“What brings you back to Clearview, Mr. Crawford?” The gentleman inquired with interest.
The pair clearly stayed away from London society, or they’d have known that Caleb was in fact the Duke of Camberly and not the mere Mr. Crawford they’d known. Sticking to the role he himself was meant to play now, Griffin said, “Clearview still needs a few extra touches. When I left and married Mary, I promised Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra that I would return at the first available opportunity in order to see to it.”
“You must join us for dinner one evening,” the young lady said when Griffin had finished explaining his reason for coming to Clearview and why his ‘wife’ had not joined him. “It would allow us the opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“Indeed,” her brother murmured, his warm gaze fixed on Miss Howard in a way that caused Griffin to ball his hands into tight fists.
He deliberately flexed his fingers, tamping down the rising tension inside him, and turned to Miss Howard. Her lips were set in a firm line and although the edges were drawn up as if in a smile, he wasn’t fooled. Something was bothering her, though he wasn’t sure what.
Perhaps the invitation?
He prepared to offer their regrets when she accepted with a nod and a hastily spoken, “Thank you. That sounds lovely.”
“Would Friday evening at six suit you?” the young lady asked, her eagerness to entertain them bubbling around her words.
Miss Howard’s smile stretched in a way that caused Griffin to wince with discomfort. “Yes,” she said. “We look forward to it already.” They parted ways, with Miss Howard and Griffin continuing toward the inn where they had initially agreed to meet.
After going a few paces, Miss Howard glanced over her shoulder before quietly saying, “I’m sorry, but I could think of no reasonable way in which to tell you that the lady and gentleman with whom we were speaking just now were Mr. David Partridge and his sister, Miss Amanda Partridge.”
“His interest in you was very apparent,” Griffin said, not liking the clipped undertone sharpening his words.
“I could say the same of the attention Miss Partridge paid you. It was highly inappropriate, considering she believes you to be a married man.”
The tightness in Miss Howard’s voice gave Griffin pause. It struck a chord with which he could all too easily relate, and while he liked the idea of her getting slightly jealous, he did not want to believe that he might be susceptible to such an emotion himself.
Discomforted by this line of thinking, Griffin chose to circle back to the subject of Miss Howard and Mr. Partridge. “Perhaps you ought to flirt with him a little.”
Where the hell did that suggestion come from?
Even as he said it, he felt his nerves pinch together tightly with displeasure.
“I beg your pardon?”
Begging his pardon was right, but for some unfathomable reason, Griffin’s mouth had detached itself from his brain. “If you wish to marry…” shut up, you fool “…I daresay you could do worse.” Oh hell. He knew he’d jammed his entire boot down his throat when he heard her sharp inhalation. When he realized she’d ceased walking, he stopped and turned hesitantly toward her, only to curse himself for the cad that he was.
Indignation burned in her eyes, brighter than the pain which she failed to hide from him completely. But she did tilt her chin and she did square her shoulders, for which he could only applaud her. And then she stepped toward him and for some peculiar reason, he felt like a small boy about to be soundly told off. He wasn’t completely wrong to feel that way, he realized, for the words she spoke next made him feel half as tall as he actually was and less of the man he wanted to be.
“The fact that I might want to experience kissing does not mean I long to get married. I do not sit about pining for a husband, nor do I think of each man that I meet as a potential match.” She inhaled deeply. “I certainly never considered you in that way, and we have done more than exchange a few words with each other.”
Griffin blinked. “But you kissed me.”
She glanced up at the sky, and he realized in that instant that he was about to feel even smaller than he already did. “Actually, if you will recall, you kissed me. My intention was to share my first kiss with Mr. Bale. And so I probably would have if you hadn’t chosen to interfere.”
“I only did what I thought was right,” Griffin said. The memory of how she’d looked together with Mr. Bale made his teeth gnash in annoyance. “And when I realized what I’d done, I did what I could in order to fix it.”
“By providing me with the sort of demonstration that even a nun would find boring.”
Christ!
Griffin straightened his spine. His pride was taking a beating, and it was high time for it to stop. “Anything else would have been both ungentlemanly and unforgiveable.” What he would not tell her was that he’d been sorely tempted to give her precisely the sort of kiss she craved.
She closed her eyes briefly and pushed out a breath. “Quite so.” A nod followed as if to underscore her approval of her own statement, and then she continued walking.
Griffin stared after her for a second before hurrying to catch up. “What do you mean by that?”
They passed the inn and continued toward the road leading back to Clearview. She shrugged. “It no longer matters.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
Griffin didn’t believe her, but since he did not feel like arguing any more, he let the matter rest. Instead, he told her of the paint and the brushes he’d bought. Everything would be delivered the next morning, and as they walked home, he decided that painting the rooms at Clearview would not only help explain his presence, but would also offer the perfect distraction from Miss Howard and all the tumultuous feelings she stirred in him.
Flirt with Mr. Partridge.
That was Lord Griffin’s suggestion?
