Page 120 of The Meaning of Love
Julian simply waited.
Damian huffed. “You know that comment of yours about how being a part of the family has its benefits?” When Gordon frowned and, puzzled, nodded, Damian continued, “Taken in the context of the accidents, it doesn’t sound good, does it? I’m sure you can see how it appears from our point of view—indeed, the point of view of anyone who hears those words and knows of the current situation.”
Gordon grimaced. “It isn’t that—what Felix said—I swear.” He looked at the brothers, and they looked back. With not an ounce of softness between them, Julian and Felix remained silent and immovable, while Damian had planted his hands on his hips and was leaning forward on the balls of his feet, as if debating whether or not to launch himself at Gordon and beat the answers from him.
Gordon sighed and surrendered. “If you must know, I placed a wager on Melissa marrying Julian before the engagement was announced.” Color flooded his face as he darted a glance at Melissa, and his expression turned wary. “There was a book—a long-standing wager—on you marrying, you see. On who would finally win you.”
He fixed his eyes on her face rather than look at the three men. “The wager had been registered years back—must’ve been in your second Season—and the sums ventured had accumulated over the years. I even thought to back myself, the return would be that huge. But when I left you and Julian in Lady Connaught’s gazebo, well, I knew that the old ladies would turn up, and knowing Julian, what would likely happen then.” He shrugged. “So I thought it was worth putting in a bet. I left Connaught House and went straight to the club holding the book and entered a wager that Julian would be the one to marry you.” His expression still wary, Gordon glanced at Julian. “And you did marry, so I won.”
When Gordon looked back at Melissa, bemused, she slowly shook her head. “I have no idea how I feel about being the subject of such a wager, but I gather you weren’t the one to start it?”
Adamantly, Gordon shook his head. “No, no. I don’t even know who did.”
“How much did you win?” Damian asked.
Gordon met his gaze, and his face lit. “Over four thousand pounds.”
“Good Lord.” Damian looked as if he was wishing he had known about the wager.
“Back to the accidents.” Julian’s dry tone reclaimed everyone’s attention. His gaze once more pinning Gordon, Julian asked, “Do you know anything at all about them?”
Gordon sobered and straightened, and for quite the first time, Melissa saw some resemblance to the other Delamere men. Unflinchingly, Gordon met Julian’s gaze. “This is the first time I’ve heard anything about these accidents, and I swear I have no idea who’s behind them.”
“Hmm.” Damian grimaced. “Well, you see, cuz, the problem we have with that is that the person who was responsible for the bookcase falling in the Carsely House study and the punt springing a leak on the lake here is none other than Manning, the valet you recommended to me, who, incidentally, doesn’t know how to iron a shirt.”
Gordon blanched. “What?”
“You heard me.” Damian glowered at Gordon. “You were responsible for planting one of the attackers into my service and, through that, into the Carsely House household and also the household here. You were instrumental in putting him in a position to harm Julian, Melissa, and Felix, too.” Damian jutted his chin aggressively. “So what do you have to say about that?”
His expression blank again, Gordon blinked and blinked, then finally said, “Oh.”
He lowered his gaze, and from his expression, it was clear the situation was clarifying in his brain.
“Now you understand why we wanted a word,” Julian smoothly—and faintly menacingly—said.
“But”—Gordon looked up and met Julian’s gaze, then glanced at Felix and Damian—“it wasn’t me.” He grimaced. “I mean, it was me who told Damian about Manning, but it was Findlay-Wright who mentioned Manning to me. I happened to let fall that Damian was looking for a man, and Findlay-Wright said he might know someone suitable, then a few days later, he told me about Manning, and I passed the information on to Damian.”
“Findlay-Wright.” Julian stared unseeing at Gordon as, in his mental jigsaw, several new pieces clicked into place.
“Oh, God!”
Julian refocused to see Gordon looking paler and sicker than he had at any point previously.
His eyes wide, Gordon locked his gaze with Julian’s. “He—Findlay-Wright—brought two brace of pistols with him. I couldn’t understand why, and when I asked, he fobbed me off, but I think—”
Crack!
Wood splintered behind Julian, and he whirled to see Melissa, shocked and stunned, staring at her elbow.
Drawn in by Gordon’s urgency, she’d stepped closer at the crucial instant. Instead of hitting her, the ball had scorched the velvet covering the back of her arm, then gone on to hit a tree.
“Get down!” Julian reached her in one stride, swept her into his arms, and hauled her down beside him to hunker in the lee of the old woodpile.
She gulped and whispered, “I’m all right. He missed.” Her voice quavered slightly, but when he met her eyes, he saw an anger to match his rising in the midnight depths.
Reassured, he glanced around. Gordon was hunched on his other side, and Felix and Damian had taken cover in the trees.
Julian looked at Gordon. “Four pistols?”
