His arms held her tight. His heart beat next to hers.
When he broke the kiss, Henrietta heard a whimper—hers—at the loss of their connection. But he hushed her with another quick kiss then turned his attentions elsewhere, feathering kisses up her jaw to her ear, where he whispered huskily, “My Hen.”
The possessive claim should have shaken sense into her, but brain and body were at odds. No, her brain had completely given in to her body’s primal arguments. They were in cahoots against her now.
She wound her hands in the hair at his nape and opened her neck more fully to him, giving him access to all the skin above her bodice. His clever fingers accepted her invitation, sliding down the column of her throat, caressing the swells of her breasts, then teasing the skin at the edge of her bodice with soothing strokes, making her moan.
His low chuckle sounded like midnight wrapped in velvet. “My Hen,” he repeated.
The repetition did it. She opened her eyes and sat straight up.
“Ow! My nose!” His hands disappeared from shoulders and breasts. She peeked up at him. He cradled his nose, brows furrowed like storm clouds over his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to.” She rubbed her temple. “My head hurts, too. It’s dark.”
He stopped ministering his nose and stroked a curl away from the temple that had whacked him. He placed a kiss there, and the sweetness of the gesture sliced her in two.
She scurried from his lap, retreating to the furthest reaches of the candle’s glow, glad for the darkness hugging her tight. She’d kissed other men in the last year; none of them made her forget logic, reason, time, and purpose. In fact, her first post-Grayson kiss had been too dry. Her second had been too cold. Her third, too wet. She felt a bit like Goldilocks, and Grayson was her just right.
Shame heated her body. Henrietta actually liked Grayson’s future fiancée, a woman who had promised to help Henrietta achieve her dream. If Henrietta didn’t control her urges, they would ruin everyone’s lives. Perhaps the ton had the right of it, about those like her who made their money through hard work. They lacked some essential breeding. She lacked essential breeding.
Behaving correctly may not come naturally to her, at least when confronted with over six feet of Grayson Maxwell, but she did know the difference between right or wrong, and she pulled the knowledge about herself now, armed herself with it. “That is not conversation. You wished to speak with me?”
His gravelly voice sailed to her across the candlelight. “If you wish to kiss instead of talk, who am I to—”
“A mistake, Lord Rigsby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, warding off the chill creeping up her arms and legs. “My apologies.”
“You did nothing I didn’t want you to do, nothing I didn’t participate in as well.” He shook his head, cleared his throat. “But you’re right. We must talk.”
She waited, then waited a minute more. “Well?”
“Last year, after you ended our engagement, I came for you.”
Confusion fluttered in Henrietta’s chest. Then indignation. Did he take her for a fool? “You did not. I would have noticed that detail.”
“I was too late, or I thought as much.” He scratched his ear again. “A fortnight passed before the grief lifted enough for me to realize maybe you had not meant what you said. Another went by before I found the space to come after you.”
“But you didn’t come after me.”
“I met Tobias upon entering your home. He told me you were engaged to another man.”
She shook her head, seeking answers in the dark folds of her dress stretched across her knees. She remembered Grayson’s exact words the day they’d ended their engagement right here in Hill House. Yes, she’d given him an out. His father would desire a more illustrious match for his new heir, and she could no longer be what he would need her to be—a glittering bauble raised to be a leader of the ton.
You’ll need a duchess, she’d said.
Of course, he’d replied. His hand had flicked at this side, but he’d not reached out to her.
And she’d left. Turned on the spot and left the room, then Hill House, without another word to him.
Henrietta lifted her gaze from her lap to Grayson. “I don’t understand. You came after me, and Tobias told you what?” She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to keep all the questions from flying out of her brain. If she could keep them contained, perhaps she could make sense of them all.
He shifted closer to her across the flickering light, the movement tense, his eyes furious. “That you had accepted the hand of another man. One month after the end of our own engagement.” The anger drained from his eyes and the harsh lines of his body. “But you are not engaged.”
Of course, she wasn’t. She never had been, except to him, of course. “Why …” She gathered her thoughts, placed them neatly in a row.
