A Lady's Luck Page 12

  Because what Mary thought was the truth. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. Oh heavens. Henri pressed a hand to her rapidly racing heart. Oh dear. She was a cliché—a trite, Shakespearean cliché. And worse than that?

  She was in love.

  “No,” she said, though it came out as a moan.

  Mary responded with an apologetic wince. “I hate to be the one to point it out.”

  It was the truth. Henri reached for her hand and squeezed. “No, dear, you were quite right to do it.” She straightened her spine and forced a long, deep inhale followed by a slow, steady exhale. “It is time to face the truth.” She gritted her teeth and pressed her lips together as she considered this new turn of events. She was a determined, savvy lady with a good brain, and she had gone and done something so inexcusably stupid. She had fallen in love.

  After a moment, Mary broke into her stunned reverie. “He’s inside,” she said softly. “You could go in and speak with him and—”

  “No.”

  “But,” Mary persisted. “He wants to marry you and—”

  “No.” Henri’s protest was louder and firmer this time as Mary’s words hit her square in the chest. He wants to marry you.

  There. There was that pain again, the one that had been stubbornly stabbing at her gut and twisting in her chest ever since he’d walked away from her. “He does not want marriage,” she said again, and this time her voice was hoarse and sad, even to her own ears.

  “But—” Mary started.

  “Not a true marriage,” she said. Henri had said these same words before and thought them a million times, but this time she felt her heart break in two. This time she could no longer deny how much that hurt. She would rather have his hatred than a proposal such as this. She could handle his ire and his irritation, but his apathy? It cut like a knife. It also stung her pride. To know the man she’d developed feelings for merely wanted to control her like a pawn was too much. Wasn’t that what every other man who’d sought her hand had wanted to do too? It was that wounded pride that kept the tears at bay. She would not weep for a man like that, and she would not regret what could never be.

  Mary met her gaze and the other woman’s unveiled sympathy was almost more than she could handle. Henri tore her hand from Mary’s grip and turned back to her roses. “Give it time,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to Mary. “Give it time and he will leave.”

  He would leave her drawing room eventually, of course. He couldn’t stay there forever. What she had meant was, give it time and he would leave her life…for good. Once he realized she posed no threat, he would lose interest, and once he saw his half-hearted offer of marriage was unwanted, he’d turn his attentions to someone else.

  He’d find someone he actually wanted by his side.

  Chapter Ten

  Alistair’s sister stared at him in concern. “Is it Marcus?” she whispered. “Is he all right?”

  He frowned. “Of course he is, why do you ask?” He looked around the room. “Also, why are you whispering?”

  Lizzie arched her brows in challenge, but she raised her voice to a normal volume. “Why else would you drop in unannounced like this if it wasn’t some sort of family crisis?”

  They frowned at one another mightily, as only two siblings who’d spent a lifetime bickering could manage. Alistair backed down first with a grumbled apology, though he added a mumbled, “I stop by unannounced on occasion.”

  Lizzie looked unimpressed. He supposed she had a point. He couldn’t exactly remember the last time he’d dropped in for a social visit. The thought had him sipping his tea, stalling to put off the inevitable. Her narrowed gaze met his. “What are you doing here, Alistair?”

  “Uh…” In the cold light of day his actions the night before now seemed rather rash. Come to think of it, he probably should have stopped to think before issuing marriage like some sort of threat. Imprisonment or marriage, he might as well have said. Bloody hell, he was a fool.

  Granted, he didn’t regret asking for her hand, but he had a sneaking suspicion he’d gone about it all wrong. Lizzie took pity on him, her demeanor softening as she took him in. “Does this visit have anything to do with the rumors circulating about you and Lady Henrietta?”

  He set down his teacup and folded his hands in his lap. He would not waste their time by playing ignorant. He’d started the rumors, after all, and he’d enlisted Lizzie’s help to spur them along. “Well…”

  “What is the problem?” Lizzie asked, all business now that she understood the significance. To Lizzie, there was nothing of greater significance than a potential marriage. His sister arched a brow when he hesitated to answer. “Do not tell me that the lady did not appreciate your heavy-handed attempt to convince her that you are her suitor.”

  He scowled. “Your sarcasm is not necessary, Lizzie.”

  She clamped her lips shut, but she couldn’t hide her smirk. She had told him outright what she’d thought of his plan. Of course, he hadn’t told her the true motives behind his outrageous and obvious courting. He and Henri might have understood that to position himself as her suitor gave him a certain leverage over her reputation, but Lizzie certainly would not understand nor approve of that sort of subterfuge.

  No, instead he’d told his sister Henri was reluctant to see him as a suitor because of a lack of self-confidence. It had been laughable, of course, but Lizzie had bought it. She’d tried to discourage him, telling him that a woman wanted to be wooed, not forcibly pushed toward the altar. Little did Lizzie know, the night before he had gone from being pushy to threatening her into marriage. He ran a hand over his face and groaned at the situation he’d found himself in. If he did not slow down, he’d soon be kidnapping Henri and forcing her into marriage.

  “I’ve gone about this all wrong,” he admitted to Lizzie.

