Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) (13 page)

But most of her wishes involved kissing Rafe in a stairwell. And while he’d held her and comforted her, he hadn’t made any other move to kiss her.

She wanted to ask him to kiss her. Or, maybe, she wanted to lean in and kiss him herself — to capture that mouth the way he had captured hers the night before, to explore him, to learn the feel of his mouth and the hard plane of his jaw.

She
ached
to know all of it. She ached to know all of him, and to know what she had missed by being Somerville’s mistress instead of someone else’s wife.

But while her Briarley heart practically begged her to leap, she knew how badly kisses could end. If Rafe denied her, her embarrassment this time would be private and personal — but no less painful.

She shook her head. “I had thought we could leave the costume here between hauntings — it would make it easier if I didn’t have to get dressed at the hunting lodge, and this area is easy enough to reach without being detected. But if Lucy comes here regularly, I cannot leave the dress here. I thought you should know about the passageway, though. We might be able to make our ‘ghost’ vanish here, since none of the guests would know how I walked through a tapestry and solid rock.”

“That could be a viable option,” Rafe said. “Let’s plan to do it tomorrow night? I can maneuver the party into wanting to go on a ghost hunt then, with a bit of nudging. It’s a Sunday, so Lucy will likely want to retire early — and the silliest, most superstitious ones might like the thrill of hunting ghosts on the Lord’s day. That’s all the excuse we need to get them to come here, where you can scare them properly.”

Octavia laughed. She appreciated his suggestions — but she also appreciated that he took hers seriously. Even Somerville had ignored her sometimes, then thought he’d come up with an idea that had originally been hers. “It’s brilliant. You were the best accomplice I could have chosen for this, weren’t you?”

She had meant it as a compliment. But when he smiled at her, there was something sad around his eyes. “You have no idea, love. I hope you shan’t regret it.”

Her breath caught — from the endearment, or from the warning implicit in his voice. His gaze immediately turned shuttered. He ducked under the low entryway, holding the tapestry back so that she could exit.

She followed him. She couldn’t do anything but follow him. The die was cast. Whether they kissed again or whether they eventually parted with nothing at all between them didn’t matter — they were still partners for the moment. Navigating the path between her head, which wanted safety, and her heart, which wanted
more
, was her problem, not his.

She pulled the hidden lever to seal the passageway, catching one final look at the portrait and the flowers below it before the door closed. How would the girls in the painting have lived if either had taken better risks with their hearts?

And was she ready to take that leap, or should she heed the warning in Lucy’s pose?

H
e was
in so much bloody trouble.

The next night, he spent the entire walk to the hunting lodge debating whether he should pursue the next phase of his mission against Somerville. The next phase, obviously, was to seduce Octavia. And then, after that, he might learn her secrets.

It would be all too easy. She was ripe for it.
He
was ripe for it. He had wanted to kiss her the night before. Wanted more than kissing, to be honest. He’d wanted it when he had retrieved her from the hunting lodge. He’d wanted it when he had opened the door to the abbey for her and found her grinning at him like they were about to capture a kingdom. He’d wanted it when she had pulled a candle from her reticule, prepared for any adventure.

And then, when she’d found Lucy’s shrine to Octavia — for it could have only been a shrine — Octavia had looked so sad that he couldn’t help but hug her.

Rafe didn’t hug the targets in his missions.

That, obviously, was a problem.

He had never felt the need to console a woman whose secrets he was about to take. Nor had he felt any particular compassion for the men whose allegiance he gained through deceit, or for the friends he made under his false identities. They all probably assumed that he was dead at this point anyway.

But Octavia was different. Using her wouldn’t save someone’s life. It might keep Somerville out of power, and Rafe thought that was a worthy goal. But it was getting harder to lie to himself and say that all was fair in love and war — especially when he had never believed in love, and this wasn’t a war.

When he reached Octavia’s doorstep, he was more unsure than ever about going through with his plan. If she had been as hell-bent on revenge as he was, he wouldn’t think twice about using her for his own ends — they would be making a deal that suited both of them, and there would be no reason to regret that.

But even though she was so bloody fearless, her heart wasn’t suited for revenge. He had witnessed her hesitation as she looked at the portrait of her and Lucretia. She seemed too sad — likely unable to maintain the anger necessary to see her plan through to its bitter conclusion.

And he remembered that her revenge was limited to ruining the party, not to harming Lucretia directly. There were any number of ways she could have hurt Lucretia if she really wanted to — drugging her, trapping her in a room with a man, and then spreading rumors about her would have ended her chances easier than anything else. Or kidnapping her and removing her from England until the estate was settled. Thorington might be willing do it for her, if he realized that getting rid of Lucretia could ensure that Callista would inherit by default.

