Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (18 page)

“I hope your assumption is correct. I wouldn’t want to be forced to marry you.”

Thorington’s smile was menacing. “No, you would not. Put your mind at ease, Miss Briarley. I’ve no intention of compromising you.”

The entire situation was compromising. Their bargain was very nearly compromising — and would certainly be compromising if anyone guessed how much time they were spending alone together. But Callie nodded. “And if I pour tea to your satisfaction, will you let me take my leave of you?”

Thorington waved a hand toward the teapot. “I’m sure you don’t wish to miss all the quiet reflection you could be enjoying,” he said drily. “Show me what you are capable of.”

Callie sat next to the tea cart. Everything she needed was there. The box of tea leaves was smaller than the ornately carved chest she used in Baltimore, but it was also unlocked — there wasn’t enough tea in it to be overly concerned about theft. A teapot, cream, sugar, spoons, and four teacups completed the scene.

“Shall we wait for our other guests?” she asked.

Something dark flashed over Thorington’s face as he sat down across from her. “No. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me.”

She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t mind.

Callie made a show of pouring hot water into the teapot to warm it, then draining it to make room for fresh water. Then she spooned leaves into the pot — one spoon for every cup she intended to make, along with an extra spoon to make the tea slightly stronger — before pouring more hot water over it and replacing the lid.

As she waited for the tea to steep, she folded her hands in her lap. “I told Serena this was a waste of effort. I’ve been pouring tea since my mother died.”

“Pouring tea for merchants is a far cry from what’s expected in an English drawing room,” he said.

She smiled sweetly. “Indeed. The merchants can pull their own weight rather than living off the labors of others. Much easier to satisfy them when they know the efforts involved in producing tea.”

“I am a merchant as well, you know.”

“Are you?” she said. “Or are your business managers the merchants? I can’t see you dirtying your hands with trade.”

Thorington smiled. “On that, you are correct. I’d rather save my hands for more…delicate endeavors.”

The man seemed intent on teasing her. She refused to blush. Instead, she checked the tea in the pot and considered her words. She had wondered why Thorington was so intent on making Anthony marry her, when he seemed to have enough wealth to take care of the boy indefinitely. What she’d read in the
Gazette
made her question his motives.

But she wasn’t one for considering her words. “Does Lord Anthony stand to inherit any of your wealth?”

He looked at the teapot. “Are you sure you haven’t steeped it for too long?”

“Another minute, I think. Does that not give you enough time in which to answer my question?”

“I should have moved on to manners rather than mechanics, I think,” Thorington mused. “You’re more proficient at basic skills than I suspected, but your conversation is still woefully imperfect.”

She arranged their cups on the tray. “I should likely hire a new governess for conversational lessons rather than relying on you.”

“I am a master at conversation,” Thorington said.

“That, sirrah, is a gross overstatement,” she retorted.

“You will call me ‘your grace’ again someday, you know,” he said. There was a promise in his voice that made her suddenly feel warm, as though his words were enough to pick up her heart and hold it close. “And I will find it sweeter because you’ve waited.”

“Are you this evasive with all of your conversational partners?”

He smiled. “Most of them never arrive at the point where they dare to ask a question.”

“Charming,” she murmured. “Do you take milk or sugar?”

“Milk, no sugar. Who gave you the necklace?”

She dropped the sugar tongs with a clatter. “I beg your pardon?”

He reached forward before she could think to lean back, hooking a finger around the chain and pulling the pendant from its hiding place. “It’s a lovely piece, Miss Briarley. But it isn’t suited for this gown. Nor was it suited for any other gown you’ve worn it with. I wouldn’t think you would wear it unless it meant something to you.”

She swatted his hand away and covered the pendant with her palm. “There is no meaning to it that you could comprehend.”

“Humor me, my dear.”

“As you humor me?” She tucked the necklace back into her bodice. “You aren’t very sporting.”

Thorington smiled. “No, I am not. What does the pendant mean? Some secret lover waiting for you?”

