An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  She hadn’t spoken to him since this morning, and it was beginning to irk. If he asked her a question, she gave him the shortest response possible. When he baited her she ignored him. He should be grateful for the silence, he knew, but in truth it was driving him mad. Seeing her laugh and blather on with Thomas made Grif realize that he wanted that too. It seemed so amiable, so...intimate.

  At her door, he tried to make amends. “Kay, I—” He raked a hand through his overlong hair. He had no idea what to say to her to make things right between them again. He gave her a helpless look and pleaded, “You must at least know that I’m not doing this out of spite. I’m doing the best I can to keep you safe. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  Kyra looked up at him with her lovely eyes and studied him. “Yes, it counts.”

  “Then why are you so angry at me for doing it?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, Grif...” She shook her head and looked away. Abruptly she looked at him again, a smile touching her lips. “Do you remember when you were twelve and I caught you and Riley smoking one of daddy’s cigars?”

  Grif groaned. “I’ll never forget it. I’ve never seen your father so furious. He scared me near to death. He thrashed us both, not for smoking, but for stealing the damned thing.”

  Kyra nodded. “He hated deceit of any sort—lying, stealing. To him, dishonesty was the worst sin one could commit.”

  “And then Riley tanned your backside for tattling on us,” Grif murmured. “I probably would have as well, but my father called me home so that he could dole out his own punishment—for the actual smoking part. I still wanted to thrash your sorry hide, except I knew you couldn’t sit down for a couple of days. I figured you’d been punished enough.”

  “Riley didn’t punish me,” Kyra said softly. “Daddy did.”

  “What?” Grif asked incredulously. In all the years he’d known the Deverills, the kindly marquess had never had the heart to even raise his voice to his beloved imp of a daughter.

  Kyra smiled at his expression. “I know. It was the one and only time daddy ever really punished me, which probably explains why I ran wild most of the time.”

  “He whipped you for tattling? That seems extreme, considering your bigger misdeeds were usually overlooked.”

  “Not really, when you consider the message behind the punishment.” At Grif’s raised brow, she said, “Never betray kith and kin. That is one lesson I took to heart.”

  “Is that what you think I’m—?” Horrified, he shook his head. “I’m not betraying you, Kay. I’d never betray you. Never.”

  “You are taking away my freedom,” she argued. “I consider that betrayal.”

  “I’m securing your future,” Grif retorted, beyond hurt. “That’s hardly betrayal. We both know your brother would have done whatever it took to ensure your well-being.”

  Kyra glared at him. “Do not talk to me of Riley,” she hissed. “My brother would never have allowed this. He actually cared about me, Grif. He would have asked for my opinion and my blessing before marrying me off.”

  “Your brother,” he said calmly, though his temper was spiraling out of his control, “considered you a spoiled, rotten brat too full of herself to value anyone else’s judgment.” Grif ignored the tiny quiver of her lip. “But make no mistake, Kay, Dev would have done anything to secure your well-being, even if it meant marrying you to Beelzebub himself. Were he alive today he would consider your current behavior reckless and abhorrent. In fact, I’m almost grateful that he’s not here to see you acting thus.”

  Kyra’s palm landed hard against his cheek. “You, my lord,” she said in an odd, throaty voice, “are the worst person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

  Grif rubbed his cheek, though in honesty, her words hurt far more than the slap. They cut him to the bone. And as usual, when she hurt him, he lashed out.

  “Well, since I’m quite beyond redemption in your estimation, you won’t be surprised or offended when I tell you to stop whining and hand over your clothes.”

  In a huff, she slammed the door shut. Grif could hear a flurry of activity, not to mention a few nasty words, from behind the heavy wood. A moment later Kyra, clad only in her night rail, flung open the door and tossed her clothing at his head. Before he could warn her about throwing her boots, she dropped them both at his feet. Then she slammed the door shut again.

  Grif gathered her clothes and her boots, forcing himself to calm down before he did something completely irrational—like breaking down her door. Instead, he locked the door and calmly pocketed the key.

