The room erupted in applause and cheers. Money began changing hands as side bets were placed on his success or failure. Rafe slapped him on the back so hard he nearly stumbled, while Alistair called for more champagne to celebrate.
“The challenge will commence in one hour,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon announced, taking back the contract with careful precision. “Mr. Harcourt, I suggest you use the time to... prepare yourself. Water, not wine.” She smiled.
“I am prepared now,” Rees said with a confident grin that made several ladies in the crowd fan themselves. The champagne made him feel witty, charming, unbeatable. “Bring on your riddles, madam. I will solve them all and donate the winnings to a foundlinghospital.”
Sterling snorted from his position by the pillar, the sound carrying in a brief lull. Rees’s grin widened. He would show that man what a real gentleman could accomplish.
“One hour, Mr. Harcourt.”
As Mrs. Dove-Lyon glided away, her black gown trailing across the luxurious carpets, Rees accepted another glass of champagne from his celebrating friends. The contract had already disappeared somewhere into the widow’skeeping, its contents forgotten in the haze of debauchery and anticipated triumph.
A nearby candle guttered like an omen, but Rees was too drunk and too proud to read the sign.
Chapter 4
The marble column pressed cold against Victoria’s palm as she watched from the shadowed alcove. The Lyon’s Den sprawled before her in all its gaudy magnificence, crystal and gilt wrapped in respectability’s thin veneer. She had arrived two hours ago, veiled and trembling. Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s silent footman had guided her to this vantage point shortly thereafter where she could observe without being seen. Her breath came shallow beneath the black lace concealing her features, each inhalation carrying the mingled scents of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and desperation.
Soon after, movement near the entrance drew her attention. Three gentlemen had entered together, their easy camaraderie evident in the way they moved as a unit, shoulders bumping companionably, shared laughter echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The tallest of them caught her eye—Mr.Rees Harcourt, known to her only by reputation and distant glimpses at society functions. His dark blond hair glinted in the chandelier light, slightly mussed as if he had run his fingers through it. When he smiled at something his companion said, the expression transformed his face, something genuine that reached his eyes, unlike the practiced charm she had seen on so many gentlemen’s faces or the cruel amusement that had twisted Lord Sterling’s features in the garden.
He moved with the loose-limbed confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin, his evening coat fitting perfectly across broad shoulders that suggested he did more than merely fence for fashion’s sake. After accepting Mrs. Dove Lyon’s challenge a waiter stumbled nearby, nearly dropping his tray, Rees steadied him with a quick hand and a kind word that made the servant flush with gratitude. Such a small gesture spoke volumes. Victoria’s fingers tightened against the marble until her knuckles ached beneath her gloves.
This was the man she was about to trap.
The thought sent nausea rolling through her stomach and bile rising in her throat. During the long carriage ride, she had assured herself that whoever accepted the challenge would be some dissolute gambler, someone who deserved what befell him. But watching Rees joke with his friends, seeing the warmth in his manner and the easy grace with which he moved through the world—he was everything Damian, Lord Sterling pretended to be but was not. Everything society claimed to value but so rarely produced.
A hush fell over the room, and Victoria’s attention snapped to the grand staircase. Mrs. Dove-Lyon descended with practiced drama, her black gown seeming to swallow light. The widow moved with calculated precision, each step designed to command attention among the room full of wealthy, powerful men. Victoria found herself holding her breath as the woman reached the main floor.
“Mr. Rees Harcourt,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s cultured voice carried effortlessly through the space. “You have accepted the Ancient Riddle Challenge. Are you prepared to begin?”
“I am as prepared as excellent champagne allows, madam,” Rees replied with a grin that made several ladies near Victoria fan themselves. He stepped forward into the circle that had formed, his friends clapping him on the back with encouraging calls.
“Then we shall commence.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon raised one gloved hand, and silence descended instantly. “The first riddle is thus: I have cities without houses, forests without trees, and rivers without water. What am I?”
Victoria watched Rees’s face, spotting the moment comprehension dawned in his eyes. He did not hesitate. “A map,” he said clearly.
“Correct.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon inclined her head slightly, and excited murmurs rippled through the crowd. Money changed hands as side bets were settled and new ones placed.
Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribs. He had answered so quickly, so easily. What if he solved them all? What would become of her then? The thought of returning home empty-handed, facing her mother’s tears and her sisters’ ruined futures…she pressed her back against the column to keep herself from swaying.
“The second riddle,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued. “I am taken from mines and kept in wooden cases. I am neither animal nor plant. What am I?”
This time Rees paused, his brow furrowing slightly. He accepted a glass from a passing waiter, sipping slowly while his eyes turned distant with thought. Victoria found herself leaning forward, studying the way his jaw worked as he considered the puzzle. The room held its collective breath, the only sound the ticking of an ornate clock and the distant clink of glasses from the gaming tables.
“Pencil lead,” Rees said suddenly, then corrected himself with a chuckle. “Graphite. Found in mines, housed in wooden cases. Neither animal nor plant, but mineral.”
“Correct again.” Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s approval sent another wave of excitement through the crowd. More money changed hands, the sums growing larger as confidence in Rees’s abilities increased.
Victoria’s mouth went dry. One riddle left. Just one more between her and complete ruin. Her family’s salvation hung on this stranger’s failure, and the wrongness of it made her stomach twist into knots. Yet what choice did she have? The image of her mother’s desperate face rose in her mind, her sisters’ innocent laughter that would turn to bitter tears when they understood what Victoria’s scandal meant for them.
“The final riddle,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon announced, producing an ancient-looking scroll from her skirts. “Listen well, Mr. Harcourt, for this determines your fate: What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?”
A clock ticked somewhere in the room as everyone moved closer.
Victoria saw Rees’s eyes light up with recognition and the confident smile spread across his face. Her heart sank, even as something else—relief?—fluttered in her chest. He knew the answer. She could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he straightened as if preparing for triumph.
“The letter M,” he declared, his voice ringing with certainty. “Once in ‘minute,’ twice in ‘moment,’ never in ‘thousand years.’ Elementary.”
The silence stretched as Mrs. Dove-Lyon consulted her scroll with exaggerated care. Victoria held her breath, her fingernails digging into her palms through the thin gloves. Then the widow spoke, her voice carrying the weight of authority:
