Chapter 14

14

Of all the insufferable, despicable, horrific, painful tortures Drake could devise, parlour games might be at the top of his list. Therefore, it made perfect sense Patricia had planned an afternoon of such diversions to combat the bad weather.

I need to make the best of it. With all of us crammed in here, it’s prime time to observe St George and see who he talks to. I only have three days left.

Millie was proving quite the distraction to his mission. He needed to crack on with the case or risk displeasing the prime minister. Even if it meant participating in ridiculous games. Drake would prefer standing in the sleet and rain, stripped to his skin, forced to suffer the freezing temperatures than endure an afternoon of charades, blind man’s buff, and pass the slipper. Yet here he was in his cosy front parlour, standing in the centre of a ring of idiots, trying to determine who held a slipper behind their back, all in the hopes of capturing a killer.

Millie kept her gaze focused on Drake’s earlobe instead of his eyes. Dead giveaway.

‘Miss Millicent, I believe you have the slipper.’ Drake raised his scarred eyebrow at the beautiful redhead.

She pulled both hands from behind her back, holding her palms out for all to see. Empty.

Ivy pulled her hands out, a pink slipper held in her left. ‘It was me. I had the slipper.’

‘Ugh. I’m sick of this game.’ Nora rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s play something new. I know! Forfeit. And because I came up with it, I shall be the judge.’

Patricia clapped her hands, blonde ringlets bouncing with enthusiasm. ‘Capital plan!’

St George stood close to Patricia. If only she were his partner in crime. Drake would happily haul them both in front of the House of Lords to receive their punishments. Not that a secret brotherhood would allow any woman into their circle, even one as diabolical as Patricia.

‘I shall get a bowl to deposit our items.’ St George winked at Patricia, who giggled like a brainless moron.

‘Nora, you wait out in the hall.’ Patricia pointed to the door, and Nora quickly spun around and made her exit.

The duchess had declared parlour games to be asinine. Instead, she was sipping whiskey and watching the others, her red lips crimped in mild disgust.

‘Forfeit is a dangerous game unless you truly trust the players.’ Philippa arched a black eyebrow. ‘One might lose something of great importance if they aren’t willing to complete the task assigned.’

‘Of course, we trust one another.’ Godric’s waistcoat for the afternoon was a robin-egg blue. His pants were wool and dyed a glaring lime. Drake felt slightly ill looking at him. ‘Most of us are family or close enough. I hardly imagine we’d pilfer items from each other.’

Philippa stared at Godric until the man’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson, clashing terribly with his waistcoat and pants.

‘In my experience, family is the most dangerous.’ Philippa’s voice carried throughout the silent room.

Patricia’s tinkling laughter broke the spell. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! The most danger we face is Millicent stepping on someone’s toes with her large feet.’

Drake glared at Millie’s stepmother.

Patricia – oblivious to the threat she faced – held up a gorgeously inlaid box of dark wood decorated with jade that St George had found. ‘Quick, everyone put something in the box before Nora returns.’

Patricia, Ivy, Godric, St George, and Renquist fumbled for small personal items to place into the box.

Millie stepped closer to Drake, speaking low enough that no one else heard her. ‘Thank you, Beau, but there’s no need to fight with Patricia. Her words are harmless.’ She bit her lip. She was lying about something, but exactly what mystified Drake. How could Patricia’s words possibly harm Millie? Unless Patricia knew something about his betrothed. Something Millie refused to tell him.

Like working with Philippa on some dangerous investigation.

It pained Drake to think Patricia knew more than him on any subject. But worse was the idea that she might hold a threat over Millie.

‘Her words might find her on the wrong end of my pistol if she isn’t careful. I owe her for every lash on your back.’ He wanted to reach out and touch her arm, reassure himself she was well, and near, and his.

But she isn’t mine. Nor am I hers. And that is a good thing.

‘Trust me, she isn’t worth a murder conviction.’ Millie reached up and took an earring from her left ear. The intimacy of the movement had Drake aching in unusual places. His heart for one, as he imagined her completing such a simple task while preparing to join him in his bed. Which was where he wanted her. Not just to strip her naked and lick every delicious inch of her cream and cinnamon skin, but to hold her against him, to cradle her strong body with his, to press his nose into her hair and inhale her into him as if he could capture a fragment of her soul and keep it safe inside.

