Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  Chapter 15

  The next morning Quintin ran an unknotted quipu nervously through his fingers as he strode down the avenue connecting the Merdale estate to the trade road. Imported gravel crunched under his sandals, with Elkart’s footsteps echoing his own. Spaced wide enough for a palanquin and outriders, canopy trees lined the road like arboreal sentinels. High above the ground, where only monkeys dared to climb, their branches grew together to create a massive living tunnel through the forest.

  When they reached the end of the tunnel, the gravel path split to curve around the edges of a circular garden nearly the size of an entire homestead plot. Since he was unburdened and on foot, Quintin abandoned the smooth gravel path to take a more direct route through the gardens to the manor house. While he admired the spiral paths and hidden grottoes casting a leisurely aura on the grounds, he was a vegetable vendor’s son and knew most of the plants in the garden would add flavor and substance to the manor’s table as well as being pleasing to the eye.

  Elkart sniffed at a patch of mint. Smell like home.

  The garden did resemble the one at Jardin, though his mother’s plot was a fraction of the size, but any resemblance between the homesteads ended with the manor house. The cottage he called home peeked out from under the trees like a child hiding in her mother’s skirts, while the manor house of Merdale lounged across the end of the drive like an elegant lady on a divan. In the soft morning sun, the sprawling structure sparkled with colorful mosaics. Lord Harold spared no expense to keep the trees in check around the front of the house, insuring no shadows marred the jewel of the estate.

  All in all, the place reminded Quintin far too much of his childhood home.

  Elkart bumped his head against Quintin’s hip. Too much staring, not enough walking.

  Squaring his shoulders, Quintin wrapped the quipu around his left hand. The sooner he started, the sooner he would get this over with. He exited the fragrant garden and crossed the gravel road to a flight of stairs up to the door of the manor house. He struck the gong next to the door with the mallet hanging below. Its deep ringing tone echoed in his breastbone. When the door opened, he stepped inside with Elkart at his side.

  A gentlewoman well practiced in the art of hospitality crouched in the center of the entryway, holding a tray of delicacies over her head. Her white sari pooled on the floor around her, while her head was bowed at the proper angle for a respectful welcome.

  Quintin removed his shoes and nodded at the motionless guard holding the door. As he approached the woman, he mentally reviewed the steps of the ritual for entering a noble home.

  “Welcome to Merdale, most honored Auditor, uh, Han-Auditor,” she corrected herself as Elkart sat down next to Quintin. “We are honored by your presence. May your work here be swift and satisfying, as we hope our tribute is most pleasing to the Troika.” There was something hauntingly familiar about her voice, probably from the rote cadences of her formal words.

  “I thank you for your gracious welcome.” He cleared his throat, hoping he remembered the correct wording for his response. He bent over to select a slice of plantain from her tray. “I am Han-Auditor Quintin of Jardin, Hand of Destin and—”

  To Quintin’s horror the platter trembled and began to tilt.

  Elkart jumped out of the way as the bronze tray clanged against the tile floor. Bite sized pieces of food flew in all directions.

  “A thousand apologies, Han-Auditor.” The woman knelt on the floor, her careful pose abandoned as she tossed the food back on the platter.

  “I’m sure it was my fault.” His face hot with embarrassment, he squatted down to help her pick up the mess. “I’ve always been a clumsy oaf.”

  “No, no.” She glanced at him and he got his first good look at her face.

  The plantain he held was reduced to mush in his fingers. “Em?”

  Her dark eyes widened. She jumped to her feet and brushed ineffectually at the stains on her sari. “I’ll take you to Lord Harold now. I can clean this up later.”

  He followed her in a daze, his mind scrabbling for an explanation. She led him out of the house and into a courtyard. Her black hair gleamed red in the sunshine, reminding him of all the other times he imagined spotting Em. Perhaps he had been mistaken when he glimpsed her face.

  I told you! She smelled of meat and soap. Elkart’s thoughts were edged with a dark glee. I told you. Her bed better than yours.

  She can’t be Em. She just can’t. Quintin licked the plantain off his fingers and studied the straight back of the woman before him. Her bleached white sari, now spattered and stained, twinkled with beads and shiny beetle wings cleverly sewn into row upon row of intricate needlework. His throat burned as he remembered Em admiring his simple stitches.

  This could not be the same woman. Maybe she’s the spoiled woman from the market.

  Not smell like nasty bully. Elkart’s tail twitched. Smell like your thief.

  She walked through a tinkling curtain and bowed as a jowly older man rose from his seat at a table large enough for six. The room was appointed with trunks and sitting rugs, while the only decoration was a tapestry hung above the table that looked like a map of the Merdale estate.

  Quintin’s mind could not fully take it in as she introduced him to Lord Harold in a calm tone. There was no denying she was Em now. He watched the scene like a spectator at a farce, detached by a growing sense of outrage. She was a better actor than he had ever dreamed.

  Lord Harold gestured at her. “My daughter, Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena, will see to your comfort during the audit.”

  “Lady Emmanuella?” Quintin asked with a sharp emphasis on the first word. Her deception got worse and worse.

