Ainsley clapped Alex on the shoulder.
He clamped his mouth shut as pain shot through his upper body. Taking a long deep breath through his clenched teeth, he smiled wryly at Ainsley.
"You always were a good sparring partner. You are just as relentless now as you were at Cambridge." Ainsley grinned.
The crowds began to leave the Great Hall. Alex looked toward his chair, desperately in need of his walking stick. He was not sure if he would even be able to retrieve it himself. But his cane was not there.
His gaze darted around the room, anxiety tightening his stomach and chest.
Miss Marleigh appeared, standing in front of both Alex and Ainsley. She lifted her hand and Alex saw his walking stick dangling from her fingers. "I thought you may be in need of this.”
Alex shrugged, but quickly grabbed for the cane. He did not wish to have Miss Marleigh see him so weak. Especially when Ainsley was about.
She stared at Ainsley adoringly. Alex had no doubt if the man asked for her hand at that moment, she would not be able to accept him fast enough.
Alex squeezed the head on his stick, his knuckles bleaching. Would she be looking at him with such adoration had he been named the victor instead of Ainsley? Alex doubted it.
He smiled tightly and lifted his cane. "Thank you for bringing me my walking stick. But I could have come to retrieve it. I didn't mean to inconvenience you." His cheek twitched with the lie.
She tilted her head to the side. It seemed to be what she did when she was thinking through a problem. "It was no inconvenience."
Lord Ainsley opened his mouth and Alex knew he was about to ask her to go somewhere with him.
Alex felt driven to ask her first. "I don't suppose you would care to take a turn about the conservatory?" Alex heard the hardness in his voice and chided himself.
He glanced at Ainsley to see his reaction and was surprised to see he was grinning, almost as if he were holding in laughter.
Alex returned his gaze to Miss Marleigh, determined to ignore Ainsley and his fustian nonsense.
Her eyes were riveted to Alex's shoulder. He looked over to where she was staring, seeing what had captured her attention. Several streaks of blood stained his shirtsleeve. Alex looked down at his thigh, knowing what he would see before he actually saw it. A bright red circle of blood, about the size of his fist marked his buff trousers.
Miss Marleigh's eyes had followed his and when he looked up at her, her face pinked to the tips of her ears. "Perhaps you should have your valet see to your wounds before we take a turn."
Ainsley's mouth gapped slightly as his eyes went from Alex's bloody shoulder to his thigh. "What happened to you? I thought you hit your leg on the corner of a table?"
Alex rotated his head back and forth, trying to work out the knots forming in his neck.
"It was a very sharp corner." Irritation tinged his voice, his gaze flicking to Miss Marleigh. She knew he was telling a bouncer, but would she say anything?
"And your shoulder?" Ainsley looked concerned. "What happened to you on that ship from India?"
"India?" Miss Marleigh looked between the two men. "I didn't realize you had been to India. I should be interested to hear about it someday. I've always wanted to visit. It seems so exotic."
Alex chose not to respond to Ainsley’s question, instead focusing on Miss Marleigh's. "Perhaps when we take a turn, I can tell you all about India. You are correct; it is very exotic and beautiful."
She tilted her head again. What was she puzzling out now?
Alex took a step back from their little group. "But as you said, I should have my valet see to this. Or at the very least, change my clothes." He dipped his head to them both. "Miss Marleigh. Ainsley."
Ainsley still stared at him with a wrinkled brow, but he dipped his head in return.
Alex walked as straight as he could manage until he no longer felt their stares behind him. Once in the hallway, he sagged against his cane. He knew he was leaving Miss Marleigh to Ainsley, but it could not be helped. His mind could no longer order his body to ignore the pain. Alex felt the paper inside his watch pocket. Besides, he already knew her affections lay elsewhere. Limping noticeably, he made his way to his chambers.
Chapter 14
Abigail's stomach grumbled. She wished the Garvey's would post a schedule of when Mr. Garvey would be about and when he was not, so as to give the guests notice of when they should make arrangements for additional food. Not only had the meals been tasteless and watered down, the portions had been slight, to say the least.
