His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  “You do know, otherwise you would not have brought the subject up.”

  “No, I—”

  “Why?” Determination mixed with amusement in Jonathan’s eyes, and Greyson knew he would not give up.

  “Because I don’t want marriage to be like this. I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t want.”

  “Now we are getting somewhere. I believe I might be able to help you.”

  Chapter 8

  Abigail allowed another unknown gentleman to swirl her around the dance floor. Every ball she’d attended since her wedding had been the same. The only gentlemen seeking out her attention were the unsavory ones looking for more than a dance.

  In the month and a half of her marriage, she had been present at more gatherings and events than she had in her entire life. The majority of these were spent at her husband’s side, reinforcing his standing. Then she sat with her mother or the other married ladies if her mother had not attended. Dances were rare, but Lord Merrick took special care to ensure he danced with her at least three times each ball.

  Since their wedding night, he had not joined her in bed, nor did he hurt her. Much to her surprise, their relationship had changed into a companionable association. Although he acted with kindness and attentiveness, a distance stretched between them as he never dropped his emotionless façade to let her in. Besides that, she found herself content with married life. She even imagined it would be pleasant to remain in London with him.

  “My lady, would you care for a stroll on the terrace?” the gentleman asked her as he led her off the dance floor.

  “No, I’m content to remain in here.”

  “Perhaps a drink then?” He smiled, a hopeful expression in his eyes.

  “I would prefer to be escorted to my husband.”

  Once her dance partner bowed and left her, she surveyed the room. Seeing Julia, she made her way to her cousin. Being able to regularly see her family had provided another benefit to living in London.

  “How was the dance with Lord Anderson?” Julia inquired. “I have heard he is a terrible dancer and does nothing but stomp on toes.”

  Abigail shrugged. “I’m not one to be selective in my dance partners, as they have never been abundant. Although I must confess, I have had more attention recently than I expected.”

  “I noticed, but I’m not surprised.”

  “Why not?” Abigail raised her eyebrows at her cousin’s admission.

  “Winston mentioned it the other day. It’s due to the way your husband watches you.”

  Abigail turned in Lord Merrick’s direction. He was watching her, but that was no different than usual. Why would his glances make a difference for her dance partners?

  “I don’t understand.” Abigail turned back to her cousin.

  “Prior to your wedding, Lord Merrick showed indifference toward you, and now he trails you around the room as if protecting his property.”

  “Is that bad? I still don’t see why it would matter to anyone else.”

  Julia glanced around as if afraid someone would overhear their conversation. “Since he is guarding you so closely, he must have discovered something about you other men would want. Something he didn’t know before your wedding.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Wait. He is coming.”

  Abigail peered in the direction Julia faced. Lord Merrick drew nearer at a swift pace, and he appeared intent on her. Then she noticed his complete focus on her. Could that be what her cousin referred to?

  “Are you ready to quit the evening, or are you content?” Lord Merrick asked after he stopped a few inches from her.

  “I have nothing persuading me to stay or go.”

  “Then we shall leave.”

  After excusing themselves from Julia, Lord Merrick took her arm and led her to the exit. Although the decision remained with him, he asked her every time and always complied with her wishes. In other matters, even trivial ones, he sought out her council and his thoughtfulness touched her.

  They didn’t speak to one another during the carriage ride nor as they made their way up the stairs. Reaching her door, she turned to bid her husband a goodnight, but the words froze on her lips.

  Lord Merrick’s dark eyes consumed her, forcing her heart to pound hard within her chest. When his gaze moved to her lips, her shaky hands nearly dropped the candle she held. Standing immobile, she wished he would kiss her, but hoped he wouldn’t. After how their last kiss had ended, she didn’t believe she would ever willingly start such a thing again.

  He blinked as his gaze traveled back to hers. With his emotions hidden, she wondered which side of him was the façade. The cold man, or the one that made her burn for some unknown delight? Her father’s moods had always been easy for her to decipher, but Lord Merrick was an infinitely more complex man.

  “May I come in?” The question sounded as if he’d expended a great deal of effort to ask it.

  “I don’t believe it would be a good idea,” she whispered.

  His shoulders sagged slightly and although she could see his disappointment, she refused to allow him into her bed again if she had a choice. Considering he did need heirs, her ability to choose was temporary. Until that time, her answer would remain firm.

  “Goodnight, then.” He took her hand and pressed his mouth against her skin.

  She shivered as his lips lingered. An ache in the pit of her stomach almost made her change her mind, but he straightened quickly.

  Unable to move, she kept her eyes on him as he walked away. At his door, he paused, glancing back at her briefly before closing himself inside. Feeling horrible, like she was in the wrong, she hung her head and entered her own bedchamber.

  “How was the ball, my lady?” Sandra asked a short while later, always waiting to help with a smile. However, today her face held less than her usual exuberance.

  “The same as usual.”

  Sandra nodded then began unfastening Abigail’s gown. Although Abigail wanted to know what troubled her maid, she didn’t ask. Typically Sandra could not hold her own council long.

  “My lady, I wonder if I can have a word with you.”

  “Of course.” Abigail finished tying her dressing gown, sat down, and faced her maid.

