Wicked Wagers: The School for Sophistication

Acknowledgements

My sincere thanks to Julia, Denise and Jo-Ann for their time and support in helping me prepare Wicked Wagers for publication.  Without their comments and suggestions, this romance would not have seen the light of day!

My thanks to my family who have put up with my mutterings and hair-pulling this past year.  And, of course, my thanks to my readers.  Without readers, where would we authors be?

CHAPTER ONE

Spring, 1812

Ben Burton sat in the dappled sunlight, his fishing line drifting downstream.  Above his head he could hear the birds of summer twittering and flitting from branch to branch, and a soft breeze ruffled his hair.  The day was a perfect English summer afternoon.  Except for the fact that he was leaving tomorrow for the Brighton Barracks to begin his training as a cavalry soldier, then would be shipped off to the Continent to join up with Wellington's troops in Portugal.  To say he was nervous was an understatement.  His gut was tied in knots and his head throbbed.  His family had just celebrated his eighteenth birthday the week before and he wondered if he'd be alive to see his nineteenth birthday. 

A high-pitched screech pierced the warm air and a moment later he spotted his younger brother, Marcus, and that little brat, Julie, racing through the woods, coming straight toward him.  He rolled his eyes and shook his head.  Well, there goes his last chance to catch any fish, he thought.  He might as well pack up his gear and head home.  But as the two scamps drew closer, he watched them, fascinated by their lack of care or concern, their spontaneity, especially young Julie.  She may be the youngest sister of a viscount, but she acted like one of the stable hands, a little hellion at times.  Even now she had her tattered day gown hiked up so she could run faster, her raven black hair wild and whipping about her head.  He stood and gave them a wave, turned to gather up his rod and tackle, then paused to watch as Marcus taunted Julia. 

Bet you can't reach that apple way up there!  His brother's golden curls lifted in the breeze, his bright blue eyes squinting up at a lone apple left on one of the upper branches.  Ben knew without a doubt that Julie would latch onto the challenge.  Already he could see her gazing upward, calculating her chances of winning the bet.

Bet I can! she retaliated, gathering up her hair into a loose braid, making it easier to climb through the branches without getting tangled.

Ben looked up at the apple and knew that it was too high and the branches were too far apart.  She'd have to reach far beyond her ability.  He tensed as she started up the tree, limber as a monkey.

Nah!  You're a girl.  Can't do it, Marcus yelled up, grinning like the silly fool he was.

Ben loped through the grass quickly, grabbing his brother by the collar as he passed him.  What in hell are you thinking?  She won't make it.  It's too high, he growled.

Marcus pulled away and laughed.  Serves her right.  She called me a coward!  The boy looked up and rolled his eyes.  See.  She can't reach the stupid thing. 

Ben followed his brother's gaze and held his breath.  Julie was within reach of the branch holding the prize, but she couldn't quite cover the distance needed.  She hiked herself up higher, making a lunge for the fruit.  Julie, stop!

She glanced over her shoulder and looked down at Ben.  I've got it -

Although it was only seconds, it felt like an eternity seeing her foot slip, her eyes wide in terror as she fell backward, arms reeling, trying desperately to grab onto anything to stop her fall.  A moment later she landed on the ground with a hard thump, a loud whoosh escaping her open mouth.  Marcus leaped from Ben's side and turned tail, racing off into the woods like the little coward he was.  Ben didn't give him a moment's thought as he ran to Julie's side, praying she wasn't dead or injured.  Dear God, not that.  He knelt at her side and leaned in, listening to see if she was breathing.  He felt for a pulse and found it, then felt the back of her head to see if she was bleeding. 

Julie, Julie, can you hear me?  He leaned in, watching for any sign, a flutter of her eyes, some kind of reaction.  He could see that she was struggling to breathe, so he shifted an arm behind her shoulders to raise her up a bit, bent his lips to hers, and blew a puff of air into her mouth.  He waited.  Nothing.  Another puff, then another until he heard her gasp and saw her eyes flash open.  He started to lower her back to the ground, ready to strip off his shirt to cradle her head when she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him back down so close he could see the golden glints in her dark eyes.

Was it a shift in the air?  A soft flutter of a bird's wing that made him pause and look closely at her?  Her lips were full and rose-tinted, her skin smooth and soft.  He inhaled and smelled summer . . . flowers and honey and a hint of the sea air.  She smiled up at him, still holding tight onto his neck.  You saved my life . . . couldn't breathe, she whispered, then closed her eyes. 

It was those long, dark lashes that did him in.  The little brat was no longer so little.  Julie was slipping quietly into womanhood.  When had that happened, he wondered?  He lowered his lips to hers and gave her a simple kiss, enjoying her soft lips. 

It was only a moment and then the spell was broken when she opened her eyes again and dropped her arms, shoving Ben away.  She scampered up, yanking down her skirts, turned bright pink and ran away like a startled fawn.  Still sitting there under the apple tree, he looked up at the broken branch and that one lone apple.  Perhaps it was good that he was leaving tomorrow.  Yet he didn't think he'd forget that innocent kiss anytime soon. 

CHAPTER TWO

London, June 1820

O h, not that silly kissing test again?  Sarah Pilkington moaned as she turned her eyes on her friend, Julia Montford, her mouth screwed up in a mew of distaste.

Julia spun around and pointed at her.  "It is not a silly test.  One can tell so much - or little, as the case may be - by a man's kiss."  She picked up a seed cake and nibbled, spilling crumbs down the front of her sprigged muslin gown. 

Sarah handed her a cloth and pointed to Julia's bodice, then rolled her eyes.  Well, I for one wouldn't know about such things.  I would never let a man kiss me unless we were betrothed, she huffed, dabbing her lips with a delicate bit of lace. 

