by Anna Bradley
“Perhaps,” Delia replied. It was bad enough Lord Carlisle’s hard body, teasing black eyes, and low, mocking laugh haunted her dreams, but it was becoming more and more difficult to see him only as a powerful, deceitful, arrogant earl. She’d fit the pieces of his character together so easily, only to have the puzzle knocked from her hands and spilled to the floor. Now it was as if she were missing pieces, or trying to force together pieces from a dozen different puzzles.
They had reached the west lawn by this time. Delia scanned the field and her heart sank. Most of the guests had gone off for luncheon. Ellie, Charlotte, and Lily had taken three targets lined up next to one another on the far side. The empty space next to them, the space for Delia and Robyn, was the one right beside Lord Carlisle and Lady Lisette.
There was no help for it. Delia stepped forward to take her place but stopped abruptly, her eyes widening.
Lord Carlisle stared at her, his eyes gone black with rage. “Where the devil have you been?” He kept his voice low, so only she could hear him.
Delia gaped at him, astonished. Maybe he was going mad.
“What do you mean? We were walking from the terrace.”
“It took you long enough!” Lord Carlisle ground out. A muscle twitched in his tightly clenched jaw.
Robyn joined them and laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “No need to get worked up, brother,” he soothed, eyeing Alec as if he were a rabid dog who’d begun to foam at the mouth. “No need to unsettle yourself. We’re here now. I apologize for keeping the party waiting.”
Robyn turned to Delia then. “Are you an accomplished archer?” He motioned to the servant who held the bows and a quiver of arrows. The man stepped forward and Robyn selected a bow for her.
“I’m afraid not.” She smiled at Robyn, determined to ignore Lord Carlisle’s murderous expression.
But Lord Carlisle wasn’t about to be ignored. “Perhaps you shouldn’t play the game if you’re not sure of winning, Miss Somerset.” He glowered at her over Lady Lisette’s shoulder. Lady Lisette turned and looked at Delia as if she were trying to remember who she was.
“Do you only play games you can win, my lord?” Delia asked, trying to keep her tone mild to hide the fact she was becoming nettled. What in the world was the matter with him?
“I do tend to win those I play.” His dark eyes never left her face.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s true,” Lady Lisette gushed, trying to catch Lord Carlisle’s attention.
His gaze remained fixed on Delia.
“I find that difficult to believe, my lord.” Delia held up the bow Robyn had selected for her and adopted a shooting stance. “Overconfidence more often leads to failure than success, and no one wins every time.”
“That one is too large for you, Delia,” Robyn interrupted. He selected another bow from the servant. “Here.” He stepped behind her, so her back was pressed against his chest, and his arms went around her. He placed her hand on the belly of the bow, closed his own hand over the top of hers, and together they pulled the bowstring back. “That’s better,” he said huskily into her ear.
Delia held the bow motionless, staring down the sight line to the target so she could avoid looking at Lord Carlisle. She didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes bored into her. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her face, her body. She suppressed a shiver.
“Games would be dull indeed if we always knew the winner beforehand,” Robyn said, oblivious to the tension in the air. He stepped away from Delia. “No one would ever want to play.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Robyn.” Lord Carlisle seemed to be making a great effort to keep his voice even, but Delia heard the fury underlying his casual tone. “There are certain games where engaging in the play is tremendously satisfying, regardless of whether one wins or not. Have you ever played a game like that, Miss Somerset?”
Delia lowered the bow and turned around to face Lord Carlisle, but she had to fight the urge take a step backward when she saw his expression. He was white-faced and furious, as if he held on to his control by the merest thread. She swallowed. Either Robyn was right and Lord Carlisle had indeed gone mad, or they were no longer discussing archery.
“Oh, I know just what you mean, my lord,” Lady Lisette interrupted eagerly. “I find it quite satisfying to shoot arrows, regardless of whether I hit the target or not.”
Charlotte made a noise that sounded like a muffled laugh. Alec ignored both Lady Lisette and his sister, however, and remained focused on Delia with such furious intensity she began to feel like a butterfly pinned by its wings.
