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Authors: Victoria Alexander

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BOOK: The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress
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A wave of protest washed around the table.
“No, of course not.” Lord Larken scoffed.
“We would never do such a thing.” Indignation that didn’t ring quite true sounded in Lord Fairborough’s voice. “Not deliberately anyway. But you never know what might happen.”
Cam stared in disbelief. These gentlemen were older than his father and should certainly have better things to do than conspire to win a game of chance with a young American.
“But that is the risk when you play, my dear,” Mr. Wilcox said in a fatherly manner that, oddly enough, did sound most sincere.
“Goodness, gentlemen,” Lucy said pleasantly. “If you had wanted to take all my money you certainly should have bet more of your own.”
“Oh, but we couldn’t.” Sir Edwin jerked his head toward the closed door. “You understand.”
“Any other night we would, of course. Why, we routinely throw caution to the winds,” Lord Fairborough added.
Cam doubted it. Although he was grateful to Lady Dunwell for arranging the evening. It might not be the high stakes game Lucy’s great-aunt had envisioned, but it was far safer than any he had ever partaken in and should allow Lucy to cross this regret off her list.
“And we do apologize for the stakes being so paltry tonight.” Lord Larken shrugged apologetically.
“It can’t be helped, I suppose, and it’s probably for the best.” Lucy favored the gentlemen with a brilliant smile. “The idea of wagering a large sum of money does sound quite exciting, but the thought of losing a large sum doesn’t sound like any fun at all. Although I suppose that risk is the lure of playing for high stakes.”
“I doubt that the highest stakes are truly monetary,” Cam said without thinking.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Oh?”
“You mean when a man bets something of value.” Larken nodded. “Say his horse or his house.”
“I’ve known men who have wagered ships,” Mr. Wilcox said in a disapproving manner. “And lost them.”
“Balderdash.” Sir Edwin scoffed. “No man in his right mind would ever wager a ship. A ship can take you places unimagined and exotic.” A wistful look crossed the older man’s face. “Be a bloody shame to lose a ship.”
“That’s not really what I meant,” Cam said slowly. “Actually I was thinking of something more esoteric.”
Lord Fairborough’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about, young man?”
“Yes, Mr. Fairchild,” Lucy said coolly. “What are you talking about?”
“Well.” Cam thought for a moment. “If you gentlemen could wager to win anything, anything at all, what would it be?”
“I’d like a castle in the Swiss Alps,” Lord Larken said promptly. “Or on the coast of Spain. That would be quite nice.”
“No, that’s not what he means at all. That’s something that can, with enough money, be purchased.” Lord Fairborough considered Cam. “You’re speaking of things that can’t be bought.”
Cam nodded. “Exactly.”
“Well then . . .” Lord Fairborough paused. “I’d like to be able to do the things I used to do without the aches and pains and discomfort that now seem to accompany nearly everything I attempt.”
Sir Edwin nodded. “I’d quite like to relive my younger days.” He grimaced. “One would hope I’d do a better job of it now.”
“Hair,” Mr. Wilcox said firmly. “I’d like my hair back. I used to have a fine head of hair.”
“I’d like to look in a mirror and not have the face of an old man I barely recognize looking back at me.” Lord Larken shrugged. “The price, I suppose, for being older and wiser.”
“We’ve noticed the older part, Larken,” Lord Fairborough said with a grin, “but none of us have noted you growing any wiser through the years.”
“And if we had, we’ve probably forgotten it.” Sir Edwin chuckled.
“As interesting as all your ideas are, gentlemen”—Lucy’s speculative gaze lingered on Cam—“I suspect they’re not exactly what Mr. Fairchild had in mind. Am I right?”
“I was thinking more in the realm of possibility than fancy,” Cam said. “Something you could actually win.”
“Something like wagering to win a dance with a lovely woman,” Lord Fairborough said.
“Or a kiss.” Sir Edwin grinned. “I remember wagers of that sort. Admittedly, it was a long time ago.”
Lord Larken sighed. “For all of us.”
“You could wager for information,” Mr. Wilcox said thoughtfully. “Particularly information that would assist you in making a decision. Perhaps regarding, oh, I don’t know, an investment or something of that nature.”
“Or your next step.” Lord Larken nodded. “What path you should take.”
