by Anna Bennett
Fiona considered this. Maybe she should tell him about the blackmail note. She wouldn’t dream of revealing the identity of Lily’s birth mother to him, but at least Fiona could explain what she intended to use her dowry money for. “Thank you. I will think about it.”
The countess smiled and smoothed the blanket on her lap. “Did he tell you why he is so driven to return the Fortress to its former glory?”
“I assumed it was a matter of pride and duty.”
“I suppose pride plays a part. He would, no doubt, like to show Lady Helena that she was foolish to jilt him.”
Fiona winced at the mention of his former fiancée. It hurt to think that Gray might still long for Helena. Last night, as he held Fiona, had he been thinking of Helena … wishing he were with her instead?
“Do not be dismayed, my dear,” the countess continued. “Helena is not the real reason he feels such urgency.”
“I suppose I must wait for him to tell me his true motivation?”
“No,” the countess said, chuckling. “For this is my story to tell. Gray is going to such great lengths for me. I recently learned that my eyesight is failing. Before long I shall lose my sight completely.”
Fiona impulsively reached for the countess’s hand and squeezed it. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. Gray inherited his penchant for privacy from me. Others will learn of my diagnosis soon enough, but for now, I’m cherishing every colorful blossom, every radiant sunset. I’m memorizing the faces of the ones I love.” She stared at Fiona earnestly for several long moments. “And the ones whom I will surely come to love.”
Fiona didn’t pause to examine the countess’s words. “Is there nothing that can be done for you?”
“I’m afraid not. But I consider myself blessed. To have a grandson who would go to such lengths for me—just because he believes it will make me happy.”
“Will it please you, seeing the Fortress restored?”
“I have told Gray countless times that I will be happy as long as he is happy. But he is determined to see the renovations completed posthaste—as if doing so will re-create the days of my youth.”
“He loves you,” Fiona breathed. “That is all the reason he needs.”
“Yes.” The countess dabbed the corner of her eye with a fingertip. “I tell you all of this so you will know he has a good heart … and so that you will have a care with it.”
“Oh, I would never—”
Fiona had been about to tell the countess that Gray was far more likely to break her heart than she was to break his. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might wound him.
But then the door to the coach swung open and Lily and Sophie climbed in and sat on Fiona’s seat, swinging a sack of fruits for tomorrow’s picnic and exclaiming over the delightful smell emanating from the basket of baked goods.
“Sophie and I were talking just now,” Lily said excitedly. “And we have a wonderful idea.”
“By all means,” the countess said. “Please share.”
Sophie clasped her hands while Lily bounced on the seat. “We should have a ball!” Lily cried. “The villagers we met today have been so kind and welcoming. Wouldn’t it be grand to host a celebration in their honor?”
Oh dear. As mere guests of the earl, it was not their place to suggest balls or any other entertainments. Miss Haywinkle would suffer an apoplexy if she knew one of her former pupils had been so bold. Fiona opened her mouth to say so, but the countess cut her off.
“A ball,” the older woman said thoughtfully. “I am wholly in favor of it.”
“We know it’s not much notice,” Sophie said, “but it could be a simple affair, and we would gladly help with the preparations.”
Goodness. Fiona could just imagine Gray’s reaction. “Isn’t the ballroom undergoing improvements? Lord Ravenport might prefer to wait until after the renovations are complete before hosting such a large event.”
“Allow me to worry about informing Gray. I feel certain I shall be able to persuade him.” The countess passed the basket of cakes to Sophie and Lily. “You girls must try one.”
While they indulged, plans were made.
“The last night of the house party would be best,” Lily mused.
Sophie nodded her agreement. “We can decorate with greenery and wildflowers.”
“And we’ll enlist the local musicians to play,” the countess said. “It will be a festive affair.”
Fiona smiled weakly. “Perhaps we should check with the earl before becoming too carried away.”
The countess leaned across the coach and patted Fiona’s knee. “Do not fret, my dear. This ball is going to happen—with or without my grandson’s blessing.”
Chapter 16
Upon returning to the Fortress, Fiona was so anxious to see Gray that she almost forgot she was supposed to meet with Mr. Kirby. She was on her way to her bedchamber to change for dinner when he intercepted her at the bottom of the staircase.
“Miss Hartley. I trust you enjoyed your excursion to the village?”
“Very much. And how was the hunting?” She craned her neck a bit to see if Gray happened to be nearby.
“The grouse are plentiful—and after our feeble efforts, I’ve no doubt they’ll remain so.”
“Then it was a good day for the grouse,” Fiona said with a smile. “I have a few minutes before I must prepare for dinner. Would you like to talk now?”
Mr. Kirby glanced over his shoulder and stepped closer. “It’s a matter that requires discretion. I wonder if we could speak someplace more private?”
Alarm bells sounded in Fiona’s head. “I’m not certain that’s wise.”
“Forgive me—I didn’t mean to suggest anything untoward.” He shot her an apologetic smile. “It’s a rather delicate subject, however.”
Fiona quickly weighed her options, and curiosity won out over prudence. “The terrace then?” They could talk there without being overheard but could still be seen from certain vantage points in the garden and from within the house.
