Athena's Ordeal (8 page)

"It was a rhetorical question."

He smiled and took another sip of wine.
"Even rhetorical questions should be entertained for their potential truth."

"And what potential truth might that be?"

"I shouldn't trust you because you're keeping something from me."

Sabre set her wine down. "What makes you say that?"

The duke shrugged. "Just a feeling I have."

"Is that how you run your duchy, then? On feelings?"

"Primarily."

"That's ridiculous."

He shrugged again. "Be that as it may, I feel we are at an impasse."

"Do you want me to tell you my entire life history in hopes of uncovering what is giving you this feeling?"

"No. Whatever it is, it's bothering you. Otherwise I wouldn't be aware of it."

Sabre paused. Was the duke as keen an observer as she knew herself to be? It was hard to feature since he was often not paying any attention at all. But he seemed quite confident in his assertion. She quickly thought through her options. "Well," she said, "it is true that my goal is to be your duchess."

He was quiet for a long time, absently swirling the wine in his glass as he looked at her. "That's unfortunate," he finally said.

His choice of words made her
choke out a laugh. "Unfortunate? In what way is that unfortunate?"

"You're a lovely woman of many fine qualities. But I will never marry Blaise Bittlesworth's daughter."

The duke used such a tone of finality that for just a moment Sabre faltered. But, she reminded herself, she always persevered and won out in the end. This would be no different. "Well," she said. "I suppose we will see about that."

He smiled at that, gazing at her as though he was considering something. "I suppose we will," he said.

He turned his attention to cutting his roast and the conversation flagged for a moment. Sabre was contemplating what general topic to converse on when he spoke again.

"I went to see your brother because I'm being blackmailed."

She was surprised, both at his revelation and the fact that he'd shared it, but tried not so show it. "I see I'm not the only one uninformed about your poverty."

"Not over money. Over papers they believe I have."

"That you do not?"

At that he paused to stare at the dark windows. "No," he said quietly. "I don't believe that I do."

"Based on your interest in paperwork I have a hard time believing you know that conclusively."

Her
 acerbic comment brought his attention back to her. His habit of looking at her intently was becoming unsettling. "Here is a thing I wonder," he said.

"What?"

"How did you and Giddy spend a fortnight together without killing each other?”

Sabre
flashed a knowing smile. "My incredible forbearance."

"Yes, I'm quite sure that was it," the duke said drily.

"What papers do they believe you have?"

"Something of my father's. Unfortunately they were not spe
cific enough for me to be sure what the papers might be about."

"Was this threat in a letter then?"

"Yes."

"Let me see it."

"That's not possible."

"Why?"

"I burned it."

"You... Why did you burn it?"

"It is one thing for a duke to be blackmailed. It is quite another for it to be known that a duke is being blackmailed."

"Well, what did it say?"

The duke stared at her again for a bit. Finally he said, "It simply said 'It has come to my attention that you are in possession of papers from your father that you have been discussing with others. I will give you a fortnight to gather them.'"

"What did he threaten?"

"I would rather not discuss it."

"How am I supposed to help you if you won't share the details with me? Did you tell Robert all the details?"

"I did share the full text with Robert. He has a bit more of a reputation with this sort of issue than you do."

"You have no idea about my reputation."

He raised one golden brow. "Since you don't balk at eating alone with a man in his quarters I can only imagine."

"Not with just any man. With a duke."

"I see. So at least you have standards."

She sniffed. "I was far more impressed with your fighting skill than your title, if you must know."

"Your skill was impressive as well."

"Thank you very much. I will admit to being confused that you do not appear to be practicing. Certainly you don't go more than a few days in order to maintain your proficiency."

He smiled. "Sometimes more than a few days. But yes, I do practice often."

"As do I. Perhaps, as I said before, we could practice together."

"Perhaps."

Perhaps was better than no. Sabre realized that with the wine, food, and company that she was finally recovering from her confrontation with Robert. What would the duke do, she wondered, if she told him about her morning? Would he remain as placid as he typically seemed to be? Would he demand that she leave because there was obviously more afoot with her brother? She had yet to fully deduce what motivated the duke. He did not appear to fit the mold of anyone she had known before.

His voice called her back from her distraction. "Shall we snuff some of the candles and save the duchy's coffers for another extravagance?"

Thinking that it was a gently placed ducal command, Sabre rose to do his bidding. However, the duke rose as well.

"I could ring for a servant, your grace," Sabre said.

"No need." The duke shook his head. "It becomes tiresome having someone hover over you."

Once they had both located snuffers they began dousing the lights in the room

"How long has it been since you received that letter, your grace?"

