Never Wager Against Love (Kellington Book Three) (18 page)

“Because you think he’s a bloody genius,” grumbled Arthur.

She eyed him curiously.  “Yes, I do think he is brilliant. 
A bit insufferable at times, puffed up with himself and I am careful to never
be in a position where he might make an advance on my person…”

“You know all of that?  I thought you were completely caught
up in what passes for his charm.”

“Don’t be absurd.  As I have reminded you on any number of
occasions, my occupation requires that I read people.  I tolerate some of the
professor’s, uh, less admirable qualities because I admire his intelligence and
we need his expertise.  You can be assured that I am rarely taken in by
people.  I have even, heaven forfend, taken your measure.”

That made Arthur extraordinarily uneasy.  He didn’t care
what strangers or acquaintances thought of him.  But, somehow, it mattered very
much how Vanessa saw him. 

“What have you found?” he asked.

“That you are an enigma to most of the world.  Someone who
purposely gives off an image of a carefree gamester who cares only for his
pleasures.  But that man is very much at odds with the one who is chasing
across England to help King and country, and gave a large sum of money to an
old woman in need.  What I have not figured out is why the real man is so
different from the front he shows the world.”

Her proclamation was followed by an uncomfortable silence,
as Arthur stared at her.   His eyes were haunted, a bleak look. Vanessa held
her breath, wondering if she had gone too far.  She didn’t know the real
Arthur, but she desperately wanted to. 

Then the veil fell back into place.  “Well,” he said with an
easy smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “I am glad to hear you will not fall
prey to Dumbarton’s charms, should he take you to the continent.  But I do hope
you don’t give up your career to become a Gypsy fortune teller.  I’m afraid you
wouldn’t make much blunt, even if you would look especially fetching with your
long hair flowing about your shoulders.”  He turned to walk away with his usual
grace.  “Dinner should be served within the hour.  Newcastle will do his best
to seduce you.  I will do my best to thwart him.  And somewhere in there, we
need to get that cup.”

As he walked out of her chamber, Vanessa wondered if she
would ever see more than a few glimpses of the man beneath the image.  It was devastating
to think she might not.

*                    *                    *

Frederick Mortimer was not a patient man by nature.  But
he’d learned from experience that sometimes the quickest way to track your
enemy was to get him – or her – to come to you.  A hunter tracked prey, often
allowing his defenses to drop when he was closing in on the kill.  A patient
man recognized an opportunity when he saw one.  And he also realized when a
deal was too good to be true.

Something wasn’t quite right about this mission.  The
compensation was too high.  The plan – not one of his making – too simple.  And
he didn’t trust either of his partners.  He looked over at Portia, napping on
the chaise.  They’d had relations an hour earlier.  It had been exhaustive, as
it often was with the two of them.  They were more combatants than lovers in
the bed chamber, although he suspected she cared for him more than she let on. 
Then, when they finished, she told him exactly what she’d like to do with the
money they would get for completing the mission.  She wanted to travel to
America and ally herself with those who were preying on the American
frontiersmen.  There was certainly money to be made in fraudulent land deals
because few people were easier to gull than those desperate for a new
beginning.   She’d also spoken of becoming involved in the slave trade, which
had been outlawed in England but still flourished in America.  He was repulsed
by the very concept and if she chose to go that route, she would do it alone.

Perhaps it was time for them to go their separate ways. 
Mayhap it was past time.

After spending most of his life on the wrong side of the
law, Frederick Mortimer was beginning to think it might be interesting to try
his hand as an upright citizen.  Not in England.  If all went as planned, his
notoriety would not allow him to remain.  But he would have enough money to go
elsewhere.  Perhaps the continent or the islands just south of America.  It
might be nice to put down roots in one place and not have to worry about the
law coming after him.  It might even be time to take a wife and start a
family.  He laughed at the very thought.  His reputation was not one of a besotted
lover or patient father.  And maybe that was the biggest reason to leave.  Perhaps
he should make a fresh start. 
Of course
, he reminded himself
, people
desperate for a fresh start are the easiest ones to gull.

