A Secret Desire

by Lane, Charlie

“And the lady does dote on her grandchildren, particularly those of marriageable age.”

  Archibald the pug agreed with a woof, and Henrietta remembered the dog’s brief bout of freedom at last year’s party. Archibald had been lost for two whole hours, and Henrietta had spent those two hours searching the most private corners of the house for him. And not alone.

  She had not found the dog, but she had discovered she loved the feel of a man’s tongue on her—no! She shut a steel door on the memory. None of that. She refused to entertain memories of her brief and tumultuous engagement to Grayson Maxwell.

  Grayson Maxwell no more. Viscount Rigsby, now.

  Henrietta shook both names from her brain. She’d have to do better. She locked the steel door. “Yes, Grandmama has introduced my brother to many a woman with a determined gleam in her eye.”

  “The woman’s eye or your grandmother’s?”

  “Both.”

  Lady Pendleson raised an eyebrow. “You’re a wit. I’m not surprised. The quiet ones usually are. You know, I found myself in one of your father’s dress shops earlier in the year. To think he has so many and across all of England.”

  “One shop only, my lady, and only in London.” Henrietta’s shop, to be precise. Her father had wanted, so far, to know nothing about it but the numbers. Not that she could reveal the details of her involvement to, well, anyone. “The others are factories.”

  Lady Pendleson sniffed. “Well, the fabrics are the finest I’ve ever seen. I ordered two dresses.” Henrietta warmed toward the lady. She even felt a surge of warmth toward Archibald, though his fur did ruin the look of Lady Pendleson’s yellow-and-blue evening gown. “Tell me, which fabric did you choose? I can have my father send an entire bolt of it to you.”

  The Lady’s eyes widened, sparking with delight. “It was such the loveliest shade of—”

  “Henrietta!” The exclamation shouted across the entire room silenced Lady Pendleson.

  It sent a bolt of happiness through every inch of Henrietta. “Ada!” Henrietta wanted to fly at her dear friend, so seldom seen, but she stuck her slippers to the rug. Decorum first, decorum always.

  No matter, Ada did enough flying for the both of them, flinging her arms around Henrietta’s neck heedless of the commotion she created, deaf to the censorious whispers floating around their enthusiastic meeting.

  And Henrietta allowed her own arms to wrap around her friend in a short but warm greeting. When they pulled away from their embrace, however, Henrietta glanced about in relief. Other than Lady Pendleson, the few others in the room had paid the younger women no attention. She took Ada’s hands in her own. “It is good to see you. I hardly expected you would come!”

  “I hardly expected it myself!”

  Lady Pendleson stepped between Henrietta and Ada. “An old lady knows when to make her exit. I think I will visit with your grandmother after all.”

  “Oh dear, did we upset her very much, do you think?” Ada asked, watching Lady Pendleson haul Archibald in Henrietta’s grandmother’s direction.

  Henrietta grinned. “I’m sure I should care, but I’m just too happy to see you! Tell me, how did you escape your duties?”

  “And by ‘duties’ you mean the children.”

  “Precisely.”

  Ada’s smile twinkled. “I love them, truly I do, but …”

  “It’s nice to take a holiday.”

  Ada nodded. “Precisely. My siblings and cousins are exhausting bits of baggage. But there’s no one to watch the younger ones right now as Nora is in London. So, I’ll not be staying. I’ll be about here and there, during the days, then return home at night.” Her mouth stilled then twisted into a grimace. “Hen, do you know yet?”

  “Know what?” Fear knotted Henrietta’s stomach. Was Ada unwell? The children?

  “You obviously do not know. Come. You must sit down.” Ada maneuvered Henrietta closer to a chair.

  “Ada, stop being mysterious. You’re worrying me. Out with it already.”

  “But first, sit.”

  Henrietta sank onto a low bench at the side of the room. “Now, what is it I should know?”

  “Lord Rigsby is in attendance.”

  Had the world stopped spinning? Time seemed to slow, to stop. All sound receded as if she’d stuffed her ears with cotton.

  “Hen? Are you all right?”

  Henrietta blinked and steadied her breath when she realized the pounding noise she heard came from her own heart, crashing against her ribs. “He’s here?”

