by Sara Ramsey
Lucy laughed. “If you are descended from the first earl, it was centuries ago. You’ve probably had some nicer blood get into your mix.”
“I’d wager my upbringing has made me as well-suited for bloodthirstiness as yours has.”
He said it mildly, but she looked at him again — more closely than he might have wanted. “Someday I’ll want to hear the real story of where you lived and how you grew up. But I know you can’t tell me the truth until the inheritance is settled.”
She said this calmly, as though it didn’t matter at all that she knew he was lying. “Why do you think I’ve lied?” he asked. It might have been better to leave it alone, but he was curious — and if there was something that had given him away, he wanted the chance to correct it before it reached Ferguson’s ears.
“The youngest son disappeared a year after the second earl inherited. It’s believed that he was the second earl’s favorite brother — perhaps that’s why he disappeared, rather than being killed outright. But there’s no trace of Valerian’s fate in the family records. You chose your mark well, from that perspective. It’s possible that he survived whatever misadventure took him away from Maidenstone. But I find it highly unlikely.”
“It was three hundred years ago,” Max pointed out. “You can’t know for sure.”
“No, I can’t know for sure.” She walked down the line of portraits, stopping in front of a charming group scene. “This is the fourth earl and his sons — all ten of them. Enough men that the Briarley line should have been assured forever, even if their descendants would be distant cousins of mine.”
The boys, ranging in age from a babe in arms to a youth who might have been twenty, all looked out toward the viewer. The artist had been a master — the vitality of their faces was obvious. Their clothes were rich, but their accessories weren’t particularly impressive — although Max would have happily lifted their watches, rings, and toy swords if he’d had the chance.
But Max had done his homework. “The second eldest brother killed most of them, and the third one finished the job.”
Lucy nodded. “Ten sons, and only one left to carry on the name. That’s why I don’t think your claim has merit. The Briarleys have always been too good at pruning the family tree.”
“You mean murdering each other.”
“‘Pruning’ sounds more civilized,” she said.
“Very civilized,” he teased. “Would you murder someone for Maidenstone? Or rather, would you prune them?”
She didn’t laugh. “Would it disturb you to know that I’ve thought of it?”
He didn’t think she had the physical strength to pick up a sword and do battle — but she had the courage for it. “I would be more surprised if you hadn’t thought of it.”
She turned to face him fully. Her light dress made her look entirely sweet. But her dark eyes were fierce.
“Maidenstone is worth fighting for. This life is worth fighting for. I don’t think I could kill for it — but I can’t rule it out either. So if you don’t feel the same — if you don’t think you will be able to love Maidenstone and protect it with your dying breath — then you should leave.”
There was no denying the passion in her voice. She was a Briarley through and through. And from everything he’d heard, the Briarleys would never give up Maidenstone without a fight.
“I feel the same,” he said, lying through his teeth. “It must be in my veins.”
She snorted. “If you’re a Briarley, I’m Cleopatra. But if I can keep Maidenstone by marrying you, I’ll support you through every lie we have to tell. My offer still stands. Just know that Maidenstone will always come first. If you fail, I’ll do what’s necessary to protect my birthright.”
“Even if that means abandoning your husband? What happened to your promise to do your wifely duties?”
He should have been more worried about saving his neck, not sex. Especially since they wouldn't be having any. But something about the way she stood — perfect, composed, polished, and yet willing to offer herself to him in trade for something bigger — distracted him from his mission.
She looked equally surprised. “Why on earth would that be your primary concern? You surely came here for money and a title, not for me.”
She was right, at least partially — he was there for money, not for the title and definitely not for her.
Maybe it was her lips, and her breasts, and the thought of those legs wrapping around him, that distracted him.
Or maybe it was the way those dark eyes widened, as though she’d read his mind.
“I didn’t come here for you,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m blind. If we agree to marry, I would want it to be a real marriage. Which means children. I assume you aren’t too sheltered to know how those are made?”
He never should have said such a thing to a lady. Especially one he couldn’t marry. But she was so proper, so contained, that he couldn’t help but bait her a little.
And, God help him, she wasn’t as shocked as she should have been. A look crossed her face that might have almost been a grin. “I know how children are made. I promise I’ll give you at least one.”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek before he could think to stop himself. “I think I’ll be wanting to try more than once.”
She stilled as soon as he touched her. She didn’t relax into the caress — she stared at him instead, eyes stark with shock. “That’s…unexpected,” she said finally.
He shrugged. “What is it that they say about Briarley hearts? Our hearts always know what they want?”
Lucy nodded absently. “But you’re not a Briarley, so it doesn’t signify. And you weren’t nearly this certain last night.”
The only thing he was certain of was that this would end in disaster. But he needed her help if he was going to find the jewels in such a vast — and overpopulated — house.
So he took a breath that might have been a prayer for forgiveness, then looked her directly in the eyes. “I still won’t hold you to an engagement until we know for sure whether I will inherit. You deserve more than that. But if I become the Earl of Maidenstone, you’re the only woman I would choose to have in my bed.”
