He itched to kiss her. He wove his fingers together behind his back. “He’ll be the one barking orders.”
Henrietta jerked her gaze away from him and leveled one corner of the room with a focused stare, scanning her head across the room, searching.
Grayson watched her, unable to search for a Jack or a stable master when she stood so close, requiring so much of his attention.
“Not that one, Teddy!” A voice rose above the general hum of stable activity. “That’s Lord Preston’s saddle your puttin’ on Lord Cowart’s horse.”
“They look the same ta me,” a blinking Teddy replied.
The owner of the first voice strode forward, another saddle in hand. “Not a’tall. See this here?” He bent low, showing the young groom a detail Grayson could not see. Then he pointed to a similar spot on the other saddle. “And there?”
The boy nodded slowly, understanding dawning. “But they weren’t in the right places, then!”
“You’re right. They got mixed up. Always check. Just ta be sure.”
Grayson pointed toward the pair. “There’s the stable master. I’d bet on it.”
Henrietta smoothed her skirts. “Perfect.”
Grayson followed her, and the stable master saw them almost immediately. He bowed. “Lord Rigsby. Miss Blake. Should I have your mounts readied and brought round?”
Grayson paused, allowing Henrietta to speak first, to lead the way, but she cast a waiting look up at him, so he filled the silence. “Not at the moment, unfortunately. We’ve come on different business. We’re looking for a stable hand named Jack.”
The stable master frowned and scratched his neck. “What’s he done?”
“Nothing at all,” Henrietta rushed to inform him. She smiled her most comforting smile. “We’re looking for something lost and were told Jack might know how to find it.”
The stable master looked skeptical, but turned to yell over his shoulder, “Jack!”
A young man in the very last stall shot upward and trotted across the space. “Yes, Mr. Covins?”
“Lord Rigsby and Miss Blake would like ta speak with ya.” Mr. Covins wagged his finger at the young man. “Answer tha truth to whatever they ask.”
Jack cast a nervous glance at Grayson, and Grayson tried to smile as comforting as Henrietta always did. But the giant gulp that bobbed in Jack’s throat suggested he’d not succeeded.
Thankfully, Henrietta stepped forward. “Hello, Jack, we spoke this afternoon with your friend up at the house—Annie. A lovely girl.”
“Annie,” Jack hissed, his eyebrows lowering. He swung a wild gaze their way. “Annie don’t know nothin’, dumb—”
“Annie didn’t want to tell us. She wouldn’t have said a word on her own.” Henrietta rushed to cover up any insult he intended to throw the maid’s way.
“It’s true,” Grayson supplied. “But we assured her we want information about the necklace. Nothing more. We wish to know what happened.”
Henrietta shook her head furtively and laid her palms open to the ceiling. “We merely seek closure to a mystery, not retaliation on any party.”
Jack eyed them suspiciously.
Would the young man never come around? He didn’t have all day, and frankly, there were other mysteries Grayson wished to discover. The whereabouts of the necklace had taken a hit in terms of importance, especially now that it seemed lost for good. “Jack, listen.” He tried to keep the huff of frustration from his voice, but the annoyed glance Henrietta sliced his way told him he’d not succeeded. “You are a valuable employee here, but I know how much even valued employees are paid. If misfortune visits your family …” Grayson shook his head. “It may not be enough. Now, Annie says whoever took the necklace had good motive, and that sounds like a story I’d like to hear.”
Beside him, Henrietta nodded enthusiastically. “Me as well. Tell us a story, Jack. Nothing more.”
Jack’s eyes slid around the room in all directions before centering on Henrietta. He’d direct his confidence her way, then. No wonder. She inspired trust. “It wasn’t me. It was my brother. He don’t work here always, just during the house party as a groom. Last year, we needed all the blunt we could get. Our Da broke his leg and couldn’t work.” He lowered his voice. “One day, during the party, this lady comes galloping up to the stables, and Walter—me brother—rushes out to help her. As she slides from this horse, this fal-lal slides from her neck and gets caught on the saddle. Walt was gonna give it back, honest. ‘Miss,’ he says, to get her attention. But she whips around and glares enough to cut his head clean off. ‘Lady Somethin’ or Other,’ she snaps at ’im.” Jack’s lip curled in disgust.
Grayson leaned back with a sigh. Clearly, Lady Somethin’ or Other was not Henrietta, which meant the necklace Jack’s brother stole was not the Devonmere heirloom.
“What did the necklace look like?” Henrietta asked.
Jack snorted. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, if you’re looking fer it.”
Henrietta smiled, all patience and good humor. “Humor us, please, Jack.”
Jack rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “A big bauble, all diamonds and rubies. We didn’t sell it. Wanted to, but Ma said it wasn’t right. ’Sides, I hear they can trace that thing back ta ya. I made Walt give it to me, and Annie left it up at the house, hidden in a corner of the lady’s room. Never heard nothin’ about it after that. Don’t know if they found it or not.”
Henrietta’s fingers brushed against his elbow, requesting his attention.
Grayson gave it to her gladly.
“It’s not your necklace.”
He nodded his agreement then turned to Jack. “Thank you for the story. It will go no further than us two, I swear it.”
