Page 28 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“ T he apple tree! The next clue is at the apple tree!” Valeria gasped with excitement, tugging on Roger’s sleeve.

He was remarkably slow for someone in the midst of a competition, who had claimed to be competitive. They had discovered four of their eight clues already, yet he continued to drag his feet, as if he was not interested in winning the game at all.

All the while, other guests hared past, yelping and shrieking in the race to find their clues, every shout of “I found one!” tipping fuel onto the blaze of Valeria’s determination to be the victor. Especially as she had just seen Beatrice and Duncan running through the rose garden like hounds were chasing them, with what looked like five of the colorful, folded clues in their possession.

“Are you sure?” Roger asked, frowning down at the latest note.

“ You would not Adam and Eve-it, but perhaps you will see it. It is the season for cider, where else would we hide her? Find your next clue here. ”

Valeria jabbed a finger toward the manor. “Of course it is the apple tree. What else could it be?”

Roger nodded slowly. “I am not denying it is an apple tree, but which one?” He laughed a little. “His Grace has orchards , Miss Maxwell. It must be something else. A painting of an apple tree, perhaps?”

“I know the one,” she said urgently.

“How can you possibly?”

She faltered, realizing at that very moment how she knew the exact tree. It had not occurred to her that Duncan might have had a hand in writing the clues, assuming it had fallen to a member of the staff, or one of the other guests had volunteered.

Did I get these clues on purpose? Is he… still playing games?

A shaky breath escaped her lips, her thoughts threatening to tangle up again. “I walked past one yesterday. It stood out to me, because there was just one—in the courtyard near the stables. It has to be that one, and if it is not, we can reconsider other options.” She paused, putting on a smile. “Trust me, Lord Campbell.”

“Very well,” he replied, his expression softening. “I will, Miss Maxwell, as long as you promise that you will call me ‘Roger.’”

She pulled gently on his sleeve. “Follow me, Roger.”

His face cheered at the sound of his name, but he made no attempt to hasten his pace as they walked together toward the courtyard, close to the servants’ entrance. A place that Valeria knew better than she cared to admit.

“Campbell Hall has extensive grounds,” he said as they made their way across the lawns, leaving the walled gardens where they had found their previous clue. “I wonder if I ought to have a treasure hunt when I host my house party, a few weeks from now. What do you think?”

“I think that is a lovely idea,” Valeria replied, wishing he would hurry up.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Duncan and Beatrice again, sprinting through a set of terrace doors into the manor. They were laughing, both wearing giddy expressions, fully in the spirit of the thrilling hunt… and the jealousy was enough to leave a sour taste in Valeria’s mouth.

“When I have children, I think I would like to arrange treasure hunts for them,” Roger continued with a faraway smile. “Long summer days at the beach, searching for clues, exploring the rockpools, building towers out of sand, savoring a delightful picnic, swimming in the sea. That is a thought that… moves me like no other, for my children to have the childhood that I relished so much.”

Valeria nearly stopped walking, her head twisting away from the manor to stare at Roger. “You are… um… keen to have children?”

“What gentleman is not?” He chuckled as if that were a ludicrous question. “Perhaps, you thought I would not want too many because I have no siblings myself, but that could not be further from the truth. It is the only part of my childhood that I would not want my children to repeat—to be without siblings. If I could have… goodness… ten children, I would. Gladly. Though, I would settle for four or five.”

Valeria felt her eyes widening as her throat tightened, realizing that there were a few of the ‘boring’ questions that she had not bothered to ask. She had been too busy following the lessons that Duncan had taught her, forgetting the basic foundation of a suitable courtship: compatibility.

But… I am not certain I even want children.

Roger must have noticed that she had gone silent, or that she looked as if she had just been struck with a bolt of lightning, for he hastened to add, “As many as my wife would like, is what I meant. It would, of course, be at her discretion. But certainly more than one.”

“What a lovely thing indeed, to spend summer days at the beach,” was all she could say in reply, as she heard a cry explode from inside the manor.

“I found it! Lockie, I found it!” Beatrice’s voice, naming Duncan so… familiarly.

The pair had seemed affable at the luncheon yesterday, though Beatrice had insisted that was not quite the case. Had Valeria missed something? Had Beatrice merely been teasing when she had said she had only been civil for Valeria’s sake? Was there something more between Beatrice and Duncan than she had realized?

Is that why he does not want me to be his bride, because he has already chosen another? A younger, wealthier, prettier, livelier alternative?

“Hurry, Roger,” Valeria urged, hitching up her skirts in a most unladylike fashion, as she broke free of her partner and started running for the apple tree.

