“Surely your grandfather does not stand for such mistreatment.”
“He does not know. Nor will he. I fight my own battles, thank you. So, when Lady Ashworth’s daughters spill punch on my ballgown, I smile and apologize for getting in their way. When the Hadley twins scribble insults in my dance card, I simply procure a new one.”
“That’s not fighting back. That’s not like you. Have you changed so much in a year? Where is the Henrietta who showed up at a duel to keep her brother safe?”
“I’m fighting smart. I’ll win the battle slowly. When those ladies come to my shop, I’ll be victorious. But what about you? Where is the Grayson who elects to be a second in a duel over a woman he’s never met?”
“He has too many obligations to take such risks now. What would my father do if he lost his only remaining heir?”
“Grieve for his son, one hopes.”
Grayson’s mouth twisted. “He won’t have to. I will not disappoint him.”
“I hope you do not disappoint yourself.” He was noble, she’d give him that, and she understood his impulse to please. “We both wish to please others, do we not? You your father, and I the ton.”
His sharp gaze pierced but his shoulders softened, slumped forward. “Shall we never please ourselves, then?”
Excellent question, but one that led to memories of their recent kiss, so sweet, too short. Too painful. She forced a smile and turned resolute steps toward the house. “It pleases me to succeed at my business and to help you locate that necklace.” She strode away from him and the conversation. As revealing as it had been, it had no bearing on the issue at hand. “You need to find your family’s necklace in order to propose to Lady Willow. I cannot help you do so unless you focus.” Besides, why rip open old wounds that had never truly healed to begin with? “Concentrate on finding the necklace, Lord Rigsby. I respect Lady Willow, and I won’t be a party to hurting her. If you wish for my help, we must abstain from personal conversations and we must never be in one another’s company. It’s not appropriate.” She couldn’t trust herself around him, especially not if he insisted on discussing such intimate matters. She turned away from him, closing the conversation.
He eased up behind her and, because she couldn’t help it, she turned to see his face. Storm clouds gathered above his brow.
She stepped away.
He stepped toward her, a dangerous dance.
“This evening,” she said, resuming her march toward Hill House, “Lady Stonefield is opening up the ballroom. There is to be dancing. A string quartet from London. Everyone will attend. It’s the perfect opportunity to search the house. The guests will be absent from their rooms and the servants busy amusing themselves below stairs at their own celebrations. I’ll be able to go where I like.”
The storm clouds on his brow threatened thunder, lightning. “I’m aware. I must attend the dance as escort to Lady Willow and her mother. You cannot search the house alone.”
“I do not see why, my lord.” In fact, the cornerstone of her plan was complete avoidance of Grayson. She couldn’t have him following her into midnight-shadowed bedrooms. She didn’t trust her body to behave.
A growl rumbled in his throat. “You’ll be alone at night in a houseful of men who’ve been drinking to excess.”
She waved away his concern. “Like you, all the men will be in the ballroom or gardens, drinking to excess there. I’ll be perfectly safe. Tomorrow morning I’ll search you out and let you know if I found the necklace. Oh!” She stepped toward him. “I’ll have heard back from Ada by then, too, and will have a list of names to speed up the interview process.”
“Hen,” he said, reaching for her. His hand stopped moments before touching her, hovering near the curve at her waist. Despite the miniscule distance, and despite the layers of clothing separating their skin, she felt his heat like hot coals. “Tell me what I—”
“No need to thank me!” Did she sound bright enough? Chipper enough? She needed the false happiness to stem the tide of words she didn’t want to hear. Her heart felt too full with him so close, too willing to forget. If she stayed here—letting him look at her, almost touch her—she’d dissolve into a fit of tears. That would never do.
He reached for her again. “Hen, tell me about the other eng—”
Again, she danced away from him, forced a cheery tone. “And no need to worry, my lord. If it’s still here, I’ll find the necklace tonight.” And if she didn’t, she’d find another way to help locate the necklace, a way that didn’t involve being in the same room as him.
