His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  Lady Merrick sighed, bringing his attention back to her. She used nimble fingers to pull the needle in and out of the fabric. His mouth went dry. From somewhere he vaguely recollected those very fingers on his bare skin. As his body reacted to the memory, he shifted, not wanting his desire to be known.

  Her eyes glanced over at him, but she turned back to her needlework, breaking eye contact. He wondered why she bothered to sit in here if she possessed no intention of acknowledging him.

  As he struggled to pull himself up to a sitting position, she remained seated. Hours before, she’d insisted he needed her help, but now she denied him. Muttering under his breath about unhelpful females, he sat up, shoving the pillows behind him.

  “Why are you in here?” he asked, although his dry mouth could barely form the words.

  Seeing a carafe of water, he carefully maneuvered his body to grasp the handle mostly with his fingertips. Transferring it to his other hand, he worked on getting a glass. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he debated drinking straight from the pitcher. Instead he persevered and once he poured a glass he gulped the water. Exhausted, he sat back, out of breath and irritated.

  “To assist you if you need it.” She didn’t look up at him.

  Astounded she would make such a claim, he slammed the cup down. “If that is your intent, why are you not helping me now?”

  “It does not appear that you need it. Besides, you haven’t requested my help.” She shrugged. “I remember you don’t appreciate my assumptions.”

  “Clearly you don’t want to help me, so leave. I’ll summon someone else if necessary.”

  “I’m sorry, but you have me or no one. The rest of the staff would rather avoid you due to your unusually bad mood.”

  Greyson snorted but didn’t comment further. He had no doubt news of Holland’s termination had spread around. The other staff members must fear their fate as well.

  He watched as her steady fingers continued to pull at the thread. Grabbing his deck of cards from the side table, he shuffled them. The soft sound of a card crashing against another gave him comfort. It offered him a sense of power and made him feel more like himself.

  “If you are going to stay in here with me, can you at least attempt to act as though you can tolerate my presence?” He ground out.

  She set her needlework aside. “What will you have me do, my lord?”

  “Anything involving some sort of interaction. Read to me, talk to me, yell at me. I don’t care.” Feeling his agitation grow, he moved his hands faster.

  “Well, you have the cards there. Would you care to play?”

  “Do you know how?” His heart leapt at her suggestion. As the activity was one of his favorite pastimes, he always welcomed a game. Having a wife who could play meant he might never want for a partner again. In addition, her choice felt significant somehow. As if she understood him.

  “I’m afraid not. I know the basic rules to whist, but I play poorly.”

  “I would be happy to teach you if you would like.”

  She nodded and dragged her chair closer to his bed. Concentrating on the cards, he managed to ignore the inadequate feeling of not being able to help her. He could not fathom what she thought of him, but he suspected it would be better not to know.

  As he explained the rules of the game, he studied her face closely. Although he knew her agreement was meant to humor him, her attentiveness pleased him. She learned the rules, but he learned about her. He already knew of her loyalty and dedication toward people, but now he knew it extended to tasks as well. She seemed to soak up everything he taught her, and before long, he dealt them a hand.

  Watching her bite her bottom lip as she decided her move made him want to press his mouth to hers. His breathing increased and, for once in his life, his mind wandered from the game. She would be spectacular in the card room since all her opponents would be too preoccupied with her to concentrate on their play.

  “Is this good?” she asked after the final hands had been played.

  His eyes widened slightly to see she possessed a talent for cards. “Very good. You won.”

  Pleasure lit her face as she leaned forward. “Can we play again?”

  Greyson dealt the cards for the next round, and so on until an hour passed. With his mind claimed by the game and his wife, he forgot about his injury. To his surprise, his movements during the game allowed him to stretch his aching muscles until the pain in his chest became bearable.

  “Why do we not call a break now? Please send a footman in to assist me.”

  “I will aid you instead.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  He couldn’t tell if her discomfort came from his suggestion or from the idea of having to help him. “Thank you, but I would prefer assistance from a man.”

  She straightened her shoulders and peered down her nose at him. He had not intended to insult her, but his problem still remained. Remembering her slight frame, he believed her incapable of holding his weight if he fell. Also considering he needed to use the chamber pot, he refused to accept her help.

  “As I mentioned earlier, after you relieved Holland of his duties, I don’t imagine there is another man willing to assist you.” Her tone dripped acid.

  “Then leave me,” he commanded in a tone that demanded immediate results. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing to myself.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. What is it you need?” She stood, placing her hands on her hips. Her stance made him feel as though she regarded him like a child.

  “I want to be left alone,” he growled, frustrated by her insistence.

  She narrowed her eyes. “If you send me away, I promise no one else will dare to enter this room.”

  “So be it.”

  Without another word, his wife spun around and stomped out. The walls shook from the force of the door slamming behind her. Greyson didn’t care if she was mad, for he already passed that point himself. Fuming, he sat, staring at the door. Tomorrow would offer his freedom, he reminded himself. It was time he sent her to Merrick.

