Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games 1) (24 page)

It was pointless to curse Tiberius for her upbringing, though. He had been an indifferent father, but until now, his lessons had served her well. And if he were alive, he would have laughed and told her she was better off making her own path.

Callie
would
make her own path.

That path now, though, seemed muddy and overgrown — something she would have to hack through, not the straight, paved road Thorington had offered her when they’d made their deal. At the time, it had seemed perfect. Marry Lord Anthony. Make him order Captain Jacobs to stop privateering and return to more legitimate shipping endeavors. Win Maidenstone and have a place that would last forever. Lead separate lives thereafter, unless mutual affection and a desire for children conspired to keep them together.

The idea should have been perfect, but brambles had sprung up on the path they’d agreed to, catching at her dress. Dark, twisted trees surrounded her, threatening to turn her well-coiffed hair back into the untamed mass she was accustomed to. If she didn’t find another way forward, she’d be stuck.

Not just stuck. She’d be worse off than she was before. Captain Jacobs was beyond her reach now — either plaguing the British, rotting in prison, or lost to the waves. He had had astonishing success according to the most recent papers, but it might be months before she knew his ultimate fate. Baltimore was beyond her reach as well. Until the war was over, she wouldn’t risk another voyage like the one she had taken to come to Maidenstone. And no matter how the war ended, she might not be able to go back.

She only had two choices now. Learn how to beat Octavia and win Maidenstone. Or start over and find security elsewhere.

Callie climbed the steps from the ground floor to the abandoned first floor of the Tudor wing, where the old Tudor entertaining rooms still sat unused. The steps had been worn away by centuries of her ancestors’ footsteps, and she placed her feet with care. Her candle threw shadows against the walls. She took a deep breath as she reached the top of the stairs. Maidenstone Abbey wasn’t what she would have chosen for herself — she’d always wanted gracious, modern rooms, ones that could be heated easily and kept free of dirt. But she should want the solidity it offered.

She couldn’t lose it now. Not when she’d tried so hard to see the good in the life she might live there.

Callie turned the corner to the second, smaller flight of stairs leading up to the bedchambers. She needed to find Thorington. If anyone could help her fight her way through to a new path, it was him. Ferguson had hinted that Thorington was short of funds, which explained why he had tried so hard to win Maidenstone for his brother. She might be able to buy Thorington’s help if necessary. And Thorington, with his knowledge of the ton, was the only person at the party who could teach her how to beat Octavia.

Or at least that’s what she told herself. This was entirely about Maidenstone, and nothing about wanting a night out in the storm.

Nothing about wanting to see Thorington again.

But before she could fully remind herself of that, Thorington found her. The figure coming down the stairs toward her didn’t carry a candle, but she instinctively knew it was him.

“Miss Briarley,” he said. “You’re abroad rather late. What errand lured you out of your bed?”

You
.

She stopped the word before the tone of it betrayed her — and before she could consider why that was the first word that came into her head. “I seek advice from my governess. What brings you out during the witching hour?”

“I must check on my charge and make sure she is behaving herself.”

She couldn’t keep a silly little smile from her lips. “Have you ever known her to behave herself?”

“No, but I live in hope. Her wantonness makes my position secure, though. She’s likely to need my guidance indefinitely.”

He sounded like Gavin in the dark. Callie could imagine his smile, even if the shadows thrown by her candle partially masked his face.

Callie’s smile grew. “Aren’t you a lucky one,” she said. “There aren’t many wage earners who feel so confident in their employers.”

“I’m no longer lucky. But I’ve always been confident in her,” he said.

Her heart skipped. It was possible he was teasing her.

But if he was, it was the best kind of teasing.

She couldn’t control her smile anymore. He had been coming to her, just as her first thought after the events of that night had been to find him. But while her heart continued its joyful drumbeat, her mind tried to rein it in, to keep focused on the task at hand. When she was with Thorington, it was too easy to forget that she wanted Maidenstone — too easy to imagine a life with him, no matter how unsuitable he was, no matter how unsteady and ramshackle her heart would be if she chose to give it to him.

