by Anna Bennett
“Wickedness on the Waves?” Eh.
“Ravished on the Rowboat?” Not bad.
“Fiona.” Gray sat across from her, deftly pulling his oars through the water.
“Hmm?”
His mouth curled into an amused smile. “You are all right then?”
“I am.” More than all right. She was happy.
“Good, because there’s so much more I want to show you.”
She arched a brow at that, making him chuckle.
“Along the river, that is. We will meet up with the rest of the party a bit later to enjoy a late luncheon. But in the meantime, I have you all to myself, and I don’t intend to waste a second.”
Her heart bounced with joy. She’d been so afraid to tell him about the blackmail, but he’d been even more understanding than she could have hoped. And when he’d held her and kissed her and touched her … there was a tenderness in him that made her believe the happiness could last. Beyond today, next week … even next year.
“I don’t want to waste any time either,” she said. “Show me everything you love about this place.”
For the space of several heartbeats, he gazed at her—with an intensity that made her flush. At last, he said, “Very well. Our first stop will be the infamous rope swing.”
Fiona laughed nervously. “I assume you mean that we will be viewing said swing from afar. Perhaps admiring it as we float by in this vessel—which I’ve grown rather fond of, by the way.”
“That all depends,” he said slyly, “on whether or not you are the sort of person who’s inclined to accept a dare.”
Chapter 24
Gray must be mad. Daring her to ride a rope swing was preposterous.
Fiona cleared her throat and prepared to take a stand. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten I’m rather prone to mishaps.”
“You don’t say.” He shot her a wicked smirk.
“As a result, I avoid risky behavior.”
“Not always,” Gray replied, thoughtful. “You wrote to me out of the blue and asked me to marry you. Some would call that risky.”
She tilted her head, conceding the point. “Most would call it desperate.”
“You did it for your sister. I’d call that bold. And brave.”
She laughed. “Hardly. Lily is the courageous one. I prefer to hide behind my sketchbook, observing the world from a safe distance.”
“Perhaps you do at times. But you do not give yourself enough credit. You took a risk coming here with me today. And I’m very glad you did.”
“I am, too … but a swing is a different matter entirely, especially since I suspect this is not the sort of swing that sensible nannies would approve of.”
He snorted. “I should say not.” As he laid the oars across his lap, he looked up at a spot behind her in the trees. “But don’t take my word for it … see for yourself.”
Fiona glanced over her shoulder and searched among the branches of the tallest tree on the riverbank. At first, all she saw were leaves, but then she spied a long, worn rope dangling above the water. Just the sight of it made the hairs on her arms stand up straight. “That hardly qualifies as a swing. It’s nothing more than fraying twine with a knot at the bottom.”
Gray shrugged. “At one time there was a wooden disk at the end that we used as a seat. But it rotted off years ago.”
“Of course it did.” The light-headed feeling returned.
“Kirby and I never replaced it, since the knot works just as well.”
“Goodness.” She fanned herself lightly with her hand. “I can just imagine you and Mr. Kirby swinging through the forest like Robin Hood.”
He chuckled as he rowed toward the shore, closer to the swing. “This spot was our escape.”
“Your escape from what?” she asked.
Gray leveled his gaze at her. “From everything.”
* * *
“Forgive me for prying,” Fiona began, “but what was so hard about being the only son of an earl? Did you have a difficult relationship with your parents?”
“No,” Gray said honestly. “They had a difficult relationship with each other. I adored them both, but it seemed they were always fighting.”
“So, you were left to your own devices?”
He nodded. “My grandmother did her best to guide me, but she usually had her hands full trying to rein in my parents, who had no interest in performing their duties as earl and countess—much less father and mother. When they weren’t busy fighting, they were bouncing from one decadent house party to another. Gambling and drinking to excess…” He thought it best not to mention the orgies and opium. “I’m sure you can imagine.”
She gazed at him with sympathy. “It must have been hard on a young lad.”
