“This was a bad idea,” Peter mumbled.
“Keep William away from my sister at all costs,” Mariah agreed.
“Indeed.” Peter cleared his throat and moved to stand between Victoria and William. “William, this is Mariah’s sister, Victoria. Show her the respect she’s due.”
“Absolutely,” William replied in a tone that showed everything but respect.
Unfortunately, Victoria burst into a laugh, her cheeks going pink. “I’m ever so happy to meet you,” she said, extending her hand.
William took it, bowing and bringing her hand to his lips. His eyes traveled to Victoria’s chest. “I think we will be the best of friends.”
“I think not,” Mariah said, louder than she intended to. “Come, Victoria. Let me show you to your room.”
“Oh,” Victoria said as Mariah hooked her arm and pulled her across the front hall. “I should really stay and be sociable.” She grinned at William.
“You can see the Channel from your window,” Mariah went on through clenched teeth. She shot Peter a warning look as she went.
Peter nodded to her, then leaned in close to William and murmured something that Mariah couldn’t hear.
“I’ll pursue whomever I want, Uncle,” William answered, loud enough for Mariah—and worse, Victoria—to hear.
Victoria sighed. “He’s so handsome,” she said as Mariah pulled her up the stairs.
“You need to stay away from him,” Mariah said. “He’s a rogue and a criminal.”
“A criminal?” Victoria sounded a little too excited by the prospect.
Mariah sighed and shook her head. “I have so much to tell you, my dear. I just hope you’ll listen.”
Peter was convinced that few men in England had a greater propensity than he did to take his troubles and make them worse. Of course Victoria would take to William right away. She was just the kind of inexperienced girl who would see a handsome face and charming manners and nothing else about a man’s character. And William had made clear in the last two days that he would pursue Victoria’s sister with single-minded focus.
“And I thought the biggest problem we’d have would be catching the rebel servant,” he grumbled as his sword clashed against Malcolm’s.
“You should have called me in a lot sooner,” Malcolm said, parrying Peter’s thrust with speed and precision.
The two of them sparred in the French garden at the back of the castle. It had been a relief when Malcolm suggested they practice that morning. No one fought with swords anymore, but for those of them who had learned how in the dawn of their youth, there was no more satisfying means of exercise. And if clashing with Malcolm helped him to hone the sort of skills he would need to spear William through the heart if he interfered with Mariah’s sister, then all the better.
“I didn’t know he would be a problem earlier,” Peter went on with a grunt, pivoting so that he could bring his sword around to attempt an attack at Malcolm’s thigh. They both wore padding, and the blades were blunted, but the strength behind his attempt was all that mattered.
“I thought William was always a thorn in your side.” Malcolm underscored his comment by slashing at Peter’s side.
Reflexes saved him, and he wheeled around with deft precision to ward off the blow. Sweat dripped down his back and wet his hair. His body was hot and alive with activity. It was a blessed relief from the tension that had been steadily growing through all the nights he’d spent alone in bed. His arms burned as he brought his sword up one more time, and his thighs were on fire as he maintained his attack stance.
At last, he struck a blow that caused Malcolm to lose his grip on his sword. It clattered to the ground, and Malcolm took a step back, hands raised, chuckling. “Someone’s not spending enough time in bed with his wife.”
If it were any other man, Peter would have slapped him with the flat of his sword, but since it was Malcolm, he laughed along with him, although without much humor. “Someone isn’t spending any time in bed with his wife, and hasn’t for weeks, thanks to the situation at hand.”
Malcolm hummed and nodded, bending to retrieve his sword. “At least Mariah isn’t as predatory as Anne.”
Peter winced. “Don’t use that word. Anne was sick. She couldn’t help herself.”
Malcolm sent him a doubtful look as he straightened and wiped his blade with his gloved hand. “Sick or not, Anne drove herself to destruction.” He pointed his sword at Peter. “You were too lenient with her, and you’re too lenient with William.”
