Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager. Sarah Mallory
again, for very soon afterwards the gentlemen took their leave. Gloriana squeezed Jasper’s fingers as he bowed over her hand, and the speaking look in her eyes told him that she relied upon him to comply with her outrageous suggestion.
But was it so outrageous? Jasper pondered the matter as he rode back to Bath beside Gerald, the setting sun casting long shadows before them and the chill wind cutting through their coats. If he succeeded in turning the lady’s head then it would destroy his young cousin’s infatuation at a stroke. Many men would not hesitate, but for all his reputation Jasper had never yet set out to make any woman fall in love with him. He might have done so with Zelah, if it had not become plain to him that she was head over heels in love with his brother. She was the only woman he had ever loved, the only woman he had ever considered taking as his wife, so there was no danger that he would succumb to Miss Prentess’s charms. He could flirt with her, court her, even seduce her without risk to himself.
He shifted in the saddle. What of the risk to the lady? If he went that far it would ruin her reputation and she would lose her good name. He hardened his heart. She had every young man in Bath at her feet and from what he had seen at her aunt’s card party she was fleecing them quite ruthlessly. The amounts might be small, but over the weeks they would mount up to a considerable sum. Enough to live quite comfortably. Dammit, the woman was running a gaming hell, she deserved no good name!
‘Eh, what’s that?’ Gerald looked round. ‘Did you say something?’
Jasper glanced at the young man riding beside him.
‘Aye. I was wondering about those little card parties of Mrs Wilby’s. Do you think they profit from them?’
Gerald shrugged.
‘A hundred or two, perhaps. I doubt it is ever more than a monkey.’
‘I should hope not.’ He paused. ‘Does it not concern you that they are making money out of these parties?’
Gerald looked at him.
‘No, why? The sums are negligible.’ He laughed. ‘Mother told me that when she was young the London hostesses made thousands in an evening, especially those who ran a faro bank. And they charged their guests card money, to cover the cost of the new packs. Mrs Wilby does nothing like that. Her parties are for friends to gather together and enjoy themselves.’
‘And lose money.’
‘Not everyone loses.’
‘But enough to make it a worthwhile evening for the hostess.’
‘And why not?’ countered Gerald. ‘We might all go elsewhere and lose a great deal more.’ He shook his head. ‘Let be, Jasper. Those of us who go there choose to do so, and if we lose a few guineas, well, what does it matter? I would lose twice as much to Miss Prentess and think it money well spent.’
Jasper said no more and the subject was not mentioned again during their ride back to Bath. It irked him that Susannah Prentess, with her charming smile and beautiful face, had quite beguiled his cousin, and if he had to make her fall in love with him to free Gerald from her clutches he would do it. He would even risk ruining her good name, if that was the only option, though his innate sense of honour balked at such a course. But it would be a cruel trick to play upon his young cousin. If it was at all possible he would find another way to prove to Gerald that the lady was not the angel he thought her to be.
As soon as they had left the Pump Room, Mrs Wilby made clear her disapproval at being dragged away so precipitately.
‘What will everyone think of you, Susannah? To dash away so suddenly, with Mr Barnabus and the viscount only just arrived.’
‘They will think nothing of it, Aunt. And besides, I am quite out of sympathy with you for inviting them to join us tomorrow.’
‘But why? What possible objection can there be?’
‘None, to Mr Barnabus, but the viscount …’ She bit her lip, wondering how to explain her reluctance to see more of Lord Markham. ‘I think he suspects something.’
Mrs Wilby stopped.
‘Oh heavens, never say so! Oh, Susannah—’ ‘No, no, he can have no inkling of the truth, and Gerald would never tell him, I am sure.’ She took Aunt Maude’s arm and gently urged her on. ‘It is just the comments he made to me, as if he thinks we run some sort of gambling den.’
‘All the more reason, then, for him to take tea with us and see that it is not the case,’ declared Mrs Wilby. ‘A gambling den! How perfectly ridiculous.’
Her aunt’s outraged dignity made Susannah chuckle.
‘But if he is suspicious of you,’ continued Mrs Wilby, ‘perhaps it would be best if you curtailed your visits to …’
‘My dear aunt, I will do nothing of the sort. In fact, I am going there tomorrow morning. Really, I did not realise, when I started this, this project, that there would be so much to do, or that it would cost so much.’
‘If people knew of it, Susannah, they would be quite scandalised.’
‘I am an heiress, Aunt,’ she said drily. ‘They would merely think me eccentric. If only I had control of my fortune now there would be no problem over money, but my uncle has bound it all up so tight I cannot even borrow upon the expectation, unless I go to a money-lender.’
‘Oh heavens, child, pray do not even think of it!’
‘I don’t. But we will need to find extra money soon.’ She sighed. ‘My dependence is upon you and Kate to win a little more at our next card party.’
‘Which will make Lord Markham even more suspicious,’ said Mrs Wilby bitterly. ‘I have a mind not to take tea with anyone tomorrow. I shall write and tell them all I have been laid low with a fever.’
‘No, no, dear Aunt, let them all come. ‘Pon reflection, I think you are quite right. Nothing could be more respectable than the guests you have invited. Lord Markham is most likely to be bored to death and will beat a speedy retreat!’
It was a cold, clear afternoon, but a biting wind made Susannah glad she had ordered her carriage to take her and Kate to Henrietta Street. They drew up on the gentle curve of the street outside one of the elegant three-storey houses, where only the array of fabrics displayed in the window gave an indication that this was not a private residence. A young woman in a plain dark gown opened the door to them.
‘Good day to you, Mabel. Is Odesse upstairs?’
‘Good day, Miss Prentess, Mrs Logan. Yes, Madame Odesse is in the showroom with Mrs Anstruther.’
‘And how is little James?’ murmured Susannah as she followed the girl up the stairs.
‘Oh, he is doing very well, miss, putting on weight just as he should, and sleeping through the night now.’ Mabel cast her a quick, shy smile. ‘It is so good to have him close, where I can keep an eye on him.’
They had reached the landing and Mabel showed them into the large reception room, where a dark-haired woman wearing a plain but exquisitely sewn round gown was talking with a formidable matron in a Pomona-green redingote and matching turban, assuring madame in a lilting foreign accent that her new gown would be completed tout de suite.
She looked up as her new visitors came in, but Susannah waved her hand.
‘No, no, madame, please continue serving Mrs Anstruther. We are happy to browse amongst these new fabrics.’ Her smile included the matron, who quickly looked away.
‘Thank you, I have finished here.’ Mrs Anstruther hastily pulled on her gloves and headed for the door. ‘If you will have the new gown delivered to me this afternoon, madame …’
She hurried out and Madame Odesse shut the door carefully behind her.
‘Miss Prentess, Mrs Logan, how good of you to call. Will you not be seated?’
Susannah