His eyes swept her from head to toe, pausing for the briefest of instants to register the presence of the necklace. Then his gaze returned to her face, still smiling. ‘Both. I need an escort to the dining room. This house is not precisely a maze, but it is a long jaunt from end to end. I am likely to starve before the meal if left to my own devices.’ Then he held his arm out to her, as if he was about to lead her to the dining room.
But not really. At dinners and balls, the men who took her arm were either assigned to the task by some sympathetic hostess or volunteered because they hoped to make a good impression on one of her sisters. As she walked with them, they did not pay attention to her, but glanced over their shoulders to be sure that someone else was observing their gallantry.
But tonight, the man in front of her was focused solely on her, as if she was the prettiest girl in the room, just as Dill had said. Because they were alone. He was looking at her because there was nowhere else to look. There was nothing personal about it.
‘Miss Strickland?’ Now he was wondering at her hesitation.
‘Just thinking,’ she said, trying and failing to duplicate the light, flirtatious smile that her sisters used at times like this. But it was all wrong. She could not manage to look empty-headed while claiming to think. And now she could not decide how she was supposed to look, which must make her seem more dim-witted than thoughtful.
If her shifting expression seemed odd to him, he did not indicate it. He simply continued to smile and guided her down the stairs.
Chapter Five
When they arrived in the dining room, Charity Strickland chose a seat halfway down the table and indicated the place opposite that was set for him. It seemed that the staff had ignored her change in rank as the only family member present and put her in her usual place instead of moving her closer to the head of the table. Even when they were not here, empty places had been left for her sisters.
And for him, as well. The head of the table, where the Earl should be seated, had a place setting, but no chair. He could not help a small shiver of dread at the sight of it and the weird, undeserved respect that was offered to a supposed lord and saviour that none of them could recognise even when he was in the house with them.
‘My maid promised that a fire would be lit,’ she said, mistaking the reason for his shiver.
‘I am fine,’ he assured her. ‘If you are comfortable, do not concern yourself.’ He tried not to glance down at the expanse of ivory skin on display above the neckline of her gown, or to look even lower, searching for her body’s reaction to the cold room. Perhaps English gentlemen did not have such thoughts, but the crass American that he was thanked God for the superior view afforded a lowly visitor who was placed opposite Miss Charity instead of at the head of the table.
Her long neck had looked ridiculous in the high-collared dress she had worn this afternoon. But in a dinner gown, her exposed throat swept gracefully down to the swell of her fine, full breasts. Though there had been little light beneath her skirts when he had boosted her up the chimney, he had been holding a fine pair of ankles and felt delightfully rounded calves pressed on either side of his head.
And though her hands moved with masculine efficiency as they sliced the lamb on her plate, the fingers were long and tapered to fine, almond-shaped nails.
There was much to enjoy in the young lady that everyone had been insisting he marry, for duty’s sake and the good of the Empire. But there was also one thing he did not like at all. Dangling between those perfect breasts was what had to be the crowning glory of family jewels. The excessively large teardrop pendant would have dazzled him, had he not known it was a worthless copy. Now it merely depressed him.
Did she know? he wondered. Of course she did. The truth was supposed to be a secret passed from Earl and Countess to Earl and Countess. The Dowager had blurted it out to him the first time they’d met, then sighed with relief as if she’d transferred a back-breaking burden on to his unsuspecting shoulders.
As the youngest granddaughter, Miss Charity should know absolutely nothing about it. But she struck Miles as the sort of woman who was exceptionally good at ferreting out secrets. Which begged the question as to why she would flaunt it in front of him at the first available moment.
Because she wanted to convince him that nothing was amiss. Despite himself, he smiled. It was a pleasure to be in the company of a female whose actions had purpose.
She smiled back and the effect on her features was transformative. And for a moment, he forgot himself, grinning back, smitten.
Then she looked at him with a gaze as sharp as an eagle’s and said, ‘So, Mr Potts, tell me about yourself.’
He could feel the smile freezing on his face, as his brain struggled for an answer. At last, he replied, ‘There is not much to tell.’ It was true. He had not bothered to invent a past to go with his nom de guerre, so what could he possibly say?
She set down her knife and steepled her fingers. ‘Tell me anyway. I am fascinated.’ She did not look totally sincere, but she did look persistent. ‘I have never met an American before.’
He breathed a sigh of relief and a silent prayer of thanks for the topic. ‘I am from Philadelphia, in the state of Pennsylvania.’
‘Where the Earl is from,’ she said.
‘It was where we met.’ That was metaphorically true, at least.
‘And what did you do, in Philadelphia?’
‘A bit of this and that,’ he said, for it was near to the truth.
‘Auditing?’
‘Never before. But I have a decent hand and feel qualified to take accurate notes on what is right before my eyes,’ he said, deliberately staring down at the counterfeit diamond.