The irritation of Malcolm’s statement had Peter buzzing with energy and ready for another round of sparring as Malcolm made an initial thrust. He was so frustrated with the whole thing that he danced his way through a quick series of thrusts, slashes, and parries and smacked his sword against Malcolm’s arm within seconds.
“I just cut your arm off,” he said through panting breaths. “That will teach you to dredge up Anne, like everyone else keeps doing, when the poor woman deserves to rest in peace.”
Malcolm shot him a look that was half grimace, half sympathy as he rubbed his arm. “You deserve peace too, my friend.” He nodded at something past Peter’s shoulder. “I hope you find it with her.”
Peter’s chest squeezed as he turned, knowing what he’d see. Sure enough, Mariah was watching him from the top of the stairs that led from the house to the garden. Victoria stood by her side, whispering something to her. Domenica was at her other side, one hand on her hip, wearing a grin.
“I’m supposed to be wooing her,” Peter told Malcolm in a grim voice.
Malcolm laughed. “You? Wooing a woman?”
“Your confidence in me is astounding.” He fixed Malcolm with a flat stare.
“Well, here. I’ll help you.”
He raised his sword and attacked before Peter was ready. His senses were still heightened enough that he was able to fend off the attack with relative ease before launching into one of his own. It was as though Malcolm had only been playing with him before. His friend threw his full effort into sparring, forcing Peter to hone in his attention, parrying and moving with every bit of skill and agility he had. He went on the offensive, swinging his sword around to clash loudly with Malcolm’s. The effort of battle had him sweating and his blood pounding again in no time.
At last, Malcolm’s strength flagged, and Peter was able to strike a winning blow to his padded side. Malcolm reeled back, holding up his hands in surrender. “All right. All right, my friend. You win.” His eyes flashed with mischief as he glanced past Peter. “You definitely win.”
Peter turned, still panting from the fight. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, blinking as he watched Mariah walking toward him. She was lit up with excitement, and, if he could believe what he was seeing, lust.
“This must be one of those other martial skills you told me you have,” she said, a little breathless.
Heaven help him, Peter felt like a cocky young lad impressing the ladies for the first time. “You never know when you’ll need to defeat Saladin’s armies single-handedly,” he said, resting the point of his sword in the dirt and leaning on it.
Mariah raised a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle. He wanted to sweep her into his arms then and there and kiss her until every misunderstanding and frustration between them was cleared up.
“Where did you learn these knightly skills, my lord?” she asked, playing along.
Peter softened his stance. “When I was young. Sword-fighting was outdated even then, but a group of my school friends who shared a fascination with history convinced one of the old teachers at our school who had fought against Napoleon to teach us what he knew.” He shrugged. “I kept up with it over the years as a means of exercise.”
“You could have taken up cricket or tennis, you know,” Victoria said, crossing her arms.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Malcolm asked, stepping forward. Before Victoria could answer, he went on with, “Where were you after supper last night, Miss Victoria?
”
The arousal in Mariah’s expression dampened, and she flushed as she turned to her sister. “She went to bed early.”
“I went to bed early,” Victoria repeated, turning bright pink.
Dread filled Peter’s gut. Victoria was as transparent as a window. At least William had been out, at the pub in Truro, no doubt.
“We should organize some sort of group activity for this evening,” Malcolm went on, the light of calculation in his eyes. “And for tomorrow, and the next day and the next.”
The thought of so much time in company exhausted Peter. He glanced to Mariah. “I hope we are all given some leave to spend our time in more intimate groups.”
Mariah bit her lip to hide a smile and seemed to notice something in one of the nearby flower beds that was fascinating.
The only bed Peter was interested in was the one up in his room. It wouldn’t take much to convince Mariah to break down the wall between them and take up her rightful place by his side in that bed. And under him as well. He was so close to resolving things with her that he could feel it in every fiber of his body.
