A Secret Desire

by Lane, Charlie

  He’d find out later. Right now, he had a delusional woman to deal with.

  The duchess’s eyes cut him to pieces. “You do no honor to your name, you fool. Running after a ruined woman? Tsk.”

  He clenched his fists. “You will not now, nor in the future, insult Miss Blake. Do you understand?”

  She turned her head away from him, refusing to answer.

  “I will say this one more time, madam. I mean no disrespect to your daughter, you, or your husband, the duke, but I will make my own choices and marry whom I please. And if I’m the fool you say I am, you should not wish me to marry your daughter anyway.”

  Lady Willow cocked her head, studying him with curious eyes.

  “Lady Willow,” he began, shaking his head.

  “You! Rigsby!”

  Grayson’s head snapped toward the steps at the sound of his name on the lips of a very obviously annoyed young woman. Another voice clamoring after him? How many would he acquire this day?

  Ada Cavendish glared daggers at him. If this were a fight, he’d be dead already; every woman around him had lethal aim.

  “Miss Cavendish,” he said with a bow. “Perhaps you can tell me why Henrietta has run off.”

  She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “As if you care!”

  What was she on about?

  “Listen, you cad! I don’t know what happened, but I’m convinced it’s your fault. Why would Henrietta run off with no explanation, crying!?”

  He had a very good notion why. The Duchess of Valingford was why. Threats to Henrietta’s dream project, to her family, were why. But Grayson had his own unanswered “why”—why had she run off when he’d promised to fix everything? “Perhaps the Duchess of Valingford can answer your question.”

  The lady in question gasped and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “Come, Willow. We will not stay here to be interrogated by a baron’s daughter.”

  “A famous, celebrated baron’s daughter, thank you very much,” Ada snapped before sweeping a befuddled look Grayson’s way. “I don’t understand anything right now.”

  “I’m rather lost myself,” Grayson assured her.

  “I can help clarify.”

  Grayson and Ada turned to the voice. Lady Willow had wrenched her arm from her mother’s grasp. “My mother and I are leaving. Lord Rigsby was seeing us off. And attempting to convince Mother he is not, in actuality, going to marry me. Or propose to me. A proposal must come first, after all.”

  Ada frowned. “I … hm. Well.” She turned to Grayson. “You’re not marrying Lady Willow?”

  “No,” Lady Willow and Grayson said together.

  “Why, then, is Henrietta so unexpectedly on her way to London?” Ada asked Grayson. “I assume she’s headed to London and not, oh, Timbuktu, since she wouldn’t say a word about what drove her to flee. I also assume you are at the heart of the matter.” Ada’s eyes grew wide then narrowed. “Does she know you’re not marrying Lady Willow?”

  “Yes,” he ground out.

  “Huh.”

  Lady Willow leaned forward and whispered, her gaze flicking over Ada’s shoulder to the guests sauntering down the stairs behind her. “Perhaps Miss Blake leaves out of shame.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Ada queried.

  From what I can tell, though no one will speak frankly with me about it, Miss Blake and Lord Rigsby were caught in flagrante delicto by Mother. And—”

  The coach and four shook with frustrated vibrations. “Willow, come, now.”

  Lady Willow didn’t blink an eye or miss a beat. “It’s obviously why he’s decided not to propose to me. It can be the only reason, since no one counters my father’s commands. That I know of.”

  “Willow!” the duchess screeched. “You will desist your unnecessary prattle this instant and join me in the coach!”

  Lady Willow did not desist. “It’s how Lord Rigsby left me last night and greeted me this morning. No ‘How do you do’ for Willow, no siree. Only ‘Remember what I told you last night? It holds true today. I cannot propose to you. I love another.’ Getting suddenly unengaged when you’ve never been engaged to begin with is a lovely item to add to one’s list of daily activities. I highly recommend it.” She rolled her eyes and continued. “Though I should have seen it coming. We’ve never had the most scintillating conversations, and I think good conversation is a must for marriage.” She shrugged. “I think, but I cannot be sure. My parents never speak to one another unless they must. And Lord Rigsby has been curiously preoccupied with Miss Blake since we arrived.” She stared at them, calm, dispassionate. “And I heard Lady Pendleson mention a history between them, whatever that means—a romantic liaison, I assume, something scandalous I hope.” She frowned, then slowly, her face lit with a smile, as if the idea of scandal grew on her by the moment.

