Page 52 of War of the Wedding Wagers
Thornton clapped his hands, but his eyes never left Eugenia’s face. “Well, my dear, I wish for that Persephone at any cost. Your honesty is endearing, but I do not intend to reveal my cards as you do. Sir Frederick and Miss Fairchild will not make a match.” He moved closer, his voice dropping. “You say you’ve intercepted some longing looks? Why, this is all a game.” He extended his arms wide, and Eugenia caught the scent of his bay rum cologne. “I won’t deny you intercepted a look, despite my contention the pair are mismatched. I’ve no doubt that, regardless of what might happen here, the moment they are apart, they’ll spare not a thought.” His smile held a challenge that made her pulse quicken. “No, my dear Eugenia, I am confident that the Persephone is mine.”
“We shall see,” Eugenia managed, though her voice wasn’t quite steady.
*
The afternoon lightwas fading as Eugenia left the house, her conversation with Thornton still echoing in her mind. The sound of youthful laughter drew her attention to a pair of figures near the rose garden.
Caroline sat on the stone bench while Henry stood nearby, demonstrating something with expansive gestures that had her covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.
“And then,” Henry was saying, his voice carrying clearly, “your brother’s face when he realized you’d switched his powder for crushed chalk! I thought he’d expire on the spot.”
“You helped me do it,” Caroline reminded him, “and then blamed it all on the stable cat!”
“Well, someone had to protect you from his righteous fury.” Henry’s voice softened. “I always did, didn’t I?”
Something in his tone made Caroline glance up sharply, but Henry had already moved on, plucking a rose and presenting it to her with an exaggerated bow. “For you, my lady. Though Mr. Greene probably brings you exotic blooms from London’s finest hothouses.”
“This one’s nicer,” Caroline said quietly, taking the flower. “It reminds me of when we were children and you’d help me steal roses for Mama’s birthday.”
“And get caught every time because you couldn’t resist taking ‘just one more.’”
Watching them, Eugenia felt a familiar ache in her chest. How many times had she and Thornton shared such easy moments in their youth, before her father’s warnings about fortune hunters had made her see danger in every smile?
Caroline twirled the rose between her fingers, her usual vivacity dimmed. “Sometimes I miss those days. Everything seemed simpler then.”
“It can still be simple,” Henry said, so quietly Eugenia almost missed it. “Not everything worth having comes wrapped in gold leaf, Caro.”
But Caroline was already standing, smoothing her skirts. “I should go in. Mr. Greene promised to tell me about the opera in Paris.”
Henry’s face fell for just a moment before he recovered his cheerful expression. “Of course. Though I doubt his stories can match our adventures in the old dovecote.”
“That was different. We were children then.”
“Were we?” Henry’s voice was wistful. “Sometimes I think we understood more then than we do now.”
As Caroline hurried away, Eugenia saw Henry watch her go, the rose she’d left behind dangling forgotten from his fingers. His expression reminded her painfully of how Thornton had looked at her, so many years ago, when she’d chosen safety over love.
“They say youth is wasted on the young,” came Thornton’s voice behind her, making her start. “But perhaps it’s wisdom that’s wasted on the old.”
Eugenia turned to find him watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. “Are you calling me old, Lord Thornton?”
“Never.” His smile held warmth and a hint of challenge. “Though I do think we were both young once, and perhaps equally foolish.”
“Foolish enough to make wagers we couldn’t win?” She meant it to sound light, but his expression turned serious.
“Some wagers are worth losing,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “If they lead us where we need to go.”
Below them in the garden, Henry was carefully placing Caroline’s discarded rose in his buttonhole.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Why could shenot sleep? Amelia never had difficulty in a good night’s slumber, but her time at the castle was proving most challenging.
In the far distance, she was sure she could hear a clock chime the hour. Two in the morning. Well, she’d been tossing for seemingly hours, and it was pointless to try to sleep when her brain was so restless.
Well, she certainly couldn’t go to the library again. What if Sir Frederick was lying in wait for her? He’d kiss her again. She knew if he’d try to she’d be powerless to resist.
Rising, she wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and slipped her feet into warm slippers. Despite the balmy summer weather, it was cold within these stone walls. The windows let in very little light and the silence, when the heavy oak doors closed behind her as she stepped into the passage, was oppressive. How must Pernilla have felt, a prisoner of her father’s, her desires irrelevant to him?
