Catherine shot a look in their direction before leaning forward. “Violet and Jon locked the auditor in the cacao vault with Em. Or at least tried to.”
Curtis’s jaw dropped. “Are you insane?”
Em swirled the wine in her goblet. “You don’t think the idea of trapping me in a windowless room with a man is amusing?”
“When the man in question is a tax-collector? No.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “If I were the lucky man, then it would be most entertaining.”
She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I can think of no worse fate than being locked in a closet with you, Curtis.”
Violet leaned forward. “Did you enjoy your time with the taxman, then?”
Em’s pulse picked up as she remembered her mindless terror, and the heady comfort of Quintin’s voice in the dark. She gritted her teeth and met her cousin’s avid gaze. “The Han-Auditor was not amused.”
“I imagine not.” Curtis clicked his tongue. “While I’ve no great fondness for your father, Jon, trying to bring a trio of inquisitors down on his head is going too far. You’d better pray to Marana the auditor feels forgiving when it comes to tabulating Merdale’s tribute.”
Violet pouted. “If Em was a better flirt, Uncle Harold’s tribute would be less, not more.”
Curtis snorted. “If Han-Auditors were so easy to sway, every landowner in Destin would prostitute their sons and daughters.”
“Not every auditor is sweet on Em.” Jon swiped a dumpling through the curry on his plate. “You should have heard him talking yesterday. I figured he’d be delighted for a moment alone with you.”
Em sniffed. “A Hand would never take advantage.”
Violet cocked her head. “So you didn’t kiss the taxman while you were alone?”
“Absolutely not.” Em took a sip of wine to banish the salty taste of his skin.
“I knew you were hopeless about men, Emmie.” Violet’s tone dripped with malicious delight. She held out a hand to Jon. “Pay up.”
He grumbled as he removed a ring from his pinky and gave it to Violet.
A frown wrinkled Catherine’s forehead. “What are you doing?”
“Jon and I made a little wager.” Violet’s lips curved in a satisfied smile as she tucked the jewelry away. “I knew Em didn’t have it in her to seduce the taxman.”
Em’s fingers tightened around the stem of her goblet. She glared at her brother. “Is that why you came to unlock the door? Did you hope to catch us in an embrace?”
“No, I didn’t.” Jon’s tone was defensive as he slid a sideways glance at Catherine.
She frowned back at him. “He wouldn’t have let you out at all, if I hadn’t insisted.”
“At least one of you has some sense.” One corner of Curtis’s mouth quirked up. “You are far too good a woman to be wasting your kisses on the likes of Jon.”
Catherine blushed while Jon gaped like a fish.
“We haven’t been kissing,” he sputtered.
Curtis lifted one black eyebrow. “Then you are doubly foolish for proving yourself a knave before you’ve had the pleasure.”
“Maybe Mistress Catherine isn’t interested in Jon’s kisses,” Em protested, though from the look on the young woman’s face, the opposite was more likely to be true.
“Most of us aren’t afraid of a little kissing, Emmie,” Violet huffed. “We don’t all want to die a virgin like you.”
Curtis laughed. “So, who are you hoping to catch alone on Allgoday, Violet?”
She lowered her eyelashes. “Is anyone interesting going to be here?”
As the pair turned to flirting, Jon leaned closer to Em. “I am sorry, you know. I shouldn’t have gone along with it, either the wager or the vault.”
“Let’s pretend it never happened and hope the Han-Auditor does the same.”
“You’re a good sort, Em.” Jon gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. “Thanks for forgetting it.”
Em feared her responding smile looked pained. She would never forget those soul-shattering moments in Quintin’s arms.
~ ~ ~
Quintin spent his midday break practicing his staff forms. With fresh kisses from Em to distract him, he knew rest would be impossible, and hoped the exercise would burn the tension from his body. His attempt was only half successful. Even as his body dripped with sweat from his exertions, his mind continued to dwell on their time alone in the vault.
He wished Elkart had not gone off hunting with Terin. While the waccat had little of use to say about Em and kissing, at least he could distract Quintin from his own circling thoughts.
When the afternoon shadows stretched across the yard, he stopped putting off the inevitable and headed to the Trimble Tribute Office. Relief washed over him when he found the Bursar out. Quintin sat down at his work table and hung the new Merdale quipu on a frame. He spread the old one over the table and soon was lost in the painstaking work of comparing the two.
“Is that the quipu for the Merdale estate?”
His mind on accounts and tributes, Quintin blinked up at Bursar Fredrick. “I wanted to compare my quipu with last year’s and tighten my knots.”
“Are you done then?”
“I need to do some final tabulations, but I won’t have to go back to the estate until it is time to collect.”
Fredrick tapped his staff of office against his thigh. “How was the audit? Was Lord Harold hospitable?”
“Lord Harold was as welcoming as anyone is to a taxman.” Quintin decided not to report Violet’s ill-advised prank. The Bursar was likely to salivate at any stories involving Em.
The Bursar smirked. “And was his daughter friendly as well?”