“If Annie trusts ya, I do, too.” He turned, ostensibly to return to his work.
“Wait, Jack,” Grayson called out.
Jack whipped back around.
“Your father, is he mended?”
Jack nodded.
“And everything is fine at home now?” Grayson pressed. “There’s no more temptation to find creative solutions to your problems?”
Jack smiled, the first true smile they’d seen from him. “Everything’s right as rain, my lord!” He trotted away from them, disappearing into the back of the stables.
“What were you going to do? Had he responded otherwise?” Henrietta asked.
Grayson shrugged. “Found a way to help him, I suppose. Money, or if they refused to accept financial support, there are other ways to help. I could find the father a temporary job he could do sitting down, for example. It would allow him to keep his pride, would help him keep his mind off his injury.” He shrugged. “I’m sure Lady Stonefield sent food and help.”
Henrietta nodded and dropped her chin to her chest. “You’re a fine man,” she mumbled. “Lady Willow is a lucky woman.” She strode away from him, quickly slipping out of the stables.
Grayson followed, thinking on her words. He didn’t know how to respond to her final statement, so when he caught up to her, he responded to the first instead. “You are a fine woman, Henrietta Blake.”
She stopped, huffed a laugh, and leaned against the stable wall. “Am I? Ada suggested I’m a social climber yesterday.”
“You’re not.”
“And Tobias calls me a termagant.”
“He’s wrong.”
“Papa calls me an interfering chit.”
“Wrong again.” He leaned a hip against the wall beside her and stooped low over her, drawn to her body in a way he’d not experienced with anyone but her. Her lips quivered and he wanted to take the plump bottom one between his teeth, steadying it with a kiss.
She looked up at him with a jerk, as if pulled by the intensity of his concentration on her. The movement swayed her toward him, but he remained a statue, suppressing the growing need to crush her in his arms. With every muscle in his body clenched, he kept his distance, he did not touch her.
Her gaze flicked fr
antically across his face before she breathed, “Oh, mercy,” twisted her arms around his neck, and pulled herself against him with a kiss.
Chapter 10
She shouldn’t have done it. He was all but engaged to another woman, a fact Henrietta’s body refused to acknowledge as it leaned forward, finally—finally!—closing the distance between them and taking his lips as she’d longed to do all afternoon.
He stiffened at first, and she pulled away, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, locking her in place. They’d barely touched one another in a year and now they seared their bodies together as if no time had passed. No gentle kiss or awakening for them. Instead, a conflagration. His fingers pressed into her waist, lifting her almost off the ground. Her palms cradled his face, pulling him close. His soft, firm lips parted hers, and she opened to him with a moan as he pressed her against the stables, slipping a knee between her legs with a gentle nudge at her center. She felt every inch of him, and it felt like a miracle; it felt like the past surging into the present. It felt like she’d come home.
Laughter rang inside the stables. A door swung open and slammed shut, ripping them apart from one another.
Henrietta gulped in a breath and ran the back of her wrist over her swollen lips. She dared not look at Grayson, dared not see the regret in his eyes.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Yes. Shit,” she replied.
“I should not have—”
“You didn’t. I did.” She paced forward, trying to work out the frustration seething through her. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
Which obvious reason did he want her to offer? His almost fiancée? Their aching history with one another? “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said, settling her breathing and smoothing her skirts. “You’re engaged. I …” What did one say when one had done something as vile as she’d just done? And enjoyed it so well?
His silence said everything.
She rushed to fill it, not caring what she said, only that there were words in the air between them instead of this sizzling electricity. “You’ve been so near. But so very far. And you get so close, but you never touch, and …” She let loose a harsh sigh that tore the air around her into ragged strips. “I apologize.”
He shook his head, the tension in his shoulders draining, softness lighting his brown eyes. “Do not apologize. You’ve made several things abundantly clear for me. Thank you. And you were not the sole participant.”
What had she made abundantly clear for him? Everything seemed murkier than before to her. “No, I was not, but you would never have participated had I not flung myself at you.”
He chuckled and drew nearer, slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.
How embarrassing! Henrietta turned, paced away from him, and refocused her mind on the business at hand—finding the necklace. “Jack was no help. Except that we know his necklace is not our necklace.”
Grayson stepped in line beside her, matching his strides to hers. “Not a very useful piece of information.”
Thank heavens he took her lead and abandoned talk of the kiss for talk of the necklace. Still, she avoided looking at him. “Have you searched the house yet?”
“No, I’ve not.” A hand wrapped gently around her upper arm, stilling her. He stared intently down at her. “I think you’re the cleverest woman I’ve ever met. The most determined. But tell me, what do you think of me?”
She sucked in a breath, then quit breathing altogether. Why would he ask that? “You—” She paused, afraid she’d stutter. “You know what I think of you.”
“Do I? I thought I did, once.” He shrugged. “But much can change in an instant. Tell me,” he insisted, “what do you think of me?”