She was just passing the cedar where Duncan had given her a minor apoplexy that morning, dropping down to the ground without warning as if he had fallen, when the man himself burst out onto the terrace, a short distance off to her right. Beatrice hurried out behind him, grinning as she grasped his arm, holding onto him as if they already belonged to one another.

Valeria was too busy staring at them to watch where she was putting her hurrying feet, and did not notice the loop of a protruding root until she was already flying through the air.

There was no time to right herself, her hands barely shooting out in time to break her embarrassing fall as she hit the ground.

“Miss Maxwell!” Roger cried out, somewhere behind her.

“Cousin!” Beatrice yelped from the terrace.

Winded and mortified, Valeria considered just staying there, face down in the grass, until the roots grew over her and hid her from view. It would likely take a few decades; that would surely be long enough for everyone to forget what they had seen, and for her to forget her embarrassment.

She felt, rather than heard, the dull thud of frantic footfalls. A moment later, tentative hands were holding her by the arms, attempting to turn her over onto her back.

“Miss Maxwell,” it was Roger’s worried voice, “are you well? Are you hurt? Are you in any pain?”

Groaning, Valeria helped Roger’s valiant efforts by rolling herself onto her back, hoping he might mistake the red of her cheeks for scrapes and bruises.

“Are you well?” the poor man repeated, frowning down at her, haloed by the sunlight that sliced down through the cedar branches.

Her foot throbbed where it had collided with the tree root but, for now, nothing else seemed to hurt. Truly, she would have preferred to be knocked unconscious, rather than have to deal with the fuss of her own silly accident.

Just then, a shadow blotted out Roger’s haloed shape, moving him aside with a stern, “Fetch ice from the kitchens, Lord Campbell. They brought some in this morning, so there should still be some to use.”

“Ice… Yes, of course. Ice,” Roger mumbled, hesitating.

“At once, man!” Duncan barked. “And ensure it is wrapped in cloth, so it does not burn her skin.”

Jolting in alarm, Roger took off, out of Valeria’s view.

“That was… rude of you,” she wheezed, dazzled by the shafts of sunlight overhead.

Duncan knelt beside her, showing no hesitation whatsoever as he began to remove her shoes. “I was not rude. He was flustered, he needed a distraction, and you need ice for this foot, so I gave him something to do.”

“Do not… take my shoes off,” she pleaded quietly. “People will be watching. Allow me my dignity.”

His soft, warm chuckle heated up her cheeks even more. “I need to see what harm has been done. Do not worry about what everyone else is doing. If they want to stare at your feet, that is their problem.”

She did not know whether to laugh or hide her face with her hands, though she did not protest or struggle as Duncan removed her shoes and set them neatly beside him. And as he slowly rolled down the stocking of her injured foot, she forced her gaze elsewhere, needing a distraction of her own.

She could not, and would not, allow herself to concentrate on the tenderness of his touch or the worried furrow of his brow or the scandal of what he was doing. Were it not an emergency that anyone present could easily understand and forgive, she would have kicked him.

“There is a bruise coming up,” he told her.

She stared up into the cedar branches. “It feels like that is probably true. My foot has gained a heart of its own, and it is beating rather hard.”

“I will have to carry you inside, and a physician should be sent for,” he said, as something high above caught Valeria’s distracted eye.

Tied to the bough, a little higher than the one Duncan had climbed to earlier, was a golden square. It fluttered like a flag as the wind swept through the branches, rustling the needle-like leaves, wafting the earthy, comforting scent of the wood across the grounds.

“The treasure was there all along,” she whispered, struck with a thrill so intense that it washed away the pain in her foot. “You minx, Duncan. It was there all along!”

She propelled herself up into a sitting position, shoving away Duncan’s hands as he tried to still her. Grinning like a madwoman, she lumbered to her feet and promptly limped toward the base of the tree, certain she could climb it without feeling a thing. All that mattered was winning that prize.

“Valery, what on earth are you doing?” Duncan grasped her by the ribbon of her dress, pulling her back.

“I am going to win,” she replied, tugging away from him, searching for a suitable handhold.

He wedged himself between her and the trunk, holding her by the shoulders, his expression sterner than she had ever seen it. His dark blue eyes clouded over, his lips set in a grim line. “You just fell over, and rather hard at that; your foot is bruised, you are certainly winded, and you might have hit your head without realizing—there is not a single chance that I am letting you climb a tree in this condition.”

“I have to get it, Duncan,” she insisted, peering up at the fluttering beacon of victory.

He held her at arm’s length, expelling a frustrated sigh. “Very well, I will fetch it for you.”

