“You do not.”
“And because I was once young and passionate myself, I’ll grant you this concession.” Valingford never compromised but pretending to often proved quite advantageous. “Continue to court my daughter. Spend time with her, get to know her. If you still cannot bring yourself to propose by the end of the house party”—he shrugged—“consider yourself a free man.”
Lord Rigsby stopped pacing, considering the proposition. “I’m telling you I will not change my mind.”
Valingford’s next words would win or lose this argument. He let silence stretch between them as he considered carefully. Was Lord Rigsby an obedient boy as his father insisted or merely a considerate one? He did as his father asked, but he’d also found company for Willow before leaving her alone on the lawn. Perhaps he obeyed his father not out of submissive loyalty but out of consideration for the older man’s wishes and concerns? The possibility held distinct opportunities.
“You would be helping Lady Willow if you did so,” Valingford said. “She is quite alone in society because of her status and does not mingle easily with others. You would help make her more comfortable if you continued to spend time with her. And think of how uncomfortable her stay here would be if you told her now you will not be proposing marriage? Everyone around her expects one thing, yet she would know the embarrassing truth. I dare say she would find it insupportable.”
Lord Rigsby’s head lifted, and his gaze shot toward the window and the green lawn beyond it.
Ah, he’d guessed right, then. The boy was considerate above all else. How stupid. Yet, how convenient.
Lord Rigsby refocused his attention on Valingford. “I don’t wish to cause Lady Willow pain. I won’t speak with her about this, and I’ll continue to spend time with her. But as a friend. I could not do this if you didn’t understand my true intentions.”
“You mean your lack of intentions.”
Lord Rigsby blushed. The fool.
Valingford waved him away. “I understand.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I cannot—”
Valingford waved his words away with an impatient flutter of his hand. “Go now.”
Lord Rigsby bowed again and made a quick and quiet exit.
The fire burned low in the grate, and Valingford considered each glowing ember with appreciative eyes. The fire consumed all it touched until the very last. Even dead and smoldering, it still burned and conquered. No one had ever called Valingford fiery or passionate, but he knew he had the diligent heat of a fire inside him.
He’d found out one of Lord Rigsby’s weaknesses—compassion. What other weaknesses could he discover in a week’s worth of time?
Chapter 7
Henrietta tried the pink slippers against her green dress. The pink was too soft for such a deep green. She tossed the slippers aside. “The silver slippers, please, Annette.”
Her maid brought the requested footwear before clasping a long strand of pearls around Henrietta’s throat.
“Thank you, Annette.”
The maid bustled about her, straightening this and pulling lint off that, while Henrietta cleared and tidied her mind. Usually, she kept an abundance of concerns, tasks, and plans whirling at once in her head successfully. Eventually, she’d complete every task, cross off every concern, and complete every plan. She’d never needed to write out a list. But today’s mental whirlwind brought more confusion than clarity. It picked her up, shook her around, and tossed her upside down, and she barely knew which thread to follow first.
First, she needed to complete her gown change. She’d already changed twice, but if she wanted to impress the guests at Hill House with the quality and quantity of Blake gowns, she needed to showcase all of them. Second, she needed to continue courting clientele. Lady Willow’s patronage was a victory, to be sure, but she wouldn’t let it make her complacent. Victory wasn’t guaranteed, after all. Lady Willow’s patronage depended entirely on the third item swirling around in Henrietta’s mind: she needed to find the Devonmere necklace. Her chances at accomplishing such a task doubled if she pooled her resources with Lord Rigsby. Lord Rigsby. Lord Rigsby—he was her fourth item and biggest problem. He’d almost kissed her. Almost.
She brushed away the remembered sensations—the tingles that had shot through her when he’d leaned close, the anticipation, the remorse when he’d pulled away. Not only did she brush them away, she smooshed them completely, like a bug beneath her boot heel. There. Item four dealt with efficiently. She needn’t think on it any longer.
