“Good morning, Mother. Did you sleep well?”
“Willimena, thank goodness you are awake. I heard such distressing news.”
“From whom?” Abigail attempted to keep a neutral tone as she put minimal food on her plate. If her mother already overworked her nerves, she had no desire to compound her worry.
“The duke came into my bedchamber late last night. He proudly declared he found you a husband. How could this have happened? I tried so hard to protect you.”
“Don’t be distressed.” Abigail sat and wrapped her arm around her mother’s bony shoulders. “In Father’s determination to rid himself of me, I believe he paid the viscount to marry me. Considering Lord Merrick agreed to the idea, the marriage could turn out better than we thought.”
“Or it could be the opposite. As bad as your life is here with your father, imagine how much harder it will be with a husband demanding rights as well.” The desperation in her mother’s voice reached a dangerously high level.
Abigail swallowed down the bile that had risen in her throat. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the argument from her mother, but with her impending marriage, her horror intensified.
“It matters not,” Abigail assured, her voice much too high to convey indifference. “One man’s punishments are as good as any other’s.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I don’t have a choice. Father made that very clear to me last night. All his past beatings will appear humane compared to what awaits me if I defy him.”
Her mother shuddered and looked down at the table.
Abigail’s face dropped to her own plate in disgust. Her stomach rolled and would not welcome anything in it. Leaning back against the chair, she sighed. Soon she would have to see the viscount again, and as her father demanded, she would do her best to ensure he developed an interest in her. She could not decide if she wanted him to return or not. Either way, she would suffer.
Greyson leaned back in the carriage headed to Melisande’s house. Although ready to endure the uncomfortable conversation, he never enjoyed dismissing a mistress. However, he’d promised himself that once betrothed, he would be faithful to his intended.
Last night had gone better than he planned, at least until they arrived at the duke’s townhouse. At Merrick house, the duke drank almost an entire bottle of brandy. Greyson had not complained as the man had been much easier to talk to with the decanter at his side.
Hammond Everett was a well-respected man, and the adoration didn’t only stem from his title of duke. He charmed the ladies, receiving their approval, and he shared a fierce loyalty to his friends. In all his research, Greyson never heard anything bad about him, with the exception of accounts from his enemies. That made him the perfect person to help Greyson.
Throughout his life, all Greyson had wanted was respect and acceptance from his peers but denial greeted him with every attempt. Being the illegitimate son of a viscount didn’t grant him anything other than ridicule and scorn. His father and the viscountess, being a cut above the rest, did what they could to shelter him from the brunt of it, but nothing good ever lasted long. At least soon he would be able to claim a little respect from the many people who had mistreated him.
Once he discovered the duke had an unmarried twenty-four-year-old daughter, he knew she held the key to his success. Although never having met her, he’d heard how “unmarriageable” she was, which only made her more perfect for him since he knew the duke would be overjoyed to rid himself of her.
His assumption had been right. He offered to return the duke’s vowels if he agreed to sponsor Greyson into society and award him with his daughter’s hand in marriage. Greyson had barely had a chance to finish explaining when the duke agreed.
Armed with the Duke of Donetic’s approval and Lady Willimena on his arm, no one would dare to snub him. Once the wedding took place, the invitations surely would fly in. Then Greyson would finally be a true peer.
As he knocked on Melisande’s door, he felt the satisfaction at the success of his plan fade. She remained the only woman who understood him and never cared about his parentage. He worried dismissing her now would be detrimental to his mental state.
The thought brought him back to reality, and he stiffened his spine. Disappointment came with life, and emotions were weaknesses he could not afford. He comfortably slipped on his cold façade as Melisande cracked open the door.
When her sleepy blue eyes greeted him, she opened the door wider. Her luscious blond locks fell over her shoulders and spilled down her back in disarray. Her nightdress loosely hung from her curvaceous figure in a silent invitation for him to join her.
“Grey, I have missed you,” she purred as he slid into the house. “What brings you here so early, mon amour?”
“Last night I was awarded my opportunity to challenge the duke.”
“Magnifique! Please come sit, and tell me all.”
He followed her to her comfortable parlor and sat on a chair while Melisande lounged on the chaise.
“Everything fell into place. The duke agreed to sponsor me. I’ll be attending a dinner tomorrow night as his guest.”
“Congratulations, ma cherie. I know how badly you wanted this. And what of the girl? Has he given you her as well?”
“Lady Willimena and I are now betrothed.”
“Perhaps we should celebrate,” she suggested, leaning her body forward so her dress hung open, revealing her ample breasts.
“We can’t.” Refusing her came much easier than he had anticipated.
A vision of his intended filled his mind. Her image had kept him awake all night and still haunted him as he looked at the goddess before him. Something about that innocent girl gripped him, and he couldn’t understand what.
Last night the alcohol he had imbibed mixed with her state of dishevelment told him he’d made the wrong choice in agreeing to meet her so late. The second the duke told Lady Willimena of the betrothal, he knew he should not be there for that discussion. She would be his wife. The duke owed him that, but he could not handle hearing her initial rejection.
