by Ingrid Hahn
“Would it have remained innocent had you not been discovered?”
Corbeau bristled. “Of course it would have.”
“You wouldn’t even have tried for a kiss?”
The idea of what it would be like to kiss Grace was always close. In his dreams he’d done far more.
But that was the licentious male in him, untamed and feral and completely unfit society if he tried to act on such base impulses. Moreover, he wouldn’t be worthy of Grace if he did. He’d have to strip away all his honor to dare such a thing. Oh, he teased. But he wouldn’t act on the impulse. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. “Not before we’re married.” And as to that, they couldn’t be married soon enough.
Until then, he would do everything in his power to fight his base instincts.
“We’re talking about Lady Grace, aren’t we? I mean about the ‘winning a woman’ business?”
“Of course.”
“And I’m correct in understanding that she’s less than keen on the idea of the marriage?”
“You are.”
From where he’d been hunched to study the geometry of the current arrangement on the table, Max straightened. “And you haven’t kissed her?”
“Like I said—”
“There’s your mistake. You must kiss her.”
“How do you know the family, by the way? I didn’t know you did. Come to think of it, what were they doing at Sutterton Grange that week, anyway?”
“Ah. Mother and Lady Bennington were at school together. They needed a place to stay, and—”
“Needed a place to stay?”
“Mmm. Worn out their welcome with the relations that begrudgingly keep them, it seems. You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t.”
Max gave him a suspicious look. “How are things going between you and Lady Grace?”
Corbeau leaned over the table to take his shot, not looking his friend in the eye as he spoke. “She wants to break the engagement.”
“Forgive me, but I think I like this woman rather more than I thought I did.”
Corbeau went dark. “I’m not forgiving you for that.”
“All I meant was that she certainly isn’t after you for your pocketbook. That’s always something to admire in a woman. And if anyone were ever in need of a fortune, it would be one of those girls. Such a pity about their father. They’re exactly the type of people who should have remained firmly respectable their whole lives.”
“What would it say about me if, after what happened, I allow her to cry off?”
“I’d say it’d make you the luckiest man all of England over.”
“Unlike you, I’m familiar with a concept known out in the wilds of the world as honor. It might be a bit of challenge for someone with your intellectual capacity, but I can recommend some books for further study.”
“Developed a bit of a tendre for her, have you?”
If only Max knew.
No, much better that he didn’t.
Thankfully, Max continued, saving Corbeau a reply. “I see it as my duty as your friend to remind you that marriage can be a very, very long time. It’s a lot to take on for a momentary…I was about to say indiscretion, but it wasn’t even that. It was an accident. Now if she’d connived to lure you into the storeroom—”
“It’s my duty to protect her reputation.”
“After what you’ve already been through, that will be difficult if you’re discovered kissing her, so mind you’re careful on that score.”
“I’m not going to kiss her.” He turned his attention back to the game, his mood about level with the heavy gray cloud cover outside. “I regret having asked. Forget I said anything.”
A minute passed in heavy silence. “First tell me why you haven’t yet kissed her.”
“She doesn’t want me to.” Corbeau didn’t quite believe his own words.
“She wants to, but she doesn’t know it yet.” Max’s eyes were full of mischief. “You must make her know it.”
Corbeau wasn’t going to respond. Truth of it was, there were times he thought she wanted him to kiss her, only she wasn’t about to admit it to herself. The subject had to drop.
Asking, however, proved irresistible. “How?”
Max stood with his billiard stick pointed at the ceiling. His brows came together as he concentrated, looking off into nothing. “How? Yes, well, that’s a question. You’d think someone would have had the sense to write a treatise on such an important subject.”
“You manage it.”
“Yes, but, now that it’s put to me, I don’t think I’m much of an instructor.”
It would have been easy to say that his lack of ability to instruct was a direct result of his lack of ability as a student, but that wasn’t altogether true. Though Max had shown no inclination in his studies, he’d breezed through Oxford the way a leggy thoroughbred flies over a short hedgerow—as if it were nothing.
“Kissing a woman can’t be the first step in winning her.”
“I thought you acquired the special license so you could marry just after Christmas.”
“I did.”
“Then kissing is the first step, no mistake. You’re already engaged, after all, and you have five days.”
“Four.”
Max shrugged. “Still plenty, mind.”
“It’s utter nonsense. Knowing what I now know, I contend you aren’t unmarried by choice, but by the fact that in spite of what I’ve heard described as your manifold charms, in the end, ladies are actually repulsed by you.”
“With but four days remaining, do you have the time to bet all on the chance I might be wrong?”
“You are.” In one horribly unfair sense, Corbeau had already dishonored Grace simply by being caught alone with her in that dashed awful storeroom. He wasn’t going to attempt to dishonor her again with a kiss. Being alone with her at odd times and places was enough of a risk as it was. It was the only way he could really talk to her, however.
