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Fourteen

GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

TOM

Another night, another ball. At least this was Kate’s and she had been able to guilt Mrs. Hudson from her retirement to cook for the event.

Hugh regretted his poor performance during the first ball his wife hosted so he had a tendency to glue himself to her side during these events. Which left the study for Michael to commandeer until the lure of his wife became too great.

Kate’s guest selection tended to include those she generally liked, regardless of station, so the company was nearly always better than it was at other events. My only concern was her propensity toward matchmaking.

If I hid in the study drinking jovially with Michael, Kit, and Augie… Well, that was an hour or two less for Kate to throw me at her unwed friends.

But when Mr. Hart arrived, Michael made quite a mess of that interaction. It was too painful to watch, and I was forced to abandon him to his shame.

A quick glance in the ballroom confirmed I had no interest in any of what was happening there. Instead, I trailed listlessly down the halls, then climbed the steps unnoticed to the family wing.

Mine was the second door on the left, as it had always been. There was the familiar nick in the oaken wood beside the brass handle where I had drunkenly attempted to unlock the already unlocked door with a penknife at sixteen.

The absence of dust over the mahogany dresser and clean grey bed linens reflected the addition of several members of the staff with the improved financial situation of the estate. But the fundamentals were unchanged. Small writing desk below the window, too-large wardrobe beside it, dresser across from the too-small bed—all precisely as I had left them.

Absently, I traced a finger across the dresser, obstructed only by a few knickknacks. A cufflink box that contained precisely one cufflink, the other lost to the ages. A tin soldier, half melted in an ill-conceived experiment with Hugh and a magnifying glass. A wooden token Michael once allowed me to win off him in a game of hazard. The old penknife responsible for the nick in the door—father’s.

Whispers of the orchestra below floated along the corridor and up the stairs, offering the suggestion of an evening’s occupation.

Disinterested, I flopped down on the bed. As always, my feet hit the board, even with my knees bent. Christ, I really was a damned cricket.

I curled up on my side facing the window. The moon was bright and low, just kissing the roofs of the homes behind us. It was a lovely night for Kate’s ball. At least she would be pleased. There was no threat of rain to dampen the evening, nor wind to muss hair and gowns.

Crickets or grasshoppers—I suppose as a cricket myself I ought to be able to differentiate, but I couldn’t—joined with musicians below. The effect was surprisingly lovely. I was content to listen to the strange, beautiful amalgamation of man and nature and watch the moon rise in my too-short bed. It was a more pleasant fate than what awaited me downstairs. Hours of pointless chatter with ladies whose hopes I would dash—no, I would delay that as long as possible.

The night was so still that I actually startled when one of the small treetops swayed. Just the one…

It was a significant enough change to have me unfurling from the bed in favor of whatever intrigue was happening below.

A jolt went through me. Awareness, hot and live, danced along my spine. Rosehill, in all of his orderly perfection, leaned heavily against the very tree—barely more than a sapling.

I was halfway out the door before I realized I’d made the decision. The servants’ staircase was a safer bet than the main for such an endeavor and I slipped out through the kitchens.

It was the work of but a moment to turn the corner. And there he was, even more handsome without glass and distance between us.

His head was tipped back, crown resting against the thin trunk. Above him, deep in the branches, a bird released a little two-note song.

I crossed the small lawn to him.

“I already feel ridiculous, you do not need to laugh at me,” he muttered under his breath.

My feet planted in the damp grass, parsing the previous moment for any hint of laughter.

The bird let out another little high-low chirp and understanding dawned. Its song did sound like laughter.

I cleared my throat. The effect was instantaneous. Rosehill jumped perhaps half a foot in the air, his hand jolting to his chest as his gaze snapped to mine.

“Sorry,” I whispered sheepishly.

“You!” It was too loud to be considered a whisper, but the tone was there.

“Me?”

He shook his head, hand dragging along his chest and stomach before finding his side. The effect was entirely too enticing to have been an unconscious maneuver.

“You do not know this yet, but once you reach a certain age, you’re at risk of one good fright stopping your heart entirely and it just not starting again.”

“I’m almost certain that’s not true.” I took another step toward him, keeping my movements slow so as not to startle him again.

“Well, it certainly feels that way.”

There was a hint between his words about how it was my presence that made him feel that way. It was certainly true of his effect on me. But we weren’t there—not yet.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I had no idea you were in attendance.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be. I sent my regrets because I thought to be finalizing my trip. But then…”

“Then?” I breathed.

“Then this morning.”

Nothing in the world could have restrained my smile, nor another step halving the distance between us.

“Is your sister off causing mischief somewhere?”

“No, she is actually quite cross with me. I told her I could not attend and mother was otherwise occupied. I expect she’ll never forgive me when she finds out. We can only hope I’ll be safely in Scotland by then.”

