Chapter Two

A tray slipped from a footman's gloved hands. It was empty, thankfully, just a silver platter designed for carrying drinks, but it made an awful clatter, nonetheless.

Everybody at the table jumped, with one exception.

Lord Auric Camden, Earl of Wrenwood, turned cold eyes on the footman in question. The footman – a young man, probably a new hire – visibly trembled.

"Careful, lad," the earl grated.

The footman gulped, nodding rapidly. He snatched up the tray and made a speedy exit.

Clayton let himself breathe again.

It had been many years since his father had tried to hit him, but that wouldn't prevent him from turning his rage onto others.

Eliza spoke up, as she often did. "It was an accident, Auric."

Her marriage to Auric had never made sense to Clayton. Eliza was a woman of middle years, staid and sensible, and seemed to get as close to managing Auric as anyone ever would. They weren't in love, naturally. They weren't happy but they managed well enough. She was no thin, delicate damsel like Clayton's mother had been.

Best not to think on that.

Clayton snatched up his wine glass, taking a long pull. It was weak stuff, nothing like the good port he would get at his club. White's was the best, and Clayton had long since convinced himself of the simple fact that he deserved the best.

"Can I have some wine, Clay?" whispered a small voice at Clayton's elbow.

The children were sitting at the table with them tonight, a rare treat that seemed to have them both in fits of terror at doing something wrong.

Amelia sat opposite, looking as panicky as an almost-thirteen-year-old girl might in the presence of overbearing adults. Little Edward, however, was only nine, and was generally well shielded enough from his father's temper to only have a moderate terror of the man.

It was Edward who requested wine. Clayton lifted a sandy eyebrow, looking down at his little half-brother. The wine swirled around the glass.

"You won't like it."

"I might," Edward insisted. "I can't know unless I try, can I?"

Clayton inclined his head, acknowledging this impeccable logic.

"Your Mamma might not like it."

"She might not notice. You're in the way, you see. You are so large."

"Perhaps I am not large, but you are merely small."

Edward reflected on this new information. "Perhaps," he conceded. "Will you let me have some wine, now?"

Clayton considered. "Perhaps a small sip, then."

Edward's face brightened. Before anything could be done, however, Eliza slowly and leisurely dug her elbow into Clayton's ribs.

"I think not," she said sweetly, never once glancing his way.

Clayton grimaced. "I beg your pardon, Edward. It seems not."

The boy looked crestfallen. "I see. Well, thank you anyway, Clay."

"You aren't old enough for wine," Amelia piped up. Edward angrily asserted that this was not so, and the children began a spirited exchange across the table. Until Auric spoke again, of course.

"That's enough," he grated.

There was silence immediately. Eliza stiffened, almost imperceptibly. Clayton set down the wine with a clack.

"It's rare enough that our gracious Viscount Henley – my own son, mind you – honours us with his presence. You rarely come home, boy. What have you to say for yourself?"

Clayton held his father's eye steadily. "My estate requires work, Father."

Auric gave a snort. "Don't try and fool me. I know what you're doing. Flirting with ladies – some respectable, most not – and drinking yourself into a stupor. If your mother's fool brother saw fit to leave you his estate and his title, that's his concern. Run it into the ground if you want, I care not."

Clayton had inherited the title of Viscount Henley, along with his uncle's large estate, on the event of the man's death. Uncle Henley, as Clayton had known him, had stopped visiting once his sister died. There had apparently been some letters sent, from the uncle to the nephew, but Clayton had never received them. They'd almost certainly been reduced to ashes in the grate of Auric's study. Best not to think of that.

The gist of it was that Clayton was a rich man. He had been since he was nineteen and had spent the past seven or eight years enjoying himself and avoiding his father.

Unfortunately, if he wanted to see Amelia and Edward, he couldn't avoid the man forever. Annoyingly, Clayton found that he did want to see his wretched little half-brother and half-sister, and so here he was. Enjoying a delightful family meal.

"Thank you, Father," Clayton answered evenly. "Tonight has been wonderful, but I fear I must take my leave."

"Do as you will," Auric snapped. "The children are going to bed anyway."

Edward, who had only just started on his dessert, opened his mouth to argue, but a frantic glare from his sister made him close his mouth again. The children obediently hopped down from the table, with Eliza rising to see them to bed. Tossing his napkin on the table, Clayton rose too.

"Don't forget my birthday, Clay," Amelia whispered, as they shuffled towards the dining room door together. "You promised me a present."

"I shall not forget."

In the cool hallway outside, Clayton turned towards the door, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Auric is right," Eliza said quietly. "You live a reckless life, Clayton."

"You sound jealous, my dear step-mamma."

"I am not. You ought to be married. You ought to settle down."

"My uncle never did."

"And see what a mess was made of his estates when he passed."

Clayton grinned, an expression he knew would make him look wicked in the dim hallway light.

"Forgive me, but I don't much care what happens when I die. It's not as if I'll be around to witness it. Can ghosts feel shame, do you think?"

"Stop it. Your father intends to talk to you about this sooner or later. He wants to see you married."

"My father holds no sway over me."

Eliza tightened her jaw. "Don't be too sure about that. Think on what I've said, Clayton. Please?"

"Of course I'll think about it," Clayton lied. "Do excuse me, step-mamma. My club is calling."

Eliza sighed heavily. "Are you ever going to grow up?"

He grinned, dancing towards the door. "Not if I can help it."

