Lord Reginald, looking puzzled a moment before, began to laugh. “Ah, yes. Now I recall. Mrs. Forbush, you and Hawthorne are somehow related, are you not?”
Lord Geoffrey turned to her in surprise. “How so, Mrs. Forbush?”
“Through marriage. My late husband was Mr. Hawthorne’s uncle.”
He glanced from her to Adam and back again. “Life never ceases to amaze and delight me,” he said. He held a chair for her before taking his own across from her. “May I assume you are not in league with Mr. Hawthorne to relieve me of my ready?”
Adam leaned back in his chair and gave an easy smile but did not rise to the bait. Grace could not tell if he was insulted or amused by the gibe.
She merely laughed and turned to Reginald. “Forgive me Lord Reginald, but may I assume that you and Mr. Hawthorne are not in league to take advantage of a novice?”
“Touché, Mrs. Forbush,” Lord Geoffrey acknowledged.
With a glance and nod in the direction of a house monitor whose duty it was to observe the activities at each table, Lord Geoffrey began to shuffle the deck. Grace noted how nimble he was, how adept at handling the cards. And how quick. He slid the deck to his right and Adam cut them before Lord Geoffrey began the deal. The last card, dealt face up, was a heart, declaring the trump suit.
When Grace opened her hand and sorted her cards, she was pleased to find seven hearts. She looked up at her partner, wondering if he had somehow known and manipulated the cards. But how could he? Even if he’d known the bottom card was a heart, how could he have dealt her hearts from the middle of the deck? He was studying his hand with rapt concentration and nothing in his expression or bearing indicated that cheating was afoot. Her hand must be a happy coincidence.
Lord Reginald led and the play began. At one point she glanced up to find Morgan studying her over his hand. He raised his eyebrows as if asking a question. She smiled, realizing he was flirting with her. Rather effectively, too.
When she took the last trick for a total of ten, Lord Geoffrey smiled. “Well done, partner,” he said.
“Well dealt,” she answered.
Lord Reginald, completely unperturbed, gathered the cards and began to shuffle. “As it is my turn to deal, I shall try to give my partner likewise good cards.”
Grace shot a quick glance at Lord Reginald. Was he intimating that he suspected Lord Geoffrey of cheating in the deal? There did not seem to be a challenge in his eyes.
“Excellent!” Adam said, cutting through the tension. “Mrs. Forbush made rather short work of us, did she not? I’ll relish the chance to even the score.”
“Nothing like a little competition,” Lord Geoffrey said. “It always sharpens the senses and adds excitement, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Hawthorne?”
Meeting Lord Geoffrey’s gaze, Adam gave a half smile, one that only lifted one corner of his mouth. “If the stakes are high enough,” he said with a hint of challenge.
Lord Geoffrey nodded and returned his attention to the cards. Was there some sort of history between the men?
The next several hands went more slowly than the first, but Grace wasn’t aware of the passage of time until she felt Barrington’s hand on her shoulder.
“Here you are, Grace. It is time for us to go. Let’s fetch your wrap.”
“Come now, Barrington,” Lord Geoffrey protested. “I’ve scarce had such good luck with partners before.”
“Too bad, Morgan. Grace is coming with me.”
Grace looked over her shoulder to see Barrington’s face. He was completely serious! She lowered her voice to a conciliatory tone. “As soon as I finish this hand—”
“Now.”
A hush fell over the table as the men looked from her to Barrington and back. She folded her cards and took a deep breath. Every instinct she had told her to avoid the scene—to do whatever she must to smooth this over and keep the peace, as she’d done with Leland her whole life—but she’d finally had enough of Barrington’s subtle bullying.
“After I finish this hand, my lord. If you will fetch my wrap, I will be done by the time you return.”
