The next morning dawns, bringing with it a sharp pain pulsing behind my eyes. Half of it is due to the morning sun streaming through my bedroom window and searing my eyelids, while the rest is simply a side effect of having a house full of guests to contend with. And yes, four people is more than enough to denotefull. This, of course, makes me loath to leave my room. Not knowing where Monty might be, whether he’s in the drawing room, dining room, or wine cellar, makes me want to avoid my entire house for now. My patience is thin this early in the morning, even for the sweet yet overly talkative Angela. Until I’ve had my morning tea and a plate of sweets, I’m better left alone.
I take my breakfast in my private study—a room located within my personal suite—while I sort through the documents and correspondence that have piled up in my short absence from the estate. There are contracts to renew for the bakery, employees to pay. I find a recent letter from Trentas, asking me to expound on the brief missive I sent three days ago. Specifically, he wants to know if I managed to succeed in my plan to put the Briars to sleep.
Guilt crowds my heart from every side, both from the fact that I sent the previous letter at all and that I haven’t shared more with Trentas. He must be anxious to find out if he’ll finally have a shot at the throne and why I told him to wait until after Briony is married. As far as he knows, her marriage to Monty was never supposed to happen, for putting the Briars to sleep would have put an end to the alliance. I’ve never kept anything from Trentas before, but I can’t risk his interference. I doubt he’d approve of me teaming up with Briony, regardless of how it benefits my family, but I’m already committed to my present course. Trentas, my first father figure and a man I respect more than any other now that my birth father has died, will have to wait.
Another pinch of guilt strikes my chest.
Cursing under my breath, I shove Trentas’ letter in my desk drawer and slam it shut. I’m not at all in the mood to deal with the inconvenient emotions warring inside me, so I pore over the other letters I’ve received. The rest are of a far more bearable nature, but I read three of them before I realize I haven’t comprehended a single word. Thoughts of Trentas aside, my mind remains wrapped up in yesterday’s games, as well as my dread for whatever today’s will bring.
With a sigh, I set down my stack of letters and lean back in my chair. I extract a silk kerchief from my waistcoat pocket to idly polish my spectacles, my mind drifting to yesterday’s events. The dress. The dance. Stones, that dance. It was different from any we’ve had before. Maybe because both of us were truly there. She moved even more beautifully than she does in her dreams, and shefeltso much more real. My palm against hers, my fingertips grazing her bare back, her body nearly flush with mine—
I clench my jaw and force the memories away. I shouldn’t harbor these thoughts about her. These…sparks of desire. Less because she’ll soon marry my idiot friend and more because I don’t deserve to crave her after what I did. I don’t deserve to dance with her like we once did, under the enchantment of our unwitting ignorance. I don’t deserve to touch her with any sort of familiarity. But touch her I did. Smile at her I did. Stepped too close. Held her eyes. Caressed her figure with my gaze. When the dance came to an end, I feared we’d gotten carried away and revealed the strange history between us that Monty would be better left unaware of.
Yet when it came time to award her a kiss for her wins, he only gave her credit for the dance. The dress—that stunning, curve-hugging, sin-inducing dress—he said wasn’t for him.
Fool.
What game is he playing at? I know his type. I know he can’t tell a gown from a garbage bin. So long as it graces a female form, he’s attracted to it. So why the stony fuck did he reject her dress?
A knock sounds at my study door. My muscles tense. For a moment, I fear it’s Monty, and I still haven’t had enough tea to deal with him. Then I remind myself he wouldn’t have the decency to knock. To my relief, it’s Mr. Hartshire with a note from Monty. Which is almost as bad as his actual presence.
All the note says is:Game four. Stables. We ride at noon.
Some of my dread lessens. So today’s game will be riding. At least I now know what to expect. Yet I can’t shake the feeling I’ll be getting more than I bargained for.
* * *
At a half hour to noon,I finally emerge from my sanctuary, outfitted in my riding clothes. I stop outside Briony’s door, hesitating for a long breath before I knock on it. At first, there’s no answer. Then the jiggling of the handle on the other side. Once. Twice. Three times. The door opens a crack, and Minka’s feline form nudges it the rest of the way open.
“Would Miss Rose care to accompany me to the stables for Mr. Phillips’ game?”
She blinks up at me with her slitted eyes. “She already left for the stables. Mr. Boris accompanied her.”
I’m taken aback by that. I assumed Briony would want me to escort her so we could go over any questions she may have about impressing Monty. Not that I’d have a damn helpful thing to say. Monty isn’t exactly an expert equestrian, at least not when it comes to judging others in their skill. Still, I fully expected Briony to hound me with a flurry of questions like she normally does.
Could she be avoiding me? She barely looked at me after our dance yesterday, her demeanor shifting from warm to cold in the wake of our waltz, and she left the parlor soon after Monty did. I checked with Mr. Hartshire to ensure she received dinner, but now a spike of panic lances through me. Did my desire show through when we danced? Did she come to the same conclusions I have—that I have no right to grin at her like a friend? To hold her as close as a lover?
I shake the questions from my mind and bid Minka farewell. It’s too late to dwell on any mistakes. What matters is that I see our bargain through.
Once I reach the stables, I find I’m the last to arrive. Everyone but Briony has mounted, and it’s no surprise that Monty has claimed my favorite horse, a stallion named Biscuit. Cosette and Angela sit sidesaddle upon my calmest geldings, chattering away, while Briony strokes the neck of—
My heart leaps into my throat. I burn Monty with a furious glare. “You can’t be serious. You have her paired with Betty?”
The party ceases conversation as they note my approach. Briony pauses her petting of the sleek black mare and shifts to face me. She’s dressed in one of her new ensembles, an emerald-green riding habit and matching hat. Her expression holds surprise at first, but it quickly melts into one of confident ease.
Monty guides his horse toward me. “Of course I’m serious. Betty is your finest mare. There’s no better horse for my lovely potential fiancée.”
The way he emphasizespotentialgrates on my nerves, for his intent is clear—to remind me that we’re here onhisterms. Briony’s betrothal hinges upon his acceptance of it. Therefore our bargain does too.
I speak through my teeth. “She may be my finest mare, but Betty is an asshole. You know this.”
Monty shrugs. “I want to see how she rides, and it certainly won’t hurt if her mount is a little feisty. It might tell me much about my future mate.”
“It isn’t safe. She should ride Periwinkle.”
“Oh, maybe she should,” Angela says, her expression brimming with concern. “I don’t want Her Highness to be hurt.”
Cosette sniffs. “I’ll ride Betty, then.”
