“I guess I don’t just have his eyes,” Jameson said quietly. “They’re yours, too.”
He’d grown up with a grandfather, singular, and no grandmother. This woman, the one in this portrait, was every bit as related to him as Alice Hawthorne—and just as much of a stranger.
You had three sons. Jameson addressed those words silently to the portrait. You raised them here, when you could. Vantage was her ancestral home—and that makes it mine. Jameson ran his fingers along the edge of first one frame and then the other. Once he was satisfied that these two were clean, he began to move to the next one.
“Jameson.” Avery’s voice cut through the air. “This one’s you.”
He whirled to face her. “Me?” Jameson had no intention of letting that matter, so why did each breath he took suddenly feel like sandpaper in his throat? Why, as he crossed the room and stared at the portrait that someone had commissioned of him, did some part of him want to be on those walls?
To belong here.
Jameson locked his fingers around the frame, then pulled—first one side, then the other. Nothing happened until Avery ran her fingertips around the edges of the wood. Jameson knew the exact second she found the release. Once it was triggered, the portrait swung away from the wall, revealing a hidden compartment. Nestled there was a jeweled chest, its dominant colors emerald green and shining gold.
The Game is almost over now. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Jameson absorbed every detail of this moment and knew three things immediately, courtesy of instincts hard-won over years and years of playing games just like this. First, the chest was green, and that made it a match for the key that Branford had found in the caves. Second, the chest had been hidden behind Jameson’s portrait, which he was willing to bet meant that it held his secret. And finally, this portrait hadn’t been painted in quite the same style as the portraits of Ian and his mother. That, combined with the fact that his uncles really hadn’t seemed to know about Jameson’s existence, suggested that this painting was likely a recent commission.
Very recent.
Rohan did this. How did he even know the Proprietor would choose me for the Game?
Right now, that wasn’t the question that mattered most. “We need to find the other two boxes,” Jameson told Avery. He started running from portrait to portrait, even more adrenaline flooding his veins, an old friend, a needed rush. He stopped when he reached a portrait of Branford.
Jameson’s fingers found the release almost instantly, and the portrait swung away from the wall to reveal another jeweled chest—gold again, with pearls inlaid. A match for the second key.
Jameson inserted the pearl key in the lock. It turned. The lid to the box opened. Inside, there was a scroll. He undid the ribbon, unwound the scroll, and was greeted with words scrawled in sharp and angular script.
I have a son.
Jameson knew almost nothing about Simon Johnstone-Jameson, Viscount Branford. He didn’t know if his uncle was married, or if he had any other children, but the Proprietor had been very specific about the kind of secrets he was interested in.
The kind men would kill and die for. The kind that shakes the ground beneath our feet.
Jameson tucked the scroll into his waistband, then gave the jeweled chest a once-over, just in case.
“Jameson!” Avery’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Immediately, he looked toward the door. Branford—and he’s not alone. Zella strolled in behind the viscount, and Jameson thought to wonder if Katharine wasn’t the only one who’d struck a deal.
“Avery!” Jameson called. “The chest!”
If Avery had the green box, Branford couldn’t use his key to unlock it. Jameson expelled a breath when Avery got to the portrait first, when she held the chest in her hands.
Held his secret in her hands.
And that was when Jameson realized: Zella and Branford hadn’t moved from the doorway. Neither one of them had so much as glanced at Avery or the green box.
Branford reached into his suit jacket.
Jameson knew then, before Branford even pulled out the scroll. He’s already been here. He already found the green box. He already unlocked it with his green key.
He already has my secret.
“I understand you found the other two keys.” Branford’s path was straight, his stride long as he made his way toward Jameson like a missile zeroing in on its target. “I believe I have something of yours. I haven’t read it yet. This secret—whatever it is—will stay secret if you’re willing to make a trade.”