by Anna Bennett
Gray’s blood turned to ice. “Where are you getting the money?”
Kirby looked away. “My father. He’s not pleased with me, but he agreed to help me one last time. He doesn’t want the moneylender’s thugs to break my nose—only because it would be substantially harder for me to snare a wealthy bride with a disfigured face.”
Gray wanted to believe the story. Desperately. “What’s inside your chest pocket?” he asked flatly.
Kirby shrugged. “What are you talking about?”
Cold rain dripped off Gray’s hair and trickled down the back of his neck. “You stuffed something into your jacket. A few minutes ago. A bag or pouch that was left in a tree.”
“I dropped my pocket watch. Right here, see?” He reached inside his jacket and produced the brass timepiece on the center of his palm. Barking a laugh, he asked, “Did you think a kindly gnome left me some gold coins?”
“No. I thought Fiona did.”
“Fion— Are you referring to Miss Hartley?” Kirby asked, incredulous.
“I want to see what else is in your jacket.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Gray. You’re smitten, aren’t you? Maybe she’s been putting strange ideas in your head, but don’t turn against me. I’m the one you can trust. We’ve been friends for two decades, and you’ve known her for what—two weeks?”
“Yes.” Two weeks. And she already knew him better than anyone, save his grandmother. “If you have nothing to hide, show me what’s in your jacket.”
Kirby snorted. “Sod off. I don’t need to prove myself to you.” When he turned to walk away, Gray clamped a hand on his shoulder, spun him around, and reached into his jacket.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kirby struggled to pull free of Gray’s grasp.
But Gray easily located the lump concealed in Kirby’s chest pocket and withdrew a small silk pouch. He shook it, surprised to find the contents didn’t clink like coins.
Kirby held up his palms in surrender. “Fine. You’ve discovered my secret,” he sputtered. “I bought a necklace for Serena. I realize it’s far too extravagant, but you know what it’s like to care deeply for someone. You want to give her the world.”
“I do know what it’s like.” Gray loosened the ties on the pouch and spilled the necklace into his hand. Even in the rain-muted moonlight, the sapphires glowed in his palm. Disbelief, hurt, and rage warred within him. “This necklace is Fiona’s. It once belonged to her mother. And she would never willingly part with it.”
“It’s merely a reproduction,” Kirby said. “Paste jewels.”
Gray carefully placed the necklace in his pocket. “You blackmailed her.” The accusation echoed through the night air.
“She has money and jewels to spare,” Kirby spat. “She wouldn’t have missed that trinket.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Gray plowed his fist into Kirby’s jaw.
“You bastard.” Kirby wiped the blood that trickled from his mouth. “I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.”
“Loyal? You don’t know the meaning of the word. You threatened the woman I love. You would have destroyed her entire family. You’re contemptible and pathetic. And you are not my friend. I would challenge you to a duel, but I find myself too eager to dispense justice.” Gray swung again, connecting solidly with Kirby’s nose.
His face contorted in pain and anger, Kirby launched himself at Gray, fist cocked.
But Gray deflected the punch with his forearm and pummeled Kirby in the ribs till he crumpled to the ground, dragging Gray into the mud with him.
Gray flipped Kirby over and pinned his shoulders to the ground. He squirmed and kicked and strained, whimpering as blood gushed from his nose.
Perhaps he’d learned his lesson.
But the moment Gray released him, Kirby rolled away, reached into his boot, and sprang to his feet, brandishing a knife.
Shit. Gray hadn’t thought to arm himself before he began tracking Kirby. Warily, he stood and circled his new foe. “Let us settle this like men, then. Men of honor.”
“Honor is overrated, my friend. We will settle this right here. Right now. May the most resourceful man win.” Kirby lunged at Gray, but he jumped back before the knife’s blade could graze him.
In that instant, Gray realized the staunch friendship he’d had with Kirby had been an illusion—like a castle façade with nothing substantial behind it. Yes, he’d kept Gray company and kept his secrets—but only because it had been in his best interests to do so.
