Finally, she said, “I’ve experience speaking with the workers in my father’s factory. One of our workers accosted a young woman, and my father thought she would open up to me, tell me the name of her attacker.”
Lord Rigsby leaned closer. “Did she?”
Henrietta nodded. “I can help you, Grayson.”
He rocked away from her with a sigh. “All right. Yes, I think you can help.”
His words shot through her like a bolt of joy. Satisfaction. Of a battle well-won, of course. “Tell me. What questions are you asking in your interviews?”
He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. Unfolding it, he read, “Were you here last year? Did you clean the guest rooms? Did you find a necklace? Do you know anyone who did?”
“Hm. To the point. Blunt. Typical of you.”
“A compliment, Miss Blake?”
She nodded. “The truth only.” Then, she tapped a finger on her shoulder slowly, one, two, three times. “There must be a better way. Two days into interviews and you’ve talked with how many of the staff?”
“Twenty-six.”
Henrietta whistled. “You’ll never finish in time, at such a rate.”
He chuckled. “In time for what?”
“The end of the party. Why don’t you ask Lady Stonefield which maids and servants would have been assigned to last year’s guest rooms? That will decrease your work.”
The heel of his left boot vibrated up and down. “No. I don’t want anyone to know it’s lost.”
“Stubborn man.”
He grinned. One ear lifted higher than the other and a slight dimple popped out on his right cheek. Those deep-brown eyes warmed her.
Hold steady, Henrietta instructed her knees, whose wobble would find her pooled on the floor if she wasn’t careful. Move brain, she comanded. But only when she tore her gaze away from Lord Rigsby’s smiling face did the gears move again. “I’ll speak with Ada,” she said. “She’s good friends with Lady Stonefield and can find out what we need to know without mentioning you at all.”
“Clever girl.”
“Yes, Ada is rather clever.”
“Not her, you.”
Henrietta cleared her throat. “Yes, well.” She glanced at the waiting maid. “Shall we?”
He gestured her forward with a graceful arch of his arm, and Henrietta marched toward the waiting maid, who twisted her skirts in her lap.
Grayson sat on a chair across from the maid, and Henrietta sat on the couch next to her, offering her a sincere smile, the same she gave the seamstresses in her shop each morning.
“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said, “and for giving you a fright earlier …”
“Margaret, ma’am,” the maid supplied.
Henrietta’s smile deepened. “Margaret. A lovely name. Lord Rigsby asked me to help with his inquiries. But I did not know you were arriving so soon.” She opened her palms to the ceiling with a small shrug. “And I’m afraid you frightened me, which caused me to frighten you.” She laughed.
Margaret laughed, too, a nervous titter. Trying to set the girl at ease was not working; she only prolonged the girl’s curiosity and anxiety. “Do you know why the viscount has asked to speak with you?”
Grayson leaned forward. “Have they told you, downstairs, what I’m looking for?”
The maid glanced between the two, her eyes darting from one side of her face to the other.
They’d scared her. Henrietta suppressed a sigh. She did not admire timidity, but she understood why the maid would act so in such a situation. Henrietta placed a hand on Lord Rigsby’s forearm, asking without words for him to lean back and away from the girl. He must have understood, because he immediately made the adjustment.
“Let us be direct, Margaret. We do not wish to waste your valuable time. The viscount has a few questions about last year’s house party. You’re not in trouble. We’re hoping to find someone with any small bit of information that could help us.” She smiled brightly again, folding her hands harmlessly in her lap.
The maid’s eyes grew wide as windowpanes. Mercy, frightened again. But perhaps her frightened reaction revealed hidden secrets. And, hopefully, a hidden necklace. Her eyes had grown as transparent as windows, too. Henrietta easily read what lay behind them. Grayson must have, too. He glanced Henrietta’s way, anticipation in his expression.
“You see,” Grayson said, “I’m afraid I lost a family heirloom last year.” A dramatic pause as the maid held her breath. “A necklace.”
