“Have you altered your opinion of the waltz?”
She swallowed her longing and cleared her throat. “Perhaps my previous statement was unfounded due to my lack of experience with the dance.”
“Is that a yes?”
Her cheeks heated as he looked down at her with amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t smiling, and she wondered how the expression would transform his face. Although the urge to ask him to smile filled her, she refrained.
“Yes.”
The dance ended much quicker than she preferred. As she stepped away, she felt the loss of his presence and the strange intimacy it created. Part of her feared she’d become too attached to a man who would soon crush her, but it was too late.
In such a short time, she found herself on the verge of trusting him. He’d never caused her any harm, and if he continued to act in the same manner, soon she’d give him her full trust. The realization terrified her, but excited her as well.
“Before I return you to your mother, would you care for a stroll in the garden?”
“I would be delighted.”
Stepping into the quiet, cool air always offered a shock after the loud, stuffy ballroom. She never felt comfortable in crowds. However, the abrupt change in atmosphere always made the gardens seem more sinister.
“Where are we going?” she questioned, as they descended further into the garden.
“Somewhere awarding privacy.”
Clutching on to Lord Merrick’s arm, she allowed him to lead her through the rows until they were isolated. Her heart sped as he stopped and turned to face her. His eyes held a devilish intent. Out here, she stood vulnerable, and he could do as he pleased with no consequences. Terror snaked its way through her, forcing her a step back.
His eyebrows knitted together as his lips pinched in disappointment, but he quickly settled his emotionless façade back into place. Then he turned from her, appearing to be interested in the foliage illuminated by the various lights placed around the garden.
“I brought you out here to discuss plans for the future.”
Stunned, she blinked. “Plans, my lord?”
“As you know, our betrothal came about by factors much greater than silly notions of love or other such nonsense.”
“Yes, and I apologize on behalf of my father. I know he put you up to this marriage.”
Lord Merrick faced her, his brow wrinkled. “Is that what he told you?”
“He has told me nothing. My theories are based on speculation.”
He stood still, watching her with his steely gaze. Although his words piqued her curiosity, he offered nothing in the way of an explanation.
“If I’m wrong, what is the truth of it?” Her anxiousness to know what brought them together encouraged her to be bold.
“It was I who approached your father.” He turned back around and slowly strolled to the other side of the short path. His reluctance as plain as his irritation. However, she needed to know what occurred between her father and Lord Merrick.
“What did you offer to ensure his agreement?” Abigail knew it would be substantial, for he also obtained the duke’s sponsorship in the bargain.
“His estates.”
Her hand flew to her chest as her throat closed. “You threatened the duke?”
He sighed as his attention once again focused on her. “No. I hold the titles to his estates. I only offered him an exchange, which he accepted.”
Abigail’s heart sank. She almost gave him her trust, believing him to be different, but he was not. Only the worst kind of man, a man like her father, would wager a human. The fact that Lord Merrick had been the one to suggest it made him worse than her father. Her hope of a tolerable future vanished.
“I would like to be escorted back to my mother now.” She didn’t wait for his response as she whirled around and walked back down the now lonely path. Lord Merrick didn’t speak, he simply took her arm and did as she requested.
The remainder of the evening passed around her. She could not bring herself to be a part of it. Later that night, as her head rested on her pillow, she allowed her tears to fall. Over the years of suffering at her father’s hand, she believed her ability to cry had been lost. She found it maddening that her emotions returned over a man. A man who would soon give her more reason to weep.
A muted noise sobered her, and she shot to her feet. Hearing the faint sound from her mother had her shoving her arms through her dressing gown as she pushed out of her bedchamber. Racing to her mother’s chambers, she threw open the door to a familiar sight.
Holding her head high, she walked forward, determined to redirect her father’s wrath. She would not allow him to hurt her mother again.
The next morning, Greyson declined the offer of a brandy as he sat back in a chair in the duke’s study. The man eyed him cautiously as he poured himself a drink. Content to wait, Greyson kept silent until the duke was ready to speak to him.
“So what brings you here today?” the duke asked as he settled back with his drink.
“I wish to talk about Lady Willimena.”
The duke stiffened and glared back at him with cold eyes. “I have already taken care of it. You will not encounter any more problems with her. I also would like to remind you we have a deal. One you instigated, I must add.”
“I don’t need the reminder, nor do I understand what problems you believe I have been experiencing with your daughter.”
“What exactly did you come to talk about today?” the duke demanded, irritation plain in his voice.
Greyson watched the duke, attempting to determine what caused his strange comments. Did Lady Willimena present an argument against marrying him to her father? The idea bothered him, but from the duke’s reaction, her pleas were not regarded.
He still didn’t believe how quickly the balance between him and Lady Willimena had broken. The look of horror on her face as he’d explained his involvement in their betrothal would be an image he would never forget. Such a short time ago, he never considered her feelings, but now he could not stop thinking about them. Uncomfortable with his train of thought, he mentally shook his head. He refused to let this weakness prevent him from obtaining his goal.
