The Wedding Wager Page 25

  With one hand, he nudged her thighs apart and began to stroke them upward. First one, then the other—alternating. Each rising caress took him higher.

  Took her higher. Ascending to bliss.

  “Comedo,” he whispered. “To partake.”

  Sensing his target, she arched herself to meet his pursed lips with the pouty tip of her breast. It slipped into the snug, sultry sheath, and Leonora wondered if she could bear to take it out ever again. It fit so perfectly and so pleasurably, Morse’s mouth must have been formed for this service and no other.

  Likewise his fingers.

  They investigated the intimate secrets of her womanhood. Researching each humid fold and dimple. Discovering the source of her pleasure and tutoring her, ever so gently, in the subject of ecstasy.

  She tried to not be too apt a pupil. But neither the Latin conjugations nor the algebraic equations with which she attempted to divert her thoughts could distract her from Morse’s enthralling lessons.

  Learning to trust, at last, she had presented herself to him—an open book. He treated her with the reverence of a devoted scholar for some rare and precious manuscript. In doing so, he opened before her a whole new world of sensuality and delight.

  His tongue and his fingers began to work in concert. Both urging her to scale the heights of passion. Then thrusting her off the edge of a precipice. Launching her into flight.

  Thought and reason deserted her as she wafted on currents of pure sensation, wheeling and plunging. She could recall only a single word in her whole vocabulary—his name. It became the title of this potent, vibrant new experience.

  “Morse!” She gasped it. Moaned it. Purred it.

  Over and over it reverberated in her heart.

  “Morse?” The word was right, but the tone all wrong. Strident with shock and outrage, when it should be pealed like a note from a golden bell. Or sighed like a gentle night breeze through the hedges of Laurelwood.

  “Morse Archer!” Why, the voice was not even her own. And what was that unintelligible whimper in the background?

  Remembering she had eyes, Leonora opened them.

  Though she had planned the whole thing, the tableau of Miss Hill and her stepmother frozen in the doorway came as a shock to her. Belatedly, she snatched a sheet and pulled it up to cover herself.

  “I thought I must know you from somewhere.” Mrs. Hill spat the words, then turned to her blubbering jelly of a stepdaughter. “You spineless little fool! This precious Captain Archibald of yours was once my footman. Why he hasn’t a drop more noble blood than a dustman.”

  “M-Maurice, how c-could you?” sobbed Frederica.

  “I expect his distinguished military record is every bit as much a sham. He only courted you for your father’s money, of course. What did you expect?” Lady Pamela could not resist rubbing the poor girl’s nose in her humiliation.

  Leonora wished she could have found a way to save Morse without hurting Miss Hill…and Algie.

  Why had she not warned him to stay clear of the house this morning? Upon hearing the commotion, he’d come to investigate. Now he stared pop-eyed at her and Morse while Elsie Taylor made a feeble attempt to close the door again. Perhaps naively hoping she could jam the whole scandal back into Pandora’s box.

  Morse’s former mistress was not through spewing her bile. “No doubt he hatched the whole plot with the help of his mistress, here. They’ve probably been laughing at you behind your back all the while they’ve been…”

  “Enough!” Morse bellowed. “Algie, clear them out of here.”

  Before Algie could oblige by helping Elsie wrestle the door shut, Miss Hill pried off her gaudy confection of an engagement ring. Wailing at the top of her lungs, she hurled it at Morse. It missed him, coming to rest on the pillow beside Leonora.

  The bedroom door slammed shut and the clamor in the corridor retreated. An ominous silence fell. Assessing her chances of slinking out, unnoticed, Leonora found them feeble at best.

  Morse dragged a hand down his face. “I suppose you engineered all this?”

  “I can explain, Morse.”

  He rose from the bed and rummaged in his wardrobe for a dressing gown. “Did you only come to my bed so Frederica would find us together?”

  The heightened emotion of their lovemaking and their humiliating discovery had left Leonora defenseless. Almost. “If you believe that, then you are a fool, Morse Archer. Have you got another robe I can put on?”