“Miss Somerset?” Lord Carlisle barked.
He wasn’t going to let it go. “Yes, I have, my lord,” Delia said hotly, losing her temper. “But my pleasure in a game depends almost entirely upon my partner. Any game is enjoyable if one’s partner is pleasant, whereas if one’s partner is insulting and bad-tempered, that same game becomes a misery.”
Lord Carlisle laughed at this. “I’m afraid I can’t agree with you, Miss Somerset. I find my pleasure in a game to be much, much greater when I’m matched with a worthy partner. It’s the challenge that stimulates.”
Over Alec’s shoulder Delia saw Lady Lisette’s puzzled expression. Lily and Charlotte fiddled with their bows and pretended not to listen, but Eleanor was staring at Delia and Alec, openmouthed, clearly listening to every word. And speculating. Delia felt a hot flush start at her neck and surge into her cheeks.
Robyn cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Of course, that is, it’s important one’s partner . . . Ladies? Are you ready to shoot?” He’d obviously decided a change of topic was in order.
The ladies murmured their assent. Delia gripped the belly of the bow and pulled the bowstring back tight enough so it dug painfully into her fingers. She held, noticing that the head of her arrow trembled slightly.
She shot. Her arrow hit the white petticoat of the target.
It was a bad shot, and no wonder. Her hands shook with a combination of embarrassment and rage. She glanced to her left at Lady Lisette, who looked smugly pleased with herself and annoyingly lovely, her countenance tinged a delicate pink with victory. Her arrow had hit dead in the center, the gold heart of the target.
The gentlemen clapped politely, but Lord Carlisle didn’t look at the targets. He watched Delia, his eyes moving insolently over her, one eyebrow aloft and a grim half smile twisting his lips.
All at once she started to envision a new target.
Robyn handed her another arrow, then stepped back and smiled his encouragement. Delia nocked the arrow and was just about to release the bowstring when she saw out of the corner of her eye that Lord Carlisle was next to her. She stiffened, holding the string taut as he leaned in closely—so closely she felt the heat of his body behind her. “Does our game please you, Delia?” He was so close his whispered breath tickled her ear. “I hope so, for I ache to give you pleasure.”
Delia gasped, and her fingers twitched on the string. She watched in despair as the arrow flew over the top of the target into a stand of trees behind it. It disappeared from view just as Lady Lisette’s arrow hit the center of the target with a firm snap.
“Bravo, Lady Lisette!” Alec called heartily, walking over to her side and leaving Delia blinking at the space in her target where the arrow should have hit. “An excellent shot.” He gave Lady Lisette an admiring look.
All right, then. As far as Delia was concerned, that shot was her last. She’d had quite enough of games for the afternoon.
“No matter, Delia,” Robyn said. He held out another arrow for her. “As Eleanor said, it’s a ridiculous game.”
Delia eyed the arrow. “It will be less so if I leave the field.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I believe I’ll take a walk. Perhaps I’ll go and search for my arrow in the trees.”
“Wait here for a moment. I’ll come with you.” Robyn took the
bow from her hand and left her alone for a moment to return it to the servant.
Delia had hoped they might be able to sneak away without anyone commenting, but Lord Carlisle dashed those hopes as soon as he saw she’d relinquished her bow. “Leaving so soon, Miss Somerset?” He made a disappointed noise in his throat. “So easily discouraged,” he added, shaking his head in mock dismay. “You’ll never perfect your game if you give up so easily.”
Eleanor, Lily, and Charlotte turned to regard Delia, as did Lady Lisette, who shot her a look so full of venom Delia flinched. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
“I find I don’t enjoy your game, Lord Carlisle,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don’t wish to pursue it.” She let her glance slide behind him to Lady Lisette. “It appears to me you have another game to attend to. I believe I’ll leave you to it.”
