The Bride Price (13 page)

After a few seconds of conversing, Cheevers turned to the gathering. “I regret that Mr. Toupnep will not be continuing in the competition, as he has failed to earn the necessary points.”

Toupnep stumbled out of the ring, hardly comforted by the pats on the back he received from
the more cordial competitors. Bateman snorted, and more than one eye blasted fire in his direction, most of them from the legitimate sons, but a few of the bastards looked disgusted as well.

Toupnep’s father chased after him, as the defeated man stumbled back to the manor.

Thirty minutes later another man, shaking and white, left the competition as well. Three others looked ill. Caroline recognized them as the lowest point holders now that the bottom two were gone.

Deville finished off the second round of boxing against one of the three men, one of the illegitimate sons. It was easy to tell which of them would be victorious after only a minute of sparring.

The man momentarily dropped his hands, leaving himself wide open, an easy shot that no one with a modicum of skill would miss.

There was a tinge of—was it regret?—in Deville’s eyes, before it was wiped away behind a blank facade, and he took one last swing. The hit was designed to fell the man, but not concuss him or leave him damaged. She had to admit that Deville was one of the more gentlemanly boxers, surprisingly enough.

The fallen man looked at the ground, then resolutely pushed himself up, shaking Deville’s outstretched hand, a strained smile in place.

Caroline was too far away to hear, but something about Deville’s tightened eyes and the words he was speaking made the man’s shoulders relax an inch. The ousted man gave a swift nod and returned to the group; more pats on the back and another irate father joined the mix.

She bit her lip. She hadn’t directly sabotaged the men at the bottom of the standings because they had posed no threat to winning the competition. She actually wanted them to do well, since if she could manipulate everyone to share in the points, she might be able to keep
all
of them under the limit to advance farther down the line. The likelihood of that was low, but when dealing with something that she had so little control over, she simply had to hope. And cause universal havoc.

Besides, a few of the men making their exits were the more genial contestants. The less hungry, really. She would need to step up her attacks and be more devious with those at the top, just as she had with Deville in the fencing competition. Maybe the men would just decide that the prize wasn’t worth the hassle.

Wishful thinking at its most keen.

She shivered thinking of Deville’s reaction should he ever discover that she was the one responsible for most of the attacks directed toward him. If he was intense now, she could only imagine his reaction then.

“These schoolboy pranks must stop.” The color in Cheevers’s cheeks was high. “Ridiculous. This is a respectable tournament. We seek a winner who deserves the title.”

Sebastien fought the eye roll that came so naturally. The anger at the events he had just witnessed still thrummed through him.
They won’t win.
He had made the promise to the fallen man. He’d be damned if one of the legitimate sons prevailed.

He had started playing a part in the company of the older gentlemen. Showing his promise as the potential winner. That he would get in line and become respectable. A bluff just as when playing cards. His revenge and fury caged and prowling.

“How has the blighter not been found?” Benedict asked.

Sebastien shot him a mocking look, and Benedict’s color rose. As if he didn’t know some of those involved. That there was more than one person responsible for the mayhem was obvious. Why Cheevers and the others had either not picked up on it or not chosen to say anything was something that made him think twice about Cheevers’s
ire
.

“We have people watching each game—”

“Well, up the guards, man!”

Cheevers shot Parley a look so menacing that Parley actually backed up a step. Idiot.

Sebastien watched the other competitors. Benedict was a prime candidate for saboteur—especially since a lot of the doings were aimed at Sebastien, more so than against any other contestant. But…something just didn’t ring true for Benedict’s guilt. The school pranks, those were Benedict’s style. The ingenuity involved in setting up the mirrors and strings for the fencing competition, the irreverence in the split trousers…that was someone else.

No one looked particularly shifty. Well, no more shifty than usual. The problem was that everyone present had a motive and most of them had opportunity. Besides hiring a number of guards to watch his objects and backside, he would just
have to rely on his instincts and stay watchful.