And it opened up mental space for item five—her brother. And since worry over item five crowded out all the other items (except for item four, if she were being honest, because kisses like that weren’t so easy to dispose of), she’d need to knock on his door and see what gnawed at brother dear before it gnawed her to death. She’d need all her wits for a conversation with Tobias.
“Thank you, Annette,” Henrietta said, then marched down the hall and stopped in front of an absolutely ordinary looking door. She lifted her hand and knocked. “Tobias?”
“Come in,” a muffled voice answered.
She found an empty room upon entering. “Tobias?”
“Dressing,” his voice called from behind a screen.
Henrietta sat primly on the edge of a chair. “Do you plan on showing yourself this afternoon?”
“I suppose I must.” He stepped out from behind the screen, tying his cravat in a quick Napoleon knot.
“Why else come to Hill House, Tobias? Something is eating at you.”
“I don’t appear to be anyone’s dinner, dear sis.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You know, that silk would look better as a day gown or pelisse.”
Tobias looked down at the pale-orange waistcoat and shrugged. “It’ll do.”
“With the purple cravat it most certainly will not. Here I am, trying to raise the name of Blake Textiles, and I must fight you and your lack of fashion sense the whole way. If you must dress so absurdly, at least you could use another merchant’s cloth instead of Father’s. Perhaps you should stay holed up in this room.”
Tobias grinned and pulled on a navy-blue wool jacket. “It wouldn’t be fun using anyone else’s cloth. Have you come to pull me out of hiding or to push me back in?”
“I’ve come to find out why you’re hiding. It’s not like you. If you didn’t want to come, you shouldn’t have.”
“I had to come.” He pulled his waistcoat down and straightened his cuffs. “Lord Rigsby has arrived, I hear.”
“Are you avoiding him, then?”
“Certainly not. I’ve been avoiding someone else.”
“Who?”
He shrugged. “She never showed up. I have good word she won’t.”
Henrietta racked her brain. Who had she heard would appear and had not? “Avoiding a soured romantic entanglement?”
“Don’t look so dubious. I appear to much better advantage out of these clothes than I do in them.”
“Blech! Tobias!”
“It’s only truth, dear sis.” He wagged a finger at her. “And don’t try to figure out who she is, sis. It matters not. I’d have braved the social wilds eventually, whether she showed up or not, to save you from Lord Rigsby.”
“Save me? Hmph.”
Tobias strolled toward the window and flipped the curtain back. “I have quite a good view of the garden from up here. It’s educational the things one sees. Children playing, lovers’ arguments, almost embraces.”
Merciful heavens, did he suggest he’d seen the kiss? She let her gaze wander about the room as if she cared not a whit for his words. “Fascinating stuff, I’m sure. I had no idea you were such a voyeur.”
“Oh, quite. I like to obtain pertinent information.”
Henrietta tugged on his arm. “But how did you know he would be here? I had no idea!”
He turned away from the window. “Grandpapa told me. He knew Grandmama would prove an inadequate chaperone, so he sent me
to make sure you didn’t fall back into old, painful patterns with Viscount Rigsby. And from what I can see”—he flicked his eyes toward the window and the garden again—“his worries proved prescient.”
Henrietta stood slowly, smoothing her skirts. “Here I was, worried over you, afraid something was amiss.”
He laughed. “Amiss? With me? Never.”
“I see.” And she did. He seemed more dour than usual. This woman, whoever she was, had affected him more than he admitted to. But now her worry for her brother mixed with annoyance. “I don’t need your protection, Tobias. Please do not interfere. Your waistcoat is doing enough to sabotage my purposes as it is.”
He lifted her off her feet in a crushing hug. “Interfere? Sabotage? What an active imagination you have, sis. I’d never!” He managed the little speech while hauling her bodily toward the door.
Henrietta wriggled and hissed in his arms. “Put me down! I’m not twelve anymore!”