“That would be fine,” he said gratefully. “I promise not to take too much of your time.”
While they strolled toward the terrace in companionable silence, Fiona prayed that her earlier suspicion was correct—that Mr. Kirby merely wished to reveal an interest in Lily, or perhaps Sophie.
He ushered Fiona toward a bench in the corner of the patio, and she hesitated only briefly before sitting. She’d give him ten minutes—no more.
“I’m not quite certain how to begin, but you seem like the sort of person who appreciates forthrightness.”
“I do,” she confirmed, even as a sense of unease slid down her spine.
“Very well. I happened to find something which I believe is yours.”
No. God, please, no. She tried to keep her voice light. “Oh? I don’t believe I’ve lost anything.”
Mr. Kirby reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. It was wrinkled and mud splattered, but she recognized it instantly—the blackmail note.
He handed it to her, and she accepted it with trembling fingers. “You read it?” It was half question, half accusation.
“I confess I did.” He bowed his head as though contrite. “It caught my eye on the way back from the archery competition yesterday, and I slipped it in my jacket pocket. I didn’t realize the letter was yours until I opened it and read the salutation.”
“I see.” Fiona’s mind raced with questions. How much had the note revealed? And what did Mr. Kirby intend to do with the information?
“I should have stopped reading immediately once I realized it was yours; I know that. But I read the first sentence … and became concerned.”
Fiona’s head throbbed, and her heart pounded. Through her carelessness, she’d jeopardized everything. Frantic, she opened the letter and scanned the scrawling penmanship. Some of the words overlapped due to the writer’s rather ornate lowercase f, but the threat was all t
oo clear. She reread the missive, assessing just how much Mr. Kirby now knew:
Dear Miss Hartley,
This note serves as a reminder that the clock is ticking. If you wish to spare your sister and family untold humiliation, you will adhere to the instructions set forth in my initial message. Deliver the money at the designated time and place—or all of London will know the salacious truth about your sister’s parentage.
Any attempt to involve the authorities would, of course, result in the immediate publication of the sordid truth in the London Hearsay.
Do not cross me, Miss Hartley, and do not test me, unless you wish to see your entire family suffer the disastrous consequences.
She closed her eyes for moment, debating what to say. Thank heaven the note had not specifically mentioned that Lily’s mother was London’s most infamous madam. Nor had it given any details about when or where the money was to be paid. But it was damning enough. She stuffed it into her reticule, praying she didn’t burst into tears.
When she could bring herself to speak, she faced Mr. Kirby. “As you can imagine, this is a very private matter. I would appreciate it if you would keep the contents of the note to yourself.”
“Miss Hartley,” he said sincerely, “I promise you I will not breathe a word of this—I swear it on my life.”
“Thank you,” Fiona replied, even though she was distinctly uneasy. All she knew of Mr. Kirby was that he was Gray’s closest friend. Now that he’d discovered the letter, she had no choice but to trust him.
He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his chin. “I know it is none of my business, but I am worried about you.”
“You needn’t be,” Fiona assured him. “I’ve devised a plan to handle the matter.” Granted, the plan wasn’t working very well at the moment, but she had faith that Gray would come around. He simply had to.
“Blackmail is a serious thing,” Mr. Kirby said, his slightly patronizing tone grating her nerves.
“It is. And while I appreciate your concern, I would prefer that you not dwell on my predicament. In fact, if it’s at all possible, I wish you would forget it entirely.”
“Forgive me,” he said sincerely. “I did not mean to be presumptuous. I’m sure you’ve thoroughly considered your options and will decide upon the correct course of action.”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and tamped down a wave of self-doubt. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Well then.” He planted his palms on his knees and took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose there’s anything left to discuss—except for this: If you should need assistance of any kind, you mustn’t hesitate to ask me.”
“I don’t think I shall—”
He held up a hand. “I know. And I admire your independent nature. Miss Lily is fortunate to have a sister like you. I only extend the offer because, like you, I am fiercely loyal to my family. I would do anything to protect them.”
Fiona considered this for a moment. “Even paying off a blackmailer?”
“That is a difficult question to answer. I am not privy to the truth about Lily’s parents—and I do not wish to be,” he added quickly. “But my response to a blackmailer would depend on how hurtful the truth would be, should it become widely known.”
Suppressing a shudder, Fiona stared at the cold slate beneath her slippers. The truth would destroy her sister’s chances of making a good match and cast a pall over the entire family.
Mr. Kirby continued, his voice sympathetic. “Common wisdom says that giving in to a blackmailer’s demands doesn’t erase the threat. There is always the possibility that the scoundrel will ask for more.”
“So, you would not pay the money?”
He crossed his arms. “I’d like to think that I wouldn’t. But the truth is, when it comes to safeguarding the people we love … we don’t always act rationally. I suspect I’d do what I had to do. And in the case of your sister, perhaps a little more time is all she needs.”
“What do you mean?”
“She will no doubt marry soon. Once she is happily settled, the power of the threat will diminish.”
“Yes,” Fiona said. “That is a bolstering thought.”
“I am glad.” Impulsively, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “My offer to help stands. Even if you simply wish for someone to talk to, please do not hesitate—whether we are here or back in London, you must feel free to call on me.”
