Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) (10 page)

“What do you think?” she asked, holding the dress up against her body. “Could I scare you away with this?”

He looked her up and down — and then up and down again, more slowly. “No. But I’ve pledged my loyalty to your cause.”

“I do not even know if it will fit me,” Octavia said, ignoring how his gaze warmed her skin. “And I cannot fasten it myself. Lady Maidenstone’s legend says nothing about her dress falling off of her. I’ll need to bring my maid with me to help me dress when we scare the men.”

“I am familiar with undressing women. I’m sure dressing them isn’t so very different.”

“Are you offering to
dress
me, my lord?” she asked. “Allow me to say that you’re the first man who’s ever made that proposition.”

Rafe laughed. “I can scarcely believe it myself. But I can beat myself for my foolishness later. Is that the dress you want to wear for the ghostly appearance, or do you think there is a better one?”

“This is the dress she wore in the painting in the portrait gallery. If any of the men noticed, it would add some verisimilitude. But I should be careful with it — I would hate to destroy it.”

“Omelettes are not made without breaking eggs. But if you don’t want to use her dress, we can find something else.” He set the candles on a nearby table and grabbed one of the dustcloths. Then he swept it around her like a cape, pulling a bit of it up to cover her hair. “Something like this, perhaps.”

She looked down at the white dustcloth and laughed. “Even Sir Percival would see through this ruse, and I suspect he wants to see a ghost.”

“He does, more than anything. And you can give him his wish.”

She frowned. “But Sir Percival knows me. He’s attended a number of Somerville’s parties.”

Something dark moved over Rafe’s face. “Are Sir Percival and Somerville friends?”

“No. Somerville isn’t friends with men who cannot vote in Parliament. Sir Percival is a mere baronet.”

She said it as a joke, but Rafe’s frown deepened. “I cannot vote in Parliament either. What did Somerville think of my attendance at his party?”

Octavia dropped the dustcloth from her shoulders and carefully folded the Tudor-era dress. “He’s conscious of his political advantage, but he also likes for people to enjoy themselves at our soirees. It would be a bore beyond belief if only peers attended.”

Rafe took the dustcloth she had dropped and returned it to its original location. But he wasn’t done with his questions. “You can’t convince me that Somerville enjoyed my company. He’s too moralizing for me.”

“Oh, he’s not so bad, even if he dislikes gambling more than you do. And you’re a decent conversationalist and you have all your hair. He’s made friends for worse reasons than that.”

Rafe laughed. “Remind me not to ask you for a compliment. I’m not sure I can survive your praise if that’s what you have to offer.”

Octavia grinned and handed him the dress, and then grabbed the headdress before closing the trunk. Their first night’s mission had been a success. “Shall we go back to the hunting lodge?”

He looked her over again. In the flickering light, she saw something she couldn’t recognize on his face — something that made her wonder, again, whether she had made the right decision by asking him for help.

But he bowed to her, and the moment passed. “As you wish, general.”

He escorted her out of the room and toward the back stairs. It was a minor victory, finding the dress so easily — but it was still a victory. And it was the first victory she’d had in a very, very long time. Was it any wonder, then, that she was distracted? That she was so excited, like a young subaltern who had survived his first battle?

That, when they were halfway down the stairs, she missed the sound of someone coming up toward them?

Rafe caught the noise before she did — but then, Rafe was trained for this. He had led the way down the stairs, but he turned suddenly, catching her when she nearly trampled him. “Pretend you want this,” he whispered urgently.

Then he blew out their candles, leaned in, and kissed her.

O
nce she recovered
from the shock, she didn’t have to pretend.

He was on the stair below her, still taller than her, but close enough in height that there was no strain as he tilted her chin up. His lips had always been firm when he’d kissed her hand, and they were still firm — but gradually, as she warmed to him, they softened. His grip didn’t, though. He wrapped an arm around her waist as though he never intended to let her go. There was possessiveness there — but there was protection, too.

A kiss had ruined her before. But this one was meant to save her.

