The Rake and the Wallflower (20 page)

He smiled, seeming relieved. “One of my captains bought it in the Caribbean. It suits you, for you are also unique. I had the ring made up this morning.”

The statement stunned her. He must have paid a fortune for such service. Of course, he could easily afford it, and producing so special a ring added credence to their courtship.

“Thank you, Gray. I will cherish it always.”

He stood, drawing her into his arms. Last night’s excitement returned, though he didn’t kiss her. His cheek rested atop her head, and his hands caressed her back, making it harder to lean passively against him. But she must never forget that his actions were designed to protect them both from censure. So far, he was hiding his anger at fate’s latest blow, but he could not like it.

She stayed in his arms a long time, drinking in his warmth even as she schooled herself to stillness. But her calm vanished when he swayed.

“Sit down before you collapse,” she ordered, sliding her arms around his waist to hold him upright. He was exhausted — again. Illness, injury, and lack of sleep drove grooves across his face and painted shadows under his eyes.

“In a moment.” He pulled her closer. His shoulder was warm under her cheek. When his hand traced a line down her neck, she wanted to purr. Her body trembled under his touch, drawing a blush.

She thought his lips brushed her hair — or perhaps he sighed. But before she could decide, he released her.

“The ring is not the only reason I needed to see you,” he admitted when he’d seated her next to him on the settee. His expression was serious. “I spoke to the cart driver this morning. As you expected, he was hired to knock me down.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “This was the first time he had accepted such a commission, and I doubt he will ever do so again. But his description matched Turner.”

“As I feared. Turner doesn’t know that gossip is unreliable.” She paused, but Gray needed to know everything. “He truly hates you. He sent me a vitriolic letter this morning, accusing you of the most vile deeds. I fear he is even more unbalanced than I thought.”

“He mentioned the letter.” He scowled.

“You spoke with him? Dear Lord, he could have killed you!”

“Shh.” He patted her hand, but his expression lightened. “It’s all right, Mary. I took Nick along.”

“Nick?”

“Nicholas Barrington, my closest friend.”

“Did you convince Turner that the gossip is wrong?”

“Gossip is not the problem. Constance sent him letters describing our fictitious courtship. He believes every word.”

Mary frowned.

“He will change his mind only if I can convince him that she lied — not an easy task, for he all but worships her. The only sure proof is to produce the man who seduced her.”

“Difficult. If the culprit had any honor, he would have come forward three years ago.”

“True.” Releasing her hand, he paced to the window overlooking the garden.

Mary joined him, touching his arm. “Who were Miss Turner’s particular friends that Season?”

“I have no idea. After that first night, I avoided any gathering where she was a guest. When that failed to discourage her, I retired to my estate.” He pulled her against his side as if absorbing her warmth. Tremors rippled through his arm.

Only now did she realize how unusual it was for him to discuss this with her. Most men considered openness to be weak, or they believed ladies were incapable of understanding. To be fair, most ladies did not want the responsibility of facing trouble, so they discouraged disclosure by suffering vapors over any unpleasantness. But Gray was treating her as a partner. The implied trust nearly stole her breath. “Did she mention any friends to her brother?”

“He did not say. Why?”

“Because if anyone knows her secrets, it would be her bosom bows. The seduction had to have occurred long before she met you, probably in the country.”

“True, but London friends would hardly know whom she’d met in Yorkshire.” He shuddered.

“Not necessarily. When did you meet her?”

He frowned. “Early May, though I don’t remember the exact date. I was late returning to town that year.”

“Did she pursue anyone else before fixing on you?”

He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. Nick claims she was an observer rather than a participant in the Season. As far as I know, she didn’t flirt and rarely danced. That was why I—” He broke off.

“That was why you partnered her that night. You feel compassion for those who are ill at ease.”

“I certainly have no compassion for her,” he snapped, twisting away.