“I know your daughter is reluctant, but if you and I are in agreement, that is all I need.”
“As you are the one holding my vowels, I find it in my best interest to agree with you. In addition, my daughter has had a change of heart. You will find her much more accommodating now.”
“I’m glad to hear that, for I would like the banns to be called a week from Sunday. The wedding needs to take place before the end of the Season.”
“I agree. As you demanded, your social standing has been elevated and marriage to my daughter will solidify your position.”
“That is my hope.” Greyson felt more confident in the plan after hearing assurances from someone so illustrious. No guarantee existed, so hearing of his near success was heartening. He knew he should feel like celebrating, but he couldn’t bring himself to rouse the necessary emotions for such a response.
“Why do you not join us for dinner tonight? It will give the two of you a more intimate setting to become better acquainted. I’m sure Willimena will be delighted with a quick wedding after that.” The duke’s voice was low and took on a lecherous quality.
“I’ll be happy to join you.”
The duke’s tone led Greyson to believe he would speak with her before tonight. That knowledge made Greyson want to cause bodily harm to the man sitting before him. Lady Willimena was so sweet. How could her own father treat her thusly? Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. He would hold on to the hope he could once again rekindle the connection that had sprung between them.
As Greyson walked from the duke’s study, he felt better than he had the previous evening. Passing by the drawing room, he saw his betrothed sitting and gazing out the window. Her posture was straight and she appeared uncomfortable as she held her body away from the back of the chair. The pain
displayed on her face made his chest tighten, and he desperately wanted to enter the room and comfort her.
Knowing his actions had somehow caused her pain, he held himself back. Surely she would not welcome any comfort from him. One look at her face convinced him he needed to change her opinion of him. Being locked into a marriage with someone who could not bear to look at him was unacceptable. Once again, the time had come for him to seek out help.
When Melisande opened the door and saw him, her bright smile brought him joy. It felt good to know one female enjoyed his presence. He needed to understand what he had done to earn such a reaction from her. If he could do the same to Lady Willimena, they could deal well together.
“You missed me, mon amore? Have my lessons already run out?”
“Your teaching on how to speak with Lady Willimena proved invaluable, but I need something more today.”
Her eyelids drooped as the corners of her mouth turned up in a sultry smile. His guard went up as she sauntered toward him. “I can offer anything you need.”
He took a small step backward. “It’s knowledge I require again, but for a different matter this time.”
“Pity.” She turned and lounged on the chaise in an openly seductive manner. “Sit, and I’ll tell you all.”
He lowered himself to the plush armchair opposite her. “I must learn how to make my intended . . . like me.”
“Excusez-moi.” Her eyes held disbelief as they regarded him. “That isn’t something you can make someone do. You know I would love to help, but I don’t see how.”
“Just tell me what I did to secure your esteem.” Greyson shifted uncomfortably as Melisande watched him with compassion. Apparently his coming here would not award him with what he sought. He pushed at the arms of the chair, preparing to leave, when her voice stopped him.
“It wasn’t what you did, ma cherie. It’s who you are. I feel deeply for you as a person, and if she does not see what I do, it’s her misfortune.”
Greyson’s heart sank. Nothing could be done. As a person, he failed and surely did not deserve deference from anyone, least of all a duke’s daughter. As he stood, he held his head high and straightened his posture. He would change that. Soon he would obtain the prestige he would have had if he had been legitimate, then everyone, including his soon-to-be wife, would respect him.
Abigail tried not to scream as Mary pulled the dress over her head. The beating she’d received last night had been one of the worst. Thinking back, she couldn’t blame anyone but herself as she’d pushed her father too far. However, it had been necessary. She knew showing resistance against marrying Lord Merrick would redirect his attention away from her mother.
Her father’s rage only intensified when her mother had tried to intercede. In all the years Abigail had protected her mother, it was the first time she had reciprocated. Although touched, Abigail wished her mother had remained back as usual.
A soft cry escaped her lips when Mary applied a salve to her broken and bruised flesh. Normally Abigail kept a better hold on masking her pain, but containing the ache from her physical, as well as mental wounds, proved too much for her today. Especially considering the additional injury she received this morning by the viscount.
She learned Lord Merrick had arrived to speak to her father earlier but didn’t even have the civility to seek her out before he departed. Although she told herself she didn’t want to see him, his rejection of her stung. The memories brought an aching in her chest, allowing unwanted tears to escape. How would she make it through the dinner?
Wiping her tears away before Mary saw, she worked on presenting an emotionless face. Her father would be watching her tonight. He expected her to act as though she were enamored with Lord Merrick, a feat that would prove difficult in her current state.
“Are you all right, my lady?” Mary asked, watching her closely.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”
Crossing the room to peer into the mirror, Abigail sighed in defeat. How could she hide her emotions with her eyes mocking her?