“I was happy enough. Kirby spent every summer here, and the two of us had the run of the estate.” Gray paddled toward the shore, hopped out of the boat, and pulled it onto the narrow strip of beach. He held his arms out to Fiona and gave her an encouraging wink, smiling when she stood on wobbly legs and allowed him to carry her onto the sand.
He helped her climb onto a large boulder, then grabbed the end of the rope swing and scrambled onto the rock beside her.
“Gray,” she said earnestly. “I will not swing on that rope. Not on a dare. Not on a wager. Not even if you bribed me with ten thousand pounds.”
“Rather closed-minded of you,” he teased.
She swallowed, hard. “In this instance, yes. To be clear, if I was being chased through the woods by a wild boar and that rope swing was my only means of escaping the beast, I still wouldn’t avail myself of it.”
“I begin to understand the depths of your disdain for rope swings.” He grinned at her and took her hand. “But there are no wild boars here, and I would never force you to try something that you didn’t want to.”
She exhaled and closed her eyes briefly. “Thank you. My skin turned clammy at the mere sight of the thing. However, I think it’s very sweet that you and Mr. Kirby spent so many carefree hours here as boys. You must tell me how it worked. Did you launch yourself from this rock?”
“Sometimes. But we’d usually climb one of the trees and jump from there. The higher the perch, the more exciting the ride. It’s the closest thing to flying I’ve ever experienced.” Gray rose to his feet next to Fiona and tugged on the old rope, letting it hold some of his weight.
“Well, you know how it turned out for poor Icarus. We mortals would do better to keep our feet on the ground.”
“The trick is letting go at the right time. Release too early or too late and you end up spraining an ankle on the riverbank. But if your timing is perfect, you splash into the deepest part of the river like a cannonball.”
“That sounds terrifying and delightful at the same time.”
“I suppose we had our share of injuries, but, oddly enough, I remember those fondly, too.”
“It’s no wonder you and Mr. Kirby have such a bond. You were much like brothers.”
Gray stared straight up, to where the other end of the rope was wound around a thick branch. It had taken him and Kirby days to work up the nerve to climb that high. And once they managed to reach that lofty bough, they weren’t sure they’d ever make it back down. But somehow, they had. “Kirby and I may not have the same blood running through our veins, but I consider him my brother. Besides my grandmother, he’s the only family I have.”
Fiona leaned back on her palms and looked up at him. “I know how you feel. Lily and I do not share the same birth parents; my mother and father adopted her when she was an infant. I was only a toddler myself, and I cannot remember a time when we weren’t together. She’s my sister in every sense of the word. When I think of what my life might have been like without her, I feel sad—almost hollow.”
“Then you truly understand,” Gray said. But he had yet to share the worst day of his childhood. He was still circling around the edges, trying to determine the best way to approach it. There was no way to describe that day’s event
s without reliving the horror and anger and utter sorrow. Perhaps that was the reason he hadn’t spoken of it—ever.
He’d planned to keep that memory behind a locked door for the rest of his life. But he was going to tell Fiona. If she was going to marry him, she deserved to know just how damaged he was. And if there was a tiny part of her that naïvely believed she could change him … or teach him how to love … well, his pathetic tale would disabuse her of that notion, once and for all.
“You said you can’t imagine your life without your sister. Have you ever done the reverse? That is, have you ever tried to picture how your life might be different if one bad thing had not happened?”
“All the time,” she replied quickly. “I imagine how different life would be if my mother hadn’t died. We would have had tea parties in the nursery every afternoon and countless picnics in the park. My father would never have remarried or grown so distant. He would still tease Lily and me about meeting fairies on the road home. He’d still sing ballads at the pianoforte with us, even though none of us can properly carry a tune. Lily and I certainly wouldn’t have gone away to school at Miss Haywinkle’s. Maybe my mother would have come here, to your house party, and become fast friends with your grandmother. I’d like to think so.”