He’d come after her. Her heart soared.
Tobias had lied to him. She clenched her fists.
Why had Tobias lied to Grayson? Her brain flitted about, seeking an answer.
Another thought shattered the others. “Why did you believe him? How could you have believed him?”
“I saw you with another man.”
Another man? Who? She couldn’t remember much from months after they’d ended their engagement. Except the ache in her chest, the blank numbness in her brain. “Who? Where?”
“I stood on the street with Tobias and he instructed me to look through the window. You were smiling up at another man. He sat beside you on a couch. Close beside you. He held your hand.” His brows pulled together. “At least, it looked like he did. I couldn’t see everything.”
A man holding her hand in her family’s sitting room? She reached through the months, trying to put a name and face to Grayson’s recollection. “I don’t … wait. My father was in town around that time with a potential business partner, a fellow from Italy who had brought his son.” What had his name been? He’d been young and friendly, she now remembered, and perhaps a bit infatuated with her. Had he held her hand? She couldn’t remember. She barely remembered him. She flicked a glance at Grayson, whose poker-straight posture suggested he remembered, even if she did not. “He was a boy. I was heartbroken. Never engaged to him. Absurd.” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
Warm, large hands slipped over her upper arms, soothing hands that should not be so intimate with her. “I see that now. But then, I was a grief-stricken, heartbroken idiot. Do you forgive me?”
She whipped her gaze to his, and the look in her eyes must have warned him. His entire body stiffened into rigid wariness.
She shrugged his touch away and stood. “Yes,” she clipped out. “You are forgiven. It happened all so long ago, after all. It’s just. Quite a bit to take in. I think. I think I’ll go to bed now.” She picked up the candle and stood, facing the long, dark hallway toward the staircase. “It’s getting late anyway. I heard voices earlier. Guests will be retiring to their chambers. I can’t risk sneaking about any longer.” She’d injected the confidence of a successful businesswoman in her voice before disappearing into the dark.
She welcomed the darkness, slipping into her bedroom and onto her bed without lighting another candle or stoking the fire. The revelations of the last several minutes whirled through her brain. One year ago, her world had fallen apart, the world she and Grayson had been building together—shattered. But had there been any real reason for it to do so?
She curled up on her side and folded her hands under her pillow. The answer to such a question didn’t matter now. Grayson would marry Lady Willow by the end of the season, announce their engagement before the end of the house party. She closed her eyes, unsuccessfully pressing back tears.
Soft footsteps sounded outside her door. “Henrietta,” Grayson hissed. “Hen. Please. We must talk.”
She stayed on her bed, curled up, alone. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”
“Of course, there is! Everything is chang
ed!”
What emotion rode high in his voice? Glee? Hope? Impossible. She squeezed her eyes tighter. “Nothing has changed. You’re still you—the heir to a dukedom. I’m still me—a tradesman’s daughter. And …” She shook as she drew in a breath. “You are engaged to Lady Willow.”
“Like hell I am. I’ve not proposed.”
“Everyone expects you to.”
“Hen, please, open up. Let me in.”
She might not have heard his last plea if the house hadn’t been so quiet, if she hadn’t been reaching for his voice the way she constantly found herself reaching for his touch. She suppressed her body’s trembling before speaking. “No. Go away, Lord Rigsby.”
A single, soft pound sounded against the door. His fist? Then the door shook with another muffled beating and the sound of cloth sliding heavily against wood, the solid thunk of weight hitting the floor. “I won’t go away,” he whispered. “Not this time.”
Chapter 14
Henrietta frowned down at the tear in her hem. The sturdy fabric should not have ripped, but it had, and it seemed symbolic of her life. Ripped. Torn asunder. In need of repair. Unfortunately, repairing a ripped life took much more effort than repairing a ripped gown. She couldn’t very well go back in time and mend the relationship between Grayson and herself, no matter the revelations of last night.
