Unconventional Suitors 02 - Her Unconventional Hero (13 page)

“Then I shall grant you your request.”

“Thank you.” Adel slid from Katherine’s arms and into Aunt Tabitha’s, a tiny spark of relief taking root in her breast. At least she wouldn’t have to face Lord Straton or his idiotic friends ever again. The thought giving her a modicum of relief.

***

Griffin drummed his fingers anxiously on the wooden table in front of him. Where were his friends? He had sent Benedict and Warren missives informing them that he must speak with them at once, asking them to meet him at White’s, but so far neither of them had shown. He ordered himself a scotch as he waited, hoping it would help alleviate some of the myriad of feelings that were coursing through his mind.

He knew now that he had been foolish to tell Adel about the bet between him and his friends. At the time he had hoped that it would help her understand why he did what he did, why he had proposed to her in such an unfeeling way. At the same time he had also hoped that she would be levelheaded enough to understand that he was not the same arrogant man who had hoped to win her affections by simply asking for them. He had hoped that she would see that he had changed, that he had come to care for her and not just because he was supposed to wed her, but because he wanted to.

He threw down the remainder of his scotch, enjoying the way it burned all the way down his throat and into his belly. There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to seer out the last memory he had of Adel—hate seething from her brilliant emerald eyes, directed only at him.

He had just ordered another scotch when Benedict and Warren finally arrived, sitting casually at the table as if it were completely normal for him to summon them there. Perhaps it was, he thought rationally, but tonight he didn’t feel anything like normal. In fact, he felt quite out of sorts; foolishly regretting his actions and concerned for all of their reputations.

“Sorry for the delay, man. It is not as easy to disappear from a ball as it once was. My wife actually enjoys attending them, and she much prefers it when I stay by her side.” Benedict sat back in the chair, stretching his long legs beneath the table. He had no idea that anything was amiss.

Warren leaned forward on his elbows, shaking his snifter of brandy in his hand, causing the brown liquid to swirl around and around in endless circles. Griffin trained his eyes on the brandy, mesmerized by the movement.

“Would you like a drink?” Warren asked him, noticing his intense stare.

Griffin snapped out of his reverie. Running one hand through his hair, he gathered the courage to speak. “I summoned you both here tonight because we have a problem.”

“We?” Benedict asked him skeptically. “Are you sure it’s not you with the problem?”

“No, I’m pretty certain this involves all of us. Marcus too.” When his statement was only met with blank stares, he decided to continue. “I told Adel about the bet. She knows you chose her to be my wife.”

Benedict pounded one fist angrily on the table. “Fiend seize it, man. Why did you tell her? I can imagine that telling her did not win you any favors.”

“No, it didn’t. In fact, I think it may have only caused further harm.”

“You don’t say,” Benedict rolled his eyes. “I should have specified that we keep that little detail to ourselves, but I thought you were smart enough to gather that on your own. How do you expect her to agree to wed you now?”

“I don’t, not at all.” He experienced disappointment anew at his vocal admission. “But, it gets worse.”

Warren signaled with his hand for him to continue. “Might as well get it all off your chest. You look as if you are full to the brim, ready to explode.”

“Surely the name Mrs. Tiddlyswan will mean something to you.”

Benedict leaned forward, one dark brow raised. “That wretched columnist who caused my mother so much grief with her need to report about every one of my fashions missteps?”

“Yes. I fear she is about to make our lives even more miserable.”

Warren and Benedict exchanged a look. “How so?” Warren asked. “You better get to the point or I’m leaving. My mistress is waiting for me, and I find the promise of her delights much more tempting than this conversation.”

Lowering his voice so he could barely be heard, Griffin hissed, “Lady Adel is Mrs. Tiddlyswan.”
Both of his friends gasped, which would have been humorous had the situation not been so grave.

“Did I hear you right?” Benedict asked in surprise.

“Yes, and she has promised to humiliate us by reporting on our bet in
The Morning Post
.”