The conversation would not help them locate the necklace, but it potentially held answers to questions she’d been asking since Ada first told her of Grayson’s appearance at the party. Whatever answers she found in such a conversation would lead to a sort of madness. She knew that instinctively, yet she could not help it. “I think you do not appear to harbor a tendre for Lady Willow. I … I speak as a concerned friend. Though, of course, I should not concern myself.” Not after she’d kissed him. The kiss had been an overstep. Her inquiry would be another. Yet she blazed forward anyway.
Grayson scratched behind his ear and averted his eyes.
“You do not have to reply,” she assured him. “Just, perhaps, consider giving Lady Willow more of a chance. Become better acquainted with her. She seems lovely if a bit odd. But, then, all the best people are. Odd, that is.” She clamped her mouth closed and strode away, her brother’s childhood nickname for her roaring into memory. He’d been right. She was a hen wit.
A hand wrapped around her wrist, gentle but strong enough to stop her escape. When she turned toward him, Grayson’s hold on her lessened even more until it felt like a caress, not a clasp, and his thumb brushed rhythmically, softly, back and forth over the pulse at her wrist.
“You are not wrong,” Grayson said. “I feel no deep affection for Lady Willow, and I have not given myself much opportunity to develop affection for her.” He released her wrist and tapped her chin before lifting it so she could see plainly into his hungry, burning eyes. “It is nigh impossible to give your heart away when it belongs to another, no matter how lovely the girl in question.”
Henrietta looked away, scorched to the core. She took two unsteady steps away from him, and he let her go. He always did that—let her go—an action that clearly contradicted his words. Why?
“I should not say such things,” he continued with a ragged sigh. “But I find it difficult to pretend with you. I hate pretending in general. But with you, it feels criminal.”
“What do you mean?”
He studied the clouds above their heads. Other than the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, he resembled a living statue. “I miss my brother,” he admitted, “I miss the life I had when he still lived. I’m a selfish child, I know, mourning the liberties of youth.”
“Selfish? You’re marrying a woman you have no deep emotion for.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of her response to his revelations. “I’m sorry you lost your brother.” Dear Lord, had she ever said as much? Had she ever given him her sympathy for his loss? She couldn’t remember, and she burned with guilt for it. “I cannot fathom the grief of losing a beloved brother.” The thought of Tobias, gone forever sent a shiver through her, and she changed the direction of her thoughts. “You’ll be a duke one day. I don’t understand why you would miss your old life.”
“My old life had fewer restrictions, more activity.” He licked his lips, dropped his gaze to the ground, and kicked a clod of dirt. “Do you know why I’m named Grayson?”
She shook her head.
“In my family, every generation christens a younger son Grayson. It’s a family tradition.”
“I’ve never met another with your name.”
“It is rare. More than that, it’s a reminder of the younger son’s duties. In my family, younger sons have always worked as stewards of the land, and Grayson comes from an old word meaning just that—steward.”
“What word?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Hell, if I remember. I should, though. It was beaten into my head enough as a child.” He shrugged. “The first-born son takes care of the title, the family, and the younger son takes care of the land, the estates. I always relished my role of steward, the riding, building, solving problems, talking to the people.”
And, if what she’d observed today was any indication, he’d been good at it, too.
“And you cannot do these things now, in your new role?” she queried.
“A good duke leaves such things to the steward. And my father hired an excellent one after my brother died.”
“Such strict delineations. Cannot a future duke do as he pleases?”
He grunted, rubbed the toe of his boot into the dirt. “One would think, but one would be wrong.” Hi
s smile bent toward bitter but quickly returned to neutral. “I wish I retained my old freedom, the freedom you enjoy.” He lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes hard with determination. “However, I’ll do good with this new life. I must. It would pain my father too deeply to see me fail as my brother did.”
Henrietta’s brain buzzed. Should she ensure him of his father’s unconditional pride? No—she didn’t know the duke well enough to speak for him. Should she address his brother’s assumed failures as heir? No, not when one of his sentences buzzed more loudly than the rest. “I have greater freedom than you? Ha! If you’ve not noticed, I’m a woman.”
His eyes lit up. “I’ve noticed. I never stop noticing.”
Mercy. What had she been saying? She’d been making a point, presumably, but now it slipped her mind. She forced her brain to focus—on the day their engagement had ended, on Lady Willow, on her own dress shop. She found her focus. “Well, then, you’ve also noticed that women are not exactly allowed to do as they please.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You run a shop in London.”
Her jaw clenched, but she managed to grit out a reply. “That everyone believes belongs to my father. I couldn’t ever possibly reveal it is mine. I’d be ruined. The daughter of a tradesman, granddaughter of an earl, in business for herself? I’d be shunned more than I am already.”
His back stiffened. His hands fisted. “Who shuns you?” His words implied action, but he was no longer her white knight.
She waved away his concern.
“No,” he insisted, “I wish to know.”
With as light a tone as she could muster, she replied, “Oh, let’s see… the Baxton heiress during my first season, the Hadley twins since we were children, Lord Stubly and his set, as you know. Then of course Lady Ashworth and her daughters, the Misses Bradox, Lord and Lady Mest—”
“Stop. I see. Why, Henrietta? Why do you allow it? You are their equal in birth and their superior in every other way.”
It was kind of him to think so. It was like him to think so. Perhaps becoming heir to a duke had not changed him overly much.
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