Page 2 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)
CHAPTER 1
T wo weeks earlier.
Miss Evelyn Markham watched him through the open doors to the billiard room. She watched as he put his cue stick to every shot and made them all. She watched while men stood eagerly around the table, some throwing bets on the gold baize. And she remembered the wager she’d made with Mr. Dalton Rochester when she slipped a shilling into his pocket fifteen months ago at Lady Clover’s Christmas party. “Make the shot, and I’ll make your day.” She’d told him then, whispering it provocatively in his ear just before he let loose the leather-tipped billiard cue.
Never in her life would she forget how he missed that shot. She couldn’t decide whether she was disappointed or relieved. It wasn’t like her to say such daring things, but she and her friends had decided to break a few rules of the beau monde. And break them they did. In fact, Miss Adeline Priestly had broken them right into a marriage with Evelyn’s older brother, Winn.
Now, as she watched Rochester shooting billiards, making every single shot, she began second-guessing his performance at that Christmas house party over a year ago. Had he missed that shot on purpose? Did he do it to protect her or himself? He never did give her back that shilling. He and her older brother, Winn, were close friends, so perhaps he had missed it for the sake of friendship. She’d as soon believe that than to think Rochester hadn’t found her attractive or engaging enough to want to win that wager.
With hair the color of rich ground coffee and hazel-brown eyes like caramel trimmed in green set off with gold flecks, he was swoonworthy, no doubt about it. But it was his unaffected charm, the way he bantered with her, the way he had sported her around at that party where Winn and her friend Adeline Priestley first kissed. At the time, Rochester had made her feel as if she were the only woman who could bring about his devastatingly lethal, crooked smile. Hadn’t he agreed to play draughts with her at midnight, all to keep her safe from the misguided fops who purposed to lure women under mistletoe and greenery?
Her brother was now married, and he and Adeline were expecting their first child in three months.
That party felt like ages ago as she stood in the middle of the drawing room at Lady Hick’s ball, watching Rochester make sport of the men too foolish to know they’d been hustled. She could see the banknotes lying on the table, white against the gold felt baize. She chewed her thumb, then made a face when her tongue chafed against the dry silk of her dress gloves. With daydreams from more than a year past, she watched Rochester, baffled by his actions, until she caught his eye. He tossed her a sobering pause, gazing at her under his long dark lashes, his sexy mouth flinching into the slightest quirk of a smile. Then, without so much as a look toward the table, he primed the cue through his fingers and sunk another red ball into a leather pocket.
She raised one eyebrow before she turned on her heel and strolled off, her shawl slipping from her shoulders as she floated through the drawing room on her way to the terrace. Out into the night, the crisp spring breeze cooled her heated cheeks, and she pulled up the shawl, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders again.
“When did you arrive in London?” An achingly familiar masculine voice asked.
Her pulse raced. Her heart fluttered, giving her ribs a little tickle, but she did not turn around. “Yesterday,” she said, bracing her hands against the concrete balustrade, uncaring if the coarse barrier ruined her new silk gloves. To throw Rochester off-balance was her only goal now.
“I thought you would wish to stay with your sister-in-law during her last months of confinement.” Rochester leaned his backside against the rail next to her, his face turned toward her with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his dress coat pulled taut over muscles she knew flexed against the superfine fabric. The scent of sandalwood and shaving soap drifted under her nose as her mouth watered at the pleasant aroma. It had been more than a year since she’d been in his company. She shivered. Gooseflesh broke out on her arms, which had nothing to do with the night breeze.
“Adeline said she’d call for me when the time comes. And Winn.” The words were a chuckle. “Winn is a nervous Nellie, and I think he’d rather that I not be there to see him worry and flail about like a fish out of water.”
“I suppose they have a good three months yet. No reason for you not to get in a few parties this Season, right?”
“Exactly.” But Evelyn knew better. Adeline, her beautifully sweet sister-in-law, was due in less than three months. She knew that because Addy was one of her best friends and had confided that she and Winn had conceived before their wedding. The babe would be here approximately eight weeks earlier than most expected if all went well. Evelyn supposed it was a good sign that Winn had not revealed that condemning information to Rochester. Her brother and Mr. Rochester were as close as two chaps could be. It would seem not all men were braggarts.
She and Rochester’s unique friendship—if one could call it that—traced back to that infamous house party. Lady Clover had invited her and Adeline. It was happenstance that brought Winn, Darrington, and Rochester to attend. Winn had been tasked to escort Evelyn there because their father could not. And Winn, in turn, invited his friends, Hugo Darrington and Dalton Rochester, to join them. It was there that she’d made the shilling wager. Neither she nor Rochester had spoken of it since, and she dared hope Rochester had not mentioned it to Winn.
