by Anna Bennett
As much as she longed to confide in him, she couldn’t tell him about Lily’s birth mother. The news would be too much for his weak heart to take.
Fiona raised her fist to knock on the door.
“Your father left this morning.”
“Mama.” Startled, Fiona spun around. Her stepmother stood in the hallway behind her, scowling slightly, as if she disapproved of finding Fiona here. “When do you expect him to return?”
“In a few days, I should think. He’s visiting some of the mills again. Why did you wish to see him?”
Fiona’s stomach sank. He wasn’t going to be back soon enough to help her, and there wasn’t enough time to deliver a message to him.
She thought about the horrid letter she’d stuffed into her reticule.
“Mama, I need to ask you something.”
She arched an imperious brow. “What is it? Does it have to do with Lord Ravenport? Because after the debacle at his house party, I think it best to avoid further contact with him.”
The mention of Gray made Fiona’s chest ache. “I promise this has nothing to do with the earl. I wanted to ask a favor—a rather large one, actually. I wondered if you and Papa would lend me some money.”
Mama waved a dismissive hand. “If you wish to purchase fripperies, drawing supplies, or what have you, you may do so. Simply bill them to your father.”
“The money isn’t for those types of expenditures,” Fiona said vaguely. “I need a large sum.”
When Fiona revealed the amount, Mama pressed a hand to her chest, incredulous. “Your father and I have provided you with everything a young lady could possibly want. Why on earth would you need that much money?”
Fiona closed her eyes briefly. “I cannot say.”
“Then I cannot give it to you.” Mama gave an indelicate snort, then narrowed her eyes. “Have you been gambling, Fiona?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “Nothing like that, but it is important. If it wasn’t, I would never ask.”
Mama spun on her heel and began to walk down the corridor. “This is what comes from spoiling you girls. Instead of appreciating all you’ve been given, you demand more.”
Fiona followed her, prepared to beg. “You’re right. I’m terribly fortunate. You and Papa have been generous to a fault. But I’m asking you to trust me. I shall pay you back as soon as I’m able.”
Unable to hide her mirth, Mama cackled. “And where, precisely, do you plan to find the money? Do not tell me that you intend to sell those little scribblings you call portraits.” She strode into the drawing room and proceeded to recline on the settee, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. “No daughter of mine is going to humiliate this family by hiring herself out as a portraitist. And frankly, Fiona, I doubt anyone would pay a shilling for your sketches.”
Fiona ignored the sting of her stepmother’s words. “I thought that once I was wed, I could use my marriage portion to pay you back.”
“Truly? I feel obliged to point out that suitors are not exactly lined up outside our door.” Mama’s words were cruel, if accurate. “But that is beside the point. If you will not reveal what you intend to use the money for, I must assume that you are involved with something unsavory at best—perhaps even illegal.” She moaned and closed her eyes. “Summon my maid. Tell her I need a compress—and perhaps a tincture.”
“Of course.” There was no point in pleading her case further.
Mama wasn’t going to lend her the money. Papa was out of town. There was absolutely no chance of Fiona marrying before tomorrow.
Leaving her with exactly one option—she must hand over her mother’s necklace to Kirby.
In the meantime, she rang for Mama’s maid, helped her stepmother to her bedchamber, and retreated to her own room to think.
Perhaps she couldn’t solve the blackmail dilemma tonight, but she could try to get her journal and sketchbook back—and grant Gray some closure. She sat at her desk and composed a note to him so brief, so businesslike, that he’d never guess she’d started over three times. He’d never know how may tears she’d swiped away as she wrote it or how desperately she missed him every minute of the day.
And, God willing, he’d never know what she’d sacrificed to protect him.
Chapter 33
Dear Lord Ravenport,
Upon my return to London, I discovered I inadvertently left behind my sketchbook and personal journal at your country house. Both items can be found under the mattress in the room where I stayed, and I would appreciate it if you could see that they are located and returned directly to me. I trust that you will respect my privacy in this matter.
I regret the necessity of my hasty departure from the Fortress, but circumstances have changed. I realize now that my proposal was ill-advised. I think it best for us to avoid each other for the foreseeable future.
Most sincerely,
Miss F. Hartley
Gray read Fiona’s letter again, baffled. What circumstances had changed? They’d spent time together, begun to care for each other, and made love. She’d said she’d loved him. And then she’d run away. None of it made sense.
He sat alone in the study at his London town house, pondering not only the letter but also every encounter between Fiona and him.
She’d enclosed the two letters he’d written to her—both unopened. And he had the distinct impression that she wouldn’t have written to him at all if she hadn’t left her sketchbook and journal at the Fortress.
But over the last couple of days, he’d had plenty of time to think. He’d talked to his grandmother and, more important, listened to his godforsaken heart.
And he was dead certain about a couple of things.
First, what he and Fiona had shared was real. As real as the armchair he sat in, as solid as the massive mahogany desktop he propped his boots on. The connection between them was not a figment of his imagination. True, it may have started out thin and tenuous—like a single strand of a spider’s web. But with every encounter, conversation, and kiss, their connection had grown stronger till it was as thick and durable as the rope of his boyhood swing—frayed a little on the outside, but in no danger of breaking.
