His mouth twisted humorlessly. “Perhaps it would be for the best if you assume I had not.”
“I cannot do that,” the other man stated firmly. “I looked for you, Ian. Never think I did not. When I asked the teachers and headmaster about when you would be returning, they would only say you were not expected back at all,” he continued with a frown. “Your family home in London was locked and shuttered when I called there in the summer and winter months. Even more astounding, when the new Season began the following year, a totally different, foreign-looking Duke of Ashborne was presented to Society. Not the man who I had known as Lord Ian Oliver Grayson Longborne, the Marquis of Grayson, and the man whom I had expected to become the Duke of Ashborne upon his father’s death, but a complete stranger.”
The Marquis of Grayson.
It was not merely a name to Gray, but who and what he had been for the first eighteen years of his life.
The privileged and beloved heir to his father, the Duke of Ashborne.
Until his father died and it was revealed Gray was not his heir at all.
Disinherited, and he and his mother cast out penniless into the world, Gray had chosen to use the name Grayson Long because it was a part of his previous name.
“What is he like?” Gray had not meant to ask that question, but once he had, he found himself very interested in Hawkwood’s reply. Understandably so, when he had once believed that he was the Duke of Ashborne.
Hawkwood grimaced. “An Italian peacock who has gambled away most if not all of the Ashborne money, the rest being spent on clothing so that he might strut and pose for the ladies to admire, and I suspect the gentlemen too.”
Gray frowned. “He is unmarried?”
“Thankfully, yes. Although I suspect he will marry a young innocent one day who will have no idea of the male lovers he prefers,” he explained in answer to Gray’s puzzled frown. “I have no problem with which sex a man or woman prefers, only that they do not bring an innocent into the midst of it.” He studied Gray. “He also bears not the slightest resemblance to you and your father, in coloring or build,” he added softly.
Gray had noted that about his half brother on the one, brief occasion the two of them had met seventeen years ago. Eduardo had dark hair and was swarthy in complexion, much like his Italian mother. “Nevertheless, my father’s lawyers accepted the evidence provided to them of his prior claim to the title and estates.”
Hawkwood shook his head. “I do not know all the circumstances, but if that is the case, then it is my belief you backed off and walked away too soon.”
“You think I should have fought the evidence provided?”
“I most certainly would have done.” The other man nodded, his expression grim. “If only because that evidence was not presented until after your father’s death, when he was no longer alive to refute it. And lawyers, even English ones, can be bought, Ian. What reason did this woman give for not coming forward to claim her title and son’s inheritance earlier?”
“She claimed she and my father had married in Italy, and that he did so as Andrew Ian Grayson Longborne. She had no idea he was also the Marquis of Grayson at the time.”
“And the peacock?”
“Born a year after they were married, and six months after she claimed she had been informed my father had died.”
“Informed by whom?”
“I have no idea.”
Hawk scowled darkly. “Then how the fuck did she know to come forward all those years later?”
Gray shrugged. “My father’s death was announced in the newspapers. His full name and titles, previous and present. She added two and two together and realized her husband had not died when she thought he had and that her son was now his son and heir, not me.”
The duke shook his head. “Something stinks about all this. If your lawyers were not bribed, then they were certainly derelict in their duty for not pursuing this further. And why the hell didn’t you tell any of your friends what was happening? Or ask them, or their families, for assistance in fighting this spurious claim?”
Gray sighed heavily. “The whole situation had made my mother ill, and I—I did not want to further my own humiliation by telling you or any of our other friends that I had been disinherited.”
Hawkwood’s nostrils flared. “I am not sure whether to be insulted on my behalf or just furious on yours! The important part of your statement was the word ‘friends.’ We were friends then, Ian, and as far as I am concerned, we are friends now. Whether or not you are the Duke of Ashborne,” he added so there should be no misunderstanding as to his meaning. “I personally believe that’s exactly who you are.”
Had Gray reacted too quickly in accepting the humiliation of being disinherited rather than standing his ground and fighting?
Not that it mattered now.
His mother had died in gentile poverty ten years ago and so would not benefit if Hawkwood’s suspicions should be the truth. Gray had provided what monies he could from the work he was able to obtain on the many estates in England, but it had not been enough to ensure his mother lived the pampered life to which she had been born. Gray’s grandparents were dead, and none of the rest of his mother’s family were willing to step forward and help the bigamous wife and her bastard son.
The Ashborne fortune, if Hawkwood was to be believed, was all but gone. Spent or gambled away by the Italian duke.
That being the case, the title and any money left were of little import to Gray now.
Except…
Gray gave a glance toward the house where Rachel had so recently disappeared.
If Gray were the Duke of Ashborne, even without the fortune, then, unlike the lowly Mr. Grayson Long, he would be considered a more than suitable match for the lovely Miss Banford.
He glanced up toward the house once more, breath catching in his throat when he saw Rachel standing in one of the upstairs windows looking down at him with blatant desire shining in those dark green eyes.
A desire Gray more than reciprocated, and was finding it daily more and more difficult to resist.
