Snowden Hall. Thank God.
After three days of hard riding, Grey gratefully turned his horse down the lane toward the large Yorkshire farm where Thomas’s sister lived, with Hedley falling into a trot beside him. Three days of near-constant riding through miserable rain and unseasonable cold, stopping only when the night grew too dark to travel on—all because Thomas had asked him to fetch his sister, and Grey would have moved heaven and earth for him.
Although, he thought, grimacing as he glanced up at the thick, darkening clouds that promised more icy rain by nightfall, he hadn’t realized that moving heaven and earth meant riding into hell. But he wouldn’t rest until he delivered Emily Matteson Crenshaw to the Chatham House doorstep.
Without warning, a bullet tore into the tree trunk inches above his head. The wood splintered with a loud pop.
Christ! Dropping from his horse to the ground, he rolled behind the stone wall edging the stable yard of the white stone house and reached for the pistol beneath his coat.
“Get down!” he yelled at Hedley.
A well-trained soldier who had served under him with the Scarlet Scoundrels, Hedley dove behind the wall and crawled toward Grey on his stomach. Hedley scowled, drawing his own pistol. “Seems they don’t like visitors none, Major.”
“Apparently not.” Grey took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. The last thing he’d expected this morning was to be pinned down by gunfire. “Where’s it coming from?”
“The side garden.”
Glancing down the wall just long enough to see that it offered a way to stalk closer to the shooter, he handed his pistol to Hedley. “Keep his attention while I circle behind.”
“Aye, sir!” Hedley snatched Grey’s hat from his head and tossed it high into the air above them.
A shot rang out as a bullet drove through the crown.
Grey stared incredulously. “What the hell—”
“Drawin’ his attention, Major, as ye ordered.” Hedley fought back his laughter but not his grin as he immediately tossed up the hat again, but this time drew no fire.
“Just keep him occupied,” Grey muttered as he snatched up his dead hat from the ground and started forward to circle behind the garden. His hat was ruined, but Hedley’s joke revealed what they needed to know. Whoever was shooting at them had only one gun and needed time to reload.
He moved carefully, half crawling behind the cover of the stones. As he reached the end of the wall, he signaled to Hedley, who pulled the pistol’s trigger and sent a ball shattering into the wall near the house’s roof.
At the answering gunfire, Grey leapt to his feet and ducked around the corner. Keeping his back toward the wall, he circled behind the house and into the cover of the side garden’s overgrown bushes and fruit trees. He crouched low and waited for the next gunshot.
Well, this was a surprise. He and Emily hadn’t parted under the best of circumstances, he’d admit. But while he hadn’t known what to expect this afternoon when he rode up to her door, it sure as hell wasn’t gunfire.
When the next shots sounded, he made his way quickly through the garden. Up ahead, obscured by thick bushes, two figures crouched behind a low garden wall, where they took aim up the drive.
Grey hurled himself forward. A scream filled his ears as he tackled the shooter to the ground, discovering in a flash of confusion—
A woman.
A soft, curvaceous woman in dark blue muslin and white lace with golden-blond hair. Her large, sapphire-blue eyes stared up at him with a mix of fear and fury. Right before she sank her teeth into his forearm.
Blasting a sharp curse, he twisted to pin her arms to the ground and keep her mouth out of biting range, slinging a heavy leg over both of hers to prevent her from kicking. “Stop that!”
“Get off her, you brute!”
The handle of a wooden garden rake struck at his shoulders, and he flinched, ducking his head as an older woman in a servant’s gray dress and white cap swung the rake repeatedly at his head.
“Get off her before you hurt her!” the maid bellowed.
“Hurt her? She shot at me!” he growled, holding the blond woman’s wrists together with one hand so that he could grab at the swinging rake over his head with the other.
“You deserved it!” the blond woman hissed, futilely trying to wiggle her way out from beneath him. “What kind of gentleman would—”
At the sound of her voice, Grey froze. He searched her face as the memories triggered in his mind. “Brat, is that you?”
She ceased struggling. Those same blue eyes he now remembered so vividly widened in stunned surprise. “Captain Grey?” His name was a breathless whisper, as if she couldn’t possibly believe it was him.
He flashed her a crooked grin. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
The rake hit him over the head.
“Damnation, woman!” He made another grab for the handle. “Stop that!”
Hedley pounced on the maid from behind, seizing her by the waist and swinging her around in a circle as he yanked the rake from her hands and threw it out of reach. She kicked her legs and tried to hit him with her fists, but he simply lifted the short woman off her feet and dangled her helplessly in midair until she gave up her struggles with an angry humph.
