by Anna Bennett
Gray pressed a kiss to her cheek and went to Lily, who sat at the pianoforte. Her fingers lightly danced across the keys, playing a sad but soulful melody.
“That’s pretty,” he said. “What’s the song?”
“Something I made up.” She stopped playing and looked at him. There was no censure in her gaze or in her voice, but he felt guilty just the same. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on between you and my sister, but I do know she looked troubled when she left the drawing room a few minutes ago.”
“Yes. I’m sorry if I upset her,” he said earnestly. “I need the chance to make things right.”
“I’m not the one you should be talking to.”
“I know. And I’m in desperate need of your help. Will you give Fiona a message for me?”
Chapter 31
Lily stood at the foot of the bed she and Fiona had shared for the duration of the house party, ticking off each part of Gray’s message on her fingers. “He said that he wants to apologize for whatever distresses you and he must speak with you in person. He requested that you please meet him at the arranged time and place. I’m certain he would have come to you now if he could. But he’s ensuring all the guests make it home safely.”
Fiona nodded, pretending that her heart wasn’t shattering into tiny pieces. “Anything else?”
Lily gave her a sympathetic smile. “No, but he seemed quite sincere. Do you intend to hear him out?”
In answer, Fiona strode to the armoire, pulled out her portmanteau, and tossed it onto the bed.
“Fi?” Lily stared at her curiously. “We can pack after breakfast tomorrow. You should try to sleep—”
“Papa and I are leaving tonight.” Fiona yanked open the bag and stuffed her brush, jewelry, and robe inside. “As soon as the coach and horses can be readied.”
Lily blinked, incredulous. “What? In the middle of the night? Why not leave first thing in the morning?”
“I can’t really explain, except to say that it’s impossible for me to spend one more night here.” If she did, she wouldn’t be able to resist running into Gray’s arms. And then she’d be tempted to tell him about Kirby … and she couldn’t. Gray stood to lose too much.
Lily sank onto the bed. Fiona continued to jam stockings and other items into her portmanteau, not really seeing or caring what she packed. She wasn’t even going to change out of her ball gown before she departed. Every minute she spent under Gray’s roof was a minute in which her resolve might falter. She couldn’t risk it.
Especially not after the poem.
It was god-awful—and she’d adored every sentimental, bumbling word.
“Is Lady Helena the cause of your distress?” Lily asked. “She obviously came here hoping to stir up trouble but only succeeded in make a spectacle of herself. The earl seemed unfazed by her antics.”
Oh God. “What antics?”
“After you left the drawing room, she announced that she and Lord Ravenport had reconciled and were once again betrothed.”
“No wonder Papa was so irate,” Fiona murmured. He’d intercepted her on the way to her bedchamber, taken one look at her tearstained face, and vowed to tear Gray from limb to limb. That’s when she’d begged him to take her away from the Fortress immediately. And like the doting father he’d once been, he agreed.
“The earl publicly denied Helena’s claim,” Lily said. “He sent her away.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” Fiona shook her head and checked the clock on her bedside table. She was to meet Papa in front of the house in ten minutes. “But Lady Helena is not the reason I’m upset.”
Lily took Fiona’s hand and squeezed it surprisingly hard. “I don’t know what the earl said or did, but if he hurt you, I swear I’ll make him pay, Fi. You have shown him nothing but kindness and understanding, and if he has taken advantage of you, I’ll…” Her lovely face twisted into a grimace. “I’ll find a way to make his life a living hell.”
Heavens, her little sister could be terrifying. “Please don’t,” she said through grateful tears. The fact that Lily was willing to charge into battle for Fiona only reinforced her decision to pay off Kirby. She had to protect her sister—and Gray—at all costs. “He hasn’t hurt me. I thought we could be happy together … but I’ve recently learned that’s impossible.” A sob escaped her throat. “I must go. Will you and Mary bring the rest of my things tomorrow?”
