Grif rose, praying he didn’t collapse from the lack of blood in his brain. “Kay, I’m sorry. I should never—”
Kyra waved him off, her smile falsely bright as she guided him to the door. “Mea culpa, Grif. It was your right to refuse. Think nothing of it.”
Grif felt his jaw tighten as he watched her opening the door to shoo him out. He watched her, reluctant to go. There was so much he wanted to say to her; his brain scrambled to find the right words. When they didn’t come, he walked slowly to the door.
Looking down into her enormous brown eyes, he asked, “And what of you, Kay? Will you think nothing of it?”
She shrugged, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Of course I’ll think of it. I always try to learn from my mistakes.”
The door closed in his face before he could reply.
* * *
Grif and Thomas went down to meet the Ashford coach in the late morning sun. Thomas directed the groom and footman to bring the small portmanteau they’d dragged from the back of the coach up to Kyra’s room, and Grif gallantly opened the door and offered his arm to Kyra’s maid, Maggie.
The willowy woman descended from the coach, then turned a frosty look on him that had Grif swallowing uncomfortably. The look reminded him too much of Kyra’s cranky housekeeper, Mrs. Myrtle. And while he and Riley had spent a good deal of their childhood avoiding Mrs. Myrtle and her long-reaching wooden spoon, he’d always thought Maggie was rather fond of him. The look she was giving him now certainly seemed to contradict that belief.
“‘Allo, Mags,” he said cheekily, hoping to garner a smile.
She slapped his cheek. Hard. “How could you?”
Grif rubbed his jaw. For a skinny chit, she was surprisingly strong. “I’d love to tell you how, my dear woman, except that I have absolutely no idea what it is you’re accusing me of doing.”
“I’m talking about Kay!”
“I’ve done nothing to Kay!” he snapped. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but it seemed best to deny everything at this point.
Maggie’s blue eyes flashed. “Indeed! You consider betrayal nothing? How Machiavellian of you.” She slapped his other cheek before he saw it coming and stormed off to the inn.
“You know, Grif,” Thomas drawled, “you certainly don’t seem very popular with the ladies. Perhaps we should work on your social skills.”
Grif humphed and wandered off to sulk.
Thomas followed him and clapped him on the arm. He said in a forced bright voice, “Chin up, old boy. She’s just a job, remember? We’ll deliver Kay before dinnertime, provided she doesn’t manage to hijack the coach, and grab our pile of money. Dev’s sister will be married off to some rich fop, and you and I will each walk away two thousand pounds richer. That’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?”
“Right,” Grif said, blocking out images of Kyra pliant and moaning in his arms. “Just a job.”
“And tonight,” Thomas continued, leading him back to the courtyard, “after we’ve enjoyed your uncle’s hospitality and excellent food, we’ll head to town and spend some of our well-earned coin getting good and drunk. What do you say?”
Grif nodded. He only half listened as Thomas listed a number of debts he would happily pay off as a result of this job. Two thousand pounds would go far to ease some of his own family’s crushing debt, Grif mused. He should be elated at the thought of ridding himself of more creditors, yet somehow he felt oddly...empty.
“Usually you’re a much better conversationalist,” Thomas said sometime later. “Particularly when you’re about to earn a small fortune. Of course, this job was never about the money, was it?”
Grif was about to deny the accusation when Kyra emerged from the inn, regal as a queen, Maggie in tow. Grif knew he was staring, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. He had seen her in breeches and filth long for so long that he’d forgotten how striking she was in her true clothes.
Kyra’s glossy waves were piled high in a simple, elegant upsweep that accentuated her delicate features and slender neck. The plain chemise of black Italian crepe was fastened with a jet brooch over a black sarcenet slip. Black net trimmed the front and sleeves. The bodice was delicate and low cut, cinched just under her breasts to enhance their modest bounty but covered with lace to bring an air of fashionable modesty. Grif tried not to think about the love bite he’d left a scant inch below the bodice’s edge. The small cap sleeves barely rested atop her shoulders, exposing miles of creamy white arm as she had not yet bothered with her gloves. She looked good enough to eat.
