The Games the Earl Plays_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

by Eleanor Meyers

An expectant stillness hung in the air.

  Brandt rapped sharply on wall, which prompted a sharp cry.

  “Stop that, you're shaking some of the mortar loose, I think—”

  “It's not safe in there. Come the hell out.”

  “It's perfectly safe; it's my own house,” Caroline retorted, but he heard a rustling sound as she squirmed her way back to the opening.

  She sounded safe enough, but Brandt still felt himself relax when she appeared unharmed and with a small candle in her hand.

  “If you had tipped that, you could have burned the house down.”

  She shot him a dark look and scrambled to her feet.

  “Protecting your investment?”

  That hurt more than he thought it would.

  “So what if I was? In four weeks, this entire place is going to belong to me anyway.”

  Caroline stripped the kerchief off her head, letting her dark red braid fall over her shoulder.

  “No. That's not going to happen. I won't let it happen. I'm going to find that treasure and—”

  “Caroline, stop it!”

  His angry exclamation echoed throughout the room, drawing them both up short.

  Caroline opened her mouth to respond to him, but he cut her off.

  “Are you even aware of how you look and what you're doing? You are betting on finding an unfindable treasure in just a few weeks, a treasure that your ancestors have not been able to find throughout their whole lives. You're acting like a child hanging on to hopes of Father Christmas, and you're twenty-three years old.”

  “And what did you bet to be in a game where Shawly Grange came up as the prize?” she demanded. “Don't tell me that you haven't taken a chance on hazardous bets in your life.”

  “This isn't even a bet! This is... some misplaced charity on my part, allowing a ridiculous girl to continue playing treasure-hunter before I take over her home.”

  “Charity?” Caroline uttered the word with such venom it made Brandt hesitate.

  “Caroline...”

  “No, don't take it back, if that's what you really think! You never believed that I was going to find that treasure, did you? Not for a second.”

  “I hoped you would,” Brandt said quietly. He was surprised that it was actually true.

  Caroline shook her head, negating his words.

  “Charity... I don't need your charity, my lord. And I don't need your help, either. No matter why you thought you were giving me the time to save my home, you still gave it. And I am not so charitable as you to give it back after you have shouted at me and called me a child.”

  She drew herself up to her full height, and something about the betrayal in her dark eyes broke Brandt's heart. He started to reach for her, but she stepped out of his grasp. For a woman covered in grit and centuries-old cobwebs, she looked absolutely disgusted at the idea of touching him.

  “No. I am going to bed now, my lord. And in the morning, I will be continuing my search for the Massey treasure. You're right. It is likely that I am not going to find it, and at the end of the time you have allotted me, I will need to return to my brother's house. However, that time is not now. Good night.”

  She turned around and swept out of the room, as grand as an offended Society matron. She left Brandt alone with the gaping hole in the wall and the sense that he had ruined absolutely everything.

  * * *

  14

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

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  Caroline's dreams were fractured and ugly things. She woke up with a sense that she hadn't slept at all. Her fight with Brandt echoed in her mind until she thought she would go mad, and when the call came for breakfast, she asked the maid to tell her aunt that she was indisposed.

  Last night, Caroline had made plans to start the search anew, but in the morning, with the fall rains sleeting down like an ancient god's wrath, she could barely stand to get dressed and to go to the library. The box they had uncovered in the space between the gold room and the Sir Francis Drake room sat on table with the journals and studbooks, silently reproaching her. She was staring sightless out the window of the library when a light knock came at the door.

  She was half-afraid and half-hopeful that it would be Brandt. When she saw it was only Aunt Hawthorne, she felt a surge of relief.

  “Matilda said you weren't feeling well, dear,” Aunt Hawthorne said. “I brought you a stone to warm your feet.”

  Caroline smiled a little at the smooth stone her aunt carried wrapped in her arms like a baby. It had been warmed close to the hearth, and she let her aunt put it underneath the desk. As she worked, she could slip her shoes off and rest her stockinged feet against its warm curve.

  “Thank you so much, Aunt Hawthorne. That is very kind of you.”

  “Well, it is such a terrible day, I think we could all use a little warmth. And especially you should be good to yourself if you've been fighting with Lord Ellerston.”

  It had been so long since she had heard Brandt's title that she barely knew who Aunt Hawthorne was talking about.

  “We haven't been...”

  “Oh, darling, these walls are ancient and thin, and that was even before you went knocking holes into them. It's fine. Young hearts were made to be tumbled and hurt.”

  She smiled a little at her aunt.

  “And what about old hearts?”

  “Why old hearts are meant for loving strange little grand-nieces like you.”

  For a moment, Caroline wanted to reveal their plight to Aunt Hawthorne, but she couldn't. It would feel too much like a failure, and right then, she couldn't bear it.

  “Thank you, Aunt Hawthorne. I'm afraid I'm not much for company right now, though. I need to look over these journals and studbooks again.”

  “Well, I will leave you to it, my dear. My embroidery calls.”

  Aunt Hawthorne was just passing the table of journals when she squinted down at one. A troubled frown passed over her face.