By the time the other person reached them, Octavia was halfway toward forgetting that this was an act. She wanted more of him, pressed up against her in the dark. This was nothing like Lord Chapman’s kiss. It was warm and sweet, slow enough that she could have believed they had all night….

Someone gasped.

“Go away,” Rafe growled.

“Yes, my lord,” a woman said, squeaking a little as she turned and fled. Her Yorkshire accent said that she was someone else’s servant, one who didn’t belong to Maidenstone.

Octavia relaxed.

Rafe didn’t stop kissing her as the steps faded below them. If anything, he grew more urgent about his task. His lips met hers again, and hers parted of their own accord. He pressed his advantage, deepening the kiss, using his tongue, gently at first, to explore her.

She moaned a little. She wanted to drop everything so she could twine her fingers in his cravat and pull him closer. There was nothing, and no one, who could stop her. She was heady with victory and entirely too eager to know, finally, what kissing was about….

But one person could stop her. Rafe pulled back. “She’s gone,” he said.

“So?”

It was as bold as the courtesan everyone believed her to be. Rafe laughed, but he didn’t kiss her again. “We should take you back to the hunting lodge before we’re caught by someone else.”

She didn’t want to go. But if the servant told others what she had seen, there might be a small host of them loitering, conveniently, near the stairs to see who Rafe emerged with.

“If we must. Let’s cut through the nursery and take another set of stairs down,” she said.

He must have heard her reluctance. He touched her cheek, more tenderly than he needed to. “That’s the way it is with missions, you know. Sometimes you have to keep going, even when you’d rather do something else.”

It was an enigmatic thing to say. Did he want to keep kissing her? Or did he want nothing of the sort?

That question would haunt her later. She led the way back up a few stairs to the nursery level, then through the darkened rooms she had shared with Lucy years earlier. There was another set of stairs on the other side of the floor, possibly more dangerous than the servants’ flights, but it was after midnight now — there shouldn’t be any guests lingering who would catch them.

They made it back to the portrait gallery and into the gardens without further incident. Rafe frowned at the door they’d exited. “I’ll need to do further reconnaissance tomorrow and find an entrance that I can leave unlocked without worrying about the footmen closing it,” he said. “I’ll be too conspicuous if I start banging on doors at one o’clock in the morning because I can’t get back in.”

“You could always stay at the hunting lodge until morning,” she said.

It was a practical solution to their problem, but the look he gave her said he heard something else in her offer. “Pray it doesn’t come to that — I snore like you wouldn’t believe.”

She laughed. But she let the subject drop. It wasn’t safe for her to encourage him. They were partners, not lovers.

But that kiss….

The immediate sensation had faded, but she still wanted more. It couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. But with his lips on hers, and his hands holding her tightly against him, it had felt like forever.

Were kisses always that good? Or was Rafe particularly skilled?

Or did it have nothing to do with skill, and everything to do with the connection that had built between them?

They walked through the dark gardens to the edge of the forest. They were both silent, but it was a companionable silence — as though neither of them wanted to disturb the moment. She took a quick glance up at his face. It was too dark to see anything, really. There was nothing in his bearing to tell her what he was thinking.

But then he glanced down at her, and the moon was bright enough to show his grin. “I should thank you for including me in your mission,” he said softly. “I’ve never enjoyed a campaign more than this one.”

Her heart skipped. But something made her pause. She’d heard praises and blandishments from men before — men who only wanted to lure her into their beds.

Rafe had made no untoward moves, other than their kiss. A kiss, she sternly reminded herself, that he initiated because they were about to be discovered.

A kiss that she would treasure the memory of, even if it had been given out of necessity. But he was entirely too good at making it look believable.

Making it
feel
believable.

“I should thank you for your help,” she said. “If this mission is a success, we should form a mercenary company together.”

She didn’t think that she imagined the shadow that passed over his eyes at the mention of the future.

“We’ve a long way to go before we can declare ourselves the winners,” he said as they reached the edge of the wood.

