Winning Miss Wakefield: The Wallflower Wedding Series (19 page)

“This may sound trite and meaningless, but if I had the power to change your fate . . . for the better, I would.”

“The sentiment was quite nicely said.” She lifted her watery gaze and swiped her fingers across her cheek. “However, we both know differently.”

Seeing a tear she missed, he leaned down to kiss it dry. The salty drop dampened his lips. He pressed them together, tasting the essence of her sadness. He wished he could remove the pain from her life just as easily as he had the tear. “We do?”

She nodded. “Eve explained your reasons for not marrying. If it means anything, after what you and your parents and even your uncle suffered, I might be inclined to seek revenge as well.”

Stunned, he lifted his head and abruptly dropped his arms from around her. Irritation and anger swept over him at full force, like a racehorse from the starting gate. Eve had overstepped her bounds. “And did my
dear aunt
volunteer the information or answer a question you posed to her?”

Miss Wakefield took a step back, taking her warm softness with her. Affronted, no doubt by his sudden coldness, she put her hands on her hips. “It bothers you that I know your reasons for not marrying?”

Bugger it all, yes.
“They are mine, just as your reasons
for
marrying belong to you.”

Her eyes went from narrowed slits to opening wide, her brows lifting. “Yet fool that I am, I offered mine to you. I thought if you knew we shared an experience, it would help you—”

“Help
me
?” His temper climbed. How dare she look at him with pity! He was no longer the boy who’d watched his parents’ carriage fall off a cliff and smash against the rocks below. He’d buried those scars a long time ago, and he was a different man now. A hardened man, capable of dangerous things. Vengeful things. “Do not imagine for an instant that I require help in taking a bride. If I ever chose that path, I have a title, lands, and wealth to aid me. There is
nothing
you could offer that I do not already possess.”

She jerked back as if he’d raised a hand to strike her.

“Clearly, I have wounded your ego by bothering to care for the man behind the
title, lands, and wealth
.” Swallowing, she hiked up her chin and straightened her shoulders. “Nevertheless, I will keep this memory with me. I made the mistake of believing we were friends and offered my concern. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Friends? The word felt like a spike being driven through his chest. When she attempted to walk away from him, he took hold of her arm. “My
friends
stay out of matters that are not their own.”

“With this reaction, it is no wonder!” Hardness flashed in her gaze, altering the warm, summer blue to winter. “It is a shame really. Your parents, who loved each other so deeply, likely wanted the same for you. Yet you are so blind in your quest for revenge, and apparently so rich in wealth and friendship, that you cast aside someone who truly cares for
you
”—her voice broke—“for
your
future.”

“A future in which you have no stake,” he reminded, releasing her. “So what does it matter to you?”

“Matter? To me?” She laughed, the sound high and piercing. “Not a whit, I assure you.”

“You are a maddening, nonsensical creature!” He had the urge to take hold of her again, grip her by the shoulders, shake her, or haul her against him and kiss her.

“What does it matter to you?” She stormed out before he could answer.

Matter? To me? Apparently, far too much
.

So much, in fact, that it frightened him.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
he following evening, dinner was an interesting affair. For the first time, they gathered in the dining hall. Twin pendant chandeliers hung down from the fresco-painted ceiling. Above them, angels, like the ones in the foyer, gathered on high, while below, the atmosphere was anything but heavenly.

The party sat along a dark walnut table that extended far enough to seat twice as many, but also was narrow enough for easy conversation with those directly across the richly glossed surface.

Unfortunately for Merribeth, Bane was that person.

She still struggled to calm her anger and hurt over her encounter with him in the stables yesterday, and she attempted to don a mask of cool regard. She’d hoped that after another day of avoiding Bane, it would be easier. It wasn’t. There was such a tumultuous mixture of frustration and concern warring within her that part of her wondered if there was any way she could sit across from him without
accidentally
throwing her knife at him.

Odious man!

Yet the rest of her wanted to be back in his arms.

Why did it feel so right in his embrace? It felt as if the outside world no longer existed. Worry and anguish vanished, leaving only the warmth of his body pressed against hers. She wanted to feel that way forever.

