Page 27 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
A fter a stressful night of worrying and cursing her stupidity, pleading with the heavens that she would suffer no devastating consequences for her misstep, Valeria walked out into the warm morning with her mind made up.
I will ignore him completely. I will pretend we are strangers again, unknown to one another.
The push and pull between them had become too much. It was exhausting, and if she continued to play that game of emotional, confusing tug-of-war, it would only tangle her mind into greater knots until, eventually, she would not be able to unravel them.
“Have you heard?” Roger came bounding up to her, carrying the refreshed air of someone who had not tossed and turned all night.
Fanning herself, Valeria humored him, briefly grateful that the first man she had seen was not Duncan. “Heard what, dear viscount?”
“We are to have a treasure hunt!” He grinned boyishly; it was so endearing that she began to remember why she had liked him as an acquaintance in the first place.
“Goodness, are we really?” A very real prickle of excitement ignited her own childish delight. “I cannot remember the last time I went on a treasure hunt. Oh, this is good news indeed! And the grounds are so expansive, it is bound to last a fair while.”
Roger nodded, lowering his gaze in a shy expression. “I… had hoped that you might partner with me, Miss Maxwell. We are to search for the clues in pairs, you see, and… well, I wanted to make sure that no one got to you ahead of me.”
“No one has,” she told him, smiling.
I could be happy with such a man, could I not? She decided not to answer that for herself, preferring delusion.
“It is just that… well, I know you were conversing a great deal with William last night, and he has made no secret of his interest.” Roger paused, chewing his lower lip in consternation. “I fear that I have not been the best suitor that I could be, Miss Maxwell, and I should like to remedy that.”
Valeria resisted the urge to pat him on the back as if he were a child in need of reassurance. “You have been perfectly pleasant, Lord Campbell.”
“But I have not,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can and I will do better, Miss Maxwell, to be worthy of your acquaintance. You gave me a lot to think about after the last ball we attended together. Since that night, I…” He gave an awkward laugh that colored his cheeks. “Well, the truth is, since that night I have been reading all about steam engines.”
She stared at him, her mouth falling open. He had mentioned nothing of such research at the luncheon yesterday. Indeed, he had not said much to her at all while they dined, though perhaps that had more to do with the fact that William had monopolized her attention with his champagne-fueled ramblings.
“It is fascinating,” he continued, almost wincing at her, as if expecting a dismissive reply. “Of course, I understand that you have other interests, but… if you would like to discuss steam engines, we can do so as we hunt for clues.”
Valeria could not stop the laugh that bubbled up the back of her throat and spilled out onto the terrace, turning Roger’s wince into a wide-eyed look of utter dismay.
“You do not want to?” he asked flatly.
She shook her head, fanning the heat of her amusement away with greater vigor. “I should be glad to, Lord Campbell. I was not laughing at you, I promise. I was… so charmed that I could not help but giggle, for you do not know how long I have wished a gentleman would say that to me.”
His face brightened again, his stiff shoulders relaxing. “Then, let us join the others and begin our hunt.” He offered his arm proudly. “Although, I should warn you, I am rather competitive. I mean for the two of us to win.”
“How excellent,” Valeria replied, taking his proffered arm. “I intend for us to triumph, too.”
After last night, more than ever, she was determined to make it to the aisle before Duncan. It was no longer just a matter of household necessity, but of mental necessity, before Duncan’s behavior drove her to the brink of madness.
She could not risk throwing everything away for a gentleman who did not feel the same, even if it pained her to marry another, and to see Duncan, in turn, marry a woman that he did deem worthy. A woman he actually wanted.
I have dallied enough .
Romance was for fairytales and friends; it was time for her to set such hopes aside and play a game of courtship that she could win. And with two players at the figurative card table, waiting for her to draw or discard, it was up to her to make the deciding move.
“If everyone is gathered, I shall announce the rules!” Duncan called out from the bough of a cedar that he had climbed to make certain he had the entire group’s attention.
A good-natured grumble made its way through the congregation, allowing him a moment to scour the guests for the only one he cared to see.
“It is a treasure hunt, Lockie, not chess! How many rules can there be?” Lionel shouted back from the crowd, gaining a chuckle from the guests.
