quickly over his upper teeth. “My house on the west side of London.”
“Call.” The Duke turned his frozen eyes on Worthington. “Deal the cards.”
ChapterThree
Fortunately for Edna, the Duke ofCrasswas absent from the main ballroom when she returned on Janine’s arm. That left her plenty of room to speak with the other gentlemen of which there were a great deal.
The Earl of Pompton had bright eyes, ruddy cheeks, and a tendency to sneeze without covering his mouth—a very unpleasant reality when dancing. The Viscount of Lankton was tall (but nottootall as Violet pointed out with a grin) and had a childlike laugh that drew people in. He also never stopped talking.
After that particularly jarring foray, she slipped to the back of the room to sip some strawberry tippling and breathe. Violet had excused herself to procure the latest gossip from her group of matronly friends which left Edna a moment of silence to think. Not one of those men had made her feel anything but less-than. That could not be right for love. According to Violet, love was supposed to lift a woman off her feet and carry her up toward the clouds. Edna instead felt like she had been flipped about like a parasol in a hurricane.
Edna sighed and looked down in her cup at the red reflection of her eyes and cheeks. Then she blew into the liquid, so it bubbled and spread ripples out to the edge. That’s when she heard dear Janine’s trill voice approach as she finished her dance with the Baron of Clapperton—a small man with an even smaller amount of patience. On her way over to Edna, Miss Margaret Delacour, whose father was a French noble, stepped in line with her. They whispered conspiratorially before Janine’s eyes widened. Edna clasped her cup tighter.
“Edna, darling, you must hear the news my dearest friend Margaret has so generously brought to my attention.”
“Must I?” Edna asked, her stomach still spinning from the last dance.
“It is about your father,” Janine said. Edna winced.
“And the Duke of Craster,” Margaret added. Edna wished to shrivel, but the pinch of her corset kept her upright. “And the Duke’s son, the Marquess,” Margaret continued.
“Who is without a doubt the most handsome man here,” Janine leaned forward and whispered far too loudly.