His heart didn’t flutter any more. It fractured. Every time she was near. And in the cracks and crevices, something terrifying leaked out.

It is just affection. Lust.

He liked her. And that was the trouble. Because he also respected her, desired her, bloody-well admired the woman.

Fuck. I’m in trouble.

‘What will you put in the box, Major General Drake? A button, perhaps? Lint from your pocket?’ The teasing glint in her eyes caused his chest to tighten. God, she was breathtaking when she teased him.

Drake searched his pockets, but he didn’t even have a farthing. He was loathe to tear a button from his coat, so instead, he twisted off the signet ring that once belonged to his father.

Millie’s eyes grew wide. ‘Surely not, my lord. It’s far too valuable.’

‘My brother said family would never steal from each other. Let’s put his theory to the test.’

He watched as Millie’s body grew rigid. She patted down her skirt, fingered the gold chain around her neck, then worried at an opal ring on her middle finger. It was beautifully set in gold. ‘Perhaps you could borrow something of mine instead.’ She twisted the opal ring off. ‘Here. Take this.’

Drake shook his head. ‘I couldn’t possibly. It looks far too important.’

‘Not any more than your signet ring. It was a gift from my father when I was but five and ten. Please, take it. A keepsake from your fiancée. Surely, you won’t deny me the pleasure of giving you a gift.’

I can’t seem to deny you anything.

Which was a huge problem. He needed to keep his distance from her, but it was becoming more and more impossible.

‘Pleasure is the one thing I’d never deny you, Millie.’ He couldn’t stop the gravel in his voice or the thickening of his cock as he imagined all the ways he could repay her for such a sweet gift.

Lust. That is all. Once we get our fill of each other, the need will fade.

He still hadn’t forgiven himself for making the previous evening such an unmitigated disaster. After his brutish behaviour, he thought it best to give Millie some space despite urgent protests from certain appendages.

‘Truly, you are a wicked man.’ She lowered her gaze as her cheeks heated. He loved making her blush. And he was relieved she seemed to have forgiven him for his harsh words the night before. Perhaps he could put his theory to the test tonight. Indulging in his need for Millie, letting her do the same, surely that was the best way to purge himself of this incessant hunger.

‘Ah, Nora is back. Who has the box?’ Patricia’s green gaze swept across the room, landing on Drake and Millie.

Drake took the ring from Millie’s hand, savouring the sensation of his fingers brushing over hers. He dropped it in the box and shook the items around before walking over to Nora and handing the box to her. She licked her lips and smiled, her eyes offering an invitation he would never accept.

‘Right, let’s begin. I’ll guess which object belongs to each of you. If I’m right, you owe me whatever forfeit I choose. If I’m wrong, you get your item back. Ready?’ Nora’s gaze never left Drake, but he spun on his heel and reclaimed his place next to Millie.

Leaning closer to his betrothed, inhaling the scent of citrus and cotton, he whispered in her ear, ‘I see your game. She’s unlikely to guess that ring belongs to me. You devious woman.’

Millie’s warm eyes sparkled at him in the waning light. ‘Didn’t you claim all women are devious, my lord? I’m just hoping to live up to your expectations.’

Drake swallowed. He told Millie that, the night she lured him out to the veranda. How wrong he’d been about her! He wished they were alone, so that he could apologise to her for his cold behaviour on that night, and his far too heated behaviour last night. But Nora moved into the centre of the room and pulled out the first item. The game had begun.

Nora surprised him with her clever judging. She was able to guess almost every item. Patricia’s was a garish peacock feather covered in goldleaf to match her over-the-top golden gown. Renquist gave a half-smoked cigar, Godric a guinea, St George a poker chip, and Ivy a broach. Unfortunately for Drake, the opal ring was the last item in the box. It was clear he was the owner of the ring.

‘Beaufort, I don’t recall you being so fond of women’s jewellery in the past. This is your ring, is it not?’ Nora raised both brows at him, holding the ring out in her palm.

Drake tried not to be charmed by the possessive growl Millie made as Nora approached them.

