Author: Tessa Dare
The tears began to spill from her eyes. “He looks so terrible, so haunted.”
“I don’t doubt it. He’s probably living in streets and taverns, unable to go to his own home for fear of endangering his safety. If he doesn’t make good on the debts soon …” He let the fear in her eyes complete the sentence for him. “I can’t countenance simply giving him the funds, but I will purchase this house. For you.”
“Why on earth would I want it for myself?”
A small spark of hope warmed him inside, to know that she’d so completely forgotten the terms of their original agreement. “I intended to buy it in case you were unhappy living with me. After a child is born.” He reached to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Of course, now I’m hoping it can be a summer retreat for us both.”
“Spencer, this place is a piece of d’Orsay history. Our house in Town is long gone, and you’ve seen the ruins of Beauvale Castle. This cottage is all we have left. Our family pride is the very mortar holding these stones together. I can’t believe you would so callously strip it from us.”
“Callously? Perhaps this place belongs to Beauvale in name, but you are the one who cares for it so deeply. And what of our family? Why can’t we begin a new chapter of this house’s history, together?”
“What sort of chapter begins with tossing my brother to the wolves?”
By the devil, he was tired of hearing about her brother. When he managed to speak, his voice vibrated with anger. “How long are you going to keep defending him? You heard Jack. He’s on the verge of clearing his debt, once this transaction is completed. And all he wants is to get right back at the gaming table and drown himself again. He’s on course to meet with true disaster, and he has no compunction about dragging you along with him. If he stays in this house, he will work on you, make you all manner of promises … and then just devastate you all the more when you wake up one morning to find he’s made off with your pearls.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Her hand went to her throat as she shrugged away. “And if you truly thought I’d be so happy for you to purchase Briarbank, why didn’t you tell me? Instead you’ve gone behind my back, manipulating everyone to your own purpose. Even the first week of our marriage … you held my brother’s debt over my head, just to get me to the card table and get your hands on my—”
With a gasp, she pulled up short. She gestured toward the library and lowered her voice to an accusatory whisper. “That’s the entire reason for this house party, isn’t it? That little card game you’re about to play. You’ve arranged this whole holiday just to win those tokens and that dratted horse.”
He shrugged, unable to refute it.
Closing in on him, she jabbed a finger in his chest. “And you would lecture me on misplaced priorities. You led me to believe we were welcoming these people as friends and guests. I thought you wanted to be open and honest with them, gain their trust and cooperation. But no. Forget sincerity, we’re back to gamesmanship. All I ask is for you to give Jack a chance. Talk with him, help him see his errors, let him learn from your example. But you won’t hear of it—and no surprise, given the manner in which you treat your own kin. You never did speak with Claudia today, did you?”
“No.” He heaved a guilty sigh. No, he hadn’t. He could have offered some excuse, but it would have been a lie.
“I didn’t think so. My brother may have his problems, but you’re delusional if you present yourself as an exemplar of behavior. You’re so closed off and insular, it’s a wonder you can see beyond your own nose. The wealthy, intelligent duke who welcomes all manner of insidious gossip rather than admit to feeling uneasy in crowds? Who’d stand accused of murder rather than fall under suspicion of possessing a heart?”
He blinked, wounded. How could she say that? Perhaps he was reserved with everyone else, but he was different with her. She’d pulled him out of that insular, smug, goddamned lonely existence and made him yearn to be a part of this—this family, this home. Why couldn’t she see that he wanted it not just for her, but for them?
“Amelia …” As he began, his voice broke. He cleared his throat and started again, clearly and calmly. It shouldn’t be so hard to say this. “You are everything to me. The world is welcome to know it.”
“How would they? Because you’ve carried me out of a few ballrooms and tend to throw punches when I’m around? You’re wrenching this house away from my family. Uprooting it from centuries of d’Orsay history.” A sob caught in her throat. “Meanwhile you’ve been using me and my love for this place, just to gain custody of a horse. And now you’d cast my brother out, again.”
He caught her by the shoulders. “Damn it, you are the one who is letting Jack come between us. You’re so invested in this selfless martyr role. Somewhere inside you is that sixteen-year-old girl who believed she deserved her own happiness. The woman who has captivated me from the first time I held her and found I couldn’t let go. I’ve done my best to be understanding, but—”
“Your best? Oh, Spencer. I know you too well to believe that. If you would accuse me of denying myself, then please queue up for your share of the blame. I’ve never known a man so remarkable, so complex and caring … and so determined to hide it from the world. If I were ever so lucky as to glimpse your true, shining best, I’d probably expire where I stood from the brilliance.”
If she’d intended those words as a compliment, they damn well didn’t feel like one. They felt like brilliant shards of glass.
He sighed. “Say what you will, Amelia, you can’t deny that I’m making an effort. And I’m tired of coming in second to Jack for my pains. At least I’m trying to secure your happiness.”
“My happiness? How can I possibly be happy, when I know my brother is living on the London streets, brushing sleeves with danger every moment of the day?”