Second, Fiona had earned and deserved his trust. The fact that his parents had failed him miserably and Helena had callously betrayed him had absolutely nothing to do with Fiona. They’d been weak and consumed with their own problems. But Fiona wasn’t like them. He’d witnessed her compassion toward his grandmother, her loyalty toward her family, and her kindness toward complete strangers.
If she was running away and shutting him out, she must have a good reason—and he suspected it stemmed from the blackmail. Even before she’d pulled away from him, she’d been reluctant to share the details of the threat to her sister and her family.
She’d been patient with him as he learned to trust again. Every time he’d pushed her away, she’d coaxed him back.
Now he needed to be patient with her. He needed to convince her that she could tell him anything. That whatever the secret was, whatever the danger, he would stand by her and protect her. Nothing was going to scare him off.
The question was, how the hell was he supposed to convince her that he loved her when she’d asked him to keep his distance? And how could he protect her from the blackmailer?
A knock at the study door interrupted his thoughts, and a glance at the clock told him it was nearly time for dinner. “Come in.”
His butler entered the room holding a large brown parcel balanced on the palm of one hand. “This was delivered from the staff at the Fortress.”
“I’ll take it, Burns. Thank you.”
He knew without opening the package that it was Fiona’s sketchbook and journal. A conscientious maid must have discovered the items in Fiona’s bedchamber and taken the initiative to send them here.
Gray laid the parcel on his desk and carefully unwrapped it, eager to touch the sketchbook that was so much a part of Fiona. Maybe he’d find her pencil—the same one she loved to tuck
behind her ear—sandwiched between a couple of drawings.
A small leather-bound journal rested on top of the sketchbook. There was nothing especially remarkable about it on the outside, but he imagined the pages were filled with Fiona’s hopes, fears, dreams … maybe even a few sentences about him. Though his fingers itched to flip open the cover and peek at what she’d written inside, he refrained.
He desperately wanted to know her private thoughts … but only when she was ready to share them herself. And he was confident that someday soon she would.
With a sigh, he set the journal on the corner of his desk and turned his attention to the sketch pad.
He admired each of Fiona’s drawings, lingering over a few: the mermaid in the garden, the view from the top of his favorite rock, her portrait of him. It was impossible to separate the beauty of her pictures from her own beauty. Her unique, refreshing, incisive view of the world.
Almost every page conjured memories of the time they’d spent together at the Fortress—and made him miss her more.
Nestled between a couple of pages in the back of her book, he found a small sketch of two hands, one large, the other smaller, crossed at the wrists. Palms pressed together, the fingers loosely entwined, they were the hands of lovers—easy, tender, intimate.
His and Fiona’s hands.
He stared at them, transported to the morning they’d spent together in the cottage.
“My lord?”
Startled, Gray turned quickly, knocking over Fiona’s journal. It landed on the wooden floor with a thud, and the butler moved to pick it up.
“I have it, Burns.” Gray scooped up the journal and a folded note that had fallen out of it.
“Forgive me for interrupting, my lord. Dinner is served, and the countess awaits your company.”
“Thank you. I shall join her in a minute.”
As the butler nodded and left, Gray turned the folded note over in his hand. There was something familiar about it, and he wondered if it was the same one that Kirby had found at the Fortress. The blackmail note.
Too curious to resist, he opened and read it—every sinister word.
Every thinly veiled threat made his blood boil; every brazen demand made his fists clench.
Something else about the note troubled him also … but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.
He would read it again after dinner, before wrapping up Fiona’s things and having all her possessions delivered to her.
All her possessions, that is, but the one he needed to win her back.
* * *
Fiona clutched her heavy silk purse tightly against her waist as she walked through Hyde Park that evening, grateful for the clouds and drizzle that had kept the usual crowds at home. Yesterday’s excursion to the park had been a trial run so that she could locate the precise spot in the park where she was to deliver the necklace. While the instructions had been very specific, she’d worried she might have difficulty finding the tallest tree on the south side of the Serpentine—which happened to have a hole near the base of its trunk. But she’d found the tree in the exact spot Mr. Kirby had described in his blackmail note.
She was supposed to arrive at the park after dark, wait for a moment when no one was about, and place the money deep in the hollow where it couldn’t easily be seen. She was to leave the park immediately afterward, understanding that any attempt to trap him would result in the publication of the letter in the London Hearsay.
She planned to follow the directions to the letter except that in place of the money she would be leaving her mother’s treasured sapphire necklace. He couldn’t possibly object to the substitution, however, for the jewels were worth twice the amount he’d demanded.
Fiona had expected to be nervous, but she hadn’t expected to be nearly paralyzed with fear. Her feet did not want to move, and her tongue felt thick as she turned and spoke to Mary. “Wait here, please. I’m going to walk to the river and back to see if I dropped my fan somewhere in the grass yesterday. Then we may return home.”
The maid gave Fiona a curious look but bobbed her capped head. “Do hurry, Miss Fiona. Your gown is already half-soaked from the rain.”
