Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,75

‘You cannot avoid me for ever, you know.’

A sudden constriction in her throat made it difficult for Susannah to swallow. She kept her eyes on her fan, studying the intricate pattern on the sticks.

‘I have no idea what...’ Her voice tailed away when she looked up and met his hard eyes again.

Someone had claimed Mrs Wilby’s attention. For the moment no one was attending to them and Jasper made the most of the opportunity.

‘We will talk, alone.’

‘No, I cannot. I—’

‘You can and will.’ He leaned closer. ‘There is a small sitting room downstairs. The door to the left of the hall table. I will meet you there at midnight.’

‘No.’ She cast about wildly for an excuse. ‘That is...’

In the press of the crowd no one saw him grip her arm.

‘Midnight,’ he said again. ‘Be there, madam. You owe me that much.’

* * *

Jasper moved away and Susannah was free to circulate, to talk, but even while she conversed and smiled her mind was racing. He was angry with her and she could not blame him. She tried to tell herself he could not touch her now, she was engaged to Gerald, but somehow that thought did not reassure her as it should. She took a glass of wine to steady her nerves and tried to interest herself in the proceedings. She knew most of the people present, even the various single gentlemen who attended her card parties had turned out in force. At one point she found herself face to face with Mr Warwick. He looked confused for a moment, she thought he might speak to her, but after acknowledging her with a tiny nod of his head he hurried away. She wondered why. If it was true that he was the father of Violet Anstruther’s child then he should be grateful to her. Florence House would take on the responsibility that he had shirked. Hunching one white shoulder, she turned away. Her eyes strayed to the clock on the mantelpiece. Eleven o’clock. Another hour and she would have to join Jasper in that downstairs room. Alone.

You do not have to go, a little voice in her head whispered seductively. Think of the scandal. You are promised to another man. You should not go.

But she would go, if only because she knew that Jasper would come after her if she did not. The minutes ticked by with agonising slowness. Lady Gisburne carried her away to introduce her to Lady this, and Lord that, but she could concentrate on nothing, only the hands of the clock steadily moving towards twelve.

* * *

The noise from the reception rooms died away behind her as Susannah slipped down the stairs. The hall was deserted save for a porter dozing in his chair by the front door. She could see the hall table, flanked by two identical doors. Pausing only to collect herself, she moved to the one on the left.

Susannah closed the door quietly behind her and looked around. At first she thought the room was empty. A small fire and the single-branched candlestick provided only enough light to show her the empty satin-covered sofa and armchairs. Then a shadow moved by the window and she saw Jasper.

‘I cannot stay long, my lord. I shall be missed.’

‘Tell me why you are marrying Barnabus.’

She moved towards the fire, holding her hands out to the glow, more for distraction than any need of warmth.

‘Is it not obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

She ran her tongue across her lips. They were dry, a sign of her nervousness.

‘He...he has courted me for months.’

‘But you knew I was going to offer for you. Why did you not tell me then?’

‘I did not think you were serious.’

‘After what happened on the balcony of the tea room?’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘How passionate does a man have to be, madam, before you consider him serious?’

She did not move, keeping her attention on the hearth. She heard his hasty stride behind her.

‘How passionate was Barnabus, when you accepted him?’

Her head came up at that.

‘Gerald is a gentleman—’

‘You mean he has not touched you.’

She fluttered her fan.

‘He does not need to. We—’

‘You have promised yourself to a man for whom you feel nothing.’

‘That is not true!’

‘Is it not?’ He grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘Does the blood pulse through your veins when he touches you? Does Barnabus drive you to the brink of madness with desire?’

She shrugged him off.

‘I do not want that.’ Her cheeks were burning and she fanned herself