Page 34 of The Duke’s Suspicion

And promptly regretted it when the gentlemen filed into the room a moment later led by Tristan, who again this evening had donned his uniform and gleamed in awful scarlet splendor.

The gentlemen were more than amenable to Miss Pilkington’s suggestion. Even the vicar had a gleam of regret in his eye when he declined out of deference to his wife. The party thinned further when Lady Easton pleaded another headache and begged her husband to escort her up to their rooms. That left the youthful duchess to chaperone the competition, for neither Sir Thomas nor his wife, the most senior of the guests by age, seemed at all inclined to enforce rules of proper behavior. The baronet even rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation, and Erica wondered whether her punishment for the spilled wine was intended to be his wet, whiskery kiss.

The gentlemen disposed themselves around the room: Lord Beresford took the seat Mrs. Newsome had vacated, while Captain Whitby chose the chair beside the duchess near the tea table. Tristan remained standing before the fire, for which Erica could only be grateful, as it made it easier to position herself so that he was not in her direct line of sight.

All eyes were on Miss Pilkington as she leaned forward to explain the rules of her game. “I’m sure you are all familiar with charades. Each lady shall pose a riddle to all the gentleman. The first to solve it shall win the prize.”

She did not specify the nature of the prize, but it was clearly understood from the various murmurs and smiles and even laughter that erupted around the room. Nor did it seem that the winners were to be determined entirely by either skill or luck. After a great deal of twittering and fussing, Lady Lydgate recited her puzzle:

“I’m a box without hinges, key, or lid,

Yet golden treasure inside is hid.”

Any child could have guessed it. Nevertheless, the gentlemen’s answers all fell wide of the mark, as if they deferred by prior accord to…Lord Beresford? Not her husband? To Erica’s shock, it was indeed the earl who pronounced the answer to be “an egg” and claimed his kiss full on the lady’s lips.

When Sir Thomas Lydgate answered the duchess’ somewhat more challenging riddle, he bowed gallantly and kissed her hand, as if to show how a true gentleman behaved.

Then it was Miss Pilkington’s turn. She made eye contact with each of the gentlemen, securing their undivided attention before saying slowly:

“My first is aloft in the air;

My second’s a path in the ground;

My third may be black, brown, or fair;

And my whole may be hanged, or be drowned.”

As one, all the heads swiveled toward the Duke of Raynham, who leaned with his forearm against the mantelpiece and stared contemplatively into the fire as he worked out the three syllables. An anticipatory silence buzzed in Erica’s ears. On the opposite side of the room, the longcase clock cleared its throat and struck the half-hour, making her jump.

“I do not know,” Tristan said finally, the hint of a self-deprecating smile playing about his lips as he looked toward Caroline and caught Erica’s eye on the way. Though she suspected him of telling an untruth, he did nothing to betray himself. No one would ever know for certain if he lied.

“A highwayman.” The voice came from the tea table. A confident Captain Whitby rose and crossed to Miss Pilkington beside her on the couch.

If she had not been seated so close to her, Erica would never have noticed the way Caroline’s fingers tightened eagerly in her skirt when Whitby leaned in for a quick buss of her cheek, nor would she have heard his teasing whisper: “You’re welcome.”

Didn’t Miss Pilkington want the duke’s kiss? Or had she suspected Tristan’s reluctance and attempted to test it? What a dangerous game she’d decided to play…

Those thoughts scattered when the company’s attention now focused on Erica. It was her turn to pose a riddle. She’d been weighing her options since the game began. To ask something simple and put an end to her misery? Or to rise to the challenge? Perhaps, if she were very clever, she could claim victory without giving away anything at all.

The trouble was, she had never been especially good at wordplay, and now that all eyes were upon her, the only charade she could recall was one she would rather not recite. Though she allowed the silence to stretch longer than was comfortable, no inspiration struck her. At last she sucked in a breath and blurted out the rhyme:

“My first is the spirit of life,

From whence all its happiness flows.

’Tis also the center of strife,

The fountain of sorrow and woes!

My second, I own, is a pain

In the stomach, the side, or the head;

But if on my first it should gain,

Then pleasure and joy are both fled.”

When she finished speaking, silence fell again. It was not a particularly difficult riddle. Had she truly stumped them?