“Why can we not celebrate?” Melisande’s pout wrenched him from the uncomfortable memories, and he gratefully focused his attention back on her.
“I’m afraid you must find yourself a new protector. I want respect from my peers and being seen coming here while courting Lady Willimena will not provide any.”
“Are you sure? We have enjoyed our time together.”
“I wish you luck, although I suspect you shall not need it. No doubt you have been receiving offers all the while.”
She dismissively shrugged her shoulders. “They are boring men, but you . . . I want to heal your pain and see you live. To embrace life, not endure this distasteful combler le vide you call a life.”
Greyson stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled over. “Thank you, Melisande. It has been a pleasure.”
With a bow, he left her house and stepped into his carriage as quickly as possible. He could not stand pity. Not many people condescended to feel it, but, regardless, he abhorred the emotion. He didn’t need to be pitied. He stood on the verge of obtaining everything he desired.
Checking his pocket watch, he realized he would be late for his weekly meeting with his friend Jonathan Alastair at Ravenhurst, the club they jointly owned. The two of them, along with Richard Carrack, began Ravenhurst as a way of fighting back against the rejections Greyson received from similar clubs. Over the years, the success of the club more than exceeded their expectations.
Pushing open Ravenhurst’s doors, Greyson nodded at Nathaniel, then made his way down to the offices. The hour remained early enough that no members were present to see him. After what his friend Richard had suffered when his connection to the club became known by one particular man, Greyson could not afford to let his involvement be discovered.
The office door was locked, which didn’t come as a surprise. Jonathan could not be counted on to be on time for anything, espec
ially one of their pointless club meetings. Sliding behind the desk, Greyson pulled the account books forward. Although in no mood to review the figures, sitting idle and waiting came with more distaste.
By the time Jonathan pushed his head through the door, Greyson had managed to accomplish quite a bit of work. He silently watched as his friend poured himself a brandy, despite the early hour. After draining the glass and refilling it, he finally focused his attention on Greyson.
“Much better. I don’t understand why you demand to have these meetings at such an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“You consider anything before two in the afternoon to be an ‘ungodly hour,’ so I’m hardly inclined to conform to your idea of the time,” Greyson replied dryly.
Jonathan shrugged before dropping himself down in the seat across from his friend. “So, what is new to report this week?”
“I had to release two more employees.”
“Theft again?”
“It’s becoming a trend. That makes ten over the past two months,” Greyson informed him, leaning further back in his seat. He crossed his ankles and rested his hands on his stomach wanting the outward sign of ease to dispel any concern Jonathan experienced. Considering the responsibility of the club primarily rested with him, Greyson refused to allow anyone to believe he wasn’t up to the task.
“Nathaniel can do nothing to prevent it?”
“His other duties require too much of his time. So, I have directed him to assign Algers to flush out the thieves. He has not yet discovered who is behind bribing the employees into theft, but I have confidence in him.”
“We have encountered more troubles in the past few years than in the entire life of the club. That, as well as these bothersome meetings, is taking a toll on my more pleasurable activities.”
Judging by the satisfied grin on Jonathan’s face, Greyson had trouble believing the accusation. In all the years they had known each other, Jonathan had never found anything worthy of sacrificing his pursuit of the fairer sex.
“I believe our recent issues are in direct relation to our increase in membership.”
“Perhaps. Now enough of this depressing talk. Anything else to report? And this time make it something more pleasant,” Jonathan demanded, putting his brandy glass to his lips.
“I’m betrothed.”
Jonathan choked on the drink as he struggled to sit up in his chair. Although amused by his friend’s shock, Greyson’s expressionless face didn’t change.
“Surely you jest. I wasn’t even aware you had chosen a lady to court.”
“I selected her quite some time ago. However it took me a while to . . . work up enough courage to ask her.” Greyson hoped the excuse would suffice.
He could not explain all the planning and maneuvering it had taken to lead the duke to that game. Nor could he say how many times he’d suffered through matches, praying the man would stay in or wager enough. The past year had been tiresome, but now that everything began to fall into place, he could not regret a single moment.
“So, who is this fire maiden who endeavored to melt your icy heart?”
“Lady Willimena Everett, daughter of the Duke of Donetic. I chose her using factors much greater than silly notions of the heart, so don’t spread your drivel here.”
“Is she as moved by this union as you?” Jonathan asked, raising his left eyebrow as he settled back in his chair.
Greyson closed his eyes and tapped his thumb against the arm of his chair, reminding himself it didn’t matter what his friend thought. “She is overjoyed.”
Jonathan’s laughter exploded in the quiet room, no doubt in response to his dry tone.
His betrothed may not be delighted at the idea of eternity with him, but she had little choice. However, if she managed to conduct herself with the dignity and grace befitting a duke’s daughter, he could make this more bearable for her. He wasn’t an evil man and required little from his wife. She had nothing to fear from him.
Greyson allowed the satisfaction of his decision to run through him. Now he only needed to come to an agreement with Lady Willimena. The feat would be easy. From what he’d heard, she was an agreeable sort.