“Of course. Don’t give it a second thought. I’m going to walk you downstairs to meet Papa.” Lily wrapped a shawl around Fiona’s shoulders and insisted on carrying her bag. “I’ll depart with Mama tomorrow morning and see you at home in the afternoon.”
Fiona walked quickly through the front hall, keeping her head down and praying she didn’t encounter Gray. “We’ll talk more when you are home.”
“Promise you won’t do anything drastic before then,” Lily said.
“Like what?”
“Like cut off your gorgeous hair or burn your ball gown or join a convent.”
Lily always knew how to make her smile. “Promise.”
When they descended the front steps, the carriage was already waiting, and Papa stood beside the driver, shouting instructions to him. Upon seeing Fiona, he hurried to her side, ushered her into the cab, and planted a quick kiss good-bye on Lily’s forehead.
A moment later, their carriage rumbled down Gray’s drive, which was riddled with puddles and ruts. Fiona ignored the curses Papa uttered at every teeth-rattling lurch of the coach and stared at the Fortress as it grew smaller through the back window.
When she’d arrived at the house party a mere week ago, she’d hoped to be engaged by week’s end, secure in the knowledge that she’d have the money she needed to pay off the blackmailer.
Now she was leaving with nothing.
No fiancé.
No money.
No plan.
Just bittersweet memories of her time with Gray—and tantalizing glimpses of what might have been.
* * *
Gray paced the floor of his bedchamber waiting for Fiona, certain she’d come to him. He trusted Lily to give her his message, and after everything that he and Fiona had shared that evening she wouldn’t stay away. They’d been as close as two people could be—and not just physically.
She’d told him she loved him.
Yes, he’d botched things by leaving immediately after their lovemaking. And then Helena had created a spectacle.
But he’d make it up to Fiona, starting tonight. He’d show her how he felt about her. Make her believe.
But with every hour that passed, more doubts crept into his head.
Something wasn’t quite right.
Maybe she was cross with him for some other reason. Or perhaps circumstances had made it impossible to sneak out of her bedchamber. Maybe she’d been so exhausted after the events of the night that she’d fallen asleep.
Any one of those reasons was perfectly logical.
But a niggling suspicion told him something else was to blame.
He waited impatiently in his room, staring at the clock as the hour hand cruised past the two and then the three. Sometime around four o’clock, he ventured into the corridor and skulked through the darkness, daring to pause outside Fiona’s room. Sorely tempted to knock on her door, he refrained—only because she shared the room with her sister.
Throughout the wee hours of the morning and right up till sunrise, he played the scene in the linen closet over and over in his mind, wishing he hadn’t run off.
But all he could do was try to make amends before Fiona left later today.
At the first light of day, he washed and dressed without his valet, who was no doubt still abed, and went downstairs to wait for her.
Pentham and his brother were the first to come down for breakfast, eager to be on their way back to town.
“No one can accuse you of hosting a dull party.” Carter winked as he shook Gray’s hand.
“It was an enjoyable week,” Pentham added. “Plenty of excit
ement and excellent company.”
Kirby and his father were the next to join Gray downstairs—and the next to leave. As they said their farewells outside, Lord Dunlope slapped Gray on the back. “I know how much you want to restore this house, and your heart is in the right place. But sometimes one must cut one’s losses … and move on.” He shot Gray a regretful, slightly pitying, smile. “Take good care of the countess.”
Gray bit his tongue as he shook the older man’s hand. While Dunlope clambered into the coach, Kirby rolled his eyes. “Forgive my father. He lacks vision. He would rather count the money in his safe twenty times over than spend it on creature comforts or—God forbid—sheer enjoyment.”
Gray snorted. “Thanks for your help this week. At least I know I can count on you.”
“Always, my friend.” Kirby gave him a mock salute before climbing into the carriage and riding down the drive.
Gray walked back through the front door, relieved to hear women’s voices filling the front hall. Mrs. Hartley and Lady Callahan were dressed in their traveling clothes. Lily and Sophie, too.
But there was no sign of Fiona or her father.