Rafe wouldn’t mention that idea to Thorington. If his brother hadn’t thought to resort to kidnapping yet, Rafe didn’t want to encourage him.

He knocked on the door to the hunting lodge, squaring his shoulders. He either had to be clear in his mission, or he had to let her go. There couldn’t be a repeat of the previous night.

When he had escorted her home the night before, she had tilted her head up to look at him through lowered lashes. “Thank you for your assistance, Rafe,” she had said. “There is no one else I would rather have on this mission than you.”

The sadness from finding Lucy’s shrine in the Gothic wing had lingered in her eyes, but her smile was wide and trusting. He had taken her hand without thinking and kissed her knuckles, ignoring the lips that he suddenly ached to touch. “I’ve enjoyed it, Miss Briarley.”

“You shouldn’t call me that, you know. I’ve been Octavia for ages.” Then, she took a deep breath. “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

So direct. So fearless. He dropped her hand as though it could burn him — which it might, if he allowed it to. He took a step back without thinking.

She frowned at him. The trusting smile was gone, and her eyes were suddenly wary. She placed her hand on the latch and nodded at him as though he were a servant. “I beg your pardon. Good night, my lord, and safe travels back to Maidenstone.”

Her voice had dropped, in both tone and temperature. He didn’t want to end it like that.

“It isn’t that I don’t want to kiss you,” he said.

Her hand froze on the latch. She turned back to face him fully. “No? Then what is it?”

There were any number of answers he could have given her — any number that were closer to the truth. But he said what he thought she needed to hear. “I think it is best not to become…involved with each other while we are pursuing your mission. Kissing is too much of a distraction.”

Something flickered over her face. “Perhaps I want to be distracted.”

His need for her flared up. But he shut it down. He was already taking advantage of her trust to get to Somerville. He had planned to take advantage of her heart as well, since it was the quickest way to seal Somerville’s fate. He was no longer sure he could live with that choice. And she had a more forgiving nature than he did, but he didn’t think she would forgive him if he took her to bed and then betrayed her.

Still, he couldn’t help himself entirely — even though it damned him, and even though it probably confused the hell out of her. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “If circumstances were different — but trust me when I say that this is a very, very bad idea.”

She had scanned his face for an endless moment, as though she wasn’t sure whether to believe the words he gave her or the feel of his hand on her skin. Not that he could blame her — he wasn’t sure what to believe himself.

But finally, she had nodded. “You’re right, of course. Shall I see you tomorrow?”

He had agreed. He had set a time. He had let her go.

And he had kicked himself for it all the way back to Maidenstone.

He had spent the day reminding himself, sternly, that he either had to seduce her for the mission or let her go completely. But when she opened the door tonight, his resolve flickered.

Flickered, then died, when he saw her confident stance and the grin that felt like it was just for him.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

He blurted it out like a schoolboy complimenting the first girl he’d ever seen. She curtsied to him, dramatically, laughing as she dipped down in the overblown dress. “Thank you, my lord. The dress fits well enough, but it’s remarkably heavy. We must scare away at least five suitors to make the wearing of the dress worth the effort.”

It wasn’t the Tudor dress that made her beautiful. Sure, it was glorious in its own right — heavy velvet brocade, intricately finished with seed pearls and embroidery, flaring dramatically from the tight bodice. Not that he had looked at her bodice, or the way her breasts mounded over the neckline, seemingly only a breath away from being released. Nor had he looked at her waist, wondering how his hands would feel there, pulling her into his arms, into his bed. Nor had he admired her hair, down and unbound like the Virgin Queen’s, burnished with hints of red in the light of the dying sun. It wasn’t quite night yet — they’d met earlier than usual — and yet all he wanted was to spend every bit of darkness caressing her until she begged him….

He was in so much bloody trouble.

If it were only the dress, he could have ignored it. Octavia was beautiful, but he already knew that about her. It was the way she grinned at him, as though they were co-conspirators on an important quest. It was her confidence as she pulled the door closed behind her, swinging her reticule — incongruous with her dress — as she turned back to face him. It was the tone of her voice, half-amused, half-commanding, and entirely too sultry.

All of that — all that Octavia was — would bring him to his knees if he let her.

He had to keep himself together. He offered her his arm. “I hadn’t thought you would be dressed already, or I would have brought a carriage.”