  Okay, so he hadn’t handled that very well, he thought to himself. Calling her names was not exactly amiable or intimate. Grif sighed and motioned for Conroy to take the first watch at her door. What he needed was a good night’s sleep. In the morning, he’d apologize. It would be better that way, he mused, as he had hours to practice. And catching her in the early morning might leave her too tired to attack him.

  He went to bed that night thinking of all the things he needed to say to her, unable to fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning. As soon as dawn broke, Grif jumped out of bed and steeled himself for the hardest apology of his life. He dressed quickly then grabbed Kyra’s clothes and stole to her room, waving a tired Thomas to their room. He promised himself that the lump in his throat had nothing to do with seeing her abed and everything to do with his early morning ambush.

  Grif quietly unlocked her door and tiptoed into her room. He shut the door behind him, mentally rehearsing his words. Then he turned to the bed and took a deep, steadying breath. As far as he could tell, there was only one small problem.

  She was gone.

  Chapter Eight

  Grif stalked back to his own room muttering invectives at his disappearing nemesis. Tossing open the door, he surveyed his companions. Thomas had stripped off his shirt and was busy shaving at the small washstand. Conroy was sitting up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Dreyfus, of course, was still snoring the morning away.

  Thomas, his face half covered with soap, took one look at Grif and groaned. “What did she do?”

  “She’s gone,” Grif said, his voice oddly calm.

  “Gone?” Thomas dropped his razor. “Gone how? We’re three stories up, Grif. The outer walls are too smooth for any footholds and there is no ivy or trellis anywhere that she could have used to climbed down. I checked the damn inn myself. Someone has been posted at her door every second since she entered that room. There is no way she is gone.”

  “Well,” Grif said stoically, “she is.”

  “But she’s practically naked!” Thomas protested, gesturing to the pile of clothes still in Grif’s hand.

  Grif ground his teeth. “I know.”

  “Bloody hell,” Thomas sputtered, swiping his razor across the other half of his face. “Impudent little fool.”

  Conroy bolted to his feet and began snatching up his clothes. Grif put a booted foot on Dreyfus’s backside and pushed. The man rolled out of bed, landing with a thump on the hard floor. Dreyfus looked up at Grif, daggers in his eyes, and opened his mouth. The look Grif shot him stopped the words in his throat.

  “Get dressed,” Grif snapped. “Lady Kyra’s missing.”

  Dreyfus grinned maliciously, though he rose and grabbed his clothes. “Seems the lady got a taste for something a bit more wild living so long in this godforsaken—”

  In the blink of an eye, Grif was on him. He grabbed Dreyfus by the throat and shoved him against the wall. Dreyfus gasped for air, his pale eyes bulging. “If you ever speak ill of Lady Kyra again, you little snake, I will take great pleasure in choking the life from your worthless body.”

  He shoved Dreyfus against the wall one last time to emphasize his point. Grif forced his fingers to uncurl from the other man’s windpipe, and Dreyfus
sank to the floor, grabbing his throat and gulping for air. Grif turned away from him to find Thomas and Conroy intent on getting dressed.

  “Thomas,” Grif stated. “I want a thorough sweep of the inn and the surrounding buildings. Make sure you check every nook and cranny. Conroy, hie down to the stables and see if her damned horse is still there. Roust the stable boys and find out if anyone left on horseback between sunset and sunrise.”

  “What about me?” came a strained voice from behind him.

  Grif trained a glare on Dreyfus. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Talk to the innkeeper. Find out if the first coach has left yet and its destination. Also, ask him if anyone noticed anything odd last night or this morning. Missing clothing, odd shadows, noises by the stable, that sort of thing. I want everyone to report back to me in half an hour or less.”

  “What are you going to do?” Thomas asked, finishing with the plackets on his shirt.

  “I’m going to check her room again. Meet me there when you’re done.”

  Back in Kyra’s room, Grif tried to tamp down his growing fear. He needed to be levelheaded right now. Tossing her clothing on her bed, he quickly swept through the room, searching for any sign of how she left. Finding nothing, he examined the room’s solitary window.