  “Yes. In the parlor, in fact, with the other guests.”

  “He’s here?”

  Ada frowned. “Oh dear, you’re broken. I merely wished to warn you, but perhaps I should not have.”

  “He’s here right now?”

  “Hen, I think you should breathe.”

  Wasn’t she breathing? “And he’s going to stay here the entire fortnight?”

  Ada sat beside her, soothing her trembling hands. When had they started shaking so? “This is usually the intention with house parties,” Ada said.

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps we can ignore him?”

  Ignore him? How in heaven’s name would she do that when he still haunted her dreams despite having broken her heart?

  But she couldn’t leave. She had a purpose—to promote her dress shop—and she would not run from it. She would not run from him, no matter how much her feet begged to do so. “It’s all right, Ada. Thank you for telling me. We will ignore him.”

  Ada patted Henrietta’s shoulder. “Good. I’m glad you’ve survived the intelligence. Now to the particularly awful news.”

  “Worse than—”

  “You must steel yourself. There is worse news to come.”

  “Worse than being trapped in the same house as my ex-fiancé?”

  Ada nodded. “Are you ready?”

  “Not knowing what volleys you’re about to send my way, I can only assume I am.”

  “Lord Rigsby is here in attendance with a lady he’s been courting in London. Gossip says he’s going to propose to her before the party’s end.”

  Curiously, the world didn’t tilt at this news. It didn’t blur. Sounds didn’t fade. Henrietta felt only her heart, small and cold inside her chest, heave a little cry no one heard or felt but her. Silly heart. It should have learned its lesson last year. “I should never have come.” It was the height of folly to return to the scene of her greatest happiness, her greatest sorrow. She hadn’t expected the unforgettable Lord Rigsby to be in attendance. She should have. And now he was engaged or very soon would be.

  “You don’t have to stay,” Ada said. “You can come home with me to Cavendish Manor where all manner of hijinks will ensue. I guarantee you the children will create enough noise and chaos to jolt Lord Rigsby and his intended from your mind forever.”

  Escape. It sounded lovely. But she couldn’t.

  “Thank you, Ada, but will the children spend money in my shop?”

  “I suppose not, but I don’t see how it signifies. I will spend money in your shop … if I ever get a season. And Nora already does.”

  Henrietta stood, smoothing her skirts. “It signifies because that’s why I’m here. Hill House is the event of the season, and I mean to use it to gain patronage for my shop among the leaders of the ton. I’ve almost hooked Lady Pendleson entirely. I plan to seduce Lady Collington away from the dull shop she’s patronized her whole life, and if I’m truly skilled, before everyone returns to London, I’ll have the Duchess of Valingford ordering her daughter’s trousseau from my shop.”

  “The Duchess of Valingford?”

  “Lofty goals, I know, but—”

  Ada stood, too, and turned Henrietta to face her. “Hen, perhaps there’s one more thing you should be made aware of.”

  “Another?”

  “Can you handle it?” She didn’t wait for an answer to her question. “No, you must handle it. Her grace’s daughter—she’s who Lord Rigsby is courting.
Her name is Lady Willow.”

  It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. “It matters not a wit, Ada.” But mercy, it did matter. She had a name and face to put alongside Lord Rigsby’s. Lady Willow was blonde as the sun and blue eyed, as tall and willowy as her namesake. A quiet beauty.

  “I’m so sorry, Henrietta. He was your—”

  Henrietta dropped her voice. “He’s not mine anymore, Ada. Don’t speak of it. It’s been over a year since we were together, and we never made it public.”

  Ada scowled. “I know. I just—” She sighed. “Come home with me.”

  Henrietta scowled. “I cannot. This is the perfect opportunity to show the most influential women in the ton how much they want to buy, no, need to buy, my father’s fabric.” She gestured down the length of her body.

  Ada nodded then laughed. “The gown is stunning. And your grandfather is an earl, Hen. Surely there’s no need to make yourself miserable in order to sell your father’s wares. They’ll practically sell themselves!”

  Henrietta shook her head. Her friend didn’t understand. “My grandfather may be an earl, but my father is in trade. It’s a miracle they let me through the doors.”

