His Perfect Game

by Jenn Langston

  “What I call my wife is irrelevant.” Although he understood her reasons, he couldn’t help the twinge of pain that shot through him. She didn’t even trust him with her preferred name. As a matter of fact, she’d never even given him leave to use her Christian name either.

  “Of course. Now about the maid—”

  “Don’t concern yourself over my dealings. Simply know that no matter what I do, I have my wife’s best interest at heart.”

  Hauney’s eyes narrowed as he studied Greyson’s face. Greyson was accustomed to bestowing such scrutiny, but he wasn’t used to receiving it. Remaining still, he allowed the man to continue to seek out whatever answer he sought. Finally Hauney’s face softened as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Although I don’t understand how you possibly could, I feel compelled to believe you.”

  The admission gave Greyson some relief. The last thing he needed was Hauney worrying over his every move, or, worse, demanding to defend his sister’s honor. This visit came as a peace offering, and Greyson decided to heed its warning. Until her family left, he would not touch Abigail again.

  Abigail sat back and surveyed her handiwork. The strangled mess of weeds had been removed, leaving the delicate winter flowers room to grow. The chore made her feel good, and, more importantly, made her feel like herself again.

  For weeks now she’d been working inside or playing the part of Lady Merrick. The housework had become tedious and no matter what she did, in too short a time, it would be ruined and she had to begin again. The garden, on the other hand, grew and blossomed with only the slightest amount of redoing.

  Collecting her tools, she rose and came face-to-face with Julia. Abigail specifically chose this section of garden for its distance from the manor and its lack of eye-catching scenery. Obviously her cousin didn’t choose the path a typical person would.

  Quickly dropping her head, Abigail murmured “excuse me,” and sidestepped her cousin. Unfortunately she saw the questioning look in her cousin’s eyes, and she knew Julia would not leave her alone. Abigail cringed as footsteps fell in behind her, confirming her downfall.

  “Wait a minute,” Julia called.

  Abigail didn’t stop and increased her pace instead.

  “Abigail, stop. I know it’s you, so you don’t have to run. I’ll find you eventually.”

  Defeated, she slumped her shoulders and faced her cousin. Julia’s eyes twinkled as if her statement had only been a speculation. Abigail silently cursed herself for falling for the trick. Now her cousin knew the truth.

  “What are you doing out here?” Abigail decided to pretend she wasn’t dressed like a servant. “The West Garden holds a wider variety of breathtaking flowers, even this time of year.”

  “The better question would be, What you are doing here? Especially dressed like that with your hair showing. And your voice. When did your Scottish accent return?”

  “I find gardening to be relaxing, and I certainly can’t wear my fine clothing to do it in. The accent is the true me. When I’m comfortable, it comes naturally.”

  “And the hair?”

  “The powder does not hold up well for long periods in the sun.” Abigail was pleased to be able to explain to her cousin without having to lie.

  Julia nodded, seemingly satisfied. As they turned and walked back toward the manor, Abigail felt overwhelmed with relief. If anyone else had caught her like this, they would not understand, whereas Julia didn’t even blink.

  “It’s a lovely day to be outside. I’d hoped Winston would be back by now, but with the day being so fine, they may never come back to us.”

  “I think we hold more appeal than an everlasting hunt. Besides, Lord Merrick said they planned on returning before dinner.”

  “You speak very formally of your husband. I would have thought you would be beyond that, considering he allows you to present yourself as a servant.”

  Abigail’s cheeks heated. She wished she had not brought up her husband. Although Julia readily accepted other things, she could never understand the complicated relationship she shared with Greyson. At times, she herself didn’t comprehend it.

  “He does not exactly know I do this.”

  “How could he not? Has he not seen you out here?”

  “He has not known me as long as you, so he can’t tell. Besides, he has no idea what my natural hair color is.”

  Julia lifted one eyebrow as she shot Abigail a skeptical look. Choosing to ignore her cousin’s reaction, she went into the shed to replace her tools. After she emerged, Julia naturally headed toward the front entrance, but Abigail hesitated. In this costume, she had no right to use that door, but she didn’t want Julia to discover the extent of her charade.

  As they walked through the entryway, Abigail’s eyes darted around for anyone who could catch her. Luckily no one saw her. Then she heard her father and suppressed a shudder. If he were to see her like this, the punishment would be severe.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Tabitha said in a high-pitched voice. “Please leave me alone.”

  Abigail recognized the panic, and her heart stopped. She had been in that exact situation too many times not to recognize what was happening. She could see the cane in her mind’s eye.

  Forgetting about protecting herself, she left Julia and ran to the drawing room. Tabitha had no idea what the duke did in the way of retribution for the slightest thing he perceived as wrong.

  “Braiden might be blinded, but I know what you are. You must be punished.”

  “Lady Tabitha,” Abigail called out, then shrank back when her father turned to her, his face red with fury. “Lady Lorrian is requesting to see you at once.”

  “Tell her she is busy,” her father practically growled. His eyes shifted to the left, and his anger seemed to lessen.

  “She can’t, Uncle,” Julia said from behind her. “Tabitha’s mother was very specific.”

