by Sara Ramsey
Lucy sat more abruptly than she should have — but what little grace she possessed had abandoned her. She gestured for Miss Vale to join her on the settee. The girl sat carefully, as though she wanted to protect her dress.
“Golden Square?” Lucy asked.
Mr. Vale nodded. “Would that I could give another address, but I hope you’ll forgive my humble beginnings. I own a shop there.”
“A shop?”
She said it before she could stop herself. The look he gave her immediately made her feel stupid and small for saying it.
“Shopkeeping is beneath you, I’m sure,” he said. “But when I didn’t plan to pursue my claim on the title, I was more concerned with survival than pride.”
There was an edge to his voice. Despite his comment, he sounded like he had more than enough pride to match the peers of the realm.
She couldn’t let herself be intrigued by that. It didn’t matter that her heart had lurched when she’d looked at him — all that mattered was that his claim was a threat to Maidenstone.
If it were true, he would own everything.
And then it would be Lucy who would have to do anything she could to survive.
Her breath hitched. It couldn’t possibly be true.
“I apologize, Mr. Vale,” she said. She would placate him by seeming non-threatening — and then she would look for a way to get rid of him. “I did not mean to cause offense. But you must understand that this situation is….”
“Unusual?” He took a seat across from her, placing his hat on his knee with all the grace she’d lost, and smiled. “I understand this must be a shock. And I don’t wish to cause you any trouble.”
“You must know that this is trouble,” she retorted.
He grinned. “But I don’t wish to cause it. Can’t help what we’re born to do, though.”
That humor was seductive. Dangerously so. She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you only making your claim now? Grandfather died a year ago.”
Ferguson, who had remained standing, pulled his quizzing glass from his pocket. If he could make the man uncomfortable enough to leave, Lucy would never again accuse Ferguson of being rude.
“You must admit, my dear Mr. Vale, that the timing is remarkable,” the duke said.
Vale nodded. “If I had my preference, I wouldn’t be here. I like my life, much as it may surprise you. But the gossip columns make me think that if I don’t make my claim now, I’ll miss my chance. And my sister deserves better than what I can provide her with my shop. ”
There was a note of sincerity in his voice that Lucy couldn’t discount. Next to her, Miss Vale laughed lightly. “Always too protective, Max. You don’t have to do this for my sake.”
Vale shot his sister a look that Lucy couldn’t read. “You’ll be safer, in the end.”
“But will we be happier?” Miss Vale asked.
It was an odd diversion to the conversation. Vale threw another look at his sister, but he didn’t correct her for speaking out of turn. Nor did he dismiss her opinion, as a man with his arrogance might have been expected to. Lucy noted that — and then told herself not to care.
“Perhaps we won’t be happier,” Vale said. “But someday you’ll understand why I might care more for your safety than my ambitions.”
Lucy snorted. It was all well and good that he was nice to his sister, but that didn’t solve Lucy’s immediate problem. “Your ambitions as a shopkeeper are grander than your claim that you deserve an earldom?”
“As a shopkeeper, I can build my own kingdom. If I’m an earl, I’ll have to take yours.”
His voice was still pleasant, but she looked into his eyes and found steel.
“It’s impossible,” she said. “You cannot be the lost heir.”
“So you admit that there’s a lost heir?” he asked sharply.
She shook her head. “No. Lost heirs are a myth. My grandfather searched most carefully after his last male descendent died. He didn’t find any unaccounted branches.”
“He wasn’t as careful as he might have been. Or he wanted to leave the estate to you — it wouldn’t surprise me if he only cared about but his immediate family. I don’t know how he missed us, but it doesn’t change the facts.”
If it weren’t for the title, she might have believed that her grandfather wouldn’t have searched for missing heirs. He loved his granddaughters, and he would have wanted them to have Maidenstone — even if making them compete for it was an awful way to solve the problem of the inheritance.