“It seemed easier to dress at home. Not that I don’t trust your experience with women’s clothing, my lord,” she said, in a teasing voice that went straight to his gut — or somewhere lower. “But I’ve worn Tudor dresses to masquerades before. They require more effort than modern styles. My lady’s maid knows what she is about.”

“What do the rest of your servants think about this?”

“I gave them the night off and told them to stay with their families until morning. I can’t have them telling Lucy about this, and I think at least one of them would have reported it to her immediately if they saw me in this dress. It’s for the best you didn’t bring a carriage. If someone saw us on the road or in the drive, the ruse would be over before it began.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “You may have to wait quite some time in the dark while I gather our ghost-hunting party.”

“As long as I am the only ghost in the Gothic wing, I don’t mind it,” she said.

“It’s unlikely to work, you know. Some of the men have little sense, but it would take more than a ghost to scare most people away from the chance to inherit an abbey.”

She sighed. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to help me. But I’ve made up my mind.”

He couldn’t keep hesitating. He’d seen too many battles lost from lack of decisiveness. It was vital to either commit wholeheartedly, even to a forlorn hope or likely defeat, or to abandon the battle entirely. Any dithering would only result in more casualties and a lower likelihood of success.

He took a breath. “I vow that I will do whatever is required to make sure that Lucretia doesn’t inherit Maidenstone.”

That was a vow he could live with — a vow that would get her what she wanted.

But it didn’t necessarily mean he had to do everything that she asked. Lucretia would lose if Octavia ruined her — but she would also lose if Rafe found a way to make sure Octavia was the winner.

Octavia claimed not to want that path, but he suddenly wondered if he could make that happen. Perhaps it would pay her back for how he intended to betray her — and make himself feel better for what he was going to do.

If she noticed that his vow left several large, gaping exceptions, she didn’t say anything. She nodded briskly, as though she had expected his cooperation. “Very well, then. Shall we get on with it?”

H
er co-conspirator was having doubts
. Octavia knew it as sure as she knew the doubts in her own heart.

She had spent a sleepless night thinking about Lucy — thinking about all the ways they had failed each other, and all the ways they continued to fail. And she’d thought about Rafe, and why he hadn’t kissed her, and whether there was more to it than his explanation — entirely practical — that they couldn’t jeopardize their mission.

But the time for doubts had passed. He got her into the abbey with little effort. They reached the Gothic wing just as day turned to dusk. He had left one of the doors unlocked, so he didn’t need to go into the modern wing without her and come back to let her in — they walked in together as though she belonged there.

“How long do you think it will take to assemble the party of ghost hunters?” she asked quietly, trying to keep her voice and her steps from echoing as they walked through the soaring chapel.

“At least an hour,” he said. “It is Sunday — as I guessed, Lucretia indicated before dinner that she intended to make a short night of this evening’s entertainment. So a few well-placed words to whichever men are still left in the drawing room when I get back should make it easy to get a few of them together. I already hinted to Sir Percival this morning that he should go looking for ghosts on the holy day. But I have to be careful — I don’t want any of them to remember that I suggested it.”

“Shall we agree to a time? I don’t want to wait without a candle for longer than necessary.”

“I will make enough noise when we’re walking through the chapel that you can’t possibly miss it,” Rafe said. “It should only take you a few moments to extinguish the candle and arrange yourself in an appropriately macabre manner.”

Octavia nodded. She no longer loved the plan, if only because she didn’t like the idea of hiding alone in the dark for so long. She might be the only ghost there, but she was too much of a Briarley to think that the estate was entirely free of restless spirits. But she had set her course.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was to cross paths with anyone else in the Gothic wing. And so it came as a shock when they rounded the last corner before the monks’ rooms and ran straight into Lady Serena.

Silence reigned, absolute. Serena looked Octavia up and down, clearly surprised — and it was only surprise that Octavia saw on her face, with none of the judgment she had expected. Octavia hadn’t seen her since their debut season, when they had been friends. Or, at least, the kind of friends one made in society — happy to gossip with one another, until the gossip targeted Octavia and turned her into someone with whom her “friends” couldn’t associate.

“What illicit assignation are you seeking, Serena?” Rafe asked.

He sounded amused. Serena shot him a glare before returning her gaze to Octavia. “Nothing as fascinating as whatever you are doing, Rafe. How do you do, Miss Briarley?”

Octavia nodded at her, regally, as though they were still on speaking terms — as though Octavia was wearing a proper dress, not a Tudor relic. “I am well, thank you. Are you enjoying Devonshire, Lady Serena?”

They had become close enough to use their Christian names with each other during their debut year, but if Serena intended to be formal, Octavia would match her. “It would be far more entertaining with you in the neighborhood. Why haven’t you come to the party yet? Miss Lucretia wouldn’t say where you were when I asked her.”

