When Seducing A Duke (27 page)

Grey was sweating by the time he and Archer finished their game of lawn tennis, though it was a cool day and the sun hid behind large fluffy clouds. Despite that his shirt stuck to his back and his hair to his head, he felt good. Exercise did wonderful things to clear the mind.

He mopped his face with a small towel as he and Archer walked up the steps to the terrace where a frosty pitcher of lemonade waited for them. Grey poured them each a glass as they sat, each propping his feet on the table.

“Good game,” Grey commented after taking a refreshing drink. “Thank you.”

His brother, who was dressed casually in white and beige the same as Grey, smiled. Archer was looking a little wilted as well, a fact that pleased Grey. It was good to know he could still keep his younger sibling on his toes. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever run so much in my life. Least not in my adult years.”

“Nor I. We used to run all the time as boys, remember?”

Archer’s grin grew. “I remember Tryst trying to keep up. Poor little bastard.”

Grey’s brows quirked. “He’s not little anymore.” He took another deep drink. “By the way, have you heard from him lately?”

“Mm.” Archer swallowed and set his empty glass on the table. He reached for the pitcher. “Got a letter just the other day. Says he hopes to be home by the end of the season. Something about a business venture.”

Grey shook his head. “Boy never stops working.”

“He’s not a boy anymore either. He must be what? Damn near thirty.”

“Twenty-eight,” Grey replied, holding his glass out to be refilled as well. “He’ll be home for his birthday.” It was a nice thought, knowing that Tryst was coming home. He missed his youngest brother. And he wanted him to meet Rose. Probably—undoubtedly—he’d met her in the past, but not as his sister-in-law.

Hopefully Rose would still think well of him by then.

What the hell was wrong with him? Moping and whining over a woman? He’d never done this in the past. He’d never cared if they liked him for longer than a night. Hell, he hadn’t cared if the affection had lasted that long. Now, here he was crossing his fingers that his wife would still like him by the end of the summer. It was pathetic.

If her opinion mattered so much, why didn’t he endeavor to do more to earn it? All he had to do was go out into public. With her.

The very thought made him grind his teeth. He could just imagine the sneers, the whispers. Being stared at like some kind of circus attraction.

At least he no longer had to worry about anyone trying to kill him again—or harming Rose for that matter. Maggie’s brother wouldn’t do anything without thinking his sister wanted it. And Grey was pretty sure the dowager Lady Devane was done with him.

At one time his male pride would have demanded he pursue her just to prove that no woman could resist him. What shite. Now he was simply happy for it. It was good for a man to realize that he wasn’t the Almighty’s gift to womankind.

He lifted his gaze to find Archer watching him strangely. “What?”

“Are you certain you are fine with me giving Bronte away?”

No, he wasn’t fine at all, damn it. And every time he thought of it, it was like a knife in the ribs, but it was his own fault, so the only person he could be angry at for it was himself. “It’s good.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It really doesn’t matter does it?”

“Of course it does. Tell her you want to do it.”

“And ruin her wedding day? I don’t think so. Better that I watch from an alcove, or better yet, don’t attend at all.” His earlier fire of indignation had burned out and he resigned himself to the fact that he would do whatever his sister asked, even if that meant not attending her wedding. He’d dumped a lot of shame upon his family. He refused to add more.

“Don’t be an arse.”

“She doesn’t want me there, Arch.” And that was the end of the conversation.

“Who doesn’t want you?” A sweet and familiar feminine voice asked from behind him.

Grey smiled over his shoulder at Rose as he removed his feet from the table. “No one. We’re just discussing details of Bronte’s wedding.”

Rose’s lips curved as she walked toward him. “Gentlemen discussing wedding details? I think the world must be ending.” Picking up his glass, she took a drink of lemonade. It was an innocent, innocuous gesture—and one of the most arousing things he’d ever seen.

Archer chuckled, seemingly obviously to Grey’s dumb state. “Lucifer is putting on his ice skates as we speak. And on that note, I’m afraid it is time for me to take my leave. I promised Mama I would escort both she and Bronte to the ball tonight, and I have yet to find a suitable mask.”