“Absolutely not! You will take it for yourself,” she protested, though, now that she thought about it, the clue was rather high up. And her head was swimming.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I promise, I will not take it for myself. That prize is yours. I am a man of my word—and, after all, I still owe you a debt—so stand back and let me get it for you.”

“Did you know it was up there?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced up to where the ‘treasure’ flapped in the wind. “Surprisingly, no. In fact, I shall have to have words with the staff who put it up there. I am certain I said nowhere high or dangerous, but… I suppose even the grass can be dangerous to some.”

“Yes, very amusing,” she muttered, stepping back at last.

With her safely remaining on solid ground, Duncan began to climb the mighty cedar with all the grace and agility she had missed that morning. He moved with the confidence of someone who had made his way up that tree a thousand times, prompting her to wonder what he had been like as a boy.

Had he climbed that same tree with his brother? Had they reclined in its shade after a long day of adventuring? Did he still climb it when no one was around to see, remembering bygone days?

She still did not know what he had been about to say to her last night, before they were rudely and terrifyingly interrupted by those drunken gentlemen, but it pertained to that lost brother somehow. What she had no idea about was how that pertained to her.

He hoisted himself up onto a narrower bough, the muscles across his back straining the seams of his tailcoat, his arms bulging with the effort, though he made it look effortless. Maybe she had hit her head, but she could not draw her eyes away, admiring his athletic prowess.

Straddling the bough where it met the trunk, he untied the ‘treasure’ and waved it with a smile. “Do you want to read it or shall I?”

“Drop it down to me!” she insisted, holding her hands up.

He shrugged. “As you wish.”

He let the golden note fall, the paper lilting back and forth through the air like an autumn leaf, drifting down to the eagerly grasping hands of the victor.

Snatching it out of the air before it reached the grass, Valeria held it to her chest for a moment, breathless with exhilaration.

“What does it say?” Duncan called down, as he turned himself around to make his descent.

“Is that not something you should already know?” she replied, laughing as she cracked the seal on the back of the paper and prepared to read out the winning word.

He swung down to the next bough. “I told you, the staff arranged it.”

“I do not believe you,” she countered. “One of my clues was in the apple tree, and I know that was not coincidence.”

“I assure you, it was,” he replied, glancing toward the ground for a moment to mark his path down. “Come on, do not leave me in suspense. What does it say? Tell me the words and I will fetch your prize, while also seeing what is taking the viscount so long.”

Still not quite believing him, but unable to restrain herself any more, Valeria opened out the golden paper… and frowned at the words inked inside. “Is this a jest of some kind?”

“I do not know,” he replied, climbing downward. “I promise you, faithfully, that I did not write it. So, what does it say?”

Perhaps, she should have waited until he had reached the ground, but her desire to know if it was a trick of some kind overwhelmed her common sense. As did her desire to know if, perhaps, it was not a trick at all, but a grand gesture to undo all of the confusion and hurt he had inflicted.

“Will you marry me?” she said.

Duncan’s foot slipped, his hands scrabbling for purchase that was not there. Seemingly in slow motion, he fell from the tree, while Valeria watched helplessly, unable to do a thing to break his fall.

He landed on the grass, his left leg buckling as his feet struck the earth. Yet, unlike Valeria, he managed to keep his balance, leaning into the tree for support as he muttered rude, pained things under his breath.

“Are you hurt?” Valeria gasped, closing the gap between them, hurrying to pull his arm around her shoulders. “Goodness, I am so very sorry. I should have held my tongue until you had climbed down.”

Duncan stared at her, saying nothing.

“Duncan?” she urged. “What is wrong? What hurts?”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows, his lips moving as if he were chewing his words before he spoke them. “Why did you ask me that?”

“What?”

“What you just said, two minutes ago—why did you say that?”

Immediately, she understood the confusion, a fresh bout of guilt twisting in her stomach as she realized what she had done. He could have been seriously injured because of her foolishness, saying such a thing while he was in the middle of climbing down a tree.

“It is what was written on the paper,” she explained, flustered, showing him the ‘treasure.’

He shifted his weight onto the foot that had not taken as much of the impact, his eyes narrowing as he read the golden paper. “Why on earth would that be the treasure?” He raised his gaze to her. “This is not it, Valery. The winning words were supposed to be: Seven Splendid Sausages Sizzling in the Sun. I just wanted to hear you say them.”

At that moment, someone cleared their throat, drawing the attention of the bewildered pair.

One hand holding a chunk of dripping ice wrapped in a cloth, Roger raised the other tentatively. “I believe that note is mine,” he said, in a sheepish voice that matched his red-cheeked face. “It was a final clue for Miss Maxwell; rather, a question that I have been meaning to ask.”