He looked up to see Portia awake and staring at him, still
lying on the settee.  He wasn’t sure how long she’d been that way, but he knew
the expression on her face.  It wasn’t a good sign.

“How long do you think we’ll have to lie around and wait?”
she asked.

“As long as it takes.”

“I, for one, prefer a more active strategy,” she said,
stretching so that the whole of one leg was visible through the slit in her
dressing gown.  “Waiting for orders from someone else has never appealed to me.”

“What do you suggest we do?” he asked, certain he knew at
least part of the answer.

“We go on the hunt,” she purred, as she sat up and moved her
knees apart.  “And in the meantime, I have a few ideas of how we can entertain
ourselves.”

“As much as I would no doubt enjoy them,” he said as he rose
and walked to the door, “there is some business I must attend to.  But don’t
let me stop you from enjoying the day.”

As he left, he knew she was seething with anger, but he
didn’t care.  It was a reminder that he would have to be careful.  It was never
wise to underestimate Portia Cassidy.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dinner was a strange affair.  No expense was spared as
course after course arrived, served by liveried footman and placed on china
which had been in the duke’s family for generations.  The duke himself
expressed little interest in the food, which was, Arthur was forced to admit,
exquisite.  Vanessa handled herself remarkably well, considering the daunting
array of silverware on the table.  Even posing as a servant in the great houses
of the
ton
, she would have had few opportunities to witness the
intricacies of such an elaborate meal.  But she was an excellent mimic. 
Whatever Arthur did, she was sure to follow. 

Newcastle spent most of the meal talking about his favorite
subject, which was himself.  A new bottle of wine was uncorked to go with each
new course.  He had considerably more than a few sips at each tasting.  Toward
the end of dessert, Newcastle raked Vanessa with his eyes and said “I would very
much like to see the Larsen broadsword.”           

“And we would very much like to see the chalice,” replied
Vanessa, smiling at Newcastle in a way which particularly irritated Arthur.

“If you accompany me to my strong room, my dear, you can see
any number of treasures,” he said with a bit of a slur.

“That sounds like a capital idea,” said Arthur, inviting
himself along.

“Wasn’t talking to you, Kellington,” said Newcastle, frowning.

“But I am looking forward to telling Lynwood about your
treasures, although it will likely upset him.  He has always envied your art
collection.”  Arthur inwardly winced.  Lynwood had never done any such thing,
but Arthur felt his brother wouldn’t mind being used in order to better protect
Vanessa.  And to complete their mission, of course.

After ordering his butler to pour Arthur a snifter of
brandy, the duke led them through the maze of the castle’s hallways.  They went
down to the cellars, then through a hidden staircase to the level below. 

“Your ancestors must have had a sizable treasure to have
this much security,” said Vanessa, as they found themselves in front of a
massive door with three separate locks.

“I don’t think they were as concerned with locking away
treasure, as much as they liked keeping miscreants in dungeons,” said Newcastle,
as he fumbled for the correct keys.  “The Newcastle dynasty has also been the
local magistrate for centuries.  Anyone disturbing the peace in the shire – and
particularly on this property – would have been locked away here then held for
however long it took to teach them a lesson.  I often wondered if any of them
died down here.  It would certainly lend an air of the macabre to the place.”

“I’m not sure it needs it,” said Arthur, as he looked at the
wall of ancient manacles opposite them as Newcastle opened the locked door.  But
once they were ushered inside, all he could do was stare at the accumulated
wealth.  Paintings, coins and jewels were systematically stored on shelves
throughout the room. 

Vanessa was also amazed by the treasure around them.  “Why
don’t you put any of this on display?”

Newcastle looked around, as if only noticing the items for
the first time.  “I guess I could.  Although, not all of it would fit.  The
castle is enormous, but the walls are already filled with art, as it is.  It
seems like too much work to decide what should stay up and which pieces should
be stored.  Perhaps my steward can look into it.”

He walked to a safe in the back of the room then opened it
with a key.  He pulled out a golden cup, inlaid with rubies at the base.  “Here
it is,” he said reverently.  “The Newcastle legacy.  Would you like to hold it
my dear?” 

