An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  Kyra sipped her tea and frowned again. She shouldn’t be so ungrateful. Her life was perfect. It was all just perfect. Really, really perfect. A fairy tale happily ever after. Pushing for more might mean opening Pandora’s box. Giving up this peaceful, blissful version of marriage was northing short of madness.

  She must be must be mad, she decided, because she did want more. She wanted something deeper from her marriage than this illusion. Moreover, she wanted more from her husband.

  In truth, she wanted to know he cared for her, not her money.

  Oh, it was obvious that he desired her. But desire couldn’t last forever. Kyra had the gnawing fear that whatever they did have between them—passion, lust—would gradually abate and they would be left looking at each other awkwardly over the breakfast table. While she could not imagine ever growing tired of Grif or his attentions, she was pretty sure husbands tired of their wives. Certainly once she was with child he wouldn’t want to touch her. The thought of wanting to be with him, needing him and having him politely set her aside, unsettled her.

  Grif’s passion was the only thing she could be certain of, for it was the only thing he gave her. It had been several months and Grif didn’t...he never said...

  Of course she could always say...that to him, but then she ran the risk of making a complete ninny of herself. Because she was in love with him. Finding out that he might not be in love with her would be heartbreaking.

  Kyra sniffed, feeling foolish. Ridiculous to pine for such trivialities. Stiffening her spine, she resolved to block out such absurd thoughts and focus on her letters. For the next half hour she sorted through the vile pile, immediately answering anything that seemed urgent or intelligent, though most of it was not, and organizing the rest according to her interests.

  Upon nearing the bottom of the stack, Kyra noticed a letter on fine vellum that bore the Ashford seal. She turned it over to check the post, assuming Edmund’s correspondence was for Grif. Or maybe even Lady Eleanor. But no, it was clearly addressed to her. Odd.

  Kyra frowned and broke the seal. As she read, the brief communiqué made her frown deepen.

  My Dearest Ward,

  I must apologize in being so remiss in offering my congratulations on your nuptials. How fortuitous that you and Grif have made such a fine match! I am certain Ethan is exceedingly grateful to you for his great fortune. Surely it is providence that allowed him to procure such a bounteous bride. Let us hope my poor nephew is worthy of your largesse.

  As ever, your servant,

  Edmund

  Kyra’s fingers shook with fury as she placed the letter next to the silver tea platter. Her heart thudded in her chest. For Edmund to confirm that Grif had married her for her money, and in such a heavy-handed manner, was like a knife through her heart. Really, he hadn’t even tried to veil it! He had all but called her husband a fortune hunter.

  So much for any deeper feeling on Grif’s part, she thought acidly.

  Grif was going to answer for this. Kyra jumped to her feet, the nasty note in hand, and headed to the door. He would be in his office working on some business matters—she would march up there right now with this ridiculous bit of nonsense and let him deal with her directly.

  Kyra stopped with her hand on the parlor door handle. Chewing her lip, she returned to her seat. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down and reread the hateful missive.

  Why would Edmund write this in the first place? The phrasing seemed deliberately graceless. Procure made it sound as if Grif had somehow earned her, as if she were a prize. And bounteous and largesse especially bothered her—they made her sound rather loose.

  Obviously Edmund wanted her to question Grif’s motives for their marriage, but that seemed odd considering Edmund was the one who was ultimately responsible for choosing her husband. Even more puzzling was the idea that Edmund bothered to care about the match at all.

  A rather uncomfortable thought popped into her head. Edmund wanted her to know Grif was bankrupt. That sickening notion was chased by one even more ominous: Grif had lied to her.

  He’d lied about everything.

  Kyra shook her head. Even if it were true, even if Grif were as poor as a church mouse, it wouldn’t change a thing. She was still his wife and she still wanted him. In fact, she knew with absolute certainty that she would have chosen an impoverished Grif a hundred times over the richest of suitors. Besides, she sniffed, pouring another cup of tea, she had more than enough money for both of them.