“As long as that information was truthful,” Lucy said mildly.
Sir Edwin snorted. “Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it? You certainly wouldn’t wager for a lie. What would be the point?”
“What indeed?” Lucy murmured.
“One question,” Lord Fairborough said abruptly. “You could wager for the answer to one question.”
“Just one?” Cam asked.
“If it was a good question,” Mr. Wilcox said.
“Is one enough?” Lucy said.
“Possibly.” Cam paused. “If it was the right question.”
“And if the answer was honest.” Lucy studied him. “But that’s the trick of it, isn’t it? Honesty, that is.”
“And should be part of the wager,” Cam said. “One honest answer wagered on one hand or the turn of a card.”
“It’s an interesting idea, Mr. Fairchild. But then one would have to be confident in the honesty of the party one wagered with.” She shrugged. “And that, I would think, is exceptionally hard to do.”
“I suppose one does need a certain amount of trust.” Cam’s gaze meshed with hers. “And faith.”
“One would be far better off relying on experience than faith. Faith is so easily shattered. And if it’s only one question, then it should be a very important question.” Her eyes narrowed. “If, in one’s experience, the other party has already been deceitful, why one would then be extremely foolish to expect better. Faith and trust, Mr. Fairchild, need to be earned.”
“Trust perhaps, but faith . . .” He shook his head.
“It seems to me faith doesn’t require any sort of proof,” Sir Edwin said in an aside to Lord Larken. “Isn’t that the very definition of faith?”
“It’s rather sad when one doesn’t have faith in one’s fellow man,” Larken said under his breath. “To be expected I suppose, the way of the world and all, but sad nonetheless.”
“Nonsense, my lord,” Cam said. “What’s sad is the cynical way we all look at the world.”
“He’s got you there,” Mr. Wilcox said.
Cam leaned forward slightly. “I would trust that everyone at this table would give me an honest answer to a single question.”
“Then you are far more trusting than I.” Lucy paused. “Let me ask you this. What if someone at this table had misled you before? Lied to you? Deceived you?”
“I say, we’ve scarcely met the man,” Mr. Wilcox said to Lord Fairborough beside him.
“I don’t think she’s talking about us,” his lordship said thoughtfully.
Lucy ignored them, her gaze still locked with Cam’s. “Would you still trust that they would give you an honest answer?”
Cam chose his words with care. “I suppose it depends on the reasons for the deceit.”
“What if you didn’t know the reason because the person in question had yet to be forthright with you?”
“It seems to me that brings us back to faith.”
“Ah, but isn’t faith difficult to maintain when honesty is in question?” She shook her head. “I know I would be extremely hard-pressed to have even the tiniest bit of confidence about the answer given by someone who has already lied to me.”
“What if he had a very good reason?” he asked.
“What if he didn’t?” she shot back.
“She’s got him there,” one of the older gentlemen murmured.
“You’re right.” Cam’s gaze bored into hers. “What if he didn’t have a good reason? What if something had seemed like a good idea in the beginning but he had subsequently realized he had been an idiot? And what if he then deeply regretted his actions?”
“Assuming he did indeed regret his actions, his deceit, his
lies—
”
Lord Larken winced.
She continued without pause “—perhaps he would need to prove it.”
“Prove what?” Mr. Wilcox asked.
“His regret, I think.” Lord Fairborough’s gaze shifted between Cam and Lucy.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but this strikes me as somewhat personal,” Lord Larken said quietly. “Should we leave?”
“Probably.” Lord Fairborough nodded. “But Lady Fairborough and the other ladies will want to know every word of this.”
“You do have a point,” Sir Edwin murmured. “Besides, it would be like leaving a play before the end.”
“How would he prove it?” Cam asked, ignoring the older men.
Lucy shrugged. “I would think if he was as clever as he thought he was—”
“He’s an idiot, remember?”
“He’s smart enough to manage deceit and deception,” she snapped. “And if he’s that clever, surely he can think of a way to now atone for his mistakes. Perhaps, oh, I don’t know, a full confession? Complete and utter honesty?”
“And groveling,” one of the others said under his breath. “Never underestimate the importance of groveling.”
“As in an honest answer to a single question?” Cam said slowly.