“If you’d like,” he started, hesitant, hoping what he was about to suggest wouldn’t backfire on him, “I could teach you the basics of swordplay.”
Mariah glanced back to him with a smile. “I think I’d like that.”
Relief rushed through Peter. “It’s very simple.” He handed her his sword. Malcolm and the other women faded to the edges of his awareness. All that existed for him was Mariah. “Hold the hilt like this.”
He stepped behind her, wrapping his arms around her and closing his hands over hers to show her the correct grip. It was so intoxicating to have her close that his body reacted in far stronger ways than it should have with the others standing right there.
“Like this?” Mariah asked softly, glancing up at him.
Their faces were only inches away. It would only take a small movement and he could kiss her. Everything about the look she gave him and the way she leaned toward him hinted that she wanted to be kissed. Malcolm would forgive him if he kissed his wife and ignored him. He could just—
“My lord.” Snyder’s anxious call threw cold water over everything Peter was trying to enjoy. He was forced to take a step back so that he could deal with his butler. “My lord, I think you should come at once.”
“What is it, Snyder?” he growled, frustration closing its iron grip around him once more.
Snyder closed the distance, nodding to the ladies and to Malcolm, then turning to him. “My lord, more guests have arrived.”
Peter frowned. “I didn’t invite any more guests.”
“I know, my lord. But they’re here regardless.”
Chapter 16
Peter clenched his jaw, wondering what new mayhem was about to befall. “Who are they?” he asked Snyder, pushing himself into motion.
Snyder turned to walk with him back toward the castle. Behind them, Mariah handed her sword off to Malcolm, then picked up her skirts and hurried to Peter’s side.
“They gave their names as Mr. Poole and Mr. Robinson, my lord,” Snyder said.
“Poole and Robinson?” Peter ran a hand over his face to clear the last of his sweat from practice away. He should have gone up to his room to bathe and change before meeting the unexpected guests, but since he doubted they had invitations, he didn’t feel it was necessary. “Did they say anything else?” he asked as they stepped into the house through the morning parlor and headed toward the front hall.
“Only that they have been invited by Lord William to attend the house party, my lord.”
Understanding mingled with dread in Peter’s gut. “I see.”
He wore a deep frown by the time he strode into the front hall. A pair of men were waiting by the front door, hats in their hands, looking around as if they’d never been in a country estate before. They weren’t the brash, smirking sort of men that Peter had expected William to have as friends, so rather than going on the attack from the first, he proceeded with caution.
“Gentlemen,” he said, greeting them with the air of command he’d honed in the military. “What can I do for you?”
One of the men stepped forward. He was short, with thinning hair, but his suit was finely tailored enough to mark him as a member of the upper classes, or at least the upper middle class.
“Benjamin Poole, my lord,” he said, holding out his hand with a hesitant smile. “And this is my friend Dick Robinson.” He gestured to the other man, tall with reddish hair, with his thumb.
“My lord,” Robinson said, bobbing awkwardly as he came forward.
Peter worked to remain expressionless as he shook each man’s hand. They weren’t upper class. Their accents gave them away. That and the way they seemed out of their depth. So why were they pretending to be something they weren’t?
“Are you friends of William’s?” Peter asked. He was highly aware of Mariah coming to stand by his side, as if she wanted to be introduced. But the thought of letting two strange men have anything to do with Mariah made his blood run cold.
Poole and Robinson exchanged looks. A flash of something that seemed to confirm Peter’s darkest suspicions passed between the two of them. It was gone as soon as it appeared, though, leaving Peter wondering what exactly he’d seen.
“William told us we’d be expected,” Poole went on. “And…and welcomed.”
“We wouldn’t have come otherwise,” Robinson added. “Only, he said there was a house party and all.”
“Is this the missus?” Poole asked, sending a toothy smile Mariah’s way.
Mariah started to smile in greeting, but Peter cut her off with, “This is the Countess of Dunsford.”
