Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) (11 page)

What would it have been like to have grown up in a normal family, with normal human dramas? With a father who hadn’t accidentally killed himself to avoid losing a horse race? With a brother who had common sense instead of brandy-fueled recklessness?

But she was a Briarley. She took Lady Maidenstone’s flask and raised a toast to her grandfather. “
Briarley contra mundum
,” she said, and took a sip. “The time for Lucy and I to forgive each other is long past.”

Lady Maidenstone took her flask back, closing it firmly and returning it to her reticule. Then she stood up and brushed the dirt off her skirts. “Your grandfather was right about you,” she said. “You are lovable. But Lucy was right, too. And I don’t know how to reconcile the two. Enjoy your spying — I don’t think I shall tell Lucy that I met you again. But it would be best if you stayed away from the house.”

She walked away before Octavia could respond. And Octavia had to force herself to stay seated, to refrain from calling after her. It felt like it had been a lifetime since she had talked to a woman of her own age and class. And even though their conversation had been unusual in the extreme, it left Octavia feeling more alone than ever.

But Octavia couldn’t afford to wallow. And she couldn’t afford to feel pity for her grandfather’s widow, or for Lucy. She picked up her spyglass again. Rafe would come for her that night, and she wanted to be ready for the next part of their mission.

And she told herself that the mission was all that she needed to prepare for — and that her nerves were battle nerves, and not butterflies over seeing Rafe again.

T
hat afternoon
, Rafe found himself strangely reluctant to play the nursemaid to his siblings. It wasn’t a duty he usually shirked. They all got along better when he kept the peace between them.

If there was any good that had come of Rafe’s capture in Spain and his enforced idleness after escaping to England, it was that he could devote time to his family. Thorington needed a friend, not that he would ever admit it — Rafe was the only one who still treated him like a man rather than the duke everyone bowed to. And the younger siblings needed a buffer between them and Thorington. Thorington treated them too much like children. It was why Rafe knew about their society scrapes and disappointments better than Thorington did. They would never confess their sins to Thorington directly, and most people were too afraid to tell Thorington any gossip about his family.

But Rafe didn’t want to spend any more time dealing with their problems today. He’d already spent nearly three hours with Thorington, Serena, Portia, and Miss Callista Briarley. Ostensibly, Thorington was giving Callista a lesson in British titles and forms of address so that she could acquit herself better at the party — and so that she would be a suitable bride for Anthony, who cared about appearances.

It wasn’t lost on anyone, though, that Anthony had refused to come with them. And one would have to be unconscious, or possibly dead, to miss the sparks of attraction between Thorington and Callista.

Rafe had sprawled on a blanket after their picnic, half-ignoring them as he watched the clouds overhead. He didn’t want to be there, listening to Callista’s voice as Thorington drilled her in British titles, even if it could refresh his memory of American accents in case he needed to impersonate an American again someday.

He wanted to go to Octavia.

She probably wasn’t at the hunting lodge anyway. He’d seen a suspicious flash from the graveyard as his family set out for the cliffs, like sunlight reflecting off a spyglass. She was the only likely spy in the area. It was something Octavia would do — she wasn’t meant for sitting at home, darning socks, while he had all the adventures.

Rafe would far rather see her than stay with his siblings. But they had no idea that he had found Octavia. He couldn’t risk telling Thorington that she was in the neighborhood. If Thorington knew, he would try to convince Rafe to marry her and increase their family’s chances of winning Maidenstone Abbey. It would be convenient for Thorington’s schemes if all three Emmerson-Fairhurst men married Briarleys.

Convenient for Thorington’s schemes — but Rafe couldn’t marry the target of his mission. And he shouldn’t even think of going to her that afternoon. He was using her, after all. She could have been dull, or a shrew, or both, and he still would have needed her to find ammunition against Somerville. Spending more time with her than was strictly necessary shouldn’t matter to him at all.

It
didn’t
matter to him at all.

And that kiss the night before shouldn’t have mattered. He had timed it perfectly — he should be happy about the timing, not the feel of her in his arms. Octavia was beginning to trust him. Their kiss would encourage her to consider allowing him to seduce her. He’d seen her watching him on their walk back to the hunting lodge. And he’d noticed how she’d shied away from him at the last moment on her doorstep, as though she wanted to let him touch her but had let her mind overrule her heart.

That kiss in the stairwell had protected her from discovery during her mission against Lucy. It had also given him the chance to move forward with his mission against Somerville. Two goals, equally served. That was all it was.

That was all he could allow it to be.

But if that’s all it was — why had he dreamed of her the night before? Why, even now, did he wish that Octavia was with him on the cliffs? That they could walk there, just the two of them, in that perfect space between the sea and the sky, and talk of everything and nothing together?

That he could kiss her and touch her and taste her until she was begging for him — until the only word she could say was his name, and the only man she would ever want was him?

He punched his leg, hard, and told himself to focus. This was a mission, not a courtship.

“Are you falling asleep, Rafe?” Serena asked.

He feigned a snore. His sisters laughed. It wasn’t proper behavior in front of Callista, whom he barely knew, but she had lived in America for years — she didn’t seem overly precious about manners.

But it was a good reminder to bring himself back to the present moment.

So Rafe stayed on his best behavior the rest of the afternoon. He remained with his siblings until the very end, and then escorted his sisters and Callista back to the abbey after Thorington left them.

He was too attuned to his instincts, though, to ignore the fact that he’d thought of Octavia at least once a minute. And he knew that his hunger, building slowly throughout the afternoon, had nothing to do with eating dinner, and everything to do with seeing Octavia again.

He was in more trouble than he’d realized.

But he was almost free to pursue his schemes — or so he thought. On the steps leading up to the abbey, right before they parted ways, Portia grabbed his arm. “Do you have a moment, Rafe? Serena and I need a word.”

Of course they did. He’d heard them whispering to each other behind him throughout the walk, but he had stayed resolutely focused on making desultory conversation with Callista.

He didn’t admit that keeping Callista entertained also kept him from thinking about Octavia.

He would have rather taken an hour for himself. But he’d learned from long experience that ignoring Serena and Portia usually resulted in far greater drama. He often only had one opportunity to rein them in before they ran amok.

He turned to Callista. “Would you excuse us? I trust you’re ready to abandon the lot of us anyway.”

“Of course.” Her brown eyes were still pensive — Thorington had left them abruptly on the cliffs, and Rafe could only guess how she felt about it. But she smiled with complete confidence. “Allow me to say that I wish you luck with your family. If they’re anything like Thorington, you need it.”

Rafe laughed. “You’re too kind. But perhaps Thorington is the saint and I am the devil.”

“That’s the most unlikely thing I’ve heard in an age. But you’re a good brother for trying to make him look better. Thank you for the escort, my lord. I trust I’ll see you again when Thorington pursues another harebrained scheme to ‘improve’ my education and manners.”

He snorted as she walked away. Her education was more than adequate, although her manners weren’t quite as fine as someone who had been born and raised in London. But if Thorington wanted an excuse to spend time with her, tutoring her in British social mores was a good one.

He hoped Thorington would see what was already blindingly obvious. Callista would be wasted on Anthony, who wasn’t ready for marriage. But she might be Thorington’s salvation.

However, Rafe had more pressing matters to attend to. Portia took his left arm and Serena claimed his right. “Let’s visit the gardens,” Portia suggested.

They walked until they found an empty folly — an open room with a simple roof supported by Grecian columns, covering two curved benches. Rafe waited until Serena and Portia had settled on a bench together before he sat down. The fact that they sat together told him all he needed to know about the seriousness of their conversation. The sisters rarely aligned themselves together, especially not against him.

“Well?” he asked. “What mutiny are the two of you plotting?”

Serena and Portia glanced at each other.

“Well?” Serena said to Portia.

Portia wrinkled her nose at her sister. “This was your idea as much as it was mine.”

“But Rafe will expect it from you,” Serena said.

“But you’re the eldest. He’ll listen to you.”

Serena grinned. “You cannot influence me by appealing to my seniority when you never respect it otherwise.”

“I would respect it more if you didn’t remind me of it at every opportunity,” Portia retorted.

Rafe sighed. “Do you mind if I go over to that copse of trees while you argue? I shall take a nap if you will need more than an hour to organize your thoughts.”

Portia and Serena both spoke at once.

“We just thought…” Portia started.

“We need you to…” Serena said.

Rafe pointed at Serena. “Tell me what you need. And do be brief. I have my toilette to consider if I’m to look my best at dinner.”

That made his sisters laugh. Rafe was stylish enough, but he’d never been as concerned about his appearance as Anthony was. But Serena sobered quickly. “We thought you might take us to Brighton.”

“Brighton?” Rafe frowned. “Why would you wish to go to Brighton?”

“There are military men at Brighton,” Portia said, as though that explained everything.