“Good Lord in Heaven, Henrietta, your frown will scare the children.” Ada strode down the hill toward Henrietta, one hand holding a bonnet on her head. “Whose idea was it,” she called, “to hold a boat race on such a windy afternoon?” She stopped beside Henrietta and frowned a frown to match her friend. “I do hope the children are careful.”
“Are Pansy and the twins here?”
Ada nodded. “For the day, yes.”
Henrietta watched the small boats with their pint-size occupants in the distance. They would be fine. She, however, might not be.
“I assume you’re not scowling over the wind,” Ada mused.
“No.”
“I assume you’re scowling over Lord Rigsby.”
She could not hide it. Ada knew all. “I am.”
“Well, I’ve come to help. I spoke with Lady Stonefield. I have a list.” Ada slipped a piece of folded paper from her pocket and handed it to Henrietta.
“So soon! Well done, you.”
“Well it was exciting, wasn’t it? A bit like being a spy. A covert mission. A list of names.” Ada shivered her approval. “I’ve not had such fun in ages.”
“You need an adventure.”
“Yes,” she said solemnly. “Tell me, what are you doing over here when everyone who is anyone is over there?” She nodded toward the tents Lady Stonefield had erected near the shore.
Everyone who needed to see and admire Henrietta’s exquisitely-detailed day gown milled about under and around the tents or sprawled on blankets enjoying a picnic. Happy and sated, they were perfectly placed to admire her dress, to desire it for themselves, to follow Henrietta in droves to her shop in London. And they would admire it! How could they not with cunning little pictures of birds and leaves embroidered on its hem?
Yet, Henrietta avoided them.
“Don’t you need to socialize and ingratiate yourself with them?” Ada reminded her.
Of course, she did. But he was over there, so here she was, hiding. “I’m too tired to deal with it all right now. I might insult Lady Pendleson’s pug or roll my eyes at the Duchess of Valingford. Have you met Lady Willow, by the way?” Guilt gnawed at her belly. Another reason Henrietta kept her distance from the other guests today. Surely, they’d be able to look at her face and tell—not only did she still love Grayson Maxwell, Lord Rigsby, but she’d kissed him. Twice. Not simply kissed, but shamelessly thrown herself at a man all but promised to another woman. And a woman she liked, too. Her stomach tumbled about like the boat on the lake. She felt sick.
“I had planned on avoiding Lady Willow out of loyalty to you.”
Henrietta glanced sideways at Ada, slanting her friend a small smile. “Is there a more loyal friend in the world?” She laughed, a sad thing. “No need to avoid her. She’s lovely. A bit shy perhaps.”
“I agree,” Ada said.
She should tell her what happened with Grayson a year ago—the misunderstanding—as well as what had happened last night—Grayson whispering to her through the door and the darkness. Mercy, she’d not slept a wink, thinking he’d meant to literally not leave her, sitting sentry all night outside her door. She’d listened for his breathing, but she must have fallen asleep before hearing the booted steps that had taken him from her doorway. She’d opened the door to an empty hallway this morning and tried not to feel disappointment.
Even now, memories of his deep, determined voice shivered up and down her spine.
How could the world be so different yet so much the same? Grayson was right, everything had changed, but she, too, had the right of it—nothing had changed as well. Her mind swam with confusion, warred with her heart’s scream to throw caution to the wind and run right into Grayson’s obviously willing arms. “Ada, I need to tell—”
“Good Lord in Heaven! That’s Pansy’s boat!”
Henrietta snapped to attention at Ada’s breathless exclamation. A small boat tossed on the water, and a smaller figure tossed about within its short walls. Ada ran and Henrietta followed closely behind. They were halfway around the lake when Ada gasped and screamed. Henrietta jerked her head to the lake. One boat floated upside down on the rippling surface.
They hitched up their skirts and ran.
When they reached the water’s edge, Henrietta lost sight of Ada, who’d disappeared into the crowd.
A man stepped from the crowd, stripping his jacket and tossing it to the lakeshore. Grayson. He lifted a foot and wobbled, trying to pull the boot off. The crowd around him goggled as if he were a performer at Astley’s.