  She simply needed to put this entire silly matter out of her head. She had the husband of her dreams—so what if he married her for reasons that were less than romantic? He had married her. That was all that mattered.

  Kyra grabbed Edmund’s missive and neatly tore it to shreds before tossing it into the fireplace. So much for that.

  And surely the heaviness in her heart would abate in a day or two.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Fifty.”

  Kyra peeked through the thick bramble when she heard Grif finish counting. He whirled around, and for a moment she thought he looked right at her hiding spot. The sound of hushed giggles—followed by hurried whispers—caught his attention and a grin played at the corners of his lips as he sauntered toward a large purple beech tree, whistling while he went. He walked slowly past the tree, pretending not to notice the giggling child hiding amidst its branches, then in the blink of an eye, turned and plucked the howling six-year-old Tess from her leafy hiding spot. It was the work of a few minutes to round up Patricia’s other daughter Beatrice, Tess’s twin. They giggled and whooped as Grif searched the ground for the remaining players.

  From her vantage point behind the low stone wall bordering the gardens, Kyra watched her husband playing with his nieces and her heart sank lower. So much for time healing all wounds. What a lot of rubbish that was. It had been nearly a fortnight since Edmund’s vile missive, and she was feeling worse than ever about the whole marriage-for-money rot. She hadn’t been able to put that damnable letter of Edmund’s out of her head. The idea that Grif might be lying about his motives for their marriage ate at her constantly.

  A small hand at her shoulder nearly made her jump. Augustus, Patricia’s youngest son, stared up at her with accusing green eyes. Kyra felt a twinge of sadness staring into those eyes that so resembled those of her husband. Gads, she was moody lately. Perhaps she was close to her courses. She must check her calendar.

  The three-year-old continued glaring at her, so she finally whispered, “Whatever is the matter, Gus?”

  Augustus’s little lip quivered. “Uncle Ethan said we should stay inside the wall, Auntie Kay. We are cheating.” He said the last word as though it tasted bad.

  Kyra grinned at the boy. “Uncle Ethan would be very disappointed if we played entirely by the rules, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t want him to call me a cheat.” Gus pouted.

  Kyra bussed his cheek. “He won’t, darling. He knows I’m the cheat.” Kyra peeked through the rocks just in time to see her husband catch Poppy, Annabelle’s twelve-year-old stepdaughter. That left her and Gus. Kyra nudged Gus, but the obstinate child just huffed at her.

  “Really, Gus,” she coaxed, “we have already earned the dubious title of cheats. We may as well win.”

  Kyra watched the boy ponder this, weighing his integrity against his desire to win. How like a Griffin, she thought dryly. Naturally she was not surprised when the boy smiled and nodded. Kyra gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. Then they both crouched low along the wall, quietly stealing into the adjoining rose garden.

  Kay grabbed Gus’s hand and smiled. “Let’s sneak back to the gazebo,” she whispered. “And when Uncle Ethan and the others finally give up looking for us, we can jump out and pretend that we were hiding there the whole time.”

  Gus r
ewarded her with a conspiratorial smile. Having been the youngest child herself, Kay knew he endured a lot being the youngest of the bunch. Showing up his older siblings and cousins would be a nice boost to his dignity. Plus, she had to admit it felt good to thumb her nose at Grif, even if it was just a silly game of hide-and-seek.

  Dodging between the leafy trees and neatly trimmed hedges, they carefully made their way back to the stone wall. When they heard voices off in the distance behind them, from where they’d just left, they exchanged eager smiles. Really, Kay thought, Gus was a good sport for a tot. And a rather brilliant prankster. She might have to teach the lad how to cheat at cards.

  Finally, when they were certain it was all clear, they scurried inside the wall, staying low, and made their way toward the gazebo. The voices were still far away, and all was quiet around them, so Kay nodded at Gus and they crept into a corner of the gazebo. A moment later Kyra shrieked as two large, familiar hands seized her and hoisted her effortlessly into the air. Before she knew what was happening, Grif had scooped her up and was cradling her in his arms.