Four days… The enormity of what must be accomplished in so short a time loomed before him.
He couldn’t have been more daunted if Sisyphus had appointed Corbeau temporarily in his place while the cursed figure took a week at Brighton.
Chapter Nine
Hetty cornered Corbeau in the corridor just beyond the library. “It’s raining.”
“I know.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Everyone is terribly restless.”
This time of year was all the more difficult for the inclement weather. The climate was conducive to rain at the best of times. Winter, however, would be mistaken by few for the best of times.
And the guests were feeling the constraint of being cooped within the walls. That’s how it seemed, at any rate, though he could well have been alone in the sensation and mistakenly applying his own agitation to others.
“If I could help the weather, believe me, my dear sister, I would.”
“It’s just that ladies are used to walking and men are used to riding. All the little agitations of close quarters are building up, and everyone’s quickly losing sight of the sort of mood they ought to be in at Christmas.”
“And for that I’m all the more grateful I have my mornings in the stables.”
Hetty squinted at him. “You’re still doing that?” She shrugged, giving her head a little shake, as if she might pause to wonder at him from time to time, but it’d be too much to ever try to hope to actually understand him. “Really, we must have occupation, or we’ll all go quite mad.”
“I’m sure you can think of something.” He moved past her, wood floor creaking under the rugs, only to pause. “Perhaps no hiding game, though.”
“Some effort is required of you, you realize. Not much. Just a little.”
At the door, he looked back at her. “There is a matter requiring my immediate attention. As soon as it’s resolved to my satisfaction, I shall be at your disposal.”
“Matter?” She made a moue. “What matter?”
“I’m not.”
If she were still in the schoolroom, he’d reach out to tousle her curls. “Be that as it may, leave me my happy fancies, won’t you?”
“I’m quite grown past the age where you might protect me, you know.”
He smiled, wistful nostalgia for the bright-eyed girl she’d been, warring with a fierce pride to be able to call himself brother to the astonishing creature she’d become.
Given his care of her in the years since their parents’ deaths, it would have been nice to believe he’d had something to do with what she’d grown into. But Hetty was always going to be Hetty, the rest of the world—including him—be damned. The picture of a proper lady was something she could never be. And he wouldn’t have her any other way. “Again, pray leave me to my fancies.”
She sighed. “Well, all right, attend to whatever it is that so urgently needs addressing. But don’t forget your guests do need you.”
If only he could.
Individually, he liked them all well enough on their own merits. Even Lady Rushworth wasn’t without her positive qualities, though he didn’t have time to stop to think about what they might be.
The group as a collective whole, however…a sort of cold dread crept over him. He shut the library door.
At last. Sanctuary. The only thing he needed after the rather alarming morning was a few minutes’ peace. Alone.
What was more soothing than the smell of books and leather and ink?
Only one thing. Out the windows in a far field, there they were—his horses.
Corbeau started pulling away his jacket. Finely cut as it might have been, occasionally a man needed the freedom of shirtsleeves.
“Oh, forgive me, my lord, I’m so sorry.”
His eyes landed on Lady Grace. She stood in the corner shelves of books, wearing an expression that could have been alarm as easily as it could have been guilt.
Interesting though—she wasn’t blushing.
She kept talking as he replaced the article of clothing. “It’s just, I was going to ask, you see, and I was looking for you, but your butler said you were unavailable for a short spell, but assured me you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed something.”
“The novels are together there at the end on the newer shelf.” Jacket replaced, he pointed.
“My mood isn’t suited to a novel today.”
“Ah. I see.” He paused. “Anything particular I might help you find?”
“Oh, no. I was just—” Hastily, she glanced over the titles at hand then pulled a slender volume from the shelf. “This will do nicely.”
He came closer to peer at her selection. “Read Latin, do you?”
“What?” She looked at the gold lettering inscribed on the spine, sour annoyance replacing the surprise on her face. “Oh. Actually, no.”
This time, she did blush. Prettily, too. The rosiness staining her cheeks highlighted those dashed irresistible freckles.
“Take your time. And don’t mind me.” Trying not to smile, he took his place at the desk. His steward wouldn’t mind terribly if he attended to the business piling up. At least someone would be happy.
He took the top sheet from the pile and tried to attend.
Happy for a proper reason, that was. Whatever satisfaction Corbeau felt about having unsettled Grace, he wouldn’t be allowed to own it to anyone but himself.
Not that he wanted to unsettle her. At least, not as the word was at face value. But if his presence affected her…well. He wasn’t averse to allowing himself the fleeting pleasure of enjoying the evidence of the experience.
“Have you had a terribly difficult morning?”
He set the paper aside. “I’m sorry?”
“The servants have been terribly on edge.”
“Have they now?” Not that he could blame them.
“I’m prying unforgivably by asking, of course, but is there trouble afoot?”
Inwardly he smiled that stating she was prying unforgivably hadn’t stopped her from launching ahead without hesitation.