As he handed it to Vanessa, his hand lightly grazed her
breast. 

“See here, Newcastle,” said Arthur, before Vanessa
interrupted him.

“Your grace, the chalice is stunning beyond any treasure I
have ever beheld.  Is it not, Lord Arthur?”

“It is adequate,” said Arthur, barely in control of his
temper.

“Because it is so exquisite,” said Vanessa leaning in toward
Newcastle, “I can only wonder why you would not want to let the world know you
are the one to own such a unique piece.”

“Many people know I own it, Miss Gans.”

“I am sure many have heard the
rumor
that it is in
your possession, but if it never leaves the castle, how can anyone know for
sure?”

The question took Newcastle aback, as he considered it.  “Shouldn’t
my word be sufficient to convince people I own the chalice?”

“In a perfect world, it would.  But imagine how
incontrovertible it would be if the chalice were on public display.”

“Public display?  You mean for just
anyone
to see
it?  I am sure I wouldn’t like that.”

Vanessa took a deep breath and tried again.  “What if it
were on display someplace like Carlton House, where only the peerage would have
access to it?  I can only imagine the envy so many would have.  Lord Arthur,
didn’t you say the Duke of Lynwood would most especially like to see it?”

Arthur almost laughed at the way she was so smoothly
manipulating Newcastle.  He pretended to think about it, then played his part. 
“I cannot go along with such a plan, Miss Gans.  I do not want to see my
brother upset.  And to have him come face to face with such a display would vex
him for weeks.”

“Only weeks?” asked Newcastle.

“Months,” added Arthur.  “If not years.”

“It is something I shall consider,” said Newcastle as he
took the chalice out of Vanessa’s hands and returned it to the safe.  “Now,
Miss Gans, I would dearly love to see the Larsen.”

“May we take the chalice when we leave on the morrow, your
grace?” she asked.

“I shall consider it, if you show me the Larsen.  Shall we?”

He put his hand on her lower back to usher her from the
room.  Arthur followed behind, tripping at the doorway. 

“Had a bit much to drink, Kellington?” asked Newcastle over
his shoulder.

“I assure you I’m fine,” said Arthur, who was surprised that
his speech was slightly slurred.  Vanessa’s questioning glance indicated she’d
heard it, too.  Perhaps he was more tired than he thought.

After walking the endless corridors, Arthur felt
increasingly dizzy and in danger of being sick.  By the time they reached
Newcastle’s library, he noticed the duke and Vanessa were well ahead of him. 
The duke was walking much too close to her, the bastard.  They were headed for
the stairwell, but Arthur knew he’d never make it that far.  He ran into the
library past startled servants, then looked around desperately for a chamber
pot.  Seeing none and having run out of time, he grabbed an empty vase then was
sick into it.  Then he was sick again.  The last time he’d been this ill was after
a night with friends in London when he’d been persuaded to take opium.  The
feeling was similar now.  The dizziness, the lethargy and the nausea.  Had it
been in his food?  Or perhaps the brandy Newcastle had pressed on him at the
end of dinner?  If that was the case, then he had to get to Vanessa.  Newcastle
wanted him out of the way for a reason.  And, unfortunately, he had a good idea
what it was. 

He made himself be sick one final time, hoping to get most
of the drug out of his system.  Then despite being weaker than a kitten, he
stumbled toward the door.  He heard a noise behind him.  As he slowly turned to
see what it was, it appeared a door in the wall was closing.  He turned back
around, only to find a footman standing directly in front of him.  He was going
to ask the man for help, when he was hit on the head from behind.  He fell into
the footman’s arms, then was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

As Arthur lost consciousness, his last thought was of
Vanessa.

*                    *                    *

As Vanessa brought the Larsen into the sitting room which
adjoined her bed chamber, she wondered where Arthur was.  He’d been acting
strangely in the vault, but she attributed it to his foul mood brought on by Newcastle’s
boorish advances.  She found the man odious.  The embodiment of everything she
hated about the peerage.  But she smiled when she thought about how much her
attitude had begun to change after just a few weeks with the Kellington
family.