  “‘Allo, Kay,” her husband said jovially, grinning at her as though he was truly happy to see her.

  Kyra shot him a scowl, which only made him chuckle. The low sound suddenly made her feel rather warm. That or perhaps it was that the knuckles of his one hand were surreptitiously grazing the side of her breast. She suppressed the urge to shudder and instead allowed herself to melt against him. Even if she wanted to struggle, which she didn’t, Kyra knew she’d acquiesce sooner or later. Probably sooner. Even angry, she had a hard time saying no to Grif. That fact only made her more resentful.

  “Bloody hell, Grif,” Kyra sputtered, trying to hide her body’s traitorous response. “Were you sneaking behind us the whole time?”

  “Naturally,” he said, obviously pleased with himself. “Sneak attack. I estimated that you and young Gus here would likely sneak back while the rest of us were occupied with searching the rose garden. Then, when we finally stumbled upon you much, much later, you could claim that you’d been here the whole time.”

  Gus was practically dancing at Grif’s feet. “That’s what we was doing! That’s it ‘sactly. You’re good at hide-and-seek, aren’t you?”

  “Quite,” Grif agreed. “Auntie Kay and I have played the game lots of times.”

  Gus nodded enthusiastically. “Auntie Kay’s good too! And she’s the cheat, Uncle Ethan, not me.”

  “Traitor,” Kyra muttered. “Remind me not to trust you to cheat properly at cards.” She noticed her voice sounded rather breathy. Grif carelessly flopped down on the gazebo’s padded bench, taking particular care to arrange Kyra on his lap. By the time he finished fussing over her, Kyra could feel the color rising in her cheeks. She was also very aware of certain parts of her husband’s anatomy, which likely explained her flushed cheeks.

  Gus, chattering on about their grand adventure in the rose garden, paid no heed to his aunt and uncle. Shouts interrupted his tale about how he and Auntie Kay stole from the wall to the shrub, which in Gus’s opinion had been the sneakiest move of their exploit. Tess and Beatrice were running to the gazebo, followed by Poppy.

  “I won! I won!” Gus announced. “I was the last one caught!”

  A debate broke out over the legitimacy of Gus’s win, as he’d gone outside the garden wall. The squabble was finally settled by Grif, who seemed to be getting rather tetchy at all the bickering.

  “Your point regarding fairness is valid, Tess,” their uncle stated. “But I am afraid that I must rule in favor of Gus. If you please,” he said, raising his hand to halt the older kids’ protests, “when we set the rules, did anyone bother to ascertain whether or not Gus understood them? He is only three and a half, after all.”

  Tempers flared again as the children debated who was responsible for the oversight. After a few moments more the children finally, albeit miserably, agreed that Gus was indeed the winner. After extracting numerous promises that he would not cheat in future games, the brood graciously congratulated young Gus on his ingenuity and daring. Spirits lifted further when their uncle reminded them of the lemon squares and sweet tea that awaited their arrival back at the house.

  The children bounced off, all thoughts of Gus’s duplicity forgotten in the face of sweets. Gus, however, stayed behind, eyeing Kyra and Grif suspiciously.

  “I knew the rules,” he told Grif. “I knew we was cheating.”

  “Did anyone ask you, specifically, if you understood them?” Grif asked gently.

  “No,” the boy said hesitantly.

  Grif tapped him on the nose. “Then they should pay more attention to you. Think of this as a lesson for all of you. You’ve learned that cheating doesn’t feel good, and they’ve learned to not underestimate you.” He grinned at Kyra. “And I hope Auntie Kay has learned that I will never underestimate her.”

  “Gus! Come on!” Poppy shouted, returning to the gazebo to collect her little cousin. “Your papa will eat all the lemon squares if we don’t hurry.”

  The boy happily jumped to his feet. Taking Poppy’s hand, he asked Grif pointedly, “Are you coming?”

  “I need to talk to Auntie Kay,” Grif said seriously. “Grown-up stuff, you know.”