  “Oh, dear. I see you have found Hester's journal.”

  Caroline was startled to see her aunt pick up the journal, a wistful look on her wrinkled face.

  “Yes, that's the last one she completed before she, um...”

  Aunt Hawthorne gave her a tolerant look.

  “You needn't mince words with me, dear. I may be old, but my memory and my knowledge of what the world gets up to is still sharp.”

  “I'm sorry, Aunt Hawthorne. Did you know Hester well?”

  “Not really. She was a Manchester Massey, you know. Spent all her summers here, and every summer, she was mad after the Massey treasure, just like you. I was only six when she died.”

  “It must have been a shock.”

  “Oh, it was, but do you know? I've never thought she killed herself. It was just so strange.”

  A prickle ran up Caroline's spine, and she shivered. This wasn't like the excitement of discovery. This had something more in common with dread.

  “How was it strange, Aunt Hawthorne?”

  “Oh, well. I suppose you're old enough to hear such things. She was in love with that bad man of hers, and they say she killed herself over it. That was so strange for Hester, though. She was a bright and determined thing, gave no sign of grief. And to jump from the abbey tower as she did? That surely seemed strange to me. She could never abide heights.”

  Caroline blinked.

  “I thought you told Brandt that a man had jumped from the tower.”

  “Ah, well, that one I am less sorry for. That was Jonas Gray, who had worked for my father, your great-grandfather. He had been let go some time before, but he came to break in to the house. When he ran away, for some reason, he went to that selfsame tower where poor Hester died.”

  “Was... was he Hester's bad man?”

  “It was debated by the worst sorts of people, but yes, I think so.”

  Aunt Hawthorne shook her head as if she
wanted to shake the very memories from her shoulders.

  “Now, I don't want to talk about such sad things any more, darling. I am off to look to my sewing. When that rock gets cool, please send for another one. This room gets so drafty.”

  Caroline thought the chill she was feeling right that moment had absolutely nothing to do with the draft. She waited until her aunt left, and then she ran to the box on the table. It felt as if the world was spinning around her, and she wondered if Hester had felt this way when she realized the same thing that Brandt had about the stables.

  She opened the box with shaky hands and looked at the items inside. Some country women smoked pipes, but on the whole, they were the province of rustic men, ones who worked outdoors. She picked up the handkerchief and though it felt thin enough to shred at any rough handling, she could find the tiny embroidered JG along one corner. When she pulled out the ring and held it as closely as she could to the thin light from the window, she could make out the engraving: HM and JG.

  So, the J in Hester's diary wasn't her brother, after all, and the remnants of that terrible romance had been interred into the wall, the same place, Caroline was suddenly sure, where the treasure was placed years ago, but where it was no longer.

  You clever thing, you found it, didn't you? But... you didn't tell anyone. Why didn't you tell anyone?

  The answer came to her so readily that she almost wondered if the ghost of Hester Massey stood at her shoulder, pointing her in the right direction.

  Because of a bad man. Because he wanted the treasure and he threatened you, didn't he? He would ruin you if you didn't turn it over.

  Agitated over her discovery, she started pacing the room. Outside, the lightning lit the sky, and the thunderclap a few seconds later sounded like hollow cannon fire.

  So, you and Jonas find the treasure. He... blackmails you, you poor thing, so you take the treasure, and instead, you leave the remnants of your romance in their place. What were you thinking, Hester? How would you have decided to go on?

  She knew that Hester would have wanted a place to hide the treasure. It needed to be some place that Jonas wouldn't think to go, and if he was a servant at Shawly Grange, it couldn't be in the house.

  A place no one would expect... because you were afraid of heights.

  Jonas must have caught her there. They must have fought. She wasn't there to kill herself; she was there to hide the treasure from Jonas. Caroline swallowed hard, thinking of climbing those steps when every bone shook with fear. Jonas caught her, they fought... was it an accident or murder that sent her flying from that great height? No one would ever know.

  If her guess was true, the treasure had never left the abbey bell-tower. It was up there, waiting for her, waiting for anyone who could find it. Caroline was already moving before she completed the thought. Sturdy shoes, a practical wrap, and, of course, her tools. She could be out to the abbey and back before too long. The rain outside had slowed to a dismal drizzle, and if she went fast, perhaps she could even return before it became a deluge again.

  Caroline passed Brandt in the hall, but she held her head high as she passed.

  “Caroline.”

  “I'm sorry, my lord, but I do not have the time to chat with you today.”

  “Damn it, Caroline, you're impossible!”

  “Of course, I am,” she spat. “But soon enough I won't be your problem, will I?”

  “The day can't come soon enough,” he snapped.

  Her ears burning, Caroline continued to her room. When she gave him the treasure, she would never need to see him again. Why did that leave her feeling so very hollow?

  * * *

  15

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

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  Brandt prowled the halls of Shawly Grange, feeling like a damned ghost. The place was beautiful, but the fact that sooner rather than later, it would belong to him, left him cold. He tried to think about what he might do to modernize it, to make it more pleasing to his taste, but the thought left him oddly empty.