Serena hadn’t been as close to Lucy during their debuts as she had been to Octavia. But before Octavia could think about whether Serena and Lucy were now friends, Rafe interrupted them. “I’m sure this reunion is charming as can be, but you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here, Serena? Must I call someone out to protect your honor?”

Serena laughed this time. “Would that I were causing such a scandal. But I’ve already told you there is no one here whom I wish to marry, let alone meet for an illicit rendezvous. If you want to call out the person responsible for my presence here, you can shoot Thorington with my blessing.”

“What is our brother doing now?”

“He
says
he is training Callista to be a better bride for Anthony. He insisted she meet him here so that he could see whether she’s capable of pouring tea — as though Americans can’t do anything with tea, save for tossing it into harbors.”

“I assume Anthony isn’t participating in this farce?” Rafe asked.

Serena snorted. “Anthony won’t let himself be caught in the same room as Callista. He’s not going to let Thorington trick him into that match. I was supposed to chaperone Thorington and Callista, but I judged it best for him if I left them to their own devices.”

Serena had said she didn’t want an illicit rendezvous of her own — but her smirk said she wasn’t above creating one for someone else. “Which room are they in?” Octavia asked.

Serena pointed to the middle of the hall — not the end where the abbot’s chamber was, but still too close for comfort. “I told them I would wait outside to preserve Callista’s virtue, but I am going back to the drawing room. If Thorington accidentally ruins her and has to marry her, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”

“Not subtle, Serena,” Rafe said with a tsk of mock disapproval. “Thorington won’t thank you for your meddling.”

“As we’re supposed to thank him for his meddling? While he’s trying to force Anthony into an unwanted marriage and is happy to ruin any chance Portia and I might have at making love matches? I thought you wanted us to push Thorington and Callista together.”

“You can’t blame Thorington for wanting to keep you from marrying your painting instructor,” Rafe said, his amusement indicating that this was an argument of long standing. “But as much as I would like to see Thorington brought low by love, catching them in a compromising position would probably cost Callista her chance at Maidenstone. Ferguson already hates Thorington — he’ll be looking for any excuse not to give Maidenstone to our brother. There are ways to get Thorington and Callista together, but trapping them into marriage isn’t it.”

Serena gave Octavia another assessing glance. “Do you suppose Ferguson would consider giving Maidenstone to the two of you?”

“That’s not what we’re doing here, if you thought that,” Octavia said quickly.

“I cannot begin to guess what you’re doing here, especially in that dress. But I find myself very curious to learn more.”

The girl’s voice was mostly definitely curious — but it was the curiosity of an old friend, not the more avaricious prying of someone who wanted the latest gossip to spread among the ton. Octavia hadn’t heard a tone like that from a woman in ages. She had made some acquaintances among the
demimondaine
, but most of them came from the lower classes and very few of them were comfortable with her. The women who did come from her class were typically married ladies or widows who enjoyed illicit affairs, but they were still received in some circles even if they weren’t always welcome at Almack’s. Octavia mostly avoided them, and they mostly shunned her.

To be fair, she didn’t know how Serena had reacted when news of Octavia’s ruin had swept through London. But she did know that Serena had never written to her or made any effort to renew their acquaintance.

And so while Octavia wanted to ask Serena everything, her prudent side — the side she rarely listened to — said it was too soon to trust again.

“It’s a Briarley tradition to dress up when visiting Maidenstone for the first time in months,” Octavia said vaguely. It was the first excuse that came to mind. From Rafe’s laugh, it was the wrong one.

“Don’t answer her, Miss Briarley. If she knows you’ll answer one question, she’ll ask a thousand. Now, we must be on our way. Serena, if you won’t tell anyone you saw us here, I won’t tell Thorington that you’re plotting to legshackle him to Callista.”

Serena pouted. “Unfair, Rafe. You don’t want to tell Thorington anyway. I need more incentive than that.”

“Such as a trip to Brighton?”

She slid another glance in Octavia’s direction. “If you are free to take me and Portia to Brighton next week, I’ll be astonished.”

“I should have strangled you when you were a child and blamed it on the governess,” Rafe muttered.

His sister kissed him on the cheek. “You’d have had to murder Portia too. You’re beastly enough that you could have done it once, but I don’t think you would have had the stomach to do it twice. Be careful with whatever it is you’re about tonight. I’m sure I’ll ferret it out tomorrow.”

