The secretary rose to his feet, prompting Ross tiredly to his. Then the man extended his hand and said simply, “Welcome home, Spalding.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude warmed inside his chest. He didn’t want to be lauded as a hero. He simply wanted to move on with his life. As a man who had dedicated his own life to England, the secretary would undoubtedly understand. Being welcomed home was better than any kind of honor the Court and crown could bestow.
The Home Secretary left the room, and Ross reached to pour a glass of whiskey from the tray that had been brought in hours ago and thus far remained untouched. He removed the crystal stopper and splashed the caramel-colored liquor into one of the glasses, then wordlessly held it out.
As if on cue, Christopher strode into the room. Not breaking stride, he snagged the drink on his way past the table toward two leather chairs positioned in front of the fire.
Ross filled the second glass, took a large swallow, then topped off his drink. When he slumped into the chair across from Kit, the rush of relief at putting an end to this long day swept over him with a shudder.
After that performance in the Lords, he wasn’t surprised at what they’d both been put through this afternoon. While he’d been subjected to meeting after meeting, repeatedly explaining in excruciating detail the connections he’d made between the pages he’d brought from Paris and the treason that the ambassador had committed, Kit had been interrogated by the Home Office Secretary and the Lord Chancellor. By the time this last meeting ended, Ross was certain both brothers had detailed every step they’d taken for the past ten years of their lives.
The only way he’d been able to tolerate the questioning was knowing that Grace was safely tucked away at Spalding House, where Watkins and Mrs. Mabry had strict orders to tend to whatever she needed. He had no doubt that eventually the authorities would ask to speak with her, just to confirm her innocence, but Ross would be right there at her side when she was. He owed her his life.
More. He wanted to dedicate the rest of that life to her.
Kit heaved out a tired sigh. Good Lord, his brother looked as haggard as he felt. Thoroughly exhausted, Ross wanted nothing more at that moment than to drink himself to the bottom of his glass. Repeatedly. Then fall into bed and not wake up for three days. Judging from Kit’s slumping shoulders, his brother wanted the same.
Yet Kit frowned darkly into his glass. “When?”
Ross’s throat tightened, knowing what he meant. When did he plan to visit Sir Henry’s widow, to inform her that he’d caught the man’s murderer. “Tomorrow.”
Then the ordeal would be over. Finally.
Kit studied the golden liquid as he held it up against the firelight. “You’re England’s newest hero.”
Ross grunted out a scoffing laugh.
“You’ll be made an ambassador yourself now.”
He stared tiredly into the fire, ignoring the quick squeeze of longing in his chest. He’d once wanted nothing more than exactly that. “Perhaps not.”
“Assuredly.”
But his career wasn’t the only one which had suffered acute scrutiny today. “And you?”
Kit shrugged. “Only a man helping his brother.”
So he would continue as a Home Office agent. The publicity hadn’t revealed what he’d truly been doing these past few years, when he’d pretended to be nothing more than the shiftless brother of an earl. Good. Christopher needed his work the way men needed air to breathe.
Ross took a sip. “At least now you can stop pretending that you want to be a vicar.”
“Never.”
His brow inched up.
“Women love it.” A crooked grin twisted at Kit’s lips, and despite his fatigue, his eyes sparkled. “Who am I to stand in the way of their spiritual enlightenment?”
Good Lord. But Ross was too tired to roll his eyes.
“Congratulations,” Kit said quietly.
Ross nodded, his jaw tightening against a grimace of remorse. It was damnably hard to feel victorious when a good man had died and another he had long admired proved himself a traitor.
“But don’t ever risk your life like that again,” Kit added somberly. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
For a moment, the two brothers held each other’s gaze in silent connection. Then Ross let a teasing smile tug at his mouth. “Don’t want to be earl, hmm?”
“God no!” Kit gave an exaggerated shudder of horror.
As Ross chuckled, Kit slumped down into the chair and kicked his legs out in front of him. It had been a long and draining day. Tomorrow would prove equally grueling for both of them, but for now, they had a few hours of reprieve.
And important matters yet to discuss.
Ross shoved himself out of his chair to refill their glasses. As he topped off both drinks, he tossed out casually, “Grace is quite a woman, isn’t she?”
“Very much so.”
“Brilliant, kindhearted, loyal to a fault…a wonderful mother.” Keeping his eyes on Kit to gauge his brother’s reaction, he lowered himself into his chair and said quietly, “I want her to be the next Countess of Spalding.”
Kit’s gaze darted to his in surprise, for a moment attempting to discern if Ross was serious. Then, despite his fatigue, he grinned and repeated, this time with delight, “Congratulations.”
But Ross couldn’t let himself give over to happiness. Not yet. “I want your blessing.”
“Of course you have it.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. My marriage to Grace will affect the Spalding title and you. I need you to know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
Kit didn’t move, but Ross sensed a hardening in him. An invisible alertness that made him one of the Home Office’s best operatives.
Leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his hands folded around the glass he held between them, Ross never moved his gaze from Kit, even as he explained quietly, “Grace isn’t who she seems.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” his brother muttered with a smile.