Abigail looked out the rain streaked window. Though it was not as if a trip to town to procure such rations had been possible due to the recent days weather.
The parlor door opened and the men walked in. Mr. Bradford, the gentleman she had been seated next to at dinner caught her gaze and smiled as he made his way toward her.
Abigail smiled. Mr. Bradford seemed a nice enough gentleman, even if he was too prone to laughter. He’d chuckled and guffawed at every word she spoke—little of which was actually witty. But such a trait could easily be over-looked if his character was kind and trustworthy.
He sat down next to her, giggling as he did so.
Abigail took a deep breath. I can overlook his excessive laughter. She repeated it several times. Placing a smile on her face, she turned her body slightly so she could face him. Her eyes caught a movement behind him and she glanced over.
Lord Grayson was seated with Miss Tinsdale. His face was relaxed and he was smiling. Why did he bestow one of his rare smiles upon Miss Tinsdale?
He glanced up and caught her staring at him. His smile faltered and Abigail looked back to Mr. Bradford, now unable to look him in the eyes.
"I hope you’re having a pleasant stay here in Brighton." Mr. Bradford tittered, his eyes flicking nervously about. Abigail cringed. Could she overlook a gentleman tittering? She looked down at her hands. She may have to. He seemed the only gentleman still paying her any mind.
Abigail finally brought her eyes up to meet his. "I have enjoyed what little we have been able to see, due to the rain and all."
Mr. Bradford laughed. "Yes, the rain has not been very cooperative, has it?"
Abigail shook her head. "Perhaps we will be lucky and the sky will clear tomorrow."
He laughed again and Abigail found herself clenching her teeth together.
She counted to ten in her head, slowing letting out a frustrated breath. "Where are you from, Mr. Bradford?"
"Dorchester. And you, Miss Marleigh?"
"Cornwall."
Mr. Bradford chuckled. Abigail searched the room for anyone who might come save her. Even Mr. Jennings seemed almost more desirable.
Abigail's eyes landed on Mr. Cavanaugh. He looked up and she tried to plead with her eyes for him to come save her, but he turned away, moving toward a group of ladies on the far side of the room.
Abigail's shoulders sagged. What had happened to Mr. Cavanaugh? The past few days it seemed he went out of his way to avoid her. Which was odd, considering he had displayed some interest early on. Why should she be surprised? Such seemed to be the pattern.
Her eyes drifted over to Lord Grayson, but nervous laughter beside her drew her attention back to Mr. Bradford. "I never thought the filly could be beat." The gentleman threw his head back in wild laughter.
Abigail chuckled next to him, even though she had no idea what he found so witty. She was certain whatever he had said, was not in the least humorous. Hope stirred in her chest when she noticed Lord Ainsley approaching.
"Miss Marleigh, it looks as though we are moving into the drawing room for tonight’s entertainments. I would be honored to escort you." Lord Ainsley's eyes flicked to Mr. Bradford. "Unless you are already otherwise engaged?"
Abigail stood up. "It is very kind of you, Lord Ainsley. Mr. Bradford has just finished telling me the most amusing story, did you not, Mr. Bradford?"
Mr. Bradford giggled and nodded his head, but his brow was slightly
furrowed.
“It was lovely speaking with you, Mr. Bradford.” Abigail put her hand atop Lord Ainsley's offered arm, feeling only slightly guilty for so obviously throwing Mr. Bradford over. "I am not otherwise engaged."
They walked past Lord Grayson. He glanced at Abigail and she thought he might smile at her, until his eyes caught Lord Ainsley and his mouth pulled down.
“I understand you knew Lord Grayson before he left for India?” Abigail tried not to show too much interest in the subject.
“I did. We attended Cambridge together.” Lord Ainsley cleared his throat. “Although the man here is much changed. I should have hardly known him, if not for his name.”
Abigail detected a hint of humor in his voice, but his wording was curious.
“Is he changed in appearance, or simply his temperament?”