‘You are correct. It is mine. Given to me by a very special woman.’ Drake turned to Millie and winked. Instead of noticing his playful gesture, Millie’s narrowed gaze remained focused on Nora. Like a sharpshooter sizing up a target.

Good Lord, she is fearsome.

The flutter was back, and with it, a liquid warmth spreading from his chest to the rest of his body. Even his toes tingled with this strange new feeling.

‘What is my forfeit?’ Drake returned his gaze to Nora, whose lips spread in a smile reminiscent of a cat who caught the mouse.

Damnation. This is not going to end well.

‘A kiss, Beaufort. For old time’s sake.’

Patricia’s tinkling giggle almost drowned out Godric’s blustering exclamation.

‘Nora, that’s a bit beyond the pale, wouldn’t you say?’ Godric broke from the circle to approach his wife.

‘Darling, please. It’s just a game.’ Nora patted her husband on the cheek, leaning forward to give him a peck where her hand had just rested. ‘Unless you don’t trust me?’

‘Of course I trust you, it’s just?—’

‘Wonderful.’ She turned back to Beaufort. ‘So, what is it to be, Beaufort? A little kiss to return your precious ring, or shall you forfeit such a heartfelt memento to me?’ Nora’s eyes flashed with something nearly feral. It was a bold play, bordering on scandalous. No matter what Drake chose, he lost.

‘I’d like to offer another solution.’ Millie stepped forward, placing herself between Drake and Nora.

Blast and bugger. She’s going to challenge Nora to a duel. Can women even issue such a challenge?

It didn’t matter. Drake might not know his fiancée well, but he knew she wouldn’t give a fig about the beau monde’s rules on who was and was not allowed to demand a duel.

Nora smiled at Millie, a vicious expression nearly as deadly as the daggers Millie threw at Nora with her sharp gaze.

‘How valiant of you to sweep in and save your betrothed’s honour. I’m all ears.’

Millie tipped her chin at the far wall where a leather dart board hung. It was something Drake kept from the war. A game the soldiers loved to play and one pleasant memory he still retained from such a horrific time in his life.

‘A game of darts between us. If I win, Beau keeps the ring. If you win, you get your kiss, and you keep the ring. What say you?’

An almost visible thread of tension stretched between Nora and Millie. Everyone in the room fell silent. Drake glanced at Reynard and saw his gaze bouncing between both women, a faint smile on his lips. Of course he would find this amusing. He didn’t have to deal with the outcome of Millie losing and then attacking Nora, as Drake was certain she would, or Nora losing and throwing the ring into the fire, as she no doubt might try.

‘I accept.’ Nora’s wide grin ratcheted up Drake’s apprehension. She shouldn’t look so pleased. Something was amiss. ‘Whoever hits their dart closest to the centre?’

‘Lovely. Best of three?’ Millie’s husky voice was rigid as she rolled her shoulders.

‘Of course.’ Nora blinked slowly before sauntering to the dart board.

‘I say. How exciting to see two such lovely ladies pitted against each other in a game of skill.’ St George licked his lips, and Drake restrained himself from issuing his own invitation to duel.

Millie followed Nora to the dart board, and the rest of the party formed a half circle around them, except for Godric. He stalked over to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of brandy. Not his first of the afternoon.

‘You first, Nora. I insist.’ Millie handed Nora three darts. They were a gift from Killian to Drake and beautifully hewn, with nickel barrels and steel tips.

Nora took the darts, winking at Millie before she turned to stand in front of the board. She gave a few test flicks of her wrist.

Damn. She knows what she’s about.

Drake was familiar with sizing up an opponent from their stance and hold on the dart. Surprisingly, Nora looked like an expert. This did not bode well.

Holding her arm at a ninety-degree angle, Nora pulled her forearm back and let the dart fly. It spiralled through the air, landing in the middle right quadrant. A good shot. She looked over her shoulder at Millie. ‘Oh, did I forget to tell you? I love darts. I play at home all the time. Godric bought me my own board for a birthday gift last year, didn’t you, darling?’

Godric took a healthy sip of brandy, refusing to answer his wife. But his face was flushed, and his lips pressed together in a white line as he swallowed.