Gray shrugged off his coat and tossed it to the ground. “I dare you to try that again.”
Kirby twirled the knife in his hand, and the blade glinted, sending a chill over Gray’s shoulders. Kirby’s gaze flicked to Gray’s coat, puddled on the grass. “Let me take the necklace. I’ll leave town before morning and you’ll never hear from me again.”
Gray stepped forward. “I like the sound of that. All but the part about the necklace. It’s Fiona’s. I intend to return it to her.”
“How noble of you,” Kirby said snidely. “But perhaps it’s only a ploy to get her in your bed. Again.”
Blood thundered in Gray’s ears, but he refused to take the bait. “Don’t be a coward. Accept my challenge. Try to cut me again and see what happens.”
For several seconds, they stared at each other in silence punctuated only by the pattering of rain. Then Kirby’s body slumped, and his arms dropped to his sides. “Fine. You win. I’ll leave town. Without the necklace. Just let me collect my things and say good-bye to my father.”
Gray swallowed. He hadn’t expected Kirby to accept his terms so easily. “I want you gone before dawn.”
“I understand.” Kirby hung his head and turned to go.
Gray stooped to pick up his jacket—and saw Kirby charging at him once more, teeth bared and knife flailing.
But this time Gray was ready. He grabbed Kirby’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and pulled up hard. Crack.
Kirby dropped to his knees. The knife fell from his limp hand. His howls echoed through the park like the wailings of a tortured soul from the spirit realm.
Misery personified. And Kirby deserved every wretched second of it.
“Unless you wish me to haul your ass to the authorities and accuse you of theft, you will do exactly as I say.” Gray shoved Kirby’s face into the mud and pressed his boot heel in the center of his back. “Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Kirby whimpered like a spoiled child.
“Good. First you will answer some questions. And do not even think of lying to me.”
* * *
The day Fiona had been dreading for over a fortnight had arrived, and she would have given anything to jump back into bed and pull the covers over her head. But she forced herself to dress, make her way downstairs, and join Mama and Lily at the breakfast table.
Mama speared a hunk of ham with her fork and addressed Fiona from across the table. “Why are you so morose again this morning? You’re looking far too pale and thin of late—you must eat.”
The thought of food made Fiona queasy, but she buttered a slice of toast to appease Mama.
“I think you look lovely, as always,” Lily piped up. “But perhaps a bit tired. Did you have a restless night?”
“I … ah … suppose I did.” Fiona had lain awake debating whether she should prepare her sister for the possibility that unpleasant news about her might appear in the gossip pages this morning. But that would only make her intensely curious. She’d given Mr. Kirby the necklace, which was worth more than he’d demanded. But she hadn’t followed his instructions to the letter, and he was the sort of horrible person who might relish the opportunity to ruin a young woman and her family—just for sport.
Lily reached over and rubbed Fiona’s shoulder, her expression full of sympathy. “The Dillingham ball tonight will be a festive affair. Perhaps that will cheer you.”
“Yes, I’m certain it will.” Fiona had already planned to develop a horrid headache—th
e kind that would require her to remain in bed all evening. She couldn’t risk running into Gray, not while her wounds were so raw.
“Has the post arrived yet this morning?” Lily asked.
Fiona suppressed a shudder. “Why? Are you expecting a letter?”
“No, just the Hearsay.” Lily’s eyes gleamed with excitement, and she glanced at the breakfast room doorway. “Excellent! Here it is now.”
Dear God. As her sister eagerly took the paper from the butler, Fiona tamped down a wave of nausea. “Actually, I wondered if I might have a look first—”
But it was too late. Lily had already set down her teacup and was turning to the gossip column.
Fiona gripped the arms of her chair and studied her sister’s face, bracing for the worst.
Lily arched a brow as she scanned the page in front of her. “Oh my.”