Lord Ainsley shrugged. “Mostly in temperament, though I suppose his appearance is changed as well. He did not have the scar on his cheek before he left.”
Abigail looked at Lord Grayson over her shoulder. When he glanced at her, she stumbled.
Lord Ainsley placed his other hand on her arm, helping to steady her. “Take heed, Miss Marleigh. I should not like you to take a tumble while in my care.”
They found seats on the side, making it easier for Abigail to make her way to the staging area when the time came for their Taming of the Shrew vignette.
Lord Grayson entered the room, his eyes roving over the group and finally settling on her.
Abigail looked away, until he moved into the row and sat down next to Lord Ainsley.
"Ainsley." Lord Grayson's voice was gruff and clipped. He kept his gaze straight ahead.
"Grayson. Are you to regale us with a reading tonight?" Lord Ainsley smiled and his lips twitched. It was the second time since morning, she had seen him give the look to Lord Grayson.
"I was lured into participating with the group acting out a scene from The Taming of the Shrew." Lord Grayson's ears colored.
"Lured? That sounds like a very diverting story, indeed. Pray, who was able to lure you into such a thing? I know I can't boast such an accomplishment."
Lord Grayson glanced at Abigail and Lord Ainsley's head nodded. "Ah, yes. Well, that makes a bit more sense."
Abigail stared between the two men. What did Lord Ainsley mean? What were they not saying aloud?
Mrs. Garvey stood and announced the first presentation. Miss Barton recited a poem. Abigail heard not a word. Instead she fingered the fringe on the edge of her shawl, her mind intent on the man sitting just down the row.
Lord Ainsley said he had barely recognized Lord Grayson. What did that mean? Was Captain Stringham, indeed, the same man Lord Ainsley knew as a young man?
Lord Ainsley leaned over. "They have announced your turn."
Abigail looked over to see Lord Grayson standing, waiting for her to exit the row. Abigail quickly stood and moved to the side aisle.
Lord Grayson's long muscular legs stretched, stepping over Lord Ainsley. His stick hit Ainsley in the leg, causing him to bend over and rub at his shin. Lord Grayson apologized but Abigail thought she saw a hint of a smile on his face.
"Poor Ainsley. Could they not have given a bit more space between the rows?" His face showed contrition, but his eyes danced with mirth.
"Perhaps they were not anticipating the guests having such long legs." Abigail closed her eyes as she realized she had spoken her thought aloud.
"That much is obvious." He put his hand at her elbow. "Let’s get this over with, shall we?"
They took their places at the table. The two of them had been assigned the parts of unnamed people attending the final party. Clara had assumed the role of Katherina while Mr. Cavanaugh played Petruchio. Miss Barton had been given the role of Bianca. Lord Grayson sat across from Abigail and took up his mug of imaginary ale.
The leads began to recite their lines. Abigail stared across the table at Lord Grayson. "I am sorry I lured you into this. I didn't realize you abhorred it so much." She whispered as she looked down at the table, her index finger tracing an old water ring. "I had thought we had some fun while practicing."
She looked up at him through her lashes and saw his shoulders drop a fraction.
"My intention was not—" He grabbed for his chin, a look of frustration crossing his face. "That is to say, we did have fun. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I'm sorry if I offended you."
Abigail studied him. Who was this man, really? Her heart lurched a little when he glanced up at her. There were a dozen or more eligible gentlemen here, and yet, this was the man who made her throat tight and her stomach flip. Her brain knew who he was, yet her body did not seem to care. She was attracted to him, would even go so far as to admit she desired an attachment with him. But it was all a bunch of fustian nonsense. Or, was it?
Her eyes widened slightly as she realized it was not simply a rebellion against her uncle which was causing her interest in him.
He continued to watch her.
Abigail swallowed. What would it be like if she allowed herself such an attachment? Could she ever see Lord Grayson as anything but a Captain Stringham? An image of him in his form fitting waistcoat and snug pants while he fenced came into her mind. She smiled. Perhaps she could imagine him as something different.
