“He does act as if he’s under a cloud, doesn’t he?” Camellia didn’t mention she had noticed a few other aspects of him as well, such as his intriguingly weathered complexion, and the way the skin around his dark eyes crinkled when he was amused, however bitter his sense of humor. He still had the bearing of a long-term soldier, all perfect posture and pronounced thinness and a wary gaze. But was he truly capable of murder?
As if she was reading Camellia’s mind, Mrs Bloomfield commented, “It’s a shame, really. He’s a rather striking gentleman. And in some quarters, hints of scandal only make ladies more keen.”
“Perhaps,” Camellia said, determined to ignore that pull. “But all that is quite beside the point. I already made a decision. Elliot Townsend is exactly the sort of man who would make a suitable match.” She hadn’t realized it until she said it, but the idea felt suddenly quite natural.
Mrs Bloomfield paused in her work, looking to Lia in surprise. “A match? For you? Are you joking?” Evidently, she didn’t think it felt natural.
“Of course I’m not joking.” Now inspired by the idea, Camellia said, “I thought him quite sweet. He’s pleasant, he’s well-off, and he doesn’t condescend to me.”
“I don’t think he can condescend to you, dear. He’s pleasant, I warrant, but not an intellectual lion.”
“Oh, what does that matter? So he isn’t scintillating. I can talk with friends. That’s not what a husband is for.”
Mrs Bloomfield still looked quite skeptical. “I would caution against setting your cap at anyone.”
Lia frowned. “I’m not setting my cap at him. What a thing to say! I’m just…assessing the situation.”
Her companion gave her a long look in the mirror, then nodded. “I see. Well, in that case, you might wish to speak to Mr Ryder first.”
“Whatever for?” Camellia felt a bit alarmed at the idea of speaking to Phineas Ryder at all.
“He is Mr Townsend’s friend,” Mrs Bloomfield explained. “If you would know the lay of the land, who better to tell you? You must be subtle, of course. For all his alleged faults, he seems extremely perceptive.”
Lia nodded. “Very well. I’ll speak with him if an opportunity arises.”
Camellia walked out the door, her head held high, and her face set. She was quite determined about her idea to marry Elliot Townsend, sudden as it was. Mrs Bloomfield followed with a slight smile. She doubted sweet Camellia could sustain such a cold-blooded plan for marriage, but it would be amusing to see her try.
* * * *
Finn spent far too many hours inquiring about the status of all the ladies at the house party, assessing both their suitability for marriage to Elliot, and the risk that one of them might try to trap the man. Thankfully, the threat of the second scenario seemed low among this crowd. But Finn was afraid that his questions were giving the wrong impression—namely that he was interested in finding a bride himself. Which was absurd, considering that he had literally nothing to offer a wife. A woman would be better off as a spinster rather than shackling herself to him.
That said, some women did cast glances his way.
As he was walking through the ever-more-bedecked halls, avoiding servants who were carrying in armfuls of evergreen boughs, one of those women approached him.
“Mr Ryder, what a pleasure to run into you,” Miss Fielding said, smiling coquettishly. “I’d been considering the appeal of a horseback ride. Would you care to join me?”
All gentlemen (or those who aspired to be gentlemen) rode. But Finn actually loved riding, and if his income ever allowed it, he’d buy the finest horse he could. “I’ve not seen the Wyemont stables yet,” he said, “but I’m sure there are mounts and grooms for all the guests, if needed.” A lady would never ride out alone with just Finn as company—not with Finn’s reputation following him.
But Miss Fielding simply hooked her hand through his bent arm, saying, “Oh, I don’t want a groom. I am an excellent rider.” She leaned close and nibbled his ear, adding in a breathy whisper, “In fact, when I find a gorgeous stallion, I’m just aching to ride astride him. It’s so…invigorating. The more he bucks and the faster he goes, the more I love it.”
She pressed herself against him, and from her flushed skin and quickened breathing, she was clearly excited.
Finn, however, couldn’t say he reciprocated her desire. Certainly, he had a physical reaction to having a beautiful woman pawing at him, murmuring more suggestive things as she put her lips into a sensual pout that she’d clearly practiced for maximum appeal. But even if he felt the stirring in his groin, he was damn sick of being considered a wealthy woman’s toy…especially when the same woman barely gave him the time of day when her peers were in sight.
Now he had to negotiate his way out of this mess, without earning her wrath. Time to play her game. He kissed her, hard, turning her around to push her against the wall. She moaned at first, then whimpered when he didn’t stop the kiss. Only when Finn needed to breathe did he pull back a fraction. “Don’t think you know how rough the ride will get,” he said in a low tone.
Miss Fielding simply stared at him, open-mouthed in surprise. Finn took the opportunity to get the hell out of there, before the woman got her nerve back. With luck, she’d never speak to him until she left the castle after the holidays were done.
Why was he so determined to be accepted by this lot, by British society in general? They’d never forgive him for the scandal he was caught in. Finn was so intent on getting away from Miss Fielding that he didn’t pay much attention to where he was going. Wyemont was a maze of a place, and a few too many turns made Finn quite lost. He wandered down lonely halls and peeked in on disused rooms, hoping to run into one of the many servants, who could lead him back to the occupied part of the castle. But he saw no one at all. The deep silence of the place unsettled him. Finn didn’t care for silence, since it gave him too much space to think.
Just then, he heard a melody trembling in the air. A melancholy and almost fey tune, full of mystery.
He knew that song. Elliot had been practicing it earlier. Finn listened hard and followed the music through the hallways, which was more difficult than it seemed, as the walls distorted sounds and heavy velvet drapes tried to smother it completely.
But at last, Finn entered a small chamber with a pianoforte on one end. Elliot sat at the keyboard, playing with an intensity rare even for him. He’d flung off his jacket and now played wearing only his shirt, the sleeves billowing with each swooping gesture he made as he moved up and down the scales.
Finn slid into a chair and listened. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew that Elliot had a gift. Pity that he couldn’t do much with it besides entertain himself and his friends. As the only son of the Marquess of Grafton, Elliot had a duty to marry and get an heir. Nothing else mattered. Not art, not his own preferences, nothing.
