What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Read online

  “Precisely. Of course we could forgo the card game, and I could return your vowel as payment. That way we both benefit. And it will give you an opportunity to spend time with your friend Miss Pearce.”

  Lucinda inclined her head. “How generous of you to think of me, my lord,” she said though her tone held a hint of contempt.

  Bile bubbled in Matthew’s gut. Surely Boden was not speaking of Priscilla. “I have no inclination to spend time with Miss Pearce, but I’ll hear your offer all the same.”

  Boden gave a dandified wave. “Running an establishment like this, no doubt you’re party to many business transactions. As a member, I would pay an extortionate sum to spend one night with your wife.”

  Darkness descended.

  Faster than a man could blink, Matthew grabbed the snooty lord by his cravat and yanked it hard. “You arrogant bastard. I’ll see you in hell if you so much as look at my wife in the wrong way.”

  Arms flailing, Boden coughed and spluttered, his eyes bulging from shock rather than lack of air. With claw-like fingers, he tried to release Matthew’s grip but to no avail.

  With the strength of ten men, Matthew was determined to hold on. “Know that I do not take kindly to threats.”

  “Let him go,” Lucinda whispered, pulling at his hand too. “People are staring.”

  “Do you think I give a damn what these people think?”

  A lady cleared her throat. “This is not the time or place to air one’s grievances.” The calm, familiar voice caught Matthew’s attention. Priscilla stepped into the fold and placed a comforting hand on his forearm. “Release Lord Boden before he chokes to death.”

  Matthew ground his teeth and stared down his nose at Boden. “Disrespect my wife again, and I’ll kill you.”

  Judging by the collective gasp, it seemed he’d made his point.

  With a disdainful snort, Matthew released Boden’s silk cravat and brushed his hands to convey his contempt. Still, his fists throbbed with the need to punch his aquiline nose until flat.

  “Assumptions were made based on the nature of our business. I’m certain Lord Boden did not mean to offend,” Priscilla said. “If he did, that would make him extremely foolish, and he does not strike me as a man who wants people to think him a fool.”

  Boden sucked in a breath, straightened his attire and after a few groans and grumbles resumed a dignified air. “Forgive me.” He turned to Priscilla and bowed gracefully although his greedy gaze devoured her. “I meant no disrespect. On the contrary, I am a man who admires perfection in all things. Any insult was aimed at your husband, and him alone.”

  As the anger clouding Matthew’s vision slowly dissipated, he turned to Priscilla. Dressed in a sapphire-blue gown with an enticingly low-cut bodice, she looked magnificent. His eyes weren’t the only ones drawn to the jewelled brooch nestled between the curve of her breasts.

  “I’m afraid your compliment is unfounded, my lord,” Priscilla replied, and Boden was forced to look at her face. “You see, like my husband, I am far from perfect. Indeed, I fear we share the same unpredictability when threatened. I am just as likely to display unladylike bouts of violence and anger at the mere thought of another woman laying a hand on him.” Priscilla’s coy gaze swept over Lucinda. “Ah, Miss Pearce, good evening. I would apologise for my husband’s aggressive display, but I assume you’re accustomed to ungentlemanly behaviour.”

  Lucinda smiled weakly. “And why would you assume that?”

  With an indolent wave, Priscilla gestured to the crowd. “One does not attend parties such as these when possessed with delicate sensibilities.”

  “Is that why you’re rarely in attendance?” Lucinda lifted her chin. “Do our amorous activities offend you?”

  Sickened by the depths of their depravity and ashamed of his association, Matthew contemplated throwing everyone out.

  “No, your activities do not offend me,” Priscilla replied. “But while passion is a thing to be celebrated, I prefer to honour my vows and focus my energy on one person as opposed to many.” She placed her hand in the crook of Matthew’s arm. “Now, if you will excuse us. I find I’m in need of air.”

  Priscilla drew him out onto the terrace. Due to the early hour, the garden was deserted. The ladies were busy playing coquette, the gentlemen acting the lothario although there was nothing deceptive about their goals to seduce.