“So would I.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “And what would she think about you marrying an earl who’s bitter and jaded?”
Fiona’s auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight, and her freckles seemed to wink at him. “I was only a girl when she died, so she never shared her wisdom regarding which types of gentlemen make the best husbands. But I do remember this about my mother: When I was happy, she was happy, too. And since being with you makes me happy, I can only surmise that she’d adore you.”
Gray snorted, but damn it all if the sentiment didn’t melt a corner of his frigid heart. “I’m sorry she never saw the woman you’ve become. How talented you are. How beautiful and kind.”
Fiona reached up and tugged on his hand. “Sit,” she said. “Please.”
He let the frayed rope slip from his hands and settled himself beside her on the rock. “Is the sun too intense for you here? I could fetch your bonnet from the boat, or we could move to a shadier spot.”
She turned toward him and tilted her head, thoughtful, and he knew there could be no more procrastinating, no more hiding. “It’s your turn,” she said softly. “How would your life be different if one bad thing had not happened to you?”
Shit. “It’s hard to say, exactly. But I’ll tell you the one bad thing and let you draw your own conclusions.”
Her eyes glowed with encouragement, nudging him forward and promising understanding.
“It was the summer I turned twelve. Kirby and I were home from school, and we had the run of the estate. Every day was an adventure, full of fishing, riding, hunting, swimming…”
“And swinging?” she asked with an amused smile.
“Naturally. On this particular day, my parents were having a nasty row, so Kirby and I escaped to the stables with a few apples as treats for the horses. I was brushing down my father’s favorite stallion when a footman tore across the lawn toward us, waving his arms wildly. He called my name and said my parents wished to see me at once. In the library.”
Gray could still hear the panicked tremor in the servant’s voice, could still see the ghostly pallor of his face. But mostly Gray remembered the way his own feet had felt full of lead, even as he’d raced back toward the house, Kirby in tow. He’d known it wasn’t a normal type of summons. His parents weren’t going to inquire about his school marks or scold him for leaving muddy boot tracks in the front hall.
“When I opened the door to the library, I found my father pacing beside his desk, holding a dueling pistol to his head.”
Her face turned pale. “My God, Gray. No.”
He swallowed, seeing it all again in his mind, clear as the day it happened. His gut twisted, but he focused on the gentle pressure of Fiona’s hand.
“My mother sat in the desk chair, shakily holding a drink. Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass, staining the carpet.” He closed his eyes briefly and saw the limp strands of hair that hung around his mother’s ashen face. Two bright spots of rouge on her cheeks looked oddly out of place—like someone spreading a picnic blanket during a rainstorm. “She spied me in the doorway and told me to stay there. When I asked what was happening, she said my father was trying to control her—by threatening to take his own life.’”
“Oh no.” Fiona squeezed his hand. “That’s … that’s horrible.”
It was. God-awful. But Gray had started telling the story and was now bound to finish it. “My father’s jacket was dark with perspiration and his wild eyes bulged in their sockets. He spun toward me and recklessly waved the pistol at my mother. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest and started to run toward her, but she yelled for me to stay. My father laughed—a horrible, ugly sound. He told me that my mother had whored herself out to half of London and didn’t deserve to call herself the Countess of Ravenport.”
“Gray,” Fiona whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“She dropped her drink, launched herself at my father, and beat her hands on his chest, screaming that he was every bit as depraved as she was. The next thing I knew, they were both sobbing and clinging to each other, rocking back and forth. My mother promised it wouldn’t happen again, but my father grew even more agitated, and his fingers clenched the pistol’s handle.”
Gray swiped a sleeve across his brow and fought back a wave of nausea. Fiona slipped her arm behind him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you want to pause for a moment? Maybe find a shady spot to rest?”
“No.” He had to finish the sordid tale—now, before he lost his nerve. He needed to expel it like the poison it was, expose it to daylight.