Fiona’s fingers turned to ice.
“What?” Mama demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“There’s a paragraph on Lady Helena,” Lily said. “It seems she’s become engaged to Lord Potsbridge.”
“The viscount?” Mama coughed, nearly choking on her eggs. “Why, he’s nearly three times her age, and rather sickly, if I recall.”
“Yes, although I understand his gout is improving,” Lily said diplomatically.
Fiona exhaled. Perhaps everything would be all right. Lily was reading the Hearsay and the world hadn’t come crumbling down around them. Fiona leaned back in her chair, daring to hope that, for now, the nightmare was over.
“Dear God,” Lily intoned.
Fear clawed at Fiona’s heart. “What is it?”
The color drained from Lily’s face, and she swallowed. “I can’t believe it.”
No, no, no. Lily shouldn’t be learning the truth like this. Fiona grabbed the newspaper out of her sister’s hands and threw it onto the floor. “I’m sorry. I thought I could keep it out of the gossip pages.”
“For the love of— Fiona Hartley, what are you doing?” Mama demanded.
Lily searched Fiona’s face. “You knew he was going to do this?” She still looked stunned—as if she didn’t know whether to scream or laugh or cry.
“I knew it was a possibility, but I thought I could stop him.”
“Why would you want to?”
Fiona blinked. “Because I … because you…” Something wasn’t adding up, blast it all. She scooped the paper off the floor, opened it to the gossip column, and—
Sweet Jesus. There, in the middle of the page, was her sketch. The one of her and Gray’s entwined hands.
The words below read:
F., You have my trust, my heart, and my soul. I love you. Please, marry me. G.
“It’s one of your sketches,” Lily breathed. “I’d recognize your work anywhere.”
Fiona nodded.
Mama sputtered her tea. “One of your drawings is in the paper?” Fiona couldn’t tell if she was dismayed or proud.
“Lord Ravenport must have submitted it,” Fiona said.
“Along with a brief note.” Lily nudged Fiona’s shoulder. “Read it to Mama.”
Fiona did, and Lily sighed dreamily. “So romantic.”
“I don’t know,” Mama said. “I find it rather less inspired than his earlier poetry.”
Perhaps, but Fiona couldn’t have loved it more. “I need to see him.”
“You mustn’t appear too desperate or anxious,” Mama chided. “Wear your best morning gown and have Mary style your—”
The butler appeared in the doorway again, clearing his throat. “Forgive the interruption, but Lord Ravenport is here. I told him you were still breaking your fast and that you preferred to receive callers later in the after—”
Fiona carefully folded the paper and clutched it to her chest. “I must speak with him. Please, Mama—may we have a few minutes alone?”
She frowned at first, but then her face softened. “If you want to give the earl a second chance, I have no objection.”
“He’s giving me a second chance, too.” Fiona set her napkin on the table, sprang from her chair, and hugged her stepmother. “Thank you.”
“Wait,” Lily said. “Does this mean you’re going to say yes?”
Fiona winked on her way out the door. “Actually, he’s the one saying yes. I proposed to him first.”
“Lord save me!” Mama cried, but Fiona had already hiked the hem of her gown and was running toward the drawing room in a manner that would surely give Miss Haywinkle a fit of the vapors.
Fiona found him sitting with his back to her and his elbows propped on his knees. His dark hair curled a little around his collar, and his broad shoulders spanned half the sofa. His midnight blue jacket hugged his muscled arms and trim waist.
One day she would sketch him just like this, looking determined and thoughtful and more handsome than any man should. “Gray.”
He stood and strode toward her, his long legs eating up the distance between them in a few strides, but he stopped just short of touching her. “Fiona. God, I’ve missed you.”
Her throat felt thick. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“I know about Kirby,” he said. The pain in his voice cut through her chest.
“How?”
“I read the blackmail note and thought it might be his handwriting. Hoped it wasn’t. But I followed him to the park and saw him pick up your necklace. I’m sorry.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out her silk pouch, and handed it to her.