But the title had gone extinct with his death. The knowledge that he would be the last Earl of Maidenstone had bothered him. It didn’t matter how much he loved the girls. He would have done his duty and taken anyone as an heir.
Even a shopkeeper with crafty eyes and a dangerous smile.
“My grandfather didn’t make a mistake,” she said flatly. “You aren’t the heir.”
Ferguson dropped his quizzing glass and coughed. The theatrical gesture always made her want to punch him in the throat.
“Don’t say you believe him,” Lucy said before Ferguson could speak.
Ferguson shrugged. “He’s probably a charlatan. But I am an excellent judge of character. And I like him.”
“You’ll give him Maidenstone and an earldom because you like him?”
“Of course not,” Ferguson said, acting affronted. “Although…come to think of it, I was supposed to award the estate to the Briarley I liked best. Is this really so different from that?”
Punching him in the throat wouldn’t be enough. She wanted to murder him.
But she took a breath and tried to calm herself. “The difference is that Callista, Octavia, and I are all Briarleys. There is no proof that Mr. Vale has any connection to us.”
“He and his sister have astonishingly Roman names,” Ferguson said.
The Briarleys had always chosen Roman names for their offspring — it was a peccadillo started by the first earl and continued through the generations. But Lucy waved that aside. “Anyone can have a Roman name. And anyone can say they have a Roman name.”
“Is this something I should call you out over?” Vale asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Lucy said.
“I’ve heard that the upper classes like to duel when insults are offered. I believe I should be insulted that you don’t believe my name is my own.”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “Call me out. Then I shall shoot you and we’ll be done with this nonsense.”
Vale laughed. “My father told me that bloodlust was a Briarley trait. Let’s do our best to avoid it, at least for tonight.”
He was teasing her. She might have believed he was flirting with her, if he didn’t pose such a threat.
Her mind urged her to keep her distance, but her body chose to recognize the flirting, not the disaster that he could cause. She felt her pulse speed up — felt the moment when she wanted to return his sparring with a joke of her own, rather than keep him at arm’s length.
She was incredibly glad when Claxton returned with the tea cart. He stayed no longer than necessary; the rest of the guests would be going in to dinner, and he was expected to supervise. But it was a welcome interruption, giving Lucy something to do with her hands as she prepared the tea — although with the way her hands shook, she probably wouldn’t convince anyone that she was calm about these developments.
She poured for everyone, then handed the cups around. Miss Vale looked awed. Ferguson looked bored — although she guessed that he cared far more about these proceedings than he would admit.
Vale, though, stole her attention back to him. He eyed her over the rim of his teacup. She saw a challenge in his eyes — one that awoke something she hadn’t felt in such a very long time…a thread of excitement, or eagerness, or awareness.
Something that felt dangerous. Dangerous, and intoxicating, and so very, very enticing.
She knew that feeling for what it was. It was exciting, that kind of awareness — but it was only lust. And she knew no
w not to trust it.
He sipped his tea. A look crossed his face, so fleeting that she couldn’t guess what it meant. It was only later that she thought it might have been melancholy. “Your tea is excellent, Miss Briarley. Far superior to anything I’ve had recently. Is this what earls drink?”
Lucy didn’t actually know — Claxton ordered it, as he always had, to her grandfather’s specifications. She had never asked him to change it.
“It was my grandfather’s preferred blend. I believe they sell it in shops in London under his name, if you want to buy it after you leave here. Shall I order your carriage so that you may go out and find it?”
“I’m quite content here. But I didn’t come to discuss tea, as I’m sure you know.”
Ferguson had annoyed her for weeks, but tonight, he was willing to play the peacemaker. “Mr. Vale, Miss Vale, I’m sure you’re both exhausted from your journey,” the duke said. “Should we consider the matter of your ancestry in the morning, after you’ve rested? Unless you’d prefer to show your evidence now?”