Barrington gripped her elbow and pulled her to her feet, tipping her chair backward in the process. She was so stunned by this maneuver that she was rendered momentarily speechless. Players at the other tables stopped to look in their direction. Barrington seemed oblivious to the attention they were drawing. She heard chairs at her own table scraping backward but kept her eyes riveted on Barrington and prayed for restraint.
“My lord, it would be unforgivably rude of me to leave the game in progress. I am not the only one to consider here.”
“Well, you are the only one I am considering, Grace, and you are coming with me.” He tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her away from the table.
Adam, Morgan and Lord Reginald all stepped forward as if they would intercede. She lifted her hand to them, trying to avert the pending disaster. She must avoid a scene at any cost. All she could think of was her brother. Leland had always gotten what he wanted by bullying, demeaning and embarrassing her. She thought she had escaped that ugliness, and that she’d never be at any man’s mercy again, but here she was. She knew she should face him down, but still…
But still the fear of Leland and of calling his attention was controlling her, forcing her compliance—at least in public. Choking on the words, she said, “Gentlemen, please excuse me. Allow me to—” she tried to open her reticule, dangling from her wrist, to withdraw the remainder of her counters “—to reimburse you for your losses, Lord Geoffrey.”
“No need, Mrs. Forbush,” he said, a frown knitting lines between his eyes. “Our winnings far exceed our losses. In fact, I will owe you—”
Barrington tugged at her arm and Adam took a step forward, his intent clear. Lord Reginald, too, gave Barrington a hard look and made a move forward. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Be calm, she counseled herself. Softly. Breathe. When she spoke, her voice was so serenely controlled that she scarcely recognized it.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, gentlemen, but I really must be going. I have just recalled that Lord Barrington is quite right. We are long overdue for an appointment.”
Though it was the deepest part of night, traffic along the main thoroughfares did not stop. Drivers called to one another and the sound of hooves on cobblestones filled the air. The moment Barrington’s coach stopped moving, Grace did not wait for a footman, but threw the door open and hopped down. She had not spoken the entire ride, not trusting herself to remain rational. Mrs. Dewberry had waited up and stood just inside the foyer. She handed the housekeeper her pelisse and reticule. “You needn’t have waited up, Mrs. Dewberry.”
“I like to be sure everyone is all tucked up for the night, Mrs. Forbush. I don’t mind in the least.”
Before she went any further, Grace needed to be certain she and Barrington would not be interrupted. “Is Dianthe home yet?”
“Aye, Mrs. Forbush. Retired an hour ago.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dewberry. Now please get some sleep.”
“Shall I fetch more brandy for his lordship, Mrs. Forbush?”
She headed for the library, peeling her gloves away as she went. “He will not be staying long. Now off to bed with you.”
“Yes, Missus.” The woman hurried toward the coach house where she and her husband had separate quarters.
“Grace—”
She was already pouring herself a glass of brandy by the time Barrington caught up with her.
“Grace, talk to me,” he pleaded.
Grace had wanted to be safely home and out of the reach of society gossips and Leland’s informants before she gave vent to her anger. Her back to him, she gulped the brandy and braced herself as the fire seeped downward, relaxing her clenched stomach muscles and stilling her trembling. She rarely drank anything stronger than sherry, but this occasion called for it. The next few minutes were going to be extremely unpleasant and she would need fortification to get through it.
&nb
sp; “Damn it all, Grace,” Barrington snarled, red-faced. “I won’t have it. I won’t have you cavorting at hells and flirting with every man there. It cheapens you.”
She straightened and turned to him, ready to deliver the conciliatory speech she had devised on the coach ride home. “I am painfully aware that this is my fault, Lord Barrington, and I accept responsibility. I allowed this to go on far too long. Despite your assurances, I have, of late, begun to suspect your feelings for me were more than they should be. Certainly more than we agreed upon for our friendship.”