Margaret’s eyes shrunk. The fear and guilt replaced with relief. “A necklace? No. I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t know of any necklace.” Her words rang true. She may have found another piece of jewelry, but not a necklace.
Henrietta pushed the matter with a few more questions, but soon Grayson dismissed the maid. Once she disappeared behind the door, Grayson sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. “For a brief, glorious moment, I thought we’d found it.”
Henrietta shook her head, collapsing from her poker-straight posture and sliding into the back of the couch. “I suppose it couldn’t be that easy.” A shame. The sooner they completed their mission, the sooner she could leave Grayson’s tempting presence.
Unfortunately, five maids and two footmen later, it had become abundantly clear “easy” did not describe their endeavor. Any part of it. Not only would they never find the necklace, or even any knowledge of it, Henrietta’s entire body felt taut and attune to the hard, lean male body so close to hers.
Grayson shifted in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and his arm behind his head. The movement caught her attention; his body held it. His Hessians were scuffed arrows leading her eyes up his body, across muscled thighs tightly encased in blue superfine, and then even higher to broad shoulders, and finally, to closed eyes with dark shadows of exhaustion beneath. He appeared powerful and vulnerable simultaneously, an irresistible combination.
Grayson seemed impervious to her own charms, however, despite his earlier advances and confessions. Perhaps he didn’t actually want her.
“I think we are done for the day,” Henrietta said, leaning back in her chair. Outside the window, the sun dipped low.
Grayson sighed and sat up straight. “One more.” He scrubbed his face with his palms, as if waking himself up. “It’s killing me, Hen. You’re killing me, but dinner is still a few hours away, and the sooner we finish this, the better.”
What did he mean, “you’re killing me”?
She started to ask when he said, “A few more interviews today. They are progressing more smoothly and quickly with you present.” He offered her a wary grin, a gift that sent her heart stuttering against her ribs.
“You were right,” he continued. “They are more at ease with you.”
“I think we can complete a few more interviews before retiring for the day,” she conceded.
He groaned to his feet. “Very good.”
The butler appeared not long after Grayson pulled the bell and disappeared immediately after he requested three more available servants be sent up for interviews.
Grayson aimlessly wound his way around the room to the window, and Henrietta enjoyed the view of him silhouetted against the dying light of the day as much as he seemed to enjoy the view of the sun setting in a pastel sky. He turned around so abruptly, he caught her staring. He grinned, and she whipped her gaze to her lap. The route he made to her side seemed as aimless as the one he’d made to the window, but she felt his gaze on her, heated and purposeful. She dared not look up. Oh mercy, yes, she did. She did dare.
As she’d guessed, his attention had settled on her as if she were the only bolt of bright silk in a shop of white muslin. He stopped only when his body almost pressed against the side of the couch she slouched into.
She continued holding his gaze, tipping her head up, up, up, the closer he curved to her side. “Yes?” she queried, when he simply smiled down at her.
His hands, which had been clasped b
ehind his back, unlocked, and he drew a finger around the curve of her ear, down her neck, and over her collarbone. She dragged the pleasure of his touch into her body with each ragged breath.
“Hen,” he said just as the door opened, and a maid strode in.
Chapter 9
Grayson snapped upright, locking his hands behind his back once more, and Henrietta bounced to her feet like a lamb fleeing a wolf and offered the maid a cheery welcome.
What was he doing? He couldn’t touch her like that. He shouldn’t touch her at all. He still danced to Valingford’s tune, with good reason. He wouldn’t see Lady Willow hurt or uncomfortable. He had promised to remain attentive to her throughout the remainder of the house party, and he intended to do so. That meant no touching other women, not even other women he intended to pursue after this sham almost engagement had run its natural course.
He smiled brightly at the maid and returned to his chair after both she and Henrietta had seated themselves on the couch. “How are you, today Miss …” He paused, waiting for her to supply a name.
Posture rigid, the maid sniffed. “I’m Annie, my lord.” She didn’t meet his gaze, and her mouth pinched into a thin line.
