A Wager for Love Page 21

  ” … and if I won’t?” drawled the other.

  Saltaire shrugged. “It means little to me whether I kill you now or after you have told me. I shall comb the entire countryside for her, if necessary.”

  Andover’s eyes droped to the sword hilt showing through the slit in Saltaire’s coat. “So … the vengeful husband. I never imagined you in such a role, Saltaire, I must admit.”

  He shook his head. “It does not suit you.”

  The other laughed. “Not a role I envisaged for myself, Andover, but tell me,” he asked conversationally, “how did you manage to abduct Lavinia?”

  “Abduct.” Andover’s eyebrows rose challengingly, “What makes you think this was a matter of an abduction? Your treatment of her can scarcely have given her a liking for your company.”

  Only the sudden whitening of the knuckles on the sword hilt betrayed the intense strain the Earl was under. “I know my wife, Andover. She would never go with you willingly.”

  Calmly, Andover crossed to the other side of the room, removing his coat. “A little melodramatic perhaps, Saltaire, but then you always did have a taste for, shall we say, the unusual?”

  The Earl said nothing, merely pushing the table to one side, and motioning to Andover to move the chair. In the candlelight, the Marquis’ teeth flashed for a second. “I fear I cannot oblige you, Saltaire, even with the best will in the world. I have no sword.”

  The Earl threw off his coat and replied tersely. “Put your mind at rest, Andover, I have come prepared. He removed the belt from his waist unsheathing the rapiers. and pushed them towards the other man. “Take your pick.”

  Andover laughed soundlessly. “Such thoughtfulness, Saltaire, what is it that hurts the most-your pride?”

  The Earl made no answer, merely continuing with his preparations.

  Andover stopped in the act of removing his waistcoat. “Tell me, Saltaire, how did you know where to find me?”

  Saltaire smiled unkindly. “lsabella-did you think I had I forgotten?”

  Recognition dawned as Andover returned the smile. “Ah, yes, foolish of me to choose the same house.”

  “You own others?” Saltaire mocked. The Earl removed his riding boots, pausing for a second as Andover said, “I own I had misjudged you, Saltaire, I had not expected you to come after us.”

  “You abduct my wife and you expect me to do nothing?”

  The Earl flexed his sword calmly, putting it down whilst he fastened back the lace ruffles at his wrists.

  Andover, his own preparations complete, removed the rug.

  “I can forgive you many things, Andover. Isabella, yes, but my wife-never.”

  The swords clashed together in a brief salute. “Tell me where she is.”

  Andover shook his head, smiling grimly. “Never, but tell me, Saltaire, why should you forgive me Isabella? The boot I am sure was on the other foot.”

  For a moment the Earl made no reply. He circled his opponent with his eyes fixed on his face. The only sound was the soft thud of their stockinged feet on the bare boards, and the even rise and fall of their breathing. Without waiting for him to reply. the Marquis lunged forward, delivering a swift thrust, his arm high. aiming straight for the heart. The muscles of his arm corded with effort. The Earl parried swift and sure, sending the blade glancing harmlessly past his guard.

  “You know full well why, Andover; The girl was no virgin.”

  The Marquis, keeping his eye fixed on the Earl’s blade, shrugged. “Was she not? Well, it was none of my doing.”

  Saltaire, his mouth grim, feinted, and then lunged. Only the quickness of his feet saved Andover from being pinned by the thrust. Both were breathing heavily now, and on and on it went, as they circled, lunging and feinting.

  At length Saltaire spoke again. “It matters little now. My concern is with my wife, but Isabella named you as her ravisher.” He put up his blade motioning to the Marquis wipe the sweat from his eyes.

  Andover grimaced his thanks. “I never touched her.”

  “And my wife?”

  “Ah yes, your wife.” The expression on Andover’s face brought Saltaire’s blade flashing into a flaconnade, swiftly parried.

  There was silence whilst they fought on. Time and time again, Andover tried to break through the other’s guard. He was beginning to tire and he knew it. Even to the veriest casual onlooker they were well matched.