She followed. “Of course not. But you discovered too late that she was neither shy nor nervous. She must have expected to wed her lover, so she really was an observer in town. And she probably knew that exertion would cause dizziness or nausea. Catherine was miserable for months while carrying Sarah, and it was even worse with Max.” Blake’s heir was now six months old. Catherine’s morning sickness had kept them at Rockburn last Season. “The problem was bad enough for someone like Catherine, but for Miss Turner, any hint of illness would have brought disclosure and censure.”

“Then why dance with me?”

Mary paced to the door and back. “Something changed. I suspect her paramour repudiated her when she informed him she was increasing. Thus she needed a husband immediately.”

“Lucky me,” he muttered. “But it’s true that she hung on me after that set ended, even following me onto the terrace at one point. At first I thought she was terrified of her first London ball. I tried to discourage her interest and left as soon as possible. It wasn’t until later that I learned she’d been in town for weeks and rarely spoke with gentlemen. When the next day’s rumors claimed we were old friends, I was furious. That’s when I decided to avoid any gathering she graced.”

“And you quit speaking to innocents entirely, confining your attentions to matrons and courtesans.”

“Gossip has always exaggerated my deeds.” Fire flashed in his eyes. “The wildness it describes lasted less than a year. And I never pursued married women, no matter how many lies claim otherwise. I refuse to follow in Rothmoor’s footsteps. The man is disgusting.”

“I know that.” She laid a hand on his arm, but refrained from sharing her own conclusions of his motives. He might take insult.

“There is only you now, Mary,” he vowed, drawing her closer.

His eyes warmed her clear to her toes. But the vow confirmed that his honor was unique. Even a forced marriage to a near stranger would not cancel an oath he must have made many years earlier — which told her even more about his childhood.

“Thank you.” She squeezed him, then returned to business. “Even if Miss Turner ignored gentlemen, she would have had friends. But since you avoided her, I must discover their identities elsewhere.”

“Where? I don’t want you taking risks, Mary. Turner is obsessed by her death and determined to avenge her. He may strike at me through you.”

She smiled. “Lady Beatrice can answer my questions. Turner can hardly be surprised that I call on her. It is only natural that I verify his claims, and Lady Beatrice prides herself on knowing everything.”

“Clever. I knew you were. May I see the letter?”

“I consigned it to the fire. But you surely know what it said. Every charge Lady Horseley makes, plus some rather venal speculation about your motives and preferences.” She blushed.

“Damn his hide,” he muttered, drawing her closer. “I would have spared you that.”

“I am not a fainting violet, Gray.” She looked up at him.

“Thank God.”

She sighed. “I heard worse imputed to me when our neighbor tried to destroy Catherine. He understood that his most effective tactic was attacking her family.”

“Why did he hate her?”

“He’d killed our father and Catherine’s first husband — not intentionally, but his conscience was uneasy. Though everyone assumed it was an accident, he feared she knew the truth and meant to make it public.”

“And now I’ve placed you in a new scandal.”

“Hardly. We will prove you innocent.”

“You really believe it possible?”

“I know we can. Since everyone accepted your guilt, they never questioned the evidence. I will make them do so. And that’s a vow.” She looked deep into his eyes, willing him to believe.

He shuddered. Then his mouth claimed hers in a kiss more searing than last night’s. She melted against him, awed at the strength of his passion. And he had pledged all of it to her—

The front door opened. Voices floated up from the hall, followed by feet clattering on the stairs. Gray jumped back and straightened his coat.

Mary forced herself to breathe slowly. Thank heavens they had been interrupted before she did something stupid. “Catherine and Laura have returned.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“Then I must leave. I’ve no wish to meet your sisters today.”

“Understandable. I will let you know what I learn.”

“Until Almack’s, my dear.” He kissed her lightly, squeezed her hand, then left. Catherine entered moments later. Laura’s half-boots continued loudly toward her room.

Mary sat, retrieving her cooling tea. She’d not yet explained her friendship with Gray to either Blake or Catherine, so she must do so now. To give her nerves a chance to settle, she gestured toward the stairs. “She sounds angry.”

