When Seducing A Duke (26 page)

“You mean that someone else had Grey attacked because of the damage to your honor? Who?”

Lady Devane shook her head. “I will not reveal his identity. Not to you, nor to your husband, Duchess.”

Rose regarded her closely, her head swimming with all that she had just learned. “You love this person.”

“Very much.”

“Enough to take responsibility for a crime that is not yours. Enough to endure years of gossip and accusations.”

The blonde nodded. “I would endure that and more to protect him. But despite that, I refused to hide away and let the gossips deem me guilty. At first I wanted to do just that, but Lord Devane brought me back into the world and taught me that the only way I would ever regain my self-respect was to face those who would sneer at me. Let them think me guilty. I know the truth. And now so do you.”

Rose shook her head—a desperate attempt to sort everything out so it made sense rather than seem like some kind of dream. “I appreciate your candor, Lady Devane, but I’m not completely certain I understand why you’ve decided to share this with me now.”

The older woman’s smile turned kind, and patient. “Yes you do. Because it is important that you do not hide from them. You must show them that they have no power over you, that you will not be dictated to by their pettiness. If you do not do this now, they will have won, and it will become more and more difficult for you to regain your place in society.” There was a pleading light in her eyes. “For Ryeton’s sake, you must be strong enough for both of you. If you do not stand up to them, he will never be the man you want him to be.”

“I do not want him to be anything other than the man he is.” And God willing, never, ever return to the man he used to be.

That had better not be pity in Lady Devane’s pretty eyes. “The man you know him to be is different from the man he’s become, is he not? Both of you deserve better than that.”

“Why would you defend a man who ruined you?”

“Because I realized that he didn’t ruin
me.
I let him ruin my reputation because I was young and impetuous. And perhaps I feel responsible for him, and see you as a way to redeem myself of my past sins. I know all too well what it is like to feel like an outcast from society.”

Bemused, Rose smiled because she did not know what else to do. “I’m not sure what I think of being used as a doorway to redemption.”

Lady Devane smiled as well. “Think of it as kindly advice, then, from a woman who has seen her share of scandal and weathered it as well. Gossips are like vultures, going after the wounded and the dying. Thrive, and they cannot harm you.”

Rose’s smile grew. “That is sage advice indeed.”

The other woman rose to her feet. “I have taken up enough of your time, but I hope you will reflect upon our conversation positively. I also hope to see you out in society again soon.”

Rose stood also, offering Lady Devane her hand. “I believe you shall. Thank you for calling.”

“Thank you for receiving me,” Lady Devane murmured as she closed her fingers around Rose’s. She shook hands like a man, something Rose respected. “By the way, you have my permission to share this conversation with your husband, not that I expected you would do otherwise.”

“I appreciate that. Good day, Lady Devane.”

“Good day, Duchess.”

She hadn’t made it two feet when the door to the parlor flew open, revealing Grey, chest heaving in fury, eyes bright as flame. His terrible gaze fell upon Lady Devane. “What the hell are you doing here?”

If only the meeting with his secretary had ended sooner Grey might have prevented Rose seeing him so dangerously close to losing control. He might have prevented her seeing Lady Devane at all.

To her credit, Margaret—Maggie he used to call her—didn’t flinch at the sight of him, even though he huffed and puffed like an ogre and purposefully hadn’t worn his mask. He wasn’t going to hide the sight and shame of it from her. She looked at him serenely, with a touch of pity in her big eyes.

He had the ungentlemanly urge to punch her in the face. How dare she, of all people come to his home and poison Rose’s mind with God only knew what kind of venom against him. Of course, whatever she said about it, it was undoubtedly true and he would deserve every insult. But Rose…

He didn’t want Rose to know what he had done to this woman.

But Margaret merely sank into a deep curtsey before him, held his gaze and said, “I was just on my way out, Your Grace. My apologies.”

He might have grunted, he wasn’t sure. Then she rose gracefully and swept past him like the Queen of goddamned Sheba. The door clicked quietly shut behind her, and Grey turned his gaze toward his wife.

She wasn’t looking at him with hatred in her eyes, which was good. Still, that didn’t calm the fury—betrayal?—churning in his gut. “Why would you entertain that woman in my home? Do you despise me that much?”