“Of course not.”

“No one who will jeopardize your agreement with my brother?”

“No,” she said. It was time to go on the offensive and lure him away from a dangerous topic. “I won’t say another word until you tell me why you are so set on marrying Anthony to me when he doesn’t seem to have any interest in the proceedings.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Callie shook her head. “I know that tactic. I want an answer, not another question.”

He stayed silent as she poured milk, then tea, into his cup. Then she added a lump of sugar to her own cup, pouring tea over it and stirring until the sugar dissolved. When she handed him his cup, he lifted it in a toast. “To grand alliances, Miss Briarley.”

She met his eyes. “You are a devil.”

He sipped his tea. “I’ve been made aware of that fact before. Now, shall we discuss what topics would be appropriate for an afternoon gathering? The list is quite short.”

“I’m afraid I cannot concentrate on anything at all. My poor female brain is completely befuddled trying to guess why you want Anthony to marry me.”

Thorington snorted. “Your poor female brain hasn’t met a problem it couldn’t solve, I’d wager.”

“How flattering of you to say,” she said.

And she
was
flattered. But she didn’t want to be. And even if he meant it, it was likely just another tactic — just another means to distract her.

“Do you play cards, Miss Briarley?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?”

He took another sip of his tea. “You have proven yourself adept at dancing, music, and serving tea. But if you are to survive in the ton without ruining yourself, you should know how to play cards — or how to avoid them. And you should know how to hold your drink so that you don’t disgrace yourself.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flask, setting it on the table with a flourish. And then she noticed the pack of cards that rested, unnoticed but out of place, on one of the side tables. “You told me I would be free to leave after I poured tea.”

Thorington gestured at the door. “I haven’t locked you in, Miss Briarley. But I thought you would want an adventure instead of a night of quiet contemplation.”

There was some intent, searching look in his eyes — something that seemed almost like a dare. “You warned me that I would find dragons if I went on an adventure with you,” she said.

“So I did.” He paused, then turned over two fresh teacups and splashed the contents of his flask into them. “But you seem better suited for dragons, Miss Briarley.”

He pushed a cup toward her. She stared down at it, considering.

Thorington wanted something. He didn’t do anything without a plan. This plan, though, left her in the dark.

“May I ask why you want to test my tolerance for spirits?” she asked.

He picked up his cup, looking serious enough that she wasn’t tempted to laugh at the incongruous spectacle of his large hand wrapping around such a dainty piece of porcelain. “We both want information from each other. And we both seem disinclined to give it. If you’ll agree, though, we could play for it.”

“You’d bet your information against mine?” she said.

He nodded. “As long as we both vow to tell the truth. I’ll even give you one answer for free, in case your skill at cards doesn’t match mine.”

She knew that his thinly veiled insult of her skill was meant to lure her into the game. But she didn’t care. “Very well — I’ll play. Is the minimum bet one question? Or something else?”

“One question seems appropriate,” he said. He set his whisky aside and took up the pack of cards. He shuffled them expertly, manipulating them with complete confidence. “You should be warned that I never lose.”

“Is that so?” she said coolly. She picked up her teacup and sipped the whisky he had poured for her. She noted, over the rim of her cup, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Did you know that Lucretia has saved hundreds of old issues of the
Gazette
in the library?”

“I did not,” he said, setting the cards aside so that he could arrange a table between them.

“I read the May and June society pages this afternoon,” she said. “And I was quite interested to note that you lost a vast sum at Wattier’s this spring.”

“Indeed? I wouldn’t consider a few thousand pounds a ‘vast sum’.”

“No doubt,” she said. “The papers were also breathless over the fact that you spent fifty thousand pounds on an antiquity at a private auction recently. A few thousand pounds would be nothing to you.”

Thorington picked up his cup again. For once, so unusual that she was almost convinced she’d misinterpreted, he seemed flummoxed — moving from his cup to the cards and back again as though she’d stunned him. “You have been very studious, Miss Briarley. As your governess, I find your knowledge commendable.”