She scoffed. “I don’t know that one answer to one question is enough at this point.”
“It is if it’s the right question.”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Fairchild.” Her brow rose. “The
right
question?”
“I know I only have one,” he said quietly.
“Well, I have half a dozen at the very least,” she said sharply.
“One is all you need.”
“Is it?” She stared at him, then blew a long breath. “Very well then, one question it is.”
“I’m assuming the rest of us are no longer playing,” Sir Edwin said with a pleasant smile.
Lucy’s gaze snapped to the older man. A blush washed up her face and her eyes widened in horror. “Good Lord, my apologies. I don’t know what came over me. I simply wasn’t thinking. I, oh dear . . .”
“No apologies necessary, my dear,” Lord Larken said smoothly. “You were simply swept away by the drama of the proposed wager.”
“Exceptionally high stakes will do that,” Sir Edwin added.
“And while this does seem to be a private matter . . .” Lord Fairborough said, “and the polite thing might be for us to take our leave, we’re afraid at this point—”
“We think it would be most unchivalrous of us to do so,” Mr. Wilcox said staunchly. “After all, you’re a guest in our country.”
“And some of us have daughters your age.” Sir Edwin shrugged. “Leaving now would feel like abandonment. And we couldn’t do that.”
Lord Larken nodded. “And if this person has been dishonest with you”—as if of one mind, all four gentlemen fixed Cam with threatening looks—“why, it’s our duty as honorable gentlemen to, well, defend you.”
“It’s really not necessary, but thank you,” Lucy said.
“Consider it moral support then,” Sir Edwin said.
“I would welcome moral support,” Cam said under his breath.
“Apparently, you don’t deserve any,” Mr. Wilcox said mildly.
“Nonetheless, we insist on seeing this through with you to the end.” Lord Fairborough met Lucy’s gaze, a kind note in his voice. “Are you certain you want to do this, my dear?”
“Goodness, my lord.” She shrugged in an offhand manner. “It’s merely a single question. I certainly have nothing to hide.” Her gaze shifted to Cam. “I, for one, have never been less than honest.”
“Never?” He cast her a skeptical look.
“Never,” she snapped.
“Never is an absolute, Miss Merryweather,” Cam said. “I doubt that anyone at this table can truly say they have never done anything that was less than honest.”
“Oh, I think we can all
say
it,” Sir Edwin murmured.
“Very well then.” Lord Fairborough pushed back his chair, stood, and moved to the desk that dominated the far end of the library.
“You should probably decide exactly how you’re going to go about this,” Mr. Wilcox said. “Will it be another hand or simply the highest card drawn?”
“Whatever Miss Merryweather wants is fine with me,” Cam said. She was surprisingly good at cards, but he was at least her equal. A cut of the deck for the highest card was nothing more than luck. Although, luck did seem to be with him tonight. While he was certain nearly everyone here knew of his father and his family, he had never met any of them. Still, one couldn’t count on luck.
“The greater the risk, the greater the reward.” A firm note sounded in Lucy’s voice. “I am willing to risk honesty on a single draw of the card. Are you sure you are?”
“As you said: the greater the risk . . .” He shrugged.
Lord Fairborough returned with a few sheets of Millworth stationery and fountain pens. He set them on the table and sat down. “Each of you will write your question, fold the paper once, then again, and keep it until a winner is decided.”
“This is absurd.” Lucy glared at Cam. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I think it’s perfect.” He smiled.
She studied him closely, then drew a deep breath. “I don’t know why
I’m
nervous about this.”
“One does wonder,” he said mildly. “As you have never been less than honest.”
She held out her hand for the paper as if she was a surgeon reaching for an instrument, her gaze never wavering from his, challenging and calculating. Diabolical and brilliant. “And I have nothing to hide.”
“We all have something to hide.” The low murmur came from one of the older gentlemen.
Lord Fairborough obediently placed the paper and a pen in her hand, then passed a second sheet and pen to Cam.
Cam stared at the blank page for a moment. There were any number of questions that came to mind. She knew his real name, but what else did she know? This was his chance to find out. Still, if he had only one question, he hated to waste it. He scribbled down the one question that took precedence over anything else, waited for the ink to dry, then folded the paper.
BOOK: The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress
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