Octavia picked up the lamp they’d left there. Now that the evening’s adventure was over, her energy was flagging — and she had a lot of questions to ponder. “You don’t have to escort me,” she said. “I know my way around Maidenstone Wood.”

He took the lamp. “I would be court-martialed if I let my general wander alone through enemy territory.”

She was tired and ready to be alone. But she didn’t fight him over it. It was nice to have someone take care of her — someone who cared whether she was safe. She could get used to the feeling, if she let herself enjoy it too long.

The walk back was uneventful. When they reached the hunting lodge, Octavia paused outside the door. “What is your plan for tomorrow?” she asked.

She had wanted to do more than steal costumes tonight. They had argued about it while making their initial plans at the pub the night before. But Rafe had insisted on progressing in stages, and only using tonight to perform reconnaissance and find the dress. After their near-miss in the stairwell, she understood a little better. But she was still impatient to strike a real blow against the party.

“Tomorrow I am going to find a safe way in and out of the all the other wings in the house. I also plan to spread rumors wherever I can. Sir Percival was already talking about ghosts tonight — I’m sure he’s eager to learn all of Maidenstone’s stories so he can steal them for his terrible poetry. I’ll start with him and see where the rumors flow.”

“How susceptible do you think the rest of the suitors will be?”

Rafe shrugged. “They probably won’t believe in ghosts. But they aren’t happy with the situation.”

“Are they not enjoying themselves at Maidenstone?”

“How could they enjoy themselves? You’re not there. Lucretia is too dull. And Callista is entirely inappropriate for most of them.”

Octavia froze with her hand on the door. “Callista is there?”

For the first time that night, he looked chagrined — as though he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten something important. “I meant to tell you earlier. She arrived today and threw the entire party into disorder.”

“What is she like?”

He didn’t respond immediately. Finally, he said, “She’s a Briarley, for better or worse. Less refined than you, more straightforward than Lucretia. And my brother, of all people, seems smitten with her.”

“Anthony likes her? I would have thought he would find an American too uncouth.”

Rafe laughed. “Anthony would rather hang himself than marry an American. It’s Thorington who’s taken with her.”

“
Thorington
?” Octavia wasn’t acquainted with Rafe’s brother, but she knew him by reputation — and she had assumed he would never marry again. “I cannot imagine it.”

“I cannot, either. But when he saw her today, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. And he’s already trying to intimidate the other suitors into staying away from her.”

“That isn’t good for me,” she said.

“It’s perfect,” he replied. “Ferguson hates Thorington. If Callista makes the mistake of marrying him — which would probably be good for Thorington, so I wouldn’t mind it — Ferguson will surely eliminate her from contention. If you ruin the party, he’ll have to find you and give you another chance.”

Octavia considered this. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. As she’d said before, she would rather see Callista inherit over Lucy. And the only way to do that was to ensure that Lucy couldn’t attract a suitor.

“Very well,” she said, opening the door. “We’ll proceed tomorrow as planned. Will you call for me at the same time?”

He nodded. “Sleep well, Octavia.”

His voice was warm, but he said nothing at all about their kiss. Like it was merely part of the mission. Like it had meant nothing at all to him.

“Safe travels back to Maidenstone, Rafe,” she said softly.

Something flickered in his eyes. He lifted his free hand, the one that didn’t hold the lamp, as though he intended to reach out to her.

But this time, she was the one who balked. There was too much she didn’t know about him — too much risk that he could hurt her, in the end.

Too much risk that she would hurt herself, if she tried to keep him.

She stepped inside the hunting lodge and closed the door.

And spent the rest of the night feeling like a fool for denying him.

O
ctavia couldn’t remember
the last time she had lain on her stomach in the grass. Certainly not since her debut. Expensive muslin was made for impressing a man, not for rolling about in the dirt.

