Portia frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Inside.”
“But…aren’t you going to practice? You’ve barely shot a dozen arrows and only one hit the target.”
“No. I believe I am finished for a while.”
Disapproval colored Olivia’s face, too. “I say, Honoria, you aren’t taking this wager very seriously. You should practice for another hour at least.”
“Or more,” Juliet added. “You aren’t any better than when you began. Except for knowing to close your eyes.”
“Perhaps later,” Honoria said, marching toward the doors leading to the sitting room, her frustration so high she didn’t dare say anything else.
“But—you will fail tomorrow if you do not practice!” Olivia called after her.
“And no amount of playacting will help you then,” Juliet added loudly. “Don’t you want Cassandra to have a seas—”
Honoria shut the door on them all.
From where she sat at a chair by the fire working on some stitchery, Cassandra looked up and smiled. “There you are! How did—” She caught Honoria’s expression and bit her lip. “Oh dear. Not well, I presume.”
“Actually, I don’t know how the practice is going, as I cannot seem to get a moment’s peace in order to try.” Honoria fell back against the sofa, letting her skirts billow out before her as she stretched her legs straight in front of her. It was hardly a ladylike way to sit, but it immediately released some of the tension in her shoulders.
“Portia?” Cassandra asked in a sympathetic voice.
“And Olivia and Juliet. Everyone but you and George.” Honoria picked up a small pillow and crossed her arms over it, resting her cheek on the edge. “Where is George, by the way?”
“In the kitchen. Apparently Achilles has taken up residence underneath a large stone pot, and George is considering making it the frog’s new home rather than the hatbox.”
“Good for George and Achilles. At least one of us will get what he wants.” Honoria sighed and plumped the pillow. “I vow, but I did not expect the marquis to write the very day I made that horrid wager and offer to fulfill it so soon.”
Cassandra’s brow lowered. “What do you think it means?”
“I think it means that he is very confident in his archery skills.”
“And how are your archery skills?”
“I shoot better with my eyes closed than I do open.” Honoria tilted her head to one side and considered this. “Which pretty much says it all, I believe.”
Cassandra managed a smile. “At least you can joke about it.”
“Of course I can. And so can you.” Honoria sat upright, setting the pillow to one side. “Cassandra, win or lose the archery contest, it is worth the opportunity to perhaps gain the marquis’s support.”
“To pretend to be my suitor.” Cassandra’s cheeks almost glowed, and she said with what was for her a strong dose of reproach, “I cannot believe you asked Treymount to do such a thing. I don’t know how I will face him.”
“I was rather surprised at my own nerve,” Honoria confessed. “Although it was a good idea. If he can be moved to bestir himself just the littlest bit, every eye in London will be on you. And with your beauty…Cassandra, you would take the ton by storm.”
“I don’t wish to take the ton by storm. I just want—” She bent her head back over her stitchery, her golden brown lashes resting on the curves of her cheeks. “Never mind.”
Honoria forced her own irritation aside. It was quite unlike Cassandra to complain, even when she had reason. “Cassandra, what is it? Don’t you want a season?”
“Of course I do,” her sister said swiftly, looking up, a stricken look in her wide violet eyes. “I know how important it is to the family and—”
“Forget the family. We shall come about without any sacrifices from you. I have been pressing so hard for a season because I thought it was what you wanted, what you always wished for.”
Cassandra sighed. “It is. Ever since I was a little girl, I thought it would be wonderful to attend the balls and parties. I dreamed of it, as you know. Only now…only now I wonder if it is really worth it all.” She managed a small smile. “I fear I am being poor spirited in the extreme.”
“Nonsense. It has been a trying few weeks. We are all on edge.” Honoria snuggled back against the cushions of the sofa. She reclaimed the loose cushion she’d held before and again wrapped her arms about it. The silken texture slid across her cheek and she smiled. “I wish you could have seen the marquis’s face when I offered to wager for his ring.” She looked down at her finger where the ring rested, a band of warmth about her finger. “He was astonished.”