Chapter Nine
He was surely teasing her. It was too strong a statement after the doubts he’d harbored the night before.
But those gorgeous hazel eyes were utterly serious. She’d asked him not to charm her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.
Or maybe she couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was her fault that, suddenly, everything was hot — like a spark had ignited and taken hold in her dry, desolate heart.
It was inexplicable. He was a liar who came from unknown circumstances. There was no reason to believe he would be a good match. But when she looked at him, her Briarley heart whispered mine.
It hadn’t ever said that when she’d looked at Chapman.
The memory of Chapman wasn’t a good one. She’d already had a “secret engagement.” If Max wanted her to prove her desire for him, he’d have to give her more than vague promises and smoldering looks.
She eyed him coolly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Either one of us could break our agreement before an engagement is announced. Ferguson may think you deserve the house, but I can still convince him that you aren’t the heir. And I won’t hesitate to ruin your chances if you take advantage of me.”
“When you look at me like that, I can believe that you’d prune my branch of the family tree,” he said. “But I hope you won’t do it quite yet.”
It would have been easier if he was cowed by her — that had been one of her requirements for a suitor. But her heart sped up when he teased her. It was intoxicating. And not at all in her plans.
Lucy shrugged. “If you keep your word, you won’t ever find out whether I would murder you. Are there any other portraits you wish to see?”
She intended for him to take a hint from the changed topic — but she was still silly enough to be slightly disappointed whe
n he followed her lead. “We don’t have to spend the whole day in the portrait gallery,” he replied. “There must be rooms with happier memories somewhere at Maidenstone.”
Lucy laughed. “If you think there are happy family stories here, you’re mistaken. Maidenstone has a long history of disaster. I could tell you a tragic story in every room, if you wanted to hear it.”
“And I could tell you a tragic story on every street of London, but people still enjoy visiting it. Will you give me a tour of the rooms you love, at least? The ones you treasure?”
“That could take days,” she said.
He offered his arm again. “Then we may as well start now.”
She took his arm, putting her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow. She’d walked with Chapman like this…but she wouldn’t let herself think of him.
“I hope you’re ready to walk,” she said, as they strolled slowly toward the door that led to the main entrance hall. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”
“I’ll walk anywhere you lead me.”
“Careful what you wish for, Mr. Vale. Call it superstition, but there’s a rumor that the house loves to grant wishes — or foil them.”
She was looking up at him as she said it, and so she caught the slight downward turn to his mouth. “In my experience, wishes don’t come true unless we make them come true.”
His sudden melancholy took her by surprise. And it reminded her of other moments when he’d seemed to realize that his life was so very different from hers. He sipped his tea like he’d craved that pleasure for ages. He was shocked by the number of servants Maidenstone employed. And he watched everything around him like he was cataloguing it — like he couldn’t believe there were so many beautiful objects in a single house.
It would be easy enough to seduce him into this way of life. No matter where he came from, Maidenstone Abbey was surely more impressive than his previous surroundings. But she also needed to convince him that she would be the best possible consort for him. She had to walk the knife-edge of showing him the life he could have at Maidenstone, while also making him believe that he could only have it by marrying her.
“I can make your wishes come true, Mr. Vale,” she said. Her hand still rested lightly on his arm, and she let her fingers do what they already wanted to do — she grazed them over his jacket, sending an unmistakeable message.
“If you’re going to make my wishes come true, you’d better call me Max.”
His voice was suddenly rough. If it weren’t for the risks she faced, she might have smiled.
“Max,” she said. “What do you wish for?”
They reached the door. He paused there, looking down at her. She had the sense again that he couldn’t quite believe what she was offering him — that he was weighing this life against that life, whatever that life had been.
But then a shutter dropped over his eyes, even as he smiled at her. “I wish I could have Maidenstone — and you — without worrying that it could all be gone in an instant. But for now, you can show me everything I would love about this place, so I can remember it when Ferguson sends me back to the shops.”
The “and you” made her heart leap. But the worry in his voice was real.
“Let’s tour Maidenstone,” she said, tugging him through the door. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be so enchanted that you’ll do anything to convince Ferguson of your claim.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.
She was seducing him. He knew it, he recognized it, he felt it — and yet even with that knowledge, he couldn’t deny her.
They’d toured the house for hours. Every room held improbable wonders; every door opened to a new realm full of treasures. He’d lost track of how many things he could steal. The jewels were still the best target, although she hadn’t shown him any of those. Still, every room in the house held something that would make the whole endeavor worth his time.
But Lucy wasn’t seducing him with possessions alone.
She walked in front of him now, leading the way into the Gothic wing — the oldest part of the abbey, left over from when the monks had built the place. He watched the sway of her hips, heard the pleasant melody of her chatelaine whispering against her thigh, and cursed under his breath.