Julia studied her friend, always amazed at how tidy and correct Sarah was.  Nothing ever out of place—hair coiffed, gown perfection—of course, it would have to be as Sarah's father ran several haberdasheries up and down the west coast of England.  And Sarah herself designed all her gowns, seeing to each detail with an eye for color and cut, embellishments that accentuated her lithe figure.  Julia stretched out her legs and wiggled her feet, sore from last night's ball at Lord and Lady Fortescue's, hosted in celebration of their granddaughter's engagement.  An engagement carefully orchestrated by Lady Caroline Ashford and the Dowager Lady Leticia Rutherford, all under the guise of their 'school for sophistication'.  Match makers were more like it.  After all, she should know as the one and only failure of the ladies' schooling, this being her third season that she'd escaped without a serious betrothal.  Emphasis on escape, for that was how she had planned it.

No marriage for Julia Charlotte Montford, thank you.  Not interested; not to be beguiled.  Unless, of course, she found that one kiss that was magical, that would turn her head, make her swoon.  Well, that may be the reason you're still not spoken for after three seasons, Julia muttered as she finished off the seed cake.  Perhaps if you'd let men kiss you in the garden, you'd -

Tsk, tsk.  Let us not forget that you, too, are unspoken for, Sarah countered.  She rose up from her chair and walked over to the fireplace with such a degree of grace that Julia hated her for a moment.  But when she caught Sarah's visage in the mirror over the mantelpiece, she noted that her friend's face was marred by a frown.  Was she truly worried about this marriage thing? 

Yes, well, I'm not sure I ever want to marry, she retorted.

Oh, don't say such a thing, Julia!  Do you want to spend the rest of your life in spinsterhood, a burden to your family?  Sarah poked at the thin line that creased her forehead.  I really must put more milk and honey on this thing before retiring to bed. 

Sarah continued to fuss while Julia thought more about the idea of marriage.  I mean truly, Sarah.  Would you want to be tied to one man forever?  And what about when he is old and crotchety?  What then?

Sarah returned to her chair and lowered herself so that her profile was there for all to admire, despite the fact that only Julia was present.  Well, you'd be old and crotchety, too, so neither of you would notice. 

Julia crossed her arms, dropping her chin to her full, rounded bosom.  Too large to her mind.  She was all rounded curves and such, while Sarah was like a Greek goddess she'd seen in one of the museums.  Proud, aloof, cool.  Julia bubbled and perked like a stew on the hob, chattering and nattering away at the drop of a hat.  And yet men wanted to kiss her, not Sarah.  It was enough to give a girl a headache. 

So one last question before I must depart.  What do you want from marriage, Sarah?  If not kisses and passion, what then?  Julia paced back and forth by the French doors that opened onto a walled garden beyond.  Damn, but she hated being cooped up in these city dwellings, everyone cheek by jowl.  She was glad to be leaving the next day for Montford Hall, which lay on the coast of the Irish Sea, bounded by rolling meadows and fields, wooded areas and the fells to the east.  She itched for her horse, Mercury, and a long, brisk gallop. 

Money.  The more, the better.  As you know, Papa's shops are not doing as well as they once were.  He may have to close one or two.  And I worry about his health, Mother's as well.  My husband would have to assist along those lines.  Children.  I want children.  Two would be perfect, a boy and a girl.  That is what I require in a husband. 

Julia laughed.  My, that is quite the list of requirements.

Her friend's blue eyes gazed back in amazement.  How are my requirements different from yours then?  Enlighten me. 

Julia came to Sarah's side and knelt, taking her hands in hers.  I'm not certain.  Magic?  Passion? Adventure, perhaps?

Sarah pulled her hands away and shook her head.  You're a silly young woman, then.  Passion and magic are to be found only in those horrible novels you read.  Life is harsh.  It is best if two people can rub along together, help each other, be mindful of each other.  You should think about that, Julia.

Julia barked out a laugh.  "Never!  The man I marry—and that's if I marry—will desire me, take me on a lifelong adventure."

Sarah shook her head.  Better think again, especially after witnessing those horrid brothers of yours and their despicable antics.  Sarah blushed.  Oh, dear.  I didn't mean to bring up those memories for you, dearest.  Forgive me?

Just the mention of Stephen and Simon made Julia cringe.  They had been the scourge of her family and of Whitehaven, whoring and drinking and gambling and ultimately almost destroying the Montford estate.  Thank God, they died early in life, thus making the third brother Gabriel the viscount.  Nodding, she glanced over at Sarah.  I know, I know . . . and yet I still want to experience one true passion.  Then I'll be satisfied and can continue on with my life.

Sarah shrugged.  I highly doubt the viscount will allow you to traipse about after having a passionate affair.  Watch out for parson's mousetrap, you know.  And why, pray tell, do you abhor the idea of marriage when you see how happy your sister Mariah and Gabriel's wife are?

It was true.  She'd never seen her brother so happy and content since his marriage to the fiery Bostonian, Abigail Prescott.  And Mariah?  Happy as a bee in a rose garden, now enceinte with her first babe.  Charles Burton, the eldest Burton brother, was a true gentleman, doting on Mariah and his two boys from his first marriage.  She was surrounded by happily-married couples, at least at home.  But here in London, it was such a meat market.  Turning to her friend, she frowned.  "Yes, that's true at home, but the London season is like being on the auction block at Tattersall's!  'What do I have for this young, healthy woman?  She has her own teeth and a dowry, to boot! "

Ha, you jest.  Don't be absurd, Julia.

Absurd?  May I remind you of last night's ball, the men with their quizzing glasses, examining us?  They might as well have asked us to open our mouths so they could count our teeth.

A small