She smiled sweetly. “Shall we play, then? I have a great number of questions for you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

This was not a good idea.

In fact, as Thorington dealt the cards, he realized that it was the worst idea he’d had in quite some time. Betting against Callista Briarley wasn’t part of the plan. He shouldn’t have even continued with his plan to have tea with her after he realized that Anthony wouldn’t join them — and especially after Serena, that little traitor, had coerced them into being alone.

Not that Serena’s actions surprised him. When he had asked for her help in arranging this, she had seemed delighted — until she had realized that Thorington intended for Anthony to attend.

“She would be a wonderful duchess,” Serena had said that afternoon. “Her hostess skills aren’t the question. The question is what you are going to do about her.”

“I am not going to do anything about her, save for making sure Anthony appreciates her.”

He had been examining his nails, which was usually warning enough. But Serena pressed her point. “Ariana has been gone for months now, rest her soul. And you deserve more happiness than she gave you.”

Of all his siblings, Serena had been the kindest to Ariana. Portia had despised her, Rafe had kept his distance, and Anthony had ignored her completely. “This has nothing to do with my former wife.”

“No,” Serena agreed. “Nothing ever did. The two of you could have lived the whole of your lives without being in the same room again — it’s a wonder you’ve even noticed she’s gone.”

He and Ariana had parted ways less than six months into their marriage, when it had become clear to her that he wouldn’t waste his time letting her become a preeminent hostess — and that his peers would never fully accept her in that role anyway, given her ties to the trade. She had decamped to Brighton, then Bath, then a separate townhouse in London, meeting only occasionally when one or the other of them thought that it might be time to try again for a child.

It had been a cold, bloodless union. And she had probably deserved better from him. But he’d never thought himself capable of the coddling Ariana needed — only the cool, calculated arrangements he made to take care of everyone in his life.

Until Callista. He didn’t feel cold and bloodless with her.

But he knew better than to admit such a thing to Serena. “Just fetch Miss Briarley after dinner. You and Portia can talk all you want of my failings amongst yourself, but don’t waste your breath bringing them to my attention.”

Serena had flounced away when he’d said that — and the little smile she gave him that night, as she’d left Callista alone with him, said she had found the perfect way to pay him back.

He shouldn’t have let himself stay there alone with Callista. It was neither safe nor wise. He could justify it — barely — with the claim that he needed to observe her skills.

But drinking whisky and playing cards?

There was no plan for the future that required her to know how to drink with him.

He finished dealing. When he looked up, ready with some cutting remark to make it clear this was just a game, he inadvertently looked straight into her eyes.

He should have looked anywhere else.

She grinned at him. Her smile was too honest for the ton — too honest for the games he usually played. There was a playfulness to her that he felt like he’d never seen, not even when he was young enough to know what playfulness was.

He didn’t want to be the reason why she lost that playfulness. So he stopped the insult he might have tossed her way and smiled. “The game is
vingt et un
, Miss Briarley. Shall I recount the rules for you?”

She shook her head. Not a single curl fell out of place — and Thorington was enough of a fool to regret that she’d taken his advice about her hair. “I should have warned you that I played
vingt et un
all the way from Baltimore to Havana,” she said, as sweetly as if she had claimed that she’d spent the voyage knitting socks for orphans. “I hope I won’t embarrass myself.”

She picked up her cards with all the easy grace of a gambler. “I’m sure you’ll acquit yourself adequately,” he said.

And she did. Not just adequately — comprehensively. The first hand wasn’t even a contest. His pride wanted to blame his defeat on his ruined luck, but she had enough skill to beat him fairly.

She also had enough naïveté to take the win for herself, rather than letting him have it. A girl trying to make him fall in love with her would have made a pudding of her cards, then asked for his help.

When the last card fell, Callista smiled as though she was eager to sweep the floor with him again.