Lord Trent: Love's Price Part 43

"Miranda."

Harriet scoffed. "A fussy name for a fussy girl."

"Yes, it is."

"After you jilt her, what will happen to me?"

"Then you and I are marrying the very next day."

She glared, then grabbed his s.h.i.+rt and shook him. "If you don't follow through, I will hunt you down and kill you."

"I'll be back for you. I promise."

The door to Sinclair's house opened. Tristan had sent word that he'd be arriving with Harriet, and through a crack in the curtain, he could see Sinclair come out, along with Lady Henley. Helen Stewart was with them, too.

"Look out the window again," he advised her.

She frowned. "Why?"

"Just look, you blasted woman! Stop being so cantankerous."

Tristan tugged at the curtain as Harriet leaned across him to peek outside.

"Helen is here?" She turned toward him, appearing stunned and amazed. "You found my sister for me?"

"She was never lost."

Harriet hugged him tightly and kissed him over and over.

"Thank you, Tristan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

A footman opened the carriage door, and she tumbled out and into Helen's waiting arms.

Phillip gazed at f.a.n.n.y over the rim of his brandy gla.s.s.

He had to bundle her up and escort her home to her husband. Michael was very much in love with his wife, very devoted and possessive of her time, and he would be concerned over her lengthy absence. He didn't like to share.

Normally, f.a.n.n.y would have left hours earlier, but with the excitement of finally locating the Stewart twins, it had been impossible for her to tear herself away. Prior to her marrying Michael, f.a.n.n.y's life had been very difficult, and she'd needed to bond with her new sisters as much as they'd needed to bond with her.

"I'm aggravated with Westwood and his brother," he said.

"I am, too. They haven't behaved very well."

"You know I take this type of nonsense very personally."

"I know you do."

They both chuckled.

They'd been in much the same spot over f.a.n.n.y's relations.h.i.+p with Michael. Michael had blatantly ruined f.a.n.n.y with no intention of marrying her, and when the arrogant oaf had refused to propose, he and Phillip had actually fought a duel.

"We should have a pair of weddings," he decided, "with Westwood and Harcourt as the grooms."

"I agree."

"Tristan already spoke to me. He's eager to wed Harriet, but he has to end his betrothal first."

"Oh, that's a nasty quandary. Will he have any trouble?"

"He didn't seem to think so."

"What about Westwood? Will he come up to snuff with Helen?"

Phillip shrugged. "Westwood may be a bit of a problem."

"Why is that?"

"He hates Charles, so I doubt he'd willingly shackle himself to one of the man's illegitimate daughters."

"I heard a rumor recently-about Charles seducing Westwood's mother."

"It's probably true."

"It probably is."

They sighed, having no illusions about Charles or his dastardly habits.

"So," f.a.n.n.y asked, "how will you convince Westwood to propose? I don't want you fighting any more duels, and I'm positive your wife would concur."

"No duels. I promise. Anne would murder me if I even considered such a thing. But I have an idea."

"What is that?"

"Westwood has been wrangling for a high-stakes card game with Charles."

"Gambling with Charles? Doesn't Westwood know that Charles cheats?"

"Westwood supposedly cheats too, so they're a balanced duo of scoundrels."

"Why would Westwood bother with Charles?"

"It's revenge-for his father and all they lost after his mother fled."

"He'll never be satisfied," f.a.n.n.y wisely said, "despite how much he wins. A pile of coins can hardly compensate for that sort of loss."

"My opinion exactly, so I suggest we give Westwood something worth having instead."

"What would that be?"

"Helen."

"Helen?"

"Yes. Tristan claims Westwood was madly in love with her last summer."

"Is he still?"

"His feelings are irrelevant," Phillip said with a firm resolve. "He ruined her, and he's going to wed her-whether he likes it or not."

"How will you persuade him?"

"I have a plan, and it involves Charles."

"Will he help us?"

"If I ask him? Of course he will." Phillip was always able to coerce Charles in a way that no one else could. "Besides, if Westwood is about to marry into the family, he needs to smooth over his differences with Charles. He can't have his father-in-law as his mortal enemy."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Let me tell you all about it. Then let's get you home before Michael wrings my neck."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I? Let's find out."

James stared at Charles Sinclair, the man who'd absconded with James's mother, whose perfidy had crushed James's father. James had hated him for a good share of three decades.

With a fortune sitting in the middle of the table, James knew he held the winning hand. Trent would have to cheat to beat him-which was certainly possible. Throughout the long night, James had carefully watched Trent, and if he was cheating, he was very adept at it. But then, so was James.

He laid down his cards, and so did Trent. James smirked and gathered up the stacks of coins.

"You're not having much luck, Trent."

Trent shrugged, appearing bored and confident and not the least bit concerned about parting with so much of his wealth.

"It's only money."

"Yes, it is. What do you say?" James goaded, planning to raise the ante to an outrageous level. "Shall we play again?"

"If you wish."

They were in a private room at the Stevens brothers' club. Several others had originally joined in, but they'd partic.i.p.ated so they would have a reason to witness the spectacle. As the stakes went higher and higher, they had dropped out.

The only two left were James and Trent.

James was on a roll, having won eight of the last nine games, and Trent hardly seemed to notice. He lost one hand, then another, and ultimately, he sighed with resignation.

"What is it?" James inquired. "Is the pot getting too steep for you? Perhaps you'd like to quit. I'm happy to walk away with what you've lost so far."

"You won't give me an opportunity to win it back? That's not very sporting."

"I'll continue as long as you can afford to keep going-and even after you can't."

"I don't suppose you'd let me wager with an I.O.U."

"I might-depending on what you're willing to risk."

James's pulse pounded with excitement.

They were finally at the spot where he wanted Trent to be. If Trent was considering promissory notes, then he was about to put his property at risk, was about to gamble much more than he should.

It was the precise conclusion James had sought, and he could scarcely conceal his glee, yet suddenly, Trent peered up from his cards. He intently scrutinized James, acting as if he had a secret, and James felt like a mouse being hunted by a hawk.

The sensation was eerie and disturbing, and James yanked away. He wanted to meet Trent's blatant gaze, wanted to prove that he wasn't fl.u.s.tered, but whenever he caught Trent observing him, he thought of Helen. He hadn't understood how much she resembled her father, and it was unnerving, staring into those green eyes and having Helen's eyes stare back.

He wondered how she was faring, married to her horrid cousin and with a baby on the way. A wave of sympathy started to swell, and he tamped it down. She'd made her bed! She could lie in it! He refused to feel sorry for her.

Trent signaled to a waiter who brought him a piece of paper, a pen, and a jar of ink.

"What are you doing?" James asked, though it was clear.

"I'm writing you an I.O.U."

"If you expect me to accept it, you'll have to tell me what it is for. You have to relinquish something I'd like to have."

"Oh, I imagine you'll like to have it all right."

Trent signed with a flourish, then shoved the doc.u.ment toward James, and at first, James didn't comprehend what he was seeing. He had to read it over and over before the words registered.

Trent was wagering Helen! He was proposing that she become James's mistress, being smugly certain that James would jump at the chance to ravish one of his natural daughters.

A cold rage raced through him, and he could barely keep from leaping over and pummeling the man where he sat.

"What the h.e.l.l are you thinking?" James seethed.

"I have a daughter who recently came forward seeking support."

"Helen Stewart, yes, yes, I see her name. For pity's sake, you're offering her chast.i.ty!"

"Well, I won't give her a hand-out, and as far as I can tell, she has only one thing that would be of any value."