Rose blinked. “I don’t despise you at all, you lumbering oaf. You make it sound like I invited her, which I didn’t. Although I refuse to apologize for seeing her. She was very enlightening.”

“I wager she was,” he growled.

His wife arched a brow. “She didn’t do it, you know.”

He scowled. “Do what?” Make Rose disgusted by him?

“Have you attacked. She wasn’t responsible. Someone acted out of a perverted sense of biblical justice on her behalf, but it wasn’t her.”

He snorted. “Of course she would tell you that.” That Rose believed this didn’t hurt as much as it made him angry that she was so easily duped. But what was Margaret’s motive? To further her revenge by making Rose believe her innocent?

The gaze that locked with his told him he was every kind of idiot. “If that woman had decided to have revenge on you, Grey, it wouldn’t have been your face she sliced. If you think about it, you’ll realize that as well. Someone she cares for very much had you attacked—someone she would rather take the blame for than give up as the actual culprit.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to argue, call her naïve and gullible, but then he took her advice and thought about it. And then he wanted to smack his head against the wall for not having the clarity to see it before. But of course, he’d been wounded and bitter and had his tail tucked between his legs. He’d been too blind to see it before. It was only with Rose that the truth seemed to sink in.

Margaret had a brother, Michael. She always talked fondly of him, though the man rarely ventured out into public. He was a recluse, just like Grey had become. There’d been rumors of an illness, but perhaps the sickness had been of the mind rather than the body as Grey had first thought. Maggie used to say how protective she was toward him, and he toward her. They would do anything for one another.

As sudden as his fury had appeared when he learned of Lady Devane’s presence in his home, it banked and disappeared. Oh, it would be easy to cling to his old anger and bitterness, but something inside him knew the truth from the lie he’d allowed himself to believe all these years. It was easier to think of someone retaliating against him because he’d wronged her. Easier to think of himself as the sole injured party even though he knew he was so much more—or perhaps less.

And now he saw it all so clearly, and he realized that the person who had truly suffered during all of this was Margaret. She’d lost her reputation because of him, and the illusion of her honor because of her brother. And yet, she’d never once backed down or hid her face.

To think he’d resented her for prancing about society as though she had nothing to feel ashamed of, and now he knew it to be true.

“You know who it is, don’t you?” Rose whispered, coming to stand directly in front of him. He could smell the springlike dew of her perfume, feel the delicate heat of her body through his clothes. It was like a balm for his soul having her so close, and yet she tormented him like the most skilled captor.

“Yes,” he replied softly. “I think I do.”

“What are you going to do?”

He thought for a second, but the answer was clear. “Nothing. I’m not going to do a thing. It’s better in the past.” What could he do that wouldn’t cause more ruination? If he hadn’t behaved so despicably toward Margaret she never would have come to hate him, and the attack wouldn’t have happened. But if he retaliated now, he would only be hurting a woman he’d already hurt enough. She obviously loved her brother enough to take responsibility for his actions—and that was a love Grey understood. He’d do anything for his brothers and his sister as well.

Soft fingers touched his face. “You don’t want revenge?”

He glanced down at her and saw something in her eyes that took his breath away. “No,” he replied hoarsely. “I don’t. But I would like my wife back.”

She smiled, and the shattered fragments of his heart glued themselves back together. “I think that can be arranged, if you are willing to forgive her for thinking only of herself.”

“I can, if she can forgive me for being less than she deserves.”

Tears blossomed in the wide curve of her bottom lashes. “Less? That’s not true. Every day you prove yourself to be more than I could ever want.”

Grey pulled her close, and pressed his mouth against hers, drawing her into a hungry kiss that consumed them both until he carried her to the sofa and made love to her on the delicate brocade. Though it had only been days since he’d felt her body wrapped around his, it seemed as though weeks had passed, she felt so good.

Afterward, as he held her in his arms, feeling a peculiar and humbling tightness in his throat, he did something he hadn’t done in a long time.

He thanked God for what He had given him, and promised, that if the Almighty gave him just a little bit longer with Rose that he would try to be a better person.