“I was going to fetch help,” he choked out. “I was going to find my grandmother, a servant—anyone who might be able to talk some sense into my parents. But when I started to leave, my mother let out a bloodcurdling scream. She begged me not to go. Said as long as I was there my father wouldn’t hurt himself—or her. But he laughed at that. My mother pleaded with him. Warned him that he’d scar me—his heir—forever.”
Fiona looked up at Gray then, her lovely face awash with dismay. “Please tell me he didn’t.”
Gray swallowed and nodded. “He shot himself while I stood there watching. I shall spare you the rest of the details.” Like the shock of seeing his father stare directly at him as he rammed the barrel into his mouth. Like the bone-jarring crack of the gun exploding.
Fiona didn’t need to know about the blood splattered on the ceiling and on his own shirt and face. She didn’t need to know about his mother’s unearthly screams as she crumpled to the floor, cradling what was left of his father’s head in her lap.
But he’d told Fiona enough.
Enough to convey just how warped his family had been.
Enough to explain why he wasn’t capable of loving anyone.
And probably more than enough to scare her off.
The hell of it was, he’d finally realized he didn’t want to scare her off.
Lord knew he didn’t deserve her, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her. For his. For always.
Chapter 25
Fiona slid her palm across Gray’s chest and rested her hand over his heart. “I’m sorry. No one should have to witness such a thing. Most especially not a twelve-year-old boy.”
For a while they said nothing. Only the water lapping against the rocks and the breeze rustling the leaves softened the silence.
At last, he said, “You asked how my life would be different if not for that one bad thing, and now you know. I wouldn’t have inherited an earldom before I was a man. I wouldn’t have watched my mother dull her grief with opium and drink, slowly wasting away before my eyes. I wouldn’t be tormented by guilt because I didn’t stop my father.”
“No.” She held his handsome, anguished face i
n her hands and forced him to meet her gaze. “No. It was not your fault. Your parents should never have involved you that day. They made you a pawn in their twisted relationship. But you were a boy. And it sounds as though your father was beyond help.”
Gray shrugged. “Maybe he was.”
A painful knot lodged in her throat, and a tear slid down her cheek. She simply had to make him understand. His happiness—and perhaps hers—depended on it. “Not maybe,” she countered. “You must believe me, as someone who is able to view the situation objectively, when I say that what happened to your father was not your doing. You could not have prevented it, and if you’d attempted to, either you or your mother—maybe both of you—could have become victims, too. And that would have been doubly tragic. Trust me on this, Gray.”
He turned his face into her palm and kissed it, then took both her hands in his. “I’m trying. To trust. But it doesn’t come easy … and now you know why.”
Her chest squeezed at the thought of all he’d lost. His father and mother, his childhood—and his faith in all others. “I’m not like them,” she said earnestly. “I would never hurt you. You must believe me.”
“I know you don’t want to hurt me. Just as I would never want to hurt you.”
Fiona flinched. Because she understood what he couldn’t quite bring himself to say—that no matter how good their intentions, they were probably going to wind up hurting each other eventually.
But she’d already known that he was scarred and cynical. Convincing him that love was worth the risk was going to take more than one afternoon, and she was willing to invest the time. As long as it took. Besides, he’d begun opening up to her, which had to be a very good sign.
Unable to speak, she brushed her lips across his in a whisper-soft kiss and was rewarded with a weak but genuine smile.
“The point is,” he continued, “that day changed everything about my life. Except for one thing—Kirby.”
“He helped you through a tragic time. It’s no wonder you’re so close.”
Gray nodded. “The blood … it splattered on him, too. Literally and figuratively. And as far as I know, he never told a soul. I didn’t swear him to secrecy or beg for his silence. But he realized the scandal such gossip would have created for my family—and the shame it would have brought upon me. Kirby was my best friend before that ugly day, and he kept me from going mad in the days and weeks afterward. He’s remained a steadfast, loyal friend throughout the years.”