She lifted her spyglass to her right eye, squinting. Maidenstone Abbey was half a mile away. From her vantage point on the hill, off at an angle from the house, she could watch anyone who stepped out into the gardens behind the modern wings, as well as anyone coming and going along the main drive. She couldn’t always make out faces, but some guests were dressed distinctly enough that she could guess their identities. Lucy, at least, she would recognize anywhere, even if she hadn’t done this several times in the last month and learned which hats were still in Lucy’s wardrobe. As long as she didn’t stand or move too quickly, no one would notice her. And if they did, they wouldn’t see who she was.

A more squeamish miss might have refused the advantage of the high ground in this case. She was on her belly in the Briarley family graveyard, where most of the family had been interred over the past three centuries. Before that, it had been the spot where the man who would become the first earl had met to parlay with his brother, the last abbot of Maidenstone Abbey.

That parlay had gone badly, as relations between Briarleys so often did. The first earl had later ambushed his brother in the Maidenstone clearing under a flag of truce, killing his brother and slaughtering the monks. Those men were buried in the oldest corner of the graveyard, and the first earl was buried next to his brother — perhaps an attempt, at the very end of his own life, to beg for forgiveness.

Not that the rest of the Briarleys cared very much for clemency. The graveyard had expanded over time, often as a result of bloodshed. The mausoleum that held the other Maidenstone earls, including her grandfather, guarded her back. Julian was buried to her right, next to their parents, covered with neatly trimmed grass. Lucy’s parents were to her left. Octavia might be buried in the ground she currently rested upon, if she didn’t marry someone who would expect her to be buried in his family’s plot instead.

Octavia wouldn’t marry, of course. She was too proud to take whoever would settle for her ruined reputation.

And she also wouldn’t think of Rafe, and the kiss they had shared the night before. It was part of their mission, nothing more. After they destroyed Lucy’s chances at winning Maidenstone, she might never see him again.

But she didn’t know whether to be grateful or incredibly irritated to have learned that kissing could be delightful — and that she wanted more of it,
now
.

It was like he’d awoken something within her that she didn’t know had been asleep. She’d spent the previous night half-awake, dreaming, remembering the feel of his lips on hers and the weight of his hand on her cheek. It was like every point where he had touched her was alive, and other parts still slept — waiting, perhaps, for his next caress to wake up the rest of her.

It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. And it wasn’t one she could afford to indulge in. He would never marry her; she shouldn’t even think of it, let alone allow the daydream to take shape. The most she could ever be was his mistress.

Mistresses could be cast aside. Octavia needed more security than that.

She took a breath, pushed Rafe out of her mind, and scanned the horizon. She counted ten bonnets in the gardens, mostly in groups of two or three, although some of the women had men with them. She had already watched a party of eight men ride out toward Salcombe. Another party was forming in the drive, but they didn’t have horses with them. She trained her glass on them — two men, three women.

She knew, instinctively, that one of the men was Rafe. She couldn’t see his face — the glass wasn’t strong enough to examine his features or understand his emotions. But there was something about his bearing that she recognized, even from a distance — the way his stance seemed casual, even as he scanned the perimeter watchfully.

She guessed that the other man was his brother, the Duke of Thorington. Two of the women were his sisters, Lady Serena and Lady Portia. She’d known Lady Serena during her debut year, and had seen Lady Portia from a distance — with their blonde and red hair, respectively, they were quite distinctive.

The third woman was unknown to her. She had dark hair, and she must not have tied her bonnet properly — Octavia watched as Portia retied it for her.

Was that the missing Briarley cousin? Was Thorington wooing Callista, or was he pursuing some other plan?

She was impatient for Rafe’s report from the party, but it would be hours yet before they could meet. She watched their group walk away from the house, toward the cliffs overlooking the sea. It would be a pretty walk — the weather was warm but not unbearable, and she had seen footmen taking chairs and baskets of food in that direction half an hour before.

She and Lady Serena had once enjoyed a picnic near the Serpentine with a group of men and women their age during their debut season, before everything had gone sour. The girl had been lovely company. But after Octavia’s ruin, she had never heard from Serena again.