“I daresay he was. Honoria, I think you will win. You used to be quite good at archery when we were at the seminary.”
“Lady Elpeth Dandridge’s Seminary for Young Ladies of Fashion.” Honoria grinned. “Archery was the most useful thing I learned during those entire three years.”
Cassandra smiled. “I know you will do well tomorrow. In fact, I’m certain of it.”
“I just wish I had more than a day to recoup my skills.” Honoria had no doubt the bounder had requested the match be held so quickly merely because he’d realized she’d want more time to practice. It was just like Treymount to cause madness and mayhem in her life. He seemed to excel at doing just that.
The memory of his touch in the wild ride in the carriage came tumbling forward through her mind, landing hard in her thoughts and muddling them further. How had she allowed herself to so forget propriety as to sit in the man’s lap and then kiss him? She’d done all of that and then, to make matters worse, she’d taunted him into a wager she wasn’t certain she could win. She must be going mad.
She rubbed her temples hard. Perhaps that was it, some sort of temporary madness that made her lose her usual calm, logical way of thinking. Whatever it was, she wished it would stop.
Sighing, she placed the pillow back on the sofa and stood. “I suppose I had better practice some more. Treymount will be here in the morning and I want to be ready.”
“Of course,” Cassandra said, smiling. She hesitated, then said in a soft voice, “Honoria, I want to thank you. You do so much for all of us and—”
“Oh pother. I haven’t done a thing yet.” She stretched, reaching toward the ceiling and rising up on her toes, her skirts lifting up about her ankles as she did so. The tension flowed from her neck and shoulders.
Cassandra watched her, understanding deep in her violet eyes. “You are nervous.”
“A little.” Honoria dropped back to her heels and smiled. “But that is a good thing, I have been told. It will make me focus better.”
“You will do fine. If you win, we are set. If you lose, we are no different than we are right now.”
Honoria nodded as she crossed to the terrace door. “Where we are now is intolerable.” She paused, hand on the door knob. “I cannot fail, Cassandra. I cannot.”
“You won’t,” her sister answered. “I know it.”
Honoria wished she could be as certain, but all she did was nod and then leave, closing the door behind her.
Marcus lightly ran down the marble steps of Treymount House, the brisk morning air fresh and invigorating. He paused on the bottom stair and took a deep breath.
“Up early, ain’t ye?” Herberts was standing beside the carriage, having once again shooed away the footman who normally stood there.
Marcus eyed his coachman’s attire. “Your coat is buttoned unevenly.”
“Aye, well, oiye don’t have on me undergarments either, what with it bein’ so early and all.” Herberts gave a huffy sniff. “’Tis not proper fer a man o’ yer stature to be up and about so early in the morn. It’s upset me day, it has.”
“And how would you know what is proper for a man of my stature?”
“Oiye know more than ye realize, oiye do.” Herberts held the carriage door open and stepped aside. “There’s a hot brick in there, if yer toes are cold.”
&nb
sp; “Thank you, Herberts. I’m certain I won’t need it, but the thought was quite—”
“Oh, oiye didn’t do it fer ye. Oiye did it fer me. It gets a might cold up on the seat and oiye thought to nap into the carriage once’t ye were gone.”
Marcus paused in climbing into the carriage. “You get inside the carriage when I’m not here?”
Herberts blinked, his watery blue eyes wide with surprise. “O’course. Where else did ye think oiye might be?”
“I have no idea.” Marcus started to say something else, but then changed his mind. He’d deal with this later. If he waited much longer, he’d be late, and he had no wish to leave his Honoria hanging anxiously by her windows, looking for him. The thought made him grin as he climbed into the carriage.
“Right as ye go!” Herberts peered inside the carriage. “There ye be, ‘guv’nor.”
“Herberts, it’s not ‘guv’nor.’”
Herberts nodded wisely. “Me lord, then.”
“My lord,” Marcus corrected absently.
