“I assume the rooms on the floor below are yours.”
Since the stairs leading up from the second level were the only access to the roof, by necessity she had passed his suite on her way up, he realized. He hadn’t heard her as he had heard Jamie the night before. Of course, his brother’s chatter had been intended to give him fair warning that his domain was being invaded. He had foolishly thought at the time that would be the end of such excursions.
“Obviously, you are wishing me to the devil,” she said into his continuing silence. “The only thing worse than wandering guests are inquisitive ones.”
Her voice was touched with humor rather than the petulance another woman might have used to get her way. And her method was far more effective. After all, he could hardly stand here like a dolt, refusing to answer her.
“I’m Greystone,” he said. “The rooms below are mine.”
Her stillness after his pronouncement seemed to last as long as had his before it. When she spoke, the laughter had disappeared from her voice. Perversely, he found he missed it.
“I’m afraid I have been making a mystery of you.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“We understood that you were…indisposed.”
He examined the words, searching them for mockery, and found none. There was concern. A scintilla of contrition. Which made him wonder exactly what Jamie had told his guests.
“A bout of fever,” he lied.
“A recurring one? How inconvenient. I am so glad you are presently recovered.”
It sounded sincere. Jamie was right. She made it extremely difficult to be rude.
He wondered if she even remembered their long-ago encounter. And why would she? he mocked his own delusion. A girl on her way to the pleasures of her first Season. Their meeting would have been far less memorable than dozens of others she had enjoyed that spring.
Indeed, he had always known its significance to him had been far out of proportion to its reality. That was an argument he had made more than once during the interminable hours of last night. It had no more impact then than now.
“I’m Emma Stanfield. Georgina, as you must already know, is my stepdaughter.”
She had begun to move, coming down the steps, perhaps to offer her hand. In spite of the darkness that hid him, his stomach tightened.
“Please stay,” he said hurriedly, again fighting that ridiculous urge to turn and run. “I didn’t intend to disturb your reverie.”
She laughed, the sound low and pleasant. Almost musical. A small frisson of emotion coiled warmly within his stomach.
“Hardly a reverie. I confess that I’m escaping from too much time en famille,” she said, amusement still underlying the words. Her forward progress had stopped, thank God.
“Mine or yours?” Somehow, despite his long absence from society, he had fallen back into the effortless repartee it demanded.
“The children are playing Jackstraws, your mother is engaged with her needlework, and Charles is reading the Gazette. I believe the issue is days old, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”
There was a hint of indulgent criticism in that, as, to be fair, there had been in her descriptions of the others. She didn’t seem enamored of her husband’s every action, which should probably please him. Of course, as someone who had been very open about her need to marry for money, Emma could hardly be expected to pretend hers had been a love match.
“The children?” Only when he had repeated it did he realize how apt the word might be when applied to Jamie. Not quite nine years separated them, but he often felt as old as Methuselah in comparison.
“My brother-in-law prefers the term ‘young people.’ To me they seem very young, especially tonight. And very much in love. I do hope you have no objections to that.”
The frankness bordered on impudence. Since he had come to the same conclusion about Jamie’s feelings, he could hardly fault her for having presented him with the fait accompli.
“That decision is Jamie’s.”
“To be made with your approval surely,” she said, sounding surprised that it might be any other way.
“Did you require Georgina to seek yours?”
“She has it. Not that I believe it would have dissuaded her had I been unable to approve her choice. Luckily I can, and with a whole heart. I like Mr. Leighton very much.”
“Thank you. So do I.”
“And my brother-in-law is quite as enamored of him as is Georgina, though that might have something to do with his prospects.” The lilt of laughter was back in her voice.
That was the second reference she had made to her brother-in-law, and this one finally had an impact. As he considered its possibilities, that unfamiliar emotion fluttered again.
“Your…brother-in-law?”
“Charles. The Viscount Barrington.”
“Is your brother-in-law?”
There was no reason for the sudden increase in his heart rate. It was absurd. And undeniable.
“Georgina’s father died almost eight years ago. In one fell swoop Charles inherited the title and the responsibility for the two of us. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to get us off his hands.”
Could that imply she intended to live with her stepdaughter? Here at Leighton?
He had planned to exile himself when Jamie wed, but he had never intended to cut all ties to his family. Only now, faced with the prospect that he might be forced to do just that, did he understand the long years of loneliness that loomed before him.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I have only now realized what that must have sounded like. I don’t propose to invade Leighton, I assure you.”
He should say something to the effect that the decision must be between herself and the “children,” as she had called them. Instead, he found himself once more at a loss for words.
“My governess has a cottage, you see…” The words faded. “I have not yet told Georgina. May I ask that you will respect my confidence, at least until I can tell her personally.”
“Of course,” he said. “But…a governess’s cottage?”
“It will suit me quite well, I assure you.”