“When her husband died, she was robbed of her inheritance. She feared for her life and that of her unborn child, so she went into hiding. Eventually, she faked her own death and has lived under a false identity for the past ten years.”
Kit’s smile faded. “I was kidding.”
“I’m not.” He took a large swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn. He’d determined to marry Grace. Nothing would dissuade him. But he also wanted his brother’s blessing, despite the potential upheaval to both their lives. “When the Earl of Spalding weds a dead society widow, returned from the grave and demanding restitution, scandal will rain down upon us like fire and brimstone.”
“Then let it rain,” Kit murmured, his gaze steely with determination. “When have we ever cared what society thinks of us?”
“And King George? We’re both serve at the pleasure of the king, don’t forget. The kind of scrutiny we’ll receive from society will make it damnably hard to do your job, and I’ll lose my post out right. My diplomatic career will be over.”
He wasn’t prepared for the stab into his chest that uttering it aloud brought. Kit had been right earlier, when he said that Ross would have been offered an ambassadorship. Perhaps even the newly vacated post in France, now that its former occupant sat behind bars in Newgate, awaiting trial and certain execution. It would be the apex of Ross’s diplomatic career, one befitting the duty and loyalty he’d shown to his country, and exactly what he’d wanted since he joined the Court of St. James’s. No, since long before that, when he donned his first uniform and realized what it meant to serve England.
Now, though, he wanted Grace. More than he wanted an ambassadorship. More than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life.
“Despite all that, I am marrying her.” The resolve in those quiet words sounded with the force of cannon fire. “I don’t know that I deserve your blessing, Christopher, knowing the hardship that’s going to
befall you. But I’d very much like to have it.”
Kit said nothing for a moment, studying him over the rim of his glass. “You love her.”
Not a question, he noted. Yet he admitted quietly to the new truth that would guide his future, that he knew in his gut with a certainty unlike anything else he’d ever experienced before, “More than life itself.”
“And she loves you.”
An electric jolt sparked inside him. “How do you know that?”
“For God’s sake, I’m not blind. That woman loves you.” Then he murmured against the glass as he took a sip, “Damned if I know why.”
Ross smiled hopefully. “So I have your blessing, then?”
His eyes softened on Ross. “You have my blessing.” Then he slumped further down into the chair and grinned. “As the vicar in the family, I’ll even preside over the wedding.”
“Not a chance,” he countered. Yet his chest warmed with love for his brother and with thoughts of his future with Grace. “Come back to Spalding House with me. We’ll have a quiet dinner and put this day behind us.”
“Something tells me that a quiet dinner with me isn’t how you want to spend your evening.” His grin faded into a tired sigh. “Besides, I promised to pay someone a visit as soon as everything was settled.”
Ross drawled with a smile, knowing his brother well, “And what’s her name?”
“Evelyn Winslow.”
That made him sit up straight, nearly spilling his whiskey. “Pardon?”
“I promised her that I’d let her know how everything turned out.” He shook his head and muttered, “Damned chit thinks she’s the Baroness d'Oettlinger.”
Ross grinned. Evelyn Winslow was certainly one of kind. And speaking of formidable women…“Thank you for getting Grace released from Newgate.” Then he added, “And for caring for her when I couldn’t.”
A short sentence of understated gratitude, but there was nothing simple behind its implications. Last night, he’d wanted Grace away from Newgate in order to save her life and keep her from seeing the end of his. He’d had no idea that she’d risk her own neck to come to his rescue. Thank God she did.
“You’re welcome.” Kit solemnly met his gaze and held it, a flood of understanding passing between them in that moment. “Although from what I’ve seen, she’s plenty capable of taking care of herself.” He gave a chagrinned grimace. “Chased her for three hours last night and couldn’t catch her.”
Ross smiled to himself. “It took me ten years before I finally caught her.”
Now he had no intention of ever letting her go.
Kit frowned into his drink as he swirled it slowly in his glass. “There’s one thing I don’t understand, though. Why would Grace need your help in regaining her inheritance? Why not just petition to reopen the will in court?”
“Because it involves a peerage. Her late husband was David Montague, Viscount Lockwood. She doesn’t have the money or the power needed to pursue restitution on her own.”
“Lockwood?”
He grimaced into his whiskey. The last person he wanted to think about then was her dead husband. “She’s worried that her brother-in-law might try to harm the boy if he knew about Ethan’s existence. I told her that she had Parliamentary precedent on her side, but she—”
“Christ!” Kit shot out of the chair. “Grace thought she saw him today. If Lockwood was there—” His face paled with a stricken expression. “He knows she’s alive.”
Ross’s heart stopped.
Chapter 28
Grace stepped out of the cooling bathwater and sighed softly. For the first time in a decade, she was at ease, and her hope for the future burned bright.
So did her love for Ross. She couldn’t wait until tonight, when she could hold him in her arms and tell him exactly how much he meant to her. And that she loved him.
Humming happily to herself, she emerged from behind the screen in the bedroom where they’d spent the past few nights—where Ross had so breathtakingly made love to her. Around her, the converted carriage house was quiet and peaceful, made even more so by the soft glow of the lamp on the writing desk, where she’d started another letter to Ethan. To let him know that she was safe and that everything was going to be just fine.