Quintin stared his superior in the eye, trying not to think about the feel of her lips on his skin. “Lady Emmanuella was most gracious.”
“Gracious, huh?” Fredrick rocked back and forth on his heels. “She’s quite pretty.”
“She is as lovely as any lady,” he answered in as bored a voice as he could manage.
“I always enjoy the look of a woman in a sari.” Fredrick’s thick tongue smacked over his lips. “Like a present waiting to be unwrapped.”
“Careful, Bursar.” Quintin’s fingers clenched around the strands of the quipu as he battled his temper. There was nothing to be gained by rising to Fredrick’s bait. “I’m sure the Novenary would not approve of you speaking of a Lady of the Realm in such a manner.”
Fredrick’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m only talking about it. You’re the one doing it.”
Quintin’s face felt tight. “I beg your pardon?”
“I forgot. It’s our little secret.” Fredrick leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You had better hope I don’t forget in more auspicious company than this.”
Sweat prickled along Quintin’s back. He wouldn’t give Fredrick the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. “I’m sure you’ll remember playing games with the Troika’s tribute is no laughing matter. Especially in auspicious company.”
Fredrick narrowed his eyes. “Make sure you get your quipu nice and tight. We wouldn’t want you to slip up like Sarah did.”
“I am always careful with my knots.” Quintin turned back to the strands dangling from the frame. He would have to be extra diligent when tabulating the tribute so the Bursar had nothing to complain about. “You’re right. I had best get back to work.”
Fredrick stalked away, slapping his staff against his palm with every step.
Chapter 22
The next morning Quintin carried a steaming bowl to the table at the edge of the garden.
His mother followed close behind him with her own morning dish of curry. “Are you done with the audit?”
“Almost. I have some accounting to do.”
“I was
hoping you could help me carry watermelons to town today, but maybe tomorrow would work as well. It is good business to have melons on the water gods’ days.”
“I can walk with you into town. I won’t be going back to the estate.” He tapped his spoon on the edge of the bowl. “Ever.”
Hannah stirred her curry. “You sound very . . . grim about it.”
“It is simply fact. I can do the rest of my work from town and so I will.”
She put down her spoon and leaned her forearms on the table. “You’ve been distracted during this whole audit. Is something amiss?”
Quintin took a bite as he considered his answer. He could tell her about Fredrick’s likely blackmail, though the story was complicated and exposed secrets that weren’t his to share. Part of him longed to confide how he felt about Lady Em, if only to help him sort out his own thoughts. His mother would understand his dilemma better than most. “The Lord of the estate has a lovely daughter. She’s been attending me these last few days.”
“Ahhh.” She leaned back. “So you are reluctant to see the audit end.”
“It is for the best. An audit is no place for romance.”
“Romance? You want to court this gentlewoman? There must be more to her than a pretty face.”
“There is. Oh, there is.” More than he could ever explain to his mother. “It doesn’t matter. The audit is over and I’ll never see her again.”
“Well, why not? In a month or two, you could try to find her at her father’s temple.”
“I’m not going to court her.” He blew on a spoonful of curry to cool it. “She’s not merely a gentlewoman. She’s a Lady in her own right.”
“There is no law against a Hand marrying a Lady.”
“Is that truly your advice? Because as I recall, loving a noble didn’t work out so well for you.”
“It did, actually.” She smiled, the tender expression softening her careworn face. “I had many years of happiness with your father. I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
“You weren’t always happy.” He had a vivid memory of his mother weeping before a major festival because his half-brother had ruined her only sari, leaving her with the humiliating choice of dressing as a commoner or begging off hosting duties. It was one of the few times Quintin remembered hearing his father yell. What rankled most, even after all this time, was his father blaming Hannah for dishonoring their guests. He never did find fault with his unruly sons.
“The good times more than outweighed the bad.”
“Until he died and you lost everything.”
“I was devastated when your father died, undeniably. But not because he was a Lord. Do you think I would have missed him less if he were a goatherd? That the widows of tailors don’t grieve as much?”
The wooden handle of his spoon bit into his fingers. “The widows of tailors don’t get kicked out of their homes.”
“If your father had been a goatherd, he would have left his homestead to his eldest and I still would have come home to my mother. Edward had an obligation to his children and wanted to provide for them after his death. I respected his wishes.”
Quintin studied his tight knuckles. “He didn’t provide for me.”
“Yes, he did.” Hannah turned her bowl in her hands. “Your portion was only smaller because you were so young.”
“And a bastard.”
She dropped her spoon. “You know I don’t like such language.”
He gritted his teeth. “It’s the truth.”
Her shoulders hunched. “We said our vows before all nine gods as any wedded couple should.”
“Which would have been enough if he hadn’t been a noble.” Nobles needed the approval of the Novenary to wed. Though his parents’ union had been blessed by the gods, Quintin and his mother were shunned at his father’s burning. When his father died, he’d lost not only his home but his very identity. Never again was he introduced as Master Quintin, son of Lord Edward a’Marice. “The way Father’s family treated me, I might as well have been a bastard.”