Nora threw her other two darts in quick succession. One landed in the lower right quadrant, not quite as accurate. But the third was just left of centre. Almost a bull’s eye.

Fuck.

Drake would need to find an excuse to avoid kissing Nora at all costs while still reclaiming Millie’s ring. Short of screaming fire and grabbing the ring from Nora while he ran for the door, he was completely flummoxed.

‘Your turn.’ Nora sauntered past Millie, whose face had paled slightly.

Drake would have cut off his damaged leg if it would protect his fiancée from embarrassment. But he was helpless to save her from what was sure to be a devastating loss.

Millie stood in the same spot Nora vacated. She rolled her shoulders, testing the weight of the dart in her hand. But instead of gripping the dart between her thumb and forefinger in the middle of the shaft, she held the base of the dart just before the flight. Her position was also wrong. She didn’t hold her arm at a ninety-degree angle but instead let it rest against her thigh.

Patricia’s bell-like laughter filled the room. ‘The silly girl isn’t even holding it right,’ she crowed.

‘Of course not. When has Millie ever played a game of darts?’ St George smiled at Millie like an indulgent father.

Drake was torn between glaring at Patricia and plotting St George’s imminent demise. He noticed Philippa at the edge of the room. She was watching Millie, a small smile curling her lips.

What the Devil is going on here?

Thwack!

Drake turned his head sharply back to the dart board. Millie’s dart still quivered from the force of her throw. It was buried dead centre in the board. The crowd gasped.

Millie took the next dart and, in a movement so fast, he could barely track her, she flicked her arm out like someone brandishing a whip. The dart flew like a bullet. Drake watched it slam into the leather, almost knocking her first dart from its place in the bull’s eye. The third dart hit the only one Nora threw close to the centre, knocking it free from the leather. Both darts landed with a clatter on the wooden floor.

In the complete silence following her display, Millie’s skirts rustled like wind through autumn leaves as she walked to Nora, standing so close the smaller woman had to crane her neck to meet Millie’s gaze.

‘Major General Drake’s ring, please.’ She held out her hand; her tone brooked no argument.

Nora fumbled the box, almost dropping it to the floor before she grasped the ring and shoved it at Millie.

‘That isn’t how you throw a dart, you know,’ Nora hissed.

‘Well, it certainly isn’t how you throw a dart.’ Millie looked meaningfully at the board before turning on her heel and striding across the room to Drake.

‘Your ring, darling,’ she drawled, dropping the opal into his palm. Drake’s playfulness evaporated after he saw her throw the first dart. His suspicions were turning into accusations.

He narrowed his gaze at her, but before he could ask any questions, she turned away, gliding across the floor to stand next to Philippa.

Something was very wrong.

Drake had never seen a person throw darts in that manner, but he had seen soldiers who threw knives. Knives that looked a lot like the ones Millie had strapped to her luscious body. Which begged the question: who trained his betrothed to throw her daggers with the accuracy of an assassin? And why?

His gaze lingered on Millie as she leaned close to Philippa and whispered something into the duchess’ ear.

One thing was certain. His blushing bride was dangerous. And he was determined to discover the truth behind her lies.

‘For a woman with secrets to keep, that was rather bold, don’t you think?’ Philippa kept her eyes on the rest of the guests as Millie leaned against the wall near her mentor.

‘Some lessons can only be taught with a firm hand. A lesson I learned from my dear stepmother.’ But truth be told, Millie knew her actions had been reckless. Especially after what she’d revealed to Drake on the chaise. It didn’t stop the warm flush of satisfaction from washing over her skin.

‘Your fiancé is sure to have questions.’ Philippa’s thumb rubbed circles against her index finger. She was not pleased.

He would have even more questions than Philippa could possibly imagine. But perhaps that was why Millie had been so bold.

Or maybe it was her earlier conversation with Renquist. ‘I’ve been thinking on that.’ Millie’s belly filled with fireflies, flapping their little wings a million beats a second.

‘Have you?’ Philippa’s arched brow spoke volumes.

She had. As much as she tried to discount Renquist’s words about shared power between herself and Drake, they had filled her with an insidious hope for the impossible. One she couldn’t easily dispel.

