Grif stroked her hair and held her for a long moment, letting her cry. When her tears finally slowed, he gently pulled away despite her protest. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Are you—?”
Storm clouds gathered in his eyes as he saw her ruined cheek, her split lip. He shook his head, his jaw tightening. The savagery Kyra saw in his expression caused her to shrink back. He raked his hands through his hair, his breathing getting heavy. He eyed the figure stirring on the floor. When he spoke, Kyra didn’t recognize the voice as his. It was low and menacing. “Find help.” She stared at him, not comprehending. “Now, Kay!”
His tone made her start. As if in a dream she found herself sprinting down the hallway to the ballroom. Her only thought was that her husband was left alone in the library with a dangerous troll.
* * *
Lady Duncan and Mrs. Wooley were having a lovely discussion about the deplorable fashion this year’s debutantes were sporting when Countess Griffin literally crashed into them. Mrs. Wooley screamed and dropped her champagne flute on Lady Duncan’s foot. One look at the young lady’s bloodied face and mangled hair and the two women immediately set to work. Lady Duncan hailed a rather large footman, who, upon hearing the young countess’s tale, ran off down the hall to the library.
By now, enough of a ruckus had been created that most of the east side of the ballroom had turned their attention to the ladies. Charles—the marquess of Montrose and Lady Kyra’s brother-in-law—had made his way over to the countess. As the lady sketched the details for him, his face grew white and pinched.
“Grif was left alone with him?” Charles asked, clearly horrified. At Lady Kyra’s desperate nod, he cursed. Pushing past her, he barked orders to two more footmen, “John, call the Watch. Edward, help me stop the earl of Griffin from killing Lord Brumley.”
Kyra followed them down the hall, unaware of the many pairs of eyes that watched her go. Most of the ladies and gentlemen closest to the library hastened after her. Lady Jacobs, the ton’s most infamous gossip, scampered over to Mrs. Wooley and Lady Duncan, eager to ensure she got all her facts straight from the horses’ mouths. By this time, Sir Thomas Harting had made his way through the crush to the ladies involved. Hearing the story, he lost no time pushing his way down the hall, despite the ladies’ kind invitation to join them for some punch.
Chapter Twenty-One
The scene in the library was a gruesome one indeed. The first footman to have arrived appeared to be nursing a broken nose. Charles and the second footman had managed to pry the earl of Griffin off of Brumley, who was on the floor whimpering softly, and Griffin was swearing and pacing like a caged animal. Upon seeing Kyra return, Grif snarled and threw himself at Brumley again, oblivious to his brother-in-law’s efforts to restrain him. Breaking free from Charles, he launched himself at Brumley, who actually screamed like a woman. Thomas and Charles both tackled the earl, bringing him to the ground in a flurry of fists and oaths and grunts.
“Grif,” Thomas yelled. “Grif! She’s okay. Kay’s fine.”
“He touched her!” Grif bellowed. “Did you see what he did to her face? I am going to kill him!”
“Don’t do this, Grif!” Charles shouted. “Kay is here. Dammit, man, she’s watching all of this.”
That finally seemed to stop him. Slowly his body relaxed and he exhaled heavily. He closed his eyes, allowing his head to thump against the floor. Just as the men pulled themselves to their feet, two men from the Watch entered the library. One was short and thick and balding. The other was tall and thin, with a funny little mustache that he pulled on. They surveyed the scene with a practiced eye.
Charles stood and, straightening his ruined clothing as best he could, approached the men. “Good evening, officers. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“That Lord Brumley?” the portly one asked, pointing to the bloodied mass on the library floor.
“Indeed.” Charles nodded. “You’ll find that he is not, and never has been, on our guest list.”
“Is he still alive?” the thin one asked, looking uncertain.
Charles nodded to John the footman, who quickly ascertained that Brumley was still breathing by nudging him with his toe. The fat one looked at Grif and grunted. “Lucky you didn’t kill him.”
“He touched my wife,” Grif ground out, his head inclined toward Kyra.