Vale nodded. “The morning might be preferred — all of my papers are in my trunk. But I wouldn’t want to leave Miss Briarley in suspense unnecessarily.”
They made eye contact again. And again, she felt that moment of connection — exhilarating and perilous.
He surely wasn’t the heir. But if he was…or even if he wasn’t…and Ferguson liked him...there was a chance that he might be exactly what she needed to keep Maidenstone.
It was a dangerous thought. But she hadn’t had any success at the party. She would have to do something daring if she was going to win Maidenstone.
A scheme began to form.
“Maidenstone Abbey has a long history of hospitality to strangers, even ones who want to take it over,” Lucy said, lying through her teeth. “I hope you and Miss Vale will consider staying the night. The morning is soon enough to discuss business.”
Mr. Vale made a motion with his head that somehow felt like a full bow, even though he was seated. “I am honored to accept. I have always wanted to spend a night where my ancestors slept.”
“That’s putting it on a little thick,” she said. “I should put you in the Tudor wing — the ghosts might make you reconsider whether you’re related to us.”
He grinned. “Dead Briarleys seem less likely to murder me than living ones.”
She almost rolled her eyes. Of course this would happen. None of the normal, decent, titled men at the party had shown any interest in her. But the first charlatan who walked through the door was flirting with her like he wanted nothing more than to take her to bed.
If this had happened a month ago, she would have thrown him out and told him to sleep in the pub at Salcombe. But she was out of options.
If Vale wanted something from her, she was old enough now to know that she could use that as leverage to get what she needed from him. She wasn’t the naïve girl she was during her first season.
So she sipped her tea before making eye contact with him. “I won’t murder you yet. But you should be careful with what you’re unleashing. You’ll want my help with Maidenstone if you think you’re going to manage it.”
His gaze was unflinching. “I want to see everything Maidenstone has to offer. No matter how…dangerous.”
He said it as though she was the only danger he faced. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Flirting was one thing, but they’d only just met. And while her stupid, traitorous Briarley heart was doing somersaults for him, she couldn’t believe that he was equally enchanted.
Before she could put him in his place, Ferguson interrupted. “This is all charming, but I want my dinner. Miss Briarley, may I suggest putting Mr. Vale in the earl’s bedchamber?”
“Absolutely not,” Lucy said.
Ferguson held up his hand. “I’ve heard the Tudor wing is picturesque. But the rooms are smaller than Vale deserves if he’s going to be the earl. And wouldn’t it be better to keep the long-lost heir a bit closer to the breast?”
It was an entirely odd turn of phrase — seizing something close to one’s breast usually implied a viper. But she saw the glint in his eye. Even Ferguson, who could be wildly unpredictable, wouldn’t declare Vale the heir without an investigation — and he obviously didn’t want the man roaming the estate without some amount of observation.
Lucy sighed. Her grandfather’s room was at the same end of the family wing as hers — that was a bit too close to the breast.
But for the plan she was considering, that might not be such a bad thing.
“I’ll arrange it,” she said. “But there aren’t any empty rooms in the family wing for Miss Vale. I presume we should keep her close as well?”
Ferguson nodded. “My wife doesn’t need her own room — we’ve mostly slept in my room anyway. Miss Vale can have Madeleine’s room.”
“Very well,” Lucy said. “Mr. Vale, do you have any servants to house?”
“Only a coachman and Cressida’s maid. I suppose I’ll be expected to hire a valet when I’m the earl, but I’m accustomed to tying my own cravats.”
She nodded briskly. “One of the footmen can serve as your valet if you need one. I’ll ask the housekeeper to arrange your rooms and show your servants where to sleep. She can also arrange for dinner trays to be brought to you here, if you’re not ready to meet the company yet.”
She hoped, rather fervently, that Vale would not expect to be introduced to the party that night. For the plan she was formulating, she needed to talk to him privately, before he knew that she was the least desired of the three Briarley cousins. But Ferguson, ever meddlesome, interrupted. “You should come in to dinner, Mr. Vale. But I’ll warn you — it might make you reconsider your desire to join the peerage.”
