“I have made a decision, Grant,” he said softly. “I will go to the solicitor and draw up a document that states if you recant the title, I shall do it as well. The earldom will then go to Cousin Cameron, and God help him.”
Grant reared back, his expression shocked. “Cam? Why ever would you do that? He’s the least worldly nodcock that ever existed.”
Will nodded in satisfaction. “Exactly. So I guess you’ll just have to keep the title.”
“But—”
“It’s the only way I can think of to convince you that I’m not trying to kill you. Good Lord, even thinking the thing makes my blood boil. How could you believe I would do that?”
Grant’s expression softened. “I haven’t for a couple hours now at least.”
Will absorbed that with a slow nod. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else? A bitter husband or someone you beat at cards?”
If Will had been offended before, Grant’s expression now mirrored the same outrage. “Just what do you think I’ve been doing? Cuckolding murderous husbands? Fleecing desperate innocents? Will, there’s no one else who would want me dead!”
“That’s just the point,” interrupted Robert, his voice sounding rather tired. “You haven’t told him what you have been doing for the last five years. Left him to imagine all sorts of nefarious activities.”
Grant glowered at Robert, clearly infuriated that he wasn’t going to be allowed his evasion. And so the men glared at each other while the tension grew thick.
“Actually, that’s not the point,” Irene cut in. “I believe we needed to eliminate Will as a possibility so as to focus on the truth.”
They all turned to look at her, but it was Will who spoke. “Which is?”
“That he wasn’t the true target.”
Helaine gasped, but it was Grant who made it to Irene’s side in a few quick steps.
“We needn’t discuss this now.”
“And how would delaying help? I have been thinking. My father-in-law has a successful business. That would generate any number of enemies. We were attacked on the way to my home. Perhaps the villain was waiting for Papa and chanced upon me.”
“But that doesn’t explain you being followed weeks ago,” Grant inserted gently.
Irene frowned, her belly tight with worry. This was all so much easier to handle when they’d been the victims of a simple footpad. The idea that someone was looking to harm her was only now beginning to settle into her thoughts. And she hated it.
“Don’t worry,” said Grant as he possessed her hand. “I shall be by your side constantly. You’ll be safe while we sort the situation out.”
She shook her head, doing her best to remain quietly logical. “You can’t watch me every moment of every day.”
“I can, and I have. I’ve hired a runner to help while Mr. Morrison and I investigate. Between the three of us—”
“Four,” added Will.
“Five,” said Robert grimly.
“We shall get to the bottom of this quickly. Never you fear, we’ll find the culprit soon enough.”
Irene’s breath felt tight in her chest. “But you can’t do that indefinitely. And besides, we haven’t the slightest idea where to look.”
Grant didn’t answer. Neither did the other two men. They stared at Irene quietly. It was Helaine who finally said what the men wouldn’t. “Nevertheless, we will take precautions. You’re our friend, and we’d suffer terribly if anything happened to you.”
Irene tried to laugh, but it came out as a sick snort. “I’ve only just met two of you, and Lord Redhill—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, his voice almost congenial. “You’re a woman in danger. What kind of man would I be if I simply ignored you?”
“But that’s just the point. What if it’s all a silly mistake? What if—”
“Stop, Irene. Just… stop.” That was Grant as he gently turned her to face him. “Whether you like it or not, I will have you protected. That’s all there is to it.”
Then Will cleared his throat, his expression awkward. “Uh, about the runner. Even with us helping, he’s still going to cost some blunt. Do you… er, I’d be happy to help with that. Got to pay you back anyway for the money you sent us these last years.”
Irene felt the impact of those words hit Grant. A recoil, and then a tightening in his whole body. “I have the money, Will.”
His brother nodded. “Good. But as I said—”
“And it was my responsibility to see that Mama had food and shelter all these years. If you try to pay me, I’ll throw it in your face. And then I’ll call you out for the insult.” Then, apparently to soften his words, he grunted in a friendly way. “Besides. You paid to replace the barn I burned down.”
“No, I didn’t. Lawton did.”
Grant nodded. “But you did the roof repairs to that blight of a castle. Twice. Plus you got the stillroom fixed and a garden growing.”
Suddenly, Will went still, his eyes narrowing. “You know about that?”
Grant nodded.
“How do you know about that?”
And there it was, Irene realized. Once again, the five-year silence reared up between the two brothers. Now more than ever, Grant needed to explain where he’d been. What he’d been doing. But the man wouldn’t. He simply nodded grimly. “Yes, I came by a couple times. And no, I didn’t see you or mother. And Will…” He looked direct and hard at his brother. “I won’t discuss it. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“But why?” cried Miss Powel. The first she’d spoken during all the family discussion. Apparently, the girl had been trying to hold her tongue, but it had gotten too much. She took a step forward, only marginally restrained by her fiancé. “It’s been eating him alive for five years! Not knowing if you’ve been alive or dead. Hoping you were well—fearing that you weren’t. He just figured out the money came from you—”
Grant’s grumble this time was angrier and carried a full measure of frustration. By which Irene understood that Will wasn’t supposed to learn of that at all. But Miss Powel wasn’t done, her voice raising in pitch as she continued.