‘What if I tell him? About me? About the missions I hope to take on for Queen Victoria?’ It was a wild plan, but Millie was a wild woman. ‘What if he and I approach this marriage as equal partners instead of distant acquaintances joined by a mutual goal instead of just a marriage contract?’

For a small eternity, Philippa remained absolutely still. ‘What if revealing your secrets only gives him more power over you? Power to take away everything?’

Fear warred with Millie’s reckless hopes. Philippa was painting a far more realistic picture of marriage than Renquist. But at this point, Millie might have already travelled too far down the path of revelation to turn back.

She opened her mouth but had no answer.

‘In my limited experience with men, trusting them with anything – especially the truth – ends in disaster. For the woman.’ Philippa turned her head, spearing Millie with her cobalt gaze. Fine lines fanned out from the corners of Philippa’s eyes, marring the perfection of her skin. Sometimes, Millie forgot Philippa was flesh and blood. A woman carving out her fortune in a man’s world. Not nearly as impenetrable as she wanted the beau monde to believe. It was a startling thought.

‘Can you promise me he’ll support you? Can you look me in the eye right now and say with 100 per cent certainty that he won’t take your information and use it to control you? To contain you? To lash you to him with bonds you won’t dare be able to break?’ Philippa’s low voice struck like a blade.

Millie couldn’t. But neither could she abandon the idea of a true partnership with her husband-to-be. ‘I…’ She couldn’t hold Philippa’s gaze.

Damnation. What if I’ve made a terrible mistake revealing so much to him?

‘Exactly. I won’t tell you what to do. Hannah taught me well how little power I wield over a woman in love, but?—’

‘I’m not in love with him.’

Philippa tipped her head back and laughed.

‘I’m not,’ Millie hissed as panic filled her.

Desire is not love. Need is not love.

What of affection? Admiration? Respect?

She closed her eyes and shook her head, refusing to let fancy fly away with her good sense. Liking Drake was one thing. Loving him would put her in far too vulnerable a position.

‘Fine, you don’t love him… yet. But you are close to the fall, and once you step over that precipice, there is no turning back. There is one thing I know with certainty: a woman in love is a very foolish creature indeed.’

Anger bubbled up in Millie as Philippa’s words struck far too close to the mark. ‘I am not foolish. And what could you possibly know of love? You held no such affection for the duke.’

Philippa gripped Millie’s wrist in a vice. ‘I know more of love than you could ever imagine. I know how it can devastate you. How it can hollow you out until you are nothing but a shell. How it can steal your will to live. How it can amputate the very best parts of yourself until they are just a memory. Don’t speak to me about what I do or do not know of love.’ Tears filled Philippa’s eyes before she pressed her lips together in a grim line.

Dear God.

Millie had never seen Philippa show emotion, let alone the raw pain pouring from every pore like poison from a lanced wound.

‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. But I am not a fool, Philippa.’

Philippa took a deep breath, blinked the tears away, and loosened her grip on Millie. ‘We are all fools, Millicent. I was the biggest fool of all. Because I believed in the glory of love. The promises it whispered of hope, and joy, and forever. But those promises are lies. I only wish to save you from a similar fate. You will do as you please, but I warn you. Don’t trust Major General Drake with your secrets. He’s not worth the price of your heart.’ She walked away from Millie to join Lady Bradford on the sofa, donning her composure as one might put on their armour before battle.

Shit.

Whoever Philippa had loved must have hurt her terribly. Millie couldn’t begin to imagine how someone as strong and powerful as the Duchess of Dorsett could be brought so low, but her wounds were still wide open and bleeding underneath the fortress she created.

But love doesn’t have to destroy. It can protect. It can heal.

Despite her best efforts, the hope blooming in her chest refused to be doused by logic and reason.

Philippa was right. Millie was a fool.

She was falling for Drake. But did he feel the same? And more importantly, did he care about her enough to trust her?

More to the point, am I foolish enough to trust him?

Her gaze flitted over the crowd, catching Drake’s heavy-lidded stare. Flames of need licked over her skin, wrapping around her thighs, her neck, her breasts. ‘Dear Lord,’ she muttered. The man enraptured her like opium seduced its addict. ‘Fortune favours the bold, but does it also favour the fool?’

She was going to find out.