  “I understand you arrived here alone and unconscious,” drawled the Earl.

  “Did you so?” responded Andover. He tried another thrust, and this time met with more success. The Earl parried a little too late, and the blade slashed along his arm, leaving a broadening crimson line. The Earl never even checked, but Andover put up his sword “Tie it,” he commanded. “I have no mind to slip in your blood.”

  For a second a smile crossed the Earl’s face. “What poetic justice,” he murmured.

  Watching him rip one of the ruffles from his shirt and tie it over the wounded arm, Andover leaned on his sword, “Tell me why you are so concerned for Lavinia?”

  “Because she is my wife,” came the reply, as the Earl’s sword flashed once more into the on guard position.

  “She is your wife,” laughed Andover softly. “Is that the only reason Saltaire, or am I right in thinking there is another?”

  A furious lunge was the only reply.

  Andover laughed again. “How delightful. So you are that most pitiable of all men. a man in love with his own wife.”

  Saltaire said nothing. He did not need to, the grim expression of his face said it all for him. “Where is she, Andover?” He was pressing his opponent far harder now. Muscles and sinews betrayed the immense strain to which they were being subjected. “Where?”

  Andover heard the word in all its muted fury. He was losing ground fast as the blades rang together and disengaged. He set his teeth and would not answer. There could be only one outcome; he knew that now, but still he would not give in. Time and time again he parried, until the action became almost mechanical. His breath was coming in rasping sobs, the ache in his arm had become a throbbing agony. He saw the thrust coming and was powerless to avoid it, a straight lunge aimed at the heart. He braced himself for the impact. By some miracle, at the very last moment the Earl deflected, the blade passing through the flesh high in the shoulder, and as Andover slid to the floor, blood dripping steadily from the wound, the Earl flung his sword to one side, dropping down beside him. Calmly he tore another ruffle from his shirt, opening the other man’s cravat and feeling for the wound. He smiled grimly as Andover groaned. He quickly made a pad and pressed it against the wound. “Well, Andover. Were is she?”

  “God,” he groaned. “Will you never give up?” The words came in short bursts, his face lined with pain.

  “No, not until you tell me.”

  Andover stifled another groan. “Is that why you did not kill me?” Seeing the other’s movement, he motioned tiredly with his hand. “All right, I don’t know, Saltaire, and that is the truth. The coach jerked forward throwing me against the door. When I came round I was here at this inn and she was gone.”

  Seeing Saltaire’s expression, he smiled. “I have questioned my man. At least he is not really one of mine, I regret to say. Someone I hired.” His eyelids flickered in exhaustion. “All he knew was that she got out of the coach. Said she was going to look for a doctor, or some such thing.” He coughed, making the pad red with blood.

  “Where was this?” asked Saltaire. “Where did she leave the coach?”

  “About two miles back; you may well have passed her on the way.”

  “Is there a farm hereabouts?”

  Andover was tiring fast. “Yes. about five miles away.”

  Saltaire got to his feet. but Andover’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Saltaire.” Blue eyes looked into green and the years fell away.

  “Why did you not kill me?”

  Saltaire shrugged. “I could not,” he said briefly, turning to catch words so faint h
e had to bend low over the wounded man to hear them.

  “Better that you had.”

  Saltaire grimaced. “You will recover and be back in London before long.”

  “London,” jeered Andover. “What, and have to witness your happiness?” He shook his head, his mouth twisted. “I think not, Saltaire. Ironic, is it not, that we should both have this compulsion to love the same women? But be warned, Saltaire, take care of her, for I shall always be there.”

  Without a word Saltaire got to his feet. He paused for a second at the door. “I’m sorry, Andover.”

  “I don’t want your pity.” murmured the other weakly. “Go to her, Saltaire, for it is you she wants. ” The wounded man heard the clatter of a horse leaving the innyard, then voices on the stairs. He closed his eyes. If it hadn’t been for a slight accident -such were the workings of fate.

  The door opened and the doctor walked in, “Well, young man, what’s this? Let me see. Well, it’s nasty, but clean. You will live,” he declared cheerfully, and could not understand why his patient laughed wildly.