  “My daughter is a lady in her own right, though a minor one. She inherited a temple too small for even a parcel from her mother.”

  “I’m honored beyond words,” he said with careful precision. It was a great honor to be attended by a genuine Lady, even one who spent her nights dressed as a laborer, breaking the law and kissing strangers. The impulse to speak to her, mind-to-mind, seized him. But as desperate as he was to ferret out the truth of her, he feared his own mental barriers were all that kept him from raging incoherently.

  “Is something amiss, Han-Auditor?” Lord Harold asked.

  Quintin blinked at the Trilord. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You seem distracted.” Lord Harold frowned at his daughter, probably taking in her rumpled appearance and missing serving tray for the first time. “Has my daughter said or done something to offend?”

  “No.” Quintin slanted a glance at Lady Emmanuella, who at least had the good grace to squirm. He took a deep breath, further strengthening his protections and ordering his thoughts. “Your daughter is simply more lovely than I had imagined.”

  For once the lie flowed easily from his lips, perhaps because it had a kernel of truth in it. She had been pretty dressed in drab brown, and adorable curled up asleep on his floor. Those visions faded to nothing next to her current beauty. Her white sari accentuated her rich brown skin, while stone bangles made her limbs appear impossibly thin and graceful. The feathers in her hair softened the edges of her face. He could almost imagine them tickling his wrists as he cupped her face for a kiss.

  Lord Harold laughed, though the sound was forced. “Emmie has always been a pretty little thing. Takes after her mother, she does.”

  Quintin stared at the Trilord and wondered how much of a fool the man was. “You underestimate her. She is exquisite.”

  “The auditor is far too kind.” Lady Em’s smile was as sharp and brittle as glass.

  Lord Harold wagged a finger at Quintin. “Now Auditor, when it comes time for our aestivation, am I going to be able to leave her alone with you?”

  “By my word as a Hand, she will come to no harm while with me,” Quintin said,
his tone harsher than he intended. Em flinched at the familiar words. Served her right. If only her word had meant half as much as his own.

  Em of Farbank, indeed.

  “Thank you, Han-Auditor.” The Trilord gave a shallow bow. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “None taken. I am simply impatient to get to work,” Quintin said, trying without much success to modulate his tone. He was furious, he realized, an unusual, uncomfortable state. It had been a long time since he had felt so thoroughly duped. “Your daughter, lovely as she is, will not distract me from my task.”

  Em gave a low bow, her movements full of unconscious grace. How had he not seen it before? Fredrick must have recognized her. No wonder he smirked in that nasty way whenever he caught Quintin studying the Merdale quipus.

  The Bursar had put him in the untenable position of auditing his secret lover’s family and would no doubt enjoy watching him squirm. By law Quintin was obligated to report the relationship and resign the case. Quintin shuddered. Doing so would cause a scandal and an investigation into their charade. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  If he continued with the audit, he risked blackmail or discovery. Add in his body’s response to the mere sight of Em, and a banal penance had transformed into a treacherous nightmare.

  Chapter 16

  Em patted the velvety neck of her okapi and peered through the trees to spot the sun. Needing to clear her head, she had escaped into the forest surrounding the manor shortly after leaving her father alone with the Han-Auditor. While the familiar routine of hunting helped soothe her, soon she would need to return to the manor and face the auditor once more.

  She carefully stowed her atlatl, a clever tool for launching arrows, next to the pair of partridges and single marmoset she had brought down with it. The meat would be welcome at Aerynet, though it would not quite make up for her absence during the holy day.

  The calm she had gained in the forest proved all too fleeting. After handing off the okapi and giving instructions for her kills to be sent to town, she hurried through the manor to her rooms.

  A secret smile curved her lips as she changed once more into a sari. Her father would be horrified if she presented herself to the Han-Auditor in the kaftan and trousers she wore for hunting. Little did he know Quintin had seen her dressed in much worse.

  Em went to the kitchen to fetch a tray laden with their midday meal. Her heart pounded as she crossed the courtyard to her father’s study. She would need all her skills at deception to keep her father from suspecting the effect the Han-Auditor had on her. She paused outside the curtain of glass beads and cut stones, barely able to see the forms of her father and Quintin seated across from each other at the long table.

  A hot ball of conflicting emotions formed behind her breastbone at the sight of the Han-Auditor. His presence here spelled danger and disaster, yet her heart swelled with joy to see him again.

  Schooling her features into a polite mask, she clasped the tray and pushed through the curtain.

  Quintin and her father looked up from the table at the sound of the beads tinkling behind her. Something hot and dangerous flickered across Quintin’s face before he assumed a distant expression.

  Alarmed at the emotions he aroused, she presented the tray of food. “May the bounty of Merdale sustain and refresh you through the heat of the day.”

  “Merdale’s bounty is great indeed. I thank you for sharing it.” While the words were unfailingly polite, an undercurrent of irritation rippled through Quintin’s response.