“I am well aware,” Rafe said. He had passed through Brighton, briefly, before Spain. Even without that memory, he wouldn’t have loved the town. It was still provincial compared to London, despite the Prince of Wales’s exorbitant expenditures to build his pavilion in the previous decades.

Serena shushed Portia before continuing. “I would have preferred Cambridge, since I like scholars more than sabers.”

Portia snorted.

Serena raised her voice to cover Portia’s mirth. “But there is little to do in Cambridge at this time of the year. And Bath simply won’t do. Can you imagine what we would find there in August?”

Rafe counted to ten in his head. But when he reached the final number, his sisters still looked at him expectantly.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to stay at Maidenstone?” he asked.

Portia rolled her eyes. Serena spoke quickly. “Thorington has made it very clear that the family’s fortunes depend on Anthony marrying one of the Briarleys. It seems unlikely, at best, that Anthony will come through — and why would he? Lucretia is boring, and Callista is far too wild for him.”

“But not for Thorington,” Portia said, in a smug sing-song voice.

“On that we’re agreed,” Serena said. “But even if Thorington realizes what is good for him and marries Callista, it seems that his fortunes are too sunk to be revived by her unless they win Maidenstone. And if they don’t, where does that leave us?”

“The same place we always are,” Portia said. “On the shelf. But at least I still have my youth.”

“Not for long,” Serena said tartly.

Rafe interjected before his sisters descended into their usual bickering. “Neither of you are on the shelf. And I don’t understand what Brighton has to do with all of this.”

“There is no one at Maidenstone who appeals to us,” Portia declared.

Rafe somehow managed to refrain from laughing. He crossed one leg over the other at the ankle, attempting to look interested, but not
too
interested. “We have been here for all of twenty-four hours. I think your dramatic declaration is premature.”

“You never love anyone, but surely even
you
know that it’s lightning bolts, not the slow development of some sad accommodation between two people who are incapable of affection,” Portia said earnestly.

For someone who didn’t believe in love, he was more annoyed than he should have been that his youngest sister, of all people, was calling him to task about it. “Whether love is a lightning bolt or a volcano or a summer storm or any other overwrought metaphor you might have for it is irrelevant. If you really want to make a match immediately, this place is the best for it. There are more marriageable men here than anywhere else you might find in August. Not all the men here can marry a Briarley — they’ll be happy to marry a duke’s sister instead.”

“I don’t want to marry someone just because he can’t have a Briarley,” Portia sniffed. “I deserve better than a castoff.”

“And most of the men here are second or third sons,” Serena said, sounding almost affronted. “I should be a countess at the very least.”

“Not all second sons are bad,” Rafe said.

“No offense, Rafe,” Portia said. “But second sons are the
worst
.”

“No offense, Portia, but you’ve had several seasons to find an eldest son.”

He probably shouldn’t have retaliated like that. Serena and Portia both narrowed their eyes. They didn’t look particularly similar — Serena’s blonde hair and green eyes were very different from Portia’s more unusual red and blue. But Rafe’s comment temporarily united them.

“I thought I had ages to find the right match,” Serena said. “I could have married anytime these last four years if I’d known it would come to this.”

“I couldn’t have married until Serena did anyway,” Portia added. “It would have been rude to marry before my elder sister.”

That undid some of their union. Serena kicked Portia’s ankle, but she continued to press her agenda with Rafe. “I had no idea that Thorington was about to lose all his fortune. I thought I had time to make a love match.”

Thorington’s fortunes were more tenuous than Rafe had known, which explained why he was so intent on making Anthony marry a Briarley. Rafe would be fine — his inheritance was separate from Thorington’s. But the girls wouldn’t have dowries once Thorington’s creditors started knocking.

Without dowries, and with the rumors about their parentage, making a match would be difficult. Rafe tried to lighten the mood. “A love match, but only if he was an earl or higher?” he teased.

Serena shrugged. “Might as well aim for the firmament. I could settle for less. But I still want love if I can have it.”

They were all silent for a moment. Rafe wanted his sisters to find love — truly, he did. For all that they occasionally annoyed them, he loved them more than anything. If they wanted love, then love was what they should have.

But there was also the matter of expediency and practicality — two words that had nothing to do with how Portia and Serena usually went about their lives. They were too young to remember the lean years as vividly as Rafe did, when their father had run through all their money — not that there had been much to run through, since the previous generations had done their share to deplete the family’s fortunes. Rafe had barely scraped through university. Cynthia and Pamela, the two sisters between Rafe and Serena, had married decently, but those marriages were made for economic security rather than love. He supposed they were happy enough, but he rarely saw them.