“I look forward to trying to ascertain your identity this evening,” Rose remarked with a smile that seemed only slightly strained. Regardless, the sight filled Grey with unease.

“As do I.” Archer bowed over her hand before leaning down to whisper, “Arse,” in Grey’s ear and punched him in the arm. Hard.

Sometimes, Grey hated his brother.

Rose wasted no time. As soon as Archer had left them, she turned to Grey with a determined glint in her dark eyes. “May I speak to you?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask permission, Rose. You are my wife.” This was making him slightly squeamish. He knew something unpleasant was coming.

His suspicions were confirmed when she chose to remain standing rather than join him at the table. “I want you to come with me to the ball at Saint’s Row tonight. I know I should have asked before this, but I thought…I thought it would be better to wait until the last moment.”

Because she thought it would be harder for him to refuse? Pressure wrapped around his heart, squeezing painfully. It was a simple request, one any wife might make of her husband, and one most husbands would accept. And the significance of the ball was not lost on him. Their first tryst had happened at a masked ball at Saint’s Row—and it was once again a Thursday evening. Providence couldn’t have chosen better.

“You’d have a better time without me.” It wasn’t a direct refusal.

She folded her arms beneath the swell of her lovely bosom. “No, I won’t. And I don’t understand how you can expect me to face the gossips on my own.”

“I don’t expect you to do anything. You seem to be the one with the expectations.” Oh, yes, this was good. Getting defensive was so manly of him.

“Is it wrong of me to expect you to act like a husband?”

“Plenty of husbands do not attend balls with their wives.”

“Yes, but those wives generally find someone to keep them company later.”

Heat rushed to Grey’s cheeks as the meaning of her words struck him. “Are you planning to take a lover, Rose?”

“Of course not.” She regarded him as though he were a bothersome child. “I just want you to come with me. You are a duke, for heaven’s sake. You can tell them all to go to hell and get away with it. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

She couldn’t seem to get further than that. She thought he was afraid. That he was a coward. That stung. No, that pissed him off. But how could he make her understand?

“I’m not afraid of them, Rose.” Not really. “I just don’t want to be around those people. I don’t like them.”

“You can’t dislike
all
of them.” All her disdain was missing was a good eye-rolling.

Grey rose to his feet, uncomfortable with having her look down upon him. He already felt her revulsion, he wouldn’t add to it by making himself low. “When I was…injured, do you remember anyone coming to visit me? Other than family members.”

She frowned, her gaze unfocused as she looked inward. “I seem to remember one or two gentlemen at first.”

He was surprised she hadn’t recognized them when she met them with Archer. “Westhaver Blackbourne, the Earl of Autley, and my cousin, Aiden Kane. Two of my fellows in debauchery. Yes, they came for a bit, and then they stopped coming as well. No one cared, Rose.”

“So, you lock yourself away because you feel sorry for yourself?”

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he raked a hand through his hair. “What I’m saying is that no one cares if I show my face or not. I have no friends, other than you. Why in the name of God would I want to go where I’m not wanted?”

“I’m not enough incentive?”

“Christ, I never said that!” Lord she was good at making this all about her. As though he didn’t want to go just to injure her.

“You don’t have to.” Her lower lip jutted ever so slightly.

“What is this Rose? Some sort of ‘if you loved me you’d go to the party’ ploy?”

She paled save for two bright spots of color on her cheeks. “That’s low, even for you. No, it’s not a ploy, Grey. It’s a simple truth. If I meant anything to you, you wouldn’t make me face the gossips alone.”

“It’s not about the gossips, Rose. And this sure as hell is not about you.”

“What is it about, then?”

“It’s about me. Those people pretended to be my friends. They kowtowed and kissed my arse like I was the king. I wasn’t worth the attention then, and I don’t want their attention now.”

“So this is about your pride, then?”