Not enough under his breath. She looked over her shoulder. “I beg your pardon?” she asked.
Her voice sounded sultry, despite that perfectly posh accent. He’d listened to her all day, as she’d told story after story of this house that she loved, and it almost felt like she was casting a spell around him.
He tried to clear his head — to remember why he was there. He was looking for valuable objects, not seeking to hear about a heritage he’d fabricated.
“I should have taken your warning about the size of the house to heart,” he said. “I’m older than you — I don’t have your stamina.”
She grinned at him. “I’d wager you have enough stamina for my needs.”
She said it without blushing. She was too direct, too honest — and yet somehow that felt like an irresistible flirtation.
Especially when she turned and kept walking, and he could swear she added an extra bit of sway to her step just for him.
He looked away, trying again to remember his mission. The walls in this wing were solid stone. Ancient, faded tapestries hung lifeless against the rock, and dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the high, narrow windows. They were far removed from the rest of the party and hadn’t seen any servants or guests since stepping into the old abbey.
Other than the tapestries and the iron wall sconces where candles once burned, the rooms were empty. “What do you intend to show me here?” he asked, as Lucy paused at the entrance to Maidenstone’s chapel.
“You asked earlier if I would show you my favorite place at Maidenstone,” she said. “Do you still want to see it?”
He could pretty much guess at this point that her favorite place had nothing to do with vaults and jewels. But it was too late to say he wasn’t interested. And besides, he wasn’t quite ready to leave her company.
But that was far too dangerous a thing to think.
“Of course,” he said. “Although I didn’t guess you to be the pious type.”
She shrugged. “I have faith. But I’m probably a little more likely to forgive sins than the monks would have been.”
“Says the lady who threatened to prune my family tree if I crossed her,” he said.
Lucy grinned. “And I’ll forgive myself for it if I have to.”
God, she was incredible. He watched her as she walked away — it felt like he could see the future and who she might become. She’d been so proper when he’d met her the night before. But when she grinned at him and said audacious things, he felt brief flickers of a future that might have been.
A future she’d invited him to share with her. A future she seemed intent on making real.
He followed her into the chapel. It was a soaring, empty space, filled with light. The rest of Maidenstone was sumptuously decorated, but the chapel was completely bare, save for the altar and a row of carved choir stalls on either side of the nave.
“When my parents were alive, there were still enough Briarleys left to hold Sunday services here,” she said. “But we only use it for weddings and funerals now. It’s too much fuss to set up chairs and bring the priest here for Emma and me.”
It was the first time she’d mentioned her parents — odd, since she’d spent hours walking him through Maidenstone’s rooms. She hadn’t shown him the nursery or schoolroom either.
“How old were you when they passed away?” he asked.
“Seven.”
Titus had been seven when their father had followed their mother to the grave. Max still remembered Titus’s bewildered anger and tears.
But Max and his siblings hadn’t had eighty-three servants to comfort them.
That fact hit Max like a punch in the chest. Lucy’s life had been so very different
than Max’s. She’d lost her parents as well, but she’d never gone hungry or needed to protect anyone but herself. She had never known desperation. And while it would hurt her to lose Maidenstone, she would still have a dowry — she could easily make another life, with a man of her own class.
So why would a woman who had everything want to marry a stranger like Max?
She walked away, seemingly uninterested in talking about her parents. At the back of the chapel, she pulled open a small door and revealed a spiraling staircase. “Are you ready to climb?” she asked.
He nodded. She led the way again, up stone steps that were heavily worn with centuries of use. He counted automatically, even though he didn’t expect to find any treasure at the top.
It took one hundred and twenty-seven steps, looping in a tight, claustrophobic spiral, before they emerged in a small open-air room at the top of the stairs. Arches faced in each of the cardinal directions, with low walls to prevent accidental falls. He looked out over a land of fields and trees, gardens and forests, and saw the English Channel glimmering to the south.
Max had never seen the ocean before. In a few days, if he was successful, he’d be crossing it on his way to a new life.
And he’d be crossing it with no hope of ever seeing Lucy again.
But he couldn’t think of that. He’d have plenty of time to think about what he’d left behind when he was on a ship — if he began mourning now, he would be too distracted to complete his mission. Still, the thought of leaving was enough to sour his enjoyment of the view.
They stood in silence for awhile, catching their breath as they looked out at the ocean. But a few minutes later, Lucy took his hand in hers, squeezing it as though she knew he needed something to keep him steady.
No one had held his hand like that since his father had taken him along on his business.
He squeezed back, carefully, tentatively. “Why is this your favorite spot?” he asked, hoping that she would think his voice was rough because the wind was playing tricks with them.
She was silent for a long time — so long that he began to wonder if she hadn’t heard him. “I was never supposed to come up here alone,” she finally said. “Mrs. Pearce — my nursemaid — didn’t think it was safe or proper for young girls. But once in awhile, when Octavia did something that upset me, I would sneak up here and cry in private.”