The Bride Price (14 page)

She pulled away, and he let her. “What do you want?”

“Want? But for you to continue.”

She stared at him, chest heaving as if she’d just run a race. “You’re mad.”

“No. Keep sabotaging the games, Caroline. Keep singling me out,
showing
me that which you are trying so hard to hide.”

“There is nothing to hide.”

“No?” He cocked a brow. “Is it that you do not want me to win because you want me for yourself?”

“You
are
mad.”

He smiled. “Of course not. I’m simply an opportunist. For every game you sabotage, I demand a forfeit.”

His lips brushed her ear as his cheek touched hers. “We’ll hold our own tournament, shall we?” he whispered. “If you continue, I’ll know that you want to owe me those forfeits. And believe me, they will be excruciating for someone as prim as you like to think yourself.”

She pulled away. “That’s blackmail.”

“Is it?” He cocked his head, anger appearing again in his eyes. “You are trying to ruin my chances at victory. I think it’s merely upping the stakes.”

“I am trying to ruin
everyone’s
chance at victory.”

“I think that is up for debate, but what does what you do to everyone else matter to me? You are trying to ruin
my
chances, and I demand satisfaction.”

“You are not a gentleman.”

He touched a lock of hair and trailed his finger down the strand. “I believe we have long established that. And I think we have also established that you are not a lady.” She stiffened. “What
will it be? Should I tell everyone that you are the saboteur?”

Voices came from the path, heading in their direction. Deville twirled the stake in his other hand, eyebrow raised.

“What will it be, Caroline? I can tell them now…or…”

The voices drew nearer.

“Fine, fine.” She grabbed the stake from him and turned to go. He whirled her back around, pulling a startled gasp from her as his body slid against hers, brushing in a shiver-inducing wave, connecting them together in a way that made her body strain to complete the interlocking puzzle.

He smiled languidly and let her go.

She stumbled into the brush, direction momentarily forgotten, the dirty stake clutched against her heart. She had thought herself in trouble before, but she hadn’t known the true meaning of the word.

It is a truth that anticipation is the ripest of emotional pleasures. That a good dose of nerves does wonders for the constitution. And in a venue so ripe with both, one wonders, Dear Reader, how the guests and participants at Meadowbrook are playing their cards and placing their bets…

C
aroline waited like a bell awaiting its death toll. A knock on her door caused her arm to crash one cooking pot into another. She threw back her shoulders and opened the door.

“Caroline!”

Sarah hugged her and squeezed past. Caroline let out a whoosh of breath. “Sarah, what are you doing here?” She had expected Deville, dark and smirking, to be on the other side.

“I’m leaving for London and wanted to see you before I left.”

“Leaving?” Anxiety spiked.

“Yes. Lady Tevon scheduled a bridal appointment with Madame Tardineau. Madame Tardineau! Can you imagine?” She whirled. “The
best modiste in London is going to fit me for a trousseau. All of the younger women are joining us. We are to attend activities and a ball just for us tonight in London. They are treating me so well.” She beamed.

Caroline swallowed. It was hard in the face of Sarah’s radiance to feel anything but happiness in the farce of the games. And it seemed as if William’s friendship was doing her personal good, if the color in her cheeks was anything to go by. Maybe she was doing the wrong thing by objecting to the contest? Sarah would be the toast of London. Her trip would be—

Her
trip
.

“Oh.” Caroline’s voice was a bit faint. Her mind switched from protecting her friend to protecting herself. With Sarah gone, Deville would have complete access to her.

Sarah breezed through the kitchen, popping a ripe strawberry into her mouth. “I have to leave, but I wanted to make sure that you knew and would be fine for a few days.”

Caroline straightened. “Of course, silly. Have fun.”

Sarah’s smile dimmed. “I’m trying. I keep reminding myself that in a few months I won’t have much of a choice. William has been helping. But what if the winner is someone wretched? Like Mr. Bateman?” She shuddered.

Caroline put Bateman firmly on her prime incapacitation list. He would be a pleasure to get rid of, especially now that she had to figure out another tactic to scuttle Deville—or forfeit all manner of
things. She patted Sarah’s hand. “Don’t worry over it now. Enjoy your fitting with Madame Tardineau and have fun on your outings.”

Sarah’s smile returned, not quite as brilliant, but at least a good deal better than the sadness she’d carried weeks ago. “Thank you, Caro. Don’t be lost without me,” she said cheekily. “Until I return!”

She disappeared through the door.

Caroline slumped against the counter. The week was getting worse.

“Well now, that is hardly a position I enjoy seeing you in. Not happy to see me?”

She jerked up to see a smirking mouth and hot eyes surveying her from the open door. He leaned against the frame in a thoroughly indolent manner.

She crossed her arms. “Dreadfully unhappy.”

He pushed forward, approaching her slowly. “Well, we will have to fix that.”