“I’m ashamed!” he shouted, patience gone. Christ, had he really admitted to it? Yes, he had, and it felt good, like a huge weight lifting from his back. “I’m ashamed of the fact that I wasn’t a good enough person to keep the two friends I had besides your father. I’m ashamed of who I was and I’m ashamed that you’ve learned even a fraction of it. I’m ashamed of how I’ve hidden and justified it all and I’m ashamed that I’ve tainted you with my rotten reputation—a well deserved one at that. And I’m ashamed that I had my head too far up my own arse to see how desperate your father had become. I could have helped him. I should have helped him.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Her lips moved but nothing came out. She was speechless—something he would have paused and congratulated himself for if he could stop his own tongue.

Grey continued, “I hurt people, Rose. Not just women. I cuckolded men who considered me a friend and never once thought of how betrayed they must have felt. I used women for my own pleasure, and considered them worth a second go if I could remember their name the next day. I deserve this scar. I deserve much worse, and I’ve never understood how God could have seen fit to let me off so easily. And I’m afraid. Does that make you happy to hear me admit it? I’m afraid that if I waltz back into that world, that those vultures will welcome me with open arms and I’ll become that man again.”

He’d rather die than be that bastard again.

Rose came to him, her soft hands cupping his face. “You don’t deserve that scar, Grey. I don’t care what you’ve done. And you don’t deserve to carry this guilt around anymore. You’re not that man anymore. I know that even if you don’t.”

He eyed her warily. “How do you know?”

“Because that man wouldn’t have taken in the wife and child of a deceased friend. Papa knew he could trust you to look after us, Grey. Doesn’t that tell you anything? If you were still that man you never would have married me, and you certainly wouldn’t waste all this breath trying to convince me how awful you are.”

He scowled. “Your father told me to keep my hands off of you.”

She smiled sweetly. “And he told me to stay away from you. We both must take the blame for our marriage, though I refuse to see it as a bad thing. Do you?”

“No. But I think you will.”

“And I think you are an idiot.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and stepped back. “I will never regret marrying you, Greyden Kane, but neither will I live in the world you created for yourself. I’m going out into society and I’m going to let them talk. I know who my friends are, and that’s all that is important. But I am not going to let wounded pride and embarrassment keep me from enjoying myself. Neither should you. It’s time to let go of the past, Grey. There’s nothing for you there.”

He watched her in stunned silence as she moved toward the door. Hand on the knob, she turned once more to flash a soft and hopeful smile at him. “If you change your mind, I will be at Saint’s Row tonight attending Lady Devane’s masked charity ball. It would be the perfect opportunity to assuage her of the responsibility for the attack on you, don’t you think? And the perfect time for you to start living again.”

Would it? It sounded like the perfect opportunity for him to throw himself at the mercy of wolves.

“I’m not threatening you, Grey. I love you, I do with all my heart, but I’ll only wait so long. I can only take your rejection of the things that are important to me for so long. I don’t ever want to lose you, but I’m not sure you’re going to give me a choice.”

And with that hanging over him like a knife waiting to plunge into his chest, she opened the door and walked out. He was left alone, the way he had always preferred it until Rose came along.

How could she love him when she didn’t really know him? Hell, he didn’t know himself.

Chapter 23

E
ve and Lady Rothchild would be coming by to collect her at exactly nine o’clock, so Rose made certain she was dressed and ready by eight thirty just to be safe. Unfortunately, that gave her plenty of time to pace the length of the rose parlor as she waited.

She wore a beautiful Worth gown of dark blue silk patterned with Japanese blossoms in shades of plum, gold, and white. The neckline was cut low and square, trimmed with delicate gold piping that also trimmed the short cap sleeves. The snug bodice fastened up the back with a row of tiny hidden buttons that ran almost all the way down to the bustle. The skirt was drawn up slightly, to reveal a pleated gold underskirt that resembled the sheaves of a fan.

Heather had braided her hair beginning at the nape of her neck, and then brought the thick rope up, pinning and tucking and arranging until Rose was left with a stylish but dramatically different hairstyle, ornamented with an Oriental comb. She completed the look with a pair of dainty gold dangles for her ears and a set of matching gold bangles on either arm. The gold shone warmly against the rich blue of her gloves—dyed, of course, to match her gown, as were her slippers.