“I appreciate that.” She withdrew her hand and stood, signaling that the conversation was over. “I must go. Thank you again for keeping this in the strictest of confidences.”
Mr. Kirby stood and bowed. “You are most welcome, Miss Hartley. Your fortitude in the face of such adversity is admirable. Indeed, it is but one of the many things I admire about you.”
Good heavens. The unexpected compliment made Fiona flush from her neck to the roots of her hair. And since she could think of nothing witty or charming to say in response, she resorted to her normal course of action in these situations—which was to slink away as quickly as possible.
* * *
Gray watched the scene on the terrace from the balcony outside his bedchamber. He couldn’t make out what Kirby and Fiona were saying to each other, but three things were utterly clear.
First, Kirby had given Fiona a note and she’d been visibly affected by the contents. Even from the balcony, Gray could see her shining eyes and trembling hands, damn it all. Maybe Kirby had written a sappy poem or showered her with compliments. Whatever the letter contained had moved her—as Gray had been unable, nay, unwilling, to.
Second, Kirby had held her hand—the Devil take him. He’d done so as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Fiona had allowed it. Gray desperately wanted to believe that she was simply stunned. Caught off guard. But there was a level of intimacy between them that was evident in their whispered confidences and meaningful glances.
And third, the way Kirby looked at Fiona betrayed his feelings for her. There was no denying it; he was smitten. Kirby may not have even realized it yet, but sometime over the last few days he had apparently crossed over the line of mild flirtation and was now veering perilously close to the level of lovesick foolishness.
And Gray had no one but himself to blame.
For the second time in as many days, he had the Neanderthal-like impulse to punch a plaster wall—and probably would have, if it wouldn’t have added one more repair to the mile-long list.
First Pentham, now Kirby. Next thing Gray knew, Carter would be nipping at Fiona’s heels.
Gray stormed back into his bedchamber and paced the length of the room.
Reminded himself that Fiona had proposed to him.
Had chosen him to introduce her to pleasure.
And wanted to spend more time with him in private.
Perhaps he’d been too quick to dismiss the idea of marrying Fiona. He desired her, and she desired him. He needed money for the Fortress, and she was an heiress with a huge dowry.
Best of all, if they became engaged Gray would no longer have to witness other men falling all over themselves to court her.
He’d be honest with her and tell her that he had no intention of falling in love. Ever. That he wasn’t capable of it.
But that if she could abide a marriage of convenience, perhaps he would go along with her plan. He’d even arrange for them to exchange their vows within the week, or on whatever timeline she dictated, under one condition.
That she be completely honest with him.
There would be no secrets, no half-truths, no lies, in their relationship. He would not be played for a fool. Again.
As he dressed for dinner, he debated when to tell her the news—and decided that it could wait until tomorrow morning. He’d thought of the perfect setting to tell her, a rustic but charming spot. They’d have a few hours to themselves before most of the household awoke, plenty of time for her to sketch and for them to discuss a future life together.
And if she wished to continue he
r lessons in passion, by God, he would be the one to indulge her.
Chapter 17
“Where are you going?” Lily moaned and covered her head with a pillow.
“I want to sketch the sun coming up over the hills,” Fiona whispered. “Go back to sleep and I’ll see you later—at breakfast.”
“You’re mad,” her sister grumbled. As an afterthought she added, “Be careful.”
Fiona dressed quickly and quietly, leaving her hair in a single thick braid, then grabbed her sketchbook and pencil. Lily was already snoring softly by the time she slipped out of their bedchamber.
Last night after dinner, Gray had asked Fiona to meet him at the mermaid fountain just before sunrise—and there’d been something different in his manner. He’d seemed more purposeful and serious than usual, as if he was on a mission. One that involved her.
The golden glow of the early morning sun gilded every leaf and pebble as she walked through the garden, and though her fingers itched to capture the glorious scene on paper, she walked on, toward their meeting spot.
She rounded a bend in the path to find Gray already there, prowling to and fro in front of the fountain. With his broad shoulders and longish hair, he appeared more dashing pirate than refined gentleman. The shadow of a beard darkened his jaw, and his hair was charmingly disheveled, as though he’d just tumbled out of bed—which he no doubt had.
When he spotted her, he shot her a wicked grin. “Miss Hartley,” he drawled. “You made it. I was afraid that you might prefer the coziness of your bed to my company.”
The seductively deep timbre of his voice already had her body thrumming. “It was a rather close call,” she fibbed. “But I am here.” She looked around the small clearing, her practiced eye taking note of the shadows and considering the best angle from which to draw him. “The garden looks so different at this time of day.”
“It does.” His gaze roved over the lush landscape surrounding them. “But we’re not staying here. Come. I have a surprise for you.”
He held out a hand, and she took it, lacing her fingers through his. Neither of them had bothered to don gloves, so their bare palms melded with a delicious warmth. Without saying a word, they walked across the lawn, damp with dew, all the way to the edge of the woods. Gray led her toward a narrow path that wound around a mixture of mature trees, saplings, hollowed logs, and brush, making her grateful she’d worn her boots.