Barrington harrumphed and straightened his jacket. “I know how you dislike displays of emotion, Grace. I did not want you to feel uncomfortable or have any reason to…to—”
“Any reason to end it?” she finished. How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so naive to believe the assurances that he expected nothing from her and that he’d only wanted a hostess and occasional companion? “But you must see that has only caused more problems. I do not, and will never, have those feelings for you, my lord. Now I am in the loathsome position of asking you to cease calling on me. I hope we shall be able to be cordial when we meet in public, but I will understand if you cannot.”
“You think I don’t know?” Barrington scoffed, advancing on her. “You kept me around because I was convenient, Grace. Because I was safe. You didn’t want any messy entanglements, and you thought I would not press.”
Was that true? She felt the sting of guilt. After Basil’s aborted attempts at lovemaking, she had sworn she’d never put herself in that position again. Had she been too eager to believe Barrington’s assurances to question them—she, who had observed such things so easily in others? Her only defense was that, “I thought you would not press because you didn’t care. You swore you only wanted a hostess, a companion for the many functions and state dinners required of your position. I served a purpose for you, as well, my lord. I am sorry if you had any further expectations of me, but I was always careful not to give you any reason to think there could ever be more.”
“You have always known—”
“That’s just it, sir. I did not know. I was so certain you understood that—”
“Three years, Grace. Three years I’ve been keeping your company. Three years of waiting.”
“Three years of knowing that I never intend to marry again, and that I do not want a lover,” she interrupted. “Three years of saying that was acceptable to you. Three years of swearing this was all you wanted of me.”
“You let me think there was a chance,” he shouted.
“You will not make me guilty!” she cried. When all else had failed, Leland had used guilt to control her, and she would not go down that path with Barrington. She turned to pour more brandy into her glass.
“You should thank me, Grace,” he said, seizing her arm and whirling her back around to face him. “If I hadn’t stopped you, you’d have made a spectacle of yourself.”
“Have you gone mad? You are the one who made the scene tonight, Barrington! You are the one who called attention to us and will be the cause of talk tomorrow.”
“Precisely why you will continue to see me. The ton must know that all is well.”
She tried to pull away, but Barrington tightened his grip on her arm. “All is not well,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “Nor will it ever be. Our friendship is over. I shall never accompany you again, nor are you welcome here.”
“Society will say you have found a new lover. Who is it, Grace? Hunter? Morgan? Or is it Hawthorne? Is that why you refuse to put him out? How convenient to have your lover living under your roof.”
She had never seen this side of Barrington. His eyes were hard and his lips were drawn back in a sneer. “Are you outraged because I am defying you, or because you are afraid you will look like a cuckold to society?”
He pulled his hand back and slapped her face, still holding her firm in his grasp. “I am a cuckold, damn it! You are flirting and whoring all over London, making yourself look ridiculous! If I cannot control you, how shall I keep the respect of my peers?”
Control me? She touched her cheek where it stung. Something darkly primal fired deep in her soul, a volatile blend of fury and panic, making her insensible to her vulnerability. How many years had she suffered these arguments with Leland? How many times had she swallowed her pride for the sake of peace? Yet the arguments and rage had only grown worse. And if she gave in to Lord Barrington now, she would never be free again. That sort of abuse only escalated, never ceased. Lord Barrington would simply take Leland’s place as her master.
It must end now, no matter the cost. Her voice was low and deadly as she snapped, “How dare you strike me! And how dare you accuse me of such things? Release me.”
He struck her again, as she had suspected he would. This time her lip split against her teeth. Men of his and Leland’s ilk almost relished defiance as an excuse to further their abuses. But she was beyond caring about physical damage. She was desperate to keep her spirit and self-respect intact. Narrowing her eyes and watching him steadily, she lifted her hand to wipe away the trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. “Do you really think this is the way to win me over, Lord Barrington?”
“Damn you!” he cursed, thrusting her away as if disgusted with them both.
She stumbled back against the sideboard. “Leave, sir, and never return.”