  What an odd woman. It struck Grayson that he never truly knew her, despite months of paying attention to her. “I never meant to hurt you, Lady—”

  She waved his apology away.

  “It’s no matter, truly.” She turned to Miss Cavendish. “My parents chose him for my husband, not me. And I find being jilted before being proposed to has added a spice to life that has previously been missing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, if I don’t leave, I’m likely to bring the full wrath of the Duke of Valingford down on my head, and that will be much more painful than a broken nonengagement.” The carriage door closed behind her with a crash, and Grayson heard Lady Willow say, “Oh, you’ll not expire, Mother. At least he didn’t wait to jilt me after he’d proposed or, heaven forbid, at the altar.”

  Where had this woman come from? This was not the same lady he’d begun courting two months ago. It was not the same lady he’d come to this house with.

  “Were you really caught together?” Miss Cavendish asked.

  He would not answer that.

  “Well,” said Miss Cavendish. “Ahem. And by her grace!” She grimaced. “How unfortunate. Wait, Lord Rigsby!”

  Her words flew to Grayson on the wind as he ran to the stables.

  “Where are you going?”

  Where else would he go? “After Henrietta!” Grayson sprinted through the open stable doors. No time to saddle Trott. He opened the horse’s stall, vaulted onto his back, and urged him into action.

  He outpaced the coach in no time at all, despite its head start. He whipped Trott ahead of the coach and brought him to a stop in the middle of the road. Seeing he refused to move, the coach came to a rolling stop mere feet from Trott’s nose. He whinnied in exasperation. Grayson patted his neck as he dismounted. “Good boy. Lots of apples for you later.”

  As he approached the coach, its door swung open and Henrietta stepped down.

  “Grayson?”

  “Henrietta. I get the distinct impression you’re not off to see the folly with the rest of the guests.”

  She lifted her chin. “Grayson, go back. We have no choices in this matter. The duchess made herself perfectly clear. If either of us is to achieve our goals in life, we must do so apart. You must marry Lady Willow.”

  “I won’t. I told her last night. I verified it with her parents this morning. I reassured her mother I will not this afternoon.” Several times. “And I refuse to live in fear of the duchess’s wrath.”

  “Her husband has power. Your father has power. Have you considered what they may do to you if you refuse to comply with their wishes?”

  Of course, he had! He stalked away a few steps then swung back toward her. “I don’t care.”

  “I do. You cannot be the good man you wish to be to those you will one day have power over if your father and his grace strip you of your funds. You cannot be an influence on society if your wife is a pariah, if her family is brought low and made destitute by scandal. And I can’t let that happen to my family.”

  “If this is about your shop—”

  “Mercy, Grayson! It’s not about my shop. You know I’ve dreamt of little else for years, but my shop matters less than the for
tunes and happiness of those I love. My family. You.”

  “Hen,” he groaned. His entire body felt like mud suctioned to the earth. “We can weather this together. Once we’re married—”

  She shook her head, her gaze turning every which way but his. “This is no place for a discussion. Besides there is nothing more to be said.”

  She had a point. Perhaps words were not wanted in the moment. Action, however … he could grab her around the waist, swing her onto his shoulder, and toss her up on Trott.

  She tangled her skirts in her fists. “Grayson, I must go.”

  He could toss her back into the coach and instruct the coachman to take them to Gretna Green.

  She stepped toward the coach. “We’re leaving now. Please do not come after us.” The pleading note to her voice sliced him through. She waited, but for what? For him to speak? He had no words left, only things he wanted to do, but she’d asked him not to. He strode toward her until she stood but a foot away.

  “You,” he said, leaning toward her.