His suspicions on her knowledge of the false diamonds was confirmed. As if she feared the topic of conversation was about to turn to the necklace, she lost interest in talking and concentrated on the strawberry compote that had arrived for dessert.
Which meant it was his turn to question her. He speared a berry on the end of his fork and bit into it with relish before asking, ‘Have you had a chance to open the puzzle box we discovered this afternoon?’
‘It is not your business whether I have or not, Potts,’ she said, not bothering with an honorific as if she sought to put him in his place.
‘On the contrary. The box and whatever is inside it are likely to be valuable, or else why would they be hidden? If they are part of the entailed property, I must record them.’
‘I doubt they are,’ she said, smiling sweetly and trying to put him off his guard, again.
It was badly done. She could not expect to command him one moment and play the fool the next. In response, he gave her a firm smile and a sceptical stare. ‘I think you had best let me be the judge, Miss Strickland. It is my job, after all.’
‘If there is anything of interest inside, you shall be the first to know,’ she said, not even bothering to look sincere.
‘So you have not opened it, yet,’ he pressed.
‘There has been little time to do so,’ she snapped, touching her hair. ‘These dratted curls take hours.’ Then, as if realising that ladies were not supposed to consider it a waste of time to beautify themselves, she shut her mouth in another forced smile.
‘They were well worth it,’ he assured her. ‘The effect is quite charming.’ He paused to see if the compliment had registered.
It had not.
He continued. ‘Puzzle boxes can be devilishly tricky things. Some have more than forty steps and secret compartments beyond that. I have done several of them. If you should need help...’
‘You think I should come to you?’ she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.
‘Who else is there?’ He gave an innocent shrug, then held out his hands to show he meant no harm.
‘You are shamelessly angling for an invitation,’ she said, both exasperated an
d surprised.
‘I love a mystery,’ he said.
‘Well, I have no intention of involving you with it, no matter how curious you are,’ she said with a sigh, tossing her napkin aside and rising from her seat. ‘There are some things that are just too private to share with people outside the family. And as I said before, if it involves the entail...’
‘You promise to tell me,’ he finished her sentence.
‘You have my word.’
Since she had lied to him several times already, he held little hope that she would turn over any valuables she found, no matter how much he might need them. He gave her another disarming smile. ‘If not cracking open your mysterious box, how are we to pass the evening?’
‘We?’ Apparently, she had not planned to entertain him after the meal. She had probably hoped to abandon him and work on the puzzle box. If she did, it would leave him free to stuff his pockets with knick-knacks and take to the road.
And it might leave her with a box holding thousands of dollars of loose stones, any one of which might set him up for life.
‘We, Miss Strickland,’ he repeated. ‘Surely you do not mean to leave me all alone on my first night here? What do you normally do for fun in this mausoleum, after the sun has set?’
‘I enjoy a good game of chess,’ she admitted, through gritted teeth.
‘An excellent suggestion.’ In fact, it was almost too good to be true. ‘I like nothing better. I will spot you three pieces of your choice.’
‘You will what?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
‘It is called a handicap,’ he said, with excessive patience. ‘It gives a weaker player a chance to win.’
Apparently, she did not think she needed one for he could see fury rising in her like water about to boil over a kettle.
‘I know what a handicap is, Potts. I have never needed one before and I do not mean to start tonight.’
‘Are you sure?’ he said, giving her a chance to change her mind.
‘I have been the best chess player in this county since I was thirteen,’ she said, glaring at him. Then she batted her eyes as if she was some simple female. ‘But by all means give my feeble feminine brain the advantage of three pieces. If you can manage a draw, I will let you help me with the puzzle box you are so eager to see inside of.’
‘Really?’ The secret to her character revealed itself, before he could even suggest the wager. Flattery might get him nowhere. But if he dared to condescend to her, she would not just hand him the keys to the kingdom, she would throw them with all her might.
‘Really,’ she said, her smile replaced by a determined nod.
‘Fair enough,’ he said and let the lamb lead him to the slaughterhouse.
* * *
The last time Charity had played chess, it had been with Mr Drake, who had been waiting for the opportunity to sneak into Hope’s room. He had been so distracted by the thought of her sister it had taken considerable effort on her part to make him feel that he had a chance to win. There was no fun in blunting her play and throwing games to weaker players. But she had not had the heart to punish that poor man when he was already having a difficult time winning Hope.
Tonight would be different. The exceptionally arrogant Mr Potts deserved no mercy. She would take his three pieces. And then she would take the rest, as quickly and painfully as possible.
She set up the game and glanced at his side for only a moment before removing his queen and both bishops from the board.
‘Ho-ho,’ he said, clapping his hands in approval. ‘You mean to make me work for my reward. Very well, then. Let’s begin.’
She had underestimated him. After so many years of people doing the same to her, she should have known better. Potts was a cautious player, but relentless, taking her pieces one by one and dodging the traps she set for him, even without the help of his stronger pieces. When she managed to claim a piece, it usually came with the sacrifice of one of her own. And, indignity of indignities, when he took her king, it was done with a clever arrangement of pawns.
