A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(56)
Further around the table, Lieutenant Crisp shot to his feet, his fists balled. “Neville, you blackguard! You said we were here to collect what you owe us. Is this your windfall? The colonel will hear of such an infamous scheme, you may be sure. Miss Bowman, I will escort you home. This is no fit place for you. I am ashamed to be here myself.”
Captain Eastwick signalled to a rough-looking man standing by the wall. The next moment, Peter Crisp was felled with a blow to the temple. Verity pulled away with a cry and pressed herself against Charles’s comforting body.
“Unprovoked assault,” said Charles. “This is quite a litany you’re building up.”
Verity turned. “I cannot wed anyone,” she said in a stronger voice. Her side ached abominably, but she daren’t look down to see if she was losing blood. “It is not in my power to do so. Mr Congreve and I are already married.”
“Impossible,” snarled Captain Eastwick. “Where? When? You cannot be. I have had the house watched since Kit first told me the address.”
Charles wrapped his left arm around her. “It was before we left Newmarket,” he replied in a voice so rock-steady any jury in the land would have believed him without question. “An heiress who is already fond of me is a rare thing, and I did not quite trust London not to go to my wife’s head.”
Verity leaned back against him and looked up. “Charles,” she said reproachfully.
He smiled down at her. “Hush, I promised you your Season unencumbered, didn’t I?”
There was so much love in his eyes that Verity was dazzled for a moment. Never had she felt so complete. When her brother-in-law snarled in rage, she was furious to have Charles’s unvoiced declaration ruined. Any feelings of apprehension for herself came a long way second.
“What of it?” Eastwick grated. “Neville can marry a widow as well as a virgin. Step aside, sister, lest you are injured.”
For answer, Verity clutched Charles even more firmly.
“Killing me will avail you nothing,” said Charles. “Mrs Congreve’s inheritance has been mine these two weeks and goes to my nephew on my death.”
Captain Eastwick’s face turned murderous. Without warning, Verity was yanked back to his side and she yelled in pain. The knife flashed in his hand. “Then if you wish to keep your wife’s pretty skin intact, you will pass the money over now. Two thousand pounds will suffice for the present. More will ensure her life for longer. One of my men will go with you to draw it out.”
“You will have a long wait. I do not have the money yet. The law is a tardy mistress. You had much better let us go.”
“Borrow against the expectation then. Your credit will be good, I’m sure, though I cannot promise as much for the state of Miss Bowman’s - sorry, Mrs Congreve’s - person if you tarry too long.”
From the hallway came the sound of male voices as the inhabitants of the other card room pressed into the doorway to see what was happening. Amongst them, Verity saw the enormously reassuring presence of Adam Prettyman, his coat open and his neckerchief loosened, looking for all the world as if he’d been there all along.
“How dare you,” she said. “This is extortion. Any of these men will testify you threatened force to get the money. I refuse to be bargained over like... like a stake at cards.”
Please, please let it work. Please let him take the bait. Otherwise Charles will rush him and will surely be killed.
Across the room, Charles’s eyes went wide with shock. He understood her.
“Cards,” slurred a voice from the crowded doorway in an accent as unlike Adam’s as she had ever heard. “That’s what we’re here for, cards.”
“Cards,” repeated Captain Eastwick thoughtfully. He smoothed his hair and his moustache, considered the clasp knife in his hand and looked back at Charles. “If you are unwilling to borrow the money, what do you say to piquet, Mr Congreve? Three rubbers of six deals each. If you win two out of three, you both walk out of here unmolested. If I win, I have the use of your wife for... shall we say a week? I daresay I can make sufficient money from her in that time to cover my debt. Decide quickly, before the stakes rise.” He stroked the tip of his knife down the front of Verity’s bodice, watching the material peel easily apart in its wake.
Charles’s fists bunched. His eyes searched to right and left as if looking for an ally and finding none. “I’ll... I’ll do it, damn you. But Mrs Congreve sits by my side.”
Captain Eastwick pushed her contemptuously across to him. “Enjoy her company while you may.”
A table was hauled nearer the centre of the room and Charles and Verity shoved roughly into chairs. Charles pulled off his neck cloth and formed it into a pad that she could hold against her side. As she was searching in her reticule for a ribbon to secure it in place, other seats were pulled up so spectators could watch the game. Verity was aware of expectant heavy breathing behind her. She shuddered and felt for Charles’s arm. In contrast to his pretended nervous demeanour, his grip was firm and steady. He withdrew his hand and rested his fingers lightly on the table. Behind him, Verity caught a glimpse of the heavy-breathing gentleman’s coat sleeve. She ducked her head, keeping her expression neutral. It was good to know that when Charles won the bet, Adam was at their backs to help them fight their way out of the house.