The thin one turned to look at her. His eyes widened. Recovering himself quickly, he asked, “Did Lord Brumley attack you?”
On a shaky breath, Kyra nodded. “Yes.”
At the sound of his wife’s quavering voice, Grif snarled and lunged again at Brumley. Thomas and John the footman managed to restrain him. The fat Watch nodded. He crouched over Brumley. “What do you have to say for yourself, milord?”
Brumley half laughed, half sobbed. “She was promised to me. Ask Ashford. Ask him. He told me to come here tonight. He told me I could have her.”
Kyra shook her head when the officer questioned her. “I’ve only met him twice, before tonight. There was never any such arrangement.”
The audience in the hall made quick work of finding Edmund Ashford. Edmund took one look at the scene before him and shook his head in astonishment. “Dem, Grif. You look like hell.” He looked at Kyra, mock concern in his pale green eyes. “My dear, I’m so sorry you were subjected to this unfortunate happening.”
“Lord Ashford,” the thin officer said, “Lord Brumley here claims that you promised Lady Kyra to him, even though she is married to Lord Griffin.”
“Tell them, Edmund,” Brumley sniveled. “Tell them that Kyra and I were engaged. Tell them that she had expressed to you her abiding love for me. That she had agreed to marry me. You promised her to me. Tell them how Griffin ruined her.”
Edmund shook his head, his social mask never wavering. “My dear fellow, I have no idea what you’re rambling on about. My nephew offered for my ward, as is proper, and I happily agreed. As everyone in the ton knows, they are very much in love.”
Brumley howled. “You let me in here tonight! You told me where to find her!”
In three short strides, Edmund was at the man’s side. He backhanded Brumley so hard that the man’s teeth rattled. “How dare you! I would never put Lady Griffin in harm’s way.” He looked at the officers and shook his head. “Clearly the poor man is deranged.”
“Good enough for us,” the fat Watch said. “Come along.” They dragged Brumley to his feet and started toward the door. Brumley smirked as he passed Kyra. “This is not over, my sweet,” he muttered softly. “We will be together!”
Grif was on him in a trice. Shoving him against the wall, he squeezed the man’s throat, ignoring the two Watch officers who were trying to pull him away. “If you ever, ever, so much as look at my wife again,” he hissed, “I will kill you.”
It was Kyra who finally stopped him. Touching her husband’s arm, she said softly, “Ethan. Please.”
Grif didn’t move for a moment then slowly released Brumley, who slumped down the wall to the ground, gasping for air. The Watch scooped him up and, shooting Lord Griffin a wary look, dragged Brumley from the room.
Charles took a deep, steadying breath and stepped into the hallway to face the assembled peerage who had witnessed the debacle. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said imperiously, “thank you all for your concern. Lord and Lady Griffin are well and the house is being secured as we speak. Please, feel free to return to your evening.”
The crowd slowly retreated back to the ballroom like a human tidal wave. Patricia and Annabelle scrabbled against the tide, dragging Dr. Foley in tow. One look at Kyra and Grif, and Annabelle burst into tears, pulling both of them into a huge embrace. Patricia hugged Charles, who quietly reassured his wife that everyone was all right.
Grif noticed a figure discreetly edging toward the exit. He directed Dr. Foley and
Annabelle to tend to Kyra, then grabbed his uncle by the elbow and led him out of earshot. “You orchestrated this whole fiasco,” Grif accused.
Edmund shrugged Grif off, his eyes wide with mock innocence. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about, nephew. Brumley is obviously insane.”
Grif glared at him and hissed, “You knew that and you sicced him on Kay. Why?”
“Why?” Edmund repeated. He leaned in toward Grif and his expression darkened. “Consider this a little reminder of what happens when you disobey me. You have utterly neglected your duties of late. You’ve not even had the courtesy to respond to my note regarding that little ‘problem’ I’m having in Kent. Very rude of you.”
“I told you,” Grif said through his teeth, “I want out.”
“And I told you that you have a job to do.” Edmund clucked. “The sheriff in Harwich isn’t going to bribe himself.”