Perhaps it was cowardly of her to flee Spalding House and come here, but the chaos that had descended upon the townhouse had been too much to bear. It seemed as if everyone in London had rushed to Ross’s front door upon hearing the news of what happened that day in the Lords. A few of the crush sincerely wanted to wish Ross their congratulations, but the overwhelming majority simply wanted to gawk. Of course, they refused to return the next day and insisted that Watkins allow them to wait for Ross to arrive, which meant dozens of people in the house. Which meant noise and commotion.
She wasn’t ready yet to face society’s suffocations, so she’d escaped for the peace and quiet of the carriage house, leaving instructions with Watkins to send Ross here when he arrived home. She had a feeling that tonight might be the last peaceful one they’d have together for a very long time to come, and she wanted to savor every moment of it.
Of course, she’d also left Spalding House because she couldn’t bear the stares of the servants. Including Watkins and Mrs. Mabry. Oh, they were certainly all very nice and attentive to her—although she suspected that Kit’s private conversation with the butler and housekeeper might have been the reason—and the stares they gave her were more curious than gawking.
Yet they still stared. After ten years in Sea Haven, where no one paid her any mind, to have that kind of concentrated attention made her extremely uneasy. So did their obvious curiosity about why she, someone dressed no better than the woman who sold fish in the market, should be given such special treatment.
“But I’m a viscountess,” she whispered to herself, so softly that the words barely registered to her own ears. That was her marriage right, and nothing could take that away from her. Not Vincent, not David’s death, not ten years of hiding. Yet speaking it aloud, even now that she was on the verge of regaining that old life, still felt foreign. And dangerous.
She pulled on the satin dressing gown she’d found in the armoire, most likely left there by one of Ellsworth’s mistresses. Her lips twisted into a knowing smile. Italian paramours, indeed! One day, she and the Marquess of Ellsworth would have a good long laugh over the ambassador’s masquerade and her role as the contessa.
“I am a viscountess,” she repeated to herself, this time slightly louder and with more confidence, as she reached for a bite of food from the little basket Mrs. Mabry had insisted she take with her. She popped the strawberry into her mouth and stifled a laugh, her hand going to her lips.
What would Ross think if he could see her like this, so carefree and happy? Her laugh faded into a blissful sigh.
He cared about her, even after he’d discovered her real identity, even after he’d learned the truth of her past. One month ago, she never would have imagined such a thing could ever have happened, yet the gleam in his eyes in the Lords had proved its veracity. In that moment, she knew exactly what she wanted, then and for the rest of her life. She wanted to be his wife and countess, make a loving home for him, and carry his children in her womb.
The look in his eyes had told her that he wanted the same.
“I am good enough to be loved by the Earl of Spalding,” she affirmed, finally casting away all the demons of doubt that had plagued her. Then with a happy laugh of abandon, she exclaimed confidently, “I am Viscountess Lockwood!”
“You are dead,” a voice countered from behind her.
She froze in terror. Malevolent fingers of darkness slithered up her spine and ripped the air from her lungs.
Vincent.
She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to wake up from the nightmare, but that only intensified the fear clenching her chest and constricting her throat as she felt him stalk closer, like a specter expelled from hell.
Slowly, she turned to
face him.
“Hello, Susan.”
His face blurred beneath the hot tears gathering in her eyes until she couldn’t recognize him, but the icy hatred that radiated from him was undeniable. So was the malice lacing through his voice. It took every ounce of her strength to simply keep breathing, to keep her gaze locked with his black eyes.
“It’s been a long time.” A chilling smile spread across his face. “But then, one of us was dead.”
She slowly tightened her hands into fists at her sides. She wouldn’t let him cow her into begging for mercy or terrify her until she screamed, with no one to hear her cries. Never. She’d become someone far different from the timid young lady he’d known before. What filled her now was fury, and sheer resolve to never again be his victim.
“You left this behind.” He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it toward her. It landed on the floor with a pinging clatter and rolled to a stop at her feet.
She looked down and swallowed back a shocked gasp. Her wedding ring.
“How careless of you to leave behind such a token of your undying love for my brother.” He mockingly shook his head. “Oh, that’s right. You never loved him.” A pitiless smile curved at his lips. “But then, neither did I.”
Something about the way he said that coiled a cold warning inside her belly. A voice screamed inside her head to steel herself—
“Which made it so much easier when I killed him.”
The stab of pain of that was brutal, but she forced herself to not react, biting the inside of her cheek so hard that she tasted blood. What he wanted from her was shock and fear, and she refused to give him either.
“He had the money and the title, and I had nothing.” A hard glint sparked in his black eyes. “And no way to possess it unless he died. Fortunately, he was already ill, so it wasn’t difficult to speed him along.” Clucking his tongue, he turned his attention to the room around them, examining the perfume bottles and jeweled brushes sitting on the dressing table. “So trusting to drink that potion I placed at his lips, believing it was medicine.”
How the Earl Entices Page 28