“Oof, I see that,” he said, plunking her onto her feet in front of the door. “You must weigh twenty stone at least.”
She swatted his shoulder. “Twenty stone!”
He reached behind her and opened the door. She braced to be pushed out, but he stooped and locked eyes with her. “Stay away from Lord Rigsby, Henrietta. He trampled your heart last time, and if he does it again, I’ll not be so kind.” He straightened to his full height and pulled his cuffs down. Playing with the Belgian lace, he said, “I’ve not dueled in a while, and I’d love to issue a challenge, especially to him.”
“You’ll not duel with Lord Rigsby, Tobias,” Henrietta warned. “He didn’t do anything. I released him from our engagement.”
“And broke your heart in the process.”
“It matters not, Tobias. I’m mended now. I’m in no harm from the man, I swear.” She narrowed her eyes at her brother. “And even if I were in danger, I’d still do as I pleased.”
“Not in danger? That’s not what the almost kiss suggested.”
Damn. He had seen. She forced a lighthearted laugh. “I’m completely safe from him, Tobias.”
“Stay away from him. He became the heir to a dukedom and left you in tears. He’s ignorant to your worth. I’m quite serious, Henrietta.”
She studied his purple cravat for a moment. If she continued looking at it, she could imagine that no, he was not serious at all. She lifted her gaze to his face, a plane of sharp, cutting edges. She could pretend no longer. He meant what he said about keeping her distance from Lord Rigsby, about the duel.
She patted him on the shoulder. “You worry for nothing, dear brother. Now, do have fun this week. And, if you could, refrain from mentioning the origin of your clothing.” She sighed. “I can’t have you undoing all my hard work.” She left, and he shut the door behind her.
He should not worry so about her. She could help Lord Rigsby find the necklace without getting hurt all over again. She had to. She may not be in love with Lord Rigsby anymore, but she certainly didn’t want him to die at the end of Tobias’s duel-happy pistol. She’d help Lord Rigsby find the necklace, but she’d have to make sure Tobias never found out.
No more almost kisses in fragrant gardens. Item four on her mental list—complete. And her conversation with Tobias laid item five to rest. Tobias was fine; still bossy, still poorly dressed, oddly evasive of a mystery woman, yes, but as confusingly flippant and serious as ever before.
Now on to item three from her mental list: help Lord Rigsby find the Devonmere necklace. Lady Willow could only control her own sartorial choices once she wed, and she could only marry once Lord Rigsby proposed, and he would only propose if he had the necklace. And he, only one man, could not search a house with over a hundred rooms alone. Could not, alone, interview a staff of over a hundred servants.
She trotted down the stairs and found the library. Lord Rigsby interviewed maids behind those doors, or so Annette had told her earlier. She looked over her shoulder. It would be exactly like Tobias to follow her. But he hadn’t. The hallway remained empty except for herself.
Tobias could threaten all he wanted, but his threats would fall on deaf ears. Henrietta needed her shop to succeed, and for that to happen, she needed to find the necklace. Henrietta squared her shoulders, thought of Lady Willow’s future patronage, and opened the door.
Chapter 8
Assaulted with the alluring scene of Lord Rigsby alone at a writing desk with a piece of paper gripped between his fingers and his golden hair standing out in every direction, mumbling to himself, Henrietta turned on her toes and fled.
No. She would not cower in face of a challenge. She pushed through the door and studied him more closely, setting a concrete barrier in place around her heart as she did so. And he looked extremely agitated. His cravat hung limp and sloppy around his neck. His coat, though stretched across broad shoulders, looked rumpled in the afternoon sun flooding through the window, and his fingers, long and strong, drummed a chaotic rhythm on the rich mahogany. Lust shot through her. She wanted those fingers on her.
Mercy. Panic raced through her at the stark realization of her desire. His almost kiss yesterday had opened a floodgate inside her. She needed more of him.