Lord Carlisle studied her raised chin and stubborn expression and his face went cold and hard. He didn’t spare a glance behind him but leaned toward Delia. “Oh, it’s far too late for that, Miss Somerset. The game is in play now, and it has become so stimulating I find I can think of nothing else.”
Delia didn’t answer for a moment, just gazed over his shoulder as if something of great interest unfolded there.
Don’t goad him. Don’t reply at all. Simply walk away.
But she was furious, both at Lord Carlisle and at herself, because she’d started this madness in the first place. She ignored the voice inside her head and instead gave a little shrug and met his fierce black eyes. “I wonder, my lord,” she murmured, forcing a smile, “if that means I’ve already won?”
Robyn returned the arrows to the servant and hurried back to her side. “Shall we?” He offered her his arm.
“Yes.” She took Robyn’s arm, but she kept her eyes on Lord Carlisle’s face.
He glanced down at the place where her hand rested lightly on Robyn’s arm, and then back up at her face. His black eyes burned into hers. “The game has just begun, Miss Somerset,” he said under his breath as she and Robyn turned to walk away. “May the worthiest player win.”
Chapter Thirteen
Alec batted away the hanging basket of purple pansies tickling his forehead and squinted into the dark, picking his way down the smudged, irregular shape at his feet. He hoped it was the pathway that led to the pavilion Eleanor had mentioned at luncheon this afternoon.
Had that only been this afternoon? It felt as if days had passed since then.
He’d spent half the morning giving himself a stern lecture about the perils of seducing virgins, and when he’d come down for luncheon, he’d been in perfect control of himself. Then Miss Somerset had walked onto the terrace, her skin dewy and her golden brown hair waving in tempting little curls around her face, wearing a muslin gown that made her look like a sweet confection laid out especially for him, and just like that his tight control had been swept away by a surge of lust that left him dizzy. He’d wanted to devour her, but he’d settled for teasing and provoking her instead. He’d been marveling at the profound effect her glittering eyes and flushed cheeks had on certain parts of his anatomy when Lisette arrived.
It went rapidly downhill after that. The damn archery. It had seemed like such a good idea—the perfect way to keep Lisette distracted without having to devote much of his attention to her, leaving him free to watch Miss Somerset.
Damn it. How had it all gone so terribly wrong?
He’d watched her, all right. Watched her leave the archery field and disappear, with Robyn panting after her. The rest of the day had been a complete waste of time. He’d been trapped with Lisette, pretending to be enthralled as she alternately shot arrows at the target and coy glances at him. Simper, shoot. Simper, shoot.
He didn’t recall Lisette being this tiresome. He’d thought her pretty enough when they’d met, with her waterfall of dark hair and her melting brown eyes. He’d danced with her and found her pleasant. She danced beautifully. She laughed at all the right times. Her conversation was light and charming. Her family lines were impeccable, and her fortune was impressive. He’d have no trouble working up the enthusiasm to bed her. In short, she was the kind of young lady a wealthy, influential earl should choose as a wife.
He’d had a word with his mother, and Lisette had appeared at the house party as if she’d been conjured out of a magician’s hat. All that was left now was for him to do his part—that was, smile, be pleasant, and court her until such a time when he could prostrate himself before her and beg her to become the Countess of Carlisle. Lady Lisette expected it. Her parents expected it. Alec’s own mother, while perhaps not overjoyed by the prospect, expected it as well.
The trouble was, Alec was bored. Fickle, too, obviously, because he’d decided he preferred wavy golden brown hair to black, and he’d rather look into deep, thickly lashed eyes the color of bluebells than dark brown ones.
He’d been wild this afternoon, half-crazed with fury when Robyn touched Delia. Robyn had stood so close to her Alec just knew he’d been enveloped in the scent of her hair. Robyn had wrapped his arms around her and pressed his body against hers, and Alec had thought he’d become violent. When Delia and Robyn left the archery field together, he’d been a hair’s breadth away from charging after them.
He clenched his fists at the thought. He’d lost control of himself today. He didn’t lose control. Ever. He certainly didn’t lose control over some inconsequential chit from Surrey, no matter how tempting she might be.
