“What is going on here?” Braiden demanded from the direction of the door.
Her father’s attention moved from Greyson for a split second, so her husband snatched the opportunity. He kicked the duke, who stumbled backward and fell against the wall. A stunned expression crossed his face before anger darkened it.
Cracking wood resounded in the small space as the boards behind her father buckled under his weight. Obviously knowing what would happen, Greyson lunged forward, but it was too late. Her father fell out of the boathouse and into the rushing waters.
No one moved. No one breathed until a feminine sob broke the silence. In the doorway, Tabitha clutched Braiden tightly. Abigail could not bring herself to feel for the girl. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything for anyone.
Then Greyson appeared before her and pulled her against him. She didn’t even feel him. Nor could she move. She just hung there lifelessly as he held her. Silence reigned.
Through a haze, she noticed the faces above her were moving their mouths, but no sound came out. She only heard the rushing water as it took her father further away. Would he come back? The punishment he would deliver now would be more severe. Her body started shaking uncontrollably.
Greyson lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the boathouse. Unable to hold on to reality any longer, she gave in to the darkness beckoning her.
“There has to be another way.” Greyson appealed to his childhood friend, Harry, who now held the title of magistrate.
“I’m sorry, Greyson. I have to speak with her.”
“Do you have any idea what she just went through? Her father attacked her last night. Her bloody father.”
“So you have said, but I need to hear it from her.” He held up his hand, dissuading Greyson’s protest. “You don’t know why they were out there.”
Greyson pushed back his chair and paced the room. After Abigail passed out from the shock, he tucked her in his bed, and she had yet to awaken. Her body needed the sleep in order to come to terms with what the duke had attempted to do to her. In addition, she had watched as her husband killed him. Was it too much to allow her to spend another short while in her dreams?
“Surely there is a statute you can call upon.”
“You are my friend. We have known each other for a long time now. You even helped me earn this position. Would you have considered doing so if you thought I would neglect my duties, even for a friend?”
Greyson grumbled under his breath, but he knew the man’s assumptions were correct. “All right, but can you at least give her another hour to sleep?”
Harry eyed him with exasperation, but was saved from answering by a knock. Irritated by the poor timing, Greyson threw open the door with more force than intended. Matthews stood on the other side, wide-eyed, but he quickly composed himself.
“My lord, you wished to be notified when Lady Merrick awoke, so I’m here to inform you she has.”
“Thank God. Is she still in my bedchamber?” Greyson pushed past the butler, anxious to see Abigail, when he nearly ran into her.
She offered him a small smile, but the terror in her gaze tore at his soul. Was she afraid of him? Did she hate him for killing her father?
“Good morning.” Her voice was barely audible.
He cleared his throat, hoping to erase the pain he felt for her. “The magistrate would like to ask you some questions, if you are feeling all right.”
She nodded and followed him into the study. After a brief introduction, he settled her on the sofa, positioning himself beside her. The need to protect her overwhelmed him, and he refused to allow Harry to upset her.
“Lady Merrick, I know you had a terrible experience last night, but could you tell me exactly what happened?”
“My father sent me a threatening note.”
“Where is the note?” Harry interrupted.
“In my bedchamber, I suppose. Would you like me to retrieve it?”
“No,” Greyson cut in. “Matthews will see to it. Go on with your story.” He nodded toward the butler who remained by the doorway. The man’s obvious concern over Abigail did him credit.
“I did as the note said and met him, but Lord Merrick saved me.” She looked up at Greyson with worship shining from her eyes.
His breath caught.
“Can you describe how he saved you?”
“They fought. My father was going to kill him, but the duke fell.”
Her concern over the outcome of the fight surprised him. From the way he saw it, he’d held the upper hand the entire time. The duke was much weaker and never had any reason to learn to fight as Greyson had. Although Greyson only intended to incapacitate the man with his final kick, the overwhelming desire to kill him had been all he could think of in that moment.
He inwardly shuddered, recalling Abigail’s blank stare after her father fell. Her limp body gave him nightmares even as he held her close all night. Now, he could not be more pleased her father was dead. The man had never deserved to live.
“Well, Lord Merrick, from the accounts of all the witnesses, the fight sounds to have been in self defense, but the tragedy was just a terrible accident. As the blows you shared are not my concern, I’ll document the accident as such.”
“Thank you.” Greyson could barely contain his relief. As an accident, no one would have to know what Abigail or her mother suffered at that man’s hand. Their reputation would be saved, and unfortunately, so would the duke’s.
“Now, if I can be shown the scene of the accident, I’ll be on my way.”
“Certainly.” Greyson stood and took a step toward the door.
Abigail jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm. “Please don’t leave me.”
Although she whispered, he read the desperation in her eyes. He could not leave her.
Greyson turned back to Harry. “Lord Hauney can direct you. I’ll have him notified at once.”
“That is all right. I’m sure Matthews can help me. Besides, I need to retrieve the letter from him. Thank you both for your time.” Harry bowed his head to them, then left the room.