Emily moved about the kitchen, putting away her shopping with jerky movements while cursing the stupid man who’d somehow managed to make himself her houseguest for the foreseeable future.
His comment had bothered her to no end, partly because it had not been as misplaced as she’d insisted, but mostly because she didn’t want him to think of her as some desperate woman ready to leap at even the slimmest chance of forming an attachment. And to be fair, Mr. Partridge, however kind he might be, would hardly set his sights on a spinster without a dowry or any other advantageous incentive to warrant a proposal of marriage.
Not that she wanted him to.
In truth, if she were being brutally honest with herself, she would rather have Lord Griffin’s attention. Which was yet another reason for her increased irritability—namely his effort to push her toward another man.
Even though her chance of ever becoming more to him than the forward woman who inappropriately tried to secure a kiss from a man she had no intention of entering into a courtship with was possibly slimmer than it was with Mr. Partridge. As evidenced by the fact that Lord Griffin had made it abundantly clear that he and she would not be engaging in any more kissing. At least not with each other.
She blew out a frustrated breath and leaned against the pantry door. The opportunity to experience a bit of passion had never been more available to her than now. A pity then that the man with whom she was able to experience it had seemingly little interest in her. But to let herself fixate on the issue would lead her nowhere, so she pushed away from the door and went to select a few herbs for the roast she planned on preparing for dinner.
When she returned to the kitchen, Lord Griffin was there, lounging in one of the chairs with casual abandon and looking as handsome as ever. Emily set her jaw. She could not afford to want him. Not when the last thing she wished to experience was disappointment and regret over his eventual departure. So she squared her shoulders and went to collect a bowl in which to rinse the herbs.
“You’re still upset with me,” he said after a moment of silence.
; Emily dried off the herbs and placed them on a cutting board. She absolutely refused to look at him directly, for she knew that if she did, her knees would grow weak and her stomach flip over. “No. I’m not.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Of course.” She grabbed a knife and proceeded to chop the herbs into miniscule pieces. “And I apologize. For overreacting earlier when you were simply trying to be helpful.”
He said nothing to this, and the sudden temptation to glance at him and read his expression was overwhelming. She marveled over her ability to resist it as she set about starting a fire in the hearth. When he offered to help, she allowed it and quickly gave her attention to rubbing the chopped herbs, salt and pepper into the roast.
“I realized when I was preparing the parlor for painting tomorrow that this clock is no longer working,” he said a while later, breaking the silence.
Reflexively, Emily looked at Lord Griffin properly for the first time since entering the kitchen. The effect he had on her was just as visceral as she’d predicted it would be, and as a result, she found herself gripping the roast more firmly in a futile effort to steady herself. Whatever preparing the parlor for painting had entailed, it had caused his hair to get mussed. Haphazard locks shot upward in opposite directions while one fell randomly over his brow. It ought to have made him look ridiculous. Instead, it made him more attractive than ever.
And that was without considering the scruffy twist of his loosened cravat, the fact that his jacket was missing and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Emily swallowed as her gaze swept over the dark dusting of hair on his forearms. Of course, she’d seen a lot more of him last night after they’d arrived and he’d been wearing nothing but a blanket, but the state of abandon with which he presented himself right now – the awareness that his appearance resulted from physical work – held greater appeal.
A movement drew her attention to his hands and the clock he was holding. “Oh. Right.” She dropped her gaze to the roast and chastised herself for fawning over him like a nitwit. “My grandmother gave that to me for my tenth birthday. It was one of the few things I chose to bring with me when I came to live here. Even though it no longer responds to getting wound up, I keep it on display for sentimental reasons.”
“If you like, I believe I am able to fix it for you.”
In spite of her effort to maintain composure, Emily’s eyes began to sting. Determined to hide it, she set about fetching a metal rod and spearing it through the roast. “Thank you,” she said when she felt herself able to speak without her voice cracking. “I would be grateful for that.”
He said nothing more for a while. And then she heard his chair scrape across the floor as if he were getting up. “I’ll get started on it right away then. Please let me know when dinner is ready and…if there’s anything else you would like me to help you with while I am here.”
Emily could only nod in response. She was far too overcome for anything else.
7
Dusk forced Griffin to light a candle in order to better see the tiny pins, wheels, and other mechanical parts of the clock. From what he’d discovered after removing the movement from the housing, the power from the mainspring was unable to flow through the gears on account of the teeth being jammed too tightly together.
This would be a relatively simple fix. A trickier task would be to pre-load the tiny balance wheel spring which had come loose and add the right amount of tension to it. He would have to remove the regulator and balance cock in order to gain access, and this would most likely require an additional trip into town since he’d need some specific tools.
For the moment, Griffin added some gentle pressure to one of the stuck cogs. When it popped free with a click, he rotated it slowly to make sure the teeth were moving easily between each other once more. Oiling them would probably be a good idea, as would a proper cleaning.