Kyra strode past them to the Ashford carriage, inclining her head only slightly in acknowledgment. His eyes still fixed on her, Grif scrambled to help her up the stairs to the carriage. Despite her cool poise, he noticed her hand trembled when he took it. He helped Maggie in as well, and once they were both seated, Kyra shot him an imperious look.
“Thank you, Lord Griffin,” she said, her tone glacial.
Grif bowed his head. “My lady.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Not yours at all.”
* * *
The carriage rocked and swayed to Edmund’s estate, somehow managing to hit every rut along the well-traveled road. Kyra hated traveling thus—it was so stuffy, so confining. She wished she could be back on Apollo, running free. Alas, her days of running free seemed well behind her.
Kyra’s head throbbed, though whether it was from the carriage ride, the thought of her upcoming nuptials or the mortifying fact that she’d once again humiliated herself in front of Grif she couldn’t say. He didn’t want her. Not the way she wanted him. When he’d said those words last night, after introducing her body to such glory, Kyra’s heart had dropped.
She sniffed, willing herself not to cry. She’d shed enough tears over Ethan Ashford. What’s done is done, she told herself. At least Grif had the decency to be honest with her. She, on the hand, had lied to him, telling him she wanted him to save her from Brumley when in fact she just wanted to be with him. He had acted with honor; she had acted like a wanton woman.
Maggie eyed her sympathetically, which did nothing for Kyra’s resolve to stay tear-free. If the maid had noticed any strange undercurrents between her and Grif this morning, she said nothing.
It was for the best, Kyra reminded herself. Spending the night with Grif would undoubtedly have destroyed any possibility for her future peace of mind. She thought too much of his touch as it was. His caresses, his kisses, his mouth... The thought of somebody else touching her the way Grif had her last night—oh, God, the thought of Brumley touching her like that—made her stomach roll. It was enough to strengthen Kyra’s resolve. She couldn’t escape Grif, but she could escape Edmund. She’d done it once and she could do it again, even if it meant breaking every piece of crockery Edmund owned over his head. Better yet, over Brumley’s head.
She would leave tonight. But this time she wouldn’t flee to Scotland. This time she would travel abroad, maybe to the Continent. Maybe America. She doubted even Grif could find her there.
Chapter Thirteen
The carriage clattered down the well-groomed path to Ashford House in the late afternoon sun. As it rolled to a stop before the front steps of the manor, Edmund Ashford appeared. He had inherited the Ashford eye color and dark hair, but he was much paler and slighter than Grif. And where Grif’s dark locks were overly long, Edmund’s were perfectly groomed. Grif was rugged; Edmund was refined.
Grif and his odd party of mercenaries dismounted. Edmund acknowledged them with the thinnest of nods. His attention was fixed eagerly on the carriage, his tension palpable. “I trust your hunt was fruitful, Grif,” he murmured.
A footman opened the carriage door, and Edmund practically fell over himself as he stepped forward to offer his arm. Kyra emerged, looking pale but composed, and she smoothly t
ook Edmund’s proffered arm. Edmund grinned at her, his expression one of immense relief.
“Lady Kyra,” Edmund said. “Delighted to see you have returned to us.”
“Lord Edmund,” she replied haughtily. “I have not returned. I have been returned. And I am anything but delighted.”
Grif barely suppressed his grin and Thomas cleared his throat. Gads, the girl had pluck! Grif could see how she’d become a darling of the ton—beauty combined with such fierce intellect and scathing wit would be highly prized by most, particularly the matrons and grande dames who were ultimately responsible for making and breaking reputations.
Edmund laughed, but it was a brittle sound. “Charming as always, my dear. Griffin, I will meet with you in my study after I greet Lady Kyra. You know the way. Your friend can wait in the billiards room with Dreyfus and Mr. Conroy.”
Grif considered his uncle for a long moment, then inclined his head and stalked off in the direction of Edmund’s office. A large footman appeared and motioned for Thomas, Conroy, and Dreyfus to follow.
* * *
Once they were alone, Edmund turned to Kyra. “I trust your journey was not too arduous, my dear?”
