Glorious Rivals(66)

How many openings would he have to give her before she inevitably betrayed him?

“Four uses of the word don’t,” Rohan noted, and then he baited her. “It’s almost like the game makers enjoy telling us what not to do.”

His mention of the game makers was intentional, calculated to prime Savannah’s anger and drive, to remind her of every motivation she had to use and discard him. But Savannah Grayson was well-used to living a lie, to burying anger and ill-intentions so deep that, to the rest of the world, they appeared as nothing more than the lightest coat of frost.

She was not as easy to manipulate as most.

“Don’t count would suggest that this isn’t a numerical puzzle.” Savannah’s voice remained even. “And yet, what we want is number three.”

In the distance below, waves broke against the standing stones. Rohan had a certain appreciation for the fact that even the mightiest, wildest ocean waves were broken by the massive rocks, reduced to lapping harmlessly at the shore.

It would be a shame, in some ways, to render Savannah Grayson harmless.

“Don’t look and can’t see would imply that it’s not a visual puzzle, either.” Savannah turned from looking out at the water to looking at the island behind them.

“Not within.” Rohan walked to stand behind Savannah, directly behind her and close enough to the edge of the cliff that, should she so choose, Savannah could easily attempt to send him tumbling over its edge. “In other words: not internal, not inside of a barrier, not contained beneath the surface.”

Rohan took another seemingly careless step, putting himself within an arm’s length of her. Do I look vulnerable to you, Savvy?

“Without,” he continued, “is one of those handy words with multiple meanings. On the one hand: outside, external, not contained.” Rohan wondered if she could hear the subtle challenge in his voice, one that said that some people were not so easy to contain. “But without can indicate an absence.” Of all the roles he had inhabited over the years, Rohan did have a special fondness for playing the rogue. “As in without morals, without compunction, without… restraint.”

Savannah turned toward him, and Rohan saw her register just how close to the edge he was. Do it, Savvy. She had to know him well enough by now to know that he would catch the edge. No permanent damage.

“You pretend to have so little restraint,” Savannah said, her voice as smooth as glass, “but we both know that you are nothing but restraint, British. You are living, breathing, walking, talking carefully laid plans.”

“Guilty as charged.” Rohan allowed his broad shoulders to rise and fall in the most careless of shrugs. “Even my schemes have schemes.”

As did hers.

Savannah wrapped a hand around his bicep, just above the elbow, and then she moved him away from the cliff’s edge.

“It would be inconvenient,” Savannah said archly, “if you fell.” She dropped her hold on him. “So.” She raised her chin. “If we can’t look or judge or see or count—what’s left?”

“Thinking.” Rohan allowed himself to do exactly that. “Making connections. Filling in the blanks.” Perhaps it’s time I fill in some of my own. “Did you learn anything about Brady’s sponsor?”

That question was not geared, of course, to finding out anything about Brady Daniels. It was just another little test. How much would she tell him? How far would she go?

How long did they have?

“Night.” Some people changed the subject. Savannah Grayson obliterated and replaced it.

“Dodging the question, love?”

“As it happens, I’m thinking. We were told there were hints to multiple puzzles on the yacht. We know Brady was at least one puzzle ahead of the rest of us. What if the hint from the champagne flute was for this puzzle?”

“Night.” Rohan decided he was done testing her for now and turned the full force of his mind to the puzzle at hand.

DON’T LOOK.

DON’T JUDGE.

CAN’T SEE.

WHAT YOU WANT IS NUMBER THREE.

DON’T PUT.

DON’T COUNT.

NOT WITHIN

BUT WITHOUT.

“You can’t see at night,” Rohan said out loud, his voice bordering on a purr, “except by the light of the moon.” His brain churning every bit as much as the ocean in the wind, Rohan let the thrum of possibility banish all else. “There are still these.” He produced a pair of glass dice. “And that.” Rohan nodded to the platinum chain that Savannah had once more wore wrapped around her waist when they’d changed from their formal wear back into their armor once more.

Savannah narrowed her pale eyes—moonlit eyes, if Rohan had ever seen them. “Those are my dice, not yours.” Savannah reached for them.

Rohan allowed her to reclaim the dice. “Once a pickpocket, always a pickpocket,” he told her. “All’s fair in love and war, Savvy.”

“And which one is this?” Savannah asked, the arctic chill in her tone matched only by the underlying challenge. “Love or war?”

Rohan angled his head down and murmured, “War, of course.”

“Well…” Savannah gave a practiced and deadly shrug. “Needs must, I suppose.”

Needs must. The phrase was one Rohan had used often enough within the bounds of his own mind, but he was fairly certain that he’d never said it aloud to her. “I prefer the full proverb: Needs must when the devil drives.”