  Like a mirror image, her body leaned toward him in response, stretching up until her face was in the perfect position for what he knew would be the most melting kiss he’d ever experienced. “Yes?” she asked on a breath.

  “You’re wrong. I’ll find a way.” He had to.

  Her chin dropped until her forehead rested against his chest. “No.”

  He tipped her chin back up, closing the already slim distance between them. Action, impulse, and longing thrummed through him in equal parts and, without thought, his arm wound around her waist, pulling her hips against his legs. She was soft and warm, but her body tensed. With anger? With reluctance? He wanted to wash it all away. He dipped down as if to kiss her, but stopped, a breath away from heaven, and whispered, “You’re mine.” He wanted nothing more than to pull her into the woods and kiss every inch of her. “And I’m yours.” He set her away from him.

  “Grayson—”

  “Ahem.” Henrietta’s grandmother’s head popped out of the coach window and swung to consider first Henrietta then Grayson. “Perhaps you should return to the conveyance, my dear, and let Lord Rigsby get on with his day. Unless the young man is saying something of import.” She blinked. “Are you? Saying something of import?” Her head quirked to the side. “I thought you were nearly engaged to the Valingford chit.”

  Grayson groaned, his head falling back on his neck. He’d willingly walked into a box of his father’s design last year. He’d had good intentions, but now he felt trapped, self-shackled to a life he did not want.

  “He is, Grandmama. His intentions are only to wish us a safe journey,” Henrietta said, scrambling up into the coach. “He is a gentleman, after all.” She shut the door and lowered the window curtain.

  But her grandmother’s words reached beyond the barrier. “That’s nice. One likes to see young men going to great lengths to be gentlemanly, but this is a bit much. Wait … weren’t the two of you engaged last year?”

  The coach rumbled forward, Henrietta’s grandmother’s last words a mere whisper on the wind.

  Grayson mounted Trott, turning him back toward Hill House. He’d go after Henrietta, but Trott should be properly saddled, and he needed to collect Willems. Even with those delays, he would be in London before the morning. He couldn’t give up. Not yet.

  The Valingford coach lumbered toward him through the woods. They, too, would be in London soon.

  He’d refused to marry Lady Willow, and the duchess had promised to ruin Henrietta. He had to keep the storm from breaking over all their heads. If he couldn’t fix this benighted situation, he’d never convince Henrietta to marry him. He couldn’t let a stupid misunderstanding ruin the rest of their lives.

  Chapter 20

  It was too early to ride in Hyde Park, but Henrietta had several reasons to do so. First, she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Grayson’s face when he’d said, You’re mine. He’d meant it. And sleeping or waking, she couldn’t deny the truth of the statement.

  Second, the Duchess of Valingford did not engage in idle threats, and Henrietta did not doubt the reach of the woman’s power. Though the duchess had only been back in London a single evening, she’d had enough time to spread malicious whispers of Henrietta’s indiscretions. Or, of course, to send an announcement of her daughter’s engagement to Lord Rigsby to the papers. Another reason to ride in Hyde Park now instead of the fashionable hour—avoid chatter of an engagement that would slice her heart in two.

  The silence of the house hummed around her as she snuck downstairs, pulling her riding gloves tight. She’d go to the shop after her ride, so she’d be out of the house the entire afternoon. Grandpapa couldn’t corner her if she—

  “Coward.”

  She stopped mid-step and turned slowly. “Good morning, Grandpapa.”

  “Good morning. Join me for tea, will you?” He stood back from the doorway, ushering her into the study beyond.

  Mercy! He must have been waiting to catch her, the sneaky old—

  “Sit, Henrietta, my love.”

  She sat. He sat across from her. Usually, she loved the way his fuzzy white hair stuck out all over the place and how his cravat was always rumpled and how he patted her on the shoulder thoughtlessly, a casual gesture of affection. But this morning, he radiated seriousness. Unusual. She gulped down half a cup of tea and waited.

  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Coward.”

  “So you’ve said. But, Grandpapa, I’m not at all sure what you mean.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, girl. And don’t avoid me.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Avoid you? What an imagination you have.”