It was a temporary madness, thankfully. It would end as soon the house party was over and Delia Somerset faded back into obscurity, where she belonged. Once she was returned to her proper place, he could return to his—courting Lady Lisette until such a time when she could conveniently become Lady Carlisle.
Then what?
An unwelcome image arose in Alec’s mind of endless clipped green lawns and rows and rows of archery targets. Of him, holding quivers full of arrows and watching as Lisette fired one after another, hitting the dead center of the target perfectly, time after time.
Well, what of it? It was what he wanted. It was only this bloody game that made him behave like a tantrum-throwing child. How a sharp-tongued little rustic like Delia Somerset could offer him a serious challenge he couldn’t explain, but since she’d arrived, it was as if Bellwood had been transformed into a massive chessboard, and he was locked in the most intriguing game he’d ever played.
He never could resist a challenge. That was why he was battling his way through hedges and darting down every half-lit twisting pathway in the garden. The challenge. It had nothing to do with the bluebell eyes, or fistfuls of shimmering golden brown hair. A stubborn little chin. Smooth, soft white skin and delicious deep pink lips. Arrows flying in unpredictable directions. Honey and cream.
Where was the damn pavilion? He paused, listening. He thought he heard low laughter and voices over to the left, behind a stand of shrubs trimmed to look like sea animals of some kind. And was that . . . Yes. He distinctly heard a high-pitched squeal.
Where females were squealing, Robyn couldn’t be far behind.
Alec pushed his way through the layers of leafy marine animals and stepped into a small clearing. Soft light glowed in the branches of the trees above a small pavilion hung with baskets of lacy blue flowers and trailing green leaves. A small group of young ladies and gentlemen lazed on the divans, flirting and teasing one another.
Alec scanned the faces. His sisters were both there, and Lily Somerset. Robyn and Archie had also coaxed their way into the little Sapphic paradise, though judging from the giggles and squeals, both gentlemen had gone back on their promises to behave themselves.
Eleanor was right—it was a perfect little pavilion tucked into a perfectly intimate corner of a perfect miniature Vauxhall Gardens. Perfect, that was, but for one thing. Miss Somerset wasn’t there. He should be pleased to see she was nowhere in Robyn’s vicinity, bu
t instead he felt an unexpected surge of disappointment.
“Alec!” Eleanor called, spotting him. She motioned for him to join them. He stepped farther into the clearing and Eleanor came down from the platform to meet him. “What are you doing lurking in the shadows?”
“Swimming?” Alec glanced at the seascape surrounding them. “Drowning, more accurately,” he muttered under his breath.
Eleanor raised one inquiring eyebrow. “Lady Lisette is looking for you.” Her tone was so ominous it sounded more like Run! Before Lady Lisette finds you!
“You make that sound quite dire, Eleanor.”
She shrugged. “Take it as you will. But swimming or drowning, beware of the little silver hook dangling in the water.” Eleanor wiggled her fingers in his face. “You may just get reeled in when you least expect it.”
Alec rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for clever sisters.
“I told Lady Lisette I hadn’t seen you yet this evening, which was true enough at the time. I believe she went back to the drawing room to search for you. Will you go find her?”
Alec had no intention of looking for Lady Lisette right now. He was going fishing for someone else entirely. “Eventually.”
“Very well.” Eleanor gave him a bland smile. “But before you do, will you do me a favor? Delia went off into the garden by herself a few moments ago. Would you mind fetching her for me?”
“Why would she go off by herself?” Alec asked, giving Robyn a sharp glance.
“To look for Lily. You see, Archie was teasing Lily again, so Lily slipped off in a bit of a huff to escape his attentions.” Eleanor ticked each point off on her fingers. “Then Delia became concerned that Lily was wandering alone in the garden and went off to find her. But as you see,” she added, as if this convoluted explanation made perfect sense, “Lily has returned. Archie has promised to behave, but Delia is still missing. Then Lady Lisette came looking for you.”