“Blast it all! Something has to be done. We must expose her before she has a chance to expose us. Write to
The Times
and tell them her true identity. Let them know that…”

Griffin raised his hand to silence Warren’s tirade. “We will do no such thing. If word gets out about her, she will be utterly ruined. I refuse to allow that to happen. If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I promise I will call you out.”

A stony silence settled over the friends. Finally Benedict spoke, “You must truly care for the chit if you are willing to risk your own reputation to protect hers.”

There was no doubt in Griffin’s mind that that was true, but he wasn’t in the mood to admit it to his friends. “Suffice it to say that I am not overly concerned. Our reputations could be repaired much easier than hers could. It is not uncommon for men to place bets. There’s an entire book full of them sitting over there that proves that.” His hand signaled haphazardly to the infamous betting book across the room.

“If you are not concerned, then why did you call us here tonight?” Warren asked, irritably.

“I thought you deserved a warning.” Turning to Benedict he said, “She also knows that your wife is aware of the fact that you are to choose all of our wives. She wasn’t pleased by the fact that so many people knew of her humiliation.”

Benedict’s eyes flashed murderously at the mention of his wife. “I do not give a damn if she writes about each one of us, but I swear, if she writes one single thing about my wife, I will ring her neck.”

Griffin’s chest puffed out in anger. “You will not touch her.”

“Try me,” he snapped coldly.

“If you do anything to cause her anymore heartache, I swear it will mark the end of our friendship, Benedict. You forget that she is a victim of our folly. She did not choose to be the punishment of a lost bet, but she was and now she is hurt because of it.”

“She would never have been hurt if you hadn’t told her,” Warren pointed out the obvious, his eyes gleaming with accusation.

Griffin huffed, “Do you think I do not know that? I regret doing so now, but at the time, I felt as if she deserved to know. I didn’t want to lie to her.”

“Well perhaps you should have,” Benedict spat. “You have jeopardized not only your relationship with Lady Adel by your admission, but all of our reputations as well. I suggest you figure out a way to stop her from exposing us before even more people end up hurt.”

“Trust me, I am going to try,” Griffin muttered miserably. “But let me set you straight on one account—though I regret my honesty did not yield favorable results, I do not for one minute regret being honest with Lady Adel. Can a solid relationship be built on a dishonest foundation?”

He settled an intense gaze on Benedict, hoping to give him pause. “Your marriage could have started out with plenty of secrets, but it would only have harmed it in the end.”

Benedict was thoughtful, for he knew that Griffin was right. He had owed it to Gillian to tell her about the bet between friends, to let her know that despite his initial attempts to woo her for the bets sake, he truly had fallen in love with who she was. And what about the discovery that her little brother Anthony was actually his father’s illegitimate son? He groaned aloud. “You are right, I cannot be angry for your desire to be truthful, though we must hope that the consequences aren’t too horrendous to bear.”

“Well one thing can be certain,” Griffin interjected. “I will no longer be able to satisfy your condition that I marry Lady Adel.” Then, with a pain in his heart that felt oddly like it was ripping in half, he muttered sadly, “You will have to choose someone else for me to wed.”

Benedict stared at Griffin while the pain in his heart threatened to kill him. For a moment he truly wondered if he should send for a physician, for he had never felt such all-consuming grief before, not even when his mother had died. Though he still carried around a fair amount of sorrow at her absence, he knew that there had been nothing he could have done to prevent her death. This deal with Lady Adel was different, for it had been all his fault.

“I won’t do it,” Benedict firmly stated.

“You have to, for I see no way to win her hand in marriage now. Can’t you understand that?” he pleaded.

“Yes, I can. I do not expect you to continue your pursuit of her, nor any lady of my choosing. The deal is off. Wed whomever you will.”

Warren looked startled. “Does that include me?”

“Yes,” Benedict barked, “it includes all of you. I have no desire to risk anyone’s future happiness for my amusement. I truly desired for you to wed someone who would make you as happy as I am with Gillian, but perhaps I made the wrong choice. I can see now that you and Lady Adel would never have suited,” he stated matter-of-factly to Griffin before turning to Warren. “And you and Miss Graham would probably be just as miserable. She is like a little sister to you, after all.”