Chapter 2
“I will not do it.” Abigail clutched the fabric of her dress as if doing so would dispel the thought from her cousin’s mind.
“Don’t get upset with me. I’m merely telling you what you asked,” Julia stated, holding her hands up, palms out.
“I asked how to entice a man, not seduce him.”
“Yes, and removing clothing is very enticing. I remember when Winston and I were—”
“Stop. I don’t need details.”
Julia laughed, but Abigail ignored her and crossed the space to open the window. The room had suddenly grown much too warm.
Her cousin’s arrival had been fortuitous considering how badly she needed advice from an experienced woman. Now, sitting in her bedchamber and hearing tips on seduction made her change her mind. Surely an easier way of enticing a man existed, that is, one that didn’t require her to act wanton.
“If you don’t wish to have any fun, then I suppose touching evokes an effect as well.”
“In what way? I have been on the arm of a number of gentlemen, and they never appeared to experience a fondness for me due to the contact.”
“Perhaps you are right. Hmm, how to entice a man without going overboard?” Julia tapped one finger against her cheek then suddenly sat forward, her eyes alight. “I have the solution. You can kiss him.”
“That is almost as bad as taking my clothes off.” Shutting her eyes, Abigail took a deep breath. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t worry. Whatever you decide will be fine. I’m still not sure why you need to do this. Didn’t you say you are betrothed?”
“Yes, but I’m concerned he will change his mind.” Abigail turned and looked out the window, hoping her cousin didn’t notice the blush coloring her cheeks from the falsehood.
She had not told her cousin the whole story, only that her father arranged a betrothal, and she wanted to entice her intended, the truth being much too embarrassing to admit. In addition, Julia had the benefit of not only having a good father, but her husband didn’t see fit to beat her either, so she would never understand. Abigail imagined the odds of finding two decent men were very low. Her cousin’s luck was unquestionable. Regardless, Julia’s good fortune didn’t change her own dire situation.
Just this morning, Abigail’s mother discovered Lord Merrick had been invited to dine with them this evening at Lord and Lady Burford’s. The invitation received acceptance prior to the viscount meeting her, so she had no guarantee he would still be agreeable. However, in the event he attended, she would do anything in her power to obey her father’s demand.
As she prepared herself for dinner, her nerves were wound so tight, she could hardly sit still as Mary applied the powder to her hair. Her thoughts alternated between fearing the viscount would come and worrying he would not. Either way, she had no idea how her father would react.
A knock at the door startled her, causing her to jump up and stumble into Mary. Looking back, Abigail saw black powder streaking down the front of Mary’s dress.
“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry.” Abigail pointlessly tried to wipe at the black but only managed to smear it further, while dirtying her gloves.
“Don’t worry with it, my lady. Your gloves are now soiled. Quick, pull them off.”
The women worked to fix the gloves as another knock sounded. Not wishing for Mary to suffer punishment for her dress, Abigail left her maid to clean up as she answered the door. Mrs. Garland, the housekeeper, waited for her.
“Yes?” Abigail opened the door a crack.
“You must come down quickly, my lady. Lord Merrick is here, and he wishes to speak to you. He is in the drawing room with your father now.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down at once.”
Abigail slowly closed the door as dread settled aroun
d her, closing her throat. On one hand, she felt relief to be saved from her father’s anger had Lord Merrick not returned. However, now she would be forced to play the part of a wanton. Drawing her shoulders back, she pulled on a new pair of gloves and walked out the door.
“Ah, Willimena. Finally,” her father greeted her as the gentlemen stood.
One glance at her father’s face assured her she would have nothing to fear from him for the time being. He’d adopted the façade he presented to Society that they would believe him to be an admirable man. Her temporary relief vanished as her eyes settled on her betrothed. If he’d earned her father’s high opinion, he wasn’t a man she could trust.
“Good evening, Lady Willimena.” Lord Merrick greeted her in a deep voice.
“I trust you remember your betrothed?” Her father nodded to the viscount.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again.” Abigail took a seat on a chair close to Lord Merrick. As the men sat, she clasped her hands in front of her in an effort to prevent herself from fidgeting.
“Lord Merrick will be joining us for dinner at Lord Burford’s tonight. It would be good for the two of you to be seen together before any announcements are made.”
“I agree.” Lord Merrick’s intense gaze found her, robbing her of breath and making her feel as though he could see into her soul.
When his eyes moved away, she was able to inhale slowly. The uncomfortable silence that followed only served to further her uneasiness over this meeting. If they could not manage to hold a conversation now, she could imagine how tedious their married life would be.
“If you will excuse me, I’ll give you a moment to become better acquainted,” her father declared, standing.
After one long look at Abigail, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. Catching herself before her mouth fell open, she stared at the door in shock. Clearly her father intended for her to use this time to entice the unknown gentleman sitting calmly in his chair.
Turning to him, she saw he, too, remained preoccupied with the door, but his face didn’t betray his surprise by their unexpected privacy. However, when he faced her, his eyes didn’t meet hers, indicating he wasn’t as comfortable as he wanted her to believe.
His Perfect Game Page 2