“So you’re here alone.” It was a redundant statement, but Christ, I wanted to hear him say it. “No other responsibilities?”

“Oh, I have plenty of responsibilities. I’m just neglecting all of them in favor of… this.”

Another step. It was too close for propriety and I’d never cared less.

“Good.”

His gaze flicked to the French doors opening off one of the retiring rooms. “Someone could come out.”

“I’d offer my room upstairs. But I expect you’d say no.”

“I would, but it would be a hardship to do so.” His fingers twisted into a knot in front of him. I was so close that a knuckle brushed my stomach. The muscles danced in answer.

“Damn. I should have asked.” I caught one of the gloved hands in mine, then pulled him to the side yard opposite of the kitchens. Urging him toward the little wrought iron table that abutted a backless bench. It must have been Kate’s addition because it hadn’t been there in my youth. God bless Kate .

“There, we’ll have warning if anyone slips outside.” I pressed him down on the bench, not releasing his hand. I threw a leg over the bench and plopped down beside him as though astride a horse.

“You’re much bolder tonight,” he commented.

I shrugged. “You know now. The motivation of all of my fumblings is readily apparent.”

“And that was all it took to erase the fumblings?”

“You’re here. You’re here to see me.” I felt the smile overtake my face, wide and bright, deepening when he groaned, his head tipping back to the sky.

“Don’t,” I said, tugging at the hand I’d claimed. “I’m glad you came. So, so glad.”

His head hinged back up to meet my gaze. His lips were tipped to one side, hiding the smile beneath.

For no other reason than because I wanted to, I caught the tip of his forefinger and dragged the glove down. Then the middle. The ring. Littlest. Thumb. I caught his gaze, waiting for protest. When he was silent, I worked the glove off of his hand and dropped it on his knee.

Bare skin met for the first time in weeks as our fingertips touched. My heart was set to explode. Was this what he meant before—about a heart stopping and never starting again? It would be worth it.

A glance at his face showed he was just as infatuated with the sight and sensation of our fingers as I was. And when his fingers slotted with mine, it trapped my breath in my chest. When those fingers closed on mine, and our palms kissed, the breath escaped in a rush.

“I cannot believe you’re here,” I said.

He shook his head and a lock of hair escaped his precise grooming efforts. “I shouldn’t be.”

That strand—it called to me. With my free hand, I brushed it back to join the rest while my heart clenched on nothing. “Don’t say that. Let me have tonight—let us have tonight. Be a duke tomorrow. Be with me tonight. One more night.”

His tongue darted between his lips. “All right, tomorrow.”

“That was easy.”

“I said I shouldn’t be here, not that I didn’t want to be.”

With that confirmation, I set about removing the other glove with far less hesitance than the first. Though, performing the task entirely with my left hand slowed the process slightly.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, “about what you said that night, about how you see the world? I think it’s probably a little like right now. The dark, with only the moon—it washes away the reds and greens. It leaves the blues and grays behind. It’s not perfect, and it’s hard to keep my head from correcting the color on its own. But it’s my best guess of what your world is like.”

“It is?”

He pointed to the house. A few new rose bushes bloomed against the wall. “Those are red, I’m almost certain. Mostly because Lady Grayson seems to have a preference for red roses. But they’re kind of brown in the blue moonlight.”

“Dull, isn’t it?” I teased.

“Not at all. It’s rather… enchanting.”

“Well, that’s unreasonably kind.”

“I paint. With watercolors. I’ve been working on a landscape for weeks that just wasn’t quite right. And now I know why. It needed a brush of moonlight.”

“You paint?”

“Not with any particular skill. But it passes the time,” he said, brushing away the thought with his free hand.

“I’m absolutely certain that isn’t true.”

“Oh, it is. I’ve seen the greats. I own a few myself. I have an excellent understanding of my own talents and they are middling at best.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, rearing back, incredulous.

“Now I’m dying to see something,”

“No one sees my work,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not very good. I’ve told you.”

“That’s a subjective measure.”

“It is objectively not very good. And it’s not false modesty. I’ve been reliably informed that they’re nothing special.”

“By whom? You just said no one sees your work.”

His eyes slipped shut as he tipped his head back, lip trapped between his teeth. Just as suddenly, all the tension escaped in a great sigh. It was completely ridiculous to find that as arousing as I did. But thoughts of other situations where he might release such an explosion of tightness came without bidding.

“My father. So you see, if my own father could find nothing worthy of praise within them, they are truly not anything worth viewing.”

It wasn’t the first time I’d wanted to throttle a dead man, but it was the first time that man wasn’t my father. “My father found nothing worthy of praise in Michael. Father allowed him to be mistreated by my mother and Hugh. And when my father died, Michael cleaned up the mess he left behind, far better than he could have managed on his own. Fathers don’t know everything.”