"Almost a fortnight."

"Oh!" Sabre said, pausing in her work. "You could receive the second letter any day."

"I already have."

"What does it say?"

Now the duke paused. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I haven't read it."

Sabre was fairly sure she stood there with her mouth open for a full minute. "How could you not have read it?"

"How will reading it help me? I don't have the papers. I have no clue as to what the papers are or where they would be."

"But... if you don't read it then you have no additional clues whatsoever!"

The look the duke directed at her was nothing short of obstinate. Well, she knew how to deal with that. She walked over and put a hand on his arm, schooled her mouth into a sympathetic moue, and said in her most compassionate tone, "I'm only concerned that you be able to navigate this, your grace."

Rather than look mollified he seemed intrigued. The last time she had seen such a keen eye turned on a subject was the summer George had become enamored of bugs. The entire hot, disgusting summer every time they came across a fallen log her friend had turned it over and dug around, investigating every crawling, rolling, flying insect she could find. It had been disturbing. But far more disturbing was the intense silence as the duke stared at her.

He finally broke the silence by murmuring, "Aren't you an interesting little chameleon?"

She
drew back a bit. "What do you mean?"

"Most people… How can I explain this?" He looked off towards the dark windows for a moment, and then brought his attention back to her. "Most people are consistent. Predictable. Enslaved to the habits of their own minds. The only thing predictable about you is that you will change your tactics."

"I…" Sabre didn't really know what to say to that.

"Don't worry," he said with a glimmer of a genuine smile. "It's something of a compliment."

Her expression must have amused him because the small smile broke into a grin. All of the reserve and hauteur cleared away like clouds parting to let the sun shine down. As she gazed up into his spring green eyes she felt an odd sensation, like a tiny bubble bursting in her chest. Part of her wanted to reach toward him. To trace the dimple revealed in his cheek. Another part, perhaps even a greater part, wanted to run away. It was a moment of indecision and near-panic like she had never experienced before.

"Your grace, I-"

He interrupted. "Do you like the stars?"

Her mind was surprisingly slow to track his change in topic. "I suppose?"

He took her hand and began leading her to French doors that opened to the balcony. "When I dine here, which I do often, if the night is clear I spend part of the evening stargazing."

Stepping outside she discovered that the evening had cooled off nicely. Of course, she thought, being left to walk home in a heavy velvet riding habit in the afternoon had altered her perception of the heat of the day. The balcony was stone with a semi-circle overlook to the garden. He led her to the balustrade and released her hand to grip the railing, breathing deeply of the fragrant air from the gardens below. It was indeed quite lovely here, with the stars sparkling above them and the warm glow of the candlelight in the room behind. It was charming. Intimate.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, your grace."

That turned his attention to her again. After a pause he said, "Quince."

She couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Quince."

When she smiled up at him, said his name in her light, musical voice, Quince felt himself physically sway toward her. As though his body refused to follow the orders issued by his mind. She was, to put it simply, trouble that he didn't need in his life right now. But every time he told himself to send her on her way, to have her carriage packed and ordered off his estate, he found himself hesitating. Found himself wanting to hear her voice one more time. To see her. To watch how her facile mind leapt from topic to topic. She perpetually intrigued him. Endlessly attracted him. Just now he was almost dizzy with his desire to kiss her. She would let him, he knew, still convinced that she was to be his duchess. Every moment she spent alone at his estate with him she risked her reputation. With his position and power he could undoubtedly ruin her, in fact, without fear of repercussion. It frightened him to know what he could do to this girl. What she seemed bent on inviting him to do. He broke eye contact before his instinct to lean down and cover her lips with his own overwhelmed him.

"Which is your favorite constellation?" he asked. The huskiness of his own voice surprised him.

She looked out across the horizon. "A favorite? I'm not sure I have one." She wrapped her arm around his, leaning into him. "Which is your favorite?"

Even though he knew that everything she did was calculated, she was having what was undoubtedly her desired affect on him. His thoughts were evaporating faster than he could form them, his being focused instead on the warmth of her twined against him, her soft breast pressing against his arm. He cleared his throat. "I suppose your education didn't run to astronomy." Although he regretted saying it almost immediately, he knew that most likely nothing would push her from him as quickly as questioning her intelligence. And right now pushing her away seemed imminently wise.

She surprised him by laughing. "My education runs to anything that Jack could get her hands on when we were children. The only thing that she enjoys more than learning something new is explaining it to someone else. Sadly, much of it has remained resident up here." She tapped her forehead with her free hand.

He chuckled. "So that included astronomy?"

