“No one does!” he snapped. “And no one should.” Then at her startled look, he shifted awkwardly. “I’m terribly sorry. This has been a trying day.”
“Of course it has,” she said softly, reading the anguish in his face. “You are ashamed of it, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer, his gaze intent on crossing the street.
“Hard thing to do,” she said softly. “Take up a job like a common tradesman. I wanted to do it, but even I struggled with nights of guilt. I don’t even feel like Lady Irene anymore. And my sire was as useless an earl as it was possible to be.”
“I’ll bet my father and grandfather had him beat.”
She shook her head. “Let’s not get onto the subject of disappointing relatives. We shall never return to the important matter.”
He shot her a wry look. “And that would be?”
“Why you believe your brother is trying to… to…”
“Gain the earldom by any means possible?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“Because he believes me a useless wreck of a man who is destroying not only our family name, but also England as a whole.”
She pulled back. “Surely you jest. How could you possibly be destroying England?”
“Because I am also a useless earl. As my father before me, and his father before him. As your father was. The days of a responsible gentry, of men who are appropriate stewards to their people—you know, as well as I do, how few of our set live up to that task.”
She winced. She did. And she had roundly damned them for years. “But you are not like that.”
“I most certainly am. I was not the one sweating during harvest or up in the middle of the night to aid a sow at birthing.” He tightened his grip on her arm. “I neither cared for the sheep, nor the homes of our tenants. I stayed in London and enjoyed the fruits of their labors.”
“That was before,” she said firmly.
“That is all my brother knows of me.”
“Then you must tell him differently. You must show him that you have changed. And, if I understand things correctly, you were never that way. It was your father, not you.”
He shrugged. “My brother doesn’t believe people can change.”
“You aren’t a useless title. Mr. Grant hasn’t wasted his life or his talents!”
He sighed, the sound coming from deep within him. There was an ache in the tone, one that was long-standing.
“You think you’re useless, don’t you?” she whispered, shocked to the core of her soul.
He merely shrugged. “Just because I have spent the last five years locked away in a kind of gaol doesn’t mean that the soul of me has altered whatsoever.”
“Perhaps,” she said softly. “And perhaps your soul has been good all along.”
He snorted, but patted her hand gently. “You know very little of my soul, Irene. And—God willing—you never will.”
She pulled back, completely appalled by his dismissal. “Why would you say that? Why would you ask for a distance between us?”
He must have noticed her tone. Certainly, he couldn’t miss how she drew back as if wounded. But he held her hand tight, gripping her fingers when she would have withdrawn from his arm. “I am mad, Irene,” he said softly. “A stark, raving lunatic. I always have been.”
“Ridiculous! You are making up things to give me a disgust of you.” She didn’t say aloud the inescapable conclusion. After last night, he clearly wanted to be rid of her, and this was the way he chose to do it.
“No, Irene. I am hiding things specifically, so you won’t have a disgust of me.”
She searched his face, startled by what she read there. He was serious. He believed himself mad. Worse, he believed he was as useless as his father.
“I cannot credit that you are so unaware of your own value!”
His eyebrows arched, and his face took on a sad smile. “Will you come tomorrow night?” he asked.
“What?” She had such a hard time following his thoughts sometimes.
“To the party I have just decided to throw.”
She nodded, her mind pulling in the details of his event. “You didn’t want to dine at the Lawton household.” Her eyes abruptly widened. “You think they might try and murder you there? At dinner?”
The shock of the idea made her voice too loud, and he hastily drew her farther down the street. She moderated her voice though her mind was reeling.
“Even if your brother has gone mad,” she said gently, “surely you don’t believe the Lawtons have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t know what to think,” he grumbled. Then at her alarmed look, he shook his head. “No, the Lawtons are probably innocent. And truthfully, I still cannot believe Will would… that he…” His words trailed off.
“But even so, you did not wish to dine at their home.”
He shrugged. “It seemed prudent to control the location and food. Harder to poison me that way.”
She shuddered, hating that he even thought of these things. Awful to imagine that one’s brother might be contemplating murder. Worse to think of all the ways it might be done. A knife in the dark was bad enough, but poison?
“Why invite the Redhills then?”
“Robert is my closest friend. He has a level head and a keen eye. If anyone can see the truth, it will be him.”
She nodded. “You will tell him about all this?”
“Yes. I’ll see him right after I arrange for the meal.” Then he grimaced. “Bother, I cannot leave you alone.”
“Of course, you can. I tell you, I am not in any danger.”
He whipped her around, so fast that she nearly lost her bonnet. As it was, she stumbled slightly, but he held her safe. “Listen to me, Irene. One of us is in danger. If it is not me, then it is you. And I will not risk you, even while I am investigating my brother.”
She swallowed, seeing the intensity in his eyes. It resembled a fever the way his skin flushed and his eyes burned too bright. “I cannot credit either possibility,” she whispered. “Why would anyone want to hurt me?” Then she touched his face. “Or you.”