  “That, my good man, is what I am afraid of.”

  Once clear of the inn Saltaire allowed the horse its head. Five miles. She could be anywhere. Even he was conscious of the cold through the thick cloth of his cloak, and she had nothing but her gown. He urged the horse forward. When he reached the spot where Andover said the coach stopped, he looked round carefully. The frost had frozen the ridges and furrows in the road. There were no footsteps to be seen. All around looked bleak and bare, there was no sign of any habitation. Where would she go? A woman on her own and probably frightened? A muscle in his cheek tightened.

  Lavinia was shivering uncontrollably. How long had she been here in this filthy hut? An hour, several hours? She did not know. In the corner she could hear faint scuttlings, making her shrink back in terror. Were they mice? Rats? She pulled her dress round her. It was so cold. If only she had a light. When she had first stumbled on this building with her legs aching, her face scratched and her gown torn to ribbons. she had opened the door and sunk down with relief, thinking it a veritable haven. Even if she could find a farm or some other dwelling, how could she present herself in her present disarray? Who would believe her story? Her only comfort was the pistol she had stolen from the chaise, but that did nothing to alleviate the cold in her limbs or the fear in her heart. How long before Andover recovered and came looking for her? She would not go away with him. her mind was made up on that score. No matter that Saltaire must by now have discovered her absence and put his own interpretation on it. She lifted her chin determinedly. She still had a family and friends, and her money. She would make her life afresh. In the country somewhere perhaps. Quite unaccountably this delightful plan failed to bring her the slightest comfort, or stop the tears filling her eyes. She wanted one thing and one thing only-the warmth and comfort of her husband’s arms, the security of his love. She sighed, smiling sadly at such thoughts. She might as well wish for the moon. But surely soon it would be daylight, and then perhaps she could leave this dreadful place. A fresh burst of scuttling in the corner had her shrinking against the wall, her heart racing in fear. She stiffened, her ears catching what in her first fear, they had neglected to hear. There was someone outside. She could hear the soft snuffling of a horse and the creaking of a saddle.

  Instinctively she pressed herself against the cold wall of the building, her nerves stretched to breaking point. She could hear footsteps. They drew nearer, a slow purposeful tread. The door opened and a man stood in the doorway, the light behind him. Resolutely she held the pistol in front of her.

  “Don’t come any nearer or I shall shoot you,” her voice wobbled a little on the last word, but otherwise it was a very creditable performance.

  The man obviously was not impressed for he advanced into the room. “Would you, my dear?” he drawled. “That would be most unwise-to kill your own husband.”

  “Saltaire.” There was a wealth of longing, mingled with disbelief in the word.

  “The same,” he agreed.

  Lavinia got to her feet, tears pouring down her race, “Oh Saltaire, you came. Thank goodness.” She dropped the pistol and ran towards him on unsteady feet, and to her amazement, found herself gathered up and crushed against his chest.

  His voice was curiously muffled, “Oh Lavinia, my love, how can you ever forgive me? Did you really doubt that I would scour the world for you? Foolish girl.”

  She was too bemused to take in anything other than the reality or his presence. As his words penetrated, she glanced up quickly and was rewarded with a look so charged with love and passion that it seemed to melt the last vestige of cold from her bones. She tried to bury her head against his chest, her cheeks hot at the audacity of her own behaviour, but he would not let her.

  Firm fingers gripped her chin, turning her race up to his oddly hungry gaze. As he stared down into her eyes, his own were for once mirroring his true feelings. Suddenly shy, and her heart thumping, dizzy with the knowledge of the love she saw there, she dropped her eyes, to hear him whisper huskily against her hair. “I don’t deserve you, Lavinia. God knows I’ve been every sort of a fool. A man in love with his own wife and too blind to see it.” For a second the old derision was plainly audible in his voice, before it dropped, husky with emotion. “Make sure this is what you want, Lavinia, for I warn you, once you come to me willingly, I shall never let you go. If you wish I shall take you to your cousin and …”