  “It is you who honor us.” She slid the tray onto the table between Quintin and her father, then knelt low with her forehead touching her knees. She held the posture perfectly, though her blood sang with a potent mix of desire and fear. For the first time in her life, she played host to a man who was worthy of the honor, yet also knew her secret shame and could betray her with one wrong word.

  After Lord Harold and Quintin had selected their first choice of the array of dainties, her father waved a hand. “Join us in our meal, Daughter.”

  Raising her head, Em murmured her thanks and knelt at the table with the men. Well aware of her father’s attention, she chose a stuffed mushroom without glancing at the Han-Auditor. As they ate, she strove to keep her expression distant and her conversation minimal and polite. Her father must never guess her powerful reaction to the auditor.

  As the tray emptied, Lord Harold cleared his throat. “I am overdue for my aestivation.”

  Quintin scrambled to his feet to bow. “Please, do not let me keep you from your rest.”

  Her father sent Em a questioning glance, which she answered with a reassuring smile. Lord Harold stood and mirrored Quintin’s bow. “Lady Emmanuella will attend to you now. I will return when it is time to resume our work.”

  Em kept her eyes averted as Lord Harold departed, though her body was acutely aware of Quintin towering over her. Once they were alone, she met his gaze for the first time since she had entered the room.

  Tension transformed his amiable face. His eyes snapped with judgment, condemning her without a word.

  A shiver of something—longing, regret—skittered down her spine. She gestured at the nearly empty platter. “If you have eaten your fill, I can escort you to a room where you may rest. Or sleep if you so desire.”

  His eyes darkened. “What if I desire something else?”

  Rising to her feet, she licked her lips. Awareness throbbed between them. “That would depend on your request.”

  Stepping close enough for her to smell his soap, Quintin lowered his voice. “What if I want answers, will you grant me those?”

  Her heart pounded at his words. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Are we private here?”

  “Reasonably so.” Clear light twinkled off the beaded strands in the doorway, giving no sign of someone lurking in the hall. “Father will not want to insult your honor by being obvious about providing a chaperon, though I think you gave him a turn, gushing about my beauty.”

  He shrugged, some of the tension leaving his body with the motion. “I had to explain my shock somehow.”

  “It was quick thinking.” Her lips curled in a tentative smile. “Though you did go a little too far.”

  “I was only being honest.” His dimple flashed. “It seemed a better choice than kissing you, anyway.”

  She glanced at his mouth and let out a shuddering laugh. “Yes, kisses would not have been a good diversion this time.”

  His fingers curled into fists. “I’ll admit, I was tempted.”

  Besieged by vivid memories of his embrace, her heart twinged. “I thought I would never see you again,” she whispered.

  “I certainly never dreamed I’d find you here.” He gestured at the opulent room. “A Lady of the Realm. Here’s a question for you. Do you realize your sari alone costs more than the payment I gave you?”

  She smoothed one hand over the fine cloth. Beads and knots of embroidery scraped against her palm. “I am aware of that.”

  “So why not sell it instead of coming to me for cacao?”

  “Am I supposed to walk around naked?”

  Desire flared in his eyes, but his voice remained carefully controlled. “You have other clothes. I’ve seen them.”

  She snorted. “Those clothes aren’t fit for a Lady and you know it.”

  “I felt sorry for you,” he said, suddenly fierce. “I worried about you, wondering if my beans were enough to get you out of trouble and how you were managing in Farbank. I expected to see my embroidered cloth in the marketplace any day.” He let out a bark of laughter, the sound ugly and raw. “Maybe I yet will, since you have much finer things all around you.”

  She twisted her mother’s ring on her finger. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You lied to
me. You aren’t desperate, unable to wait a single night for your beans.”

  She jerked, stung by his words. “I let you into my mind, Quintin, to lay such fears to rest, and now you don’t trust your own gift?”

  He stepped back, confusion wrinkling his wide brow.

  She spun the ring around and around on her finger. “My payment was two days late as it was.”

  “You shouldn’t need to accost strange men for a piddling pouch of beans.” Quintin scowled, the expression unnerving on his genial face. “Does skulking about at night give you a thrill?”

  “I told you before, I needed the beans.”

  He pointed at the remains on the tray of delicacies. “Your family sprinkles ground cacao on food meant for the tax collector, and you’re trying to tell me twenty measures means so much to you?”

  “That cacao isn’t mine.” She crossed her arms, ashamed to think of how she had pilfered beans from the kitchen a time or two, before Simon found her regular work. While lockpicking was dishonorable, it was better than stealing from her own family. “Lord Harold a’Taric a’Fermice a’Marana prefers cacao with his midday meal and we were simply fortunate enough to dine with him.”

  “Then why not ask the Trilord, your father, to loan you some of his cacao?”

  “And how would I pay him back without my sneak work?”

  “You’re his daughter. He wouldn’t ask you to repay—”

  “I tried asking my father for help.” She took a shaky breath, rattled by remembered pain. “Fermena knows I did. I was twelve years old and hardly knew which way was up when it came to the temple. And then Patricia had her horrible fall. I was desperate. I asked my father for help. And do you know what he said?”

  Quintin shook his head, his dark eyes serious.