The Bride Price, page 23
Timtree cast him a glance that held the slightest bit of serious regard. “I think you ought to be careful, Deville. Either that or let one of us have your place at the top. We’ll make sure those three are beaten.”
Sloane made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like he was going to argue. He was in contention for first place, so Sebastien could appreciate his irritation.
“Timtree, dear fellow, you are mad.”
The hook-nosed man shrugged. “You realize it is only a matter of time before Benedict repeats the terms of your bet to her, don’t you?”
Sebastien froze mid-step, then forced himself to continue forward. “Of course.”
Bloody…no. He’d put the bet from his mind. Of course Benedict would blurt it out, and at the worst possible moment.
They climbed the stairs, and he nodded to whatever the other two were saying. He needed something on Benedict.
The second-floor west wing was mostly empty of guests. Servants, barely noticeable, walked in and out of the doors and down the halls, completing their tasks and keeping themselves out of the way. He contemplated a man dusting the relics atop posts in the hall. This was Benedict’s wing. That man probably had to clean near here every day.
He hummed to himself. He usually let his valet handle the information-gathering aspect, not wanting to dirty his own hands in the business, determined to win on his own and show them…something.
Sebastien shook his head to dislodge the cobwebs that had suddenly gathered. The hall came back into view, and he led the other two to the small alcove with the window. Grousett was excellent in ferreting out locations where either a liaison could take place or others could be caught in a liaison—whichever was needed. He had discovered this alcove overlooking the maze during the first week. Sebastien had studiously avoided the maze since.
Another servant passed by with a dust cloth, but this man didn’t look at all like an upstairs servant. There was something entirely too shifty about him. Sebastien would think he was a thief, but for the way the other servants barely spared him a glance. They knew him.
The man had been heading right for the alcove, only shifting direction when he spotted them standing there. He dusted a bust that the other servant had already brought to a shine.
Ah. So Cheevers had finally started watching. Was he waiting in the wings to influence the game, if he found someone he didn’t want to win? Or just keeping tabs on things? Watching for future favors?
They gathered in the alcove and watched through the window. The threesome was doing something in the center of the maze. From the angle, it was hard to see exactly what they were doing, but it looked like they were setting up something inside one of the ledges.
Sebastien kept an eye on the servant who was absently dusting the wallpaper and trying not to be too obvious as he watched them. Even if they couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the three were doing in the maze, this spying venture had turned things well in Sebastien’s favor—just in a way he hadn’t expected.
“They are leaving. We could catch them. Let’s follow and see,” Timtree said.
Sloane and Timtree strode away, talking about what they could do with the information and how they could trap the men. Sebastien waited until they were far enough away, then approached the servant with a smile on his face and a hand in his pocket.
Sebastien lounged in the sitting room and smiled in satisfaction when he heard the door open, then close.
Benedict walked in and immediately spotted him. “What are you doing in my rooms? Finney? Finney?” he called out, eyes never leaving Sebastien.
“Your valet is…out for the afternoon. No worse for the wear than what you did to mine, never fear.”
Benedict’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, casting suspicious glances around the space. “What do you want?”
“An exchange.”
“What do you have?”
“One of Cheevers’s servants saw you in the maze, going into my room and sending your valet with a ‘suspicious’ substance to the kitchens. Tut, tut, Benedict, I didn’t think you had been responsible for the more heinous attacks, but even pulling a schoolboy prank—will others believe that you had nothing to do with the actual poisonings?”
Benedict turned white.
Sebastien rubbed his thumb along the fabric on the arm of the chair. “He can tell the earl his findings at any time, no need for me to say a thing.”
Benedict’s chest pushed farther out on every breath. “And?” He crossed his arms tightly.
Sebastien lifted a brow. “And?”
“You are bloody well here to bargain, Deville; stop taunting me.”
“Ah, no one likes to play these games anymore. I have offered Cheevers’s servant an…incentive to keep the information to himself.”