“The powder from my hair must have agitated them. Oh, Mary, what am I to do? If Father sees me like this, he is sure to explode in a rage.”
“Don’t overset yourself. It will only make your eyes worse. Simply keep your head down. It will fade in time,” Mary assured.
Abigail nodded, knowing she didn’t have any other option. Regardless of what she did, her father would be angered, so it didn’t matter. Keeping her eyes closed, she allowed Mary to finish preparing her for their dinner guest. She hoped this courtship charade would end soon. After she was wed and away from her father, she would only have one man to fear.
Dinner was quiet, albeit a little too quiet. With Abigail and her mother remaining silent, the task set with the gentlemen to hold the conversation. Unfortunately, Lord Merrick’s simple responses to her father’s attempts didn’t call for further elaboration.
Throughout she tried to keep her gaze down, but her traitorous eyes sought out Lord Merrick several times before she caught herself. He watched her with an intensity that discomforted her, making her believe he could see through her.
The clanking of silverware on dishes resounded through the room as the gentlemen ate and the ladies feigned eating. When her mother stood, announcing the ladies’ time to withdraw, Abigail slumped in relief, until she saw the gleam in her father’s eyes.
“I believe we should forgo enjoying port tonight,” her father said. “As a matter of fact, I do believe I’m feeling too unwell to participate in joining everyone in the drawing room.”
“Then I will not impose on your hospitality any longer,” Lord Merrick quickly agreed.
“Nonsense. My daughter would be more than pleased to keep you company while my wife and I retire.” Pure hatred and malevolence filled the look her father shot her. A warning, in the event she resisted.
“Yes, my lord. Please join me in the drawing room.” Her voice came out as a squeak, but no one seemed to notice.
Lord Merrick nodded, then took her arm as her mother and father quietly left the room. How quickly her father was to leave her alone with a gentleman made her uncomfortable. However, she already knew how little he regarded her safety. When would his responses cease to surprise her?
“How do you intend to entice me tonight?” Lord Merrick asked after the drawing room door ominously shut.
“What leads you to believe that is my intent?”
“This whole evening was a ploy by your father to secure this private time for us, so I’m certain you have instructions on your next move.”
“Since you have knowledge of his plan, it would be pointless to deny my father’s intentions.”
“So, what are you planning to do?”
Abigail’s heart raced as Lord Merrick took a step toward her. With his emotions locked tightly away, she could not discern his mood. Was he angry? Would he beat her? Pushing her shoulders back, she knew she could not escape the inevitable.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“I see.” He nodded, and the intensity left his gaze. “Perhaps you would care to talk first?”
“I would like that.” Smiling at the short reprieve he offered, she sat in a chair. He stepped forward and claimed the one next to her.
“As I stated the other night, our betrothal didn’t come about by mutual interests for a reason. Once our wedding takes place, I shall obtain what I want from this marriage, so I would like to know what you desire from it.”
“I’m not sure I understand, my lord.”
She could not believe he asked what she wanted. She never recalled her father asking her mother of her desires, so she was unfamiliar with the proper protocol. The viscount’s motive remained beyond what she understood, but even so, the compulsion to tell him burned. Could she trust him to not be angered by the truth?
“Everyone wants something. I just want to know what it is your heart desires.”
&
nbsp; “I never wanted to get married.”
“Why not? Are you so content in your father’s house?”
“No, but I don’t want to be owned.” She watched his reaction closely, and to her surprise his expression remained unmoved. “I want to live alone where no one can trouble me.”
“I see.” He regarded her with a sad glint in his eyes.
She didn’t know if he pitied her or himself, but she didn’t care. “What is it you are looking for?” she blurted. “That is, besides respectability.”
Immediately the pity vanished as he narrowed his eyes. “You know of the particulars of my birth. I’m not surprised.”
“I know very little, but it’s of no consequence to me.”
“It does not matter to you that your soon-to-be husband is a bastard?”
“No. Does it matter to you?” she threw back at him. Whether he admitted it or not, she knew it was of great importance to him. She suspected his parentage guided his every decision and every step he made. Society was cruel, and she could only imagine the pain he’d endured at their hands. It helped to explain his lack of emotions as well as his willingness to inflict pain like her father.
“I have a proposition for you,” he said at last. “After we are wed, we will remain in London as you help me gain my respectability. Once I’m satisfied with my connections, you may live at Merrick, for I intend to continue to reside in London.”
“You would send me to your estate in the country to live alone?”
“If you would prefer to live in London, you will stay in my house. I will not give them any more fodder for their rumors.”
“London or the country, it matters not to me. I simply wanted to ascertain if you truly meant I may live so far away without you demanding your rights.”
Abigail held her breath, waiting and praying she understood him correctly. Her vision for her life had always been bleak, but he offered her a glimmer of hope. Could he truly mean to leave her alone?
His Perfect Game Page 5