  Ada shrugged. “I think you make more of it than anyone else does.”

  “No. Who a person’s parents are, whether they spend their time building new things and acquiring money or watching people die and acquiring money, these details are what matter most.”

  “A morbid and cynical way of viewing it. I suppose I’ll not convince you of anything sensible this evening.” Ada wove her arm through Henrietta’s. “We’ll stay in the conservatory then, avoid the crush in the parlor and on the lawn.”

  The parlor—where Ada had said Lord Rigsby was. “No.” She looked around the room. Her grandmother, Lady Pendleson, and a handful of other women in her grandmother’s set—quiet ones, Lady Pendleson would call them—sipped tea and chatted. “The women in this room already visit my shop because of my grandmother. I must go where my gowns are needed most.”

  “To a roomful of women already wearing stylish gowns?”

  “Ah, but they are not as stylish as they could be. Come.” She tugged Ada toward the door with little effort. “Into the fray.” To build the most enviable clientele in London.

  And most definitely not to catch a glimpse of her former fiancé.

  Chapter 3

  Grayson saw her as soon as she entered the room. She looked exactly the same as she had a year ago. Those dark honey-gold curls bobbed tantalizingly about creamy shoulders. And she dazzled the room with a confident smile. The last time he’d seen her, her eyes had filled with tears, her chin had dropped to her chest, and she’d ran from the room and from his life.

  She’d valiantly, stupidly, jilted him, and he’d let her. More idiot him. If he’d taken the time to swim through the fog of grief he’d been drowning in, he’d have seen sooner—immediately—that she’d wanted him to stop her. But he’d not, and he’d missed his chance.

  Across the room, she laughed, and he not only heard it, he felt it down the entire length of his spine and into his toes. He tapped his boot, trying to shake out the feeling, but still could not resist peeking at her.

  She spoke to Lady Collington with her entire body, flipping her wrists, tilting her head, her elegant feet dancing in place as she laughed at the conversation. Those fingers, the slim ankles peeking from beneath the hem of her dress, the slight yet full curves of her body—they all sent lust spiraling through him. Attending the house party had definitely been a bad idea. A catastrophic idea.

  But he couldn’t avoid it; he needed the necklace.

  And the woman who had it stood within sight.

  But quickly slipped out of it! She and Miss Cavendish followed Lady Collington out into the garden, presumably to the swinging path of lanterns leading to the revelries on the lawn. But Henrietta stopped in the doorway, waving the others on, and knelt to inspect her gown’s hem. The fabric pulled up, offering him a glimpse of her shapely ankle.

  She frowned, her entire body a mass of frustration, then stood and, before moving into the dark, looked directly at him.

  Her eyes slammed into his like a bolt of lightning.

  He took a step toward her, as if pulled by her gaze, then she disappeared into the shadows.

  “Hell,” he hissed under his breath.

  “Did you speak, my lord?” Lady Willow blinked up at him.

  “No, no. I mean yes. Nothing of import. Sorry to disturb you.” His thoughts skittered along the garden path behind Henrietta. She’d be alone, the others far ahead of her. She afforded him a perfect opportunity. He needed a covert conversation with her, and the shadowy garden provided the ideal location.

  He glanced across the room at the Duke of Valingford, who occupied a chair in the corner, surrounded by a small group of equally angular and dour-looking men. He seemed engrossed. Good. But what about Lady Willow and her mother? Would they notice if he snuck off? Less than a foot from his right ear, the duchess yammered on about some ailment while Lady Willow repeated, “Yes, Mama” and “No, Mama” without hearing a word her mother said. Neither of them paid him the least bit of attention, leaving him free to flinch with each high-pitched syllable.

  And to covertly disappear. He scooted a foot away. Did they notice?

  Lady Willow’s eyes cut into him, though she remained facing her mother.

  Hell. He’d been caught. But her mother held her captive, and she could do nothing about his retreat, not that she would. He scooted another foot.

  Lady Willow’s hand shot out and pulled him back. Well, surprising, that. And a bit brazen. And completely uncharacteristic.