He didn’t have to tell Benedict that another servant would likely tell Cheevers anyway. He didn’t think Cheevers was going to kick Benedict out without further provocation.
“Why? Why wouldn’t you want me out of the competition completely?” Every line of Benedict’s face drew taut in disbelief.
Yes, why was he not putting Benedict up for ejection? He could simply confirm to Cheevers exactly what had happened, let Cheevers know he knew, and the earl would likely be forced to act. The question made him shift in his seat.
“Because I don’t need to.”
Benedict snorted, sinking into a chair, obviously waiting for his demand. “Well?”
“Our bet on Mrs. Martin. It’s dissolved and it never existed. Do you understand?”
Benedict’s eyes went wide, then narrowed, considering. “A well-made bet, wasn’t it? I knew it.”
“You knew, you know, nothing.”
Dark humor appeared in his eyes. “You are in deep trouble, my dear illegitimate brother. I still plan to beat you, but all I really need to do is come in second, if you are first, don’t I? You won’t be able to sign.”
“I will be able to sign, and what’s more, I will do it with your face in mind.”
Benedict uncrossed his arms and tapped a finger on the chair. “We weren’t alone when we made that bet. How do you propose to keep the rest of them from telling her? Think you can blackmail everyone?”
“That is your job. Tell them whatever you need to in order to silence those who know of it.”
Benedict’s mouth turned down. “Mrs. Martin seems a good enough sort. Too good for you really. But then most are.”
“Yes, cry, cry, whinge, whinge. Is it a deal?”
Benedict traced the pattern in the chair. “Yes.”
He knew he was giving Benedict a weapon, but he would deal with the consequences. He knew how Caroline would react to finding out about the bet, even if it hadn’t ruled their interactions for weeks. With only a week to go, he didn’t want to kill their affair before it needed to be over.
Chapter 18
Oh, Meadowbrook, that you will fill our inkwells and hasten our pens! What deeds are afoot that you might titillate us once more? No secret will stay safe in your bower.
Parlor tricks, parties, cards, and amusements. The past days of the resumed competition had been full of games and jockeying. Caroline had barely seen Sebastien except at night when he’d sneak over to the cottage. Sarah had been sending her odd looks during the day—puzzled, probing looks. But then she too had been frazzled, her attention always following William.
When the competition adjourned to London tonight, they would need to sit down and chat. Most of the guests were following the competition to the city, so she and Sarah would be left to their own devices.
Cheevers clapped his hands together. The earl must have gone through two scores of gloves by now. “Today we have a special event planned. Not part of the competition, which will begin again tomorrow in London, but instead, an ancillary game in which we can all participate before the carriages leave.”
The ladies tittered as he shot them a waggled brow.
“A treasure hunt, with a three-stone ruby necklace as the prize.”
The ladies stopped giggling and now looked as interested as the men, if not more so.
“We will draw for partners.”
Caroline sighed, knowing that her name was assuredly in the folly.
Names began to be drawn from the basket and teams started to form. Motley teams consisting of different makeups of contestants, women, fathers, and sons not competing. Sarah was picked for a team that included Everly, William, and Timtree. Caroline just hoped that William kept her out of the crosshairs of the other two.
The Duke of Grandien was chosen as the head of the next team to form. He reached in to pick slips for his team. Seated where she was, she could see him unconcernedly watching the crowd as he withdrew a slip.
“Sebastien.”
She kept her mouth smooth, her brows from creasing. Caroline wondered if she was the only one who saw Sebastien’s shoulders clench, his body stiffen. Not a second later he was lazily unfolding from his chair and walking toward his father.
The duke’s hand slipped back into the basket. “Benedict.”
Benedict stiffly walked forward as well, and the murmurs grew before the duke’s cold gaze stifled them. He reached forward once more.
“Caroline Martin.”
She froze. Only Sarah’s wide eyes and subtle motion across the crowd forced her from her cold seat.