Troubling her most of all was his quest for revenge at all cost. What kind of life was that? Didn’t he realize his determination to ensure his grandfather didn’t win made Bane the one who lost much more?

Having no answer, she focused on making it through dinner. However, an aura of tension seemed to settle around everyone. Of course, it might have to do with the new addition to their party.

Lord Amberdeen arrived only moments before dinner. In the Great Room, Merribeth overheard that yesterday, the gentlemen had been hunting on Amberdeen’s property, and so it seemed that an invitation to dinner was a suitable payment. Yet the bad blood between Eve and Amberdeen was palpable.

“This is the finest fowl I’ve tasted in a long while,” Amberdeen commented with a salute of his wine glass toward Eve, at the opposite end of the table. “Had I known you had such an excellent cook, I would have—”

“Tried to claim her as your own as well?” Eve interrupted with a razor-edged sweetness. “No doubt you could produce documents with every
appearance
of legitimacy.”

Amberdeen’s grin of admiration never faltered. He possessed an aura of control that seemed as much a part of him as the silver threaded through his hair or even the regal set of his features. “It pleases me that you still give me far too much credit.”

For an instant, the dining room went eerily quiet. The only sound came from Eve’s fingernails tapping against the stem of her glass. Without a word in response, she slowly disconnected her gaze from the unwanted guest and addressed her table partner. “Colonel, you must tell us that fascinating story of your adventure in Egypt.”

Conversation resumed, albeit stilted. Because of the undercurrent of tension, at least no one noticed how Merribeth couldn’t quite meet Bane’s gaze across the table. No one would suspect there was anything between them, other than a casual acquaintance.

If only it felt that way to her too.

When dinner ended, Sophie took her arm and walked with her toward the parlor. Halfway there, she pulled Merribeth into recessed alcove partially hidden beneath the stairs.

“Eve is in a state,” Sophie whispered, pushing up her spectacles and worrying the bridge of her nose. “She’s furious at her nephew for inviting Lord Amberdeen without her permission. The strangest part is that I know he realizes how much Eve despises her neighbor. This leaves me to wonder if there is a rift between them.” She blew out a breath and cautiously glanced over her shoulder. “Just between us, I’ve always had an inkling that if it weren’t for the fact that Amberdeen wants Eve’s land, she might actually have liked him. The same goes for Amberdeen. I think the only reason he pursues the land is actually to gain Eve’s attention.”

Merribeth didn’t know which was more interesting—the fact that her aunt was confiding her preoccupations with her, or the fact that she seemed to be playing matchmaker. “Do you believe that is the reason why dinner was so . . . tense?”

Sophie offered a tentative shrug of her shoulders as she pulled off her spectacles and rubbed the lenses with the corner of her shawl. “But it is peculiar, don’t you think, that Lord Knightswold would do such a thing?”

Peculiar? No. An act of revenge? Most definitely.

Merribeth suspected that the only reason he would have done such a thing was to get back at Eve for sharing information about his past. He was a man driven by revenge at any cost.

“Perhaps he merely shares the same inkling as you—that Amberdeen and Eve are well suited,” Merribeth said, surprised at how convincing she sounded. She almost believed it herself. “Not only that, but Eve made mention that even with Montwood, we are one gentleman short for an even number at the party.”

A sharp gleam lit Sophie’s eyes as she replaced her spectacles. “You are right. I hadn’t thought of that. Perhaps using that reason—the even number of males to females—would ease Eve’s mind. Seeing Amberdeen in a social setting might soften her heart toward him as well.”

“Aunt Sophie, are you turning into a matchmaker?”

Ever the bluestocking, Sophie mulled over her response carefully as she pursed her lips. “I’ll observe them this evening before I make my decision.”

A
fter the gentlemen joined them in the parlor, Montwood set about entertaining everyone with his rambunctious skill on the piano. Lord Amberdeen sat near Sophie, making pleasant conversation on village improvements.

Her aunt continually steered the conversation topic toward Eve’s accomplishments, and to his credit, Lord Amberdeen expounded on her virtues. It seemed Sophie was right about the attraction, at least for
one
of the neighbors. Merribeth only hoped that Amberdeen enjoyed a challenge. She highly doubted Eve would easily accept the widower’s pursuit.

