By Way Of A Wager

by Hayley Ann Solomon

Genres: Regency Romance

Synopsis

Desperate to escape the lecherous clutches of her guardian and find her missing brother, presumed dead at Waterloo, Casandra Beaumaris enlists the aid of the powerful Duke of Wyndham, who offers her marriage to salvage her reputation. Original.

Release date: November 1, 2000

Publisher: Zebra

Print pages: 224

Sample

The penny blinked in the sunlight, causing Miss Cassandra Beaumaris to cease her humming and squint momentarily against the glare. The lilting notes faded into a crisp silence as she shaded her eyes and reached among the jumble for her fringed parasol. Sad to say, it was lying in a most lamentable heap together with her discarded gloves and the delightful confection of chip straw created personally for her by Miss Peeples of Bond Street.

Curiously, she plucked the coin carefully from its hiding place in the sand. She tilted it in her palm, quite oblivious to its mostly sandy state. It glinted in the mild sun and felt disappointingly light across her palm. It was not an ancient Roman artifact, then, despite her rather ridiculous hopes. Still, one never could tell with such things.

It was only last year, after all, that the Marquis of Rens-ford’s eccentric mistress had blithely taken a pickax to a very fine Roman mosaic. She’d been digging the foundation of a new hothouse at the time, and the damage to the mosaic was said to be irreparable. The laughingstock of the ton it had been, and the marquis was reported to be furious. Cassandra chuckled naughtily as she imagined his face. Of course, a gently bred young lady such as herself should not have known—let alone reflected—upon such matters. Cassandra did not care a whistle. How thankful she was to have servants who gossiped!

She sighed. The day was conspiring against her. Even her line, dangling artfully into the crystal water, refused to yield an obliging catch. She reeled in the rod and threw it carelessly on the pile with her bonnet. Then she tipped back her head and squinted at the sky.

It was later than she’d first calculated, for the sun was casting telltale shadows, and the afternoon’s warmth was rapidly fading to a gentle chill. Natty should have been back long since. A small smile of tolerant vexation crossed Miss Beaumaris’s deliciously curved lips. Scatty Natty, she’d scold, to strand her mistress without a suitable companion. Still, she did not care over much, for she knew the maid was enjoying her half day off. The Greensides’ stable boy no doubt offered a powerful reason for permitting time to elapse so unpardonably.

Cassandra sighed again as a sudden fit of the dismals threatened to descend upon her normally light-spirited person. It was unlike her to grow mopish, though the strange pang for a romantic encounter of her own took her by surprise. Nonsense! Hoydenish nonsense! She grimaced and retrieved her feet from the sparkling, cool water in which they dangled. No one could deny that they were extremely dainty little feet, nor yet that she presented the most charming picture of unruffled innocence. Miss Beaumaris, however, was oblivious to these interesting facts. If truth be told, she was more concerned with the delicate task of emptying sand from her new kid slippers than in cutting any sort of dash. She laid her souvenir down and shook out each damp shoe with vigor.

She missed the long, tall shadow that fell across the rows of ripened cornfields and onto the bramble bush close to her side. Her lips parted merrily as she idly resumed her tuneful warbling of the sun-dappled day. Natty would not, she hoped, be too much longer.

Her basket was quite filled with blackberries, and the ripening fruit seemed suddenly inviting to a young lady who’d eaten only a very light luncheon some hours before. She bent over her basket and tucked in with appetite. Delicious! She licked her lips blithely at the first satisfying sweetness and bent once more for her coin.

“Will you have good luck, my pretty?”

She startled and swung around to face quite the most devastating gentleman she had yet encountered. Not that her experience at the tender age of seventeen had been all that vast, but only the veriest nodcock would not take this paragon to be a lord of the first stare. His beaver was set rakishly at an angle, and his buckskins were a perfect match to his well-toned thighs and crisp, starched shirt. He held the reins lightly, and from the corner of her discerning eye, she noticed that his beast was an Arabian stallion, deep chestnut, and at least seventeen hands high.

“Beg pardon?”

The vision looked amused. He pointed to her hand, which was tightly closed around the half-forgotten coin.

“See a penny, pick it up; all day long, you’ll have good luck.”

Enlightenment dawned, and she emitted a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, this, sir?” She unclutched her fist. “I had hopes of it being an ancient Roman relic, but I rather fear it is more like to be nothing at all out of the common way.”