“If you don’t mind me sayin’, madam, you look right beautiful,” Heather had gushed with a strong measure of pride.

Rose smiled at the maid. She was so glad Heather had decided to stay with her rather than return to the country with her mother. Some days, the other woman’s presence was vastly comforting. “If I am at all pleasant to look at, it is all due to your skills, Heather. Thank you.”

And now, pacing the parlor, she had to admit that she did feel lovely, but what did it matter when the one man she wanted to admire her wouldn’t be there? She strongly suspected that he wasn’t about to show his face to her at all before she left. No doubt he was brooding upstairs in their bedroom, or perhaps in his study, wishing to God that he’d had the sense to stay the hell away from her as her father asked of him.

God knew there had been a few moments as of late when she’d thought the very same.

And then she realized that she would rather be miserable with Grey than content with any other man. How pathetic and deranged was that?

A knock at the door sent her heart tripping erratically. So much so that she had to press her hand over her chest in a feeble attempt to still the foolish organ. Was it Grey?

“Come in.”

It was Westford. Rose wilted in disappointment.

“Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but Lady Rothchild’s carriage just pulled up.”

Rose’s gaze flew to the clock on the mantel. It was one minute to nine. Where had the time gone?

“Thank you, Westford. Will you get my wrap, please?”

He bowed and backed out of the doorway as Rose gathered up her reticule and her mask—a silly little thing made of starched silk and painted to resemble the geishas she’d once read about. She had thought to wear one of the masks she’d worn when she met Grey those two nights at Saint’s Row, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch them.

She’d meant what she said to him, she told herself as she left the parlor, spine rigid. He could only expect her to wait so long. But then what would she do? Take a lover? She couldn’t imagine ever wanting another man. But perhaps the love she felt for Grey would fade someday, enough that she would find someone to share a part of her life with while Grey sat and watched his drift by.

Her stomach rolled. It couldn’t be something she’d eaten as she hadn’t had so much as a biscuit for hours. Her nerves wouldn’t allow it.

She might think she was pregnant had she not learned from
Voluptuous
how to delay such happy occasions since her last menses.

No, she had to be honest, the idea of giving up on Grey—of never having the life she dreamed of with him—made her physically ill. She would not give up. But neither would she lock herself away in the house. She refused to stop living, just because her husband had forgotten how.

Of course, as luck would have it, she ran into Grey just as she entered the great hall on her way to the foyer. It was almost as though he was waiting for her, and for a moment her heart leapt, thinking that he might want to come with her. But alas, he wasn’t dressed in evening clothes, nor did he wear one of his many masks. He wore those less and less around the house, now it seemed, but she didn’t dare give herself credit for the change.

His gaze softened and warmed at the sight of her, the lines around his mouth and eyes easing. “You take my breath,” he told her in a honey-rough voice that sent a tiny tremor down her spine.

Rose smiled, unable to hide her pleasure, even though she was disappointed. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to give you this.” He held out an envelope to her.

She took it. “What is it?”

“A bank draft for Lady Devane’s cause.” He cleared his throat. “I thought you might like to make a donation.”

As tempting as it was, she didn’t open it to peer at the amount. She’d do that later. How could he drive her to the very edge of distraction and be so amazingly wonderful? “That is very generous of you.”

He shrugged. “It’s only money. Someone else can make better use of it than I.” Then he stood aside. “Your friends are waiting so I won’t keep you any longer.”

As she tucked the envelope in her reticule, Rose was reluctant to let him go just yet, but she knew she had no other choice. “I won’t be late.”

Grey smiled at her, but there was an edge of sadness to it. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll be here whenever you come home.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. It felt so impersonal, so…final.

And because Eve and her mother were waiting, Rose couldn’t ask him to ease her mind. She couldn’t take the time to tell him how she felt and wrap her arms around him. All she could do was walk away.

“Good night, Grey.”

Another sad smile. “Good night, Rosie.”

Funny, but it sounded more like good-bye.