  Hell, perhaps he should just let Caroline keep it. They might make mockery of him in London for giving up an estate that he had won legally, but at least he might get rid of this nagging weight in his chest.

  If he were honest with himself, he knew what he wanted most. He wanted to go to Caroline and apologize. Their encounter earlier in the day had left a bad taste in his mouth. He'd suffered Caroline's piques and frustrations before, but he had never thought that the fiery girl could freeze as well as burn. The way she had sailed past him, refusing to call him by his Christian name, left him furious and helpless.

  If he thought she was playing some sort of game, he'd ignore it, but he knew she wasn't. Not Caroline. She was utterly honest, and her utter honest opinion now was that he didn't deserve her slightest notice.

  It was enough to drive a man to distraction.

  Brandt liked to think that he knew when to call it quits. He needed to talk to her, and they needed to figure things out. Hell, perhaps he could keep her and Aunt Hawthorne on as tenants, or perhaps they would simply scream at each other until they were blue in the face. Anything was better than the absolute silence that seemed to fill Shawly Grange when he wasn't with Caroline.

  Of course, he could only reconcile with her if he could find her. He looked in all the usual places, including the hollow between the gold room and the Sir Francis Drake room. Aunt Hawthorne hadn't seen her since morning, and the maids and butler he stopped hadn't either. He didn't have any luck until he ended up in the kitchen.

  Cook frowned at him.

  “Her ladyship slipped out not long before lunch. She looked almighty upset though, and she was in a great hurry.”

  By this point, Brandt's unease made him want to climb the walls, and he stopped himself from snapping at the woman. She was his best lead yet.

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  Cook shrugged.

  “Not so many places she could go. Flooding's taken out the road to Evansfield. She was headed east, though, and the only thing in that direction—”

  “Is the abbey.” Brandt spat out a curse that made Cook look at him in shock, and he turned on his heel. He passed a window where the sky already seemed darker than it was a few moments before, and he grit his teeth.

  If she is up in that damned tower, I swear I will pull her down and chain her to the library desk at the Grange, I swear to all heaven.

  He hung on to his anger at Caroline's foolhardiness. If he was angry, he didn't have to give in to the deep and yawning fear that was rapidly eating away at him.

  * * *

  Despite the steady scattering of raindrops that fell from the leaden sky, Brandt's horse was pleased with the outing. The gelding covered the ground fast, and as he rode, Brandt told himself he was being foolish. Chances were good Caroline was fine. She might be walking the ruins; she might be simply measuring the damned walls.

  However, his worst fears were confirmed when he didn't overtake her on the road and didn't see her among the stones.

  “Caroline! Caroline, where the hell are you?” he shouted. The wind whipped his words from him, and he tied up his horse hastily. When he dashed into the bell-tower, he was both incensed and flooded with relief when he caught a glimpse of her flag of red hair high above. He made his way up the crumbling stairs, ready to give her a piece of his mind.

  “Never in all my years in London and abroad have I ever run into anyone as reckless and as...”

  His words trailed off as he realized that this was absolutely not the time for scolding.

  From below, it had looked as if Caroline was simply standing on the ledge where the bell ringer had once stood. Very recently, the ledge had been connected to the stairs with a walkway. In a horrified instant, Brandt took in the fresh crumbling of stone and the yard-wide gap between where the stairs ended and the ledge began. Now that he
was at the top of the stairs, he could see that Caroline stood on a piece of ledge that looked barely larger than a family Bible.

  “Dear God,” he whispered.

  Somehow, despite her predicament, Caroline smiled.

  “I'm rather afraid to shout too hard,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “I've been mustering up the courage to jump for quite some time now, but my limbs are so cold.”

  It wasn't a terrible leap, he reckoned. It would be nothing if they were on the ground, but the ground was now very far away.

  “Caroline, you cannot keep standing there—”

  “Well, I certainly know that!”

  Instead of being irritated, he was grateful for her desperate humor. Humor was better than despair.

  “Good! That's good. Sweetheart, I want you to try to bend your knees a little, can you do that? Warm them up.”

  Taking a gulp of air and clinging to the stone behind her with her fingertips, she did as he said. He was grateful to see that while she was stiff, she could still move.

  “All right, that's good! That's very good. Now, I am standing right here, all right? I want you to take the jump. If you can make it even halfway across, even that much, I can catch you, all right?”

  “I might pull you down!”

  “Even soaking wet, you barely weigh more than a barn cat. No, you won't. I'm not going to let you fall. I never will. Please. Do you trust me?”

  The answer was immediate.

  “Yes. With my life.”

  “All right. Count to three, and on three, jump to me.”

  Brandt thought he had never concentrated on anything as hard as her soft counting. On three, she pushed herself away from the wall, launching herself toward him. Her muscles had been stiffened from her time outside; she fell short of the stairs, but Brandt was there. One hand clawed at her wrap, catching only cloth, but the other wrapped firmly around her wrist. Once he had her, he would not let her go.