“Unlike it’s finder.”

Cassandra did not pretend to misunderstand. Instead, she blushed delightfully and scolded the gentleman for his forward ways.

He nodded in agreement, but his eyes twinkled unrepentantly.

“Forward? Very likely! Nonetheless, I retain hopes that your little penny will bring you luck.”

For no particular reason, she felt herself coloring under the stranger’s steady regard. Her hair was tumbling down her face in the most unruly mop, and her bonnet was too far under the pile for her to surreptitiously retrieve it. Further, the half-eaten berry was staining her fingers with its juices, and she had nowhere but the sides of her gown to wipe the sticky mess. She popped the remainder into her mouth and swallowed hard.

The gentleman coughed, and she had the most lowering suspicion that he was smothering a laugh. She glared up at him. The tips of his boots gleamed in perfect order, and there was not a hint of the disarray in his dress that was so apparent in her own. She became suddenly aware of the absence of her slippers as she felt a small pebble dig into her toe. She blushed crimson and tucked her feet firmly under the folds of her gayest morning gown. To her annoyance, she was perfectly certain the nonpareil understood her dilemma and was most intolerably amused.

“Over there, I fancy.” He pointed to the rock where she had lain the offending footwear out to dry. She was not impressed.

“I am aware of that, sir!” She felt indignation rising and added a rider for good measure. “I must say, I think it perfectly horrid of you to point them out!”

The stranger threw back his head and laughed. The sound was deep and brimful with enjoyment.

“Shall I get them for you?”

“At once!” His amusement deepened, and Cassandra realized she had fallen into his trap.

“You horrid man! No! Best leave them there. I shall rely on your chivalry not to so much as peek at my toes!”

Despite the severity of her tone, Cassandra felt herself unbend. A tiny, traitorous smile found its way to the edges of her cherry-red lips.

There was an answering gleam in the gentleman’s eye as he took one foot out of the stirrups and leaped effortlessly to the ground. His generous mouth curved as he made her a bow with mock elegance. Miss Beaumaris affected a decorous curtsy, then dimpled at him.

“What a fine looking animal, sir.”

She patted the horse, then drew out a lump of sugar from the folds of her modish dress. The offering was well received. Pleased, she turned to her unexpected companion. He seemed bent on removing his riding gloves and divesting himself of his whip. They joined the pile of her haphazard assortments, and though she raised her eyebrows somewhat inquiringly, she made no demur.

He shook his head. “You are far too beautiful, you know.”

Cassandra blushed and wondered rather guiltily why ever she had allowed her maid to stray so far.

“Too beautiful, sir? You tease! I know I am not at all the thing! Miss Hillsborough says ...” She found herself drawn to answer, but thought, rather fleetingly, of his strong masculine scent and his deep, dark eyes of velvet. They were compelling, and she felt herself shamefully captivated.

“Miss Hillsborough says what?”

Her eyes faltered. She suddenly reflected on the propriety of discoursing on Miss Hillsborough’s views on the preferences of the gentleman sex. Her companion noticed the confusion with some amusement, but his brows took on a forbidding aspect.

“Do you always wander footloose and unaccompanied across private domain?”

The dreamy look deserted her, and her eyes flashed. The man was insulting with his innuendoes.

“I’ll have you know, sir, that I am not alone! I’m sure I know well enough what behooves a lady! Natty, my maid, accompanies me and will, I am perfectly certain, arrive shortly.” She crossed her fingers as she made this last dubious announcement and hoped fervently that it was true.

The gentleman let this certainty pass but was not altogether deceived. Before he had a chance to ask her, rather reasonably, where this absentee young servant was hiding, he was faced with yet another attack.

“And, I’ll have you know, if I am on private property, it is at least my own! The land marches close to that of the Earl of Greensides, but this side of the hedgerow is definitely Surrey property.” The gentleman seemed maddeningly unimpressed, so she continued. “Which means that you, sir, are trespassing!” Her voice sounded wickedly triumphant as she made this pronouncement.

The gentleman seemed quite untroubled. He shook his head and led Jess gently down to the water. When he was certain that the stallion was happy to drink quietly without tethering, he turned his attention once more to the appealing damsel before him. She was too young for his tastes, but he did find her diverting!

He pointed south. “See those conifers close to that stone bench?”

Cassandra squinted and did see. She nodded.

“That, my dear, is the border.” His eyes gleamed. “I fancy I should know, for I’ve just taken over the lease.”

Cassandra gasped. “Is that so, sir?” The implication struck. “Then it is I ...”

He finished her sentence. “Yes. If we are going to quibble about it, the trespasser is you!”

For the second time that day, the Honorable Miss Beaumaris felt a revealing blush stain her cheeks. She put her hands up to them and felt they were hot. The gentleman thought they were adorable, but he had the good sense not to say as much. Instead, he sat down at the water’s edge and helped himself to some of the fruit that was spilling with tempting abundance from the wicker basket.

He patted the ground and obligingly laid out his many-caped greatcoat for her comfort. “Call a truce.” His smile was disarming.

Cassandra was shocked to find herself raising no objections as she carefully arranged the folds of her skirt and sat down. “Nurse’s veal pasties are held to be the best in the county,” she offered, as she indicated the basket. The stranger forswore the pie, but cheerfully handed her one before selecting an orange. She noticed with interest that he was able slice his way around the fruit and leave a rind that was as narrow as it was winding. She wished she had the knack of it and was just about to inquire into the skill when he tumbled once more from her good graces.

“That maid of yours ought to be whipped.” He said it in a conversational tone, but she did not miss the dark note behind the utterance.

Cassandra felt herself grow indignant. She drew herself up as loftily as she could, given the half-eaten pie. “And why may that be, pray?”

He discarded the peel with satisfaction and carefully edged out a wedge of succulent fruit. When he looked up, his eyes were unreadable. “For leaving you at the mercy of a rake like myself.”

Cassandra, far from looking shocked, looked flatteringly interested instead. “Are you a rake, sir?”

The gentleman eyed her and grinned. “Assuredly, I am, miss!”

Miss Beaumaris flashed him a brilliant smile and seemed not a whit put out. “Excellent! I have been on pins, you know, to meet one.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I trust your governess and guardians are aware of this particular ambition?”

She tilted her nose loftily and actually winked. “Devil a bit!”

My lord, finally intrigued, almost choked on the last of his orange. “Setting aside your execrable language, young lady, am I to assume you actually enjoy the company of a dangerous gentleman like myself?”

Her response was quick. “Am I to assume that a hardened rake would actually represent himself as such to me? I have to suspect, dear sir, that you are an impostor.”

He viewed her with a sudden dangerous and calculating air that made Cassandra’s delectable bodice seem uncustomarily tight against her ribs and the soft, rounded flesh that it encased. For an instant she feared he might take her carelessly spoken words as a challenge. She shivered, and he seemed satisfied by her sudden response, for he permitted the tension to ease and grinned lopsidedly at her as though he’d scored a silent but indefinable point.

Cassandra allowed herself to breathe once more, and tea was savored in a companionable though slightly intimate silence. The sun was now sinking low in the skies, and the sight, though spectacular, brought a worried crease to Cassandra’s brow. She stood up and reached for her bonnet. The ribbons were all in a tangle, and the stranger resignedly took the offending garment from her. She watched impatiently as he slowly restored order to chaos, threading each ribbon through the confusion of knots with suspiciously practiced ease.

At last the task was complete, and she carelessly bunched up her hair and tied a quick bow under her chin. Her dresser would have the vapors, no doubt, but the amused gentleman suspected she did not much care. She took up her basket and her line and her gloves, parasol and slippers and made to walk across the fields that stretched long and far ahead.

“And where do you think you are going, young lady?”

She raised her eyes haughtily. “Home, of course! Just over yonder.” She pointed as far as the eye could see, but it must be said that the gentleman saw precious little.

“You don’t propose to walk?” His voice was incredulous.

“Why not? I don’t propose to sit here forever, and no doubt Natty has forgotten me entirely!”

The stranger’s jaw tightened, and he swore silently under his breath.

“What was that?” Miss Beaumaris had missed a few of his well-chosen epithets. He did not enlighten her, but instead came to a swift decision.

“That maid has more to answer for than I had first thought! She should count herself lucky she is not of my household!” His tone was ominous and for some reason, Cassandra was silenced. Not for long, though. She peeped at him from under her lashes.

“Why, sir? Are you such a tyrant?” He stared at her uncomprehending for a moment, then shrugged with a wry smile.

“Try me and see! Up you go, baggage!”

Before she knew what he was about, Cassandra felt herself swung high up on to Jess’s fine, well-proportioned back, tumbling bonnet and berries, bits and pieces.