  “I believe it’s time to tell Lord Merrick and, by extension his staff, about your hair.” Her words were cautious, and her wringing hands displayed her discomfort.

  “Why?”

  “First of all, some of the servants below stairs have begun to question the dirty basins of water. I tried to be discrete like you asked, but there are few secrets that can be kept from the staff.”

  “Let them question. It’s none of their concern.” She had known it would be a matter of time before the deception became an issue. She’d simply hoped her privacy would have lasted longer.

  “What about Lord Merrick, then? Will you at least tell him?”

  Abigail sighed and put her hand up to her forehead. “He does not need to know.”

  “I don’t understand why. Your hair is a beautiful color.”

  “You may feel that way, but men are different.”

  “That may be, but not in the way you mean. Lord Merrick is a kind employer, and he has been especially attentive to you. He has earned his staff’s loyalty and that means a great deal.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Abigail turned away. She suspected she understood Sandra’s motivations, but she didn’t want to hear it.

  Lord Merrick had been generous, but it didn’t guarantee him any concessions with her. Their relationship was unusual but comfortable. She had no desire to make any changes and destroy what they had.

  “Because I think you need to give him a chance. He cares for you. Everyone around here can see it.”

  Abigail shook her head, not believing the impossibility. The man who obtained her hand from a game of cards could not care for her.

  “Thank you for your concern. I will no longer be requiring your services tonight.”
r />   Sandra paused long enough for Abigail to worry she would not respond.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Without turning, Abigail dropped her face into her hands, but jumped as she heard the click of the door shutting. The sound didn’t come from the door her maid exited, but from the one adjoining her room to her husband’s. Considering it was now closed, she knew he overheard their conversation. Although she could not be sure how much he heard, it had been enough to make him leave.

  Her heart sank. She had inadvertently done what she had no desire to do. As she forced herself to the washbasin to cleanse her hair, she felt numb. She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at herself in the mirror, but she didn’t care. Nothing would ever be the same.

  Greyson gazed at the door, feeling defeated. His wife detested him. He did everything right, the account from the servant proved so, but it didn’t make a difference. If his wife felt no affinity for him to begin with, he should have known the plan was doomed to fail.

  Jonathan had assured him he only needed to make her feel cared for, which he thought he’d done. Over the past weeks, he went out of his way to ensure she had every comfort. He’d consulted with her and given her space and time. With their interactions as of late, he thought she’d softened her opinion of him, but he’d been wrong.

  Falling into his chair, he ran his hands through his hair, angrily tugging at the strands. He’d failed in every way, and had even given the servants fodder for their gossip. That being the case, he found their loyalty touching, but the one person he wanted it from still denied him.

  Quickly standing, he decided he could not stay here any longer. Tomorrow he would give Lady Merrick what she wanted. He would send her away to the country. Then his house would once again belong to him. Until that time, he would not remain here.

  Craving the fresh air, Greyson set out into the night on foot. Ravenhurst sat a fair distance from his townhouse, but walking never bothered him. Besides, the additional time would ensure no one else would remain on the property, with the exception of the appointed guard.

  As he entered the club, something didn’t feel right. Glancing around, he didn’t see the guard either. To his surprise, he found several bottles of brandy left out on one of the tables. Confused, he lifted one. It had not been opened.

  His heart pumped in his chest. A burglary was taking place. Refusing to be caught unarmed, he hurried to the cabinet where they stored the liquor and retrieved the loaded gun Nathaniel kept inside. Hoping he would not have to use the weapon, he slid it into his pocket.

  Keeping to the dark, Greyson crept toward the sound of someone rummaging around. Shocked to see his office door open, he paused. Only he, Jonathan, and Nathaniel had a key. Afraid of who he would find, Greyson peered inside.

  Algers sat behind the desk, searching around in the drawers while Nathaniel lay unmoving on the floor. Not seeing any blood, Greyson relaxed. His friend had most likely lost consciousness, but remained otherwise unharmed. Examining the rest of the room, Greyson didn’t see a weapon of any kind.

  Nonchalantly entering the room, Greyson stopped halfway to the desk. “Can I help you find something?” He kept his voice monotone. He needed to exercise caution and couldn’t afford to excite the intruder.

  “Merrick,” Algers exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Greyson narrowed his eyes at the man’s impertinence. “I believe a much better question would be, why you are here?”

  Algers’ gaze shifted down to Nathaniel. “He asked me to meet him here tonight. When I arrived, I found him like that.”

  “So you took the opportunity to rifle through the desk?” Greyson stepped further in the room while casually placing his hand into his pocket. Grasping the cool metal in his palm gave him a sense of security. He silently thanked Nathaniel for his foresight in keeping a loaded weapon on the premises.

  “I just wanted to make sure nothing was missing.” Algers shifted in his seat, putting his hands in his lap.

  “You are lying. The reason why you never caught the thief is because it’s you.”

  “Interesting story, but you have no proof.” Algers’ smug smile told much more than his words did.

  “I have better than that. I have an eyewitness’ account.”