  The shutters were flung wide and he stuck his head through the opening. It was narrow, but after witnessing last night’s display he had no doubt Kay could shimmy through it. But how did she get down? There was a small ledge just below her window, but Thomas was right: it would have been impossible. At three stories up, jumping down—even from holding the ledge—would likely result in injury, though Grif had little doubt that the chit might have tried it if she felt desperate enough. And she did seem to be nearing desperation.

  Dreyfus and Conroy returned at the same time. “The mail coach left at first light,” Dreyfus said. “It’s heading northeast to Melrose, with a stop at Selkirk. The second coach isn’t scheduled to depart for another hour.”

  “The lady’s mount is still in the stables,” Conroy reported. “Though the lad did say they had a gentleman named Braxton who took off before sunrise. But by the description, it couldn’t be Lady Deverill.”

  “Did the boy know where Braxton was heading?” Grif asked.

  “North.”

  Thomas entered the room, shaking his head. “She’s not hiding in any of the nearby buildings.”

  “Did anybody see anything unusual last night?”

  Dreyfus and Thomas shook their heads. Grif frowned. “Conroy, you and Dreyfus should be able to catch the mail coach and make sure she’s not stowing away. I want you back before midday. Thomas, you and I will check the grounds around the inn and the village. If we come up empty-handed, we’ll ride north after Mr. Braxton.”

  Grif grabbed Conroy’s arm as the bigger man was leaving and pulled him aside, out of Dreyfus’s hearing. “I do not want Dreyfus alone with Lady Kyra, for any reason.”

  Conroy looked down at him and nodded. “Aye, my lord. I’ll keep her safe—if I find her.”

  Grif patted the larger man’s meaty shoulder. “Good man.”

  Thomas was examining the window, shaking his head. “I just don’t see how she did this, Grif. I checked everything.”

  “It’s not your fault. The chit is practically a cat.”

  Thomas grunted in disgust. “Let’s hope she landed on her feet.”

  Grif glanced out the window and watched Conroy and Dreyfus ride off. The window was in full view of the stables. She must have waited until she knew the stable boy was asleep to make her escape. Odd that no one heard or saw her scrambling around the grounds...

  Realization hit Grif. “Thomas,” he said slowly. “I think we’ve underestimated the young lady.”

  “No doubt about it,” Thomas replied. “But how?”

  “Kay would never leave Apollo,” Grif explained. “She’s smart enough to know she has a better chance escaping on him than in the mail coach or on foot. Besides, Riley loved that horse.”

  “And Kay loved Riley,” Thomas agreed.

  “And contrary to her actions of late, she’s much too practical to run off into the chilly night in nothing more than her bedclothes.”

  “Pity,” Thomas murmured. At Grif’s dark look, he held up his hands. “I’m twitting you, Grif. So she’s still here somewhere. We just have to find her hidey-hole.”

  “Oh, I’m quite certain I know where she is.” Grif gestured for quiet and looked up.

  Thomas gaped. “The roof?” he mouthed.

  Grif nodded. “I imagine she can see pretty much everything from up there—the stable, the yard, most of the village. She’s waiting for us to ride out after her.”

  “Knowing that her clothes will be left behind in our haste to find her,” Thomas chuckled, pointing to the pile on the bed. “But could she be that clever?”

  Grif raised a brow. “She once convinced the twins that eating worms would help them grow beards.”

  “She hoodwinked the twins?” Thomas snorted. “By god, that is crafty, if a bit twisted. Really, I hope you’ve had a talk with Phillip about his odd culinary habits.” Grif was too busy studying the window to answer. “So,” said Thomas. “Are you going to try to squeeze out that ridiculous slit called a window, or am I?”

  “No,” said Grif. “We’d never fit. And I don’t want to risk scaring her into doing something stupid, like jumping from three stories up.”

  “Or pushing you from three stories up,” Thomas added.

  “Hmm,” Grif agreed.