It was one of a thousands small losses. Octavia didn’t hold any particular anger toward Serena or miss her more than her other friends. But seeing Serena wandering around Maidenstone, enjoying the views, without any likelihood that she would ever receive Octavia again — it seemed like Octavia was destined to keep suffering those losses, over and over, as she was reminded of what used to be.

She was so intent on watching Rafe’s party, and so intent on tamping down her jealousy, that she didn’t notice the woman walking toward her until it was too late to move. A flash of muslin caught her attention. She turned her spyglass toward it before realizing that the woman was far too close to see properly with magnification.

She slowly lowered the spyglass. Emma, Lady Maidenstone, was less than fifty feet away and walking straight toward her.

“Damnation,” she muttered to herself. At least Lady Maidenstone was alone. Octavia didn’t want to see Lucy again. She especially didn’t want to see her next to Julian’s grave.

There was no graceful way to stand up, and she didn’t want to draw attention from anyone in the gardens below. She rolled into a sitting position, sure that Agnes would have to use the dress for scraps after this ill treatment. “Isn’t it a lovely day for a stroll, my lady?” she said to Lady Maidenstone, as though it was entirely normal to be found prostrate in a graveyard.

Lady Maidenstone stopped a few feet from her. “Also a lovely day to spy on a party,” she said. “If the servants at the hunting lodge hadn’t told us you were still in the neighborhood, we might have thought you’d abandoned us.”

Octavia hadn’t crossed paths with Lucy or Lady Maidenstone since her arrival. There had been a few near-misses around the estate, but for the most part, they avoided each other. “Are you receiving regular reports on my whereabouts?” she asked.

“Of course,” Lady Maidenstone said. “Lucy can’t be comfortable unless she knows what you’re doing and whether you intend to arrive and ruin her party.”

“I won’t come to a party I’m not invited to,” Octavia said.

She didn’t say she wouldn’t ruin it. Lady Maidenstone didn’t notice. Still, she wasn’t pleased with Octavia’s answer. “Should I confess that I almost hoped you would come even though we told you not to? Your grandfather loved you, you know.”

“I know,” Octavia said.

Lady Maidenstone looked down at her, seeming to consider something. Then she surprised Octavia by sitting in the grass beside her. “I’ve heard enough reasons not to love you from Lucy, and enough reasons to love you from your grandfather. But I would prefer to make up my own mind. Why are you here?”

“Here, in Devonshire?” Octavia asked.

“No — the newspapers and our new guests verified your tale about Somerville casting you aside. Why are you in the graveyard with a spyglass?”

Octavia couldn’t give an honest answer to that. “I am thinking of running away to sea and thought I might test my spyglass here.”

Lady Maidenstone laughed. “You should ask your cousin Callista for lessons. She looks like she could have defeated Nelson himself if she’d had the opportunity.”

Rafe had said something similar. “Is she really so wild?” Octavia asked. “Lucy must not like that.”

“Yes, Callista is wild, and no, Lucy does not like it,” Lady Maidenstone said. “But you didn’t answer why you’re really here.”

“I wanted to see the house. I’ve missed it.”

It wasn’t a lie, even though it wasn’t the full truth. Lady Maidenstone accepted it, though. “I’ll miss it as well, when the time comes to leave. I’ve grown fond of it.”

“What are you doing here?” Octavia asked.

Lady Maidenstone considered her for a moment, then shrugged as though she had decided not to care what Octavia thought. She pulled a flask out of her reticule and held it up. The sun glinted on the metal as she unscrewed the cap. “Your grandfather asked me to visit and share a drink with him occasionally. It felt macabre the first few times, but now I find it rather peaceful. The party won’t miss me at the moment. And I wanted a bit of quiet.”

She offered the flask to Octavia. Octavia suddenly felt a prick of tears in her eyes, but she took a sip. “I drink brandy at Julian’s grave whenever I visit him, but I never thought you’d be the same,” she said as she handed the flask back.

“I would never have thought to do this either,” Lady Maidenstone said frankly. She raised the flask toward the mausoleum, then took a longer sip than Octavia’s. “But I happen to like the Briarleys despite your unorthodox ways. And I had a lot of affection for your grandfather.”