Chapter Three
“What do you suppose they are talking about?” Rachel watched out the bedchamber window as Grayson Long and the other gentleman continued their conversation in the stable yard long after she had left them alone there together. Their harsh expressions indicated it was not a particularly pleasant conversation.
Her cousin, Clara, came to stand at her side. “I have no idea.”
Rachel gave her a sideways glance. “Do you know who that gentleman is with Mr. Long?”
Clara shrugged. “I have not seen Rissa for several days, but the last time I did, she mentioned something about Adam Stirling, the Duke of Hawkwood, and his wife paying her father a visit, so perhaps this is him?”
“Perhaps,” Rachel conceded distractedly as she continued to watch the two men. The unknown gentleman certainly looked arrogant enough to be a duke.
“He is very handsome, is he not?” her cousin approved.
“Should you notice such things when you are about to be married to another gentleman entirely?” Rachel teased.
“I am to become Ezra’s wife, not take the veil!”
Rachel chuckled. “Then yes, he is a very handsome gentleman.”
“As is Mr. Long.”
Her lashes lowered. “Yes.”
“Nothing else to add?”
“No.”
Clara nodded. “Then that having been decided, I suggest we get on with the task we came up here to complete.” She grimaced as she stepped away from the window. “We left Mama downstairs drinking tea while we came to measure for the new curtains to go in this room. But all you have done so far is stare out the window and moon over Mr. Long like a lovesick puppy.”
“I am accused of being lovesick?” Rachel raised a brow as she glanced at her cousin, Clara being only six months here senior. “Pot, kettle,” she taunted. Clara was shortly to be married to Lord Ezra Stone after they’d known each other f
or only a couple of weeks. The two of them were so very much in love with each other, they were rarely apart.
Clara gave a gleeful chuckle as she linked her arm with Rachel’s. “I was only teasing so as to gauge your reaction.”
“And?”
“And you definitely demonstrate all the symptoms of mooning after Mr. Long.”
“Earlier, he recalled Snowball is the name of my mare.”
“Yes?”
Rachel glanced at her. “I just thought it was a strange thing to remember about a young lady you hold in the contempt Mr. Long seems to have for me.”
“The incident with the bull was not your fault,” Clara consoled, and not for the first time. “You simply froze. You were not being deliberately difficult.”
“He called me a bloody stupid woman.”
Clara nodded, eyes twinkling with merriment. “And after he had spanked you, he called you a brat and an ungrateful wretch.”
Color bloomed in Rachel’s cheeks at the thought of the spanking given to her by Grayson Long three weeks ago.
A spanking she had pleaded with and finally persuaded Rissa and Clara not to discuss with their families and, in Rissa’s case, her future husband.
Because Rachel had been mortified by the spanking, for several reasons.
It had only been later, once the bull had been returned to a neighboring farmer’s field and Rachel had returned home and was alone in her bedchamber, that she had allowed herself to think of that spanking again. And her reaction to it.
She had felt fully recovered from the shock of being in the path of the stampeding bull, she could not say the same, once she was alone to think about it, for the spanking administered to her by Grayson Long.
Of how her breasts felt fuller, the nipples engorged and tender to the touch. Between her thighs was both hot and sensitive, the tiny nubbin nestled in her curls there having become swollen and tingling. Squeezing her thighs together had increased that tingling to a pleasurable ache which bloomed in her core.
Rachel’s cheeks warmed now as she recalled pulling up her gown to her thighs before lowering her hand between the split in her drawers so that she might feel the wetness there as she stroked her fingers along that sensitivity, causing the slickness to increase and the pleasure to deepen.
Once begun, she was unable to stop, pulling down the bodice of her gown to release her breasts so that she might tweak and squeeze her nipples, the fingers of her other hand stroking faster and then faster still between her thighs.
Closing her eyes and imagining it was Grayson Long who was caressing and stroking both her breasts and between her thighs resulted in a sunburst of release so intensely pleasurable, Rachel had almost fainted.
Since that time, not a single night had passed without Rachel repeating that pleasure once she was alone in her bedchamber and imagining it was Grayson Long’s hands and lips upon her. After having spanked her again, of course.
“I have no idea where your thoughts have taken you, sweet Rachel, to have caused such a blush,” Clara teased. “But they are certainly not helping with the measurement of these curtains!”
Rachel snapped out of the sensual fog of those memories and her response to them, only to realize that Grayson Long was no longer down below in conversation with the duke but alone and staring up at the window from where she gazed down at him so longingly.
For a few brief seconds, he continued to return that longing glance, gray eyes glittering, a flush across his cheekbones, chiseled lips parting as if about to kiss her—
“Rachel?”
She wanted to continue staring at Grayson, to convey with her eyes the longing she felt for him. The same longing she believed she could see in his eyes as he gazed back at her.
Then the moment was lost, gone as if it had never been, as his jaw tensed, those gray eyes turning steely, before he turned on his booted heel and walked away.
Rachel gave a sigh as she turned away from the window. “You are perfectly correct. Besides which, Grayson—Mr. Long,” she corrected, a warmth of a blush entering her cheeks, “will never return my interest.”