She would be wise, not foolish. “Then if you are confident in me, I hope you shall accept my offer of a new commission,” she said.

He examined her. When Ferguson had done it earlier, all arrogance and supercilious grace, it had irritated her. But when Thorington assessed her, she suddenly felt warm all over.

Or perhaps that was from the candle sputtering between them. She’d stopped paying attention to it, and it was in danger of expiring. Thorington took it from her, then grabbed her hand and escorted her to the base of the stairs. “Not here,” he said. “We’re too likely to be caught.”

He led her through the door opposite the staircase. The main floor of the Tudor wing was a series of interconnected rooms, exactly as it had been built three hundred years earlier when her ancestor had melted down all the monks’ treasures and turned the abbey into one of the grandest private residences in England. No one used the Tudor receiving rooms now, but unlike the room Thorington had found for them in the Gothic wing the night before, the furniture wasn’t covered. Lucretia would take too much pride in these ancient rooms to strip them of their history.

It must have been one maid’s entire job to keep these rooms clean. Callie couldn’t see much of the intricately carved wood paneling or the massive stone fireplaces, but the rooms smelled fresh. It was a shocking waste of time for whichever maid was responsible, but at the moment Callie was grateful — these empty rooms were perfect for offering Thorington a new deal.

The room he led her to, though, wasn’t what she expected.

“What’s this?” she asked, stopping in the final doorway.

He held the candle high. “I give you Maidenstone’s State Bedchamber. Or the Tudor one, anyway. There was one in the modern wing as well, but Lady Maidenstone told me the old earl remade it into the billiards room when he decided he’d rather shoot himself than invite Prinny for a visit.”

The room was massive, yet its position at the end of the long row of rooms made it somehow feel intimate. It occupied the rear corner of the wing, with windows on two sides. But it was the bed in the center of the room that drew the eye, not the rain streaming, quieter now, down the windowpanes. The bed matched the size of the room, bigger than any she’d seen before. It had a canopy over it, with dark velvet bedcurtains hanging down over the posts. She couldn’t see well, but she could just make out crowns embroidered on the pillows.

She turned to Thorington. “If you think I would be ruined on a stairway, how do you think someone will react if we’re found in a bedchamber?”

Thorington ushered her into the room, closing and bolting the door behind them. He set the candle on a table and walked directly to the nearest window, where he shut the drapes. “No one will find us here,” he said, moving on to the next window. “The few here who might care for Tudor history will not choose tonight to tour the rooms. And Ferguson is meddlesome, but he knows better than to invite the Prince Regent. His Royal Highness would eat through all of Maidenstone’s wealth before you could find a husband. So I can assure you that the State Bedchamber will go unused another night.”

“Is it only for the Prince Regent?” Callie asked as she watched Thorington make quick work of the drapes.

“Monarchs, generally, but I suppose Prinny qualifies. Most state bedchambers I’ve seen have never been used. Some Briarley in your past must have had delusions of grandeur to build one here.”

“They’ve all had delusions of grandeur,” Callie said.

“I shan’t hold it against you. My country estate has one as well. The Dukes of Thorington were never known for their good sense.”

He picked up her candle and used it to light all the other candles in the room. When he was done, he looked back to where Callie still stood by the door. “I know I’m also lacking in good sense for asking this, but tell me your commission,” he said.

She swallowed. In the light, with that commanding tone and a bed behind him, he seemed like Thorington again. And confronting the duke with her plan was harder than flirting with Gavin.

When she stayed silent, he raised an eyebrow. “Or do you want me to begin? I planned to assess whether you were behaving yourself, but finding you out in the dark already gave me an answer.”

The light mockery in his voice should have dug into her skin. Instead, oddly, it soothed her. She had survived him thus far. He might frighten every sane woman in England, but he didn’t frighten her.

