“Viola! Cease flirting with Lord Winterton and come sit by me. I cannot hear what everyone is saying and you must tell me.”
“Of course, Lady Sophronia,” replied Mrs. Cavendish. “Good luck,” she whispered to him. Wes heard the swish of her skirts as she moved away.
Flirting. He should be ashamed at himself for thinking so, but he wouldn’t mind at all if Mrs. Cavendish did flirt with him—blindfolded and otherwise.
“We have decided,” announced Bridget then. “Are you ready, sir?”
Wes thought of Justin’s little smirk, and Mrs. Cavendish’s rueful smile, and of how fiercely he’d played cricket at school. He flexed his hands and said firmly, “I am.”
The first clue was maps. Still thinking of Viola Cavendish’s lemon and rosemary scent, he said, “Italy,” which elicited snickers and a hearty “Wrong!” from Bridget.
The second clue was fire. Wes puzzled over it until he remembered the admonition to be witty, so he replied, “Christopher Wren.” Wren had remade the map of London after the great fire. But his inquisitors only giggled and told him he was wrong again.
The next clue was a dreadful screech, emitted right near his ear, rather like a seagull whose tail was being plucked out. Wes almost bolted out of the chair, but Justin’s muffled laughter stayed him just in time. He thought for a moment, decided to be ridiculous, and said, “A history professor who’s fallen asleep over his pipe, and set his robes afire.”
Lady Bridget hooted with laughter, and the others joined in a moment later. “Better, but still wrong,” Justin told him. Wes would have blinked, if his eyes weren’t bound shut. Had that been approval in his nephew’s voice?
Fourth clue: a gust of air in his face. He thought hard, and said, “A phoenix.” There was a moment of silence, which made him hopeful, but then someone said, “Incorrect.”
The fifth clue was Odysseus, which pricked his interest. Now he began to concentrate in earnest. “Cyclops,” he guessed, only to be told he was once more wrong.
The sixth clue took a moment. Wes’s mind worked the whole while. Maps, fire, Odysseus, wind, and shrieks. He suspected Justin had put forth this mystery item, to stymie him, and now he was absolutely determined to win. It didn’t hurt that he’d caught Mrs. Cavendish’s voice saying something quietly, no doubt to Lady Sophronia. It was idiotic and foolish, but he wanted to tear off the blindfold—after he won—and see her smiling at him, surprised and impressed. She was the duchess’s secretary, only a few steps up from a servant, but she had the most marvelous green eyes, like the sea after a storm . . .
He was so lost in contemplation of her eyes, it was a total shock to receive a splash of water right on his cheek. Quite a lot of water, actually; it ran down his face and wet his cravat, and there was a dismayed gasp as he reached up to wipe his face. “Bridget,” moaned a female voice.
So much for impressing anyone. But the water made him think of the sea after a storm—hang it, also of maps of the ocean, especially medieval ones with illustrations on every corner, and when he said, “Sea serpent,” a startled hush fell over the room.
“Am I wrong again?” he asked after a moment.
“Er—no,” said Justin, sounding a little nonplussed. “You’re correct.”
“Near enough, anyway,” said Lady Bridget. “It was ‘sea monster.’”
“I ought to receive an extra point, for being more precise.” Wes pulled off the blindfold, and found he was staring directly at Mrs. Cavendish. She was leaning toward Lady Sophronia but gazing at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. Their gazes collided and lingered for a moment, then she turned away, a faint pink in her cheeks.
“Well done, Lord Winterton.” Lady Bridget stepped forward and offered him a towel. “You trounced Lord Newton and won the round. And I do apologize for throwing a bit too much water.”
“I told you no boy would outsmart a man in his prime,” crowed Lady Sophronia from her perch beside Mrs. Cavendish. “Didn’t I, Viola?”
Her murmured reply was too low for him to hear, alas, as it came just as the butler entered to announce dinner. Lady Bridget bounded forward. “Hurrah! I’m famished!”
“Winterton, you may lend me your arm,” announced Lady Sophronia, rising from the sofa. Wes obeyed the command immediately, taking the chance to exchange a quick glance with Mrs. Cavendish. Her eyes glowed with mirth and when she stepped aside to make way for Lady