Free A Wager for Love by Caroline Courtney

him and her head fell onto his shoulder. The saturnine features tightened for a second, a strange unfathomable expression crossing his face fleetingly. He scrutinised his now defenceless bride-to-be. Not strictly a beauty, but with a certain something despite that. Spirited, certainly. His mouth thinned a little. Too spirited, she would soon learn that he would brook no crossing of his will. The Earl admitted to himself that he knew little of gently reared, virtuous young ladies. He smiled in the manner so familiar to his acquaintances. One woman was much like another. With this thought he closed his eyes.
    The coach flew on through the night, and Lavinia slept dreamlessly against the Earl’s shoulder. The coach slowed and turned into a drive, flashing through the gates and on up the carriage way.
    The lodgekeeper, disturbed from his slumbers to open the gates, watched for a second before returning to the warmth of his bed, grumbling to his spouse. “The new Earl, a resty devil. You never know when he’s going to turn up, and a woman with him this time too. His grandfather would turn in his grave if he knew.”
    His wife answered drowsily. “It will be the new Countess. The housekeeper was telling me that they are to be married from the hall.”

    Before the carriage jolted to a standstill, the Earl gently pushed the still slumbering Lavinia upright, an expression of fleeting amusement softening the harsh features, so that when she did awake it was to find the Earl already stepping from the carriage. Despite her weariness and fear, Lavinia could not repress a small start of delight as she had her first glimpse of the house. It was old, Tudor, she guessed, and although it was dark. she could make out the E shape of it, the walls clothed in a creeping vine,. framing the mullioned windows.
    “Oh how lovely.” she murmured.
    “So you approve your new home if not your husband,” remarked the Earl drily, but before she could reply, the door swung open to reveal a large hall illuminated by what seemed to be dozens of enormous chandeliers. Saltaire followed her eyes with amusement. “A fancy of my grandfather’s. He saw these in Italy and brought them back with him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “A trifle ornate for my taste, but at least they light the place well.”
    “Yes indeed.” murmured Lavinia. “I have seen many like them in the palaces in Venice, They make them there on a small island.”
    If the Earl was indulging in this small-talk out of politeness for his bride-to-be’s natural diffidence, he did not betray it, merely smiling coolly.
    A small, plump woman bustled forward, bobbing a curtsey. “My Lord, Miss Davenham.” Lavinia stiffened at the woman’s use of her name, but the tight grip of Saltaire’s fingers on the flesh of her upper arm warned her not to betray her surprise.
    “Is everything ready. Mrs. Robbins?”
    “Yes, My Lord. The vicar has been here this hour past.” She turned to Lavinia, her face wreathecl in smiles, “We were all so pleased when we heard you wanted to be married in the family chapel, Miss. It will be so romantic,just the two of you.” She heaved a sigh. “All the Earls have been married from here.”
    “But not at the dead of night. surely?” Lavinia asked drily, her sense of the ridiculous coming to her rescue.
    The grip on her arm tightened again. “We have already kept the vicar waiting long enough. You have no need to embellish yourself, my love, you look enchanting enough.”
    Steadfastly, Lavinia refused to meet his eyes, knowing if she did he would see the fear they held. Mrs. Robbins, seemingly completely unaware of the undercurrent of hostility between them, held out her hands for Lavinia’s cloak, saying admiringly, “Such a lovely gown, if I may be so bold as to say so, Miss.”
    Smiling a little sardonically, Saltaire led her forward, out of the hall and down a narrow stone flagged passage. “This is the old part of the house,” he murmured softly.