  Bearing the pain, he hauled himself to the edge of the bed and gingerly touched his feet to the floor. Although his cracked ribs brought aching to his chest, over the course of his life, he learned to tolerate pain.

  After placing his full weight on his legs, he found breathing came easier standing up. Drawing in a deep breath, he took one cautious step forward. As the room spun, he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he stood for a few moments for the worst of the sensation to subside.

  The next few steps proved he would be unable to continue unaided. Using the wall as well as the furniture, he managed to reach the dressing screen and, using the same method, he returned to bed. Breathing heavily, he collapsed onto the mattress and closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to subside.

  Later that day, Holland entered carrying his meal. Glad his long-time butler didn’t take the hasty words to heart, Greyson didn’t remind the man of their last conversation. With Holland’s assistance, Greyson worked on strengthening himself as he moved about the room. As long as his dizziness held off, he could walk fine. It was a relief.

  Tomorrow wasn’t a day he could oversee from his bed.

  Abigail broke her promise. She had no desire to remain in the house with her ungrateful husband all day. Following the incident yesterday, she refused to return to him, sending Holland instead. The butler, reluctant at first, quickly realized the merits. After all, how could Lord Merrick send him away if no one else would tend to him?

  From what she’d heard from Mrs. Boart, this morning Lord Merrick arose, dressed with Holland’s aid, and planned to come down after breakfast. Abigail knew if her husband gained enough strength to go about his business as usual, he was strong enough to hurt her. His anger insured it would happen, but she saw no harm in delaying the inevitable and enjoying another couple of hours pretending her life was different.

  As she took the final steps up to Everett House, she cast all thoughts of h
er husband aside, instead thinking of her mother. During her visits, her mother always put on a cheerful face, but Abigail could see how life drained out of her at a quicker rate.

  Taking a deep breath, Abigail knocked on the door, and soon followed the butler to the drawing room. While she waited, she prayed her mother would arrive alone today. With her father in the room, Abigail always worried he would forget he lost the right to beat her when she married.

  “Good morning, Willimena. I trust your presence here means your husband has improved.”

  Abigail let out a sigh of relief to see her mother enter alone and take a seat. When her father had previously joined them, he arrived with her mother.

  “The fever is gone, and he no longer remains confined to his quarters.”

  Her mother nodded, not changing her solemn expression. “You did right by him.”

  From her sad eyes, Abigail wondered if her mother had hoped Lord Merrick would not have survived. The sentiments most likely extended to the duke. Contrary to how Abigail expected to feel, pity slammed into her, making breathing difficult. After experiencing life with a tolerable husband, she could not fathom the horrors her father inflicted upon his wife.

  “When did Braiden return to Hauney? I know he remained here longer than he originally intended.” Desperate to change the subject, Abigail worked at keeping her voice even.

  “He left a week ago at your father’s insistence.”

  “I thought Father enjoyed Braiden’s visits.” Abigail’s tone held more bitterness than she intended.

  “He does, for a time. After that, he tires of the façade he adopts for his heir. This time, however, held a difference.”

  “Why?”

  “Braiden disregarded your father’s attempts to make him leave London several times before he finally gave in.”

  Abigail sat forward in her chair and looked at her mother with wide eyes. She’d never known her brother to go against their father. She wondered what possessed him to do so now.

  “I didn’t know he had the courage in him to do such a thing.”

  “Nor I, but he has changed. Besides that, he met someone who he is reluctant to be apart from. They are betrothed now. Her name is Lady Tabitha Swanson, I believe.”

  “That is wonderful.” Abigail could not contain her smile. In her opinion her brother had been removed from Society far too long.

  “I would agree, but I have reservations.” Her mother looked down at the floor.

  “What reservations? Is the girl unsuitable? Braiden must be informed.”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. She is amiable, but it is . . . She has red hair.”

  Abigail’s breathing stopped as her hand flew to her chest. Her father’s hatred ran deep. The girl would not be safe from him if he stumbled upon her alone.

  “Does Father know?” Abigail began breathing again when her mother shook her head. “He must never find out. We must—”

  “Find out what?” her father demanded.

  Every drop of blood in her veins froze upon hearing the fury in his tone. Swallowing down her terror, she reminded herself he could not touch her. She no longer belonged to him. Then her eyes moved to her mother’s petrified face. In that instant, Abigail knew neither one of them was safe.

  The click of the door closing confirmed her suspicions. She was trapped. Her husband wasn’t here to save them. Remembering Lord Merrick’s anger yesterday made her wonder if he would even wish to.

  “Tell me.” Her father’s boots pounded on the floor as he made his way closer to them. When he arrived within view, Abigail could not bring herself to lift her eyes to his hated face. Instead she looked at his hands, his implements of torture. Today they held a cane. His favorite. She easily recalled exactly how it felt to be struck with that particular object.

  “If you refuse to answer my question, I know something that will loosen your tongue.” He lifted the cane over his head.

  Abigail closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to come.