“What?”

“Father left the viscounty with nothing. We were weeks, perhaps days from losing it all. And in a few years, Michael brought it back to a thriving estate, all in Hugh’s name. When Hugh came of age, Michael handed it off without a word and built Wayland’s. Then Hugh, the heir, the true-born first son, ran it back into the ground. Tell me, was my father right?”

Xander’s brow furrowed, considering me. “I… I had no idea.”

“No one did. Once Hugh sorted up from down in the mess of ledgers, we had to borrow from Michael again. Hugh and I have been able to make some improvements to the estate, but it will still be some years before we can begin to repay him. Not that he will accept, of course.”

He’d never said as such, but Michael had an odd sort of pride. And as much as he enjoyed bankrupting the titled, he would never allow the loan to be repaid. He had created a separate account for me after Father died. It gave me the means to live independently, even after everything fell apart. I had no doubt he’d begun doing the same for little Henry and any other babies Grayson that came along.

“I can see now why a lady would prefer scandal with Wayland to a respectable life with me.”

It took a moment to grasp his meaning, but when I did, it was with a laugh.

“If I’m honest, you two might have suited each other. You may have been happy together, at least as happy as it is possible to be under such circumstances. But those two… Well, Hugh and Kate got on like oil and water when they first married. But Jules and Michael? They complement each other, make each other better. I’m sorry to say, but once he gave her a book it was only a matter of time.”

“I could’ve given her a book,” he murmured defensively under his breath.

“I should also apologize for my part in it.”

“What part?”

“In my defense, I urged her to consider carefully before choosing Michael. But… I can’t say that I encouraged her to choose you either. And I certainly provided moral support when she decided to take a torch to her old life.”

“Oh, so it is you I should blame for my humiliation?” he grumbled. In spite of the overtone, I could hear the smile beneath.

“I accept full responsibility for my part in it. But how could I be expected to encourage her to wed you? I was aflutter with boyish feelings. I couldn’t very well see you married to another.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“That I couldn’t see you wed to another? It would have been devastating. It will be devastating, one day.”

“Tom… This isn’t?—”

I couldn’t bear to hear him finish that sentence. To tell me that this—whatever it was—wasn’t worth being devastated over. “One thing I never understood. How did it come about? The engagement?”

His eyes slipped shut and he shook his head. “Oh, that. Only the worst thing I’ve ever done. Would you like a list of my other sins as well?”

“Honestly? Yes. I want to know anything you’ll tell me.”

He passed over that opening, instead rushing to explain. “There have been rumors of some form or another for as long as I can remember. It probably started when I was in school. I don’t rightfully know. Regardless, once Gabriel passed and it was clear Cee wasn’t with child, Father demanded I wed. There were brief courtships. Nothing serious enough to be noteworthy by the ton . Then there was Lady Charlotte.”

“Lady Charlotte James?” That must have been before I was moving in society. “Was she less of a shrew then?”

“She wasn’t—hasn’t… Her father—She hasn’t had it as easy as everyone thinks. Her father is cruel. Rumors must have made it back to him because when I went to speak with her father, he made it quite clear that he would never consent to a match with a molly. And that I wasn’t to speak to his daughter ever again or he would expose me.”

“So you never spoke to her again?”

“What else could I do? A few weeks later, she was wed to Lord James. And quite clearly unhappy about it. She may have been after me for my title and wealth, but I was using her as well.

“After that, the rumors only got worse. I’m not—I don’t behave the way a duke ought. I’m titled and wealthy, but I’m not popular. People are happy to gossip. And somehow Westfield, desperate for cash, heard the gossip. He came to me with an offer—an ultimatum. Wed his daughter, pay his debts, and he would keep his trap shut.

“It seemed that once she had finished caring for her stepmother’s illness, he no longer had a use for Juliet. She was another mouth to feed and a dowry to pay—one he had gambled away. He thought to use me to kill two birds with one stone. And Juliet… You’re right, we would have suited. A marriage to her would solve my problems as well. And until she came to me to end the engagement, I’m afraid she wasn’t a person so much as a solution to a problem.

“I’m not proud of it, if you were wondering. I’m ashamed.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you were. And she never, not once, blamed you for the situation.”

“She wouldn’t. She’s far too kind to survive in my family. Mother and Dav would’ve walked all over her. Cee, too, probably. Though she would’ve been nicer about it.” He chuckled at the thought.

“She’s stronger than most people know. Her father…”

“Yes, that was a shock. I honestly thought she’d run to Gretna Green before she’d do something like that .”

“Oh, she certainly would have. But Michael was licking his wounds in the silver hells,” I said, grinning at the memory of my scotch-soaked brother learning of his future wife’s plan.