Hannah sighed as she dusted the crumbs on the table into a pile. “It’s true your brothers never approved of Edward’s relationship with me. They were embarrassed by my low birth and youth, though I think our happiness was the bitterest draught of all for them.” She swept the crumbs to the ground. “Once your father died, I was glad to leave their petty anger behind.”
His mother may have been glad to escape the arguments and insults, but he remembered listening to her cry at night during their long trek to Jardin. Though he tried to match her brave face during the day, her nightly misery had terrified him. “And you don’t think any of your pain had to do with my father’s title?”
“There are sad and jealous people in all walks of life.” She touched his arm. “Don’t reject this Lady because of her title alone.”
He pushed his bowl away, his appetite gone. “She is being courted by a diplomat from the capitol.”
“Oh.” His mother’s hand dropped back to the table. “Well, if her heart is engaged elsewhere, there isn’t much you can do. Water flows where water will.”
A warbler landed on a flower stalk in the garden, bending it nearly to the ground. The bird snatched a seed before flitting back into the trees. While Em’s interest in Quintin was as fleeting, her caresses in the vault had not been those of a woman in love with another man. “I don’t think she’s in love with him.”
“Then I guess the question is, are you in love with her?”
Quintin’s breath caught painfully. “Yes,” he hissed.
His mother gripped the edge of the table. “You must try to see her again, without an audit to inhibit you. Go to her temple.”
He could barely hear his mother over the blood pounding in his ears. He was in love with Em. No, with Lady Emmanuella a’Fermena and he would be wise never to forget it. He’d known since he was a child that love led to heartache, doubly so with a noble, yet somehow he’d managed to fall for a Lady. How could he be such a fool?
Dishes clattered as Elkart jumped to his feet.
Quintin grabbed at the table to steady it. What is it?
Bogbear!
What? The birds twittered merrily in the bushes, giving no sign of a predator nearby.
Not here. Maven has the scent. Elkart danced in place. Time to go hunting!
“What’s happening?” Fear in her voice, Hannah scrambled to her feet. “What does he smell?”
“He says Maven’s found the bogbear out in the jungle.”
Go now! Elkart butted Quintin in the shoulder, rocking him.
Quintin sprang to his feet. “He wants to leave. I was going to carry watermelons—”
“Forget the watermelons.” She made a shooing motion. “Go do your duty as a Hand.”
~ ~ ~
“This sounds like a very agreeable marriage settlement.”
Em froze in the hall outside her father’s study. Why was Lord Evan talking about marriage with her father?
“A father does what he can to provide for his children,” Lord Harold replied.
Em’s fingers cramped around the edges of the serving tray she carried. Were they discussing her future without her?
“I think we should hold off until after Allgoday to make any announcement,” her father continued. “I don’t want to get in the way of Isabel’s festivities.”
The platter in her hands trembled as fury coursed through her veins. If she stepped through the curtain, she would end up throwing their refreshments at their heads.
“Oh, I quite agree,” Lord Evan said. “The new year is a lucky time to make such changes, and besides I am officially in mourning until then.”
A wave of despair washed over her anger. As infuriating as their presumptuous discussion was, it did offer sal
vation for Aerynet. She shuddered. There must be some other solution, but until she found it, she could not risk scorning the wealthy Lord.
“Do you have a plan for talking to the Novenary?” her father asked.
Heart pounding, Em slowly backed away. She slid her right foot along the floor to keep her payal quiet. While she understood the wisdom of controlling her temper, she did not have the fortitude to serve their meal with ladylike dignity.
“I can’t imagine the Novenary will have any objections.” Her father’s odious friend chuckled. “I’m more worried about the bride’s reaction.”
She continued inching away, making it difficult to catch her father’s response, though his laughter grated on her nerves. When Lord Evan joined in, she judged it safe to walk at a more normal pace. Perverse glee filled her as she absconded with their midday meal. Hunger pangs were a petty retribution for their machinations, but somehow made her feel better.
Moments later, she encountered Jonathan and Mistress Catherine in the family courtyard. She thrust the tray at her brother. “Here. Enjoy your aestivation.”
“Thanks.” Jon picked up a plantain dusted in cacao. “Fancy!”
Em bowed to Mistress Catherine. “Merdale offers the best to our honored guests.”
“You’re too kind.” Catherine smiled and ducked her head. “Won’t you join us?”
“I’m not hungry. I’m going to rest.” Em hurried to her chamber, though she had no intention of trying to sleep. Alone in her room, she shed her sari and pulled on her hunting garb. Time in the jungle would help her think.
“Here you are, Em. Did you deliver your father’s meal?” Isabel stepped through the beaded curtain and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing dressed like a commoner?”
Em ran a hand over her soft kaftan and trousers. While her garb was more casual than a Lady’s usual attire, it was a perfectly respectable outfit. “I’m going out hunting. A sari isn’t practical in the forest.”
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 17