And this time, he meant it.

Chapter 22

“D
o you plan to attend the charity ball at Saint’s Row this Thursday evening?” Eve asked as she and Rose took a break from their shopping to enjoy low tea at a quaint little West End shop.

Rose selected a small sandwich from the plate between them on the lacy tablecloth. Her heart, shameful as it was, kicked up a fuss at the mention of the ball. “I do not know.” She wanted to go. She wanted to go very badly, but she was anxious about attending, despite her conversation with Lady Devane the day before.

Eve kept her features perfectly schooled, but Rose saw the slight tightening of her friend’s lips. “Staying home does you no good, Rose. Why should Ryeton ever leave the house if you are always there? The man needs incentive.”

She wasn’t certain that whether or not she went out mattered one whit to Grey, but Rose didn’t say that. Oh, she knew that Grey wanted her to be happy, and of course he cared about her, but he wasn’t about to change his mind about society just because she decided to put on a mask and attend a charity ball.

Of course, he might attend. After all, it had been at a masked ball that she managed to seduce him. Perhaps she could convince him to attend again. Even if he kept to the shadows, it would be better than going alone.

Wouldn’t it?

“Very well,” she capitulated. “You have convinced me. I will go to the ball.”

Eve’s face lit up. “Brilliant! Oh, it will be so much more fun with you there. Lately Gregory’s insisted on introducing me to all of his political cronies. Do you have any idea how utterly boorish politics can be? Honestly, running an empire should be much more interesting.”

Rose smiled. It was good to see her friend happy. For a little bit, she’d worried that Eve might pine for her absent mystery lover—and that she might make a bad marriage just because it was expected of her. Now, she had to admit, it seemed as though her friend truly cared for her fiancé, and he for her.

After a few moments silence, her friend leaned her head and shoulders over the table and whispered, “Is it true that Lady Devane called on you yesterday?”

The servants couldn’t have gossiped about that, could they? They seemed so loyal to Grey it seemed unlikely, and yet that same loyalty might have caused some loose lips out of a sense of justice. More than likely, however, someone had seen the lady’s carriage roll up the drive to Ryeton House.

Sighing, Rose nodded. She hadn’t intended to tell Eve about the visit—not that she didn’t trust her friend, but because she thought of her conversation with Lady Devane as something to keep in confidence. The truth wasn’t hers to tell.

“It is true,” she admitted. “She didn’t stay very long, but she paid me a visit.”

Eve’s eyes widened. “What did she want? Did Ryeton see her?”

“She wanted to offer me advice, and, yes, Grey saw her.”

“Advice on what?” Eve scowled as though personally injured. Obviously she thought no one but herself properly equipped to give Rose advice. “What happened when they saw each other?”

“You sound a little too gleeful,” Rose admonished. “What do you think they did? Shag on the carpet?”

Her friend’s pink lips fell into a perfect O. “What did you just say?”

Rose flushed. “Nothing worth repeating. Forgive me. Grey was angry at first, but they were civil toward each other.”

“If I were him I would have kicked her posterior out of the house immediately. I can’t believe you received her.”

This was a conversation she did not want to have, but if it came down to this or what they discussed, Rose would rather the former. “It’s never been proven that Lady Devane was behind the attack on Grey. Furthermore, it’s never been proven that said attack was unwarranted.”

Another shocked expression. Eve was beginning to look like a fish gasping for air. “I cannot believe you just said that.”

Rose shrugged. “It’s true. Grey himself doubted her involvement, and I know for a fact that now he doesn’t hold Lady Devane responsible for his injuries at all. As for the other, it is well known what kind of gentleman my husband once was—and that’s not much of one at all. He was a scoundrel of the worst kind.”

“You don’t seem the least upset by that knowledge.”

“I’m not. He’s no longer that same man. I know there are some who do not believe a man can change, but Grey has.”

“Spoken like a woman in love.”

Rose looked away. “Yes, well…a wife should be well aware of her husband’s faults and virtues, should she not?”

Now it was Eve who looked uncomfortable. “I know very little about Mr. Gregory, despite our long acquaintance.”