Petrie’s color was high as Cheevers continued his rant, and he had no doubt that Petrie had pulled some of the pranks, yet Petrie had been deeply mortified when his trousers split earlier, and that had the stamp of the person targeting him—his trousers had ripped far further than any of the others. No, it wasn’t Petrie.

Bateman was almost assuredly responsible for the poison. Sebastien might scoff at men who deemed themselves gentlemen, but there were certain lines no man should cross. Bateman was malevolent. But the more evil doings like the poison had been targeted broadly, and Bateman simply did not possess the creativity needed for some of the more clever pranks.

One of the fathers had been needed to pull the time switches on two of the games, which had affected Sloane, Benedict, and Everly the most, since they had rooms farther away from the others. If he had to gamble, he’d bet that one on Timtree’s father, Baron Tewks.

The ladies drew his attention, and he watched Caroline, who kept glancing at the heiress while fending conversational salvos for her and protecting her.

The idea wormed around, the types of pranks that had occurred cycling through his mind. Broad pranks aimed at everyone. Specific treachery targeted on the leaders.

Protection. And with a firm reason to target him specifically—she’d been appalled and frightened to see him again after Roseford, of that he
was sure. She had both the will and opportunity to implement a strategy, and a quick mind at her disposal to carry it through.

Now that he considered her a suspect, no one else made sense as the culprit. Every betting instinct in him said she was the party responsible.

Caged anger lashed outward and he struggled to keep his face blank.

There was more than one way to fulfill a bet. Poor, dear Caroline…was in a lot of trouble.

Caroline gripped the last stake and pulled as hard as she could. Still it wouldn’t budge. She could have asked a servant or villager to help, but once she had realized the extreme nature of punishment should anyone be caught in the act, she had tossed the idea. She’d only had help with the stable prank, and she had regretted enlisting others ever since. The targeted pranks worked much better anyway. If she perhaps hurt Deville more than any other contestant, well, that could hardly be helped.

She gave a mighty tug. The ground clasped tightly one last time, then gave way. She tumbled backward, expecting to land on her rear, give a good laugh, and get on with things. Instead, firm arms banded around her breasts and effortlessly set her back on her feet.

She froze as the arms slid from around her. Swallowing, then pasting a smile on her face, she turned, hiding the stake behind her as she did so.

Sebastien Deville did not smile back.

Oh dear.

“Thank you for your help.” She nodded and started to step backward along the path.

“Going so soon, Caroline?” He stalked her step for step until she bumped a tree.

“I need to change before the next game. Shouldn’t you be resting, Mr. Deville?”

“I should.” He rested a hand against the red maple looming over her. “But all of a sudden, I was gripped by an eager desire for another look at the obstacle course.”

She waved her free hand. “I believe this is it. Good luck.”

She tried to step away. He pushed against the stout trunk so that he was directly in front of her again. One hand ran down her arm, around her back, across her fingers, then slowly pulled the stake from her grasp.

“At first, I thought the pranks were a move to cheat through sabotage,” he said, his lips a hair from hers as the stake came free. “Perfectly good thought as cheating is rampant. But no, everyone was affected equally in that first game. No competitor seized the advantage by riding directly to the rings. A good attempt by the perpetrator to hide his actions? Perhaps.”

He pulled back and twirled the stake that had seemed so weighty to her. “But then I noticed that only those that were ahead in the standings seemed to be targeted, and me most of all. Who would do such a thing? Someone at the bottom of the list? Or perhaps someone who doesn’t want the games to continue or certain people to win?”

Her lips remained stiff and unmoving.

“Perhaps someone with a stake in the outcome, forgive the pun?” He twirled the wood again. “Lady Sarah quite possibly?” He clucked his tongue. “What will the earl say?”

“What do you want?”

“Me?” He put his free hand to his chest in feigned ignorance, though anger flared in his eyes. “I’m much too much a gentleman to ask anything from a lady. I should go straight to the earl as an honorable, concerned man.”

“Lady Sarah has nothing to do with the sabotage.”