  Gus made a face. “You’re going to kiss her again, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Grif said, with no trace of embarrassment. “In fact, let your mother and grandmother know that I’m kissing Auntie Kay in the gazebo. When I’m done kissing her, we can play croquet.”

  Enthused at this bit of news, Gus practically pulled his cousin along the path that led to the house and the sweets. Kyra couldn’t quite hide her smile. Grif certainly knew how to work a situation to his advantage.

  An ugly thought reared, sucking away all the joy of the afternoon from her heart. Of course Grif could work a situation, she thought dryly. She was a perfect example of that. He manipulated people to suit his whims—or his financial needs. The wretchedness she had felt since receiving Edmund’s letter, of Grif’s alleged untruth, washed over her again in a surge of resentment and hurt. She felt as though she were drowning in her own bitterness.

  “We seem to find ourselves quite alone in the garden, my dear,” Grif murmured. “Feel free to kiss me as you wish.”

  “I most certainly am not going to kiss you,” Kyra sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “You are dreadful.”

  Something in her expression seemed to give him pause. “And you are a cheat and a sore loser. And you are most definitely going to kiss me.” Grif studied her face. “But not until you tell me why you’re angry with me.”

  “Hmm,” Kyra retorted, refusing to meet his eyes.

  Grif resettled her in his lap and gently tugged her chin so that she had little choice but to look at him. He stroked her cheek, very tenderly, looking almost...hurt. “You are angry. With me, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “I am not,” Kyra stated, haughtily. “How presumptuous of you to think you have any such effect on my moods.”

  “Kay,” he stated clearly. “I have known you since you were a screeching little horror in a nappy. I’m quite confident that I know when you are angry, especially when that anger seems directed at me.” At her silence, he pushed harder. “Come, Kay. You have been getting more and more cross with me for near a fortnight.”

  “What matter, Grif?” she said lightly. “I have been angry with you before. Many times. You should be used to it.”

  He looked genuinely upset. “This is different. You’ve never seemed...disappointed with me. I find I don’t care for the feeling much at all.”

  His distress seemed sincere enough. Kyra scrutinized her husband’s face, peered into the depths of his sea-green eyes and felt her heart tug. Something in his eyes, something stark and vulnerable, made her resentment and hurt dissipate. How could she think ill of him? He was Grif, after all
.

  Kyra gave him a wan smile. “I’m afraid I’ve allowed myself to indulge in a fit of female histrionics, Grif.”

  “That’s unlike you,” he said with a smirk.

  An idea blossomed in her mind and Kyra gave it wings. Perhaps she could push him toward the truth. If it didn’t solicit the truth from her husband, she could at least gauge his reaction. That in and of itself might be enough to lay her fears to rest.

  * * *

  “We’ve been married months, Grif, and I still have no ring.” She waggled a bare hand in front of his face.

  Grif eyed her skeptically. “I promised it was coming.”

  She was a coward, Kyra told herself. She didn’t give a damn about the ring—she could live out the rest of her days without a bauble from him—but she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask the question that was weighing on her heart. As much as he deserved to be called out, she realized she couldn’t bear the misery scrawled across his face.

  “I would hate to start the Season without some symbol of our union,” she said, trying to wipe away that look. “I don’t want the ton to think we were not in earnest.”

  “I am most assuredly in earnest, Kay.”

  Kyra studied him, waiting for more. When nothing was forthcoming, she said, “I’ll need some new gowns, of course.”

  Grif nodded.

  “And I was thinking that we might redo the drawing room in the London townhome before we take up residence. The green in that room does nothing for my complexion. Actually, I’d like a whole new set of furnishings, if you don’t mind.”

  He cleared his throat, but nodded. “As you wish,” he muttered uncomfortably.

  Gads, he was impossible! Kyra was tired of subtleties. She batted her eyes at him. “You’re so good to me, Ethan.”

  The sound of his Christian name must have alerted him that something was afoot, because she felt him tense beneath her. “What’s mine is yours,” he said haltingly.