  “Take this one.” He stripped it off and tossed it onto the bed. Then he pulled out a shirt and began to dress.

  “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” He jammed one leg into his breeches, then the other. “You always know what’s best for everyone. Never in my life have I met such an infuriating, high-handed—”

  Leonora pulled on his robe, then hurled herself at Morse. “I’m sorry if you wanted to marry Miss Hill and I’ve spoilt it for you. I am high-handed, and selfish. I gave myself lots of noble reasons for doing this. But in the end, it was because I couldn’t bear to think of you with her. I wanted this time with you so much, I was willing to do anything to get it.”

  She expected him to push her away with more angry words. Instead he wrapped her in his arms and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I won’t pretend I’m not relieved to be free of Frederica and her family.”

  “Then nothing else matters. It’ll all have been worthwhile.”

  “Will it?” His arms tightened around her. “Now I must watch you wed another man—one you don’t love. We’d better brace ourselves, dear heart. I expect all hell’s about to break loose.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As Morse had predicted, all hell did indeed break loose.

  By suppertime that evening, Herbert Hill and his family had decamped back to Sheffield. And everyone in Bath, from the exalted master of ceremonies to the lowliest bath attendant and sedan carrier knew the reason.

  Captain Maurice Archibald, Miss Hill’s fiancé and erstwhile toast of the Upper Assembly Rooms, had been discovered by his betrothed and her stepmother, practically on the eve of his nuptials, with another woman in delicto flagrante.

  That was one Latin phrase no one in Bath had trouble understanding.

  Even more scandalous, the handsome captain had turned out to be a fraud. A nobody named Morse Archer, who had once been in service to Mr. Hill’s wife. As to the nature of that service, it would keep tongues awagging long after Bath’s visitors had abandoned town for a summer round of hunting and house parties.

  Morse received his summons to Sir Hugo’s library with the brittle calm of a prisoner facing a death sentence. He tried to convince himself he was better off now than when Leonora and Sir Hugo had plucked him out of Bramleigh. His leg had healed well enough, if he didn’t tax it. He’d parted from the Rifles, but not under court-martial. And the large chip he had borne on his shoulder for so many years had been knocked off at last.

  He had walked in a gentleman’s boots. Dined at a gentleman’s table. Slept in a gentleman’s bed. In doing so, he had come to realize they were much like the rest of humanity. Some good. Some bad. Some with a fine facade and nothing to back it up. Others whose true worth one came to appreciate only with time and close acquaintance.

  As Morse entered the library, he saw Algie standing somewhat apart from Sir Hugo. Leonora’s uncle resembled nothing so much as a sleek tomcat who had recently tipped the contents of a cream pot, after having sampled the favors of every she-puss in the neighborhood. Morse could not find it in his heart to resent the old fellow’s button-bursting felicity.

  By contrast, Sir Hugo’s prospective nephew-in-law appeared anxious and permanently embarrassed.

  As the three men waited for Leonora to join them, Morse sidled over to Algie. “About this morning, old fellow.” He couldn’t bring himself to look his friend in the eye. “It wasn’t as bad as it appeared, you know. Bad enough, but not that bad.”

  How did one gentleman go about telling another
that he hadn’t deflowered his friend’s bride-to-be?

  Algie made a determined effort to swallow his Adam’s apple. “You’re not terribly angry with me, are you, Morse? I should have guessed what Leonora was up to and warned you.”

  Had he heard right? He—angry with Algie?

  Before Morse could ask what nonsense Algie was talking, Leonora entered. Could she be the same woman who had confronted him on the ward at Bramleigh with her preposterous wager? It scarcely seemed possible.

  She wore a gauzy morning dress, the color of newly flowered lavender. Her dark hair fell in gentle waves and curls, with tendrils clustered at her temples and behind her ears. Morse wondered if he had kissed them into existence. The prim little spectacles had disappeared altogether. Perhaps she had decided she would no longer need them, since she must give up her studies. Much as Morse enjoyed an unobstructed view of her incomparable eyes, he would take the spectacles back in a minute, if it meant Leonora could keep her beloved books.

