Page 25 of An Unusual Wager

He let out a guffaw of laughter so spontaneous that it took her by surprise. “Touché, madam. Or, now that we are officially married, might I call you Verity?”

She bowed her head in mock humility, desperate not to fall under his hypnosis. “You may.” The temptation had been to say no, but that would have been silly on her part, sinking to the pettiness he stood accused of.

“Such a beautiful name,” he said, his voice lowering to a seductive purr. “For such a beautiful woman.”

Of course, she’d had people, men, tell her she was beautiful before, usually when they were after something. But none in so alluring a fashion as His Lordship. She gave another little bow of her head, her eyes fixed on her soup bowl. “Thank you, Lord Dunster.”

His hand slid across the table and covered hers before she had chance to withdraw it, in an unexpected move that had her heart hammering even faster. Hopefully he couldn’t feel her pulse. “Please, let us cease these formalities. I am your husband now, and all who know me well call me Jonnie.”

His hand was hot on hers and, for several moments, Verity could think of nothing to say as she fought with the twin contradictory inclinations to both snatch her hand away and relish the feel of his touch, which could not be accomplished in concert. But no, she must remember he was just exercising his well-known powers of seduction. Powers he must have used on so many ladies in the past. For him, she was just to be another notch on the bedpost and she refused to acquiesce. If she was to be married to him, as she now inescapably was, he must either leave her well alone and continue his lifestyle, or he must come to value her as she felt she should be valued, and abandon his old way of life. She was a person, not a toy for him to play with and then throw aside. And his first lesson in this was soon to come.

She removed her hand from beneath his and set it in her lap, where he could no longer reach it.

The footmen and butler cleared the first course and brought neck of lamb in a braised cucumber sauce and ripoles of pullets, none of which Verity had any appetite for.

Once they’d been served, Jonathan returned to his assault. For that was what it was, she saw clearly. A part of his seduction of her that he thought would end in the bedroom. A man who knew women found him irresistible exercising all his efforts to add her to their number. Or was this just the way he wanted women to see him? The upkeeping of a hard-won reputation.

“You must tell me about your adventures on the Continent,” he said, his food untouched on his plate. “Your father gave me very little information other than a list of cities you’d visited with him. I had wanted to make a Grand Tour myself after I left school, but circumstances at the time were not favorable.” A little frown settled on his forehead. “My father died while I was still at school, and I was the only heir, you understand. Both my mother and grandmother insisted that I not leave the country. Not with war in Europe going on.”

That this had vexed him was apparent. “My father and I were able to pass ourselves off as French,” she said, before she had time to think. In truth, the less she confided in him about her past, the better, but it was too late now.

“An admirable skill and one that I respect.”

“My mother was French. Papa and she always spoke it together as she had no English she was prepared to admit to. I learned it myself with alacrity when all I could hear spoken around me was French. And a little Breton.”

“My mother is also French.” Bitterness edged his voice. For a moment the veil she’d already suspected he’d constructed to hide himself from others dropped, and she saw the real Jonnie before her. A Jonnie she liked a lot better than the rakish one.

“Then you also speak French?”

He frowned. “I prefer English.”

“Mais, tu es bilangue, comme moi?”

The frown deepened. “I would not claim so and have not spoken the language since I was a child. Since before my father died.” His tone indicated his desire to halt this line of conversation and a silence fell between them.

Not for long. He pushed his food around his plate as though it held no interest for him. “Tell me, Verity, what was the most interesting country you visited? I am quite envious of your travels, you must know. I had hoped to see Rome, at least, and Vienna. Perhaps Athens, also, with its classical ruins.”

This was easy for her to talk about. Glad to be able to fill the air between them, Verity, whilst omitting all things personal, recounted descriptions of all the cities and countries she’d visited, which were many. She told him about the natives, about the buildings and countryside she’d seen, and never once did she let slip anything of what she and Papa had thought or felt or done in those places. He must never know what they’d been up to. She could create as good a veil to hide behind as he could.

He seemed content to listen to her and interject a few apt questions now and then, so, in the end, their dinner that had begun in so constrained a fashion ended on a note of conviviality. He’d recounted a few funny incidents himself, laughed at some of the things she’d said, his whole demeanor one of a man hanging on the words of the woman he loved. Only she knew it was all a sham, and love had nothing to do with it. However, his open interest in what she told him had her almost liking the man.

Until dinner was over, that was, and they were alone again.

His smile, which had been up until now one of amusement and interest, suddenly changed. “And now,” he said, his voice a purr once more, “to bed, I think.”

Perhaps he assumed he’d charmed her enough to make this easy for him. And her. There must be many women for whom this would have been true.

A cold feeling, like a wet shawl, settled on Verity, as she suddenly became aware that she’d been allowing her wall of dislike to slip in a disastrous fashion. Had all of this smiling and laughing and listening to her talk been just a ruse to put her at her ease? Of course it had. The man was subtle. The man was accustomed to wooing women who might have been as unwilling as she was. And he thought he had her.

Well, no he didn’t have her. But she had to deliberately rekindle her distaste for what he’d said to her or she might slip and succumb. And that would never do. Although, after time spent with him and the discovery that he could be a pleasant dinner companion, so interested in what she had to say, she began to hope that being taught a lesson might be beneficial to their relationship. That she might in some way retrain him, like a recalcitrant puppy or a wild colt.

She rose to her feet and bestowed a smile on him. “I will retire to my room now, I think, if you would like to take some port.” Papa was very fond of a glass of port before bed, and Uncle Adolphus and Cousin Walter had indulged after dinner every night when the ladies had withdrawn.

He had stood as well and now he took her hand, and, bowing over it, pressed his lips to her skin. “I shall not be long.”

An unexpected wash of heat rose through Verity’s body at his touch, but she managed not to snatch her hand back a second time. Let him think she would be waiting for him, ready to welcome him to her bed. That would teach him. Although a tiny, and slowly growing, part of her couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to allow him entry.

She pushed that rebellious part of herself away with firm determination. This would only work if she was adamant and remained so. If she gave in now, she would always be what she feared—yet another notch on his bedpost and the provider of his heirs. And he would move on to other women’s beds.