Grif wanted to throttle his uncle with his bare hands. “I don’t need your money anymore, Edmund. What if I simply refuse?”
Edmund nodded. “You could, of course, but then I’d have to make sure that certain damning documents make it into the wrong hands. You know, Grif, I think I could produce enough evidence linking you to your illicit activities that you would be brought before a magistrate.”
“You mean your illicit activities,” Grif retorted.
“I’m merely the hand holding the sword,” Edmund said. “Fortunately, my name doesn’t appear on any of those documents. Besides, I have several, well, let’s call them friends, in the courts.”
Grif shook his head in disgust. “Blackmailing magistrates now?”
Edmund shrugged. “I may have a bit of influence with one or two.” The corners of Edmund’s mouth twitched. “Lucky for Kyra you were here tonight, Grif. I’d hate to think what might have happened if you weren’t around to protect your lovely wife. Oh, dear,” he said with feigned innocence. “What might happen if you did go to prison? I certainly hope Brumley isn’t free and clear before you.”
Grif could barely contain his vitriol. “Do not threaten my wife.”
Edmund smirked. “Then act like the good little lapdog you were trained to be.”
“One more job,” Grif said, his voice a soft menace. “Then we’re through.”
“We are through—” Edmund sniffed, “—when I say we’re through. Tell me, nephew, has your wife figured out yet that she purchased you? I wonder if it bothers her to know she bought your affections. I imagine something like that could be hard for a young bride to get over, especially as yours was a love match. Hell, Grif, it is the love match of the decade.” He raised his brow skeptically. “I hope she finds you worth it.”
Grif scowled at him. “Don’t,” he said.
“And what of your, er, occupation, Grif?” Edmund continued. “I’m guessing you haven’t told your wife what it is you do to make a living. I’m sure you understand that little piece of information would scandalize your wife, not to mention Society at large. Let’s hope word never gets out.”
Edmund patted Grif’s tight cheek, hard. “You know, Grif, you making a love match was probably the best thing for me. I have so many new ways to motivate you. No, dear boy, you’ll do as I say for a long, long time.”
“You planned this from the start,” Grif said quietly, understanding dawning. “You knew I had an affection for Kay even before you sent me after her.”
“Oh, don’t be sore.” Edmund smiled brightly. “We both got exactly what we wanted. You got the girl and I got you.”
Grif watched him go, fuming silently. Once again, he was trapped by his uncle’s machinations. He would love to beat Edmund as savagely as he had just beaten Brumley, but he had other concerns to tend to first. He turned back to the rest of his family, who were all fussing over Kay. She looked exhausted. Her cheek was plastered, though her lip was still swollen and bleeding. Annabelle was fumbling with Kay’s hair, combing the snarls out of it, and cooing to her like she did to her children.
Seeing her hurt tore his heart to shreds. She looked so pale, so vulnerable. He wanted her home, safe in their room, where he could lock her away from trolls and gossip and Edmund. He crossed to her in a few strides, intending to pick her up and carry her out to the carriage. Half a dozen pairs of eyes stopped him, however.
It was Kyra who voiced the group’s collective thought. “It’s your turn with the good doctor, Grif.”
He tried to protest, but both his sisters glared him down. “Fine,” he capitulated. “But only if Patricia and Charles get back to their guests. There’s been enough scandal for the night.”
Charles rose. “Grif is right. We need to stay ahead of the gossips. Grif and Kay will be fine, Tricia,” he said to his protesting wife, who was clucking over her brother’s bloody shirt. He inclined his head to Grif. “I took the liberty of having the maids prepare a room for you, should you choose to stay. For you as well, Mr. Harting.”
“Thank you, Montrose,” Grif said, grateful that his brother-in-law was as urbane as he was. Charles would be able to manage the gossips’ tongues with a politesse and sophistication Grif knew he himself did not possess. He’d pretty well shown the ton that he was more savage than civilized.