“He already does return it,” Clara dismissed as she set about measuring the height of the window looking out over the stables.
Rachel stilled. “What makes you say that?”
“The fact that his gaze follows you whenever you are in his vicinity.”
She snorted. “That proves nothing.”
“It proves he is not indifferent to you.”
“It proves he is a man.” Rachel snorted. “Or that he is expecting another stupid incident in which I almost get myself mauled to death!”
Clara shook her head. “I do not believe that to be the case.”
Much as Rachel appreciated her cousin’s sympathy, it was of little consolation when she knew she had fallen in love with Grayson Long the first time she set eyes upon him standing between her and a raging bull.
She gave a weary chuckle now as she recalled how unsmitten with her Grayson Long had been as he verbally lashed into her before proceeding to administer a physical admonishment.
As Rachel was forced to rein in her disappointment later that day when, the curtains measured for, she returned to the stables in search of Snowball, only to discover Mr. Long had long since departed the stables to go about other estate business.
But Rachel was at least able to console herself with the knowledge that gentleman would be seated at her parents’ dining table later this evening.
Except Mr. Grayson Long sent her parents a note within the hour expressing his apologies for being unable to join them for dinner that evening after all. He claimed it was because urgent estate business demanded his attention.
Rachel could not help but wonder if his change of plans had anything to do with either his conversation with the Duke of Hawkwood or the heat and desire she had seen in Grayson’s eyes earlier as he looked up and did not look away again when he saw her gazing down at him.
Either way, Rachel’s patience was at an end in regard to Grayson’s continued avoidance of her.
“No.” Lord Ezra Stone threw Gray’s letter of resignation down on top of the desk behind which he sat, his dark eyes glittering as he looked across at Gray. “I cannot and will not allow you to leave my employ just now.” He stood impatiently to move to the decanter of brandy and glasses on the table near the window of his study. “Good God, man.” He poured the golden brown liquid into two glasses before turning to hand Gray one. “You know I am to be married at the weekend and that I have asked you to stand at my side in the church.”
Gray had felt honored when the other man asked him to be his witness at the wedding. Stone had announced that Gray’s heroics the previous week, in having saved the other man’s life, merited him as being the closest friend his lordship had. Put like that, Gray had no choice but to accept.
But that was before Hawkwood appeared in the area and upset Gray’s equilibrium as well as his need for privacy.
“My wife and I are to go away for a week’s honeymoon at The Lakes before Christmas is upon us,” his lordship continued. “This”—he waved his glass in the direction of the letter of resignation on his desktop—“could result in my being divorced before I am even wed.”
Gray knew his timing was off, but what choice did he have with Hawkwood in the area, churning up old memories best forgotten, and more recent ones that could not be changed? “I believe I have previously mentioned to you that I might have to leave here with very little or no notice.”
Stone scowled his displeasure as he took a sip of his brandy. “Mentioning something and then coming to me only a short time later to tell me you wish to leave now, with my wedding five days away, are two distinctly different things. Surely this ‘private matter’ cannot be so urgent you cannot at least wait until after my wife and I are returned from our honeymoon? I will let you go without further demur, and with excellent references, if you will promise to remain as manager here for just two more weeks.”
Gray had been feeling agitated ever since his confrontation and conversation with Hawkwood earlier today. A feeling of unease not lessened by that lingering, telling glance he and Rachel had exchanged after Hawkwood left.
Outwardly, Rachel gave every impression of being a chaste and obedient daughter.
That might genuinely be the case, but Gray also knew that her two closest friends, Clara and Rissa, had both taken one look at the gentlemen they wished to call husband, and within weeks, the deed was done.
Not that Zachary Noble or Ezra Stone were ever heard to make a single complaint about the arrangement. Why would they when they were either married to or about to become so to two of the warmest and most beautiful women in the district? Besides, both those gentlemen, older and more experienced than their beautiful brides, now carried themselves with an air of immense satisfaction and happiness.
Earlier today, Gray had felt a frisson of that same awareness as he and Rachel stared at each other, she from an upstairs window of the main house, Gray from the stable yard.
Not just an awareness but a determination on her part to claim who and what she wanted.
The same want he had detected in her, once she had recovered from her initial anger toward him, regarding the spanking he had given her.
Tempted as he was to respond to that longing, Gray could not bear the thought of ever hurting Rachel. Of seducing her—or having her seduce him!—and then walking away. As he would have no other choice but to do.
For a brief few minutes earlier today, he had contemplated there being a different outcome, of his being able to claim the Ashborne title back at least, and perhaps Rachel along with it. But it had been only briefly, was a daydream Gray knew could never come to fruition.
“You do know, grateful as I am, I am also somewhat angry with you still for having allowed Clara to put herself in danger that day so that she might aid you in rescuing me?”
Gray arched a brow at Stone’s obvious attempt to guilt him into remaining at Stone Manor for two more weeks. “I dare any man to have even attempted to stop Miss Catchpole in her quest to save you.”
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