Forsaking the Prize (The Wild Randalls 2)

“You have another shot to take,” she said suddenly, backing away.

Two steps forward, one step back. The game to bed the countess would not be won by rushing. He’d be patient, especially when the prize was so great. They finished without further incident and, true to his word, Blythe did win the game fairly.

Thirteen

“Thank you.” Blythe heaved a heavy sigh as the last pin secured her hair. “You may return to the duchess.”

The maid, her most recent replacement attendant since the ‘incident’, scurried for the door and the implied safety of being as far away from Blythe as possible. None of the Romsey servants bothered to hide their nervousness in her presence. The footmen merely stared. But even that scrutiny set her teeth on edge.

She gave her appearance another quick glance and stepped out into the hall. A servant standing down the hall hurried away and disappeared into the servant’s staircase. Annoyed, Blythe clenched her fists. She wished she could return to the comfort of Walden Hall and her own servants. However, Venables would arrive sometime today and any peace the place might offer would vanish as if it had never been.

Before she had taken too many steps, Tobias’ door opened and he joined her. Her heart skipped a beat at the way he smiled.

He bowed. “Good morning, Lady Venables. How are you this fine day?”

She glanced at him. “It is drizzling rain outside, Mr. Randall.”

His lips quirked. “So, no jaunts in your little carriage today?”

“Not today. I do hope the weather eases before the soiree tonight. I do want the evening to be a success for Lady Dunwoody.”

“You had to remind me?”

Blythe pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. It was a soiree, not a public hanging. The evening should be extremely pleasant and she was looking forward to catching up with friends. While she loved her sister dearly, Romsey Abbey and the goings on here made her anxious.

As they reached the head of the stairs, Tobias slipped his hand under her elbow. “You didn’t answer me yesterday, about the dancing. Will you dance with me tonight? I should like that very much.”

Blythe swallowed as his grip firmed, conveying his determination to make her answer. “It is not necessary but if you insist, then yes, I will dance with you. But not the first or second set. You must dance with Mercy before you dance with me.”

His eyes lit up with mischief. “So I’ve been told. How about the dance before supper?”

Blythe nodded, even as she feared her actions would spark even more rumors. After the dance ended, Tobias would escort her into supper, wait on her, and then sit at her side while they ate. People would remark upon their interactions, and they might speculate. What had she agreed to?

She looked ahead resolutely as they gained the lower floor and headed toward the breakfast room. A young boy, unfamiliar to Blythe, sat alone on a wooden bench placed in the hall. He glanced at them and then quickly looked down at his feet.

Tobias squeezed her elbow, but she shrugged. She didn’t have the faintest clue who he was.

Another few paces along, Wilcox materialized before them. “Excuse me, Lady Venables, but Mr. Randall requests you join him in the study.”

Blythe nodded, but then she realized Tobias still held her. She couldn’t shake him off without Wilcox noticing. “I’ll be there directly.”

Wilcox bowed and then disappeared back the way he’d come.

“King Leopold calls,” Tobias muttered softly.

Blythe thought the nickname quite apt. “I’ve no idea what he can want with me at this hour, but I’d better get any unpleasantness out of the way.”

As she moved away, her skin tingled from the loss of contact. She strove to shake off those feelings as she knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Come,” Leopold Randall called.

Blythe let herself in, at once annoyed by the command in Leopold’s voice and curious by the summons. A pretty blonde woman sat before his desk. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, thank you for coming so promptly. I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Turner, an old acquaintance of mine.”

The woman stood up, her hands clenched together. Blythe knew of the widow by reputation, but they had not met prior to this occasion. There was no need. They were not of the same circles. Blythe nodded. “Mrs. Turner.”

The woman bobbed a surprisingly elegant curtsey. “My lady.”