“I wasn’t aware that it was a love match,” Octavia said.

“It wasn’t,” Emma said. Her laugh was easy, unaffected — however she had come to be married to a man fifty years her senior, it had ceased to bother her. “But he was kind to me. I’ll have to find another situation, of course. But the time I spent here was mostly lovely. And I would help the remaining Briarleys if I thought I could. He made me care more for your legacy than I expected to.”

“Why didn’t Lucy come to the graveyard with you? She’s the one who cares about legacies.”

Lady Maidenstone looked down at her flask. Her light grey dress was the very last stage of mourning, but she still looked beautiful — perhaps even more beautiful than she might have in another color, since the grey added an air of tragedy to her pale, ethereal features. She was so young to be widowed, and so young to have to make her own way after….

But she wasn’t much older than Octavia had been when she had decided to become Somerville’s mistress. There was a wealth of wisdom in her voice when she spoke. “Lucy hasn’t visited the graveyard since your grandfather died. She always visited Julian on the anniversary of his death, but she couldn’t do it this year. She doesn’t…make peace with situations as easily as I do.”

That was an understatement.

“If you know that about her, why would you want me to come to the party?” Octavia asked. “Lucy wouldn’t want to lose Maidenstone to me.”

“It is probably Fate’s doing that you never received an invitation,” Lady Maidenstone said. There was a musing quality to her voice, as though she had considered that question before. “Lucy would be devastated to lose. And I should think of my own future, if nothing else. If she lost, and you or Callista wouldn’t let me stay at Maidenstone, I would have nowhere to go.”

“I know something about that,” Octavia said.

“I know. Your grandfather told me to ask your advice if I wanted to go down the mistress path after his death.” She took another long draught from the flask. “I had rather hoped for a love match this time. But from the men I’ve met at the party so far, it seems there isn’t much of a market for young widows with no dowry to speak of.”

“You should be able to make a match,” Octavia said. “You would need to come to London, though. I could help you with the dresses, at least. But I can’t attend any parties with you if you’re to maintain your respectability.”

Lady Maidenstone shrugged. “If Lucy wins, I don’t have to make any decisions immediately. And I’ll be honest — I think she deserves it. She was the only one of you who was here when the earl was dying, and she kept the estate running through sheer strength of will. I know she was hurt that her grandfather didn’t acknowledge that and reward her for it.”

“The Briarleys tend to reward bad behavior more than good.”

“You’re all more than a little mad,” Lady Maidenstone said, raising her flask in the direction of the mausoleum again.

Octavia looked back toward the house. It was a monument to that ancestral madness — all the men and women who had come before, adding on to the legacy of scandal and mayhem.

She loved it as much as she had loved anything.

But then, she’d loved Lucy as much as she’d loved anything, and that love had been betrayed. Winning the house would at least give her a solid foundation on which to build the rest of her life. Trusting another person, however, was an entirely different proposition.

She had to trust at least a bit, though, or she couldn’t make progress toward her goals. “Would you help me to win if I let you live at Maidenstone indefinitely?” she asked.

There was a long pause. When she finally looked away from the house, she saw that Lady Maidenstone had set the flask aside and was shredding a blade of grass. “I do not know,” Lady Maidenstone said slowly. “Your grandfather would tell me to take whatever offer was most advantageous.”

It was the same thing he had told Octavia when Octavia had accepted Somerville’s offer. “If you ignored his advice, what would you choose?”

Lady Maidenstone dropped the ruined blade and plucked another. “I don’t like to help any of you betray each other. The Briarley legacy is all well and good, but wouldn’t you be happier if you stopped hating each other?”

The graveyard was full of stones marking the final resting places of generations who had hated each other. It was like every generation vowed to be different, and yet couldn’t help but follow the same patterns. Fathers were overly harsh with sons, and sons plotted against fathers, and brothers mistrusted each other, over and over, until almost all the Briarleys were gone.