  Sir Hugo cleared his throat, but before he could speak Leonora held up her hand. “Remember, Uncle, you did concede defeat. Some people would not feel bound by the terms of the wager, thereafter.”

  She looked at Morse as she spoke. “I did what I did in the full understanding I would forfeit my winnings. Morse did not. He acted in good faith and would have gone on playing the gentleman, and getting away with it, until long after this Season at Bath. He should not have to suffer for my choice.”

  “Agreed.” Sir Hugo’s beaming countenance did not darken a whit. Clearly, Morse’s part in the outcome of the wager, win or lose, was of little account to him.

  “No.” Morse pilfered his pocket for Frederica’s engagement ring. “This belongs to you, now, sir. I’m prepared to make my own way in the world.”

  Sir Hugo shied away from the ring as if it might bite him. “Bless my soul, whatever would I do with such a thing? No, my dear boy, I believe you’d better keep it. You lived up to your part of the wager. Not your fault Leonora chose to forfeit.”

  “Please, Morse.” Two brief words from Leonora, but they spoke volumes. Taken with her wistful tone and the plea in her eyes, they told how it would comfort her to know he hadn’t been left wanting. At least not materially.

  There had been a time, not so very long ago, when Morse’s stiff-necked pride would not have countenanced such a notion. But if it would ease Leonora’s mind in the days and years to come…

  “Thank you, Sir Hugo. It’s very generous of you.” Besides, he had a project in mind that would please Leonora. Selling this ring would raise the necessary capital.

  “Now that we’ve got that matter out of the way,” said Sir Hugo, “the time has come for me to collect upon my wager.”

  Leonora’s face went pale, but her chin tilted high with the indomitable spirit Morse had come to admire. And love.

  “Since you were not able to pass Sergeant Archer off as a gentleman for the entire season at Bath, I now exercise my right, under the terms of our wager, to choose you a husband. It is my wish that you, my dear niece should wed…Sergeant Morse Archer.”

  Morse looked from Algie to Leonora to Sir Hugo. His ears must be playing wishful tricks on him. Algie wore a delighted grin that stretched the full width of his face. Leonora looked dumbfounded.

  Sir Hugo stared at Morse expectantly, then burst into booming laughter. “Smile, at least, will you both? After the tricks you’ve been up to lately, I thought you’d be better pleased than this.”

  “I—I don’t understand, Sir Hugo,” Morse stammered. “Don’t you want Leonora to marry Algie?”

  Sir Hugo laughed harder. Algie joined him.

  “You can’t be serious, Morse. I love this boy like a son, but I long since gave up any notion of him making a match with Leonora. For his sake as much as hers. You have been my choice from the outset.”

  Two bright spots flamed in Leonora’s cheeks. Morse feared she might pluck the champagne bottle from Sir Hugo’s hand and christen his balding pate like the prow of a ship.

  “Why didn’t you say so, Uncle? What possessed you to go through the motions of this ridiculous wager?”

  “Harrumph! Nothing ridiculous about it,” Sir Hugo protested. “It was a brilliant plan. Let me ask you this, missy. If I’d told you from the beginning that I wanted you to marry Archer, would you have done it?”

  “Of course…not.”

  Sir Hugo shook his finger at Morse. “Don’t you pretend any different, sir. Five months ago, I couldn’t have bribed you to wed her.”

  Morse and Leonora exchanged sheepish smiles. The shock of Sir Hugo’s announcement was wearing off. A bubble of hope began to swell in Morse’s chest.

  “I knew from the moment I first clapped eyes upon you, that you were the man for Leonora.” Sir Hugo’s hearty tone turned husky with emotion. “After the way you risked your life for my Wesley, I could think of no better reward than helping you to such a peerless bride.”

  “That’s as may be.” Leonora ignored her uncle’s flattery. Clearly she was still having trouble grasping their good fortune. “Once you saw how we’d…come to care for one another, why didn’t you tell us then and save everyone all this upset?”

  “Ha!” Sir Hugo reverted to his bluff, sardonic self. “When could I be certain you did care for one another? The pair of you have been up and down like a mile of bad road. I set Algie spying on you at Laurelwood and still never got a clear sign.”

