My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(16)

She glared balefully in his direction. It was much too dark to see his face again, but an occasional flicker of light would pick out the white of his cravat or the gleam of gold in his hair. Not that she needed to see him to remember his face. How appalling that she’d thought him beautiful. “How typical of a man. You cause the problem and then feel yourself the maligned party. If you do feel punished, I can only say it is richly deserved.” She yanked her cloak closer around herself and resolutely turned her shoulder to him.



Jack didn’t bother arguing. He happened to agree with her.

What devil had possessed him to make that bloody wager?

Jealousy, whispered his conscience. Jealousy over the way Philip held her hand and the way she looked at Philip, flirtatious and trusting and familiar. The way their heads had bowed together, warm and intimate. It was the way Portia had once looked at him before she eloped with another man.

He closed his eyes and let out his breath, irked with himself even for thinking of her. Portia Villiers was many years in his past. She’d taught him a hard—-but necessary—-lesson about women. Tonight he’d had another difficult lesson, and he could only hope he came out of this one better than before. And to do that, he’d better figure out what to do with Mrs. Campbell.

The drive to Alwyn House normally took little more than an hour. It was ideal for brief escapes from London, as he could come and go with very little preparation. In the summer he went almost weekly. The road as far as Turnham Green was well maintained and macadamized, but when they reached the turn south toward Alwyn, the pace slowed dramatically. Too late Jack realized it must have been raining harder here; the country roads that covered the remaining distance to the house were in far worse shape.

The carriage lurched violently to one side. Mrs. Campbell gave a startled exclamation as she was thrown across the seat. Jack caught her before she could fall to the floor, but a second lurch flung them both against the side of the vehicle.

“And I wondered what else could go wrong tonight,” she said breathlessly, struggling amid the folds of her cloak, which had tangled around her.

Jack inhaled deeply of orange water and some scent that had to be her. She had fallen across his lap, and in her scrambling to right herself, her hand landed on his thigh. Rather intimately close to his groin. His blood surged as she wriggled some more, clearly unaware of the position of her hand. “Mrs. Campbell,” he managed to say, squeezing his arms around her to prevent that hand from sliding. “Wait a moment.” The carriage was still tilted to the side, and she was trying to climb uphill.

“Help me!” she retorted, and obligingly Jack opened his arms and gave her a small push. She landed on the opposite seat with a thump as the carriage swayed back to upright.

“It’s only the rain.” He flexed his hand under cover of his greatcoat. His palm still sizzled with the knowledge of the curve of her waist.

She sniffed in reply.

Slower than a walk, the coach moved forward in fits and jerks, pitching from one side to the other and then back again. Jack braced his feet against the opposite seat and gripped the strap. At least it was barely a mile from the main road to the house. Once they made it to the house, he would hand her over to the housekeeper, and go dunk his head in cold water until he regained his sense.

No sooner had he thought that than they stopped again. The carriage swayed, rocking back and forth, before settling at a drunken tilt. Jack’s bad feeling about the road grew worse.

The door opened, letting in a spray of rain. “Your Grace, the carriage is immovably stuck.”

God, he reflected, had not waited long to inflict penance. “What can be done?”

The sodden footman hesitated. “We’re less than a mile from Alwyn House. Jeffers will ride on and fetch help, but the road’s very bad ahead. Any other conveyance may well suffer the same fate as this one.”

He could not possibly spend the night trapped in this coach with Mrs. Campbell. Jack leaned forward to peer out the carriage door. His footman’s boots were sunk in mud to the ankles. He girded himself for a soaking wet ride in the rain. “Send Jeffers for horses. Don’t waste time attempting to bring a carriage. We shall have to ride.”

There was a rustle of movement from Mrs. Campbell. “Good heavens, is there no other house nearby?” she asked in dismay.

“No,” he said shortly.

“No inn?”

“Not on this road.”

“God save us from your idiocy,” she muttered, just loudly enough for him to hear. “This is a very poor kidnapping, Your Grace.”

“It is not a kidnapping,” he snapped. “You wish to leave?” He shoved the door fully open, forcing the footman to jump backward. “By all means, madam, you are free to go.”

“Very well, I will.” She pulled up the hood of her cloak and slid toward the door. “Where is the nearest house?” she asked the footman.

The fellow gaped. “Alwyn House, madam. Our destination. Less than a mile ahead.” He pointed into the darkness.

Mrs. Campbell threw an irate glance at Jack, who just raised one brow. It wasn’t his fault the carriage was stuck. “What about behind us?”

“I couldn’t say, ma’am.”

She sighed. “Alwyn it will have to be, then. Pardon me.” She poked at Jack’s knee, which was blocking the door.