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“Fairly is it? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? Fairly?”
“Let’s widen yer scope, Jerry. I will allow ye all the usual measures save one, ye canna use force. Ye use any threat, physical or verbal with this woman and ye forfeit the wager then I’ll beat the bloody hell out of ye, I might even see ye dead. Are ye willing to risk all for a bit of payback?”
Jerry eyed him speculatively, “You think you can beat me to a pulp?”
“Let me ask ye, do ye think so?”
Swit laughed nervously, “And the wager?”
“High stakes, m’man, high stakes.”
“What then, one hundred guinea?” Swit’s breath came raggedly at the thought of so much money.
“Make it five,” his lordship returned the mock in his eyes.
“Easily!” snapped Swit. “But let us make this all the more interesting then. You enter the race my fine stud. She has to take one of us by the close of the month.”
His lordship frowned. He had introduced this wager to keep Jerry Swit at heel. He was absolutely certain that the American lovely would not be seduced by such a rum touch. He shouldn’t care, for that usually got a man into trouble. He rather liked Miss Radley’s spirit and the intriguing sensation of mystery that hung about the lass lured him in nearly as much as her beautiful face. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her was wildly different. Something in the way she spoke, in the way her mind sorted a problem; something about the way she sparkled and glittered, got to him, but damn he couldn’t be involved with a woman now. He had other matters at hand and he didn’t want to seduce the lass, that hadn’t been part of his plan. He shrugged, “Not m’sort of game, Swit.”
“Seduction has never been mine either. Mayhap, I don’t have the time. Think I’ll just have her anyway I can get her.”
“What of the money? Doona ye want it?” his lordship retorted irritably. “Doona ye wish to win it and best me?”
This time Swit shrugged, “I have other ways of earning my blunt, and besting you by doing the courting thing for a month, well that isn’t my priority at the moment.” He eyed his lordship darkly. “Unless you and I joust, so to speak for the lady, if you play the game with me, fine, for a wager like that, I’m in, otherwise, I’ll have her when and how I want.”
Jerry’s ego was as large as his moronic brain, his lordship thought. “Done,” he returned. He would at least be able to keep the man at bay and get her safely to her establishment tonight, there was no way in bloody hell he would let Swit near her. No doubt, once in Dover, attending to his secretive business, Jerry would forget all about her.
* * *
Exerilla heard their loud voices outside the coach and tried not to glance their way. She heard her name mentioned and was certain they were arguing about her. The white witch in her was on edge, sure that Jerry Swit meant her harm. He had not liked the way she had treated him throughout their meal.
He had not liked that she would not speak to him when he addressed her and perhaps that had not been wise, for she knew what he was, but she couldn’t bear to look at him, let alone speak to him.
She didn’t like Jerry Swit and she didn’t quite trust Lord MacTorry. The hunky Scotsman made her jittery and off balance and she was too attracted to him. Throwing Sir Jacob into the mix made it a veritable stew of ingredients that just did not blend well together. She could have put on her witch’s hearing and listened in on their conversation. They were close enough, but just at that moment she was startled and jumped as the carriage door opened wide.
She had forgotten about Sir Jacob.
He stood at the open door and a shy smile crossed his pleasant face, “Are you comfortable, Miss Radley?”
“Yes, thank you. Sir Jacob, if you really are intent on accompanying the coach to Dover, I would so rather you kept me company in here.” she glanced toward Swit and MacTorry in silent explanation.
He understood at once, and his chivalry came to the fore. “With the greatest of pleasure,” he said as he climbed into the carriage and took the seat opposite Exerilla.
Jerry Swit shouted immediately, “Jacob! I say, what the devil do you think you are doing?”
Sir Jacob opened the window and stuck his head out to smirk at Swit, but did not bother to reply as he closed the window and situated himself. He patted the worn leather and said, “Not all that awful for a stagecoach. I had thought it would be worse.”
Exerilla laughed, but as his lordship rode up at that moment, bent down to the closed window and said with a chuckle, “Looks like Jerry and I are both in the cold, cut out by young Jake!”
She couldn’t help but smile at his sense of humor and sat back against the squabs as the coach slowly moved forward.
Earlier the coachman had begged her forgiveness and she had reassured him that she did not blame him for the harrowing ride at Jerry Swit’s hands. She had told him she was thankful that the ‘bloods’ as he called them, had finally tired of the sport and had decided only to follow the coach instead of drive it.
The countryside took on a subtle change as they left the rolling green downs and approached the coastline. Exerilla was scarcely able to do more than glance now and then, as Sir Jacob kept her entertained with a lively conversation.
She saw at once by the innocent look in his eyes that he loved his home in Dover.
“My family’s estate is called Cressly Towers,” he told her brightly. “It was once styled in Tudor fashion, but my forefathers each wanted to put their own stamp to the place. and the wings that my ancestors installed over the years have given a more modern feel to the original structure.