She patted his shoulder twice, touching him to prove to herself she could do so without giving in to the desire to take that simple touch further, then bounced away, leaving him behind her without another word. When one bounced, no one noticed how close one was to tears.
Chapter 11
Grayson should already have been downstairs. The Duchess of Valingford despised tardiness in every form. He’d have to weather her foul looks. But it couldn’t be helped. He had multiple goals to conquer that evening, and Henrietta’s safety was not the least of them.
He cleared his throat and Willems flicked his eyes upward, the only acknowledgement Grayson could expect.
“As you are aware,” Grayson began, “I have come to Hill House on a mission.”
Willems nodded. Or at least Grayson thought he did.
“Get the necklace and propose to the Lady Willow.”
The valet continued to brush the lint from Grayson’s evening jacket.
Grayson continued. “The problem is”—he cleared his throat again—“the necklace disappeared at last year’s house party.”
Willems’s eyes widened, a miniscule movement and for only the briefest period of time. His hands stilled a fraction of a moment before he continued delinting Grayson’s shoulders. A massive reaction for the man. But he soon continued as if nothing had ever happened.
“Precisely,” Grayson said. “You understand. I have been attempting over the last several days to ascertain the exact whereabouts of the necklace.” He waited in vain for an answer, but Willems laid down the lint brush and turned to inspect Grayson’s cravat. “You understand, also, that this hunt must take place with the utmost discretion.”
Willems didn’t lift his eyes from Grayson cravat when he said, “And interviewing the maids is discreet?”
The man had a point. Discretion was a dukely trait he’d not managed to conquer in the last year, apparently. He would have to tackle it later, but for now, he needed to be in three places at once, and that required the assistance of his valet.
“This evening,” Grayson said, “as you know, the entire house congregates in the ballroom. Other than the servants, the upper floors of the house will be empty. Miss Blake is helping me find the necklace and sees this as an opportune moment to search the bedrooms.” He frowned, pulling away from Willems’s fingers as they tightened the already stifling cravat. “You see my concern, I hope. I don’t feel right letting Miss Blake sneak through darkened hallways alone in a house full of drunken men, especially when part of the house is closed off for improvements. Who knows how many ways there are for her to be injured? And as I do not wish Miss Blake injury, and as such an injury would bring more unwanted attention to our search for the necklace, I hoped”—he cleared his throat a third time—“I hoped you would keep an eye on her this evening while I entertain Lady Willow and her mother at the dance.” He paused. “I would like to ensure Miss Blake’s safety myself, but I’ve made promises, and I cannot cry off.”
Willems didn’t move from the corner of the room where he stood straight as Wellington himself, hands clasped behind his back. “A gentleman never does.”
Grayson flinched. Ultimately, he would cry off, abandoning his courtship of Lady Willow. But for now, for now he could make sure she felt as comfortable as possible, that no scent of the sure-to-come scandal touched her. He could do his best to reduce the scandal as much as possible. “Yes. Well. So, ahem, Willems, will
you take care of Miss Blake, then?” He needed her safe. Their heated interlude behind the stables—the kiss he’d been trying for days to avoid but that she’d willingly initiated in a few consuming seconds—had been too brief, and he wouldn’t be able to revisit it if she fell to her death.
“May I speak freely, my lord?” Willems said.
“Please!”
“I’ve family in Manchester, where Miss Blake’s father’s factories are. She’s done much good for the children there. No one goes without warm and whole clothes if she can help it. I’ll watch over her.”
Grayson stared, mouth open. He’d never heard a longer speech from the man, and they’d been together over a decade. And all in support of Henrietta. The worry that had settled heavy on Grayson’s shoulders when she’d said she planned to wander the dark halls alone this night lifted a bit. She would be safe. And he could keep his promises to Lady Willow.