“Well, I suppose she allowed me a little more dignity than the alternative.”

“What do you plan to do then? About a wife? And an heir?”

“Nothing. The estate and title will pass to some second cousin or other. I hope to outlive Mother and see Dav settled. But I’ve arranged funds for them if that turns out not to be the case. Cee as well, though I think Will may have been offended at the notion. And he’s the only contender for her affections in years.”

“So just… nothing at all?”

“Precisely. I’ve ruined one lady’s life and nearly done the same to another. I think that’s more than enough for one lifetime. I do not need to devastate a third.”

“And your legacy?”

“Legacy is hogwash made up by people who’ve built nothing, earned nothing, saved nothing, done nothing worthwhile in their lives. All to make themselves feel better about the utter banality of their existence. Look at them in there,” he said, gesturing to the house. “They were placed where they are by luck, happenstance. They were born to privilege and power by chance and think they’ve earned it.

“My father wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t intelligent, or benevolent, or kind. He was manipulative and cruel. He was an utter simpleton who happened to be born the eldest son of a duke. And me? I wasn’t even born to be a duke. But here I am, merely because my elder brother couldn’t be convinced to stop fixing races. I don’t have some innate ability to lead because of it.”

He spoke with passion, with conviction. His hands danced to emphasize his point. I could watch him speak for hours about nothing and still be fascinated. There was a grace to his movements that was purely masculine. Nothing was delicate or tentative but smooth and sure. I wanted more, anything, everything he had to give me.

My stunned silence must have lasted too long because he flinched. “That was too much, wasn’t it? This is why I don’t speak.”

“No! No,” I insisted. “I’d never considered it. But you’re not wrong. My family is more than proof of that. Hugh is learning, and some day he may be a great viscount. But it’s not natural to him the way it is Michael.”

“I… There are a lot of things that society deems as the natural order. And things they’ve decided are unnatural. I think it’s mostly twaddle.”

“I can only disagree on one point.”

“And what’s that?” he demanded.

“I think you’re a great duke. At the very least, you’re a great brother and son.”

He scoffed. “Davina runs roughshod over me. Of course she likes me.”

“I suspect she would run roughshod over everyone.”

“Almost certainly. That doesn’t make me a good duke. At least not any better than anyone else would be in the role.”

“You’ve managed to keep her alive. And out of the hands of pirates. Mostly,” I added with a grin.

“You do that a lot.”

“What?”

“The way you tease me. No one does that.”

“I’m… sorry?” I replied, half in question, half apologetic.

“Don’t be. I like it—at least, now that I know you’re not mocking me.” He shrugged, lips sliding all the way to the right side of his face in an oddly contemplative expression.

“Two decades of preventing bloodshed with humor. It’s… When I’m nervous, it’s how I… it’s my way.”

“So I make you nervous…” There was something light, pleased in his tone.

“This cannot be new intelligence,” I grumbled, glancing away.

“Oh, but it is. I’m seeing our every interaction with new eyes. It paints you in a far more charming light.”

“That’s… good?”

“I make you nervous,” he repeated with a pleased little seated dance.

“You do,” I agreed. It was impossible to argue when he was so delighted at the possibility. And it was the truth, regardless. “It’s just that, when I’m in the presence of such a wealthy and powerful duke, you know…”

He rolled his eyes.

“Handsome too.”

“Your eyes don’t work properly,” he retorted before his hand caught his mouth. Wide-eyed, he stared waiting for my anger.

If anyone else had said it, I might have been, not that I would have done anything about it. But a tease back from him… That was ecstasy. I held back the laugh as long as I could before it burst free.

“You’re not very practiced at teasing, are you?” I bit out between chuckles.

His laughter joined mine and the tension in his form dissipated with every huff. “I’m quite good at being teased.”

“You are. You can practice on me—truly—any time you wish.”

Xander nodded, considering me.

“While you’re still here, I mean,” I added.

He didn’t say anything, just continued his study of me. What he was looking for, I couldn’t say. There was nothing cruel in the expression. The only thing I could read was interest.

And when our eyes met, it was different, somehow, than any time before. There was nothing of secrecy between us. We both knew the clock was ticking on this evening and that it was likely to be our last.

Then Xander leaned forward, just the tiniest bit, imperceptible to anyone not studying him. But the movement was there, and my breath caught in my chest at the thought.

My answering lean was stilted and aborted too soon when nerves overtook desire. Fortunately, Xander had no such qualms. My motion was his permission.

His hand, soft and warm and too large to be anything but male, caught my jaw, holding me where he wished. When his eyes searched mine one more time, he found whatever answer he needed. Because in the space between one breath and another, he closed the distance, and his lips met mine.