  Tabitha hurried around the duke to stand with them. Abigail’s hands shook as her father’s eyes narrowed at her. No recognition existed in his face. She could not be sure if that was a good thing or not. Turning from him, they hurried out of the room. Not trusting the safety of anywhere else, Abigail took them upstairs to her bedchamber.

  “I don’t think we should be in here. Lady Merrick would not appreciate it,” Tabitha said, trembling.

  “Actually, I don’t mind,” Abigail replied using the accent Tabitha would recognize.

  “Abigail? You don’t look like yourself at all. With such beautiful hair, why would you hide it?”

  Abigail took a deep breath, knowing it was time to tell Tabitha about her father. “It’s because of my father. As you might have noticed, he abhors the color. That is his sole reason for disliking you, and why I hide my natural shade.”

  “That is ridiculous. How can he treat someone so badly based on the color of their hair? It isn’t like we have a choice.”

  “Uncle Hammond has always had strange views on some topics. I remember my mother telling me not to speak to him when he was in certain moods.”

  “What am I supposed to do? He cornered me in the drawing room as if lying in wait for me.” Tabitha’s tone rose higher.

  “Then we will not leave you alone. Between the two of us, Braiden, and your mother, there is no reason why you will have to be alone,” Abigail promised.

  “Thank you. Do you think I should tell Lord Hauney?”

  “I’m not sure.” Julia looked over at Abigail.

  “Considering nothing really happened, I think my brother may believe you are overreacting. He has worshiped my father since he was very young.”

  Both women nodded. Although Abigail hated that Tabitha had to go through this, she could not help the relief she felt. Since receiving a warning, Abigail knew Tabitha would steer clear of the duke, therefore keeping safe. Abigail only hoped she could do the same for herself.

  After leaving his study, Greyson headed toward the door leading to the garden. In the past week, he had not been visited
by Abigail, and he wondered if she took his words to heart. This time of day she typically donned her maid’s costume while the other ladies rested in their rooms, but she had not come to him. Although pleased he no longer had to worry about getting caught, his anxiousness to see her and ascertain if he had done something wrong preyed on his mind.

  As Greyson walked down the hall, he heard angry voices coming from the portrait gallery. Concerned, he changed his direction.

  “Because she’s a temptress. Why don’t you see that?” the duke demanded.

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know her. I have tried many times to give you an opportunity, but you refuse. Why?” Hauney countered.

  “Get to know her? Why would I? I already know her type.”

  Greyson knew the men discussed Lady Tabitha. From what he observed, she appeared to be a nice girl. Why would anyone have a problem with her? Regardless, this argument was none of his concern, but he could not allow it to continue in his house. The girl in question might appear at any moment.

  “Gentlemen, please lower your voices,” Greyson said, stepping between the two of them. “I don’t think it would be fair to Lady Tabitha if she heard your argument.”

  “This is none of your business, Merrick. Stay out of it.” The duke appeared ready to fight.

  “You are in my house, and I make the rules. If you want to continue, take it off my property.” Greyson met his unwavering gaze.

  The malice in the duke’s face brought out Greyson’s anger. How could a man with so much malevolence inside of him amass such a spotless reputation? Remorse swept over Greyson. His current station in Society had been brought about by this poor excuse for a man. Though finding Abigail had been the highlight of his life.

  “That is quite all right. We have nothing more to say to each other,” Hauney spat.

  “You will regret your interference, Merrick. Mark my words.”

  With that, the duke turned and left. Greyson shook his head, no longer caring. It didn’t even matter if the man ruined his social standing. Greyson paused, realizing it was true. His whole life he’d aspired to be accepted, so this new thinking was abnormal. Over the past weeks, his priorities in life drastically changed. Abigail was now the most important thing to him.

  Greyson turned to Hauney. “Do you mind me asking what that was about?”

  Hauney shook his head as he crossed the room, then stopped in front of the portraits hanging on the walls. Greyson slowly followed behind him, sensing he wanted to talk.

  “As a child, I used to think my father was perfect.” Hauney gave a harsh laugh. “It’s hard discovering your whole life was based on a lie.”

  “Simply because he does not approve of your choice of bride does not mean he isn’t a good man.” Although Greyson didn’t believe his own assertion, he couldn’t help but try to ease the man’s suffering. The duke was Hauney’s father, after all.

  “Normally I would agree, but not after learning his objection to Lady Tabitha.”

  “Which is?”

  “The color of her hair.” Hauney snorted. “Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous thing to hold her accountable for?”

  Was that why Abigail hid her true hair color? Greyson frowned. His opinion of the duke fell even lower. He could just picture Abigail powdering her hair in a desperate attempt to please her father. His fists clenched. How could the man do that to his daughter?

  “Why does he take exception to the color? I find it quite desirable.” Greyson recalled images of Abigail’s red curls cascading over her shoulders.

  “Because he feels his father betrayed his mother’s memory by openly taking on lovers with red hair. He blames them for the old duke’s weakness.”

  “So the stigma extends to all women with a similar shade?”

  “I didn’t say it made sense.” Hauney shrugged. “Abigail used to have red hair, too. She was lucky when it darkened. I don’t think my father could have handled seeing her with it every day.”