“Mrs. Martin.” The duke greeted her, his gaze direct and dissecting.
He handed the basket back to Cheevers, and she saw the slips fall from the duke’s fingers back into the basket. Crafty man. She would bet her last bonnet that their names hadn’t been placed in the basket to begin with.
That meant the earl was in on this plan, whatever it was, as well. Nervous energy tripped through her.
She stood next to them as the other teams formed. Her imagination ran wild as many of the male contestants kept eyeing her, not in a particularly coy way, but more watchful. It was unnerving. Harriet Noke regarded her through cool eyes but tilted her head in a vaguely companionable way, much to Caroline’s surprise and increasing unease.
As soon as all the teams had formed, Cheevers handed each team captain a packet of papers. The duke rifled through them, sorting them. Sebastien had already removed a cheroot and lit it. She had become entirely too used to it being just the two of them, and he had rarely smoked in her presence when they were alone. She found it jarring to see him do so now.
The duke handed a paper to Sebastien without looking his way. He lazily grabbed it, exhaling as he did so. He might have seen Benedict’s wrath at being passed over, but for once he didn’t gloat. “Maps of the grounds. They look as if produced from a once-familiar hand—one which is thankfully unfamiliar now.”
She leaned over to see that they were the maps she had drawn before the competition began. Before she had sketched Roseford. Before she had met Sebastien Deville.
The uninspired maps had markings on them that weren’t hers though. Lines and dashes and a big starburst. A key told how many paces each dash was and what the other symbols meant.
The earl cleared his throat. “Every map is different so that teams can’t just follow one another, but there are intersections between each map, so you will have to beat different opponents to each spot. All teams start at the maze.”
The earl and his gaggle of solicitors had obviously learned a lesson from the horse hunt.
Caroline saw Timtree and Everly arguing while Sarah nervously chewed her lip. Sarah wouldn’t say anything to override the men, even if she knew the estate backward and forward. William finally stepped between them and grabbed the papers from Everly, who did not look pleased. Everly might not be aware that William had the support of the King, but Timtree seemed to as he smirked and motioned for Sarah to go ahead.
“You should give Mrs. Martin the map,” Sebastien said, dangling it between two fingers.
Benedict held a hand out. “Figures that you would try and weasel out of this, Deville. I’ll find our way around.” He moved to take the papers, but the duke barely acknowledged him as he made a cutting motion.
“Give the map to Mrs. Martin then. We’ll see what a woman can do. She must be incredibly good at something to garner this level of support.”
Foul man. She wanted to borrow Sebastien’s tinderbox to set the map on fire.
Sebastien handed her the map, a wink hidden behind a screen of smoke. Benedict couldn’t see it, and good thing too as he already had a petulant set to his face. She knew they disliked each other. Intensely. But she felt for the moppish man who always seemed to be on the lesser end of his father’s stick.
She couldn’t help herself when they entered the maze. She whispered to Benedict, “You shouldn’t let the duke bother you. He thrives on it. Take away his entertainment.”
Benedict cast a surprised glance her way, pinched his lips together, and continued on without answering.
They stepped to the edge of the maze, where the other teams were gathered as well, a large contingent of people milling about, excited and fierce.
“This is a race. Collect all of the items on the list and cross the line first to win.” Cheevers held up the necklace so that it sparkled in the sun. “Good luck. You may begin.”
A few teams took off in various directions, while others examined their maps, noses buried in the folds and creases.
The duke raised a brow at her. The first marking said fifteen paces inside the maze and look right. She repeated the directions, and they were off. The three men walked briskly forward, each counting as he went, not trusting the others.
They found the approximate spot and immediately spotted a small ring inside a hedge. Rings from the first competition were being reused, and something inside her felt a strange thrill from it, the games coming around full circle.