Then she turned to Octavia. Her smile turned pensive. “I won’t tell anyone that I saw you here, save for my sister. But I hope you are well. And I hope I may have the chance to present you to Portia — she would quite enjoy you. I’m the better sister, of course, but I think you would like her.”

She kissed Octavia’s cheek before Octavia could think of a response. And then she strolled away through the darkened corridors as though she had seen nothing at all — as though she didn’t care that Octavia was a ruined woman.

They stood in silence until Serena’s footsteps faded into nothing. Then Rafe sighed. “I apologize, Miss Briarley. One would think that my sisters would become more mature with every passing season, but they defy all expectations.”

Serena and Portia would be twenty-two and twenty now. Serena was a few months younger than Octavia, and so had been seventeen during their debut season; Portia, then fifteen, hadn’t come into society before Octavia was ruined. As daughters of a duke, with rich dowries, either of them could have married before now if they had felt so inclined. Of course, it was rumored that they were illegitimate — some men might balk at that. Somerville, for one, was too ambitious to marry anyone who might have been a bastard. But legally, Serena and Portia were ladies, and so they could do whatever they wished, within reason.

But that didn’t extend to accepting Octavia back into society. Lady Serena surely couldn’t risk associating with Octavia. Unmarried ladies simply didn’t acknowledge that mistresses existed. Especially unmarried ladies with Serena’s tenuous reputation — rumored bastards didn’t need the added stigma of befriending ruined women.

It didn’t matter, though. Octavia wouldn’t see Serena again. She had a mission to focus on tonight — and that mission had just grown more difficult.

“How long do you think Thorington and Callista will be in this wing?” she asked.

Rafe shrugged. “Thorington takes me into his confidence far less than I would like. They could be here for fifteen minutes, or they could be here all night.”

Octavia’s eyebrows rose. “Is Callista really so improper that she would risk spending a whole night with him?”

“I told you before that she’s rather like you, albeit less polished. I think she would dare almost anything if it meant getting what she wanted.”

“And do you think she wants to win Maidenstone? Or does she want to win your brother?”

“Impossible to know without asking her. I’ve been spending too much time with one Briarley to adequately interrogate another one.”

Octavia liked the sound of that — liked the teasing note in his voice, and how he made it sound like he would rather do nothing else than spend time with her.

But she didn’t encourage him, even though she wanted to. She’d tried encouraging him the night before. She shouldn’t have — she’d thought that she had convinced herself to aim for safety. But when he had escorted her to her doorstep, she had, in a moment of insanity, flirted with him. She’d touched his chest in a way that couldn’t possibly be misconstrued.

And he had stopped her. Perhaps he didn’t want to stop her — he’d said that kissing was not a good idea, not that he didn’t
want
to kiss her.

Octavia had spent the whole night mostly sleepless, wondering what he meant by that. Would the circumstances ever be different enough that he would decide kissing was a good idea rather than a bad one?

If she encouraged him tonight, he would likely stop before she wanted him to, leaving her embarrassed — and also aching with desire for more. More laughter, more of his touch on her cheek — more of that feeling that they were on the verge of something delicious, something he seemed to deny himself for reasons she didn’t understand.

She wanted
more
— but she didn’t want to be hurt if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give it to her.

“What shall we do, my lord?” she asked, returning to the immediate problem in front of them. “It seems like a risk to pursue our original plan if Thorington is so close to our battlefield.”

“He must not know you’re anywhere near Maidenstone,” Rafe said decisively. “You’ll find yourself married to Anthony by morning.”

She thought the second part of his statement was a jest, but she agreed with the first part. “Then we should change our tactics. But I cannot think of another part of the abbey so well suited for this. And I don’t want to let another night go by without doing something to harm Lucy’s party. She could be married by the end of the week if I don’t take bolder action.”

“I saw nowhere else in my reconnaissance that would be appropriate either. But what if we staged our farce outside the abbey?”

Octavia mulled this over. It would be harder to control the crowd outside…but easier to make sure Lucy didn’t stumble across their activities by accident.

The idea seemed to come to them at the same time, almost as though they were meant to do it. They looked at each other, and said, simultaneously: “The Maidenstone clearing.”

T
he Maidenstone clearing
was ideally suited for eerie activities. Octavia should have thought of it sooner. Of course, she didn’t enjoy waiting there alone for nearly two hours. But Maidenstone Wood was as familiar to her as the abbey was — she didn’t find the sounds of the forest frightening.

She’d gone to the Maidenstone clearing regularly as a girl. Later, she always visited it on those secret trips when she had paid her respects at Julian’s grave. The Briarley family believed that anyone who deserved the favor would see his or her sins washed clean there.