“I daresay you’ve heard of our hostess’s dilemma,” Sophie said to Amberdeen. “We are shy one gentleman for our outing to the village tomorrow. Perhaps you would care to ease her burden?” Yes, her aunt was, indeed, playing matchmaker.

“I should like nothing more,” the gentleman responded, staring directly at Eve, who was standing near enough to observe the exchange and let out a growl of incredulity. Merribeth knew a challenge when she saw one. And apparently so did the rest of the party.

Eve also noticed that she’d become the center of attention but then used it to her advantage. Settling a hand over Montwood’s shoulder, the music fell away. Then, with an unspoken command, the doors to the hall opened.

“Tonight, I’ve planned something of a scavenger hunt with a small twist. I wouldn’t want to make it too easy, after all. Each of you will be given a key,” she said, gesturing to a footman who held a platter of keys with different colored ribbons tied to each end. “Each of these keys leads to a locked door on the main floor of the house. Inside the room that your key opens is a list of items you must find. Find the room. Find the list. Find the items,” she continued, ticking off each with a pointed finger. “And the person who returns at the end of the hour with the most will be declared the winner.”

Once everyone had taken a key, they were each given a lamp, holding a single taper. Once the tapers were lit, the footmen extinguished the sconces and chandeliers. A scavenger hunt in the dark was a twist indeed.

“One word of warning: if you rush around too fast and your flame goes out, you have lost,” Eve concluded, her face cast in eerie shadow, giving her an almost sinister appearance.

Merribeth felt a chill of foreboding. The peculiar smile she’d witnessed earlier had returned. She couldn’t help but wonder if there were higher stakes to Eve’s game than a mere victory.

Then, right on cue, the clock on the mantle began to chime. Midnight. They had one hour before their return to the parlor.

A slow procession of candles filed out of the room, one by one. In the hall, quiet chatter filled the air with murmurs and soft giggles as pairs of people began to split off in different directions.

With Sophie lagging behind in the parlor, Merribeth decided to go alone. Walking toward the music room, she stopped when she noticed Archer trying his key in the lock as Daniela giggled and held the candle aloft.

Merribeth quickly made the decision to head in the opposite direction.

She was just passing the alcove beneath the stairs when a dark figure moved in front of her. Whoever it was did not hold a taper, casting the stranger in shadow. Then, suddenly, her flame went out with a puff. In the next instant, her lamp was pulled from her grasp. But before she could draw breath enough to gasp in surprise, or even outrage, she felt a familiar hand against her lips, before it dropped lower to curl around her elbow and drag her a few steps deeper into the shadows.

“What could you possibly want?” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest instead of starting or shrieking in maidenly outrage. Even though she couldn’t see him, she knew exactly who it was.

A small laugh rumbled in Lord Knightswold’s throat. “How did you know it was me?”

There were many reasons. Because her heart beat differently when he was near. Because her skin tingled and every sense came alive. Because she knew the feel of his hands on her arms as if he’d branded her.

However, she wouldn’t tell him any of that. Instead, she chose a bland explanation. “Your scent.”

As impossible as it seemed, she heard him grin. In the quiet moment that passed between them, she wondered if her admission wasn’t as bland as she thought. She paid close attention to the sounds around her—the quiet scrape of his boots on the floor, muted conversation nearby. Strangely, she didn’t see the light from anyone’s candle. The moment that thought occurred to her, she heard the soft but unmistakable click of a latch.

“Where are we?” she asked, trying to remember if she’d seen a door nearby when she was standing here with Sophie earlier.

“A concealed closet below the stairs,” Bane whispered and moved a step closer. Close enough for his breath to stir the wisps of hair along her temple. “Tell me, what do I smell like?”

She shivered and swallowed simultaneously. Her anger and confusion about him was temporarily put on hold as the realization struck her that they were alone, completely closed off from the others, yet at any moment, they could be discovered. “It isn’t one thing. It’s more of a mélange of fragrances,” she stammered.