But Duncan’s customary smile faded as he found her, not among the guests where he had expected her to be, but walking along the terrace on Roger’s arm. They were alone, unchaperoned; a closeness between them that he was certain had not been there before. She leaned into Roger as they strolled together, her arm looped through his, gazing up at him as they chatted.
You should be glad, Duncan reminded himself, his nerves still on edge after the near-miss of the night before.
However, observing Valeria and Roger, he half-wished he had let the drunkards discover them by the meadow, as an unpleasant pinch caught him under the ribs. A feeling he would never admit to, for what right did a rake have to be a jealous man?
“What are you waiting for?” someone else shouted, snapping his attention back to his task.
He clapped his hands together, swinging his legs. “I was just counting heads, making sure we were not missing anyone.”
He made a point of not looking at Valeria, so he would not draw any attention to the pair as they joined the rear of the group. The undeniably charming couple slipped seamlessly into company with Valeria’s father, Beatrice, Amelia, and Lionel, while no one else noticed at all.
“Once you have partnered into pairs, you will be given your first clues,” he explained, putting on his usual grin. “All of the clues are different, to ensure that you dastardly imps do not cheat!”
Laughter rippled toward him, while a few sour faces spoke of scuppered plans.
“There are eight clues per pair, and the first to find their last clue and run to this tree to shout the word wins!” he concluded, relishing the gasp from the crowd as he dropped down from the bough, landing with catfooted grace on the grass below.
A few ladies applauded vigorously, but his gaze flew straight to Valeria. She had paled, her hand to her heart, breathing fast. If he had been closer, he knew she would have scolded him for such antics, hurling them back into a fresh quarrel.
He would not have minded that.
“Lockie, what is the prize?” an old schoolfriend asked to his right.
He smirked and put a finger to his lips. “It is a secret but, I can promise you, it will be worth winning.” He smacked his hands together in a thunderclap, making a few people jump. “May the best pair win! Once you hear the trumpet, let the hunt begin!”
The group began to frantically split off—friends grabbing friends, wives grabbing husbands, gentlemen hurriedly pleading their case to the unwed ladies of the party, all undoubtedly worried about being left behind without a partner. Amused by the scene, Duncan realized that he would have to make his choice too. The trouble was, the lady he wanted was already taken, claimed by the mild-mannered Lord Campbell.
“You!” a now-familiar voice shouted, as the young lady it belonged to weaved through the crowd to get to him.
“I believe ‘Your Grace’ is considered more polite,” he replied with a smile, for though they had not begun on the best of terms, Beatrice Johnson had a mysterious way of eroding one’s misgivings. It was like trying to be angry with the rain for ruining a picnic; there was simply no point.
Beatrice shrugged. “There is no hierarchy in a treasure hunt, Your Grace. It is every pair for themselves.” She grabbed his arm, making his decision for him. “And you are the host—that means you know where all the clues are already. You, Duke, are the obvious choice.”
“I have no idea where the clues will be,” he insisted, gaining a mock-withering look from her.
“Nonsense. Of course you do. Even if you do not, no one knows these grounds like you do, and I should like to have at least one triumph this Season, even if it is just a box of candied fruits.” She flashed him a wink. “So, sound that trumpet and let’s begin.”
She would truly be ideal, he mused for a second time. She could not have cared less about him, and as long as she had money and entertainment and distractions, he imagined they would happily live completely separate lives. Free to do as they pleased, with whomever they pleased, uninterested and unaffected by the idea of love.
A strange pain jabbed him in the middle of his chest, discomfort creeping up the back of his neck, pouring a chill into his brain. Tilting his head from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the sensation, one glance back at Roger and Valeria revealed the source.
Valeria looked away quickly, and he guessed she must have been scowling at him. Either that, or the prospect of living the life of a rake no longer appealed the way it once had, and his mind and heart were letting him know with a firm kick.
He looked again at Beatrice with objective eyes, seeing the single, glaring flaw in asking her to be his duchess: She was her cousin.
Unsettled by the cold feeling that lingered in his chest and skull, he raised his hand to the footman, who was standing by with a trumpet poised. Eagerly, the man blasted the instrument, the sound echoing across the sun-drenched grounds of Thornhill Grange.
The hunt had begun.