“You have no idea what you’ve done, Grace. What you’ve unleashed. I never thought you were stupid. How did Forbush put up with you all those years?” He took several backward steps toward the library door, and Grace knew he meant to lock it, not to leave. Her stomach clenched as she realized he was not finished with her. She would recover from whatever Lord Barrington did to her, but she would never recover if she lost her self-respect. The thin thread of self-control snapped and she ran to the fireplace to seize a poker, prepared to defend herself if necessary.
But Barrington’s backward progress toward the door landed him solidly against Adam’s chest. He must have followed them home within minutes of their departure from the hell.
She held her breath as Adam glanced between her, the poker clutched in her hand, Barrington, and then returned his gaze to her mouth. A muscle tightened along his jaw and one hand clamped over Barrington’s shoulder.
“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, his other hand fisted at his side.
“Keep out of this, Hawthorne,” Barrington said.
“Please, Mr. Hawthorne. Lord Barrington was just on his way out.”
“The hell, you say,” Adam snarled. “I heard you arguing from the foyer. What, precisely, are you accusing Grace of, Barrington?”
“None of your bloody business, you meddlesome pup!” He pushed past Adam, storming from the room. “Everything was fine until you showed up!”
When Adam turned to go after him, she called him back. “Please, Mr. Hawthorne, let him go. I could not bear any more discord tonight. He is gone. Let it rest at that.”
The front door slammed and Adam turned toward her just as she dropped the poker. He reached out to her but she winced and shrank back, as if fearing his touch. Bloody goddamn hell! He should have gone after the son of a bitch! No matter. He knew exactly where to find Barrington whenever he wanted. The man would pay, sooner or later.
Her lip was swollen and the small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth disturbed him more than he cared to admit. “Sit down,” he told her gruffly. He went to the sideboard to pour her some brandy. It would sting like the devil, but it would clean the cut and stop the bleeding.
He took the glass to her and stood back while she drank. Her hand trembled as she returned the glass to him and a little shiver swept her as the alcohol hit the back of her throat. He knelt by her chair, removed his handkerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed at the blood.
“What did Barrington mean when he said that everything was fine until I showed up? Am I somehow responsible for…for this?” He dabbed again at her
split lip.
“Coincidence.” She sighed and shrugged. “You came to town the same day I asked Barrington to take me to some gambling hells. The two events are unrelated. Please do not blame yourself for any of this.”
He struggled with this statement. He knew there was a connection, whether Grace knew it or not. “If I thought I was to blame in any way for this scene, I’d want to make it right.”
She met his gaze and took a ragged breath. “My friendship with Lord Barrington has been a problem in the making for months now. Perhaps years, and I was just too blind to see it. I wanted to avoid unpleasantness, and instead—well, I’ve caused my own problems, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“I thought we agreed on ‘Adam.’ At least within the confines of this house. And forgive me if I doubt you, Grace, but there is nothing you could say that would make that treatment acceptable.”
Her eyes—those bottomless pools of emotion—grew luminous with tears that never quite escaped past the rim of dark lashes. “Thank you, Mr.—Adam. I—I needed to hear that.”
She stood and pressed her index finger to the center of her forehead. “I am quite fatigued. I think I shall retire now. Please do not mention any of this to Dianthe. I am afraid she has more valor than is good for her, and she would likely confront Lord Barrington.”
He stood and lifted her arm to display a livid bruise where Barrington had held her. The sight of that ugly stain on Grace’s smooth, flawless flesh stirred his anger anew. “How will you explain this to Dianthe?”
“A week of wearing long sleeves and shawls, and there will be nothing to explain.” She tilted her face upward to his, a plea in her eyes.
“He will do it again, you know.”
“Yes, I know. And that is why our friendship is finished.”
He touched her lip gently with the tip of his finger. “A cold cloth tonight should bring the swelling down.” He trailed his finger across her cheek where Barrington’s palm print was still visible. “I do not think there will be a bruise, but—”
The Missing Heir Page 7
