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Chapter Eight
Seated at theelegantly adorned Avondale dining table, Minerva let her gaze fell upon her plate. Being present and not letting her mind wander had always been a struggle for Minerva, and tonight was no exception. Anthony’s logic for not wishing to marry her plagued her every waking moment. He claimed to be in love her but was certain childbirth would be her demise.
Would she be happy in a childless marriage?
She had never questioned the presumption that a wife to a peer should birth the next heir. Oh, the pressure to do so had been mentioned many a time behind a fluttering fan, but the question of fertility had never crossed Minerva’s mind. Having pulled out her copy ofDebrett’s, Minerva could not fault Anthony in his perspective, even if his logic was not scientifically sound.
The dark form next to her shifted. Lord Camdon—a full head and a half taller than she, dark-haired, with piercing brown eyes that contained flecks of gold—was the exact opposite of Anthony, who had striking blue eyes and sandy blond hair, and was a mere half a head or so taller. The man’s gaze slid to the terrace doors. Minerva peered out through the glass planes into the dark and caught something or someone move along the hedge.
Lord Camdon chuckled. “Who do you think is daft enough to attempt to spy on Avondale?”
The rich, gravelly sound put Minerva at ease. “What makes you believe they are spying? Perhaps it’s simply the gardener.”
“At this hour?” The lopsided grin Lord Camdon shot her way told her that this man was no stranger to flirting or gaining his way with a well-timed smile.
Curious as to what type of man she was to dine with, Minerva asked, “Should we alert our host?”
“No. I shall investigate.”
Ah. A man of action. Oddly, his response pleased her more than it should, given he was a complete stranger. “I shall join you.”
Mid-turn, Lord Camdon’s entire body stiffened. “Does your declaration to only marry a gentleman who can defeat you at chess exempt you from scandal?”
Minerva blinked up at the man. “No.”
“Then I suggest you remain here.” His gaze raked over her from head to toe. “Or you shall find yourself married to me.”
How presumptuous. How bold. How dare he.
Nerves rattled, she replied, “Doubtful; we are amongst family and friends. No one would—”
He grinned and interrupted her. “Do your eyes always shine bright green when you are challenged? They are extremely arresting.” He held out his arm and waited for her to loop hers through it. “I’m rather tempted to take Avondale’s advice and see just how well I would fare sitting across a chessboard from you.”
“It’s no wonder you survived abroad. Skilled at flattery, easy on the eyes, and the intelligence to gauge just how much information is needed to gain the trust of a stranger. Such skills would ensure your safety and cement your belief that no one could charm a lady better than you.” She linked her arm through his. “However, it will require more than an alluring smile and a few enchanting words to gain my attention, and significantly more to defeat me at a game I’ve played since I broke free of my leading strings.”
“My…you are magnificent. Bold. Daring. Unafraid.” He escorted her closer to the terrace doors. “It’s a shame you are already in love with another, or I would be tempted to give Kent a reason to meet me at dawn once we cross the threshold.”
She searched his features. Unalarmed by his serious glare, Minerva spoke loud enough for others to hear. “I’d be delighted to take a turn about the gardens.” In a low, hushed whisper, she asked, “What gave you the preposterous idea that I’m in love?”
“I’ve been trained by England’s best to read and interpret people’s reactions. Was I wrong—is your heart free to love another?”
As Minerva, she was a terrible liar. Calling upon her alter ego, Madame Rose, she tilted her head, peered up, and fluttered her eyes at the man. “As shocking as this might be to you—you are wrong.”
He grinned and patted her hand resting on his arm. “I don’t believe I’ve misread you, my lady. However, I’ll acknowledge you are an extremely talented actress, and it is no wonder that the Head of the Foreign Office has a keen interest in you.”
Her footsteps faltered as they crossed the threshold into the dimly lit terrace. She snuck another glance up at Lord Camdon. Bah. The man didn’t know of her secret identity. He was fishing for information. The gold flecks in his gaze sparkled with interest, not confidence.
Lord Camdon’s gaze was solely trained upon her, but his muscles beneath her palm tensed for a blink of an eye. She scanned the perimeter. Anthony was close by. She couldn’t see him, but her heart was racing.
Her companion released a sigh, one that was tinged with frustration. Lord Camdon stopped and bent to whisper in her ear, “If there was someone out here, they’ve since left.”
She stepped in front of him and stretched up to snake her arms about his neck. “I believe you are wrong again, my lord.”
With confidence and ease, Lord Camdon wrapped his arms about her waist, and she waited—hoped—Anthony would make himself known. Her logic was sound. Anthony had shared with her that he loved her. He claimed he couldn’t bear to see another man marry her.
Then why was the blasted man not coming forth?
Lord Camdon tilted his head, and his warm breath ran down her neck as he whispered, “You are playing a dangerous game, Lady Minerva. Agents are trained to never let their feelings interfere. Drake is a natural; he is renowned for his ability to rein in his emotions and act with ice in his veins.”
