Her lips spasmed into a grimace.
“One thing still puzzles me, however, Miss Woodville,” the earl said. “Howdidyou know that your brother lost to me, in particular, if he didn’ttellyou that he did?”
An alarming stillness came over Marchand. He fixed his eyes on her with an intensity she realized was a warning.
And that’s when she realized she had him by the proverbial short hairs.
Because if she wished, she could merrily lie:Oh, Mr. Marchand and I had a long, cozy chataaaalllabout you, Lord Sydenham, all about your habits and foibles and your mistress, make that mistresses, he told me everything, and he told me to go ahead and ask you to give the money back, as you’d be happy to do it.
The power to foment chaos briefly inebriated her.
She and Mr. Marchand held a few seconds’ worth of eloquent conversation using their eyes only. His were surely scarier than hers.
She could feel impulse and reason warring within her.
Reason was winning. Simply because she couldn’t predict what would happen if she did say all of that, or anything approximating it. It would be satisfying to watch Marchandscramble to undo the damage, but her own reputation and her family’s would be dented in the scuffle, too.
Then there was the little matter of the fact that they currently lived under the same roof at a boardinghouse by the docks, and Mr. Marchand would doubtless volunteer the information to Sydenham. Perhaps he’d invent a few choice things about her of his own. She had no doubt that he would fight like a trapped wild animal.
“I pressed and pressed Hogarth for the answer,” she faltered. “Which was difficult for him. Because of, ah, honor. All he finally told me was that he lost to someone hegreatlyesteemed. And that the chance to play with this person was the reason he wagered at all. Since he is not gregarious by nature, and I knew Lucifer’s Fall’s members are generally members of the peerage, I thought of you at once, Lord Sydenham. I fondly remembered your kindness to our family and your warm relationship with my father. And I know how much my parents admired you. Hogarth does, too. It was a lucky guess, I suppose.”
A silence terrifying in its length greeted this masterpiece of invention.
“That was very clever of you, dear,” the countess assured her, finally.
The corners of Marchand’s mouth betrayed that he was suppressing a smile. He shook his head slightly.
But the earl’s expression had gone softer. She exulted, but she could not yet exhale. She did not yet know how to convert the softened expression into the return of fifteen thousand pounds.
“Do you know, I had a thought, Miss Woodville.” The earl’svoice was drifty and musing, as if he’d spent that silence poring over memories. “I know how we can make your brother’s little wager more fun.”
“Debts are so much better when they’re fun,” Ginny replied weakly.
“The late Earl of Highgrove—the one whose title Hogarth inherited—once bought out from under me at auction a Chinese vase from the Ming dynasty. Anexquisitething. Unassuming on first glance. Deceptively simple but beautifully wrought. Like my wife.”
“Oh!” his wife said, sounding confused.
“It’s worth several hundred pounds. Its small, flawlessly round shape spoke deeply to me for reasons I cannot fully explain.” The earl cupped his hand and made a hefting motion. “It’s white, with a pattern of blue lovebirds frolicking among entwined lotuses. I was distraught when I learned the antiquities dealer who had acquired it specificallyforme had sold it out from under me. I was willing to pay a hundred pounds more than it was worth. I can only assume the earl, your cousin, offered him a considerably better deal. Unscrupulous, if you ask me. Your family does like to steal things from me. Ha! I jest. I jest, of course. I have never been able to forget that vase.”
Just like he’d never been able to forget her mother.
“The vase sounds lovely.” He was only making her uneasy in a new way. Chinoiserie was very popular; much, much cheaper stoneware imitations of Ming vases abounded. Only the wealthiest of people could afford anactualMing vase. They were exceedingly rare and obviously coveted. She’d never even seen one up close.
“Find that vase and bring it to me within a fortnight, Miss Woodville, and I’ll tear up your brother’s vowels.”
She stopped breathing.
The air shimmered oddly, as if she were dreaming, or about to ascend to heaven. She was experiencing a violently sudden change of internal atmosphere.
Marchand was frowning slightly.
Her breath came shallowly and goose bumps rose on her arms as she was once again flooded with that prodigal feeling known as hope.
She hadn’t the faintest bloody idea where that vase was. The late earl might have sold it yet again; he might have been buried with it, for all she knew. A housekeeper might have accidentally turned it into smithereens while dusting. Perhaps the solicitor knew.
“Done,” she told him.
“Shall we shake on it?” The earl extended his hand, and she took it, unable to resist flicking a glance at Marchand, whom she had refused to touch only yesterday.