In less than the blink of an eyelash, the stranger had gathered them all and alighted with quicksilver swiftness. Brooking no nonsense, he asked her to hold tight to the saddle and relax in his encompassing arms. Then he gripped the reins and set off at a sedate trot before she could think of a protest. Cassandra had never ridden without the benefit of a sidesaddle, much less in the arms of a gentleman as personable as the one she found herself clutching at that moment. She felt a curious mixture of panic and content well up in her being.

Essaying a few meaningless commonplaces, she felt her words swallowed up in the wind. Soon her heart was beating in a slow, constant rhythm that mimicked that of the stallion’s hoofs steadily drumming across the pastures.

The familiar, welcoming lines of Surrey Manor slowly emerged in the dim dusk light. Not without a small pang of regret, Cassandra found herself set down and dusted firmly. The gentleman grinned at her with an endearing, delightfully conspiratorial twinkle and reminded her that her gown was somewhat disheveled, and she would do well to creep in through the servants’ entrance.

On her dignity, Miss Beaumaris afforded him a superlative society curtsy and extended her hand. His eyes gleamed in amusement as he kissed her palm, then, of an impulse, each little finger, until she felt quite intoxicated with the sensation. Too late she recalled her dignity and retrieved her gloves from the berry basket.

He bowed. “It was a pleasure, my dear!”

She dimpled mischievously. “I think maybe you are, after all, what you say!”

He looked at her, and his expression was hooded. “A rake? Perhaps. I trust, though, that I am not so much at my last prayer that I need dangle after innocent maidens!”

She colored deeply and dropped her eyes.

“On second thought ...” He placed his arm about her waist, and she caught the faint hint of musk and something infinitely, undefinably masculine. Before she could protest, she found him surveying her lips with a quirkish expression that made her knees tremble and her lips go suddenly dry.

“On second thought, I might just take what is my due.”

“Your due, sir?” Cassandra’s tone was deceptively submissive.

He smiled. “Yes, my due. The right of a rake! Do you read Herrick?”

“Herrick?” Cassandra looked puzzled, until enlightenment dawned, and she fussed with the basket in confusion. “Oh! You mean ...”

“Yes! Your gorgeous lips, innocent one! Cherry ripe, cherry ripe they cry!” He was very close to her, his tone caressing. His hand brushed against her lightly. “Full and fair ones they are indeed!”

“You insult me again, sir!”

“No, I think I will just teach you the folly of wandering so disarmingly about without benefit of a maid!” His tone was teasing. He bent and kissed her, his lips as firm and generous as in her wildest moments she’d suspected they would be. Cassandra felt a number of unfamiliar sensations beset her before she struggled free and delivered a most resounding slap to the stranger’s face.

He released her in amused surprise. A bright red mark formed at the side of his left cheek, but he managed an aghast chuckle at the lady’s resolve.

Cassandra seemed more shocked at her actions than himself. “Have I hurt you, sir?”

His eyes were tender. “No, baggage! My pride perhaps! I’ll have you know I am not in the habit of having my suit rejected!”

She folded her arms and giggled. “I warrant not, sir!”

She paused and a cheeky glint entered the corners of her deep, indigo eyes. “It is Thomas Campion I recalled! Do you know it?”

“Know it?”

“Yes! ‘There cherries grow that none may buy until cherry ripe themselves do cry.’ ”

The gentleman doffed his cap in recognition of the apt verse. His eyes gleamed at her quick wit in coining the rejoinder.

“I stand corrected, then!”

She curtsied and steadied the impatient colt.

He opened his fingers and pressed the grubby coin into the palm of her hand. “Perhaps it will bring good luck! Keep it as a talisman until we can further our delightful acquaintance upon more legitimate terms!” He shook his head in distraction. “I look forward to your presentation, ma’am. Perhaps I shall leave a card. Mayhap, after all, I shall make your lips resoundingly cry cherry ripe.”

His eyes burned into hers, and she felt the sensual tremblings of longing she had experienced earlier when waiting for Natty. Only this time, they were so unexpectedly intense that for an instant her eyes closed. When she opened them, he’d swung around and was gone.

Cassandra gazed with unseeing eyes as she recalled the incident, still vivid in her memory after such a very long time. She sighed and turned from the diamond-latticed windows that looked out onto the cornfields. Far beyond that, the river streamed prettily past the Surrey estate and edged precari. . .