“Good morning, all.” Gray greeted them in the foyer, using every ounce of self-restraint to refrain from demanding to know where Fiona was. “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.”
“We had trays brought to our rooms.” Mrs. Hartley didn’t look at him as she tugged on her gloves. “We are still quite fatigued, which is hardly a surprise after the traumatic and, dare I say, disappointing night we endured.”
Ouch. Gray turned to Lily. “I trust your sister is well. She hasn’t taken ill, has she?”
Lily shook her head, her expression one part wary, one part sympathetic. “She was fine when last I saw her. She and my father departed late last night—or rather, early this morning. They’re probably already in London by now.”
Shit. How had Fiona managed to leave without him knowing? How could he have let her go before making things right? He rubbed his forehead, trying to quell the panic that rose up in him.
“I’d hoped to talk with her before she departed,” he said.
“I did relay your message,” Lily assured him, unwittingly twisting the knife. Fiona had known he was desperate to see her—but had packed up and left anyway.
The truth was he couldn’t blame her. He’d had plenty of chances to commit to her before last night—in the library, at the cottage, and on the rowboat. He’d wasted every bloody one of them.
Mrs. Hartley gave a haughty sniff as she and Lady Callahan walked past him, her lady’s maid in tow. “Come along, Lily. I’m eager to return to the comforts of home.”
Lily dutifully followed her mother but paused in front of Gray. “If you truly care for Fiona, you’ll give her some time to sort out her feelings.”
He nodded gratefully, but the problem was, Fiona didn’t have time.
If she didn’t pay off the blackmailer in two days, Lily—and their whole family—would be disgraced.
And there was no way in hell Gray was going to let that happen.
Chapter 32
“What are you doing?” Lily stood in the doorway of Fiona’s spacious bedchamber in their London town house.
“Hmm?” Fiona glanced up from her jewelry box, frozen like a thief caught red-handed. She shoved her mother’s beloved necklace into the box and slammed the lid. “I was just unpacking some items from the house party.” They’d returned to London only yesterday, but it felt like a week since she’d seen Gray. She missed him—and doubted the ache in her chest would ever really go away.
“I’m here if you want to talk about anything, Fi,” Lily offered.
“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been a bit distant lately. I’m afraid I need to sort through some things on my own.”
Lily shot her a wan smile. “Lord Ravenport returned to London yesterday, too. There’s a new note from him downstairs if you’re curious. Next to the first one he sent.”
Fiona was curious. Intensely. But she didn’t dare read them, lest she be tempted to meet with him and resume their relationship—a relationship that could go nowhere. “I’ll reply to the earl later,” she said vaguely.
Her priority was finding a way to pay Mr. Kirby. Her mother’s necklace was the most valuable thing she possessed. And though it would break Fiona’s heart to part with it, she had no doubt her mother would have understood. She wasn’t sure what excuse she’d give Lily for the disappearance of the necklace, which belonged to her as well. Perhaps Fiona could say it had been lost or stolen. She hated lying, but giving up the necklace was the only way to protect her sister—and Gray.
“Who are you drawing today?” Lily gestured toward Fiona’s desk, littered with papers, pencils, and pastels.
Not who, but what. She’d been sketching the necklace. So that years from now she’d be able to recall exactly what it looked like.
“Nothing of import.” Fiona rubbed her forehead. “But I’m glad you’re here. I need my sketchbook and diary. I’ve felt completely lost without them.”
Lily frowned. “Why would I have them?”
Sweet Jesus. Panic clawed at Fiona’s insides. “Because Mary unpacked our trunk from the Fortress and I didn’t see either the journal or my sketchbook. I assumed you’d hidden them somewhere in your things. Please, say you did.”
Lily’s face turned ghostly white. “I didn’t.”
Fiona’s belly lurched. “Lily, this isn’t funny. If anyone were to read my journal…” Oh God. If Gray read it … she’d wither up and die on the spot.