But Fiona barely felt the droplets on her face as she scurried toward the designated tree. She reached the tree, stooped near the base, and carefully placed the silk pouch in the hollow. No one passing by would notice it, especially not in the darkness.
Exhaling, she stood and said a fervent prayer that all would be well.
But the rumble of thunder that echoed through the silence was a decidedly bad omen. As she walked back to the coach, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d left a part of her soul behind in the base of that tree.
Chapter 34
On Denying One’s Heart
I think of him as I go through my day, longing to see his face and hear his voice. Aching to hold his hand and kiss his lips. But mostly, knowing in my head that I’ve chosen the right course.
I detest the thought that he might be hurting and missing me, too. But I suspect that while his heart may be temporarily bruised, he’ll soon recover. And why shouldn’t he? Ours was hardly the usual sort of courtship. Instead of romantic waltzes, hothouse flowers, and glittering ballrooms, we had dance floor mishaps, overgrown gardens, and fallen trees.
Gray will, no doubt, be eager to put this awkward chapter behind him, and our time together will soon become a distant memory.
But I will never, ever, forget him. The way he protected me from toads and recited adorably bad poetry and whispered my name like a prayer.
I will never forget him.
Fiona closed her journal with a sigh. Foolishly, she’d thought that perhaps Gray would insist on returning it and her sketchbook in person, but no—a footman had dropped them off. Then she’d looked to see if Gray had tucked a note inside the cover of her journal or included a personal memento such as a pressed flower or a handkerchief or … something. But he had not.
Who could blame him after she’d run away and returned the letters he’d written her? But a stubborn corner of her heart had wanted to believe that he wouldn’t give up on her so easily. That he’d fight for her—and find a way for them to be together.
But it was high time she accepted the truth. Gray was not a knight in shining armor, and she was certainly no princess. Not everyone was destined for a happy ending, and she’d been more fortunate than most—at least she’d known the bliss of loving someone fully. With her body, soul, and heart.
She tucked her journal in the desk drawer and closed it with a slam that was both satisfying and symbolic. This chapter of her life was over, but Lily was safe. And in the years to come, she’d find joy in watching her sister fall in love and marry and have babies.
All the wonders that Fiona might have shared with Gray—if things had been different.
* * *
Gray’s greatcoat kept him dry despite the drenching rain. More important, it allowed him to blend into the darkness and move behind the trees and shrubs in Hyde Park unseen. He’d been tracking Kirby all night, praying that his suspicions were wrong. Hoping that his best friend would never resort to blackmailing an innocent young woman—the same woman Gray loved.
Hell, he felt guilty for even entertaining the thought. But the handwriting on the threatening note he’d found in Fiona’s journal was eerily similar to his friend’s. And if Gray’s worst fear was true, it would help explain why Fiona had run away. Why she was shutting him out.
He knew Kirby gambled too much and played too deep. But then, lots of men did. Gray even knew about Kirby’s longtime lover—a woman several years his senior who wasn’t the sort he could bring home to dinner with the family.
Gray cared about none of that. Kirby had stood by his side through the worst of times. He was honorable at his core.
Which was why it made no sense that Kirby had taken a hackney cab to Hyde Park well after midnight and now skulked across the rain-soaked grass like a common footpad.
Gray pul
led the brim of his hat low across his brow and followed twenty yards behind, hiding in the shadows.
Then Kirby stopped. He crouched beside a tree, felt around the base of it, and reached inside the trunk. As he stood, he stuffed a small object inside his jacket. He glanced over each shoulder before walking in the direction of the road.
Gray’s stomach churned. Maybe it was only a coincidence that on the very same day Fiona was supposed to pay off the blackmailer Kirby was lurking around the park in the dead of night, retrieving objects from secret locations.
Gray whispered a curse. Half of him clung to the belief that there was some other explanation. That he should go home and forget what he’d seen.
But the other half had to know the truth. This was his chance to confront Kirby, and if Gray was wrong—as he hoped he was—he trusted Kirby to understand.
Before Gray could change his mind, he darted out of the woods. “Kirby!”
Without turning around, his friend broke into a run.
“Wait!” Gray took off after him, the heels of his boots churning up the soggy earth.
But Kirby didn’t stop. He ran like the hounds of hell nipped at his heels.
So Gray ran, too. “Kirby, I know it’s you!” he shouted. “Face me like a man.”
Kirby didn’t. He made for the road at breakneck speed—until he hit a patch of mud. His feet slipped out from under him and his body sailed forward. He landed facedown on the ground, and as he scrambled to regain his footing Gray hauled him up by his collar, turned him around, and looked into his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Gray demanded.
“Walking.” If Kirby was aiming for a jocular tone, he missed the mark. He sounded panicked—and guilty.
Gray gave him a shake. “Walking in the rain after midnight?”
“Jesus, Gray. It’s hardly a crime.” Kirby shoved off Gray’s chest. “You scared the hell out of me, by the way. I thought you were the chap I owe money to.”
“Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“Aren’t I always?” Kirby swiped the sleeve of his jacket across his forehead and scooped his hat off the ground. “I borrowed some blunt to pay a gambling debt. But I’ve figured out a way to pay it back. I’m taking care of it.”