He shuddered as she placed her palm on his cheek. A physical tremble that told her he was unused to being touched in this manner. Last night’s caresses had been one thing, but this gentle touch on the face in broad daylight? He had not experienced that in a long time.
He turned his face into her fingers, closing his eyes as he held her hand there. Then he kissed her palm, though she could not feel it through her glove.
“So will you come tomorrow night?” he asked.
She hesitated. “You know what it will look like.”
He nodded. “That you are my mistress. Or a future wife.” He lifted his head to search her face. “Does that bother you?”
Yes. No. Yes. Rather than answer, she gestured to the sign for The Crooked Billet. “Shall we go in? See if they have a private room available for tomorrow night?”
He flashed her a hopeful smile. “A parlor can be private long after dinner guests have departed.”
It took her a moment to realize what he was suggesting, then she straightened into her most lofty air. “Do you intend bloodshed, my lord? I only stay beyond the evening’s entertainment if there is someone in need of nursing.”
He laughed, the sound lighter than she had heard from him all day. “Between my brother and I? Have no fear. Even if he has no intention of murdering me, I can promise that the two of us will always get to squabbling.”
“Really? Like two hens over a seed?”
“Like two bloodhounds over a tasty rabbit.”
“Ah,” she said as they headed inside the inn. “Just so long as you are not the rabbit, I will be quite content to watch the combat. One learns a great deal about a family when witnessing brotherly squabbles.”
He nodded slowly. “And you are an extraordinarily perceptive woman. I am quite afraid of what you might find out.”
She warmed at his compliment even as she
teased back. “Then I say, let the games begin.”
They were playing at being silly. The seriousness of what he’d told her was too heavy a thought to bear for long. So they were bantering as if it were the most casual of afternoons. As if he hadn’t just asked her to publicly declare herself his mistress. As if his brother couldn’t possibly be considering fratricide. But they couldn’t maintain the ruse for long, and soon, his expression shifted from playful to deadly serious.
He lifted her hand, pressing his lips to the back. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes conveying warmth, gratitude, and perhaps even love.
“I haven’t said yes,” she said stiffly, her heart lurching in her throat. He could not be looking at her with love, and she could not be considering playing hostess to his party. They did not have such feelings for each other. She knew that because she had been very much in love with her husband. There had been no footpads in her courtship with Nate. No murderous brothers or mysterious followers. There had been flowers and giddy laughter and a warm feeling of security. And nothing like this sick nervousness that shook her down to her toes.
Therefore, she was not in love, and neither was Grant. They were two mature adults thrown together because of a ridiculously frightening footpad. That was all. And so it would continue through tomorrow night when she proved that his brother was not attempting to murder anyone.
She lurched inside, realizing she had just decided she would appear as his mistress in front of his family and her friends. It wasn’t such a devastating choice. She would explain matters to Helaine. She doubted any would talk, and of course, the ton didn’t really care what a nobody widow did with her time. No one would speak of it to her in-laws, and it was more important to help Grant as he faced his brother.
“Irene?” he said when she hadn’t moved into the inn.
She looked at him and swallowed her fears. It was such a small thing: playing his hostess for one night. She would be churlish to deny him at such a terrible time. “Of course I will help you,” she said. “And you will see that there is nothing to worry about.”
Sixteen
Grant wondered if this was how men felt before battle. He was a jumble of contradictory emotions. Calm and jittery, excited and terrified. It had been five years since he’d last seen Will, and their parting had been ugly to say the least. Was the man really angry enough to plot Grant’s murder? Of course not, and yet…
“Helaine and Robert are here,” said a calm voice to his left. Irene. And thank God for her, or he’d have jumped off the nearest bridge to stop the questions churning in his mind.
“Thank you,” he said. Then when she turned away from the window toward the inn room door, he grabbed her hands and brought her around. “I mean that more than I can say. I know what playing hostess makes you appear.”
“We have… well, appearing as your hostess only reveals to the world what we are in fact.” Her voice was tight, and he knew what that cost her. It was no small thing for her to show anyone, much less her employer and Grant’s potentially murderous brother, exactly what they were to each other: lovers. Man and mistress. Lord and fallen lady.
It didn’t matter that he’d wanted her since they’d first danced together in a different inn. She was giving up a piece of herself merely because he asked it. And, for that alone, he adored her.
She looked away, probably because he was staring so intently. She became nervous whenever he did that, uncomfortable with his feelings, as they were no doubt written boldly across his face. Once he’d been told he had a good face for poker—blank and unreadable. No longer. Not around her.
Meanwhile, she gestured to the small table set for six. It gleamed in perfection there. From the candelabra to the cutlery, all was the best that could be had at an inn. “They’ve set a fine table here. You made a good choice.”
“I was lucky they had the room available.”
She nodded then they both heard the warm tones of the innkeeper as he escorted Lord and Lady Redhill to the room.
“You spoke with Lord Redhill?” she whispered before the door opened. “To watch your brother?”
He nodded a quick yes as the door opened, and his best friend entered the room. “Robert,” he said with a smile. “And Helaine, you look divine.”