Herberts chuckled, waving his hands. “’Ere now! There’s no need fer ye to call me a lord! Not that oiye don’t appreciate the gesture, fer oiye do. ’Tis just not necessary, is all.”
Marcus eyed the coachman narrowly. Was the man joking? Or was he really that stupid? Marcus could not decide, though he was beginning to suspect that it was a combination of bravado and brains that made Herberts so particularly difficult to train. “If you were in my employ, I’d dismiss you.”
“If oiye was in yer employ, ye’d be takin’ far more drives through the park like yesterday.” Herberts winked broadly. “Didn’t oiye do ye proud t’other day when ye had the lady in yer carriage? Oiye drove fer nigh on half an hour, oiye did. And ’twas a hot day, as well. Oiye thought oiye might catch me death of the heat.” The coachman’s hand mysteriously appeared from the folds of his cuffs, cupped in a suggestive way.
Marcus lifted his brow. “Are you expecting a vale merely because you followed an order?”
Herberts appeared hurt. “Lord love ye, no! Who said anything about a vale?”
Marcus looked at Herberts’s outstretched hand.
The coachman blinked at his own hand as if surprised to find it attached to the end of his arm. “’Ere now, oiye didn’t mean anything from thet, oiye didn’t!” His hand disappeared. “Oiye suppose we’d best be on our way. Where to, guv—me lord?”
“The same address as yesterday.”
“Ah! Off to see the lady, are we?” Herberts wagged his brows in a ridiculous manner. “Well now, that’s a nafty idea, see if it isn’t!”
“I would appreciate it if you would keep your opinions about my actions to yourself.”
And with that, he slammed the door. Moments later, the carriage rocked as Herberts scrambled into his seat.
Marcus had to chuckle a little as the carriage began to move. The wretch was a cheeky bastard and filled to the gills with bravado. Marcus looked out the window as the scenery of London flew by. The carriage rocked and swayed, but Marcus had to admit they were making excellent time. And if one did not look too closely at how many times they almost ran over or into other conveyances, the trip was actually rather pleasant.
Marcus smiled, leaning his head back against the squabs. Ever since yesterday when he’d sat in this very seat with the delectable Miss Baker-Sneed cozily tucked in his lap, he’d felt…not ebullient, exactly. But close enough to make him wonder at his own good mood.
Perhaps it was just the thrill of a challenge. He had to admit that he’d never before faced a woman who met him so completely, jibe for jibe, sharp retort for sharp retort. And now…he glanced at the wooden box that lay on the seat opposite, placed there by one of the footmen long before Marcus had climbed into the carriage. Inside was his bow and arrows, relics from his school days, to be sure. But he’d always had a talent for archery and he rarely missed.
Last night, just to be certain of his abilities, he’d set up a target by the stables and shot six arrows. All of them had been within an inch of the center of the target. If Miss Baker-Sneed were going to win this wager, she wouldn’t have to be good, she’d have to be excellent.
Which was why, of course, he’d immediately penned a note and suggested they meet first thing this morning. There was no sense in wasting time, and heaven forbid he give the wench time to practice, though he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that she’d not slept a wink, but had stayed up the entire night, polishing what must be fairly good skills.
Marcus smiled, remembering the last time he’d seen the usually unflappable Miss Baker-Sneed. She’d been fleeing as if for her life, dashing into her own home as if pursued by the hounds of hell. And all because of a somewhat innocent caress.
That was why he knew he would win today; he’d discovered her weakness. And it was him.
Laughing softly, he glanced out the window, glad to see that they were almost there. Soon, he would possess not only the talisman ring, but a win over his luscious and delectable Diana, which was a prize well worth the taking.
There were days when it paid to get out of bed early. Whistling softly, he watched London rumble past his carriage window.
“The marquis is here! The marquis is here!”
Honoria sighed. “Portia, please do not hop up and down so.”
Portia obediently began to hop from side to side instead, from one foot to the next. “He’s here! His carriage just whisked up to the door. Mrs. Kemble went to answer the bell. Shall I have her bring him here?”
