Free A Wager for Love by Caroline Courtney Page A

“Rumour has it that one of my ancestors found this passage extremely useful; it used to run for a couple of miles beyond the house, but it fell into disuse and had to be blocked up when my grandfather was first married. At one time the chapel was used regularly by the household and the family.”
    Lavinia shivered a little as the damp cold of the stone penetrated her thin soles, and she knew from the amused glance her companion gave her, that he was aware of her unease. Suddenly the passage opened out into a small but extremely beautiful chapel, and in any other circumstances she would have thought a wedding held here would indeed be blessed.
    The ceremony was simple and brief. The ring the Earl produced was heavy and old fashioned and slightly on the large side. Eyes heavy with tears, she felt the weight of it on her finger. It was no heavier than the weight upon her heart at this travesty of the marriage she had one day hoped might be hers. There was silence in the chapel. She glanced upward to find three pairs of eyes fixed on her face. The vicar, a small, smiling person, eyed her kindly. “You may kiss the bride, My Lord.”
    Lavinia shrank instinctively and just had time to see the flash of mockery in the satanic face before it blotted out the light. The Earl’s mouth brushed hers lightly in the merest breath and then he lifted his head, but not before whispering languidly in her ear. “Such dread, my dear. Anyone would think you have never been kissed before.”
    She trembled violently, refusing to meet his gaze, but he was not to be thwarted.
    “Well?” he prompted.
    She glanced round wildly, but they were completely alone. The vicar was busying himself about the altar, and had his back to them. The housekeeper and the butler, who had witnessed the ceremony, had tactfully melted away.
    Slowly and deliberately she rubbed at her mouth with her handkerchief, saying coldly, “I have received kisses a plenty, Sir, but none as unwelcome as yours.”
    His eyes darkened and she felt the hiss of his breath as he stepped forward gripping her arms painfully. “You will regret those words, Madam wife, no-one speaks to me like that.”
    Frightened, but determined not to show it, Lavinia met his eyes.
    “Excuse me, My Lord …” The vicar was hovering anxiously. Saltaire gave Lavinia a savage glare and then turned aside to attend to the clergyman. When at last he faced her again, he had himself well in hand.
    “Ours is a marriage of convenience, Madam, so disabuse yourself of any foolish ideas you might be harbouring. But, and I shall only say this once, I warn you all the Saltaires are renowned for their tempers, push me too far and you will regret it.”
    Rigid with fury, Lavinia stood her ground. “Convenient for whom, My Lord, certainly not for me, and believe me I harbour no ideas. I am no young Miss to fall into a green sickness and languish over a romantic rake. I scarcely supposed you to have fallen madly in love with me the moment you set eyes on me,” she added for good measure. “And of one thing you may be sure, your distaste of my person in no way exceeds mine of yours.”
    Saltaire was busily engaged in removing one strand of russet hair from his coat, a task which had Lavinia’s eyes fixed on him as a certain dreadful suspicion formed in her mind. She had no doubt that that hair was her own. How it had got there and, worse still, why it should remain seemingly lovingly curled around Saltaire’s shoulder, she could not begin to understand.
    At last when he did respond to her comment, he seemed more disposed to be amused than annoyed, “Did I say your person gave me a distaste. I think not. Indeed …” He eyed her consideringly in a fashion that brought the blood surging to her face. “… I am sure it is quite delightful.”
    “And you are of course an expert,” she flung at him.
    “Well, let us say a connoisseur,” he amended. “And now, it you will follow me, I believe Mrs. Robbins has