“I don’t know, but you’ll have to learn. Because Jack isn’t going to change.” He tipped her chin and lowered his voice. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to decide where your loyalties are. With him, or with me?”
She stared at him as though he were some sort of monster. Damn it, he wasn’t a monster. He was human. He wanted to know his wife loved him above any other man. Wouldn’t any husband want the same?
“If you knew me at all,” she said in a shaky voice, “you would understand how dearly I love my family. And if you ask me to deny them … you’ve made the choice yourself.” She grabbed the sheaf of legal papers from the table and clutched them to her chest. “These aren’t signed yet. So long as this house belongs to the d’Orsays, my brother is welcome in it. Jack stays.”
“Nothing good will come of it,” he warned. “He’ll only hurt you again.”
“Not half as much as you’re hurting me now.”
“Amelia …” He slowly stretched a hand toward her, but she flinched away before he’d halved the gap.
“Go,” she said, jerking her chin toward the library. “Go win your damn horse. We both know where your loyalties are.”
She was so prickly and emotional and filled with wrongheaded notions … he couldn’t even conceive of how to argue with her.
So he did what she’d asked. He went.
The library was small, and they huddled around the desk to play. Their game was brag. Piquet was Spencer’s forte, but it was only a two-player game.
It took time to lay a trap, and no small amount of patience. The first and most difficult task was to create the illusion that chance had a seat at the table. For the first hour or so of play, Spencer won a few hands and purposely lost several others. On a few occasions, his opponents’ superior play truly caught him off guard. He knew he ought to be using this time to observe Bellamy carefully. Every man, even the best of players, gave unconscious physical clues to what sort of cards he held. But Spencer just couldn’t focus on the arch of Bellamy’s eyebrow or the tapping of his finger. Memories of Amelia kept distracting him. He kept seeing her lovely blue eyes marred by redness. He heard her bitter words rattling in his ears. And other parts of him recalled the way she’d lavished her passion on him earlier that day, as he’d sat in this very chair. She had him more than distracted. He was damned confused.
She was right, to some extent. He had manipulated her with this holiday, along with everyone else. Purchasing the cottage in secret, conspiring with Rhys to get Bellamy to the card table. But did Amelia truly think her own imagining of this house party would have culminated in success? In her fantasy, she would open her house, her arms, and her heart to everyone, and Spencer would reveal a few long-held, mildly embarrassing secrets. Add in a week of angling and parlor games … conflict resolved. The three men would emerge as friends.
A naïve, impossible notion. Wasn’t it?
As Bellamy shuffled the cards and prepared to deal, Spencer cleared his throat and looked to Rhys. “Say, Ashworth … we’re not friends, are we?”
A healed gash scored the soldier’s face, and his eyebrow split as he looked up in surprise. “I don’t know. We’re not enemies.”
“Any further traumatic childhood incidents you feel moved to discuss?”
“Not particularly. You?”
Spencer shook his head. “None.”
Bellamy rapped the deck to square it, then began to deal. “While we’re having this little chat, I’ll take the opportunity to say I despise you both. And as far as you two are concerned, I was born to nomadic goatherds in Albania.”
That settled it. So much for friendship. Spencer gathered his cards. No pair, few prospects. Time to make good on his deal with Rhys. “Let’s stop mincing around, then. Ten thousand.” He scratched the sum on a piece of paper and shoved it to the center of the table.
Play turned to Rhys. “I don’t have ten thousand.”
“I’ll accept your token as an even wager against mine.”
“Ten?” His eyes said, I thought we agreed on fifteen. “Twenty, and we’ll call it an even exchange.”
Sly bastard. Spencer didn’t even feel like arguing. He just wanted this over. With a stub of charcoal, he altered the notation on the paper. “Done.”
Ashworth shook the brass token loose from his purse and laid it on the table before him, giving Spencer an enigmatic look. “It’s up to fate now.”
“I make my own fate, thank you.” Bellamy lifted the corner of his cards where they lay on the table. His face remained impassive. Spencer expected the man to get out of the way, wait to see how things shook out between him and Ashworth before risking anything of his own.
But Bellamy wasn’t that clever. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a brass coin. “Let’s do this. I’m tired of pushing pennies back and forth. I need to talk to that whore before her memories fade any further and find out who was with Leo that night. Perhaps his companion could lead me to the killers.”
“Perhaps his companion died too,” Ashworth said.
“We would have known by now, if another gentleman of the ton went missing or turned up dead the same night. That wouldn’t make sense.” After a pause, Bellamy added thoughtfully, “Unless he had something to do with the attack …”
Spencer groaned. “For God’s sake, stop looking for vast conspiracies in a random crime. No, it doesn’t make sense. By definition, a senseless tragedy never will. Maybe the prostitute was lying, or simply confused.”
“Maybe.” Bellamy tapped his coin on the table testily. “But the sooner I talk to her, the sooner I’ll know, won’t I?” He flung the token to the center of the table. “One hand. All ten tokens. Winner takes all.”