Honoria took a steadying breath, aware that her chest ached, her stomach felt hollow and her heart thundered in her ears. “Yes, of course. Pray bring him here. The quicker we get this done, the better.”
Portia nodded and then quite literally bounced back inside to inform Mrs. Kemble that the guest was to be escorted to the garden.
Honoria watched her sister go, then turned her face to the sky. The day was cool, gray clouds hanging low, a strong east wind rippling her skirts. She frowned; the wind could be a problem. It hadn’t been so bad just an hour earlier, but now it seemed to be growing.
A hand slipped into hers and she looked down to find George. He regarded her with a serious expression. “Remember to aim a little left. And keep your eyes shut.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand, glad beyond words for the comfort he offered. Unknown to her sisters, she’d practiced for almost four hours early this morning, but this time she’d gone to the tiny stable house tucked behind the garden. She’d used a bale of moldy hay from the stables with a paper tied to it as a target and, with George as her coach, had garnered a touch of her old skills.
Again she squeezed his hand. “To the left. I shall remember.”
“Good. And don’t be nervous.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “If you don’t win, we won’t be any worse off than we are now.”
She sighed. “I know. Cassandra said much the same thing. And you both are right, though that won’t make losing any easier.”
He nodded in understanding. “I don’t like losing either.” He cast a dark glance toward the spot most recently occupied by Portia. “Especially not to someone who always thinks they are right.”
That was it, Honoria decided, clinging to George’s words. She was determined to win this wager because she couldn’t bear the thought of appearing less than capable in front of the marquis because she found him—What did she find him? Attractive? Certainly. She’d have to be dead not to notice his physical perfections. But the real culprit was his damnable pride. If she lost, she just knew the braggart would gloat. He was That Type.
The door opened and Mrs. Kemble said in a breathless voice she seemed to reserve for the marquis, “Oh miss! It’s the Marquis of Treymount again!” Then, much in the manner of a magician producing a flower from a sleeve, she stepped back and gestured to the door.
Treymount stepped outside. He was dressed in his usual somber black, a rather large, ornate box in one hand. The morning sun reflected off the shimmery
marble slabs that outlined the terrace and traced a flicker of blue through his dark hair. Honoria was immediately pinned by the marquis’s blue gaze. Ye gods, but the man’s eyes were piercing. They made her feel hot and uncomfortable and inspired her with the rawest of desires to turn and run.
It was a most uncomfortable feeling. Steeling herself, she gave George’s hand another squeeze and plastered a fake, but welcoming, smile across her face. “My lord.”
He bowed, setting down the box and regarding her with eyes that seemed to twinkle with amusement. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Ready for our wager to be resolved. And you?”
His lips twitched up into a smile. “I am much the same as you. Shall we?”
Honoria wet lips that were suddenly very dry. “Of course. I was just—” She gestured lamely, her gaze settling on George.
Her brother didn’t see her; he was far too busy glaring at the marquis.
Treymount’s gaze followed Honoria’s and he raised his brows at George’s stubborn expression. “Well hello,” the marquis said. “I see you’ve a man about the house after all.”
George’s face flushed red. “My brother Ned isn’t here, or he’d be wagering you instead.”
Treymount turned an amused gaze back to Honoria. “A whole family of gamblers, hm?”
She almost smiled at that. “Hardly.” Placing her hand on George’s shoulder, she led him to a small bench and pressed him into the seat. The wind rose for an instant and sent her skirts swirling madly about her ankles. “George, watch and tell me how I’m doing.”
George nodded. “Just remember how we practiced.”
“Of course.” With a reassuring smile, she returned to the marquis.
“Practiced?” he said softly, his blue eyes laughing down at her.
“Merely an exhibition for my brother and sisters.” Honoria’s cheeks heated a little at the lie. “I didn’t need to practice.” She eyed him for a moment. “Did you practice?”
“For hours.” He opened the box and drew out his own bow.
Honoria blinked. It was a gorgeous bow, made of the finest ash, the size of it almost twice hers.