It sounded very much like his disclaimer to Jamie concerning Wyckstead. He wondered if she viewed the coming disruption of her life with the same unease he felt.
“But…away from society.” That had not been framed as a question, but she answered it.
“Both my husband and my brother-in-law have entertained extensively. I confess it will be a relief not to have to play hostess.”
“Still…”
“Is that choice so different from yours?” she asked.
“Choice?” He repeated the word with an edge of bitterness and realized she had trapped him again.
“Then…it is not from choice that you occupy the tower?”
“Are you imagining I’m here as a prisoner?”
“Are you?” Again, she sounded almost amused.
“I think of it as my retreat.”
There was a small silence, much like those that had punctuated the earlier portion of their conversation.
“And I have intruded upon it,” she said. “Once more, I beg your forgiveness.”
The social niceties demanded that he give it. And if he did? Would she take that to mean she was welcome to again intrude?
“They must be wondering by now where I’ve got off to,” she said. “If I don’t return to them soon, you shall have the entire household prying through your ‘retreat’ in search of me.”
There was little danger of that, but he didn’t demur. It seemed an acceptable excuse to end this encounter. She was probably as relieved as he.
“Of course,” he said. He stepped away from the stairs, moving toward the opposite side of the square.
He had taken only a few paces when she said, “Will you not join us? Now that you’ve recovered from your…fever.”
“You are my brother’s guests, Lady Barrington. And I believe others will be joining the party in a day or
two. I have no wish to intrude.”
“Of course. I understand completely. Nor did I wish to intrude, I assure you,” Emma said. “Good night, Lord Greystone. It has been a pleasure to meet you.”
He bowed, despite the fact she would not be able to see the gesture. And then, as she made her way across the tower to the spiral stairs that would take her away from the confines of his world, he deliberately turned his back on her, climbing the second set of steps that led up to the wall walk, where she had stood during the entire encounter.
Once there, he stared out over the parapet into the darkness. And it was a very long time before he moved again.
CHAPTER THREE
“THE BLUE SILK, then?”
It was only with the waiting silence that Emma became aware she didn’t have the least idea what her stepdaughter had just asked. “I do beg your pardon. Woolgathering, I’m afraid.”
“You seem to be doing a great deal of that lately,” Georgina said, tossing the dinner gown she had been holding for Emma’s approval onto the counterpane of her bed.
“As your stepmama there are a great many things I have to think about now,” Emma said, putting out her hand. “I do believe your Mr. Leighton will make an offer.”
She was rewarded by Georgina’s smile as her finger clasped ’round hers.
“Do you truly think so?”
“I don’t see how there can be any doubt of it. He looks at you in such a way…”
“He does, doesn’t he? Sometimes I glance up and find his eyes on me, and it takes my breath.”
“Do you love him, Georgie? It isn’t too late if you don’t, you know. No matter what your uncle says.”
“I can imagine what he’d say if the future Earl of Greystone made an offer and I tried to refuse it. I believe he would have apoplexy.”
They laughed together, picturing Charles’s already florid face flushed with indignation if she balked at this point. His temper was a phenomenon they had seen on more than one occasion during the past few years.
“No,” Georgina continued, “it isn’t any doubt on my part I’m worried about.”
“Then whose? Obviously not your uncle’s. Nor mine, of course. That the two of you would form such a mutual attachment is all I have wished for.”
“And Jamie’s family? What of their wishes?”
“The countess adores you,” Emma said, squeezing her stepdaughter’s fingers. “Surely you’re aware of that.”
“And the earl? We have been here three days and have yet to see hide or hair of him. What if that is because he opposes the match?”
“But he doesn’t,” Emma said quickly, pleased to be able to reassure that anxiety.
Georgina’s eyes widened. “How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I met him last night,” Emma said.
“The earl? Why in the world didn’t you tell me?”
“It was an accidental meeting. Something neither of us had planned.”
“But…I don’t understand. I thought he was an invalid.”
That was something Emma had considered during the sleepless hours after their meeting. Neither indisposed nor invalid seemed to fit the man she had encountered on the battlements. Besides, she was convinced, based on nothing more than his height and the width of his shoulders, that he was the rider she had seen yesterday morning.
Where the rumors Charles had heard originated, especially about a man who was so obviously vigorous, she couldn’t imagine. Any more than she could explain why someone who owned a property like Leighton would choose to sequester himself in the most unappealing part of it. Yet that message had been very clear last night. Greystone had no intention of leaving his tower to play host to this house party.
“At least not to the extent that would prevent his climbing to the top of the tower or riding,” she said. “Quite recklessly, too.”
“Jamie says he’s bookish.”
“Bookish?” Emma repeated in disbelief.
That schoolboy description didn’t fit with the display of horsemanship she had watched. Nor did it jibe with the impression she had formed of the earl last night.
“Actually, what he said was that his brother was quite the scholar. He didn’t exactly call him a recluse, but he did say he is more attuned to the intellectual than the social realm.”