  Impetuously she stifled his words with her hand, unable to bear the torment in his face, which was for once stripped of its habitual mask, the angles thrown sharply into relief. Shyly she placed her arms round his neck, his harsh indrawn breath striking an echoing chord deep within her, so that she trembled against him. There was no need for words; it was all therein her eyes for him to read. For a second he stood absolutely still, looking at her as though he could never bear to take his eyes from her. A muscle quivered in his jaw, his arms tightened around her, his voice a muffled sigh against her mouth, before she was swept away on an ever increasing tide of passion, abandoning herself completely to the wonder of his kiss. There was a wild tumultuous singing in her blood, as the last doubts dropped from her; a fierce surging need, transcending every other thought but the desire for him. The small mean dwelling faded from her sight, there was only the wonder of his lips on hers. Her passionate response swept away the last of his restraint, and it seemed to Lavinia that her very bones seemed to melt within her, as desire, molten and fluid pulsed through her veins. Time ceased to exist.

  It was he who came to his senses first, dragging his mouth reluctantly from hers, his hands trembling as he put her from him, shaking his head ruefully. “With you in my arms, I am lost to all sensible thought.” She dimpled up at him, savouring the intoxicating delight of his words, tilting her head back to look into his eyes, glorying in the knowledge of his love for her. All the misery and unhappiness she had experienced dropped away as though it had never existed. With trembling fingers she touched his face, driven by some compulsion she could not explain, catching her breath as he captured her fingers.

  He bestowed a warm kiss in the palm of her hand, a thread of amusement in his voice. “Lavinia, my love, I have little desire to spend what is left of the night here, but if you insist upon looking at me like that I very much fear I will have no alternative.”

  She flushed in happy confusion. unable to still the hurried thudding of her heart, as he drew her back within the circle of his arms, his mouth lingering gently on her hair.

  “So tell me, Madam Wife, do you love me?”

  There was a resurgence of the old Saltaire in the words, but now Lavinia was not afraid.

  “Can you doubt it, Sir?”

  The expression in his eyes made her pulse race madly. “Oh, Lavinia. ” In an instant she was caught up against him, her heartbeat echoing the fast tempo of his own, as his lips drifted gently, and then not so gently, across her face, before returning to claim her lips wi
th an urgency that left her breathless. Willingly she submitted to their fierce demanding pressure, conscious only of an overpowering need to be held ever closer to him.

  When at last he released her, they were both shaking Lavinia’s eyes shining, her lips soft and tender. His smile was rueful as he raised his hand to caress the tumbled chestnut curls, and for the first time she saw the bandage round his wrist.

  “Saltaire, what have you done?” she whispered, fear for him piercing her with agonising sharpness.

  He shrugged. “Nothing, a slight wound that is all.”

  “Andover?” she asked uncertainly.

  If she had doubted his love for her, the raw emotion in his voice when he asked, “Does he matter so much to you then?” would have been sufficient to reassure her. She shook her head, her senses thrilling to this fresh evidence of his love.

  “He means nothing to me, Saltaire,” she said in a simple voice, “It is just that I do not like to think of his death at your hands.”

  He smiled. “Then do not, for he is very much alive.” His smile deepened a fraction, “By the way,” he teased, “Don’t you think it’s time you called me by my name, I do have one you know.

  She laughed breathlessly, suddenly shy, before whispering, “Very well, Gilles.” She half-murmured a small protest as with ruthless disregard for her blushes, he swept her back into his arms, his mouth against her ear.

  “Well, do you come with me then?”

  Despite the lightness of the words, she could feel his tension, as the dizzying knowledge of the extent of his love coursed through her. Her heart in her eyes, she replied softly, “Yes, Gilles, to the ends of the earth if necessary.”

  For a second he looked deep into her eyes, and as if satisfied with what he found there, he laughed gently, “Not that far, my love, just to Grosvenor Square.”

  Without more ado he led her to the waiting horse, his face darkening as she shivered slightly in the cold, and a fierce tremor of delight going through her as she saw his anger. “Come, you are frozen, brute that I am, I should have noticed it before. I fear I have only the one horse.”