  Matthew sucked in a breath. The sky was clear, and the cool breeze calmed his heated blood. From a moment they stared out over the manicured lawn, each silent and lost in their own thoughts.

  Guilt, like a twisted vine, crawled through his body, creeping, crushing, until he could no longer contain the emotion.

  Matthew turned to face Priscilla but struggled to look into her eyes. “How can you have any respect for me when I bring these people into our home? Why do you not judge me, condemn my actions, curse me to the devil?”

  She gave a weak smile and put her hand on his cheek. “Because I promised to obey you. I promised to stand by your side through life’s trials and tribulations, to trust you. Because you never gave me a choice.”

  The last comment hit him hard. The truth was as painful as a knife to the heart.

  “I’ve made a mess of things.” There was a part of him that did not want to acknowledge his failures. Ignorance was often bliss. “I’ve undermined the foundation of our relationship, demanding honesty but only when it serves my purpose.”

  Her hand slipped from his cheek. “The questions you asked were the ones you thought important.”

  That was the point. At no time had he considered her feelings.

  “Then I’m asking you to be honest with me now. Truly honest.” Other people’s opinions didn’t matter, yet he knew her criticism would cut deep. “Do not spare me. Do not fear reprisal.”

  “Very well.” She swallowed, inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I hate having these people here. A lady should feel safe at home, not worry about a randy lord finding his way into her bedchamber. Just hearing their lustful cries, watching them defile our … well.” A long, drawn-out sigh left her lips. “You’re worth so much more than this. Some things are more important than money.”

  For the first time in his life, he had to agree.

  “Money was not the only motivation.” He’d hoped people would come to depend on him, to need what he could provide. “Though loath to admit it, these people were like my family.”

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to point out the obvious flaws in your logic.”

  “No. In truth, you are the only person I can depend upon.” Melancholy infused his tone, and he mentally shook himself. “I should have knocked Boden’s teeth down his throat for what he said.”

  “And what good would that do? We need to handle Lord Boden with care until we’ve won back your vowel.”

  “There’s a chance we might lose. I’ll not ask my brother for money, and so it would mean raising a loan against this house.”

  She shrugged. “If that is what Fate has in store, who are we to argue?”

  Priscilla had a way of infusing an element of calm into any situation. When it came to the card game, there was another option though his pride refused to accept it was a possibility.

  “We could choose not to play and simply repay the ten thousand I owe.” God, he’d spent weeks dreaming about wiping the smug grin off Boden’s face.

  A grim look settled around her mouth. “In all honesty, I’m not certain my uncle has the funds to pay my dowry. No legal documents were ever drawn up. Now I fear his word is not his bond, and you have married me under false pretences.”

  Would her uncle be dishonourable enough to renege?

  The thought had crossed Matthew’s mind. From what he’d discovered of the lord’s recent antics, Callan was struggling to keep his creditors at bay. The fact Callan owed Boden such a large sum also proved worrying. Perhaps Boden would use the debt to bribe Priscilla.

  Matthew shook the thought from his head. It was better to focus on on
e problem at a time than invent scenarios that had not yet happened.

  “My reasons for marrying you no longer matter.” Whether he received her dowry or not, one thing was clear. “I don’t care about the money. In time you might not agree, but our foolish, rather rash decision to wed has brought far greater rewards.”

  She placed her hand on his chest. “Are you saying you’re happy you have a wife?”

  “I’m saying I’m happy I have you in my life.” The sudden urge to show his appreciation took hold, and he brushed her lips in a tender kiss far removed from the lust-fuelled ones they’d shared of late. “I’ll do whatever you suggest. We can play, or we can walk away. I can continue to host these lewd parties, or I can tell them all to go to the devil. As my wife, I’m giving you the choice.”

  Without a word, she touched her lips to his and kissed him with the fiery passion he knew burned bold and bright inside. Desire sparked instantly though for them it always simmered below the surface when in each other’s company.