“She doesn’t?”

“And what’s more, you know it.”

“I do?” He pulled the tip of the stake through the grass in a lazy pattern, only the hitch at the end showing his true feelings. “I must be exquisitely smart.”

“Exquisitely.” She took a deep breath. “You didn’t just venture along this path. What gave it away?”

He considered her, contemplation mixing with anger. “You are trying to take all of the
fun
out of this.”

“Good.”

His eyes narrowed. “It was the protection aspect. You have the access. You have the motivation. You hate this competition. You have every reason to want to see the games crippled.”

Her heart was beating so fast that her hands were shaking.

“And…” He drew out the word and moved for
ward, touching a loose curl of her hair. “You have every reason to target me, don’t you, Caroline?”

She shook harder as his fingers curved around her nape, pulling her head back. His eyes fixed on her mouth. “Every reason to hope I fail.”

“You think highly of yourself.” Her breath hitched as his thumb pulled at her lower lip.

“I know I want to be high up in you.”

Something strangled emerged from her throat as he pressed against her, connecting them. All heat in her body blazed southward.

“And bend you over my knee at the same time. Perhaps both of those actions in the same session.”

His lips ghosted over her neck, then attached, sucking the skin hard and undoubtedly leaving a mark. “Or I could simply tell the earl about your actions,” he whispered in her ear.

She squirmed away, panting. “You can’t. You don’t have any proof.”

He shook the stake. “Proof?”

She drew herself up, forcing every emotion under ice. She tilted her head coolly. “How dare you sabotage the games for your own advantage by removing that stake, Mr. Deville.”

“Touché, Mrs. Martin.” He smiled darkly. His fingers pulled along the stake, and she fleetingly wondered if he would thrust it through her midsection. “I’m not sure a woman has ever kept my interest, nor irritation, piqued quite as much as you. If you push me, I can make our dealings much more unpleasant.”

She swallowed. “That would be difficult. Now if we might go our separate ways?”

He laughed softly. “Oh, I don’t think so, Caroline.”

“You have no proof. It will be your word against mine.”

“While my word is far from golden, I have alibis for my whereabouts during a number of the cases. And, quite frankly, I have been the express target of the pranks more than any other contender. Curious for the prankster to be so focused.”

She swallowed at the way he said it. As if he knew a dark secret that she didn’t know she possessed. “You could have easily had someone else perform the sabotage for you. Targeting yourself was a good way to avoid suspicion.”

“I am indeed brilliant. But, no, all I need to do is plant the suspicion about you and I’ll bet all kinds of incidents—servants seeing you, guests observing you—will suddenly come to light.”

She knew it to be true. She had only been successful so far because she was under no suspicion. She didn’t know if the servants would rat on her. Some probably would while others would not. But the guests? No, they would bend over backward to find the connections, just as they had done with the fake ghost story.

“You will rely on gossip?”

“Gossip has fueled my life.”

If she weren’t so shaky she might have snorted. “Are you saying all the things they say about you aren’t true?”

“All vicious lies.” She could almost picture the halo on his head as his beautiful aquamarine eyes widened.

“You have never taken advantage of a debutante?”

“Oh, I take frightful advantage of them.” He flashed another shadowed smile.

“Then it seems those lies are true.”

“Only sometimes.”

She gripped her skirt. “What do you want, Mr. Deville?”

“I want you to call me by my given name.”

“There are so many to choose from though. Rake, bastard, bloody—”

He put two fingers over her lips, and then slid them down, catching her bottom lip and rubbing it. “Clever girl, but not very cunning of you to irritate the man who can ruin you.”

She pulled her face away, but his hand moved to grip her waist. “Ruin me? Hardly.”

“No? Then you don’t depend on Cheevers’s goodwill to remain here? On the villagers’ view of you?”

She batted at his hand. “I own my property.”

“How fast that can change. A woman on her own, an earl with an agenda.” He captured her hand against her waist and leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “The titled have all the power, haven’t you learned that yet?”