She loosened the pouch’s drawstrings and took out the necklace. In the morning light, it sparkled brightly, reminding Fiona of her mother’s smile. She looked up at the portrait that hung over the fireplace and saw the same jewels adorning her mother’s slender neck. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted this piece of my mother—how badly I needed it—until it was gone. Thank you for returning it to me.” Tears spilled down Fiona’s cheeks.
Gray pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, but panic flooded her veins again. “Wait. You don’t understand. He’s written a letter—an awful, ugly letter to the London Hearsay. This necklace was the only thing preventing him from publishing it.”
“You have nothing to fear from Kirby,” he said earnestly. “Not anymore. Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”
They settled themselves on the sofa and Gray took her hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—and it was. A weight lifted off her chest, and she breathed easier than she had in weeks.
“Kirby will never threaten you or Lily or your family again.”
Fiona shook her head, disbelieving. “You should see the letter he penned to the Hearsay. It is ruthless and cold—almost gleeful about destroying my sister’s reputation.”
“I know, because I read it. Just before I burned it.” He met her gaze. “I’m sorry for everything he put you through. But the nightmare is over. You have nothing to fear from him. If he dares to show his face in town again, he will face me at dawn. And he’s far too spineless to risk a duel.”
Fiona frowned, still confused. “How did he know about Lily’s past?”
Gray pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. “Kirby learned about Lily’s birth mother from the madam herself. He’s been in a relationship with Serena Labelle for two years. She’s considerably older than he is, but he claims to be in love with her.” Gray shrugged. “Maybe he is.”
Fiona looked down at their entwined hands. Regardless of what Kirby had done, she hated the thought that the bond between lifelong friends was irreparably severed. “You’ve lost your best friend.”
“No, I haven’t. You are my best friend—and more. You’re everything to me.”
“I owe you an apology, too,” Fiona said. “I shouldn’t have left the Fortress without saying good-bye. I figured out that the blackmailer was Kirby, but I couldn’t tell you. He threatened to expose your father’s suicide, and I feared you would lose everything. So, I did the cowardly thing and left without explanation. I thought you’d eventua
lly forget about me.”
For the space of several heartbeats, Gray said nothing, but when he did, his voice was full of anguish. “Did you really think that?”
She nodded and felt her eyes brim with tears again.
Gray dropped to his knees in front of the sofa and looked up at her, pleading. “God, Fiona. You’re the most unforgettable woman I’ve ever met. I knew after our first dance that you were going to turn my life upside down, and you have—in the best possible way. You’re beautiful and passionate and talented beyond belief.”
She smiled at that. “I assume you’re referring to my archery skills?”
“Your talents extend to many, many areas.” His wicked grin left her slightly breathless. “The point is, you captured my heart from the start, and I didn’t tell you because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That you wouldn’t feel the same. Or that you’d discover you could do better than a bitter, impoverished earl. But damn it, I should have told you how I felt long before the night of the ball, and I’m telling you now: I love you, Fiona. I wish I had more to offer you, but everything I do have is yours—my life, my heart, my soul. And God help me, I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to be the man you deserve.”
Breathless with wonder, she cradled his face in her hands. “I love you, too. When I first proposed it was out of desperation, but now … Now I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“Oh no.” His devilish smile made her knees go weak. “You’re not going to beat me to the punch again. This time it’s my turn.” He cleared his throat and held both her hands. “Miss Fiona Hartley, you showed me what it means to love … through your small kindnesses and great sacrifices, through your heartfelt tears and dazzling smiles. I want us to share all those things and more. Make me the luckiest man alive. Say you’ll marry me.”
Warmth blossomed in her chest and filled her heart. “Of course I’ll marry you. I don’t even mind if I must write myself poems and send myself flowers,” she teased. “Because you’re my partner in all the ways that truly matter.”