  “Yes, Mama,” Lady Willow echoed before leaning close and hissing. “Going somewhere, my lord?”

  Grayson winced. “I, um.” He cleared his throat and pulled at his ever-constricting cravat.

  “Willow!” Her mother’s voice sliced between them, and they swung to attention like soldiers.

  “Yes, Mama?” Lady Willow’s voice drained of its previous pertness.

  “Remove your hand from Lord Rigsby’s person this instant.” The duchess never looked down at the point where her daughter’s hand clutched Grayson’s forearm. How had she known?

  Lady Willow let go of his arm immediately.

  “My lord,” the duchess crooned, “my daughter can be impetuous.”

  Lady Willow? Impetuous? He’d not seen a single sign of that particular personality trait in the last few months he’d spent courting her. Perhaps she had hidden depths. She had grabbed his arm and hissed a challenge. He peeked at his almost fiancée, searching.

  She blinked twice, her doll eyes blank and glassy.

  No hidden depths, then. He must have imagined it.

  “You’ll have to excuse her,” the duchess said. “You can rest assured she will remain passive and submissive in all matrimonial, ahem, relations.”

  Good God, the woman couldn’t mean … But she did. Her belief was written all over her face. In a room full to the seams with the most gently bred in society, the Duchess of Valingford guaranteed him her daughter would be a passive bed partner.

  Well, one thinly veiled double entendre deserved another. His father’s voice told him not to, but he could not resist the impulse. “I am sure she’ll be quite good, but I don’t mind if she grabs me, Madam.”

  Lady Valingford’s smile vanished. She understood his meaning, then.

  Lady Willow blinked out of her blank stare and barked a strange laugh, earning a scolding glance from her mother.

  Grayson smiled innocently, as if he had no idea what he’d said.

  Would the ladies believe it? He granted them a questioning stare for good measure, enjoying the small rebellion from proper behavior. He decided to put them out of their misery. “I’m sorry. Did I say something untoward?” Lying came easily to him after a year of pretending to be someone else. “I simply meant Lady Willow did me no harm by grabbing my forearm just now. She’s too delicate to ca
use pain.”

  The duchess’s face melted into one of approval.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to suggest anything else.” Yes, he did, but he could hardly admit to having a little fun. He eyed the door to the gardens behind them. His verbal rebellion proved too small an escape. He needed into the night air, now, and he needed to speak with Henrietta, who moved further and further away from him with each breath. Grayson inched another foot toward the garden door.

  “Go,” Lady Willow hissed, surprising him. Her head didn’t move from its concentrated stare in her mother’s direction, but the words definitely came from her. “Don’t make it worse than it already is, my lord.”

  “Willow!” Her mother’s censorious cry rang across the room.

  Grayson ran, darting backward into the crowd and out the door. He cast a look back at the ladies he abandoned as he passed through the French doors. The duchess’s eyes trained on her daughter whose face drained to the white of an empty slip of paper.

  He should stay, support his fiancée-to-be who swung back and forth between personalities like a pendulum on a clock. But he couldn’t. Not if he planned to retrieve the necklace that would unite him to her.

  He slipped through the crowd and into the garden, breathing in the cool night air and turning his face to the star-studded sky. The moon shone full, and a row of torches led down a garden path to a bowling green set up for evening sport. Had Henrietta joined the merry makers? Or taken one of the darker, more solitary paths further into the garden?

  Grayson scratched his ear. It always itched when he couldn’t solve a problem. He chose the torchlit garden path. She’d been following Lady Collington and Miss Cavendish, after all. But how far ahead was she? Could he catch her before she joined the others on the lawn? If he ran, probably. His father’s voice rang through his mind. Dukes don’t run. Dukes never did anything.

  But he needed to catch her. Quickly. He ran. It felt good, too, stretching his legs and lungs at the same time, letting the breeze wash his father’s voice from his ears. Even with the torches and the moon, the avenue hung dark and shadowy. He stumbled over a rock, but the almost fall had him laughing, exhilarated by the danger of running through a dark garden. Well, dangerous-ish. But he hadn’t done anything dangerous, or even dangerous-ish, in a year, so this slight misdemeanor pumped exhilaration through his chest.