  Her smirk faded into a condescending smile. “It hasn’t worked, I take it?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve only made things worse.”

  His sister peered at him. “Are you quite certain she is the lady you want?”

  She could have no idea how much those words would affect him. He’d known already he had feelings for her—that much was stunningly obvious. It had been made clear by his escapades last night, after the way she’d come to his defense and stood by his side, after the way she’d unraveled his secrets and had not gone running, the way she’d looked at him, with understanding, with desire and with…love.

  At least, he hoped it was love. Because that, he now knew, was what he felt for her. What else could it be? He’d tried to put this obsession down to intrigue or infatuation, but neither could explain the way he wanted to take care of her, and be at her side always. More than that, he thought back to that fierce intelligence and the glimpses of the woman beneath the façade.

  He wanted to know her, inside and out, and in every sense of the word. She was fascinating, and most importantly, an equal to him in intelligence and heart. Henri would be a true partner, one to cherish, spar with, and one who would share his sense of adventure.

  As though reading his mind, his sister leaned forward with a quizzical look. “Alistair? Is she truly the sort of lady you want at your side?”

  He met her gaze evenly. He knew what she meant. His sister might be happy to remain in the dark about many aspects of their family life and business, but she was not blind, nor was she stupid. He’d also spoken at length, in the past, about the sort of woman he wanted, and Henri was about as far off the mark as one could get. She’d be curious, nosey, and would insist on being involved in every aspect of his life, even if it were shady business. She’d stir up trouble, no doubt.

  But then again… He thought back to the way she’d come to his aid, unbidden and at her own risk. She might be exactly the kind of partner he needed, whether he liked it or not. He sighed as his sister narrowed her eyes, betraying her impatience. Hell, what did it matter what his brain had to say on the matter? Right or wrong, smart or not, she was who
he wanted.

  “Yes,” he said wearily. “She is the only one, I’m afraid.”

  Despite his lack of enthusiasm, Lizzie beamed, clapping her hands together. “That’s wonderful, Alistair.”

  “Is it?”

  She nodded. “Of course. Someone in this cursed family deserves to find love.”

  She said it so simply and with no hint of self-pity. He found himself giving a grudging laugh. “If this is what you’re after, trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She gave him a saucy wink. “I hear it gets better.”

  He arched a brow. “When?”

  “When it’s requited.” Lizzie smirked as if she had known he had it in him the entire time. He groaned, making her smile broaden.

  “Is it?” she pressed. “Is it requited?”

  He threw his hands up. “I don’t know.” That did nothing to appease her so he added a mumbled, “I hope so.”

  The fire in Lizzie’s eyes told him she was ecstatic. “Who would have thought that one of us could find a happy ending?”

  He didn’t feel the need to point out that he hadn’t exactly acquired said happy ending yet. Instead, they shared a sad sort of smile. It had never been a secret his parents’ marriage had been anything but happy. Particularly with him around, reminding his father that he had been cuckolded. Though the late earl had been happy enough for Alistair’s existence when Marcus left them. Alistair had always been kept on as the spare, and Marcus took full advantage of that.

  “So what is the problem?” Lizzie asked.

  He let out another long exhale. “Well, I’m not certain she cares for me, for one.” And she knows our supposedly dead brother is alive and well and raiding ships, for another, he added but did not say aloud.

  “I’m certain she does,” Lizzie said. “How could she not? You are an earl.”

  “Yes, well,” he said slowly. “That reasonable logic aside, she hasn’t exactly shown me she cares for me.”

  Except by kissing me. He shifted under his sister’s watchful stare. Yes, all right, so perhaps he’d come to her with his dilemma, because really who else was there for him to talk to about something of such a personal nature? However, he drew the line at telling her about his more salacious acts with Henri. That was their secret, and theirs alone. He had to wonder, though, if it meant as much to her as it had to him.

  “What have you done to win her affections?” Lizzie waved a hand before he could answer. “Aside from the flowers, of course, and the social calls which I assume you paid.”

  He thought back to all the time wasted in Henri’s townhouse foyer waiting for the lady of the house to be home for visitors. She was never home.

  Or rather, she was never home to him.

  Something in his expression gave him away and Lizzie scowled. “You have been calling on her, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve tried,” he said, though it came out more like a question than he had intended.

  “If you are serious about courting, you must afford her every courtesy of a lady,” his sister lectured.

  He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily as he recalled their interlude in the carriage. Could that be considered a social call? He met his sister’s meaningful glare. No, likely not.

  Lizzie rearranged her skirts and folded her hands primly in her lap as she tried a new tact. “Have you mentioned marriage to her?”

  “Uh…”

  “Alistair?” Her tone held a world of warning.

  “I did not so much mention it as threaten it.” The admission slipped out with a wince, which intensified with her gasp of horror.

  “You…threatened her with marriage?”

  He clamped his mouth shut, unwilling and unable to explain the situation, not without hurting Henri’s reputation should her habit of spying, sneaking, and manipulating ever become known. Alistair trusted his sister, but knew better than anyone the less people who knew, the safer for everyone. That included potential fiancées with a penchant for sussing out secrets about supposedly dead siblings with a compulsion for seeking justice.