He set the movement down and prepared to go and ask Miss Howard if she had any oil available, when a knock at the front door made him pause. He stepped out into the hallway just as Miss Howard arrived from the kitchen. She gestured for him to return to the dining room where he’d been working, and he did so, easing the door shut behind him until a thin gap remained between it and the frame, allowing him to see who had come to call.
With a swift glance over her shoulder, Miss Howard went to open the front door just as another knock fell against it. She eased it open to reveal a young man with flushed cheeks and a cap pressed down over his forehead. “Letters from the Duke of Camberly and Mrs. Howard,” he said.
Miss Howard took the letters, appeared to study them for a moment, then asked the man to wait. She went to collect a coin which she then handed to the messenger with her thanks.
He wished her a pleasant evening and departed, leaving Miss Howard alone in the hallway. Slowly, as if her mind was too busy for hasty movement, she closed the door and turned to face Griffin, who’d stepped back into the hallway.
“I think this must be for you,” she said, handing him one of the letters. No recipient was specified, only the address, and since it was from his brother, Griffin believed she was probably right in her assumption.
“Thank you.” Letter in hand, Griffin followed Miss Howard into the kitchen where the most delicious aroma now filled the air. His stomach grumbled in response, and he realized that he was quite ravenous. “Whatever it is you’re cooking, it smells incredible.”
She answered his compliment with a grin. “I added some cinnamon to the root vegetables in the oven. Together with the roast meat and other spices and herbs, it creates both an aromatic scent and flavor.”
“I can’t wait to taste it,” Griffin told her honestly as he dropped into one of the chairs, stretched out his legs and tore the seal of his letter.
“And so you shall very soon. Dinner ought to be ready within ten minutes.” She turned away from him slightly and gave her attention to the letter she’d just received. Griffin could tell by Miss Howard’s stance and by her hesitation to tear it open that she was reluctant to learn of its contents.
So he decided to offer her privacy and returned his attention to his own correspondence. Unfolding the piece of paper, Griffin stared down at Caleb’s bold script as it came into view. There were only a few brief lines, but they were enough to make Caleb’s muscles draw tight with agitated concern.
* * *
Griffin,
I trust that you and Miss Howard have arrived safely at Clearview. As commendable as your escort of her may be, however, I must point out that it is not without consequence. Having discussed the matter with her parents, we have concluded that the only way forward is for the two of you to marry. Any other solution would risk a permanent blemish on not only her reputation, but that of her unmarried sister as well. With this in mind, I have proposed a house party at Montvale, commencing on the seventeenth. Marrying there will ensure the privacy I’m sure you prefer.
I offer my sincerest apologies if this news is not to your liking and look forward to seeing you soon.
Caleb.
* * *
Griffin re-read the letter twice before letting it fall to the table. He glanced across at Miss Howard whose shoulders now held a stiffness to them that suggested her letter was equally unpleasant.
Seeing no point in hiding the contents of his own letter, he told her plainly, “My brother says we must marry.”
Startled, she let out a gasp and spun toward him. Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted as if it surprised her to find him there. She blinked and considered the piece of paper still clutched in her hand before setting it aside on the counter. Inhaling deeply, she then began taking the roast off the spit and removing the vegetables from the oven.
Griffin watched her stiff movements and considered the sharpness with which she sliced the meat a few minutes later. Her lips were now pressed firmly together, her chest rising and falling as if it took immense effort for her to contain her emotions. Eyes flashing, she scooped th
e vegetables into a bowl and set it down hard on the table. Her hands went to her hips as she glared at him with undeniable anger.
“My parents insist on the same.” She spun away, collected the serving dish holding the meat and placed it in front of Griffin before sitting down with a jolt. “We must explain to them how unnecessary it would be. You…” She pointed her finger at him as if he were to blame for the current mess they were in. “You must return to London and talk some sense into your brother. Explain to him that I haven’t been compromised, that we have taken precautions, and that there’s no reason for anyone to find fault with your staying here with me. For God’s sake, I have been living separate from my parents for several years. To think that my reputation could possibly be so easily endangered at this point is nothing short of silly.”
“I believe my brother and your parents disagree,” Griffin muttered. He stared back at her, at her horrified expression and the stubborn set of her jaw. She would fight this. Of that he had no doubt. And for some peculiar reason, this bothered him more than he cared to consider. “If you recall, I also warned you it would come to this.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But it is preposterous!” She shook her head and proceeded to serve him, the rising mountain of food on his plate a testament to her scattered thoughts. When no additional vegetables would fit, she sat back and blew out a breath. “I would understand it if I were a debutante or if all of London had witnessed our kiss, but since neither is the case, I simply refuse to accept a solution as drastic as marriage.”
Griffin nodded. “I must confess I agree.” Slowly, he returned some of the vegetables to the bowl and two slices of meat to the serving dish.
“Of course you do,” Miss Howard said with a burst of emotion. “You must return to Vienna. Getting married and staying in England would hardly work in your favor.” Her brow puckered as she started serving herself. “Perhaps you ought to leave directly from here.”
More Than a Rogue Page 8