  “Don’t try any tricks, my girl. Your grandmother told me about your unusual interlude with Lord Rigsby, previously Lord Grayson Maxwell, previously engaged to my granddaughter, namely you. If you add an unusual interlude to an early, hasty exit from a house party you were eager to attend, it tallies to trouble, my dear.” He leaned forward. “What is going on?”

  “I’ve been tired,” she prevaricated.

  He eyed her from boot to bonnet. “You’re up before six in the morning, wearing your habit. Riding in the park at such an ungodly hour is not what a tired woman does. Nor is it what you do.” He wagged his finger at her. “I know you. You ride through Hyde Park at the fashionable hour every day to show off your riding habits.”

  The practice had proven beneficial. She had more requests for riding habits in her shop than the seamstresses could currently keep up with. She’d had to hire more girls.

  Hardly the point, though. No, all the points, apparently, belonged to Grandpapa. She fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position. “I’m tired of people.” Ah, an excellent save.

  Grandpapa huffed. “More like scared, Henrietta Blake. The question is—what are you scared of? Something happened at the house party. You grandmother doesn’t know much other than Lord Rigsby’s presence there bothered you.”

  Bothered? Yes, in so many ways, most of them best not discussed with her elderly relative. Her mind, her body, her heart—all bothered.

  “Do you still hold a tendre for him?”

  She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

  “Oh, Hen, dear.” His words reached out, even though he remained motionless in his chair.

  She reached fingertips to her cheek. Tears. Drat. “I love him,” she admitted quietly. “And he loves me. But we can’t be together now.”

  Grandpapa moved then, shifting swiftly forward and wrapping her in his warm, still-strong arms. “Why ever not?”

  “The Duchess of Valingford refuses to acknowledge the end to Grayson’s courtship of Lady Willow.”

  Grandpapa scratched his head, disarranging his already chaotic coif. “Is the woman prone to delusions?”

  “No. She’s merely acclimated to controlling everyone around her. She’s a duchess, you know.”

  Grandpapa thr
ew his hands into the air with a huff. “Bah. Will she control you?”

  “I don’t have any choice. She’s threatened to tell the whole ton we anticipated marriage vows if Grayson doesn’t marry Lady Willow.” She wished her corset wasn’t so tight. She wanted to melt into the seat and cry, and corsets rather restricted such activity. “Her gossip will ruin me, him, and the Blakes. I won’t bring such shame to us, Grandpapa.”

  “What does the viscount say about the debacle?” He looked toward the door, as if expecting it to burst open, revealing a fevered Lord Rigsby.

  Henrietta feared it, too. She feared he’d still not given up, still not come to his senses. There was only one way for everyone to make it out of the debacle with their reputations, if not their hearts, intact: Grayson and Lady Willow would have to wed. She shook her head, looking out the window for Grayson’s approaching form, longing for it but dreading it at the same time. “He’s being unreasonable. He thinks he can fix it, that we can still be wed. But it’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  A typical Grandpapa response. He sometimes failed to see reason himself.

  Henrietta stood and paced to the window, wrapping her arms around her waist. “I told you!”

  “You told me you were sacrificing your own happiness for others’ well-being, and I’m not at all sure those others asked you to do so or need you to do so. I call you, yet again, a coward.”

  “Grandpapa! I’d like a little sympathy if you don’t mind.”

  “Sit back down, Henrietta.”

  She complied, still hugging herself tight.

  “I have always been proud of your father, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” But what her father had to do with this, she could not fathom.

  “When he first bought his factory, others expected me to shun him, be ashamed of him.” He shrugged. “But with the estate entailed to your uncle, there was very little left to split between your father and his other brothers, not to mention dower your aunts. So, when your father came into his share and used it to buy the factory, I applauded him. He looked toward his own future, despite those who blackballed him. He sponsored your aunts’ seasons and helped commission your Uncle George. This family is stronger because of him. Had he listened to the censorious voices of the ton, he would not have been able to do all that.