"And associated mythology lessons in Greek."
She looked out at the blanket of stars. “Jack teases me by calling me Athena, so she says I should understand all the poor souls I cast into the sky.”

"It sounds as though you were enthralled."

Sabre shrugged. "Some of it was interesting. Like Auriga there on the horizon, to symbolize the four-wheeled chariot that Erichthonius used to become King of Athens."

"Why is that interesting?"

"Erichthonius used his lameness as a motivation to create a superior weapon and take over a kingdom. How many of us use our weaknesses in such a way?"

Quince looked down into her eyes again. She seemed so earnest in that moment. So
pure.

"And," she said, smiling again, "now that I've identified a constellation, hopefully to your satisfaction, what is your favorite, your grace?"

"Quince."

"Quince," she said lightly enough that it was almost a whisper.

"Do you know Lynx?"

She
shook her head, looking back out to the sky. "No, I don't believe so."

"It's very faint. Identified relatively recently. It wouldn't have been one that Jack could have lectured in Greek. It's a line there," he said, pointing, "between Ursa Major and Auriga."

"How many stars is it?"

"The line is drawn with eight stars." He traced it with his finger, showing her the pattern.

She shook her head and squinted. "I'm not sure I see it."

He shifted behind her, leaning down so that his face was near hers, and sighted down his arm. "From Ursa Major if you look to the left that is the brightest star of Lynx. Right now it cascades down over Auriga, toward Camelopardalis. I can show it to you on a star map in the library."

"You may have to because I'm still not sure I see it."

Leaning so close to her, he was enveloped in her scent and heat. Her hair smelled heavenly and was still damp from her bath. Noticing that only succeeded in making him think of that damnable tub in the duchess's rooms. He had interrupted her bath that day in order to discomfit her as she had already managed to discomfit him in his own home. Instead he had only fueled his attraction to her. He hadn't really seen much, but knowing that she was naked in the tub… It had led to him thinking often of how the exchange could have progressed far differently. How it would have progressed far differently if he were more like his friend Gideon. Lord Lucifer.

Quince straightened away from her but set his hands lightly on her shoulders, knowing it would keep her in place while he gathered himself. He was not, nor would he ever want to be, a man that others would feel inspired to call Lord Lucifer.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Somehow this entertains you? Spending nights standing on the balcony studying the stars?"

Her tone was teasing but he could tell that she truly could not feature such an activity as entertainment. "Well," he said, "I usually lounge on the balcony rather than stand, but yes. Essentially."

She looked around and spotted the chaise lounge near the windows. "I see," she said, walking towards it. She settled onto the chair and stretched out. "What you really like to do is daydream while staring at the stars." She wriggled once to find a more comfortable position. "Yes, this has distinct possibilities."

His hands felt achingly empty so he folded them together as he leaned on the railing to watch her. She was beautiful. He could stare at her in that pose for hours. If only she weren't her father's daughter. But if she weren’t Blaise Bittlesworth’s daughter, then what would he do? He had felt no desire to marry before now. Would he change everything in order to bring her into his life? Make her his duchess to keep her by his side?

She sat up again.
 "It's not fair of me to monopolize the chair. Come," she said, patting the cushion next to her. "Show me how to daydream under the stars."

Quince was moving to do her bidding before he had a chance to think about it. Dangerous girl, he thought, made all the more dangerous by knowledge of her own power. She stood up as he approached and waved her hand to indicate that he should lie down in the chair. He did so while knowing it was among the riskier things he had ever done. She smiled down at him before turning and seating herself to lie along his front. Shortly she seemed to have everything arranged to her satisfaction although the two of them barely fit on the lounge together. Her head was tucked under his chin, her shoulders nestled into his chest, and she had wrapped his arms around her waist. Her bottom was pressed so intimately against him that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"So," she said quietly, as though she felt a more somber note was appropriate for entering into his pastime with him. "What do you see?"

At the moment his vision wasn't the sense he was most focused on. Scent, yes. Touch, God yes. And he craved tasting her like a man dying in the desert craves water. But she wanted to know what he saw. He cleared his throat and focused on the night sky above.

"One of the clues that I have is up there, if I can just figure it out."

"Really? How is that?"

"My father had a group he ran with when he was younger. He would tell me stories about them. They did some quite… inappropriate things in their time. And when he would talk about them it was never by name, he would refer to them with an animal. It took me a long time before I realized what I was seeing in the late spring. All four of them, lined up." He raised a hand to point at the stars above. "Leo, the Lion. That was my father. Ursa, the Bear. Draco, the Dragon. And Cygnus, the Swan. If someone has reason to be concerned about papers my father kept, it is probably one of them."