The only difficulty now lay in the third place he needed to be that evening—wherever Tobias Blake hid. Grayson had heard the man had arrived at Hill House, but he’d not yet seen a trace of him. Tobias could never resist a party, and Grayson needed to speak with him. Henrietta did not speak of any engagement to any man other than Grayson, and the knowledge of it filled him with urgent curiosity. He couldn’t, now, quite believe she would ever have moved on so quickly. Tobias would have the answers.
Energy bounded through Grayson. Much would be accomplished this evening. He bounded out the door, peeking his head back into the room to say, “Don’t let Miss Blake go too far away from the house. Or into the closed-off areas of the house. Or”—his eyes rolled around, searching for other dangerous possibilities—“up onto the roof.”
Willems lifted a single eyebrow. “The roof, my lord?”
Grayson shrugged. “Prepare yourself.”
He met the duchess and Lady Willow in the foyer and bowed low. “You both look lovely this evening.”
The duchess turned away from him and walked down the hall toward the ballroom. “You’re late. Come along.”
Grayson offered his arm to Lady Willow. “We’ve been to many balls together, but never waltzed. Do you dislike the dance? Shall we try if tonight offers the opportunity?”
The duchess answered for her. “The waltz is vulgar.”
Ah. He peeked at Lady Willow to see if she felt the same.
She chewed her bottom lip, head tilted, and offered no answer.
The waltz had been acceptable for years now! Even Grayson’s father acknowledged it as a right and proper activity for a future duke. Grayson ground down his frustration. “As I understand it, Madam, even the best families waltz.”
The duchess shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder. “We are the best of families, and we do not.”
“Lord Rigsby.” Lady Willow’s voice rose soft but clear. “Do not fret. I’ve never been taught to waltz and would not know what to do.”
Grayson’s fist clenched at his side. Each of her words had rung with hollow defeat, as if she’d given up on even the simple enjoyments of life, no matter the more complex ones. She deserved better than a waltz-less life. And while he now knew he could not marry her, he could offer her temporary escape from the complacent boredom of her days. Tonight, she would waltz, her mother’s preference be damned. He smiled at Lady Willow and blazed forward. “Madam I understand your good breeding compels you to question such a forward physical activity as the waltz, but it seems to be a wonderful opportunity for two people to get to know one another.”
Lady Willow’s mother sniffed. “What need have you two to get to know one another? There will be plenty of time for intimacies later.”
He would not receive official permission, then. He knew what he should do, what his father would expect him to do—obey the duchess and abandon the waltz.
Like hell he would. He turned to Lady Willow and whispered. “Will you waltz with me this evening?”
She frowned. She opened her mouth then closed it, pressing her lips into a thin line.
He stopped their progress right outside the ballroom and waited for the duchess to march into the room and out of earshot before leaning closer to Lady Willow. “If you wish to waltz, it will be our secret.”
She hesitated.
“Do you fear your lack of experience?”
“No-o,” she said slowly, darting a glance at her mother’s figure, disappearing into the crush.
“Ah. Perhaps you do not wish to defy your mother’s rules, even in secr—”
“No. I do. I mean, I will. I mean”—she shoved her dance card at him—“I will waltz with you.” The heightened color in Lady Willow’s cheeks and her eyes, darting glances between Grayson and the ballroom doors her mother had just passed through, made her appear feverish.
“Are you quite sure? I do not wish to press you into anything that discomforts you.”
She nodded firmly. “I’m positive, my lord.”
Grayson grinned. “You will have fun, you’ll see.” Grayson wrote his name next to the dinner waltz and turned them toward the double doors thrown open before them. The ballroom blazed with light, echoed with sound, and he led them into the brilliant cacophony.
And immediately saw the most hideous waistcoat he’d ever seen—puce with green flowers. Only one man dared such sartorial effrontery—Tobias Blake, Henrietta’s brother and Grayson’s long-lost friend. “Lady Willow?” he ventured.
“Hm?”
“I see someone I know and must speak with. Are you comfortable here on your own? Should I find your mother?”
She waved him away. “I’m perfectly fine with or without you, my lord. I hope your conversation is a productive one.” She peeked up at him. “No waltz, then?”