Reaching across the table, Rose settled her hand atop one of the smaller woman’s. “You will come to know him. That is one of the great aspects of marriage.”

“Has Ryeton improved upon closer association?”

“Yes.” Then she grinned. “And no. His virtues are great, but so are his faults. Of course, I’m sure he feels the same about me.”

“I doubt it,” Eve remarked with a bit of a smirk. “He’s no doubt grateful you wanted him—especially after knowing him as well as you do.”

“Maybe.” For some reason she was struck with the memory of Lady Devane saying Grey would not marry her once he’d ruined her. He had married Rose as quickly as possible. Surely that said something, not only for how much he had indeed changed, but for how deep his regard for her ran.

Her friend regarded her over the rim of her teacup. “Have you told him you love him yet?”

Now it was Rose’s turn to gape. “No! I mean, that is none of your concern.”

Eve arched a brow. “Of course it is my concern, you are my best friend. Everything that happens in your life is my concern. When do you plan to let him know how you feel?”

“I don’t know.” She’d said it that one time, when he’d fallen asleep, and never found the courage to say it again, especially since he’d had plenty of time to say the same words to her and had yet to utter them.

“Perhaps hearing how you feel is exactly the kind of motivation he needs to accompany you to the ball.”

Rose took a sip of tea rather than laugh outright. The only incentive she could think of that might possibly get Grey to that ball was a team of wild horses and half a dozen very strong men.

But that didn’t stop a kernel of hope from budding in her breast. The idea of having Grey attend the ball with her thrilled her to no end. She didn’t care that it would give the gossips fodder for a month, or that they would be stared at like side show attractions, it would be worth it to walk into Saint’s Row on his arm.

“I’ll ask him,” she heard herself say. “I’ll ask him to come with me.”

Eve stilled, watching her with an expression Rose could only describe as surprise. “Really?”

She nodded. “I will. I’m tired of hiding, and I want to go to the ball. Most of all, I want my husband to come with me, but that won’t happen if I don’t at least try.”

Her friend grinned. “That’s the spirit. When are you going to ask him?”

“Tonight,” Rose replied with a determined frown. “I’ll ask him tonight.” That way she couldn’t turn coward and change her mind.

Or at least there was less chance of that happening.

“He wouldn’t dare turn you down,” Eve insisted. “Not if you ask him at the most opportune moment.” She waggled her eyebrows lewdly.

Rose cursed herself for blushing. “An expert on the male sex, are you now?”

Eve shrugged, flashing a sly smile. “Enough of one.”

That made Rose laugh, because the idea of any woman actually understanding how a man thought and acted was ridiculous to say the least. “You tell yourself that if it makes you happy.”

Eve chuckled as well. “Ah, well I can always dream, can I not?” Then she nonchalantly plucked a cookie from the tray and leveled a suddenly serious gaze at Rose. “Now, tell me about this advice Lady Devane gave you.”

Caught. Rose sighed. “It was about Grey.”

Her friend nodded, obviously noting her pained expression. “You don’t wish to betray her confidence or your husband. I understand.”

Relief washed over her, sharp but welcome. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“Still, it must have been odd to discuss Ryeton with a woman who once knew him intimately. Did that vex you at all?”

“A little, but not so much as I thought it would.”

“Probably because he’s yours now and not hers.” Eve grinned. “I would think there’s a certain satisfaction in that.”

Rose smiled in return. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise. I’m sure there are those who would call me a fool to believe that he would ever remain faithful to his marriage vows, but I do believe it, Eve. He will not betray me. Never. I reckon I might very well be the only woman he’s ever been involved with who could have said those words with confidence.”

Eve’s lips puckered at the corners—a parody of a smile. “Remind me why you think so highly of this reprobate.”

Laughing, Rose shook her head. “Because he’s never been anything but kind and generous to me. Because he makes me smile—he makes me laugh. He can also make me angrier than anyone else in the world, and because when I’m with him I feel as though I am where I am supposed to be.”

Puckered lips blew a gusty sigh. “That must be lovely.”

“It is,” Rose admitted truthfully, picking up her cup. “It really is.”

But it would be so much lovelier if she could know for certain that Grey felt the same way.