“—and now, you suddenly appear with no explanation. It makes no sense!”
“It makes perfect sense,” Will said to his fiancée. “He’s never explained himself in his entire life. Why start now?”
And everyone, Irene included, turned to look at Grant. Why indeed did he insist on keeping all this a secret? What was the point?
Meanwhile, Grant shook his head, his eyes downcast. His words—when they came—were almost too quiet to hear. “The things I’ve done, the sweat and the blood, are done and I will not think of them again.” He lifted his gaze to pin his brother. “Do you understand, Will? I’m sorry you worried. I did what I could to honor my responsibilities, but I’ll not account myself to you. I will not.”
And there it was. Everyone could see that Grant would not speak of this, and if Will wanted a reconciliation with his brother, he would have to accept that fact. But Irene couldn’t help but wonder why. What was he so desperate to hide?
She saw the same question on everyone else’s face. But no one dared to push the point. Not even Will, who dipped his chin in acknowledgment. And then, though it clearly cost him to ask, he took it one step further.
“But if you needed my help, you’d ask, wouldn’t you? I’m your brother, and I love you. I’m not a worthless child anymore. I can help keep Lady Irene safe, and I can do any number of other things. But you need to tell me, Grant. I can’t guess what you need. You have to tell me.”
Grant was very still beside Irene as his brother spoke. And then he simply eased. Or perhaps, it was that the anger drained out of him, leaving him softer, if not exactly at ease.
“You’ve never been useless, Will. Haven’t we both been saying that for years?”
His brother folded his arms. “It’s not what’s been said that counts. It’s what you think.”
Grant stood to face his brother square on. Eye t
o eye they stood, neither backing away or softening. “I think,” he said loudly, “that you’re a better brother than I deserve. And I’m sorry I ever thought any different.”
And with that, apparently, Will was content. With a very Yorkshire grunt, he embraced his brother. The hug was done quick and hard, typical among men. But Irene watched Grant’s face. He closed his eyes, and his face tightened into twist of grief and relief. As if he had come home after a long time away.
Her heart ached to see it, but she knew that there was healing between the men. Not everything was resolved, but tonight had been a good meeting. And she was beyond touched to have witnessed it.
She met Miss Powel’s eyes and saw that she too understood the significance of the moment. Much more open about her feelings, the girl dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief, and Irene was startled to find her own vision watery. Then Will pulled back, his expression dour.
Apparently, dour—she abruptly realized—was the look he had when he was trying to hide strong emotions. That realization completely shifted her idea of the man’s general character. Especially as his next words came out almost cold.
“I’ll respect your silence, brother, but you’re on your own with Mother. If you can keep your secrets from her, then God knows you probably should be working for the Crown.”
Everyone laughed, the tension breaking easily and sweetly. It was time for the party to end. Carriages were called, with Helaine offering to play a belated chaperone to Miss Powel. She intended to ride with the engaged couple back to the Lawton home and ease any difficulty with the girl’s father. Nothing like having a countess express her gratitude for a father’s understanding to smooth problems at home. Miss Powel was grateful, but Irene caught a flash of disappointment from Will. Clearly, the man had hoped for some privacy with his intended. But he was a good man, and so ceded graciously to the needs of polite society.
A few minutes passed as the men made plans for keeping Irene under protection. She didn’t hear what was decided, which was just as well. It would likely make her more fearful about the danger or more embarrassed about the fuss. Both, probably, and in equal measures.
Then it was over. Everyone left but her and Grant, who turned to her with a relieved smile. She touched his face, cherishing his moment of relaxed joy. A difficult evening done. A brother, if not yet reconciled, at least back in communication. She gave him a warm smile, allowing him a long moment to savor the relief. Then she said the words that would shatter his peace.
“I’m so glad that the evening went well. But I will have no secrets between us. You will tell me what happened those missing five years, or I will leave this instant, and you need not bother pursuing me.”
Eighteen
He looked at her then, his eyebrows raised and his jaw hard. Irene swallowed, but she would not change her mind.
“There is no secret,” he said. “You know what I have been doing the last five years.”
“Managing the mill as Mr. Grant?”
He nodded, his eyes narrowed.
“So why would you not tell your brother? First, you cannot hope to keep that a secret. Too many people know. Second…” Her voice faltered as she struggled to find the words. “Second, I cannot understand it. There must be more.”
He released a sigh and sagged in apparent exhaustion. She suddenly felt like the most horrible shrew, so she took his hand and led him to a settee by the fire. Did she really need to push for answers now? Every man had his secrets, didn’t he? And yet, this bothered her on a deep level.
She stroked her hand through his hair, feeling the silky texture of his curls, liking the way it tickled the back of her hand, even as her fingertips felt the heat of his body. It felt very intimate, and as she focused on that small wonder, she found the words to say.
“You are ashamed, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Horribly ashamed of working for your bread.”
He nodded, the motion a bare shift of his chin.
She sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder. He turned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Again, it was a small gesture, but it was something she hadn’t felt in years—perhaps ever. Her husband had been about large movements and quick action. His voice had boomed, his laughter had filled her, and even their intimacy had felt like a storm at sea.
But with Grant, it was the little gestures that caught her. The way he tucked her close when they sat together. The press of his lips on her forehead and the stroke of his fingers along her arm. It was a quiet thing, and it felt as if this time together was as much a surprise to him as it was to her.
How horrible to hurt this quiet. There were so many other things they could be doing, but her heart would not let this fester.
“If you are ashamed of making an honest living then what must you think of me? I am a daughter of an earl, as nobly born as you.”
“I could never think less of you for that,” he said. “I know the strength it takes to work every day, to barter for the best prices, to seek out pieces that will excite your customer. And the exhilaration of a successful deal is something I dream about even now.”
He sounded sincere. God knows she felt everything he said. “But it is more than that for me,” she said softly. “I used to lie in bed at three in the afternoon and count the ticks of the clock. The sound would echo in my head louder and louder, and I would pray for it to stop. Just… stop.”
“Why didn’t you remove it from the room?”
“I did. And then it was breaths I counted. Or heartbeats. Or the number of times a branch scraped the window. It was all the same. An endless stream of time with no purpose.”
He tightened his hold, tucking her closer into his side. “You were grieving. You’d lost a husband.”
She laughed, the sound quiet in the room. “This was long before I met Nate. This was at home or sometimes at school. You cannot know the emptiness of my life then. My father was a gambler, so we were in constant fear of the duns. Even if my mother could stomach the shame of earning money in legitimate work, it hardly mattered. Father spent faster than we could earn. The only hope for the family was if I grew into a beauty.”
“Thank God you did.”
She snorted. Then she put her hand on his chest, enjoying the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand. “I did not, and you well know it.” But she liked that he had sounded sincere. Even better, he pulled back to look at her. He lifted her chin and studied her face.
“Your features are balanced, your skin is clear, and there is power in your eyes that I cannot explain.”
She blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone. “You see more than the average man,” she said. “And besides, back then my skin wasn’t quite as clear, my features were sharp, and my nose was like a hawk’s beak.”
“Certainly not!”
“Certainly so! The gossip columns reported my first debut as exactly such. ‘The hawklike features of Lady Irene will only attract those who want their eyes pecked out.’”
“Good God,” he gasped. “However did they get it so wrong?”
She smiled, the pain of that old hurt fading. “They didn’t. ‘Severe’ is perhaps the kindest term for my face.”
“But your eyes—”
“Hollow and haunted. Even I could see it. I just couldn’t do anything about it.”
He touched her face, his fingers a slow caress across her cheek and lips. “You’re beautiful, Irene. It’s in your face. All those things they decried—your nose and your chin—they are like the facets of brilliant stone. A diamond, or… have you ever seen a pigeon blood ruby? The tone is subtle, but it gives everything around it warmth. That’s you.”
She blinked, absorbing his words. A ruby? A diamond? No one had ever compared her to such things. Not even her father. It was so ridiculous as to make her speechless. But he was studying her face as if it were true.
“I’ve sketched you, you know,” he said.
She straightened slightly in his arms. “What?”
“A day a
fter I met you. And almost every day since. But I cannot capture your eyes. Or your mouth. Or your… essence. It is too beautiful for my talents.”
She did not know what to say. Even Nate had never called her beautiful. He said she was beautiful enough for a rough sailor like him. And, at the time, she had thought him especially sweet. But that was nothing compared to what she felt for Grant at this moment.
So she stretched up just as his lips came down. Their mouths met in the slowest, most gentle of kisses. His tongue stroked her lips, their breaths mingled in a heated tease, and eventually, their tongues touched. A quick stroke, a twist, eventually a thrust. He pressed her backward into the cushions. She absorbed his words and his kisses into her very being.
It was a powerful kiss and one she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life. But before she became too drunk on his kisses, before his compliments stripped her of all reason, she had to explain the rest. She had to let him know why his shame hurt her so deeply.
“I met Nate at the market while I was staring at a melon I couldn’t afford,” she said. “We’d long since let our cook go, so I did the shopping with what little coins we had. Mama thought it would be less embarrassing for a daughter to be shopping, rather than a countess.”
He sighed quietly, his forehead dropping to meet hers in a gentle press. “You had a hard time of it,” he whispered.
“You keep saying that as if it makes me special. As if I deserve praise or sympathy for it.”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes impossibly dark. “It does. You do. What you have struggled through takes my breath away. You are so strong—”
“Everyone struggles, Grant. No one has a life of ease. From the lowest bootblack to Prinny in his rich indulgences, we all search for a way to get through.”
He swallowed, and she knew he was listening. If only she could express herself more clearly.
“Nate bought me that melon. He was large and handsome, and he had a laugh that boomed through the room. He’s much like his father in that,” she said. “He made me feel safe, and he had money to spare. I clutched onto him, like I would grasp a rope at sea. Or perhaps, he was a cake before a starving woman.”
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