Henrietta rushed forward. “He needs help!” Couldn’t they see that? She embraced him, wrapping her arms tight around his waist, steadying him.
Grayson’s surprised brown gaze slammed into hers, then turned back to their task. Leaning into her, Grayson freed his feet quickly and waded into the lake until he could slide horizontal in the water and slice with quick, powerful strokes toward the capsized boat.
Henrietta pushed through the crowd. “Ada! Ada!”
Ada appeared, eyes glued to the lake’s surface. “Do you see her? I can’t see her.”
Henrietta wiped the tears from her friend’s cheeks and wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “He’s a fine swimmer, Ada. He’ll find her and save her.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
“What if she’s—” Ada gulped.
“She’s fine. Look!”
All eyes on the shore saw what Henrietta did at the same time. Grayson had reached the boat’s edge and disappeared under the surface of the water.
Ada held her breath. Henrietta held hers, too.
“How long have they been under there?” Ada clutched Henrietta’s hands, squeezing them tight before releasing entirely. “I’m going in, too.” She pulled toward the water, but Henrietta pulled her back, held her close.
“No, Ada. Don’t. Think of how heavy your skirts will be. What if you can’t stay above water, then Grayson will have to save you, too. You won’t be any help to Pansy.”
“I have to do something. They’ve been under so long!” Ada’s eyes were wild, panicked.
“Look! There they are!” A yell arose from the crowd behind them, then a chorus of claps and cheers surrounded them.
Two heads bobbed above the water.
Ada collapsed in Henrietta’s arms, and Henrietta lent her friend her strength, whispering, “He’s got her! See! I told you he would.”
Pansy clung to one of Grayson’s shoulders, and he used the other arm to flip the boat right side up. An impressive show of strength and dexterity Henrietta couldn’t help but appreciate now she knew Pansy to be safe.
> Grayson pushed Pansy into the boat, retrieved the oar from where it floated nearby, and climbed into the boat, too. It tipped forward under his weight, but he was inside so quickly, the boat pitched back into place on the water with a splash.
And Pansy’s giggle rang across the water.
“She’s laughing?” Ada’s voice hovered between shock and despair, joy and anger. “She’s laughing!” She’d found an emotion to focus on—anger. “How in heaven’s name can she think any of this funny?”
Henrietta felt like laughing, too. She’d held Ada tight during the time Grayson had been below the waves, but she’d wanted to crack, to plunge into the cold depths, too, and pull him back up. She’d understood her friend’s panic and despair. She’d felt it herself.
And she’d felt joy, as well, when he’d popped back up with the little girl clinging to his neck. They were safe. He was safe! Her heart felt so light it might as well drift out of her chest and up into the clouds.
“Are you laughing, too?” Ada demanded.
“I can’t help it. They’re safe, Ada!”
Ada grunted, then her face broke into a giddy grin as the rowboat slid up onto the shore. Ada and Henrietta, increasingly crowded by more arms and hands, pulled the boat farther up the grassy bank. Grayson leaped into the mud and pulled Pansy to safe, solid ground.
Ada crushed the little girl to her in a hug, and the crowd of arms surrounded Grayson, pushing Henrietta to the margins. They clapped him on the back, congratulating him on a job well done. It had been well done. Pride in him coursed through her. She turned from the group, not needed, the swelling pride in her chest inappropriate.
A hand on her shoulder stopped her progress away from the lakeshore. “Well done, Miss Blake.” Lady Pendelson’s eyes glowed in admiration.
“I did nothing, I’m afraid. Your praise should go to Lord Rigsby.”
“I saw you. Lord Rigsby made it into the water more quickly because you kept your wits while the rest of us gawked. And you held Miss Cavendish back. She could have endangered herself had she plunged in after her sister. You were instrumental, my dear, in ensuring a swift and safe rescue.” She sniffed. “I’m not surprised, myself. Opening a shop in London. Bold. Risky. You’re a formidable woman, Miss Henrietta Blake.”
A Secret Desire Page 11