They collected the first three tokens easily. The duke and Sebastien immediately strode in the direction of the next one. Caroline stepped after them, turning to see Benedict absently touching a wildflower near where they had found the third ring. There was a wistful expression on his face. He obviously thought he was unobserved, and she felt a twinge.
“We will not run like unmannerly children, but do keep up, Benedict,” the duke said stridently over his shoulder.
He said nothing in response, frame tight. It was the fourth such casual insult. Even maintaining the pace of the duke and Sebastien, Benedict had been derided for the number of steps to his stride—“ungainly,” the duke had said.
They continued collecting, a sort of chilly, tense grip in every quip and response.
The duke had not uttered a single negative comment about Sebastien’s role, but his eyes tracked him. The cock of Grandien’s head questioning whether Sebastien was going to trip up and disappoint. And the way Sebastien held himself in return said he was well aware and used to this look. He shot Benedict a sneer as the other made a less than wise suggestion.
Caroline had a sudden moment of clarity. Each son thought the father favored the other more. Benedict would never believe Sebastien’s hardships, and Sebastien would never acknowledge the duke’s shabby treatment of Benedict. Sebastien chose to give the duke a flash of his bare backside with his responses, whereas Benedict was forever trying to curry his favor.
She stumbled into Sebastien’s back, too caught up in her epiphany.
Sebastien whirled and caught her as she pitched backward. His hands comfortably secured about her waist, as hers grabbed for his arms, scrambling up and around his neck. He paused for a second. She looked up at him in shock, and the urge to giggle rose at the absurdity of the whole game. She laughed, and his eyes reflected humor, before turning into something more intense. He lifted her, and her fingers curled farther around his neck, bringing them closer.
“If you would let Mrs. Martin go, we can get on with the hunt.”
Sebastien didn’t look at Benedict, but he did smile lazily at Caroline before lifting her so that she could stand on her own. She ran a flustered hand over her dress, having forgotten for a second that there was anyone else there besides the two of them.
Benedict’s lips were tight, but he nodded at her before moving forward along the path. The duke’s eyes were narrowed upon her, before he too resumed walking. She wondered at the picture they had made.
“Don’t mind them. Benedict has always been fussy and priggish. And the duke—little does his opinion matter.”
She thought about her own dealings with the earl and how much power he had. No, she didn’t believe that the duke’s opinion meant so little to Sebastien. But she was also sure that he would never let the duke’s opinion sway him, unlike Benedict.
They collected the last ring and strode toward the finish line, winning with time to spare. For all that the three might not like one another, they worked remarkably well together—if one didn’t pay attention to the underlying tension and dislike.
Cheevers handed the necklace box and other prizes to the duke. “Congratulations to the duke and his team!” He turned to address the rest of the guests. “You may continue gaming outside or retire within. The first fleet of carriages will be called after dinner, for those of you desiring to travel together.”
The duke opened the box and inspected the necklace within. “I think we should award the prize to Mrs. Martin, for putting up with the rest of us.” Narrowed eyes that unnerved her took in the two younger men. “Wouldn’t you agree, boys?”
Sebastien raised a brow at the address and tapped an unlit cheroot against his leg. Benedict watched his father, his gaze untrusting.
“After all, she helped Sebastien win his bet, did she not? I think it only fair since you boys made a bet on her that she also reap a reward.”
Benedict’s face turned white, his eyes panicked as he looked at Sebastien. She turned to Sebastien, who was looking at the duke with eyes flat and cold. Deadly.
“What bet?” a voice asked that sounded unfamiliar coming from her mouth.
The duke looked at her in amusement. “I believe the bet was about bedding you at first, but turned into something about making you fall in love with Sebastien. Since it is well-known that Sebastien doesn’t believe in love and Benedict has silly notions about the state, I must claim myself the arbiter, and I believe the bet has been resolved. I took the liberty of securing the item which was bet from Benedict’s room. Timely. The look on your face after you stumbled and Sebastien caught you can hardly be faked.”