She couldn’t do this—work closely with him—even if it meant accomplishing her goal sooner. She’d crack. She’d shatter. She’d grab him by the lapels and toss him down on a settee and …
She was no coward, but she was no fool, either. In certain circumstances, retreat became the wisest course of action. She’d find another way to facilitate his marriage to Lady Willow. But it had become clear she could not help him while occupying the same room as him. Best intentions aside, her body did as it pleased. And Grayson pleased it. Immensely. She turned around, hoping to leave as quietly as she’d entered, but found a maid, short, auburn-haired, dressed in black, standing right in front of her. “Ack!”
The maid echoed her exclamation and put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry, miss! Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m supposed to meet—”
“Me.” Grayson strode around Henrietta with a warm smile for the maid, whose eyes widened and fingers fidgeted. He gestured to a seat. “Sit, please. I’ll be right with you.” He turned to Henrietta. “Join me over there?” His head jerked across the room toward the desk he’d recently vacated, then he strode in the indicated direction, propped a hip against the desk’s edge, and waited, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Henrietta obliged him, propping her hip against the desk, too, and faced him with her arms crossed over her chest. But the gesture did not grant her as much power as it did him. Her shorter height meant her waist more than her hip bit into the desk, and her crossed arms created the appearance of a plate serving up her breasts for his delectation. She itched to cross them over her stomach instead but kept them in place. Well, what else were low-cut gowns for? She knew, better than most perhaps, the power such a garment gave to the wearer. She wouldn’t hide it. Instead, she held his gaze, wondering if it would dip below her eyes, lips, chin, to—ah, there it was. His glance shot back to her face as quickly as it had dipped below it. She smiled the smug grin of the victorious.
Mercy, she wasn’t here for these games! Why did he distract her so?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
She’d come to help, decided not to, but then been caught. Silent escape was no longer an option. It seemed she must stick to her original plan. “I’ve come to help interview the maids.”
He shook his head. “I’m not in need of assistance. Though,” he said, his brown eyes melting like warm chocolate in a pot, “it’s kind of you to offer.”
“You asked for my assistance.”
“I did. Should not have done so. I was not considering your feelings.”
“Or Lady Willow’s.”
“Or Lady Willow’s.”
“And now you are?” she asked.
He nodded.
She nodded, too. He offered a way out of her lust-addled predicament, yet she found herself saying,
“I want to help you. Our goals align, after all. We both want your marriage with Lady Willow to move forward, you know. Your …” She swallowed. “Your future wife cannot patronize my shop until she is wed and her mother no longer controls her wardrobe. And two heads working toward a mutual goal are better than one.” She spoke the truth. If she just focused on those two words—future wife—she could suppress her inappropriate lust.
His brows drew together rapidly, and his mouth shot open, but he snapped it closed. When he next spoke, he did so slowly, deliberately. “You can succeed in your goals without Lady Willow, without my marrying Lady Willow.”
He didn’t understand, and she wouldn’t explain it. Lady Willow was the key.
“Let me help. Did you know the Earl of Stonefield employs one hundred and fifty-two servants? And not a one of them is new? Apparently, the Earl and Countess are considered perfect employers. No one leaves or does anything to lose their position.”
He groaned. “That many? I knew the number was likely high, but …” He groaned again.
She had him. “How have the interviews gone so far today? Any clues?”
He scratched behind his ear. “No. But the last maid I interviewed is sending in another who may, apparently, have pertinent information.” He glanced across the room at the waiting maid. “That’s her. I’m not convinced she’ll say a word, though, even if she does have useful information. They’ve closed ranks against me.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You’re exhausted,” Henrietta said. “I can help. They may have closed ranks against Lord Rigsby, but perhaps Miss Blake will have more luck.”
He scoffed. “Miss Blake has an earl for a grandfather and one of the richest men in England as a father. Don’t pretend you’re other than you are.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor then strayed to the window. “I am other than you are, and that is what matters.”
Silence strung between them, tightening her chest.
A Secret Desire Page 6