Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) by Sara Ramsey Page A

should.”
    Octavia grinned. For a moment, they weren’t discussing murder — they could have been discussing anything, or nothing, and he wouldn’t have registered the words. All the could see was her smile, and how eager she was.
    She was going to ruin him, far more than he could ever ruin her.
    “But poison won’t work,” she said, with a theatrical sigh of disappointment. “I cannot be the Maidenstone heiress if I’m executed at Newgate. We’ll have to be more subtle. Have you heard of Maidenstone’s ghosts?”
    The locals wouldn’t talk about living Briarleys, but they were eager to talk about dead ones. He rolled his eyes. “Every story I’ve heard assures me that the abbey is rotten with them. Are they true?”
    Octavia shrugged. “Grandfather swore they were, although I never saw any. But there are places in the abbey where I wouldn’t choose to go at night. And there have been enough murders committed there to field a battalion of ghosts.”
    Rafe had seen plenty of death, but he’d never seen a ghost. “Assuming there are ghosts, which I doubt, how do you propose to use them? Is there some secret Briarley method of communicating with them?”
    “Don’t laugh,” she said. “I’m sure some ancestor thought there was. But we don’t have to work with real ghosts — fake ghosts will do the trick.”
    “Are you planning to haunt Maidenstone?”
    “Yes.”
    At least she was direct about it. Rafe preferred his conspirators to be committed to their plans — he couldn’t work with others unless he knew they wouldn’t balk at a critical juncture.
    He steepled his fingers under his chin. “How do you propose to do that?”
    She pulled a list out of her reticule.
    “The first rule of conspiracies is to leave nothing in writing,” he said mildly.
    Octavia laughed. “I knew you were the right man for the job. I’ll burn the list when we’re done. Any other advice, my lord?”
    “Carry on, Miss Briarley,” he said.
    She stilled a little at that. He realized her name was a wound, and for once he regretted his words.
    “Please, call me Octavia,” she said. “It’s easier.”
    “Then you must call me Rafe,” he responded, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to use their given names with each other so soon. “I cannot possibly call you Octavia and insist on all the ‘my lords.’”
    She grinned. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
    He still didn’t know her plan. The old public room, with its exposed beam ceiling and heavy tables, felt like the right sort of place for making some nefarious deal. Maidenstone Abbey awaited, with its legion of ancient rooms and dark secrets.
    He never had fun on his missions. Satisfaction, perhaps. Pleasure, occasionally. But never fun.
    With Octavia, though, he didn’t see how it was going to be any other way. They would enjoy working together, even as she used him to access Maidenstone and he used her to ruin Somerville.
    The morality of that didn’t sit quite right with him. But he had lived in ambiguous situations for years. He swapped his tea for whisky again and reached for her list. “Let’s make our plans. We have a party to destroy.”

Chapter Seven
    T he next night , Octavia smoothed her hands down her skirts. The sturdy walking dress was unlike anything she wore in London. But sneaking through Maidenstone Abbey’s vast attics and hidden passageways would destroy delicate muslin. She had borrowed the dress from her lady’s maid. Agnes was smart enough not to ask why Octavia wanted to disguise herself as a servant.
    Octavia had a mission now. That mission did not require flirting, or a courtesan’s wardrobe.
    She could remember that, couldn’t she?
    She rubbed her clammy palms against her thighs again before pulling on her gloves and picking up her reticule. Rafe was supposed to collect her at any moment.
    She hadn’t been so nervous since her debut. She supposed some nerves were natural. If she were caught at