Chapter Fifteen

Lucas held out his arms, turning around in a small circle.

"Here we are, you see," he said, with an air of triumph. "Now this is the sort of club we ought to be attending. White's is all very well, but it's a little crowded these days. This one is going to be the next new fashionable thing, you mark my words."

Clayton sighed, taking in the new club that Lucas had insisted they attend. Getting a membership had been worryingly easy, and the name was something French that he'd already forgotten.

It was a neatly arranged place, much like most of the other clubs Clayton had attended over the years. It was quiet, with booths and little alcoves set aside for private conversations, plenty of comfortable chairs and low tables to rest coffee and whiskey glasses upon, and a small fleet of footmen moving around the room on noiseless feet, serving drinks and speaking in low voices.

A pall of cigar smoke hung in the air, which annoyed Clayton a little. His jacket was a new velvet one, and the smell would cling. Thomas would have to soak it in scented water.

Oh, well.

"Come, then, you can tell me all about this literary afternoon of yours," Lucas said, hooking an arm through Clayton's and tugging him over to a secluded alcove. "I'm dying to hear about it."

"It was a literary evening, actually. Why have you brought me here, Lucas?"

His friend gave a sigh, plumping down into a seat. He caught the eye of a footman and made a quick gesture that apparently translated to an order for drinks, as the footman bowed and disappeared at once.

"I wanted to keep you away from Simon and make one last plea for you to call off this wager. I know you are sick and tired of discussing this, and I know you know how I feel about it, but I wouldn't harp on so if I didn't think it was serious."

Clayton bit his lip, looking down. "To be frank, I have had misgivings myself. The wager is a peculiar one, and in hindsight, I can see that it's not the sort of thing a gentleman should do. I should have known at the time, but you know me – I dive in everywhere head-first and then wonder why I get stuck. I can't back out of the wager with honour, though. You know that."

Lucas pursed his lips. "Something is going on between Lady Isolde and you, Clayton. More than what the wager requires. I'm not a fool, you know."

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

He leaned forward. "You're fond of her."

"I admire her, yes. She's clever, strong-minded, and pretty into the bargain. What's your point?"

Lucas shrugged, sitting back. "She invited you to this literary salon, yes? Doesn't that mean something? Have you considered that if you win your bet, you'll hurt her more than you can imagine?"

Clayton's eyes fluttered closed. "Yes, I have thought of that. And yes, it hurts me a great deal."

Frowning, Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Clayton?"

Clayton opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, the footman appeared, with two whiskey glasses on a silver tray. He set them down without a word and moved away on velvet feet.

There was something of an awkward pause after that.

The two men sipped their whiskey, listening to the sparse noise and low-level chatter around them.

"I'm not a fool, Clayton," Lucas said at last, gaze fixed on his whiskey. "I know that something is wrong. I know you, and I know this business with the wager must be bothering you. And Lady Isolde…"

"I'm fond of her, Lucas," Clayton broke out suddenly. He set his whiskey down with a clack, suddenly unable to bear the taste for a moment longer. "No, it's more than fondness."

"Oh," Lucas said, voice soft. "Oh, dear."

Clayton drew in a deep breath, dropping his head into his hands.

"Every time I meet her, she astounds me in some way. I've met my fair share of clever women – some of them much more clever than me – and I've met a great many beautiful women, too. But there is something about Lady Isolde that blows them all away. She's shown such fortitude in the face of all this gossip about her, and I know that it's all my fault and I have no idea how to set it right. If she were to find out… oh, I can't even bear to think of it. She haunts my thoughts when I'm awake, and I see her in my dreams at night. I'd consider her a ghost, if she weren't alive."

There was a short silence after that. Clayton let out a long, slow sigh after he'd finished speaking, relieved to have it said aloud after all. The relief didn't last long, and soon he began to worry that he'd said too much.

Abruptly, Lucas leaned forward across the low coffee table, and patted Clayton's knee.

"It must have taken a great deal of courage to admit that," he said quietly. "I'm glad you chose to confide in me, my friend. Thank you."

"I… I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I have no idea how she feels about me. Sometimes I feel sure that she feels something, but other times… well, I half think that she might despise me. And considering what I've done, I'd richly deserve it."

"I think you know what I'm going to say," Lucas said quietly. "You have to end the wager, Clayton. If you have any hope at all of earning Lady Isolde's favour, then…"

"But I don't know if I want her favour. Perhaps these feelings will just… just go away."

Lucas gave a wry smile. "From the way you've been talking, I wouldn't hold out much hope. If these feelings persist, you cannot simply ignore them. They won't allow you to ignore them."

"You speak like a man who's been in love."

"I speak like a man who keeps his eyes open and knows how the world works. Clayton, you really must…"

But Clayton was destined never to find out what he really must do, because at that moment Lucas stopped dead, and stared over his friend's shoulder with a resigned, annoyed expression.

"What? Lucas, what is it?"

"I've made a mistake," Lucas said, sighing. "We aren't as out of the way here as I'd hoped."

Twisting around, Clayton saw at once what he meant.

Mr. Simon Dudley stood in the doorway, frozen in the process of handing over his gloves and hat to a footman. His eyes narrowed when he spotted Clayton and Lucas.

"Well, that's not ideal," Clayton muttered.

And then Simon came striding over towards them, grinning.

"Well, well. What a surprise to see you two fine gentlemen here. And here I thought you only attended White's!"

Clayton's fingers tightened on the arm of his chair, making the leather squeak. He cleared his throat, making a determined effort to let go.

"Can't a man try new things?" he managed at last, pleased with how level his voice sounded.

He could feel Lucas' gaze though.

Tell him now, he could imagine his friend urging. End the wager here, where there isn't too much of an audience to worry about.

Simon gave a mocking grin. "Yes, a man can try new things. A literary evening, for example. I heard you got yourself an invitation to Lady Maria Bell's rather exclusive literary salon. Alongside the Ice Queen herself, of course."

The hairs on the back of Clayton's neck prickled and his face fell, but not for the reason Simon no doubt thought.

If Simon heard gossip that I was there that night, could my father not hear gossip that Eliza was there, too? He'd never have countenanced her going to a literary salon, certainly not in my company. If he finds out, I dread to think what will happen to her.

"That is none of your concern," Lucas chipped in, when it became clear that Clayton wasn't going to say anything. "This wager is a shameful topic to all honourable men, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Simon."

Simon chuckled. He did not seem ashamed at all, not one bit.

"So, you are making progress, then? A few of the chaps have put in wagers of their own, by the way. Some feel that you'll succeed in melting the Ice Queen's frozen heart. And so you might, if the scandal sheets are to be believed."

"Only a fool would believe such nonsense," Clayton hissed, on his feet in a moment. The footmen glanced their way, looking wary.

Simon did not flinch. "So you are not succeeding. What a shame. Do you plan to cry off, then, like a coward and a fool?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Clayton saw Lucas close his eyes. He already knew what was coming.

"Cry off? Never," he ground out. "And you're a fool if you think a man like me would ever back down from a wager."

He shouldered past Simon and strode towards the door, snatching his hat and gloves from a nervy-looking footman as he went. He didn't look back.