They were dressed as was appropriate for wealthy peers. Helaine’s gown was one of her own design, and it flowed beautifully about her body. Unable to stop himself, he noted the cut and quality of the fabric in their attire. Robert, he noted with pleasure, wore a waistcoat made from Wakefield Design wool, the pattern on the fabric another of Grant’s own.
Grant looked pointedly at the waistcoat. “Amazing what a wife in fashion has done for your wardrobe. Become quite the dapper fellow, haven’t you?”
Robert lifted his chin in mock arrogance. “I’ll have you know I purchased this long before Helaine came into my life.”
“No, you didn’t,” inserted Helaine from the side, where she’d just finished kissing Irene’s cheek. “Gwen gave it to you for Michaelmas last year.”
Robert frowned. “Are you sure? You weren’t even—”
“Yes, my dear. Gwen and I have discussed your wardrobe often, I’m afraid.”
He grimaced at that, and then Grant turned to introduce Irene to his friend. “Robert, you remember Lady Irene.” Her title still felt awkward on his tongue, though he didn’t know why. He’d known she was a lady from the first moment they’d met.
Irene curtsied, and Robert bowed over her hand. All the proprieties were handled smoothly, and no one looked askance at Irene. At least, not that he could see. Although he did overhear as Helaine whispered to Irene. “You and I are overdue for a long chat.”
Irene flushed that adorable shade of pink and nodded quietly. “I would like that very much,” she whispered back.
Then there was no more time as everyone heard the other two guests come down the hallway. Robert shot him a worried look, but Grant merely squared his shoulders and faced the doorway as he might a firing squad.
Miss Josephine Powel entered first, and in a way probably typical of her—all flushed good looks and an overly loud greeting. She was nervous, that much was obvious, but her smile seemed genuine enough. Will came behind her, his step slow, his eyes grave. He walked in his typical, unhurried way, and his gestures were reserved. And when he met Grant’s gaze, he held it with a long, assessing frown. The dour Yorkshire man through and through, Grant thought with a sigh.
There was one difference in his persona though. Something that broke through his brother’s reserve and gave Grant hope there was something of the boy still in the man. It was the way his brother treated his fiancée. He stood near her and touched her often. And when Will chanced to look at her, his expression softened, and he occasionally got lost in just the look. As if a part of him couldn’t believe the woman was his.
Will was a man in love. And from the looks of her, Miss Powel returned the feeling a thousand fold.
Grant felt a weight roll from his shoulders. He hadn’t even recognized his fear that Will was marrying for money until the concern was gone. Of the three Crowle children, he was pleased that one had managed a love match.
Meanwhile, Grant needed to formally welcome his guests. “Thank you for coming. I’m especially pleased that you, Miss Powel, were able to understand my most unusual request to dine here. I know it’s odd, but I have yet to find a real house in London. And you were able to come without a chaperone too. I find that especially gratifying.”
She smiled prettily. “Oh well, I’m of a rather independent bent, I’m afraid. Papa made a fuss, of course. And there’s a maid and a large footman idling away in the hallway. But once I made it clear that Lord and Lady Redhill would be here, Papa was made to see reason.” Then she flashed a warm look at her fiancé. “Besides, he trusts Will to keep everything above board.”
Robert—newly finished with greeting Will—interjected a rumbling approval. “That’s quite a statement of confidence from a girl’s father.
I’m afraid I don’t know much of Lawton. Is he generally of an easygoing sort?”
Both Grant and Miss Powel said, “Not generally,” at the exact same moment. That elicited chuckles among the group. Will, naturally, said nothing except to frown at his brother.
Now there’s a familiar look, drawled his madness. Grant bit back a curse. The last thing he needed right now was for his madness to interject comments only he could hear. The situation was delicate enough without insanity mucking up the logic.
Meanwhile, he turned to his brother, trying to put a lifetime’s worth of feelings into his quiet words. He couldn’t, of course. So the words came out polite and probably rather cool. “I’m very glad you could make it too.”
His brother nodded back gravely, his gaze taking in Grant from head to toe. “You look… healthy.” There was a bit of shock in his brother’s words, but nothing compared to the minute of silence that followed.
“Healthy?” Grant finally echoed. “Did you expect me to be on my deathbed?”
From a knife wound perhaps?
Will shook his head slowly. “I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve never known.”
There was a wealth of meaning in those few words, but no explanation. Which left the two brothers staring at each other, while everyone else twisted in uncomfortable silence.
“But I told you he looked fine!” inserted Miss Powel with a too high laugh. “I must confess that I was surprised when I first saw you at the Redhill ball, my lord. Between your brother and my father, I half expected horns or bloodshot eyes at the very least, when here you are looking perfectly acceptable.” Then, as if suddenly realizing what she’d said, she gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Oh, that is, I didn’t meant to suggest that Will or my father—”
“Your father has no love of me, Miss Powel,” Grant interposed quietly. “He has not hidden that fact.” He naturally left silent the other half of that statement: he had not expected Will to despise him.
“As I said,” Will cut in, his voice hard. “You have been missing for five years. I had no idea what to expect, not even if you were dead or alive.”
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