  Lizzie, to her credit, did not push for details. She seemed to know when it was useless to pry. Instead, she leaned back in her seat with a sigh that sounded oddly similar to his. “Very well, then,” she said. “Let us start at the beginning, shall we?”

  He nodded. “Let’s.”

  “All women want to be wooed.” He hadn’t realized he was making a face until Lizzie held up a hand for patience. “Not every woman’s idea of romance is the same, however.”

  He met his sister’s knowing gaze and a smile started to form. Perhaps he’d been right to come here, after all. His sister was onto something. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for him to make things right with Henri. He might have gone about this courtship all wrong, but then again, she was hardly the sort to want a traditional relationship, now was she?

  That did not mean she didn’t want him. He simply had to show her he was the one for her, and that he understood her, and most importantly, that he needed her. He shot out of his chair so quickly it nearly toppled.

  “Alistair, whatever is the matter?” his sister said, startled.

  Alistair barely acknowledged her, he was too lost in thought. In a flash, he realized how he could get her attention, how he could wiggle his way back into her drawing room, and hopefully into her life. He needed to see her alone, to speak to her. No amount of flowers or calling cards would do.

  “Where are you going?” Lizzie called out as he strode back toward the entrance to her home.

  “To the club,” he said, turning back with the first genuine smile he’d given all day. “I have a bet to place.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Henri peered at her brother over her toast. “Rodrick, what are you on about?”

  “Perhaps you’d better lie down,” Mary said, kindly. “You look as though you could use some sleep.”

  Henri arched a brow at her friend’s subtlety. He looked as though he could use some sobering up, and if sleep did the trick, she was all for it. “Yes, Rodrick. Why don’t you go rest and I’ll send someone to rouse you for luncheon.”

  He blinked at her in that slow-witted way of his. “But Henri, I’m trying to tell you—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, interrupting. “There is another bet on the books. I understand. We’ll discuss it more thoroughly after you’ve rested.” Preferably when Mary was not listening so attentively, she mused to herself. Her young friend might be on to her wicked ways, but for Eliza’s sake and the faith she’d put in her as a guardian, she had to at least try to keep her safe from scandal.

  Rodrick did not seem concerned about Mary’s presence at the table as he leaned forward and dropped a fist onto the breakfast table, making the settings clatter and both women start. “You don’t understand,” he slurred. “The bet is about you.”

  Henri blinked, and then she looked to Mary, who merely shrugged. “What do you mean, about me?” she asked.

  Rodrick’s eyes grew wide. “They’re betting on whether or not you’ll marry that earl.” Her mouth grew dry even as her stomach tossed and turned, suddenly and insistently rejecting the toast.

  “Which earl?” she asked. Mary shot her a look that called her out for playing dumb. Henri ignored the exchange, much more concerned with where this was going.

  “The Earl of Colefax, of course,” Rodrick said. “Everyone at the club is talking about the bet.”

  Henri licked her lips as she tried to steady her breath. Of course they would be talking. He had made a great show out of his interest in her—and that’s all it was—a show. The poor fools at the club simply didn’t know any better. She feigned a nonchalance she didn’t feel as she shrugged and reached for her tea.

  “I don’t see why that should concern me, Rodrick. We both know how these things work.” She gave her brother a reassuring smile akin to a pat on the head. “Best to just ignore the gossip, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, but—” Rodrick looked so distresse
d her original, instinctual flare of warning came back in full force. He looked between the two ladies as if they might help him find the right words. “He’s placed a bet against you.”

  Mary gasped, but likely more at Rodrick’s anxious tone than anything, because she leaned forward, her brow creased in worry. “What does that mean, Rodrick? Explain yourself. A bet against her…in what way?”

  Henri, for her part, had frozen with her teacup halfway to her lips. What was Alistair up to? Her body seemed to be going in two directions at once as she waited for Rodrick’s explanation. Alistair was betting against her? Her heart hoped Rodrick meant Alistair was betting on her saying yes, while her brain called her a romantic fool for wanting such a thing, especially when it would mean absolutely nothing. It would be merely another sign he was manipulating her for his own advantage.

  The worst part was she couldn’t blame him. Wouldn’t she do the same if he were threatening the safety of her brother? Of course she would. Henri would do anything in her power to gain leverage over him, his reputation, and his fortune. She would do whatever it took, so she could hardly fault him for wanting to make an even greater spectacle out of their alleged courtship. It would give him that much more power over her reputation should she threaten to reveal his secrets. She finally broke out of her shocked stillness and set down her cup. It meant nothing. This new turn of events changed nothing.

  Rodrick seemed to shake himself out of his drunken, distracted silence at the same time. “You don’t understand, Henri. He’s bet that you will not marry him. And he’s bet a fortune.”

  She blinked once, hoping that would help the words to register and the meaning to set in. Then she blinked again, this time as she tilted her head to the side to see how drunk Rodrick truly was.

  He gave his head a little shake, his eyes still wide with disbelief. “He’s wagered more than we’ve ever made,” he said quietly, almost with reverence. “Some say it’s his entire fortune.”