“Not at all,” Kyra quipped, her social mask never wavering. “It was the destination I found troublesome.”
“Ah,” Edmund said. “I have heard many young brides find themselves beset with pre-wedding jitters. It’s to be expected, especially on the heels of such devastating loss. But let me assure you, my lady, the plans for your nuptials are laid fast, and you’ll not be troubled with a single detail. You need only show up. Looking radiant, of course.”
“Well, I find this simply unacceptable,” Kyra said smoothly. “I cannot in good conscience allow you to trouble yourself on my behalf.”
“Not at all, my dear,” he said smarmily. “I want only to see you happily wed before something happens to tarnish your spotless reputation.”
Kyra frowned at his thinly veiled threat. “I’m quite sure I could withstand a little smudge. I think most of the grande dames know me well enough to allow me a few girlish peccadilloes, especially after my father’s unfortunate death.”
Edmund grimaced at her. “Nevertheless, I’m sure you would hate to see your family’s good name bandied about.” Before she could retort, he raised his hand. “Now, I imagine your little adventure must have been quite wearing on a young lady of such a delicate nature.”
“Naturally.” Kyra sniffed.
“My housekeeper will show you to your room. I assume you’ll want your dinner brought up to you tonight so that you may rest,” Edmund said amiably. “After all, you’ll want to look your best for your fiancé. He’ll be here tomorrow for luncheon.” He grabbed her hand and bent over it. “Not that you aren’t in blooming good looks already.”
Kyra inclined her head marginally, then followed Edmund’s housekeeper up to her quarters. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Brumley would be here to collect her tomorrow afternoon. No matter, she reminded herself, trying to calm her nerves. She’d be gone by then.
* * *
Grif had just settled into Edmund’s office when there was a knock on the door. He bellowed “In,” and the door swung wide. To his surprise, Mrs. Myrtle stomped in, a tea tray on her arm and a black look on her face. Grif prayed she wasn’t armed with that cursed wooden spoon of hers.
“‘Allo, Mrs. Myrtle,” he said cautiously. “I’m...delighted to see you again.”
The old woman snorted at him. “More like yer shocked to see me.” She plopped the tray on Edmund’s desk, cups and saucers rattling noisily. “And yer probably wondering if I got me spoon with me.”
“Let’s say I am pleasantly surprised,” Grif agreed carefully. “And I assure you, the threat of being spooned no longer terrifies me as it once might have.”
“Humph,” she muttered.
“Might I be so bold as to inquire why you’re here?” Grif asked. “Don’t tell me that, upon hearing I would be here, you immediately succumbed to feminine whim and hastened to Ashford Estate to be near me?”
Mrs. Myrtle grunted again. “Don’t give me yer cheek. Yer uncle thought havin’ me and Margaret at Ashford House would keep Kay on a short leash.” She grimaced at him, eyebrow raised accusingly. “And we weren’t about to forsake the lass to her wretched fate. Even if everyone else has.”
Grif sighed. Apparently the Deverill staff had branded him a traitor. “Mrs. Myrtle, I assure you, marriage to a wealthy peer is not the great disaster you all believe it to be. In fact, most young women Kyra’s age would welcome her—what did you call it?—‘wretched fate’ with open arms and cheerful smile.”
“Cheerful smile?” the old harpy sputtered. “Ye expect Lady Kyra to be happy about this? If I dinna think much of ye as a lad, I think even less of ye as a man.” Mrs. Myrtle shook her head and stalked to the door. “And te think I actually thought ye might help the girl, considering how much ye cared for Riley.”
“I have helped her,” Grif protested, stung by the accusation. “I’ve secured her future. Someday, Mrs. Myrtle, Lady Kyra will thank me for that.”
The old badger shook her head, hand on the door handle. “The day Kyra Deverill thanks ye fer makin’ her Marchioness Brumley is the day I eat me spoon.”
“Brumley?” Grif asked, his entire body going cold. “She’s to marry Brumley?”
Mrs. Myrtle’s hand dropped from the door, understanding in her pale eyes. “The foolish girl dinna tell ye, did she?”
