Page 85 of Never Beguile a Duke

“That guest,” Silas said, placing a calming hand on Mansfield’s shoulder, “has been expelled from my residence. However, if you’re still out of sorts, you can forego the pheasant hunt.”

“And allow Grisham to best me without challenging him?” Mansfield shook his head, his narrowed gaze finding the aforementioned man. “The last time, I had to listen to him boast about his kills for a month. He won’t win a second time.”

“Today’s event is pairs.” Silas ambled toward the head of the table. “Which man do you trust to support your endeavor?”

Mansfield cursed. “Who else is participating?”

“Every man in attendance, with the exception of Warwick and Mr. Venning, who’ve opted to play cards while we traipse around the frozen grounds like fools.”

A smile cracked Mansfield’s hard façade. “Warwick’s prose?”

“You know him so well.” Silas sat beside the chair Mansfield had previously vacated. “If I may offer a suggestion?”

Grunting, Mansfield dropped into his chair.

“Select the man you have the least desire to defeat.” Silas nodded toward the opposite end of the table. “Perhaps Mr. Braddock.”

“No.”

Mansfield’s quick dismissal drew a frown to Silas’ mouth. “How has Mr. Braddock managed to offend you with such a short time of introduction?”

“I lost a wager to him and had to fill in as chaperone for Miss Braddock for the whole of yesterday.” Mansfield snatched his fork from the table and stabbed a bite of egg.

Silas swallowed his laughter. “Grisham and Lennox are not suitable companions for you either, then.”

“Neither is Roxburghe.” Mansfield speared another egg.

“Unless you know of another visitor who hasn’t arrived, you’ve discounted your choices to me,” Silas said, lifting his mug and blowing on the hot liquid. “And I am not foolish enough to think myself a great hunter.”

“I don’t need you to shoot the birds.” Mansfield daubed his mouth with a linen napkin. “I just need you to scare them out of the thicket.”

“I’m to act as a dog?” Silas asked, glowering at Mansfield over the rim of the cup.

Mansfield chortled, picked up his coffee, and saluted Silas.

An hour later, wagers set, the men gathered at the front of the house and then dispersed, each duo heading in a different direction. Despite Mansfield’s misgivings, he agreed to begin their search near the grove of trees behind Silas’ residence.

“What a peculiar set of tracks.” Mansfield knelt in the snow and studied an elongated indentation, roughly three meters from the stables. “It appears as though something was dragged across the grounds.”

“A wolf, perhaps.” Silas crouched beside Mansfield. “Although I haven’t seen any for several weeks.”

“These marks are too deep to have been caused by something as slight as a wolf.” Standing, Mansfield shifted his rifle into his dominant hand. “We should follow the imprint. If the animal is wounded, we will end its suffering.”

Nodding, Silas rose and fell into step with Mansfield, the two of them trudging silently toward the main thoroughfare. However, when they reached the road, the trail vanished.

“Did it fly away?” Silas asked, his head swiveling back and forth.

“Either that or it waved down a hackney.” A deep line carved its way across Mansfield’s forehead. “The tracks began by your stables. Perhaps the creature sought the warmth of the structure.”

They slogged back across the icy tundra. In the distance, gunshots rang out.

“Damn,” Mansfield muttered, glancing to his right.

“Sound doesn’t indicate a kill,” Silas replied as two more bangs echoed across the grounds; even he didn’t believe himself.

The origin of the marks revealed no further information, and after searching the area for another hour, they gave up their quest and returned to the house without firing one bullet.

Lennox met them in the foyer. “It appears your luck was as terrible as ours.”