  “She still has red hair. Your father is probably the reason why she hides it.”

  “That is impossible. Her hair has not been red for many years.” Hauney stopped walking and faced Greyson abruptly. “If you are right, she began hiding it as a mere child.”

  “I can’t say for sure, but it would not surprise me. The duke does not appear to be overly fond of his daughter. From the moment I proposed marrying Abigail to settle his debts, his attitude toward me changed for the better. He was very encouraging toward the suit and even went as far as securing private time for the two of us.”

  Hauney shook his head in disgust. “She deserves a better father. And, come to think of it, a better brother as well. I had no idea.”

  “She doesn’t blame you. Actually, she adores you. You should have seen her reaction when I told her I invited you here.” Greyson could not contain his self-satisfied smile as he thought about how she threw herself at him following the news.

  This conversation had been very enlightening. The realization she deserved better from him as well struck him. The time had come for him to tell her he knew the truth about her identity. Whatever her reaction, she needed to know his part in her charade.

  “I’m glad she has you. I just wish you . . . Wait a second. She has red hair.” Hauney said it like an accusation. “I thought the maid looked overly familiar. Why is my sister dressing like that? You should not have to sneak around to have your wife.”

  He cocked his head at Greyson, apparently expecting an answer. Greyson kept his face blank. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing Abigail with her brother. Besides, he didn’t even know the reason behind her choice to act as a servant. However, when he admitted his knowledge to her, he intended to find out. She may not appreciate his deceiving her, but he still deserved an explanation.

  “The reason does not matter. Come, let us go seek out our ladies and take them on a walk.”

  Hauney nodded, and they exited the portrait gallery. Although they would start their outing with four people, Greyson fully intended it to end in pairs.

  “I understand, but I prefer to work in the garden while the guests are here,” Abigail explained to Mrs. Coushings as if the previous ten times didn’t occur. She could not comprehend why the woman insisted on ignoring her wishes when she catered to the other staff members.

  “As you have said before. However, you work for Lord Merrick, and he needs the drawing room cleaned. The duke has spilled his brandy on the carpet, and I’m assigning you to the task.”

  Abigail felt the blood drain out of her face. Her father? Was it a trick? Did he demand Mrs. Coushings fabricate an excuse to get her in there alone? She would not do it. Sandra or someone else would have to.

  “Is the duke still in there?” She tried, but failed to keep the terror from her voice.

  “I don’t see why he would be. He approached Matthews to alert him of the accident. Don’t worry, he is a powerful duke. He will not even notice the likes of you.” Mrs. Coushings shook her head then walked away, obviously expecting Abigail to obey.

  Taking a deep breath, Abigail calmed herself. The desire to tell that woman exactly who she ordered around overwhelmed her. But nothing good would come of it. The housekeeper probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.

  What should she do? Although she knew exactly how much notice her father would take of her, she could not imagine him attempting anything. Not only were they in her husband’s house, but it was the middle of the day.

  Gripping the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand, she slowly made her way to the drawing room. After mentally bracing herself, she quietly stepped inside. Her heart pumped wildly as she surveyed the room. It was empty. Letting out a sigh of relief, she quickly bent down by the overturned glass, desperate to finish her task and escape.

  “I knew they would send you,” her father’s slimy voice said as the click of the door closing echoed in the room.

  Sweat broke out across her forehead when she realized she was trapped. He stood betwee
n her and the closed door. By experience, she knew who was faster. With shaking hands, she ignored him and set back to her task, hoping he would grow disinterested and leave her alone.

  When she felt him touch her hair, she jumped to her feet and spun around. He stood inches away. Keeping her gaze fastened on his feet, she slowly backed away.

  “Such disgustingly beautiful hair. You have been taunting me with it on purpose, I know. I have seen you around here only giving me glimpses, but I have you now.”

  “I . . . I have done no such thing,” she whispered as fear clutched her heart.

  “Don’t play that with me. I have seen the games you have played with the viscount. I also know he only puts up with you because he has access to your body.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. “I only want the same privilege.”

  Feeling her father’s body up against her made her want to retch. “Father, you can’t. It’s me, Willimena, your daughter.”

  He reared back and stared at her, revulsion filling his gaze. His hand on her arm gripped her tighter. She whimpered, unable to contain her pain, but remained motionless while his face displayed his inner battle.

  “You are not my daughter. Not any longer, but I’ll still punish you.”

  As he raised his hand, she closed her eyes. She heard nothing beyond the blood rushing in her ears. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She could never escape him.

  “Get your filthy hands off my wife.” Greyson’s furious voice broke through, filling her with hope. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband coming forward with Braiden at the door. She wanted to run to them, but her father held her tight.

  “She isn’t your wife. She is a wh—” His words broke off as Greyson slammed his fist into the duke’s face.

  Her father released her as he stumbled backward from the blow. Shrinking down, she cowered in the corner as he caught himself and lunged at Greyson. Her husband was ready and knocked her father down again. This time blood dripped down his nose, and it took him longer to get up.

  “You are making a mistake,” her father threatened, his voice breathless. “You will lose your hard-earned reputation for this worthless girl.”