“Then if you already have your answer, I shall begin,” she said. First, though, she walked to the sitting area next to the cold fireplace. The chair she chose didn’t have arms, but it was reassuringly solid despite its age. With her back to the bed, she could almost forget how strange this conversation was — and how dangerous it might prove to be.

She waited until he joined her. Then, with all the courage her Briarley heart could muster — the only benefit it had given her in days — she met his gaze.

“It’s clear, now, that Lord Anthony and I won’t suit each other. Truth be told, it has been clear all along. But Octavia is a threat I can’t ignore. Ferguson will be completely charmed by her, if he isn’t already.”

“She is a challenge,” Thorington said. “But you and Anthony can overcome her.”

“You know that plan won’t succeed.”

It might have been her imagination, but she thought he hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’ll talk to Anthony again in the morning. As for Ferguson, I can handle him.”

She took another breath, holding it until her lungs burned. Suddenly, she didn’t want to say what she’d come here to say.

Or rather, her heart didn’t want her to say it. Her head, which had kept her safe for so long, would keep her safe again. She would move forward with her new plan.

Even if her heart hoped for an outcome that her head was sure Thorington couldn’t give her.

Callie exhaled. “Let’s cut bait, Thorington. Anthony is never going to offer for me. And even if he did, Ferguson likely won’t let him win Maidenstone. But if you help me find a husband who
will
win, I’ll pay you handsomely for it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I beg your pardon?” Thorington said.

It was all he could think to say. He hadn’t expected such an abrupt change of direction from her. Their conversation, before that moment, had been threaded through with magic. He’d felt a smile tugging at his lips, a bit of light touching his heart. In the Tudor wing, with rain falling gently outside, they were removed from the world — held out of time, for a moment, so they could enjoy each other’s company.

But it shouldn’t have surprised him that Callista was thinking of business when all he wanted, oddly, was pleasure.

“I need a new match,” she said. “One who can win Maidenstone Abbey.”

She sounded so earnest.

And while he couldn’t blame her for being mercenary — wasn’t that what he was, every day of his life? — he felt the first flicker of anger.

“I see,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “And what, pray, is to be my payment for helping you?”

“You’re my governess. Don’t you wish to help me?”

Thorington laughed even as the magic disappeared. “That won’t fly, my dear. As your governess, I would rather lock you up than allow you to set your cap for unsuitable men.”

Callista’s bright smile brought the magic back. He’d watched her enough, these last few days, to know she never looked at another like that.

She still hadn’t realized the danger she was in with him.

“I don’t want unsuitable men. I want someone who can impress Ferguson. You know the other attendees well enough to tell me with whom I should try to make a match.”

“None of them deserve you,” he said flatly.

That tone, when he used it with anyone else, was warning enough. But Callista — bold, reckless Callista — had long since stopped heeding his warnings. “I don’t presume that I shall make a love match,” she said, as flippantly as she might say she didn’t care that her tea was cold. “But there must be someone here who would suit. And I’ll give you a healthy sum if you help me to find him. Would two thousand pounds be of assistance to you?”

Darkness expanded around his heart, driving away every last bit of magic. Her offer of money tweaked his pride. But it wasn’t her reference to his impending poverty that dimmed the candlelight and turned the quiet rainfall into a dull roar.

Callista would marry another. Callista
should
marry another. There was nothing he could give her, no future in which he deserved her.

But she deserved more than she asked for.

“Is Maidenstone Abbey all you want?” he asked.

“That’s what we both came here to win, isn’t it?”

A question met with a question. It was a familiar tactic. “Is Maidenstone still what you want to win?”

She hesitated. And the darkness relented a little as he felt something so unfamiliar that he couldn’t name it at first.

Hope
. His face stayed impassive. But his heart, caged and left for dead, fluttered back to life.

She looked up into his eyes. She might have been safe if she hadn’t — he might have been able to stay in control if he hadn’t seen the emotions lurking there, mirroring his own.