Page 26 of A Countess Never Tells

“Let’s make it really interesting. A hundred pounds says I’ll be in her bed by the end of the week.”

Ash sat stunned. He didn’t recognize the voice of the first speaker, but he did know Lord Baltimore’s. All of London and perhaps England knew of the baron. The man’s reputation with women was such that Ash seemed a Galahad by comparison.

He’d inherited the title Baron Baltimore ten years previously and done nothing but live off his revenues in the most hedonistic fashion. He’d married well, but the couple had separated not long after, at his wife’s request. Then, three years ago, said wife had died in a fall from a phaeton her husband was driving. Nothing had been proved, but Baltimore had been suspected of foul play. The baron had had numerous affairs during his life, siring at least two illegitimate children and seducing God knew how many other women. And now he was wagering he could seduce Kitty?

Ash clenched his fist around the stem of the wineglass so tightly it crackled. He set it down carefully, listening closely for the reply.

“Will you take the wager, Meadows?” The cultured sound of Baltimore’s voice grated on Ash’s ears like the squeal of a ship rubbing against the planks of a dock.

How dare Baltimore attempt to debauch Kitty? The question brought Ash up short. Was this Baltimore’s plan of revenge against Ash for the Lady Farquar incident? No, that wasn’t likely. The man had no idea Ash was enamored of her.

Anger burning hotter than three hells in his soul, he pushed his chair back from the table, stood calmly, then strolled in the direction of the table where Lord Baltimore and Mr. Meadows were still haggling over the particulars of the wager. Ash’s fists itched to serve him a lamb pie, but he refrained. For the moment, anyway. Ash gave a curt bow. “Lord Baltimore.”

Baltimore looked him up and down, eyes narrowing. “Ashwood.” The baron tried to look down his rather prominent nose at Ash, but his vantage point proved a hindrance.

“Good afternoon.” Considering the bad blood already between them, how the bloody hell was he going to respectfully tell the man to stay away from Kitty?

Baltimore’s watery blue eyes blinked several times. “How may I help you?”

“Would you be so kind as to introduce me to your friend?” Ash smiled, indicating Meadows. Not that he necessarily wished to meet the man, but he needed some sort of pretense at civility to begin with.

“Lord Ashwood, may I present Mr. Meadows, an acquaintance of mine.”

“Your servant, my lord.” Mr. Meadows rose and bowed politely before regaining his seat, his gaze shifting nervously between Ash and Baltimore.

“Mr. Meadows.” Ash nodded to the man then turned his attention back to Baltimore. “I couldn’t help but overhear your wager just now regarding Miss Tate.”

Meadows’s brows shot as high as they could possibly go, exposing the whites of his eyes and giving him the look of a horse about to bolt. “Have you already done the deed, Lord Ashwood?” The rotund gentleman turned to Baltimore, looking aggrieved. “That would change the wager substantially, my lord, to the second one you proposed. Unless…” Meadows gazed at Ash, looking awestruck. “I am well-aware of your reputation, my lord, so I must ask, have you already seduced Miss Tate?”

God in heaven. In trying to save Kitty from the hands of Baltimore, he might very well have ruined her without laying another finger on her. If he told the truth, Baltimore would surely take up that wager with his friend, putting Kitty in peril. But if Ash confessed to a seduction that had not taken place, the gentlemen would most likely eschew the wager, but their tongues would wag all over the ton. Kitty’s reputation would be in shreds by morning, despite the fact he’d never actually debauched her. God knew what her brother would say.

Damn Baltimore.

There was only one way in which he could answer. “No, I have not seduced Miss Tate, nor do I intend to do so.” He stared directly into Baltimore’s cold eyes. “And if I were you, my lord, I would renounce this wager and leave the lady untouched.”

Baltimore returned Ash’s glare nonchalantly and sniffed. “You forget yourself, Ashwood. The last time I looked, England was free, which means I can wager on anything I care to.” The baron leaned forward, his bulging eyes staring back at Ash from under his powered wig. “Which means I will lay a wager that I’ll have the wench on her back inside of a week.”

A haze of red descended over Ash’s eyes. He cocked his fist back, about to smash it into the leering mouth.

Meadows, however, jumped to his feet and grabbed Ash’s arm just before he could let fly. “I am certain, Lord Ashwood, as you are so protective of the lady’s reputation, you will not want it put about that you entered into a wager with Lord Baltimore over which of you would be the first to debauch Miss Tate.”

The blood drained from Ash’s face, and he shook off Meadows’s hand. “I have no intention of entering into any such wager, sir.” He swung around to face the man, wishing he could throttle the pair of them. “Any man who suggests such a thing will undergo my challenge forthwith.”

Meadows blanched and sat back down, lips shut.

“As for Lord Baltimore,” Ash’s glare spat daggers at the pompous jackanapes, “he should not enter into it either, if he values his health.”

Baltimore grinned at Ash, his eyes cold as ice. “May the best man win, Lord Ashwood.”

About to leap over the table and commit mayhem on the dastard, Ash found himself forcibly held back by some other gentlemen who had, unbeknownst to him, come up behind him to find out what the fracas was about. A quick glance around told him the staid atmosphere had vanished due to his attempt at fisticuffs. With every eye on him, Ash shrugged himself out of the gentlemen’s restraining arms and straightened his suit. “Mark my words, Baltimore. Leave the lady alone or you will rue the day you ever made such a wager.”

Before the despicable baron could say anything else—and get a fist shoved into his face—Ash stalked away, collected his hat and stick, and left White’s, shaken more than he’d ever been before. Kitty was now in real danger of being accosted and ravished by Baltimore. How or why she’d come to his attention, Ash neither knew nor cared. What he did care about was keeping her safe from the clutches of that vile rake.

Walking briskly in the warm afternoon air, his mind turning over the events that had just happened, Ash’s conscience pricked him so sharply he stopped in his tracks. If Baltimore managed to abscond with Kitty—he’d have to take her by force, he’d never be able to seduce her—everyone would lay the blame at his own feet. Including him. Antagonizing Baltimore had been a terrible mistake, and Kitty might pay the price of his folly. Every time he pictured Baltimore’s leering face positioned over top of Kitty, lunging into her again and again, he thought he’d be physically ill. No, he absolutely could not allow such a thing to happen. The question was, how could he prevent it? Short of accosting Baltimore and beating him senseless, there was no way to preclude the man from trying to seduce or kidnap Kitty.

Save one: remove Baltimore’s motivation to hurt Kitty.

“I should never have told her my first name,” Ash muttered as he turned his steps toward Marlborough Square in Mayfair. Invoking the name of the knight known for his purity could only have tempted fate, driving him to do the only honorable thing and speak to Lord Haxby.