“No, Mrs. Myrtle,” he said, sickened by the news. Grif jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of the room, muttering more to himself than to the housekeeper. “Edmund told me he’d arranged for Kay to marry Lord Hammond. Not that Hammond would have been my first choice for her as he’s a bit dim, but he is kind. And he’s bloody rich. Kay would have wanted for nothing...”
“Praise be,” Mrs. Myrtle said, clearly relieved by the news. “We’d thought ye’d gotten as hard-hearted as yer uncle.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing by bringing her back,” Grif sputtered, finding it hard to breathe. “I hated it but I thought I was protecting her. If I had known I was bringing her to Brumley—”
He stopped and looked desperately at Mrs. Myrtle. “Are you certain Brumley is her betrothed?”
“Kyra got the news straight from her dying father.” The housekeeper’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Since we’ve been here, Ashford’s had a number of visits with the devil himself. Nasty bit of work, he is. I know a gel who worked on Brumley’s estate in Suffolk. She was a cook there for a short time. She said two of ‘is maids just disappeared, like they never existed. One was barely fourteen. No one who works for ’im talks about it.”
She stepped closer and gripped his arm. “I also heard the man finds ‘is women in the poor parts of the city, as the demimonde are too scared of ‘im. He ain’t natural, if ye get me meaning. I dinna ken how much Kay knows about ‘is reputation, but I know she’s terrified of ‘im.” The old woman stepped back and scratched her head. “I canna understand why she dinna tell you.”
Of course Kay never told him Brumley was her intended—he’d not given her the chance. Every time she’d broached the subject of her fiancé, he got tetchy and pushed her away. He should have listened to her complaints. Kay was hotheaded, true, but she was also the most intelligent female of his acquaintance. She’d never risk so much for a fit of temper.
Grif was horrified by his own blindness. He’d been so hell-bent on finding Kay once he’d learned of her disappearance that he had believed his uncle without a second thought.
He had trusted Edmund, and Kay would pay for it.
“So wha’ are ye gonna do about it, lad?” Mrs. Myrtle asked him quietly.
Grif drummed his fingers against his uncle’s heavy mahogany desk. Brumley and Kyra. He’
d be damned if he’d stand by and allow it. Problem was, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Other than helping her flee into the wilds again, which he most certainly would not do, there really was only one thing he could do about it. The thought brought an unfettered smile to his face.
Mrs. Myrtle narrowed her eyes. “Ye look like a cat in cream, Ethan Ashford. If you hurt my little dove—”
“Your ‘little dove’ will be perfectly safe, Mrs. Myrtle.” Still smiling, Grif rose from his seat and crossed the room to open the door for the old harpy. He swept an elegant bow and handed her through the door. “I promise.”
The housekeeper regarded him skeptically but didn’t quibble as he closed the door. Grif paced to the large window overlooking the south garden, lost in thought. He needed to convince Edmund to fall in with his plan. The question was how. His uncle would never knowingly grant him anything, much less something he truly wanted. Somehow, Grif mused, he needed to lead his uncle to the conclusion without making it obvious that he was being led. Grif looked out over the landscape, considering the best method. After spinning several scenarios, Grif realized his least favorite option was also his best solution.
He was still looking out the window, mulling over how to proceed, when Edmund came into the office. Grif turned enough to see his uncle shut the door and take the chair behind the desk. Edmund then motioned for Grif to take a seat. Grif obliged, sprawling indolently, hoping he appeared more relaxed than he felt.
Edmund studied the younger man, his distaste evident. Finally, with a sniff, he gave Grif a nod. “It appears I owe you my gratitude.”
“I’ll settle for my two thousand pounds,” Grif drawled.
“Two?” Edmund asked in feigned surprise. “We agreed on one.”
Grif smirked and shook his head. “You offered one. I demanded three. We agreed on two. For Thomas, as well.”
“Odd. I don’t remember agreeing to any such thing,” murmured his uncle. Nevertheless, he grabbed a piece of parchment, dipped his pen in the inkwell on his desk and began scribbling. “However, you did bring the girl back, and in reasonable time, so two it will be.”
An Inconvenient Wife Page 15