Grayson glanced at Henrietta. Did she note the maid’s stiffness? He thought she did.
She sat straighter, more attentive than she had in the last hour. She leaned slightly toward Annie, her eyes sparkling. “We won’t keep you, Annie. We’re inquiring into a piece of jewelry Lord Rigsby misplaced at last year’s house party.”
Annie’s eyes darted toward Grayson. “I don’t know of any necklace.”
Henrietta hadn’t said necklace. Interesting. But it meant nothing. The maid would have known before entering the room what they looked for. Gossip traveled quickly. “I’m sure you don’t, but if you did,” he said, “we would be grateful for the information.”
Annie snorted. “Grateful to get it and quick to punish for it, too, I’m sure.”
A bold chit! But scared, too. Under her skirts, her heel bounced up and down.
Henrietta laid a hand on Annie’s forearm. “No punishment. Not at all!”
Annie yanked her arm out from under Henrietta’s touch. “I’ve heard that before from folks like you.” She jerked her head toward Grayson. “And you.”
A scowl slowly blossomed across Henrietta’s face. “I’m, ahem, not like him,” she said. “My father is a working man.”
The maid snorted again, a favorite expression, it seemed. “A rich working man from a titled family, I hear.”
Henrietta’s scowl took on a flavor of righteous indignation. If she let her anger further alienate the maid, they’d lose whatever information she had. Grayson jumped into the conversation. “You’re correct, Annie. Miss Blake is quite wealthy, and her family tree includes an earl or two. She’s not had to work each day as you have.”
Henrietta’s scowl jerked his way. He forged ahead. “But she does know what it means to work. The first night we met, I dined with her family, a guest of her brother’s. I noticed that she sat all night with her hands in her lap, and when she ventured forth to lift a spoon or glass to her lips, she grasped the object awkwardly with the middles of her fingers and not the tips.”
The maid’s lips un-pinched a bit. With curiosity, he hoped.
“I asked her brother later that evening,” Grayson continued, “if his sister suffered permanent damage to her arms or hands.”
Henrietta groaned.
But Grayson kept his attention trained on Annie. “Her brother laughed and assured me otherwise. You see, she’d spent the entire month trying to learn to sew as quickly, and with as much precision, as a seamstress. She had earned nothing for her efforts but pricked and swollen fingers.”
Annie cocked her head to one side and speared Henrietta with a questioning look. “Why?”
Henrietta shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “I very much admire the work seamstresses do, and I wanted to understand it, to be able to emulate it. In one way, I did not succeed. I do not have a talent for the needle. My fingers were a swollen, bloody mess. But I did learn how hard it is to work all night and day with a needle.” She huffed. “More like a tiny rapier. Weaving tiny stitches into works of art. It’s such difficult work. And so important! Just like what you—”
The maid laughed, a hearty sound. “You’re a good ’un, Miss Blake.”
“Oh, but he is, too!” Henrietta exclaimed, nodding at Grayson. “Before he became Viscount Rigsby, he trained to be an estate manager.”
Annie eyed Grayson skeptically.
“It’s true,” he assured her, leaving out the bit about the estates he trained to manage belonging to his father. “I’ve risen with the sun, mucked stables, and sheered sheep.” He’d enjoyed it, too, much more than he seemed to enjoy the less hands-on role of viscount and heir.
Annie nodded. “Maybe you wouldn’t punish me. Or maybe you’re lying to get me to—”
“Annie,” Henrietta said, interrupting her. “I promise you, neither of us has a desire to have you fired because you hold information about a lost necklace, no matter how condemning that information is.”
Annie’s gaze shifted slowly from Henrietta to Grayson then back again before dropping to her lap. “It’s not me I’m scared for,” she whispered.
“Who then?” Grayson persisted.
“The person who took the necklace. And sold it.”
Grayson bit back a curse. “Sold it?” he gritted out.