  “There is only one way to proceed if we are ever to be truly happy,” she said, breaking contact. “We will play the card game. Neither of us will rest until we stop Lord Boden’s fraudulent activities. My conscience requires that I do something.”

  “And if we lose, what then?”

  “Then you will take a loan. Together, we will continue to host these parties until it is repaid. Sell your paintings and seek commission to paint more.”

  “Sell my paintings?” The thought caused a sharp pang in his chest.

  “You cannot hide them in the dark forever.”

  “Who on earth would want to buy them?”

  She tutted. “Many people. Really, for a man who oozes confidence, I’m surprised at your lack of faith. From what I saw, your work is remarkable.”

  The compliment nurtured self-belief and banished all doubts, albeit temporarily.

  “And what are we to do if we win?”

  “Sell your paintings and seek commission to paint more,” she repeated as though the answer was obvious. “Only when you answer the call of your heart, will you feel fulfilled.”

  Hearing her wise words caused a warm glow in his chest. A tingling sensation followed, trickled through every part of his body. While he was always ready to bed her, this felt different. Dare he say it, he needed her. How the hell had he survived on his own?

  Was it love? He had no notion.

  Everything reminded him of her. The sound of trickling water when he washed always brought to mind her terrified face as she hid in the shadows by Holbrook’s fountain. He’d never be able to ride in a carriage again without recalling the pleasure she’d given him. Oysters roused an image of her full lips. The rain. Dancing. Anything red.

  It all came back to her.

  “As always I cannot argue with your logic.” Lacking the courage to put his feelings into words, he held his hand out to her. “Shall we give the gossips something juicy to savour? Shall we take our place at the card table?”

  “I have a few ideas on that score if you’re happy to trust my judgement.”

  “Of course.” He inclined his head. “Together we make a formidable opponent. Let us teach Boden a lesson he’ll never forget.”

  Chapter 19

  The parlour was set aside for those men who liked to gamble with money as opposed to a woman’s affections. Rumours of the wager between Matthew and Lord Boden had spread through the throng. Indeed, the guests piled into the dimly lit room, squashed and squeezed into every available space in the hope of witnessing the event. Consequently, the room was hot. The pungent odour of stale tobacco and cheap perfume tainted the air. The sickly sweet smell of liquor made Priscilla want to retch.

  “Heaven help us if there’s a fire,” Priscilla said moving around the table to take the seat opposite Matthew. Lord Boden held out her chair despite Matthew’s mutterings of disapproval. “Thank you, my lord. I hope you will be as generous when we beat you at whist.”

  Boden chuckled though a smile barely formed on his lips. “While I am more than confident in my ability to succeed, your optimism is refreshing. Indeed, there are not many ladies who—”

  “Stop harassing my wife with your sentimental nonsense.” Matthew removed his coat and draped it over the back of the chair. “She can see through your amiable facade.”

  “What you deem a facade is simply good manners,” Boden countered though there was a hint of amusement in his tone, a reluctance to offend.

  “You must excuse my husband,” Priscilla said trying not to show she found the lord abhorrent. “His mood will be much improved once he wins back his vowel.”

  “When I win, I shall be ecstatic,” Matthew snapped.

  “Determination is an admirable quality,” Boden replied. “But you cannot hope to win. I excel at the game. There is no finer player in all of London. Ask around.”

  Good. She’d cast a line to lure this big fish. Now Boden had taken a nibble it wouldn’t be too difficult to reel him in.

  “Perhaps you exaggerate your skill, my lord. Perhaps your confidence is merely a mask to rouse fear in our hearts. After all, did you not lose at The Diamond Club last night?”

  Excited murmurs drifted through the crowd.

  “We lost, but the mistake was mine,” Mr Parker Brown interjected as he took the final seat. “I can assure you, madam, it won’t happen again.”

  “A mistake?” The faint look of suspicion passed over Matthew’s face. It would not do to alert Boden that they suspected foul play. Besides, Priscilla wanted to use this opportunity to gain a pledge from the pompous lord and his partner.