Corbeau leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, considering. Every waking moment since their midnight meeting he’d spent with a nagging question at the back of his mind. How was he going to win Grace?
Trouble was afoot with the servants. And he had half a mind to share the matter with her. But it seemed an odd thing to win her by venturing on this particular topic.
Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so strange.
It might, in fact, make all the sense in the world. Grace was a strong woman, and showing her that she would be an equal partner in their life might indeed be a faster road to winning her than anything else. Certainly better than Max’s foolish notions, no question.
The thing of it was, would she be shocked if he told her?
Grace? Steady, levelheaded Grace? Shocked? He bit back laughter.
He checked the inappropriate mirth and gave the situation the seriousness that was its due. “As I fully intend to marry you, my intention to do so and my belief that my hopes will come to fruition lead me to believe informing you of this matter, though it would properly be the purview of my count—”
“Stop! If those are your terms, I don’t accept.” Scowling, she turned back to the books, rubbing her arms absently as if chilled.
He let his eyes linger. He could sit watching the back of her for a long time and remain perfectly content.
When he spoke at last, he selected his words with great care. Being forthright herself, Grace would appreciate direct speech. “Today I was made aware that one of the maids has gotten herself with child.”
That had her attention. Grace whirled to stare at him, eyes glinting with steely challenge. “I might be an unmarried woman, my lord, but my understanding is strong enough on such concerns to know that, save one in all of history, women don’t get themselves with child.”
He gave a single nod of agreement. “I apologize for my poor phrasing.”
“I don’t see what’s so difficult about the situation. They don’t have to have the banns read. Surely they can be married easily enough by common license.”
“If there were to be a marriage, I would see it done.”
“There isn’t to be a marriage?” Grace’s lips pressed into a line. “Don’t tell me the poor girl is being sent away.”
“She’s been spoken to on the matter and remains firm. She’s not naming the father.”
“I doubt she’d tell you.”
“As do I, which is why it was the housekeeper who had a word with her, not me.”
“It’s not fair. The girl shouldn’t be alone to take the blame, banished from her home and all who know her while whoever it was who—who—well, whoever he was, doesn’t have to shoulder his share of the responsibility.”
“I quite agree. It’s not fair. But those who know her now scorn her.”
Grace was visibly seething. Her eyes flashed, her brows sunk low. Her indignation on the matter was doing something to him in the vicinity of his chest. It made him want to pull her close and kiss her brow and tell her he was going to make the world a better place to live or die trying.
Lord, but she was going to make him an excellent countess. Her energy. Her passion. The way she spoke her mind to him just now, with her strength of conviction, no matter what the rest of the world thought.
He stood. “I don’t care for it any more than you do, but it’s for the best.”
“I have been scorned. I know what it is when those you believed cared for you turn their backs on you in your time of greatest need.”
The perfume of her willed him to pull her close and imprint the fragrance upon his senses.
For a long second, it was all he could do to keep from kissing her then and there.
Remembering himself, Corbeau spoke gently. “What your father did wasn’t your fault.”
“I thought you didn’t want to speak of the past.”
“It seems to haunt you.�
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“Yes, I suppose it does. And I know—I know it wasn’t my fault. But others didn’t. When we needed compassion, when we needed friends—” She drew herself up. “Well, we learned quickly enough what we’d become in the eyes of others.”
“Then they were never worthy of you to begin with.”
“I can do without such silly sayings as that, if you please, my lord.”
“It’s true.”
She didn’t respond.
“Lady Grace, I sense there might be something you wish to tell me. Some deeper reason why you might wish to end our engagement.”
“Oh, let’s talk about something else.” A hint of desperation lingered in her voice. “Please.”
“Forgive me. It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.” He swallowed and his tone went soft. “If I might add one thing, however?”
She did nothing but look at him expectantly, her silence an agreement to continue.
“I hope you soon deem me worthy of your trust.” He took a deep breath, content to change the subject for the time being. “In the case of the maid, I have every reason to believe the maid was complicit in the doings that saw her into her current condition.”
Her brows sunk a fraction. “Do you?”
A sour twist invaded his stomach at the suggestion. “The question of force was put to her directly and vehemently denied. If I had the slightest reason to believe otherwise…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, only shake his head. It was hard enough knowing Grace understood some men’s souls were dark enough to be able to do such things. What he himself would be capable of were something of that magnitude of wrongdoing to happen under his very roof was a theoretical query he dared not ponder.
She raised her chin. “Well, that’s something.”
“What’s done is done. The most compassionate thing we can do for her now is see her well cared for, which I fully intend to do—for both her and the child.”
“What’s done is done—except on one matter. The identity of the father.”
“I told you, the girl wouldn’t say.”
“You need to find him out and hold him accountable for what’s happened. She can’t shoulder the burden alone. You must discover who the father is, and he must take his share of responsibility.”