But the smiled quickly dropped away. Deep down, she would always know what he was—or at least what he had been. Would he always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to discover he was not who he claimed to be?
"You didn't offend me," she finally responded.
His gaze rose from the table, where he was twisting his mug around in a circle. "What?"
"You did not offend me by saying I lured you into this."
He nodded. "Oh, I'm happy for it."
"What happened to the real Lord Grayson?" She blurted.
His head snapped back slightly. "What?" he whispered?
She leaned closer to him, feeling a pressure building up inside—pushing her to know the truth. "The real Lord Grayson. What happened to him?"
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times. He continued to spin the glass, but now he tipped it slightly as he turned it on its edge. "He died."
"But what of his heir? There is certainly an heir."
"The heir was traveling about the world, unaware of the responsibility which awaited him at home."
"How long do you plan to carry out this charade? What if he should return soon?"
Lord Grayson looked at her. "Do not worry yourself unduly. I have seen to him."
Abigail's mouth formed an O, her brows raised high onto her forehead. "You have not killed him, have you?" She hissed across the table.
Lord Grayson clenched the glass tightly in his fist. "What do you take me for, Miss Marleigh?"
"A pirate, Captain Stringham. That is what you are. If you haven't killed him, how can you be so sure he will not return?"
A shadow passed over Lord Grayson's eyes. "I just know."
Abigail nodded, but she was confused about what to think of the man across the table from her. "I am relieved to know you have not hurt him."
Lord Grayson leaned forward. "And I am glad to know what you really think of me." He stood up and everyone in the cast turned to look at him. As if just remembering he was in a play, he swayed a few times and then tipped an imaginary hat. "Good night, my lady," he slurred and then walked away.
Abigail opened her mouth to call him back but closed it when Clara began to recite her lines again.
Abigail put her face in her hands. What had she done? Had she truly just accused a man of killing another? The hurt in his eyes as he stood was sure to follow her into her dreams.
Chapter 15
A knock sounded at the door and Parker, Alex’s new valet, cracked the door open.
"Come." Alex called.
Parker pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe. "I have your breakfast tray, my lord."
Alex folded up the paper he was reading and put it
to the side. Until he had arrived at the Garvey's, he had not realized how much he missed reading a current newspaper.
Parker set the tray on the low table by the fireplace, then stood to the side rubbing his hands together.
"Did you need something, Parker?"
Parker opened his mouth and then closed it, his brow creased. "I had a strange conversation just now. But I am not sure I should concern you with it, sir."
Alex leaned over and grabbed a slice of bread, slathering it with butter and placing a slice of ham on top. He stood, taking a large bite. "If you have to wonder, then you should likely tell me."
Parker nodded his head. "Yes, my lord." He licked his lips. "Miss Marleigh and Miss Martindale's footman approached me while I was dishing your food."
Alex paused, the bread halfway to his mouth. Had he somehow found out about Alex's role in the carriage? Alex swallowed the food in his mouth. "And what did he have to say?"
"He warned you away from Miss Marleigh." Parker’s voice held a note of confusion.
"Warned me away? Is she dangerous?"
Parker shook his head. "No, no. It is nothing like that. He seemed to think her reputation may be less than suitable for a man of your position."
Alex's brow rose high. "How did you respond?" He had been impressed with his new valet thus far, but if the man was contributing to the gossip mill below stairs, Alex would see him sacked immediately. He had no patience for such behavior.
"I thanked him for the warning and told him that Lord Grayson was an intelligent man—that Harry need not concern himself with your affairs."
Alex smiled, releasing the breath he had been holding. "You did well, Parker." Alex took another bite of his bread, chewing thoughtfully. "Please inform me if any such information should be passed among the other servants."
Parker nodded. "I believe Harry has already spoken to several of the other gentlemen's valets. I know Grant, Lord Ainsley's valet, has already been warned."
Alex rubbed his fingers over his upper lip and chin several times. "Do you know what Ainsley's response was?"
Miss Marleigh's Pirate Lord (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 1) Page 11