  Greyson worked to keep his breathing even as he watched the man closely. Algers face tightened as his teeth clenched, indicating he had struck a nerve. Algers probably considered himself invincible until Nathaniel arrived. Although he wanted answers, Greyson knew he would be satisfied with seeing the end of the theft.

  “You have nothing. Nathaniel knows nothing and you . . . Well, you will not leave this room alive.” Algers stood, whipped out a gun and aimed it at him.

  Heart pounding, Greyson managed to level his gun at Algers at almost exactly the same time.

  “I see you have come prepared,” Algers said.

  “As have you. In your case, it isn’t exactly the sign of an innocent man.”

  “I don’t care about appearing innocent. I care about getting paid.” Algers’ face turned bitter as he glared at Greyson.

  “Are you claiming Nathaniel didn’t pay you?” Greyson winced hearing his own skepticism. They were at a standoff with guns centered on each other, so it would not serve him to push.

  “I’m not referring to the paltry amount I earn here. This club owes me a much higher debt.”

  Greyson fixed his eyes on the pistol pointed at his chest. As Algers spoke, his grip seemed to tighten on the gun. Feeling sweat bead on his forehead, Greyson refused to be caught unaware. More than one shot would be fired tonight.

  “I’m not following.” Greyson imagined his only hope rested with attempting to distract Algers with his story, thereby taking his attention off the gun.

  “Over a year ago, I was hired to infiltrate this place, then on a specific night, we staged a break-in. I upheld my end of the bargain, but when time for payment came, the man who hired me had been eliminated.”

  Greyson’s teeth clenched. Kirkwood. Even from the grave, the man still plagued him. After Kirkwood’s membership to Ravenhurst had been denied, he sought his revenge against the club. He’d also targeted Richard, who he had discovered was a part owner. All those months ago, Greyson had vowed to find who had been hired to break into Ravenhurst, and now he had.

  “Then why not seek out his man or take it from his heir?”

  Algers shrugged. “Making you pay is more satisfying. Kirkwood never knew he focused on the wrong man. Stonemede was your pawn. I believe you are making the decisions here.”

  “Regardless, Kirkwood is gone, and you have taken your payment over this past year. Why continue?”

  “Kirkwood was more than a random employer. He was my father.”

  Greyson’s mouth fell open. “Then why—?”

  “I’m a bastard, just like you. And here you sit, titled and respected, while I’m forced to live on the streets. How is that fair?” The vein on Algers’ forehead throbbed. “I intend to make you pay by carrying out my father’s work for him. First, I must take a life as repayment for his death. Someone important. Your wife, perhaps.”

  Anger clouded Greyson’s vision. “You will not touch her.” His voice came out as a snarl.

  “You can’t protect her all the time. Her early morning walks through Hyde Park leave her particularly vulnerable. Not to mention her weekly visits to her mother’s house.” Algers smiled, a sickening twist of his mouth. “Or I could waylay her as she exits the milliner’s shop. She does enjoy surveying the hats. Do you know her favorite color is green?”

  So infused with rage, Greyson could not see straight. This man had plagued him and mocked him for too long. However, the threat to his wife had sent him over the edge. Algers had been stalking her, and perversely studying her every move.

  Alternating between a quick and easy death and a slow and painful one, Greyson squeezed the trigger.

  As blood began coloring the man’s shirt, Greyson felt pain ripping through
his chest. Algers held a smoking gun. The blow from the bullet knocked Greyson down, but he didn’t feel the fall. The aching in his chest overruled everything else.

  He’d allowed his rage to distract him, giving Algers a clean shot. Gasping for breath, Greyson lifted his head from the ground to assess the damage.

  Flecks of light burst in front of his eyes as pain shot through him. Dropping his head back, he saw Algers above him, grinning even as blood dripped down his arm.

  “I’ll continue to terrorize your club while I begin on your wife. The best part is, there is nothing you can do about it now.”

  Greyson tried to respond, but he couldn’t form the words. He fought the encroaching blackness, blinking rapidly. He had to save his wife.

  The realization he would never have another chance to make things right with her was his last thought before he succumbed to darkness.

  Abigail vaulted out of bed at the sound of banging and men yelling. Wrapping her dressing gown around her shoulders, she lit a candle and flew to the door. As she peered into the corridor, Holland rushed past her, two men following close behind. Each man had a grip on either side of Lord Merrick as they dragged him along.

  Her heart stopped. His head hung lifelessly down, and he didn’t appear to be moving. Stepping further into the hallway, she watched them enter his bedchamber. She stood, immobile, unsure if she should follow or remain in the hall. What had happened?

  She moved toward his bedchamber door, but stopped as her foot came in contact with something wet. Setting the candle down, she gasped. A smear of blood made a trail into her husband’s room.

  Shooting up, she raced forward. Seeing the men covered in blood forced her to grab the doorjamb as a wave of dizziness assaulted her. The men had laid her husband in his bed and one held something to his chest.

  “Where is the doctor?” Holland demanded.

  “I don’t know. I sent the first person I found for him,” the man standing over her husband explained in a worried tone.

  She broke into a sweat. Was he already dead? She wanted to ask, to speak up, but her throat had closed and the ringing in her ears made everything else sound as if it were miles away.