“I know.” Lily paced, spearing her fingers into the twist at the back of her head. “But I didn’t see the diary or the sketch pad when we were packing yesterday morning. I figured you’d brought them with you.”
Fiona’s hand flew to her mouth—and then she remembered. “Sweet heaven. I left them under the mattress in our room on the night of the ball … and forgot all about them.”
“Then they’re probably still there,” Lily reasoned. “You could ask the earl to have a member of his staff locate them and deliver them directly to you.”
“Yes. Of course.” Fiona clung to the hope that they hadn’t been discovered. Because if Gray read her diary she’d never be able to face him again. She’d have no choice but to live out the rest of her life in a remote village where sheep outnumbered people one hundred to one. Or to join a convent.
“There’s another letter for you downstairs as well—I don’t know who it’s from.”
The hairs on the backs of Fiona’s arms stood on end. The note could be from anyone—their cousin, the countess, or a friend from Miss Haywinkle’s. But with just one day until the extortion money was due, she suspected the unmarked note was from her blackmailer—Mr. Kirby.
A nervous laugh bubbled out of Fiona’s throat. “I’m sure it’s from an old acquaintance.”
Lily’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Or a secret admirer. I’m leaving for Sophie’s in a few minutes. Will you join us for tea?”
“I’m rather tired. I think I’ll lie down for a bit.”
Lily arched a delicate brow. “Are you feeling ill?”
“Not at all.” Fiona glanced in the mirror above her vanity and smoothed a curl behind her ear, hoping she’d sounded convincing.
“Very well. I wish you luck securing the return of your journal and sketch pad. Please let me know if I can help … with anything.”
“Thank you.” For some ridiculous reason, Fiona felt on the verge of tears, so she busied herself with straightening the items on her dressing table. “I shall see you at dinner.”
As soon as Lily left her bedchamber, Fiona returned to the jewelry box, removed her mother’s necklace, and held it to her cheek. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the necklace seemed imbued with her mother’s scent. Somehow, her sketch had to capture that delicate floral fragrance—the essence of her mother. And there was no time to waste.
* * *
A half hour later, Fiona sat in
Papa’s carriage across from Mary. While the maid stared out the window, humming happily, Fiona opened the mysterious letter that had been waiting for her on a silver salver in the front hall. One look at the handwriting confirmed her fears—the note was from Mr. Kirby.
Dear Miss Hartley,
Do not forget what’s at stake: your sister’s future, your family’s reputation, and everything Gray owns—including the Fortress. If you stay away from Gray and deliver the money as directed, all will be well.
If you do not, the gossip-loving readers of the Hearsay will be in for a most salacious treat—the sort that will be on their lips from now till Christmas.
I look forward to concluding our business tomorrow night. Then we both shall be able to put this unsavory episode behind us.
Perhaps Mr. Kirby would move on, but Fiona wouldn’t. She’d never forgive him for the hateful words he’d threatened to publish. The ones that haunted her, day and night: Miss Hartley’s mother is a whore.
Fiona’s fingers curled into fists. She wanted to throttle Mr. Kirby. No, worse. She wanted to—
“Are you well, Miss Fiona?” Mary’s forehead creased in concern. “You’re frowning.”
“I shall be fine.” She took a deep breath and shoved the letter into the bottom of her reticule. “As soon as I take care of an important but rather unpleasant piece of business.”
When the carriage rolled to a stop, the maid peered outside and frowned. “Unpleasant business,” she repeated. “At the park? Are you meeting someone?”
“Not today. Today I simply wish to … walk.” And find the tree where she would have to leave her mother’s treasured necklace in the hopes of silencing a vile, greedy man.
* * *
Two hours later, Fiona stood outside Papa’s study, heart hammering in her chest.
After she saw the tree where she was supposed to leave her mother’s jewels, Fiona’s skin had turned clammy and her stomach had churned. Her whole body seemed to reject the idea of parting with the necklace, but she had no other choice.
Unless Papa would lend her the money—without demanding the reason she needed it.