“I’ll return for the waltz,” he reassured her. “I promise.”
She nodded, then turned her attention immediately back to the swirling couples, craning her neck to see further across the crowd. “Do as you wish, my lord, as long as I get my waltz.”
Lady Willow’s voice spoke with firm assurance, never looking at Grayson. No matter. The lady could place her concentration where she pleased; all of Grayson’s concentration focused on Tobias Blake. Tonight, he’d find out why Henrietta—the woman who had kissed him with abandon behind the stables—wasn’t engaged when almost exactly one year ago, Tobias Blake had assured Grayson she was.
Chapter 12
Grayson circled the small ballroom, keeping the puce monstrosity in sight the entire time. He stalked surely but stealthily so Tobias wouldn’t see Grayson sidle up beside him. “The last time we spoke you assured me your sister was as good as married. I find she is not.”
The other man didn’t even startle, but his head swung slowly toward Grayson, revealing a sly grin. “No proper hello for an old friend?” His brows drew together in a fake frown. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such bad manners. Not at all what I’d expect from a future duke.”
Tobias’s voice cut through the air with a sharp edge. Why? They’d not spoken for almost a year, but Grayson held no ill will toward the man. It seemed natural that their friendship would fade after his engagement to Henrietta ended.
Unexplained edge to his voice or not, the infuriating man had a point. As a future duke, Grayson would have to handle this conversation the way his father would—address the annoyance with elegance and grace, then discard it with precision. And above all, not make a scene. “We need to talk. Follow me,” he commanded before turning and cutting his way through the crowd. He didn’t turn to make sure Tobias followed. Grayson knew he would. The man loved drama as much as he loved a hideous waistcoat.
He entered the first empty room he came to, drawing close to the fire. It wavered low in the dark, and Grayson poked it a bit until its blaze illuminated the entire room.
Tobias quirked laughing lips at him from across the flickering shadows.
Grayson pointed to a chair by the fire. “Sit.” He wanted to see Tobias’s face fully when he answered this question. The emotions crossing there could offer
a glimpse into Henrietta’s own emotions over the last year.
Tobias obliged, sinking low in the chair and propping one booted foot on a nearby table. He smiled up at Grayson, oozing more confidence than the highest-born duke and more disrespect than such a duke could ever imagine. Grayson used to find Tobias’s nonchalance refreshing. Now it irked him. Did the man care about nothing?
Grayson wouldn’t sit himself. Too much energy coursed through him. “I have an important question to ask, and I wish you to speak the truth.”
“It’s been almost a year since we last spoke. A year of lost time between friends. My loss has been great, my life bereft. But now we are reunited. Can’t we dispense with the—”
Grayson snorted. “No fucking dramatics tonight, Tobias. I’ll have the answer to my question.”
“I forgot. You’re a plainspoken sort, but I can answer your question without you asking it. The fabric for my waistcoat comes, of course, from my father—”
“Was she or was she not engaged?”
Tobias snapped his lips together. He studied the fire.
“Well?”
“An interesting question. Yes, she was engaged. A secret affair to the second son of a duke.” Tobias’s lips pulled into a frown. “But things soured when the spare became the heir, and—”
“You’re playing with me. You’re talking about Henrietta’s engagement to me. You know what I speak of. She’s never been engaged to a man other than myself, has she?”
Tobias sank lower in his chair. “I wondered if you’d notice that little detail about Hen. Speaking of, you’ve not thanked me for the service I did for you last year. No matter. The heroic never expect gratitude for their selfless deeds.”
So many words, ideas, and accusations rushed through Grayson, he found it hard to choose which one to voice first. “Was she ever engaged?” He knew the answer, felt it in his bones, but he wanted to hear his friend say it. Friend? He questioned that as well.
“No. You’re the only man she’s ever been engaged to. But she’s an attractive girl. Someone will court and marry her eventually.”
A Secret Desire Page 9