Annie’s eyes grew wide. “He needed the money,” she said in a rush. “Had good reasons for doing it. He needed it more than you. It took you a year to realize it was missing, didn’t it!”
Grayson grit his teeth and sent Henrietta a look he hoped said, Please, take care of this mess because if I open my mouth, I will certainly regret what comes out of it.
“Annie,” Henrietta said, keeping her eyes locked on Grayson and apparently understanding at least part of his silent message, “we won’t do anything to hurt that person, either. Can we speak with him, though? Please? Lord Rigsby wishes only to know where and how the necklace was sold so he can, perhaps, track it down.” She didn’t even look his way to confirm that the words she’d spoken for him were true. She didn’t need to. They were.
Grayson wouldn’t have the thief punished, but he might plan a little lecture for him about taking what is not his, no matter how good his motives.
Annie glanced his way. Looking for reassurance? She’d have it.
“Miss Blake is correct. I wish to speak with him. That is all.”
Annie rose slowly. “All right, then. Jack works in the stables. You’ll find him there, no doubt.”
“Thank you, Annie. I mean it.”
“You’ve been a splendid help this day,” Henrietta assured her.
But Annie looked unconvinced as she slipped through the door and out of sight.
Henrietta surged after her. “Come along, then! Let’s find Jack!”
But Grayson sank lower in his chair, exhaustion seeping bone deep. “It’s no use. Whoever this Jack is sold the necklace. I’m going to have to tell my father I lost the damned thing.”
Henrietta stopped, her hand on the door, and turned slowly toward him. “Actually,” she said quietly, “I lost the necklace. Tell him it was my doing. He cannot hurt me.”
Grayson shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Henrietta appeared directly in front of him and crouched down, steadying herself by putting her hands on the chair’s arm, her fingers brushing his elbow.
He eyed those slim, white fingers, so stark near his dark coat.
“Grayson, let’s go speak with Jack in the stables. All hope is not lost. Besides, even if we do not gain a necklace, we do gain the end of a mystery. I’m curious.” She tilted her head and ventured a smile. “Aren’t you?”
Even if he wasn’t curious—and he had to confess to a bit of curiosity—her smile would tempt him to the moon and back. He stood on heavy legs and followed her
into the hallway.
“I’ll go out the front door, and you go through the garden,” she said without looking back at him.
He did as she bid without question. They would raise eyebrows were they to stomp through the house and head toward the stables together. Most of the guests this year had also been in attendance last year and likely suspected the true nature of their relationship at that time. Neither of them could afford to be at the center of gossip this year. He’d promised not to embarrass Lady Willow, and Henrietta needed to impress the ton.
Grayson slipped into the garden, ignoring the couples strolling there. How would he avoid gossip when he could barely keep from touching Henrietta? And yet she seemed entirely unaffected by his presence. He was a fool for thinking she might want him as much as he wanted her. Was he a fool for ending his agreement with Valingford?
The stables rose into view and so did Henrietta, slipping through its doors.
Grayson’s steps quickened, and he could not pretend the prospect of finally finding out the mystery of the missing necklace pulled him forward. No, Henrietta pulled him. He thought he’d convinced himself to be practical, but a mere glimpse of her slight, energetic form threw all practicality into shadow.
He joined Henrietta inside and entered a bustling world of activity. Grooms and stable boys bustled about, caring for guests’ horses. It was a small but well-designed quadrangle layout, and Grayson nodded in admiration. “The ventilation looks fine,” he said absently to Henrietta. “But I wonder if I should talk to the stable master. To discover the differences between the system here and at Crestwell House.”
“To better improve your own stables or to help improve these?”
“Either. Depending.”
She chuckled and nudged his arm with her elbow. “I think we should find the mysterious Jack.”
“Of course.” He shook his head and refocused. Jack first, stable master later. “But the stable master could lead us to Jack more easily than we could lead ourselves.”
Henrietta stopped her forward march. “Excellent point.” She glanced up at him, mischief dancing in her grin. “Now, how do we identify him?”
A Secret Desire Page 7