*********

White's was abuzz with energy. The night was well along, and with the Season just starting, so everybody was coming to town. Clayton shouldered his way in and stood on tiptoes, trying to peer over the heads of other gentlemen to spot his friends. He caught sight of his own reflection and paused to adjust his hair.

It was important not to delve too deeply into dandyism, but Clayton was entirely too handsome not to know about it. Ladies fluttered at him, and gentlemen either wanted badly to be his friend or hated him on sight. Both made for interesting evenings.

Clayton knew from portraits and his own hazy memory that he resembled his mother, and probably Uncle Henley, too. He had thick dark hair, so brown as to almost be black, and a pair of shockingly bright jade-green eyes, set in a square, handsome face. His collection of features was the sort of thing one might see in a Romantic painting, or perhaps engraved in marble.

Either way, Clayton knew he was handsome, and was rather proud of it. His father might have kept his mother from him for all those years, but he couldn't change the fact that her face lived on in her son.

Smiling grimly, Clayton turned away from the mirror, and ploughed on through the crowd.

A grating, high-pitched voice caught his attention.

"Now, here it is – fifty pounds to anybody who can melt the heart of the infamous Ice Queen! You cannot do it, I wager."

Clayton paused at that, peering at the knot of men to his left.

They were the usual crowd – rakes, gamblers, second and third sons who longed to be noticed by their fathers, even for the wrong reasons. The men were all deep in their cups and were listening and laughing with the man that Clayton disliked most in all the world.

Excepting, of course, his father.

Mr. Simon Dudley came from trade and hated the fact. Clayton had once joked that the chip on his shoulder was so deep that it was a wonder his arm did not fall clean off, and perhaps that was where their animosity had started.

Simon was thirty years old, taller than Clayton but not as handsome, with pale skin and a petulant mouth with a desperate love of gossip and scandal. He was rumoured to have killed a man in a duel and had never forgiven Clayton for revealing that rumour to have been started by none other than Simon himself.

He'd lingered too long. Simon glanced his way, and his eyes narrowed.

"Ah, Lord Henley. What a pleasure. Will you drink with us?"

"I'd love to, but no, I have other engagements."

Simon snorted. "What engagements?"

Clayton smiled winningly. "I am engaged to drink elsewhere. Anywhere else, really."

That won him a few titters. Simon scowled.

"Well, well, you heard my wager. What do you say? Could you melt the Ice Queen's heart? You must know her. A pretty enough girl. Rich, with excellent family. Three Seasons have come and gone and she's turned down every single suitor who came her way. And there were plenty, might I add, most of them entirely eligible. Turned them down firmly, may I add. It's odd, is it not?"

"I'm not sure how it concerns me," Clayton drawled, affecting boredom. "The lady's business is her own."

"What about the fifty pounds, though?"

"I don't know about you, Simon, but I do not require fifty pounds to make my fortune."

Simon pursed his lips, tilting his head. "You don't accept my wager, then?"

"I certainly do not." Clayton craned his neck, trying to spot an acquaintance – any acquaintance, really. He couldn't exactly cut Simon in the middle of White's. There were rules, after all. It was a gentleman's club.

Simon drew in a breath. "Oh. Oh. I see what it is."

"Do you really?"

"Ye-es, I do. You're afraid that the great Lord Henley, with his great charm, would be refused by a chit of a girl."

Clayton scowled. "There are dozens of women who would marry me at a word. I don't mean to brag, Simon, but I have conquests aplenty. Why on earth should I bother with a woman who doesn't want me?"

Simon leaned forward, grinning, elbows resting on the wooden counter in front of him. There was a puddle of spilled brandy there, and it soaked into the elbow of his jacket. He didn't seem to notice.

"Why? Well, because I say you cannot do it, of course. I say you are all talk and no action."

The chatter had died down in the club, to Clayton's chagrin. More people were listening, mostly because it was Simon and Clayton – famous enemies – who was going head-to-head.

"This may shock you, my dear sir, but I don't care for your opinion any more than I do the Ice Queen's. I imagine that if I applied myself, I should be able to attract her attention, but why would I want to do that?"

Undeterred, Simon chuckled.

"I put it to you, Lord Clayton Henley, that you prey on silly, feeble-minded debutantes and jolly widows, and a conquest of any difficulty at all is entirely beyond you. You cannot melt the Ice Queen's heart any more than we can, but if you do not try, you can keep up this fa?ade of pretending you could, if you wanted to."

Clayton's fingers curled tight around a brandy glass. He wasn't entirely sure who had pressed it into his hand. He drained it anyway, tipping back his head, the liquid burning down his throat. It shivered through his veins, making him feel warm. He could see Lucas now, pushing through the crowd.

A little too late, he thought sourly. If I'd seen you earlier, wretch, I might have excused myself and gotten away from Simon's nonsense.

It was too late, of course. Simon was waiting, grinning, for Clayton's response. His cronies were too, and a good number of interested gentlemen.

Wagers like this, which hinged on attracting the attention of a lady, were generally frowned upon and considered ungentlemanly, especially by the older generation. That didn't stop them from being made.

"Very well, then," Clayton answered brightly, setting down the glass and pushing it away. "I accept your wager, Simon. The terms?"

Simon's face lit up. "You have until the end of the Season to win the Ice Queen's heart. It must be obvious – no getting her to smile at you and calling it a success. If you succeed, fifty pounds for you. If you lose, well, you have plenty of money to lose, do you not?"

"More than enough," Clayton snapped. "Done."

"I look forward to the beginning of our wager," Simon said, grinning delightedly.

Clayton sneered, turning on his heel and marching away.

What on earth have I gotten myself into?