Gazing out over the gardens, she gave Rochester a knowingly coy glance. “Inside, just now, you made that shot without even looking.”
“Did you see that?” Turning a peg, he leaned his hip against the rail, keeping his eyes trained on her. “It would seem my game has improved.”
“Has it?” Giving him her full attention, she turned the full force of her gaze on him now. “From what I understand, you never miss a shot.”
“Oh, one or two. No one’s perfect.”
Did they reference the same incident? Was he playing games with her? Or flirting? The man was exasperatingly unclear. She changed her tact. With a daring sweep of her eyes, she looked him over and announced, “My father means to betroth me to the highest bidder. So, I thought to get in one more Season, a few more parties perhaps, before I’m swept off my feet and carried away in a drowning current of melancholia.”
He straightened, bending a puzzled brow. To his credit, he looked somewhat concerned. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I thought we were friends. And Addy’s not here, nor Clover, for that matter. And I’m not certain why I’m here either, to tell you the truth.” She bit back a sigh that stung with tears.
“Who is the man?”
“Does it matter?”
She saw his jaw working; his eyes were like ice. “No. Of course, it doesn’t.”
Her heart lurched sickeningly, and she felt the whole of it plummet to the pit of her empty stomach. Her chest hurt. It felt empty, like a hollowed-out sea cave battered by the wind and waves.
“He’s some simpering baron or some such. I can’t recall his name because my ears were ringing by the time my father reached that part. It’s of no consequence, anyhow. They’ll sign the papers without me, and if I refuse like an undutiful daughter, my father could face a fine. I feel as if I have no choice here. I’ve little doubt he’s from an excellent family. Papa wouldn’t marry me to a deranged lunatic. Just someone completely boring. He says that we’ll have an opportunity for courtship. But I don’t want it.”
“What if you meet him, and he’s everything you ever desired? A complete handsome rascal of a rogue.”
“How could he be when I don’t even know what that means? Desire. What is it? Can you say? Can you explain the complexities of an emotional connection so strong that you would be willing to die for it?”
“Well, let’s not go that far, shall we? Desire is easy. But forming an emotional bond is another story.”
“All I know is that Winn and Adeline seem to have it all without limit. Why shouldn’t I? Or you? Haven’t you ever thought about it? Marriage? Love? A family?”
He looked away, groaning under his breath. “You’re making this more complicated than it should be. Meet the man, at least. Then decide. They can’t force you. You’ve seen more than twenty-one years.”
“Thank you for the reminder. And I may be considered of sound mind and old enough to know it, but I won’t receive any funds until I’m twenty-five. Should I expect my father to continue paying my expenses if I refuse?”
“You’re thinking about this too hard. I know your father has enough wealth to take care of you for the rest of your days if you choose to be a spinster. Do you really suppose he’d force a marriage on his only daughter against all happiness?”
“Spinsters make their own money, I’ll have you know, so I highly doubt that will ever be me. On the shelf would be more like it. It sounds just awful. And how is it you know anything about my father’s finances?” The odd subject caught her off guard. Why would he mention that?
“It doesn’t matter how I know. He cannot possibly wish you off his hands because of your upkeep.”
“Why do men speak of women as if they’re cattle? Do I look like a horse? Don’t answer that.” She rolled her eyes, turning her back on him. “Papa says it’s time. That I should have expected no less since Winn married Adeline, and Addy and I are of a similar age. I think he’s looking forward to grandchildren, honestly. I just wish I had more time to argue the case. This will be my final Season as a single woman, and it’s already half over. I’m sunk if I can’t dissuade this union before a contract is signed. I’ll have to stow away on a ship to Calcutta and throw myself into the ocean.”
“Calcutta, is it? I’ve always liked your imagination. Why not the cliffs of Dover? They’re a hell of a lot closer. Why risk seasickness?” He smiled pleasantly as if humor could erase her reality.
“This is all funny to you, I suppose.”
He placed his hand on her elbow, causing her shawl to fall from her shoulder. Sliding his warm fingers down the length of her formal gloves, he gently turned her to face him. He held her hand between his. “It’s not funny. I simply don’t see an answer right here.”
She locked gazes with him, searching his eyes.
“And you don’t see one either.” He gave a pointed stare.
“Don’t I?”
“What do you expect me to do, Miss Markham?”
“Don’t call me that. I thought we were friends.”
“All right, Evelyn. What do you expect me to do?”
She squeezed his hand before letting it go. “I have a plan.”
“Hm. I’m all ears, against my better judgment.” Once more, he leaned a hip against the railing.
“I need your help, Rochester.”