She stared at the table in amazement. ‘I have never played a game like that before.’
‘Then you have led an exceptionally sheltered life, Miss Strickland.’
While that was quite true, it had nothing to do with her abilities at the chessboard. Nor had it anything to do with the quality of his play, which had been masterful.
Now he was staring at her expectantly. And for the first time in her life, she felt in awe of a man and at a loss for words.
‘Well?’ he said, with an encouraging tip of his head. When she did not respond, he added, ‘Have you forgotten our bet?’
She found her tongue again, clearing her throat and saying gruffly, ‘It can hardly be called a bet. You offered me no reward, if you lost.’
‘Since I did not lose, that is immaterial.’ He gave her a pitying smile. ‘Perhaps it would have been kinder of me if I had been more specific when you asked what I did, while in America.’ He cocked his head to the side, as if reliving the conversation in his mind. ‘I told you a bit of this and a bit of that. But when I was between this and that, and low on funds, I played chess for money.’
And she had fallen right into his hands.
‘Before we played, you promised that I could aid you with the puzzle box. May I see it, please?’ He was still smiling. Still maddeningly polite.
‘Of course,’ she said, rising and leading him from the room.
Chapter Six
If nothing else, he had found a way to stop Charity Strickland from questioning him about his non-existent past. Since her loss at the chessboard, she had barely spoken to him and put up almost no fight when he had requested a chance to see the contents of the box.
If it had been another woman, he might have feared that this was a sign of impending storm. But he sensed nothing from this one that hinted at petty tantrums or poor sportsmanship. Though she was clearly not accustomed to it, she responded to the trouncing he had given her with the sangfroid of an English gentleman.
It was rather confusing.
Perhaps it had unhinged her mind. That was why she showed no sign of modesty as she led him to her bedroom, instead of bringing the box to the parlour. Once there, she walked into the room without a second thought, took up the puzzle from her dressing table and sat on the edge of the bed, holding it out to him and gesturing that he join her.
He paused in the doorway, tempted to explain to her that the situation was totally inappropriate. Even Pepper knew it was wrong, for the detestable little cur looked up from where he had been napping on the pillow and gave a threatening growl.
Charity gave a single snap of her fingers and pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the room.
The dog stood, gave an apologetic wag of his tail, then obeyed, giving Miles a half-hearted glare as he passed.
That left him with no reason to refuse her, other than good manners and common sense. There was also the chance that, if he waited too long, the effect of the chess game might wear off and she would remember that she did not want his help. So he smiled, walked into the room and sat down beside her as if there was nothing odd about it.
She barely seemed to notice him, turning the box over in her hands, caressing the wood and feeling for loose panels and trim. A few moments passed. Then she smiled as the bottom panel slid a half an inch to the left. ‘I had no time to examine it before supper. It does not seem so very difficult.’ She handed it to him, to find the next step.
‘Perhaps not,’ he replied, running his fingers along the side before finding the wooden latch that had been exposed and pulling it up with his thumbnail. ‘But you agreed to my terms when we sat down to play chess.’ He handed it back to her.
‘But it does not take a genius, does it?’ she said, pivoting the front panel to reveal a keyhole and added, ‘Even if that is what you are.’
It was delivered as a statement rather than a compliment and he saw no reason to deny it. ‘Perhaps I am. But intelligence does little good for the individual when the people in power are foolish.’ For example, when one discovered that one’s family had already done irreparable damage to the inheritance. He glanced down at her. ‘I suspect you are familiar with that feeling, are you not?’ She must be. It was her family, as well. He worked a fingernail into the left side panel until he heard a click.
She opened the little door he’d unlatched and admired the tracery of inlaid metal revealed before prying a bit of it loose and fitting it into the keyhole. ‘It is worse for women,’ she said. ‘Men do not like it when we are too clever. They especially do not like being corrected when they are wrong.’ Her forehead creased as she turned the key and heard another click as the top panel popped up to reveal a second, seemingly blank surface beneath.
Despite the small success, she continued to frown and cast a quick look in his direction, as if wondering if she would be expected to apologise for her abilities should she find the solutions faster than he did.
Someone had taken great pains to put her in her place. He suspected that it was the last Comstock, since she had made a point of remarking on jealous men. Until recently, there had been none of them in her family but her grandfather, the Earl. But if today was any indication, the old man had failed to break her spirit.
‘My father was the same way, when I was young,’ he said, watching her reaction as he took the box and pressed down on the smooth panel until it lifted a fraction of an inch, then gave it back. ‘He was quick to cut a switch to correct me when I was wrong, which he defined as being out of agreement with him. But a smart man would have left his sons more than debt when he died.’
‘Young ladies are not corrected with physical punishment,’ she said softly, staring at the box in her hands. The silence that followed her words made him suspect that it had not been necessary to strike her to leave a scar.
How Not to Marry an Earl Page 5