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He had learned how to control his jealousy to rein in his need to claim her as his. But tonight, rage roared through his veins as Camdon dared to hold Minerva close. It wasn’t in Anthony’s nature to act before assessing all the various aspects of a situation. So as he stalked the pair back to the house, he was forced to analyze the facts. The truth was that Camdon was a good fellow. Intelligent. Trustworthy. Came from a large brood of healthy males. He would make Minerva a fine husband.
To hell with logic. Minerva was his.
With his stomach in knots, he crouched and waited for the couple to reenter. As they shifted out of sight, Anthony moved along the wall to peer through the dining room window. Damn. Minerva’s back was to him, and she was seated opposite Camdon, an agent who was renowned for disguising his true thoughts. He wouldn’t be able to trust Camdon’s facial expressions, nor read his lips. His once boon companion was extremely adept at deception.
Minerva’s shoulders bobbed up and down slightly as if she was laughing. Camdon was most likely charming her with stories of his travels. Her adventurous spirit would be enthralled by such tales.
Anthony’s chest ached, along with his stomach. He was in agony. He slumped to lean against the stone wall. He’d never ventured farther than to his Scottish estate, and that was a rare occurrence.
He rose to peer at the evening affair that he would have surely been invited to if he were not in hiding. Avondale, host and one of the more reserved agents for the Foreign Office, sat staring at his fiancée Isadora with calm eyes. Then there was Chestwick, who smiled at his wife Diana as if sharing a private moment. The war hero no longer shielded others from the ghastly gash that ran along the left side of his face.
Egad. Was that what marriage did to a man? Transformed him into a better version of himself?
The candlelight flickered and drew Anthony’s attention back to Camdon, whose gaze narrowed and focused upon the window ledge. Anthony sank to his bottom as Minerva turned to peer over her shoulder. He had imagined it would be difficult to witness Minerva being courted by another, but to also be excluded from his friends was pure torture.
For years, this was what he’d wished for Minerva: to find a gentleman who could give her the life she’d always dreamt of. He should be happy for her. Camdon could give her what he couldn’t.
The stabbing pain in his chest called him out. He didn’t truly want Minerva to marry another.
A ghostly white image of Minerva flashed before his mind’s eye. She would die if she married him.
He scrambled along the wall, and as soon as he was at the building’s edge, he got to his feet and ran. Ran into the darkness. Every stratagem and plan he’d ever considered whirled through his mind as he pumped his arms and legs.
He needed Minerva. There had to be an alternative to her death or unhappiness if they were to marry. Why were his thoughts always so clouded when it came to her?
He pushed himself to go faster, harder, until he was gasping for air. Hands on his knees, he looked up to find himself in front of the Malbury townhouse.
He couldn’t risk entering.
He shouldn’t wait for Minerva to return. And yet he wasn’t ready to return to his empty lodgings across Town.
As unwise as it was, he proceeded to sneak into the Malbury residence and headed directly for Minerva’s chambers.
Chapter Nine
“You’ve been ratherquiet all night.” Isadora’s green eyes narrowed upon Minerva in the dimly lit coach as they returned from Avondale’s mansion.
“Have I?” Minerva’s thoughts had continued to circle throughout the evening, always returning to her game with Anthony. Anxiety over her next move, which could very well determine whether she won or lost, had preoccupied her mentally for most of the evening, despite Lord Camdon’s attempts to charm her.
“You have, and you know it. Are you worried about Drake and his sudden disappearance?” Her sister patted her knee like Minerva used to do to ease Isadora’s nerves when they were younger. Isadora didn’t care for physical affection, still didn’t, but she did allow family to breach the distinct personal barrier she preferred to maintain. “Avondale says there is naught to worry about. Hm…” Her brow wrinkled. “Although, come to think upon it, my dear fiancé was rather vague about his whereabouts and employed his devious skills to distract me.” Color flooded her cheeks.
Isadora was engaged to Avondale, to be married in two weeks, and Minerva could very well guess what tactics her future brother-in-law had employed. She gave Isadora a side glance. It was all that was needed to put an end to their conversation.
The coach rattled steadily along until they arrived back in front of Malbury Townhouse. Minerva peered out the coach window and let out a deep sigh. The structure that was once occupied by all of her family now appeared cold and empty. Her father rarely spent more than the occasional evening in the master chambers. Her mama spent the majority of her evenings away and slept most of the day. With Paul away at school, and Benedict and Diana married, that left Gregory, Isadora, and her in the house. But Gregory spent his evenings attending the hospital, and Isadora would soon be married too.
The coach door flung open, and Minerva forced herself to exit.
With a slight bounce in her step, Isadora swooshed by. “Time for sleep, sister. Tomorrow shall be another full day of planning and packing.”
Malbury Townhouse would be lonely without her sisters. Minerva stood at the foot of the path that led to the front door and looked up to the window of her chambers. The curtains fluttered. Someone was in her rooms.
Anthony.
Skirts clutched tightly in her hands, Minerva attempted to remain calm and moderated her steps. She should be furious at the man for daring to invade her space knowing she wasn’t home. Yet excitement built within her as she took each step, bringing her closer to Anthony.
The complexity of the outcomes of their game weighed heavily on her shoulders all day and eve. With no one to discuss the details with, Minerva was eager to see Anthony.
Her steps slowed as she recognized the truth—Anthony was no unbiased party. His analytical skills, which had proven valuable over the years, would be swayed by his own hopes and wishes, clouding his judgment just as her dreams were muddling her own conclusions.