  Algie piped up, “I can vouch for that.”

  Sir Hugo planted his hands on his substantial hips. “The minute I’d think you were on the verge of an understanding, you’d stop speaking, or get yourselves engaged to someone quite unsuitable. This whole business has been a plague on my nerves. From now on, I swear not to meddle in other people’s lives.”

  “I know you meant well, Uncle. You always do.”

  “And everything’s come out right in the end,” declared Algie. “Just the way I like it.” He looked around at the others. “I’ll admit, I was more than a little smitten with Leonora before Sir Hugo dragged me down from London. Once I saw how you looked at Morse, though, I knew I hadn’t a chance. Just hoped I might find a gel who thought half so highly of me.”

  Unable to contain himself, he blurted the rest. “And I think I have, finally. After we barged in on you two this morning, Miss Taylor seemed to think I needed comforting. Imagine my surprise to find such a pretty, clever little creature fancied me. You might as well know, I’ve asked her to marry me, and I believe with a little persuasion, she may accept.”

  “Oh, Algie!” Leonora threw her arms around his neck, while Morse and Sir Hugo pumped his hands in hearty congratulations. “Of course, she’ll have you. And you both shall be as happy as you deserve.”

  “So shall we all, I hope.” Algie looked as though he’d already downed the contents of several champagne bottles. “What do you say we make it a double wedding?”

  “Nothing would suit me better!” cried Sir Hugo. “I’m prepared to host a bridal breakfast for the whole county.”

  Morse had grasped the situation at last. Everything he wanted was within his reach. But what of Leonora?

  “Sir Hugo.” He searched for the right words. “Please believe I appreciate your generosity.”

  He sucked in a deep breath. Could he afford to throw away a sure thing and take one last gamble? “Your niece may be bound to your choice by the wager. But I am not.”

  If Leonora had been prone to swooning, Morse’s words might have melted her legs. Did he not want her, after all? Had his prickly pride reared up at the last moment to spoil everything? If so, he would have to answer to her. Having come to recognize her own worth at last, she would demand her due from Morse Archer, if necessary!

  “I have good reason to understand Leonora’s distaste for marriage.” Morse turned the expensive engagement ring over and over in his hand. “I won’t see her compelled to wed me, simply to satisfy the terms of the wager.”

  He stepped toward her. “S
he is free to marry or not, as she chooses.”

  When Leonora tried to speak, the words could not break free of her constricted throat.

  Morse took her hand and turned it palm up. “I love you with all my heart, Leonora. More than ever, knowing what you were prepared to give up to secure my freedom from Miss Hill and her family. Make no mistake, I want to be part of your life. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. But it must be on your terms. If that means without a wedding, so be it.”

  On her outstretched palm he laid the ring that represented his entire capital in the world. Enough to buy him a fine plantation abroad and a fresh start in life. “I want you to sell this and use the proceeds to set up your school. Whether you accept me or not.”

  Her eyes blurred with tears, Leonora struggled to compose herself to reply. Her hand closed over the ring—token of a gift Morse had given her. One beyond price.

  “That’s a noble gesture, my boy.” Sir Hugo clapped a beefy arm around Morse. “Quite unnecessary, though. I have every intention of honoring the settlement I made on Leonora. She will have plenty of money for a school…and a family. And perhaps a little house not far from Laurel-wood?”

  A sound broke from Leonora’s lips—a laugh and a sob sweetly mingled. She looked long at these three dear men. In different ways, each had gambled with her heart. And won.

  “Of course, Uncle Hugo. A little house near Laurel-wood will be the very thing. But we won’t need your settlement.”

  Morse had respected her need for independence. She could respect his pride. “All I want is to marry Morse, so we can build our school and raise our family…together.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist. I pride myself on always paying my gambling debts and this is no exception.” After giving Morse a resounding thump on the back, Sir Hugo picked up the champagne bottle and popped its cork. “I’ll admit I had my doubts at first, but you’ve convinced me of your radical theories about education. Besides, you’ve fulfilled the spirit of our wager by proving you can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”