Ignoring his friends’ disgusted looks, Benedict rose from the table. “I bid you good night. I must get home to my wife so I can warn her of the possibility of a scandal.”

Griffin managed to tamper his anger at Benedict’s declaration that he and Lady Adel would not suit. His friend was completely and foolishly wrong; for they would have suited splendidly; he was sure of it. “Benedict, I give you my vow that I will do all that I can to dissuade Lady Adel from writing anything about your wife. It’s the least I can do.”

With a nod of his head, Benedict expressed his appreciation before leaving without another word.

Griffin spent a long, restless night tossing and turning as he desperately tried to formulate a plan to convince Adel not to expose him and his friends in her gossip column. He knew it would be futile to simply call on her and demand that she not do so, though that was the only thing he could think to do.

Feeling helpless, he finally peeled himself from his bed. Bending to light a candle in the fire, he rose and walked to a small desk that sat against the far wall of his chamber. Setting the candle down, he rummaged through the drawer for parchment and a quill. He couldn’t remember the last time he had written anything outside of his study downstairs and wasn’t entirely sure he’d find the writing tools he needed.

Finally he gave up, though his desire to pen a letter to Lady Adel did not dissipate. With reluctance, he went to his dressing room and found a banyan, quickly tying it around his waist before exiting his room. The house was eerie at night, with shadows dancing across the papered walls cast from the single source of light in the house, the half-melted candle in his hand. He was careful to tread lightly as he walked, not wanting to stir any of the servants.

When he made it to his study, he quickly found the writing supplies he needed. He lounged back in his chair, both of his hands propped behind his head as he stared up at the wood-beamed ceiling above, hoping to be inspired as to what he should write. He startled when the clock above the mantle chimed the hour, surprised he had been staring at the ceiling so long. Still unsure of the best way to proceed, he finally dipped the quill in the ink pot and began:
Lady Adel,

I warned you once that my skill with the pen left a lot to be desired. I had no clue at the time that you, on the other hand, were quite well skilled in the art of writing. However, I hope that you can look past my in-eloquence to the feelings I am trying to convey.

I know that my actions have angered you, on more than one occasion, and you have every right to be upset with me. My intent is not to persuade you otherwise, but instead to plead with you to reconsider your desire to disclose my friends’ indiscretions in your column. I wouldn’t dare ask you to exclude me from that exposé; however, I do feel, at the very least, that I would be remiss if I did not ask you to refrain from humiliating Lady Danford in any way. Do what you must to punish me, but please leave her out of it. I know that I am in no position to expect a favor of you, but I would be eternally grateful nonetheless.

Lord Straton

Several more minutes ticked by after he finished, the quill still firmly in his hand. He debated whether he should add more, whether he should beg her forgiveness and plead for her to give him another chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he tortured himself by reliving their few simple kisses in his mind.

The taste of her lips had been so intoxicating he could still recall it with perfect clarity. She was innocent yet passionate, more alluring than any other woman he had met. Her kiss wasn’t merely a physical display of emotion; it was so much more. She had kissed him with so much intensity he had felt as if she had gifted him with her soul. He felt like he could see inside of her heart, feel what she felt and want what she wanted. In that all too brief moment, he had felt as if they were truly one.

It still dumbfounded him, for he had been much more physically involved with women in the past, but never had he been so intimate with one. Was this what it felt like to be in love? His heart broke anew at the thought, for it did him no good to discover it now when there was nothing to be done about it.

Noticing there was only a small stub of candle left, Griffin forced himself to rise, shaking thoughts of second chances out of his head as he made his way back to his bedchamber, determined to get some sleep and forget about Lady Adel, at least for a few hours.

Griffin awoke in the middle of the day, a loneliness like he hadn’t felt in a long time consuming him. His valet was waiting patiently to shave and dress him, though Griffin had no desire to go anywhere or see anyone. When his valet was finished with him, he glanced in the looking glass to assess his appearance. Though he was dressed in the height of fashion, his hair expertly styled, his face looked sad, his eyes hollow.