Obviously those were Jamie’s exact words. They were not ones Georgie would use to describe someone. Although Emma had no reason to doubt the earl’s intellect or his reluctance to mingle with his brother’s guests, she found them at odds with her impression.
Or perhaps she had enjoyed the hint of mystery about Greystone too much to be willing to give it up. Her notorious propensity for romantic notions. Jamie certainly knew his brother better than she did.
“Ah,” she said aloud. “That explains his nonappearance, I suppose. Perhaps his reluctance to be social resulted in the rumors Charles heard.”
“But he did tell you he had no objections to the match?”
“He said it was Jamie’s decision. I questioned him very pointedly on that, I assure you,” Emma said, lips curving a little as she remembered.
“If he doesn’t care whom Jamie weds, then perhaps he doesn’t mean to make him his heir after all.”
That wasn’t a possibility Emma had considered, although it did seem strange that the earl would have so little interest in his brother’s future wife.
“The estate is surely entailed. I doubt that particular decision is his to make.”
“I’m not certain that will matter. Uncle’s conviction that the earl doesn’t intend to marry and produce an heir is based upon his belief that he is very near death’s door.”
She was right, Emma realized with a sinking feeling.
The information Charles had been counting on was obviously erroneous. And if there were no title or inheritance coming to Jamie, Charles would undoubtedly accept one of the other offers Georgina had received. It was clear from the girl’s eyes that she had been following that same frightening train of thought to its inevitable conclusion.
This courtship had gone too far to be dismissed so easily. Georgina’s heart was engaged. If anything were to happen to prevent the match at this juncture, she would be devastated.
“In the marriage settlements Uncle will ask for some assurance that Jamie is to be the earl’s heir,” Georgina said. “If his man of business is unable to make one—”
“Let’s not borrow trouble,” Emma soothed. “After all, the earl has not married. There must be some reason for that.”
“What if he has simply not yet found the right woman? Uncle will never consider the match without more assurance.”
He wouldn’t, Emma admitted. At least one of the other offers Georgina had received was very respectable. A young man with a title and a fortune, neither of which could compare to those of Greystone’s, of course. If there was any doubt Jamie would be his brother’s heir, however, Charles was quite capable of grabbing the bird in hand.
And the longer they were here, the more enamored her stepdaughter would become of a man who was both handsome and charming and flatteringly attentive. Jamie Leighton seemed the epitome of every young girl’s dreams.
“I have allowed myself to put too much hope into this prospect.” Georgina’s wide blue eyes suddenly glazed with tears. “I do not think I can bear it if nothing comes of it.”
They had all encouraged her to hope. Emma herself had tried to do so with her reassurances tonight.
“Perhaps you could ask Mr. Leighton—” she began, only to be quickly cut off.
“What should he think if I did? That I am only interested in him if he is to become the earl?”
That would be true for Charles, but never for Georgina. Simply asking the question might, however, introduce doubt into Jamie’s mind about her motives.
“Besides, this is his brother,” Georgina went on. “It would be very awkward to question whether or not the earl intends to marry. Perhaps Jamie doesn’t know. He says
very little about him and only in response to a direct question.”
Which was another mystery, Emma thought. Neither the countess nor his brother had mentioned Greystone, not since Jamie’s initial explanation of his absence. That seemed no more normal than that the owner of Leighton Hall should live such a solitary existence in the most primitive part of it.
Because they had been so delighted with Mr. Leighton in London, both as a person and as a prospective bridegroom, they had accepted his explanation of the earl’s nonappearance. Now it seemed there were far too many unanswered questions about this entire situation.
Questions Charles could not legitimately ask until a proposal was made. Questions Georgina was reluctant to pose for fear of creating doubt in Jamie’s mind. Questions to which only one person could provide answers.
“Then perhaps,” Emma said, “we should ask Greystone.”
“If he intends to marry?” Georgie’s shock was clear.
“Why not? He is, after all, the only person who can tell us that for sure.”
APPROACHING GREYSTONE had seemed like a good idea until she was actually climbing the stairs that led to his rooms. She had been positively eager for dinner to end, although their company had been enlivened tonight by the addition of more guests.
Throughout the meal there had been an almost desperate gaiety to Georgina’s manner, surely the result of their conversation and the concerns it had raised. As soon as she could, Emma had pled the headache, pretending to retreat to her rooms. Instead she had made her way straight to the tower.
Now she stood before the massive oak door, gathering her courage for the coming confrontation. Taking a deep breath, she knocked and then waited through a long silence. There was no response, not even to her more forceful pounding, although that telltale thread of light was clearly visible along the bottom of the door.
If the earl were not in his rooms, she believed she knew where he might be found. Gathering the skirt of her dinner gown in one hand, she crossed the stone floor to the far corner where the spiral stairs ascended to the roof.
The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman Page 12