Dr. Foley examined Grif, finding him to have a few bruised ribs, scraped knuckles and several facial lacerations. Other than a few lumps and bumps, he would be fine. Grif knew he must be a rather fearful sight. He could feel his left eye swelling shut, and he was pretty sure his nose was cut above the bridge. One glance at his wife, however, and he knew he would suffer far worse for her.
It felt like an eternity, but finally he was sufficiently fussed over to satisfy his wife, his sister and his friend. After much arguing, he managed to send Annabelle and Thomas back to the ball, leaving him alone with Kyra at last.
He pulled her onto his lap, gathered her to his chest and stroked her hair. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Kyra sniffed but nodded into his chest. They sat for a long time in silence, just holding each other. At long last he asked, “Do you want to stay?”
“I’d like to go home,” she said quietly. “Please.”
Grif nodded and hoisted himself up, keeping her cradled in his arms. At his request, the footman stationed outside of the library ran to have the groom bring their carriage ’round to the servants’ quarters. While they waited, Grif wrapped his wife’s cloak over her to give her some protection from the cool night air. Kyra must have dozed off, he realized as he carried her down the steps to the carriage. Once settled inside, he rapped the roof to tell the driver they were ready.
Kay stirred in his arms as the carriage jostled down the cobbled street. He kissed her forehead, running a finger down the bandage on her cheek. The thought of what Brumley might have done had he not shown up when he did made his stomach roil.
Edmund was right: Kyra made him vulnerable.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she silently assessed him for a long moment. “It’s true, isn’t it? You are bankrupt.”
Grif nodded, unable to admit the truth out loud.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked sadly.
He considered for a while, weighing his answer. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I didn’t want you to think—”
Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to finish the statement.
“You’re not the type of man who marries his way out of debt,” Kyra whispered, nodding in understanding. “But I wish you had trusted me to understand.”
“Would it have made a difference, Kay?” Grif asked, suddenly exhausted by it all. “Had you known, would you have agreed to marry me? Knowing the truth now, will you ever look at me without wondering if I married you or your money?”
She opened her mouth, but then changed her mind. After studying him for what felt like an eternity, she shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered tr
uthfully.
Hearts didn’t break, Grif suddenly understood. They shattered. And it hurt much more than he expected. To know that Kyra had no faith in him destroyed his every hope. Why should she? he chastised himself. He had destroyed any trust she might have had. Without trust, he had lost the opportunity to convince her he loved her.
“I have to go away for a while, Kay,” he said quietly.
Kay nodded. “I saw you talking to Edmund. Is it something to do with him?” At his prolonged silence, she finally asked, “How long will you be gone?”
Grif sighed. “I don’t know.”
“When do you leave?” she asked, snuggling into him.
“Next week,” he answered.
“I’ll miss you, Grif,” she murmured against his chest.
It was enough to shatter his heart all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kyra stared at her reflection in the mirror. It had been nearly a week, but there was still evidence of Brumley’s damage. The doctor had assured her that the cut on her cheek was mending nicely. He even believed she stood a good chance of not scarring. Her lip, however, was still an ugly mess. It was swollen and lumpy on the top, giving her an odd resemblance to a picture of a warthog she had once seen. Worse, it was several different colors of puce, blue and, horrifyingly enough, chartreuse. It was impossible to choose a gown that wouldn’t clash with it. Covering it with makeup was out of the question, not just because it would take an entire pot of lip color to cover it but because the huge gash that split the top lip still hurt to the touch.
She shouldn’t grouse, she scolded her reflection. Taking down her hair, she began brushing it vigorously. Grif fared much worse. His left eye was still swollen, the bridge of his nose had a deep cut across the top (which the doctor thought would scar) and his face was various ugly shades of gray and purple. They made quite a sight.
Thank heavens he’d come when he did, she thought to herself for what was likely the thousandth time. Kay shuddered and stopped her brush. If she hadn’t gotten help, Grif might have killed him. The awful image of Grif choking Brumley appeared again in her mind’s eye, as it had so often. No, she amended, Grif would have killed him. No doubt. And then Grif would have been the one in a cell, not Brumley.
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