“She is no longer in favor.” Catherine helped herself to tea and sighed. “Blake told me about last night. I cannot believe she expected forgiveness after that. She has completely lost her wits. I knew she was vain and arrogant, but where does she find these delusions? Even after she received eleven cancellations at breakfast, she expected to walk into Almack’s tonight and find her usual court.”

“What happened, Catherine?”

“What didn’t?” She set aside her cup so she could massage her temples. “The crowning touch was Lady Jersey, who not only cut Laura dead — after greeting me warmly — but crossed the street so she didn’t share a walkway with her. And she made sure Laura knew you’d received permission to waltz.”

“Ouch.”

“But no matter.” She straightened. “You should not meet Grayson alone. I know you are betrothed, but the circumstances raise questions. Any hint of impropriety can harm you.”

“He was here only for a moment,” protested Mary. “And we left the door open. He brought me this.” She held up her hand.

Catherine gasped. “Gorgeous. Where did he find that emerald? Or it is some other stone?”

“It’s an emerald. One of his captains discovered it. Gray had the ring made up this morning.”

“Really? That is most unusual, even for a love match.”

“I know. He is a most unusual man. We will deal well together.” She described her meetings with Gray and her conviction that his reputation was undeserved, though she left out Turner’s campaign. It would stop as soon as they proved Gray’s innocence — tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. But soon. Once she forced people to think, they would acquit him.

“I’d no idea,” said Catherine when she finished. “But you are right that we can claim a courtship, unconventional though it might be.”

“He could hardly seek me out in public,” said Mary piously, then laughed. “Your expression!”

Catherine chuckled.

“In truth, he is a good man. I am content, except—” She hesitated, but this was as good a time as any. And it would deflect further questions. “I must find my own maid. Now that everyone is watching me, I can no longer dress myself. Laura will never give up Frannie, even if she is confined to the house.”

Catherine bit her lip. “I should have thought of that weeks ago. Frannie is too loyal to Laura to do you justice.”

“Dressing me is a waste of her talents.”

“Hardly. Her talents are limited to creating tight curls and to lowering necklines. Those styles don’t suit you.”

“I will not argue the point. For the moment, can Wilson help me change? I need to call on Lady Beatrice, but Frannie will be busy with Laura.”

“Of course. Will you be out long?”

“An hour at most.”

“Then take Wilson with you. I can do without her for now, and she will lend you more countenance than a parlor maid. When you return, we will leave for morning calls.”

Mary groaned, but it couldn’t be helped. She owed it to Gray to play the role of a well-bred lady delighted with her betrothal. Nodding, she headed upstairs to change.

* * * *

“You wished to see me?” asked Lady Beatrice when Mary was ushered into her private sitting room. It was even shabbier than the drawing room, but more comfortable, with footstools and deeply padded chairs. An exquisite piece of needlework protruded from a sewing bag at the dowager’s side.

“If it isn’t t-too much trouble.” Mary took a chair. Her hands shook. Seeking out Lady Beatrice was the hardest thing she had done in her life. And now that she was here, she couldn’t find the words to begin.

“What an unusual ring,” said Lady Beatrice.

“Lord Grayson had it made for me,” Mary admitted, offering her hand to provide a closer look. She’d slipped it over her glove.

He trusts you, whispered her dreamer. And he needs this information. You can’t let him down.

“That takes time.” Lady Beatrice nodded. “Have you known him long?”

“Long enough. Though his illness kept him from calling this past week, we have spoken often — suitably chaperoned, of course.”

“No secret assignations?”

“Never!” Mary tried to sound shocked, though her claim was true, for they had never planned to meet. “That would be most improper and reflect p-poorly on the Rockhursts. I could never cause them distress. But Grayson and I wanted to make our decision without the distraction of gossip and well-meaning friends. His reputation makes the usual courtship difficult.”

Lady Beatrice held her gaze. “I believe you will do well together,” she announced at last. “You share a number of interests. Birds, for example.” She smiled at Mary’s surprise. “These old ears hear much. For example, while many know that Lord Wendell lost yet another fortune at Watier’s last evening, only I know that he cannot cover his vowels this time. He will be fleeing London by nightfall, unless he chooses a more permanent escape.”