Worried about his wife, Greyson sat back down with her still clinging to his arm. “What is wrong?”
“He will find out I told and come after me. Or worse, have you thought about what he will do to you now?” She buried her face in his chest as her body trembled.
Greyson’s heart ached for her as he wrapped his arm around her. “The duke is gone. Don’t you remember?”
“He fell, but he can easily swim out of the river. I’m sure he is already out there waiting.”
“Abigail.” He lifted her face to his. “Nothing falling into that river survives, especially this time of year. The current is too treacherous, and the water is below freezing.”
Her eyes glazed over as if trying to process the new information. “He is dead?”
“Yes. They found him this morning.”
Abigail’s body sagged against him, and he could feel her relief. “How did you find me last night?”
Relieved he heard no distress, Greyson smiled. “Joshua saw you walking through the garden in your dressing gown. When he told me the direction you were headed, I realized only one plausible destination lay before you.”
“What about Braiden and Tabitha? They were there too.”
“They were enjoying a few stolen moments along the river when they saw me kick in the boathouse door.”
“You were so angry.”
Greyson could not tell if her voice held fear or pride. Unable to stand having her emotions hidden from him any longer, he eased her back to look into her eyes. They held the same loving expression as before. His heart swelled.
“Of course I was. I love you.”
Her eyes widened as a slow smile broke out across her face.
“You truly love me?” Hope infused her words.
“How could I not? You are sweet and wonderful but also exciting and unpredictable. My life has been so empty, but you
have filled it with so much joy that I never knew existed.”
Tears shone in her eyes. “Oh, Greyson, I love you, too.” Her joyous laughter washed over him. “I think I first fell in love with you when you offered me a chance to live at Merrick alone. That is when I realized you were not like my father.”
“Did my illegitimacy never bother you?” Although hard to ask, he needed to hear her answer.
“Of course not. Your actions define you, not your parents or your social standing.”
“None of that matters anymore. You are the most important thing to me now.”
“As you are to me.” She gently touched his cheek. “I trust you.”
Greyson smiled so wide his cheeks ached. He laughed as his body couldn’t contain so much happiness inside. Bringing her tight against him, he captured her lips. She met him as her arms encircled his neck.
At that moment, he realized his life was perfect. He had achieved every undertaking he’d set for himself and even gained things he never knew he wanted. His life had been irrevocably changed for the better.
Abigail belonged to him, and he intended to keep her happy and safe. Forever.
A preview from the next book in the Perfect Series: His Perfect Lady
Jonathan Alastair stared at the paper in the flickering glow of the fireplace. No matter how many times he read the few lines over the past days, he still could not believe it. He was Viscount Linwood. Nicholas Alastair, his father, died peacefully in his sleep less than a fortnight ago.
Crumpling the paper in his hand, he finished his brandy. His father probably died on purpose. Tossing the letter into the fire, he took pleasure in seeing the flames consume it. The man was gone now and could never give Jonathan the only thing he ever wanted. According to his father, one mistake made was one too many.
“Are you coming back to bed? I’m not used to being left alone for so long.”
He smiled at Rosetta’s pouty face. Although he had known bringing a woman home tonight wasn’t the best idea, he couldn’t help himself. As she stretched her long naked body, he didn’t feel his usual enthusiasm.
“I would, my dear, but your exceptional loving has worn me out. I’m in need of a rest.”
“Perhaps you simply need some encouragement.” She sauntered over to him and climbed into his lap, teasing him with her hands and lips. He knew she could feel his body’s reaction to her ministrations through the thin material of his trousers, but he had no desire to engage in any pleasurable activity right now.
He let out an exaggerated groan. “Normally I would not hesitate to partake in your sweet offerings a second time, but I have an appointment scheduled much too early in the morning.”
“Cancel it,” she breathed against his skin.
“At this moment, I would like nothing more, but it’s much too late to do so.”
She sat back, and put her hands on her hips as she studied his face. He set his expression as regretful as he could manage. With an unhappy sound, she nodded and slid off of him.
“Well, I shall be available tomorrow if you are looking for some company,” she offered, running her hands down the sides of her body. “After that, I can make no promises.”
“Thank you for your generosity. You know I always enjoy your . . . stimulating conversation.”
She snorted, an unladylike sound, then turned to search for her clothes.
The crack of metal against wood brought his eyes to the door at the same time a feminine squeal sounded from his right. Stanwick Alastair, his brother, stood in the doorway. His chest heaved from his heavy breathing, and his face hardened as it rested on Jonathan.
“You,” Stanwick growled.
“I’m sorry, my lord.” Kamins, the butler, peeked his head around Stanwick’s forbidding posture. “I tried to stop him.”
“That is quite all right, Kamins.” Jonathan slowly shook his head at his brother, hiding his shock at the sudden appearance of the sibling who never left Linwood. “Stanwick, I had thought your manners were better than this.”
“What would you like me to do, my lord? I can call for a footman to assist.”
“There is no need. Stanwick will go without trouble.” Jonathan grabbed his dressing gown from the chair and pulled it on as he stood and faced the men.