  “So we need to convince the lady to come to us,” Thomas mused. “Which means she has to see us leave the inn...on horseback.”

  Grif rubbed his chin. “How big is the stable lad, would you guess?”

  Thomas read Grif’s thoughts and shook his head. “Too small. But the innkeeper’s son is close to six feet. Still a couple inches short, but I doubt it would be noticeable from a distance. And he has dark hair.”

  “Excellent,” Grif said. “Offer the lad’s father a gold crown if the boy dons my greatcoat and hat and walks Lucifer out to the main road. Let him know that under no circumstances should he spur that devil of a horse. As soon as you are out of sight of the inn, get him down. The last thing we need is for Lucifer to throw some green boy.”

  “Once I get the boy in your saddle, inside the stable, I think I can lead him without making it obvious,” Thomas promised.

  “The main road is what, little more than a mile? Once you reach it, wait ten minutes before starting back. That should give our quarry enough time to climb down from her roost.”

  “The girl would have made a fine officer,” Thomas muttered, heading for the door. “I almost shudder at the thought of facing her across the battlefield.”

  Grif smirked a bit. “Indeed.”

  Thomas closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Grif alone in the room. Taking a deep breath, Grif watched and waited. The minutes stretched into what seemed an eternity, and Grif feared that the innkeeper had refused their odd request. Just as he was about to go down to talk to the innkeeper himself, he saw Thomas and a tall, dark-haired figure emerge from the inn and cross the yard to the stable. The boy was indeed lacking a few inches in height, and Grif prayed he didn’t really walk with such a swagger, but from this distance the boy might pass as the earl of Griffin.

  The two figures entered the stable, reemerging a few minutes later on their mounts. Thomas rode between the boy and the inn, blocking the fact that he held fast to Lucifer’s reins. The horses picked their way out of the yard and onto the path leading to the main road, their riders appearing to be deep in conversation. As he watched them disappear, Grif hoped Kyra was too preoccupied with her own schemes that she failed to notice the earl of Griffin looked a bit unsteady in the saddle.

  All they could do
now was see if their quarry had taken the bait. Grif moved into the closest corner, behind the dressing screen, an arm’s length away from the window. He exhaled heavily and waited as quietly as he could.

  A minute or two later, he heard a noise outside the window. A figure dropped to the narrow ledge, and two slender arms appeared in the aperture, followed quickly by the sweep of a thick auburn braid. Relief flooded through him, making him almost light-headed. When he did catch her, he vowed, she was going to pay for making him worry.

  Bracing her arms on the windowsill, she shimmied and wiggled enough for her bosom to pop through. She exhaled, wiggled some more and wedged her narrow hips through the opening. Grif smiled in spite of his fury as he watched her pull her slender legs and neat ankles into the room. Thank the heavens he hadn’t told Thomas to wait in the room.

  Kyra collapsed in a graceless, panting heap. Lifting her head, she spied the pile of clothing on the bed and smiled. “Oh, Grif,” she scolded softly, pulling herself to her feet. “I warned you not to underestimate me.”

  He was on her before she reached her clothes. She swung at him, nearly landing a solid right to his jaw. Grabbing her wrists above her head as she tried to recover her balance, he pinned her against the wall by the bed.

  “And I told you, Kay,” he murmured into her hair, “underestimating you is one mistake I will never make.”

  Kyra was spitting curses at him, her cheeks flushed with anger. Grif couldn’t help noticing that her blush traveled down her throat and chest, dipping below the thin cotton of her night rail. He dragged his eyes back up to her face.

  “Let me go!” she hissed, tugging futilely on her arms.

  “Not until I’m sure you won’t hit me.”

  “Oh, I am definitely going to hit you,” she spat.

  Grif couldn’t suppress his grin, knowing it would only fuel the little termagant’s wrath. Sure enough, dark eyes narrowed and Kyra huffed indignantly, redoubling her efforts to pull her arms free. “I cannot believe you find this one bit funny, Ethan Ashford!”