Mary Balogh: The Double Wager

They sat side by side in the town carriage on the way to the ball, in silence for a while. Finally Eversleigh took his wife's right hand in his and looked down at her.

"You are very quiet tonight, my love," he commented. "Are you not feeling quite the thing?"

Henry tried to remove her hand. She could not think straight when he touched her. "I am fine," she said. "Just a little tired, perhaps."

"I thought you did not indulge in human frailties like tiredness, Henry," he said.

"Absurd!" she replied.

"I see you have had your ring returned,'' he commented fingering the sapphire on her hand. "Do you feel better now that you have it safely back where it belongs?"

Henry swallowed. "I felt that it needed checking," she mumbled.

"Quite so," he agreed, "but now it should be safe for another lifetime." And, to Henry's discomfort, he continued to hold her hand as he lapsed into silence for the rest of the short journey to Lord Spencer's mansion.

Marius danced with her twice, a pleasure that was too much like torture for Henry to enjoy. She danced every other dance, too, and was very thankful that she had the perfect excuse to avoid Cranshawe. Her card was full, she told him quite truthfully when he came to solicit her hand 16r a waltz. He bowed gracefully and bared his teeth in what might have seemed a charming smile to any onlookers.

"When will you stop fighting me, my dear?" he murinured, for her ears only. "You know that you must give in to me soon. I can wait for a while, my dear, because the prize seems to be worthwhile, but I am not by nature a patient man, you know. Do not try me too far."

It was at that moment that the need for revenge was reborn in Henry's mind. She could not be contented with simply disappearing and leaving him to his triumph. She had to do something to make him feel as trapped and humiliated as he had made her feel. The plan did not develop at all-she was too busy dancing and smiling and conversing. But she would think of something. She was not Henry Devron if she let the rat get away with what he had done to her.

The most painful part of the evening came when Ever-sleigh and Henry returned home. She was achingly conscious, as he escorted her as usual to the door of her mom that this was the last time she would be with him like amp;s. She hoped, and feared, that he would say a quick good night and leave her. He paused and waited for her to turn and face him. His hands lightly framed her face, his fingertips buried in her curls.

"Henry," he said, "you have not been quite yourself lately, I think. Would you like it if I finished my business here early and we left for Kent later this week instead of waiting for another fortnight?"

Henry felt dangerously close to tears. I don't know," she said.

"Perhaps we could spend more time together, get to know each other better," he continued softly.

Henry did not reply, only stared at him wide-eyed.

"You need not fear that I shall press my attentions on you," he said with a strange, crooked smile. "Let us just he friends, shall we?"

Henry continued to stare. "I am tired," she said finally.

He dropped his hands immediately. "Of course," he said. "We shall talk tomorrow."

"Marius!" she said, reaching out a hand as he turned away.

"Yes, my love?" He turned to face her again, a look on his face that she had not seen there before. He looked almost hurt.

She smiled bleakly. "I'm sorry, she said, but she did not know for what she was apologizing.

"Good night, Henry," he said.

"Good night, Marius." She had to rush into her room and close the door hastily behind her so that he would no4 see her face crumple.

The Duke of Eversleigh was from home most of the next day. His wife had not been up when he finished breakfast. So he left without seeing her and was busy until late in the day. Despite the cool reception his suggestion had bad from Henry the night before, he pressed on with his plan to finish his business in the city within the next day or two. He felt that she needed to get away from Cranshawe. His own preference was always for the country, especially at this time of year, when the city was hot and dusty. The children, too, he felt, would be happier with more freedom.

Eversleigh was not sure if his marriage could be saved. His wife had obviously accepted his offer only to win that absurdly childish wager. It seemed as if she had regretted her decision ever since. For one night he had hoped that perhaps she was beginning to lose her abhorrence of his touch. But he had rushed his fences and driven her farther away.

Perhaps in Kent he would be able to woo her trust and, eventually, her love. They would be in a quiet, relaxed atmosphere, free from the constant tedium of social activities, free to spend their time doing what they both enjoyed best, riding in the wide open spaces.

So Eversleigh spent the day with his man of business, settling his affairs for the following few months, at least. He went immediately to his room on returning home and summoned his valet to help him get ready for dinner.

"A letter for you, your Grace," that individual said, handing him the folded sheet that Henry had given to Betty's care the night before, "to be delivered to you as soon as you returned home this afternoon."

"Ah!" said Eversleigh. "Why was it not dealt with by Ridley?"

"It is personal, I understand, your Grace," his valet replied. "Her Grace entrusted it to her maid's care."

Eversleigh gave his servant a swift glance and took the letter. When he had finished reading it, he threw it down onto a dressing table and shocked his man by swearing aloud.

"When was this given to you,, John?" he asked.

"At noon, your Grace."

"And how long had the maid had it?"

"I did not ask, sir."

"Summon her," Eversleigh ordered, picking up the letter again and pacing the floor as he reread it.

A frightened-looking Betty knocked timidly at the door a couple of minutes later and bobbed a curtsy when she was let inside.

"This letter," Eversleigh said, "when did my wife give it to you?"

"Last night, your Grace."

"And why was it not given to me this morning?"

Betty was twisting her apron around and around one finger. "Her Grace told me I must not give it to John until noon today, your Grace," she explained, "and I was to tell him to hand it to you when you came in."

"I see," he said, terrifying the poor girl further by fixing her with a stare from beneath his heavy lids. "Have you seen my wife today?"

"No, your Grace."

"No?" His eyebrows rose disdainfully. "Is it -not part of your normal duties to help her rise in the mornings?"

"Yes, your Grace, but she was gone when I took her chocolate upstairs this morning."

"Indeed?" he said. "And what time was that?"

"Nine o'clock, as usual, your Grace."

"Did it not strike you as strange that she was not there?" he asked.

"Her Grace sometimes rides early, sir," she replied.

"I see. But did it not alarm you when she did not come home, even at luncheon time?"

"Yes, your Grace," she whispered.

"Speak up, girl," he barked. "Did you tell anyone of your fears?"

"I spoke to Miss Manford and the young lady and gentleman," Betty said.

"Ah, the Bow Street runners," Eversleigh commented.

"They helped me search the room, your Grace."

"Indeed? And by what right, may I ask, did you do such a thing?" Eversleigh asked.

"Mr. Ridley suggested that we see if the duchess had taken anything with her, your Grace."

"Ah, the plot thickens,", he commented with irony. "And what did you find, Betty?"

"Some clothes and a valise have been taken, your Grace, she replied.

"And anything else? Any jewelry or other valuables?"

"No, nothing, your Grace."