  Casting Matthew an inconspicuous look to be cautious, Priscilla said, “Precisely my point. Mistakes happen, my lord. While I admire your confidence, you cannot be assured of success tonight.”

  As expected, Boden rose to the challenge. “Madam, I can assure you, losing is not a word I’m familiar with.” His gaze dropped to the brooch sewn onto her gown, scanned her exposed flesh. “I always get what I want.”

  Arrogance was to be Lord Boden’s downfall.

  “Then you should have no objection showing your benevolence. A gesture of goodwill will convince me of your generous nature and reinforce your assertion that you possess great expertise.”

  “A gesture of goodwill?” Boden repeated, the slight tremor in his voice was accompanied by a deep line between his brows. “What are you suggesting?”

  Priscilla steeled herself. “Have faith in your conviction. Make my uncle’s vowel part of the wager.”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “I cannot cover your uncle’s vowel if we lose.”

  Priscilla smiled. “Lord Boden need ask for nothing in return. If we lose, we shall simply pay the agreed amount. If we win, he will return both vowels. Being so highly skilled it will not be a great risk.” She looked up at the gaping crowd. “And does that not make for a worthier wager?”

  Mumbled words of approval rumbled through the parlour.

  Lord Boden scanned the horde of excited faces. To reject the idea would make him appear weak, a man who boasts but lacks substance. And that simply wouldn’t do.

  “Very well.” The nerve in Lord Boden’s cheek twitched. “Should we lose, both vowels shall be returned though I can assure you that will not be the case.”

  Mr Parker-Brown made an odd puffing noise. “Shouldn’t you consult me before—”

  “The decision is made,” Boden snapped. “Mrs Chandler may trust that I will honour our bargain. That she alone has the ability to elicit my compassion for her uncle’s plight.”

  Matthew grabbed the pack of cards from the centre of the card table and began shuffling them as though they had slighted him in some way.

  “The excitement gleaned from taking a risk is sometimes its own reward, my lord. But I thank you for your kindness and pray you accept defeat with equal grace.” She waved her hand over the green cloth surface, hoping the tremble in her fingers wasn’t evident. “Shall we proceed with the game?”


  “Do you wish to appoint a dealer, Lord Boden?” Matthew placed the cards on the table. “One of the gentlemen in the crowd, perhaps?”

  “We know each other well enough to trust that one of us may deal.”

  “Then I would prefer you accept the task.” Matthew pushed the deck towards him. “I’d hate for you to lose and then accuse me of cheating.”

  “There are enough witnesses here to attest to honest play.”

  Heavens, the gentleman’s hypocrisy knew no bounds.

  Boden shuffled the cards without argument and presented the pack to Priscilla. “The lady may cut the deck to choose the trump card.”

  “How kind of you, my lord.” Cutting the cards roughly halfway, she revealed the five of hearts to the gentlemen at the table, and the spectators gathered around. “The suit of one in search of perfect love. The ruler of home and family.”

  Matthew smiled. “Then it was an apt choice.”

  “Let’s hope Fate bestows a bounty of luck upon me.”

  Boden gave an irritated sigh as he reshuffled and dealt the cards. “Before we begin, we should clarify the rules of play. Thirteen tricks to a hand. One point for every trick earned over six. The first team to reach five points win a game. The best of three games win the match. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” came their collective response.

  “I recall seeing a decanter of port when I wandered in here earlier.” Lord Boden craned his neck though it was impossible to see anything beyond the wall of people. “As host shouldn’t you offer us all a drink, Chandler?”

  “You may partake in a tipple, though I must decline.”

  “Nonsense. In testament to the friendly spirit of the game, we must all drink together.” Boden glanced at Priscilla. “Surely, you will take a nip of port with me, something to quell the nerves.”

  “After your generous offer to return my uncle’s vowel should we win, it would be rude to refuse.”

  “My wife has no need to satisfy your whims.” Matthew’s defiant green eyes flashed with hatred.

  “There is no need for concern.” She remained resolute. “You may trust my judgement. A small drop of port will do no harm.”