It would be disruptive to add two covers to the table after the guests had gone in to dinner. And in a party like this one, any new arrival would be dissected and gossiped about — especially an arrival whom no one knew.
Especially a shopkeeper who was claiming to be an earl.
The party would be thrown immediately into chaos. But Ferguson, like most men, didn’t think about the inconvenience of rearranging a dining table while dinner was in progress.
Vale surprised her by shaking his head. “I don’t want to throw your dinner party out of sorts — I’m sure the table is already arranged. Cressida and I will be happy enough with trays. Dukes aren’t really my cup of tea.”
Then he winked at Lucy.
That kind of confidence was dangerous. No shopkeeper would ever insult Ferguson like that. Which could only mean that he was insane, or he was so confident in his claim that he knew Ferguson would eventually have to give the estate to him.
She drew a breath. Continuing to flirt with him was dangerous. But it might not hurt to have him think that she was on his side. “We have that in common, at least. But don’t judge all dukes by Ferguson.”
Ferguson laughed. “If I cared about any of your opinions, I would be grievously wounded. Shall we go into dinner so I can drown my pain in claret, Miss Briarley?”
Vale knew enough of his manners to stand when she did, and he bowed to her again. “I am sorry for the shock, Miss Briarley,” he said quietly. “I hope you’ll forgive me for it.”
“I believe I shall wait to offer forgiveness until I know whether I’ve lost Maidenstone to you,” she said.
He sighed as though she’d broken his heart. “I will live without your forgiveness, then. But I’ll try to earn it anyway.”
The way he spoke made her want to trust him — made her want to know him better. If he were any other guest, she would have gone back to her room and looked through the dossiers she’d compiled, checking to see whether his attributes matched what she was looking for.
But she didn’t have any prior knowledge of him at all, which meant she would have to trust her observations and intuitions. There were only a few relevant observations at the moment.
First, he claimed to be the Earl of Maidenstone. If that we
re true, he would inherit the estate — and his wife would be the countess.
Second, if he wasn’t the earl, but Ferguson liked him, Vale still might be the husband she needed to win the estate herself.
Either way, with him at her side, her chances of winning Maidenstone would go up dramatically.
It was entirely unsafe to even think of marrying him. She didn’t know him. But she could make some assumptions. A shopkeeper would likely want to stay in London rather than live in Devonshire, which would give Lucy more freedom than she could ever have with someone else.
He would also be grateful if she helped him become the earl. That was exactly the kind of leverage she needed to keep herself — and Julia — safe.
If she helped Vale become the earl, he surely couldn’t be all that upset about her past. He might not have the same expectations of female virtue as someone of her own class would. And even if he was upset about it, he couldn’t complain if he knew that, without her help, he would have been sent back to the shops.
Once Lucy made a decision, she preferred to pursue the plan immediately. But she would have to wait until she could find him alone and impress upon him the virtues of marrying her.
And that meant getting through yet another dinner first.
So she smiled at him and hoped it looked friendly rather than calculating. “I hope you enjoy your first night at Maidenstone, Mr. Vale.”
He nodded at her with a gleam in his eyes that looked uncomfortably close to triumph. “I hope it won’t be my last. Please don’t murder me in my sleep, Miss Briarley.”
“The thought holds some appeal,” she said. “But I think I can find a better use for possible earls.”
Vale grinned. “I live to serve.”
She hoped he lived to serve. If she could convince him to help her, Vale might be the answer to all her problems.
Of course, he could also be her ruin.
But she would do anything to win Maidenstone. And Vale was a calculated risk — one that she would have to take.
Chapter Four
They’d done it.
Max surveyed his temporary bedchamber. It wasn’t overly opulent by ton standards — he’d seen more extravagant rooms on some of his other jobs.