  Greyson stared at his brandy in disgust before he tipped it back, allowing the soothing burn to coat his throat. He hated that his wife forced him to drink again, but as he couldn’t pace or do anything of consequence, he sat with his decanter. Where was she?

  Upon his direction, Jonathan recently informed the staff Lady Merrick wasn’t to leave the house unescorted. Although she, too, had been warned, he once again waited for someone else to bring her back to him. What if they never found her? Swallowing, Greyson shook off the thought. They would find her, they had to.

  A knock at the door had him on his feet, his body stiff with tension. Throwing open the door, he received no relief from seeing the grim set of Holland’s jaw. Greyson felt a twinge of guilt. If not for his weakness, Lady Merrick could never have left on her own.

  “I should never have reinstated you,” Greyson growled. “If you can’t locate her, you will lose your position, for good this time.”

  “As you see fit, but don’t be disheartened. I have men searching every shop in London. We will find her.”

  Greyson turned away. The image of Algers stalking Lady Merrick made the color drain from his face. Were they too late? Regardless, he would not give up. He had to find his wife.

  “What about the duke’s townhouse or her cousin, Lady Scholton?”

  “She isn’t with her cousin, and our attempts are unanswered by the duke’s staff. It’s an odd practice, but—”

  Greyson whipped around to face Holland. “I don’t care what the duke does, just find my wife. When you do, I expect you to bring her to me immediately.”

  Holland bowed, ducking from the room.

  Falling back in his chair, Greyson covered his eyes with his arm. Had Algers captured her so quickly? Although he himself had intended to send her away, all he could think of now was protecting her.

  Helplessness was a feeling he didn’t tolerate well, nor was it one he was accustomed to experiencing. He reminded himself Holland had never let him down in the past, and he wouldn’t now. Greyson blew out a frustrated breath as his body involuntarily shook. What would happen if they didn’t find her?

  What seemed like hours later, he heard voices and footsteps outside his door. Although too quiet for him to understand them, he recognized Holland’s deep baritone as well as his wife’s sweet melodic tone.

  Filling his lungs with air, he slowly released his breath as relief permeated his body. She was safe. Since he’d been mending well, he vowed to take better care of her. Algers remained a threat, and until neutralized, he would be on his guard.

  Greyson stood as Holland pushed the door open. After nodding, his butler stepped aside, and Abigail came into view. She squared her shoulders before marching up to him. Her anger took him aback, making him forget why he wanted to see her.

  “You called for me, my lord?” Her words held irritation.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded. Although he had not intended to begin the interview this way, he could not stop the question from falling from his lips. His earlier anger renewed at the sight of hers.

  “I wasn’t aware my comings and goings had to be reported to you.” Her voice shook, and Greyson got the impression she had to exert energy to remain in control.

  Her defiant eyes glared at him as if issuing a challenge. But nothing in his character would allow him to back down. Drawing himself up to his full height, he glared at her. Her body slumped slightly, but neither her expression nor her defiance softened.

  “Where were you?” he repeated coldly.

  After a long pause, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Everett House.”

  Satisfied, he sat down in his chair. As he leaned back, he took the opportunity to study her. She wilted before him, and he realized the fight had drained from her. He was surprised to realize even after these past weeks of marriage to her, she remained as much of a puzzle to him as she had before they wed. The difference being he no longer knew if he wanted to solve her. Wives were unpredictable and too much work.<
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  “You have upheld your end of the bargain admirably,” he began, earning a confused glance from her. “Now it’s time for me to honor my promise.”

  “What do you mean, my lord?”

  Her concerned whisper almost made him change his mind, but it also reminded of how much of his time she needed. She would be safe at Merrick, and living alone was what she wanted from this marriage. He knew he dragged the charade out too long. The time arrived for him to right that wrong.

  “You will leave for Merrick in the morning. Mrs. Boart has already seen to your belongings.”

  Her lips trembled, but she quickly dropped her head, shielding her face from him. “Yes, my lord.”

  Greyson wasn’t sure if he felt pleased or disappointed by her acceptance. He knew she would not beg him to allow her to stay, but he had hoped for some hint of her true feelings.

  Without another word, she turned and walked away. Seeing her pull herself from the room as if in pain hurt him. Unable to stand it, he faced the wall until he heard the click of the door. He was doing the right thing. His life would be simpler, and she would be happier without him around.

  Only one question remained. Would he be happy without her?

  Chapter 11

  Abigail sat back on her heels and surveyed the row of holes she’d dug. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her soiled glove, she frowned. Caught up in her thoughts, she’d veered to the right and her row wasn’t straight.

  “Hmm, that’s a good try, but it’s crooked,” Joshua, the head gardener, said while scratching his head. “You’ll have to fill them in and redo it. Otherwise the flowers won’t be properly placed.”

  “I’m sorry. I suppose I got distracted.”

  Surveying the holes, she saw she had to fix at least ten to correct the row. Over the past six weeks at Merrick, thoughts of her husband had constantly plagued her, making concentration difficult. She had no idea how she would manage completing this simple task with him on her mind.