Poole pulled back the hand he had begun to extend to Mariah.
Mariah flushed, suddenly glaring at Peter.
Peter sighed inwardly. He would catch hell for coming between Mariah and the guests later, but until he was certain they were harmless, he didn’t want her to risk falling into whatever trap William had set.
He was spared having to confront Mariah then and there—or having to send her away—as Malcolm strode into the hall from the morning parlor. “These are the new guests?” he asked without preamble.
Poole and Robinson tried to hide their flinches, but they weren’t fast enough. And any man who flinched at the sight of Malcolm Campbell wasn’t a man he wanted in his house.
“Mr. Benjamin Poole and Mr. Dick Robinson,” Peter introduced them.
Malcolm hummed as he came to a stop by Peter’s side. He glanced across to Mariah. “Domenica was hoping you’d join her in the garden, my lady.”
Mariah’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of rose. “I’m fine here for the time being, Lord Malcolm.”
Poole and Robinson glanced between the two, and Peter suddenly felt as though he were playing umpire in a particularly contentious cricket match.
“Mariah.” He turned to her, lowering and softening his voice. “I think it would be best if you join Domenica until we can figure out who these gentlemen are and why they’re here.”
Mariah’s back went straight and her eyes opened wide with offense, but before she could say anything, Poole said, “We’re friends of William, like you said. He invited us to stay for a while, as long as you were having guests.”
“He did, did he?” Malcolm crossed his arms, studying the men while stroking his chin.
“Yeah,” Robinson said, mirroring the gesture with a hint of hostility. “We go way back, William and us. We’re thick as thieves.”
“I don’t doubt that last part,” Malcolm muttered.
The need to do something about the new arrivals made it hard for Peter to stand still. He was on the verge of telling the pair there had been some mistake and that they wouldn’t be able to stay, when a peal of laughter announced Victoria and William as they strolled into the front hall, arm in arm. Peter’s frown darkened.
William saw Poole and Robinson and nearly missed a step. The color drained from
his face, but before Victoria had finished laughing at whatever joke they had between them, William had recovered.
“Gentlemen,” he said, letting go of Victoria’s arm and striding to meet the new arrivals. “You’re here.” His voice cracked.
“William, who are these men?” Peter asked.
“They’re, ah, friends of mine, of course,” William said, maneuvering between the two and draping his arms over their shoulders. “I invited them, but I didn’t think they’d actually come.” He said the last bit through clenched teeth.
“Not come?” Poole chuckled. “And miss a chance for a relaxing vacation in Cornwall?”
“Yeah, we couldn’t do that,” Robinson said.
“Of course not.” William’s smile was entirely too large. “Well, let’s get you gents settled, and we’ll talk about all the fun we can have during my uncle’s party. Besides which, I have a proposition for the two of you. About that matter we discussed last month. Snyder?”
William pushed his friends toward the stairs. Snyder glanced questioningly at Peter instead of following after them.
Peter blew out a breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “What is it Albert says? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“That’s fine for him,” Malcolm said, heading for the stairs as well. “He lives on a boat.”
Peter watched as his wily friend followed Snyder up the stairs. Heaven only knew what he hoped to learn about the men by tailing them.
He was ready to escape to the garden to find Albert and apprise him of the new development when Mariah wheeled on him and hissed, “How could you embarrass me like that?”
Peter was so taken by surprise that he stepped back, blinking. “I beg your pardon?”
“They are our guests. It was my duty to greet them,” Mariah seethed.
“Neither of them was particularly handsome,” Victoria—who had inched forward during the conversation—added as if trying to console her sister.
Mariah pursed her lips and shot Victoria a sharp, sideways look. Her inexplicable wrath was mostly for Peter, though. “How am I supposed to find my way as mistress of this house if you keep throwing house parties without informing me and telling me to be silent while you’re greeting our guests, as though I’m some sort of child?”
December Heart Page 20