She scooted around the table, hands out, eyes darting to the open door.

“Running away?”

“Yes,” she said baldly.

She thought she saw a flash of real humor in his eyes before he reached her, fingers tipping her chin back. “Now, now, Caroline. I’m merely here to deliver an invitation for you to participate in some of the house games tonight.”

“Sarah is leaving, along with all of the other young ladies. There is no reason for me to join the guests.”

Perfect teeth flashed. “Maybe we just
desire
your company.”

“Well, that is too bad.”

Fingers smoothed down her throat to the area where skin met cloth. “Cheevers said you should come.”

She stiffened. “And I suppose someone dropped it into his ear that I needed to attend.”

“Perhaps.” Fingers straightened the lace at her collar.

She batted his hand away. “Have you come to claim your blackmail price?”

“No, no, too easy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you mad?”

“Not last I checked, though you keep asking me that.”

“Mrs. Martin?” Mary, her daymaid, called from outside.

Her heart skipped a beat as Sebastien raised a brow. “Just leave the stones next to the bench,” she called back.

“Shall do. I’ll return in five minutes!” Footsteps crunched away.

A card materialized in Deville’s fingers, flipping so that the address faced her, sloped and mocking. “Your invitation.”

She made to grip it, and he pulled her toward him. “Parlor games tonight now that the heiress is away.”

“I’m not playing any parlor games.” She futilely tugged the paper.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Caroline.” He let the invitation go. “See you tonight.” He slipped from the cottage on the same path Sarah
had made, but with none of her bounce, the stealth of a predator in evidence instead.

She flipped open the invitation and swore.

Dinner had been pleasant enough, if filled with a strange sort of tension. A sort of primal, unreleased pressure. She had also gotten the sense that everyone was watching her. She slipped away to the retiring room after the meal to see if there was something caught in her teeth. Satisfied that her appearance was appropriate, she approached the large gaming room, observing the women enjoying cordials in small groups around the many tables. A lull in the conversation as she entered focused all attention on her. As swiftly as it had stopped, the conversation resumed as if never interrupted.

Harriet Noke sashayed over to her and clasped her arm, pulling her farther inside. “My dear Mrs. Martin, how wonderful that you decided to grace us with your presence. We have been atwitter to learn more about the estate and the mysterious spirit on the grounds. Lady Tevon mentioned that you have lived here most of your life and you’d be able to tell us more.”

Harriet guided her to the middle of the elite group of gossipers. One of the ladies leaned in. “Yes, do tell us. What has it been like living in these parts with the marauding spirit?”

Caroline glanced around, wondering what to say. “It has been most educational. The spirits are strange—”

“Oh, assuredly. Why, I swear I heard him moan just the other night in the bedroom next to mine.”

“That was the baron you heard, Samantha, as he brought himself off,” Harriet said in her smoky voice.

The women laughed.

“As if you have been particularly quiet, Harriet. Moaning like a cat in heat. Too bad for you that your tiger has been enjoying plains other than yours.”

“And how would you know, Liddy? Too concerned that Everly is tossing you over.”

Liddy shot a quick glance at Caroline before turning angry eyes to Harriet. “You think yourself so clever, Harriet.”

“Oh, I am,” Harriet drawled.

It was like watching a female version of Deville, but without the benefits of base attraction. Caroline grimaced in distaste.

“Well, I swear I felt the ghost last night. Touched my thigh. Clammy.” The woman shivered.

“That was Petrie’s hand, Philla. Don’t be a goose.”

The women laughed again, and Caroline found the whole discussion nauseating. She could be doing a hundred and one other things right now. Making plans for the celebration, connecting with the village matrons, instructing the children on their dances, gazing stupidly into the fire.
Anything
but this.

“How about you, Mrs. Martin? Do you have a gentleman in your bower?”

All the women leaned in, and it was to her great relief that the men chose that moment to descend on the gathering en masse. They hadn’t stayed long for brandy and cigars. Perhaps they had wanted to join the women again and begin the real games, or perhaps they couldn’t stand being in one another’s company for a second more. She wondered if both suppositions weren’t a little true.

The men behaved much more freely with the unmarried ladies gone and spirits flowing so copiously. Conversation became raunchier, fondling more apparent. The restraints gone in a way that Caroline hadn’t been privy to before, her only real brush with the cream of society coming at Sarah’s side. This was more like a village soiree that had gone a bit naughty.

A few of the men headed straight for the gossipers, the group with the members who were the loveliest and most available.

Deville was unfortunately one of the men who sauntered over. She had to give him credit, though. He did it much better than the others. There was a sort of resistance in his gait, as if he didn’t need any of them. After observing a number of increasingly covetous glances cast his way, she had to concede that his tactics worked superbly well.

“Shall we start with charades and cards first? We have plenty of people for both,” one of the women said.

Timtree asked Deville something, and Deville’s husky laughter shuddered over her in waves.

Harriet leaned into Caroline. “Does he visit as far as the cottage, Mrs. Martin? Has he visited your
bedchamber as he has visited mine?” She smiled through heavy-lidded eyes. “The ghost, of course.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed involuntarily. “Of course. And no, he hasn’t, and he shall not.”

“Pity,” Harriet said, satisfaction brimming. She rose. “Sebastien dear, partner me?”

Caroline half expected him to look at her, but his eyes didn’t so much as shift her way. “Of course, Harriet.” He held out an arm.

Bastard. Tugging her every which way. Tossing skirts in every direction.

Card sets were forming while the rest gathered for charades. Caroline rose and started toward the forming group, resigned to an hour of gestures and sexual innuendos.

“Mrs. Martin?”

She turned to see Lord Benedict bowing to her.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Would you care to partner me in whist?”

She examined the partnerships for cards, then the charades group that was already making lewd gestures while forming teams. Besides, she rather enjoyed playing cards, and she was rarely able to indulge. “I do believe I would.”

“Excellent.” He smiled, and she thought how much nicer he looked with his features loosened up. The resemblance between Benedict and Deville was faint, but it was there, like rose stripes at the dawning of a day.

He held out an arm to her, and she hesitated for a moment before slipping hers inside.

“Lord Benedict. Mrs. Martin.” Cheevers waved them over, barely paying her any mind. She won
dered why he had even thought to include her in the night at all, actually. Must have been just the right words to get him to do so. Caroline studiously avoided looking in Deville’s direction. Just because he was blackmailing her, it didn’t mean he owned her.

Much.

Cheevers began pairing people off. And wasn’t it just luck…

“Lord Benedict, Mrs. Martin, Mr. Deville, Mrs. Noke.”

As Cheevers made his pronouncement, she saw William, a friendly face in the midst of the insanity, walking into the room and heading for the charades. She should have chosen that activity, obviously. She hadn’t even realized William was still in attendance since he hadn’t been present for dinner.

She worked up a smile for Benedict, trying to ignore Deville’s dark look in their direction. Benedict was also shooting a dark look at the other two, and as he pulled out a chair for her, helping her into the seat with perhaps more care than was necessary, she wondered what she had accepted by playing.

Harriet’s eyes narrowed on her. Deville and Benedict eyed each other with disdain and outright anger. Somehow she had found herself at a table with more cracking gouges than a Cornish rock face.

She fervently desired to be nowhere so much as in front of her cozy fire in the cottage, dreaming of better days.

“Highest card deals.”

“See if you’ve learned anything about cards since the last time we played.” Deville sipped his Madeira, casually taunting Benedict as if it required only half his effort.

Harriet was a fierce player, pouncing on tricks and scooping them gleefully. Benedict was a meticulous partner, weighing and examining each play, a kind of underlying desperation underpinning his actions. Deville, on the other hand, rarely unfolded himself from the back of his chair, letting Harriet collect all the tricks, lounging and appearing to lazily toss cards randomly from his hand. Only his eyes, tracking and piercing, said something different.

Deville made her the most nervous, and rightly so. Harriet, though a sharp player, gloated. If examined long enough it was easy to see which cards she held. Benedict also showed the strength of his hands.

Deville’s face, rather than being the blank study excellent cardplayers mastered, was dark and predatory, languid and bored. There was
too
much at play in his face, though his main expression rarely changed. She couldn’t guess from hand to hand what he had. It always seemed as if he had the best hand, and at the same time was bluffing. It was little wonder he drove everyone mad.

Harriet and Deville were up three games to one when Benedict said, “Shall we make a wager on the next?”

“Yes.” Harriet’s eyes were smoky and her cards skimmed back and forth across the prominent
furrow displayed between her breasts. “Shall we start small, and then up the stakes?”

“Why not,” Deville said, sounding bored. The look he sent her was anything but.

Caroline turned to her partner. “I don’t particularly care for wagers, Lord Benedict, my apologies,” she stated calmly.

“No?” Benedict’s gaze drifted past her to Deville. “Pity, as there are others at the table much enamored of it.”

An undercurrent sparked across the space.

She smiled determinedly. “Please, feel free to make a wager amongst yourselves, but not with me included.”

“Oh, we would want to include you, Mrs. Martin,” Benedict said, still looking at his half brother.

“Mrs. Martin, you are being quite the boor not to play along. A small wager. Surely you can spare your tight prudery for one night.” Harriet tossed her head, a lock of hair drifting into her eyes in a seductive manner.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Deville shot Caroline a look that was edged and sensual. “I think she is quite interesting myself.”

She was caught in that look, but she didn’t miss the fury in the woman on her left.

“Tish tosh. Are you in or not? Even Benedict is willing to play, and everyone knows he never wins against Sebastien. Perhaps this is your lucky day.”