"If your father was the Lion, who are the rest of them?"

"I don't know." Quince paused for a moment, wondering how Miss Bittlesworth would take his next bit of insight. Or if she might already know. "I only know that one of them is your father. But not which one."

She was silent so long
he feared he had indeed offended her. But she hadn’t moved, not even an inch. They were both silent for long minutes, pressed together in a delicious intimacy of touch.

Finally Miss Bittlesworth spoke again, her tone remote.
"Tell me some of the stories and I can tell you which one is my father."

Quince made a noise somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. "They are hardly stories fit for a young lady."

She curled her fingers around his hand and squeezed. "Yes," she said drily. "I'm obviously easily shocked."

Bold as she thought she was, he didn't want to give her the details of the group's sordid excursions. Instead he thought to sketch their characters. "Leo, the Lion, was their leader. At least that was how he told it. As I've never heard any of the stories from the others I don't know for certain they felt that way. But to hear my father, he was their inspiration and their organizer. If you had met him you would know it would be a role he would relish. He enjoyed control. In his final years he lost his iron grasp on affairs, but his pride kept him from admitting that. Something from which the duchy is still recovering." He pointed to the sky above. "Next is Ursa, the Bear. He
sounded a brute of a man. Arrogant, entirely self-concerned. Then Draco. Cruel and vindictive. And lastly Cygnus. Vain and secretive."

They were quiet for awhile, staring up at the stars, and finally Miss Bittlesworth asked, "Is that all?"

"All that I want to say."

She gave an unladylike
groan. "You've described over half the men at the George and Vulture on any particular night."

"What do you know about the men at the George and Vulture?"

"Society events get quite boring, but there is always a conversation of interest at the G and V."

"I find myself shocked at you, Miss Bittlesworth."

"Sabre," she corrected. "And if you find yourself shocked then you obviously haven't been paying attention."

"How often do you find yourself at the George and Vulture?"

"As often as I can slip away. Which has been not at all since my return from Italy. My only regret of staying with my brother is that he keeps a closer eye on me than my parents do."

"Yes, he's obviously been very diligent, seeing as how his sister has hied off to a man's house for a seduction."

She was quiet longer than he expected her to be. "He thinks I'm at Jack's."

"Well, at least you didn't try to convince me that you aren't here to seduce me."

She wriggled until she had turned over, propping herself up on an elbow to look down at him. The candlelight from their dining table cast a warm glow through the window and he could see the sincerity in her eyes. "You'll find I'm not one to be coy."

He stroked her cheek. Softer than rose petals. "I don't think that's true."

She gave him a guarded look. "What makes you say that?"

He smiled. "Because, my little chameleon, I think you would do, or say, whatever is needed to achieve your goals."

"You make me sound woefully untrustworthy."

"That depends on your motivation."

She gave him an angelic smile. "I have only the best of motivations, I assure you." She turned over again, nestling back into his embrace. "Now, really tell me about these men, if you please. I can't help you without facts, information."

“From that sketch you can’t tell which one was your father?”

She was silent for a moment. “He could be any of them,” she said solemnly.

Quince could sense the gravity of her statement. The viscount was as unpleasant a man to his daughter as he was to others. "I don't want to tell you about them,” he said. “I don't like to think about them myself."

"Yes, you seem able to avoid most everything you don't want to think about."

"You don't approve."

"Not in the least. We'll open that letter before the night is out. But first, tell me some of these stories."

He laced his fingers through hers as he thought. He didn't want to tell her, but it was also true that he hadn't yet figured out the connection on his own. For years his father had regaled him with those tales at the supper table. Stories that Quince had never wanted to hear, and that he certainly had never thought would be significant. He had done his best not to listen, to forget. But now it was time to try to remember, if only to divine which of his father's friends would be the most alarmed at the idea of documents surfacing. Which one would not hesitate to use blackmail as a means to an end. The vindictive dragon? The self-centered bear? Or the secretive swan?

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he began. He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, his fingers playing over the velvety softness of the back of her hand. "The stories that my father particularly liked to tell concerned the parties that he hosted for The Four. That's what they called themselves, The Four. He would load them up into a windowless carriage that he drove himself, never taking the same route, and bring them to a special cellar out in the woods. They would bring all the food and drink themselves because no servants were allowed to know the location. And they would bring women. Whores. Blindfolded and bound." He stopped stroking her hand for a moment, lost in the disgust of the memory. "That was his favorite part, I think. That the women were bound. He liked it if they fought of if they begged, so long as they were bound and unable to... unable to stop him."