Chapter 6 #2
“A man after my own heart,” she murmured, her gray eyes glinting in the candlelight. “I find games of pure chance to be incredibly tedious. If I am going to lose, I prefer it to be because my opponent outsmarted me, not because the wind blew in the wrong direction.”
“A very pragmatic approach,” Edmund observed, picking up the deck to deal.
“It is the only logical approach,” Corinna replied, watching his hands carefully as he shuffled. “You have very quick hands, Mr. Marsh. One might think you spent your youth in gaming hells rather than a Parisian art studio.”
Edmund paused for a fraction of a second, his thumb resting heavily on the top card, before he forced his features into a blank, unreadable expression. “A secretary must be quick with his hands, Miss Ashwell. There are always letters to write and ledgers to balance.”
“Of course,” Corinna said, her tone perfectly even. “Ledgers.”
Once the game commenced, Edmund surveyed his hand, playing with a measured caution that felt uncomfortably close to a confession.
He deliberately held back his best cards, maneuvering the deck carefully to ensure their win without ever appearing to dominate the table.
Letting Corinna take the final trick, he watched satisfaction bloom across her features as she gathered the cards.
“You sacrificed your queen of hearts so I could take the trick with my king,” Corinna noted, laying her remaining cards down on the green baize.
Edmund blinked, genuinely surprised she had tracked the discards so perfectly. “It seemed the most efficient path to victory.”
“It was entirely unnecessary,” Corinna countered, leaning slightly forward. “You could have taken the trick yourself. You held the ace of spades. I saw it when you organized your hand.”
A spike of genuine alarm shot through his chest. She misses absolutely nothing. “I was merely supporting my partner,” he lied smoothly.
“You play as though you have done this before, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna observed, keeping her voice light but probing. “Your technique is quite disciplined.”
“Most people have played cards, Miss Ashwell.”
“Not like that,” she murmured, leaning closer across the table so her scent of lavender and soap drifted toward him.
Her eyes were bright with a terrifying curiosity.
“You do not just play the hand. You hide the intent until the very moment of capture. It is a master’s method, and one does not learn that in a secretary’s office. ”
Edmund felt the air thin in his lungs, meeting her gaze squarely despite the panic rising in his throat. “Sometimes, the best way to win is to ensure no one sees your moves until the game is over.”
“But what are you guarding?” she pressed softly, her voice a challenging whisper. “A player only hides his position if he fears his pieces will be taken.”
Before he could attempt an answer, Lady Sophronia Quill leaned heavily across their table, her purple feathers shaking with every movement and sending a small cloud of heavy powder into the air between them.
“I must say,” Lady Sophronia declared, her booming voice echoing across the crowded room and drawing several pairs of curious eyes toward their table.
“Mr. Marsh, you have the most remarkable bearing. You hold your cards with the authority of an earl. I daresay, were I not told you were the companion, I would have sworn you were the peer himself! Such good taste on the part of Lord Ravenswood, to keep such a high-caliber companion by his side.”
The room erupted into polite, hollow laughter.
Edmund went dangerously still, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles ached as he fixed his gaze entirely on the green baize, refusing to look at Julian or the laughing crowd. One wrong move and it all falls apart, he reminded himself, praying the moment would pass.
Catching the remark from the next table, Vivienne tilted her perfectly coiffed head, looking from Julian to Edmund before finally settling her sharp gaze on Corinna.
“Some men wear borrowed manners well, do they not?” Vivienne said, her tone dripping with artificial sweetness. “Though I suppose it is a terrible pity when the outer polish completely hides the inner lack of substance.”
Corinna did not blush, nor did she lower her eyes in embarrassment. Turning her head, she looked directly at her sister with absolute calm. “Manners are not borrowed, Vivienne. They are either possessed, or they are absent. Mr. Marsh possesses them.”
“How very democratic of you, sister,” Vivienne sniffed dismissively before turning her attention back to Julian. “Do tell me more about your estate in the country, my lord. Does it have a proper ballroom?”
Edmund watched Corinna turn back to the table, her piercing gaze seeming to peel back the layers of his cheap suit, his false title, and his compounding lies.
“You did not answer my question, Mr. Marsh,” Corinna said quietly under the cover of the surrounding noise.
“I believe Lady Sophronia answered it for me,” Edmund replied, forcing his voice to remain tight and formal to rebuild the wall between them. “I am protecting my employment, Miss Ashwell. Nothing more.”
Corinna kept her gray eyes fixed on his face for several agonizing seconds before looking back at her empty teacup. “If you say so, Mr. Marsh.”
As the evening finally wound down, Edmund walked back through the darkened streets toward the Mayfair townhouse, the damp London air clinging heavily to his skin.
Looking back over his shoulder toward the carriage as it pulled away from the curb, he saw Arabella sitting inside, looking out the glass window.
Her eyes were fixed entirely on Corinna, who was still standing on the Ashwell townhouse steps.
Arabella’s expression was not one of sisterly support for his mission, but rather one of deep, soul-shaking guilt.
“She suspects something,” Edmund stated quietly, his boots striking the cobblestones in a steady, relentless rhythm.
“Miss Vivienne?” Julian asked, looking up at the cloudy night sky with a careless shrug. “Impossible. She spent twenty minutes telling me how my waistcoat embroidery highlighted my complexion.”
“Not Vivienne. Corinna,” Edmund clarified, frustration bleeding into his tone. “She tracked every single play at the card table, told me I played with a master’s method, and asked me what I was protecting.”
Stopping under the dim light of a streetlamp, Julian let the careless amusement drop from his features completely.
“Then you must ensure the mask remains firmly in place. You cannot afford to engage her in these little verbal sparring matches. You told me to stay focused on the elder sister, and I strongly suggest you take your own advice and stay far away from the younger one.”
Edmund did not answer, stepping into the dark foyer of the Mayfair house with a heavy heart.
“Goodnight, my friend,” Julian said softly, heading toward the stairs. “Try to get some rest.”
Retreating to his private study, Edmund closed the heavy oak door, leaving himself entirely alone in the dark. He walked over to a side table and poured a glass of amber brandy, his hand trembling just enough to make the crystal decanter rattle against the rim of the glass.
Stepping to the window, he looked out over the quiet streets of Mayfair. Somewhere out there in the dark, the Ashwell house stood. He wondered if Corinna was awake, analyzing every word he had spoken at the card table and actively picking apart his fragile defenses.
He found he did not hate the thought at all. In fact, he found himself almost wishing he could sit across from her at that small table one more time, entirely without the cheap suits, without the false titles, and without the heavy burden of his lies.
“You are an absolute fool, Edmund,” he whispered directly to the empty room.
The quiet house provided no answer. There was only the cold, indifferent silence of a man who had intentionally built a kingdom out of loose sand and was currently watching the tide come rushing in.
Walking away from the window, he sat back down at his desk and pulled the heavy estate ledger toward him, though the ink blurred together into meaningless black marks.
He was the wealthy Earl of Ravenswood, but for the very first time in his entire life, he knew with absolute certainty that he was not the one holding the winning cards.