“I’m not leaving until I have said my piece.” Fury dripped from Stanwick’s words.
Jonathan had no idea what upset his brother so much, but he obviously would not be deterred. Anger rose within him at Stanwick’s superior stance. He had no right to barge into Lord Linwood’s bedchamber and demand an immediate audience. Working to calm his reaction, he glanced around for Rosetta. She crouched behind his bed, clutching her gown at her chest. Judging from Stanwick’s lack of acknowledgement, he had not seen her.
The combination of his brother’s anger and his appearance in London added up to only one reason for his visit. Not wanting to discuss private matters in front of an audience, Jonathan looked toward the bed.
“As you wish, however, you must wait until I have seen to my guest.” At the mention of her, Rosetta dropped down until only the top of her blond head could be seen. Jonathan wanted to laugh.
Stanwick set his gaze on the floor and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ll give you some privacy.”
As his brother walked out of the room, Jonathan smiled at Rosetta. She jumped up and rapidly pulled her clothes on.
“What was that about?”
“Just a warm welcome from my brother.” He shrugged as her eyes shot to him. “We are a close family.”
“He seemed angry.”
“Did he?” Jonathan kept his voice amused, although he didn’t appreciate her prying. He could see curiosity burning in her eyes, but he refused to explain.
She looked away from him as her cheeks turned bright red. “Will you call upon me tomorrow?”
“We shall see.”
With a nod, she hurried out of his bedchamber. Rosetta was a sweet girl and knew how to please a man, but he felt nothing else for her. Over the years he had shared a bed with many different women, but none of them had the power to move him. He believed what he searched for didn’t exist. Or rather, only lived within one unattainable woman.
Hearing the door creak open, he wiped his thoughts from his face and put on a smile. Playing the part of irresponsible older brother would serve him better. Although he hated the stigma, his father managed to drill it into Stanwick’s head that Jonathan’s personality consisted of nothing else.
“Are we going to talk or fight?” Stanwick demanded, shutting the door behind him.
“Hmm, I’m not sure. Fighting is more interesting, but I believe I’m too tired for either. Considering you robbed me of my pleasant diversion, we should reserve this conversation for the morning.”
“I didn’t travel all the way to London to be put off any longer.” Stanwick pointed his finger at Jonathan with force. “You owe me.”
Seeing the disappointment in his brother’s eyes made him wish he no longer had to put up the façade of the dissolute man everyone believed him to be. Sighing heavily, Jonathan waved at a chair, indicating his brother sit.
“All right. You have the floor.” Settling back on the sofa, Jonathan wished he had a brandy. Sometimes taking that extra second to drink while formulating your response made the difference between a brilliant remark and a mistake.
“Why didn’t you come home after Father’s death? You, once again, left me to deal with everything. Did you honestly hate him so much you could not even come to see him buried?”
Jonathan swallowed down his sorrow, wishing even more for a brandy. He had gone back and forth many times, but eventually decided not to return to Linwood. His father didn’t want him there in life, so arriving for his death seemed like a disservice. How could he go pay his respects knowing his father’s spirit stood there cursing him?
If Nicholas Alastair had his way, Stanwick would have been his heir, and Jonathan would have never existed. Jonathan could not
say he entirely disagreed with the man.
“I could not rearrange my schedule. I thought you would understand.” Jonathan shrugged as if the subject didn’t trouble him.
Stanwick shot out of his chair and glared down at him. “Damn it, Jonathan. How could any of your trivial matters be more important than your father?”
“Did you honestly expect me to go?” Jonathan’s voice sounded tired and strained, even to him. “After everything that man put me through? He didn’t want me there. My absence was more of an honor for his memory than my presence would have been.”
His brother sat back down, but didn’t make eye contact with him. “I wish I could tell you that you are wrong, but I see your point.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jonathan replied, although he didn’t feel that way. He, too, wished Stanwick could tell him their father truly loved him and would have wanted him in attendance.
Stanwick’s eyes shot to his, still full of anger. “However, you could have come for us, not for him. Brothers should support each other during difficult times.”
“You’re right. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have been there. I’m sorry.”
With his narrowed eyes and pinched lips, his brother appeared to struggle with the new information. Jonathan hoped his brother would forgive him. There had already been enough strife between them from their father to add this. After a long pause, Stanwick cleared his throat.
“Then I accept your apology.” Stanwick shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “I came here for another reason as well. I wanted to talk to you about Linwood.”
“You could have sent a letter containing all this,” Jonathan observed dryly.
“So you could ignore it? I don’t think so. Aunt Mildred agreed. She said—”
“Not Aunt Mildred.” Jonathan groaned. “Why did you consult her?”
Jonathan and his father’s sister had never seen anything in the same manner. He suspected the affliction to misunderstand him ran through his paternal blood as his father suffered from the same problem. However, Aunt Mildred always pushed everything further than his father. If she had her way all those years ago, Jonathan would have been disinherited.
His Perfect Game Page 27