“I got ’er, Major!” the sergeant announced proudly over the top of her head.
“Good,” Grey answered, his eyes not leaving Emily’s face as she lay beneath him on the ground, now incredibly still except for the shallow rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. “Take her inside and calm her down, will you?” He added wryly, “And try not to let her hurt you.”
“Aye, sir.” Hedley nodded and set the woman on the ground, then bowed his head politely and motioned toward the house. “After you, ma’am.”
The maid stubbornly crossed her arms. “I’m not leaving!”
“It’s all right, Yardley. They’re old friends of mine,” Emily explained. With an irritated grimace, she tugged her hands free of Grey’s grip and pushed at him to slide away.
Grey complied, although it took him a moment to clear the sudden fog from his brain and release her. Instead of helping her to her feet, however, he leaned back against the wall, his arm resting across his bent knee as he stared at her, utterly bewildered to find her like this. Shooting at him. And beautiful.
The maid glanced warily from Grey to her mistress. “My lady, I don’t—”
“I’m fine.” She drew her legs beneath her. “Would you please serve refreshments in the drawing room?” A soft pleading crossed her face, a silent communication between the two women that Grey couldn’t decipher. About him. Interesting. “Captain Grey and I will be along in a moment.”
Yardley frowned, still concerned. “All right, but I’ll be just right inside in the kitchen.” She pointed a long finger at Grey. “If you lay a hand on my lady, be advised, sir, that I keep a drawer full of knives in there, and I know how to use them!”
Grey’s lips twitched, wanting desperately to laugh at both the bulldog expression on Yardley’s face and the astonishment on Emily’s that her maid would dare threaten a man twice her size. “I have no doubt of that, ma’am,” he answered with forced solemnity.
With another humph, she spun on her heels and stomped toward the house, with Hedley following behind, his hand clamped over his laughing mouth.
Not knowing what to expect after the way they’d last parted, Grey slid his eyes to Emily. She stared back in wonder, one hand pressed against her stomach and her face pale, as if she were seeing a ghost. In a way, he supposed, she was.
“It’s good to see you again, Emily,” he said quietly. Although she wasn’t just Emily or Miss Matteson anymore. She was Mrs. Crenshaw now, a fact that made her seem far older than her twenty-one years. She was no longer the sweet and innocent young woman he remembered who sat for hours in the garden with her sketchbook and pencils, drawing her world. Or the starry-eyed girl who asked him one afternoon if he would teach her how to kiss.
“Captain Grey,” she forced out, as if it took all her strength to acknowledge him.
He grimaced. Oh, she wasn’t happy to see him. This was not going to be fun. “You remember me, then?” They’d gotten along well five years ago until he’d lost his mind and kissed her, and he hoped they could again. Otherwise, it was going to be a damnably long ride back to London.
“Of course I remember you.” Regret flashed in her eyes.
Her reaction pricked at him. Well, he deserved it, he supposed, for his part in the debacle. “It’s major now, actually.”
She blinked, puzzled. “Pardon?”
“I’ve been promoted.” He didn’t know why it mattered, but he felt the undeniable urge to tell her. As if she were still a starry-eyed sixteen-year-old he could impress.
“Oh.” She looked away, clearly not impressed. “Congratulations.”
Well, that stung. So the brat was still peeved at him, even after all these years. A very long ride back to London…
But something else was wrong here. Her pallid face and trembling hands, which she couldn’t keep still, how her eyes darted to look everywhere but into his—with a concerned frown, he reached gently for her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
She jerked her hand away from her stomach as if burned. Drawing back, she shifted out of his reach. “I’m fine.”
He stared at her curiously. More than lingering regret and embarrassment over that kiss burned in her sapphire eyes. Something dark lurked there as well, stirring the short hairs on the back of his neck. It was the same look he’d seen on the faces of captured soldiers during the war. He saw fear.
Concern tightened his chest. “If something’s wrong—”
“Nothing’s wrong. But I—I think it would be best if you left,” she said frankly, her lips tightening as her face grew pale.
“Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?” he asked gently, perplexed at the swirling mix of emotions pouring from her. Good Lord, she practically dripped with them.
For a moment, she said nothing, only staring back grimly, her eyes glistening. Then she lowered her face away as she twisted her skirt in her fingers. “I already know.”
His brow furrowed. Surely Chatham hadn’t sent another messenger to arrive before he did. “Do you?”
She nodded jerkily, then swallowed. Hard. “If you’re here, then…” Choking out so softly that he could barely hear her, she whispered, “Thomas is dead.”
A tear of grief slid down her cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
The air rushed painfully from his lungs at the sight of her looking so wretched, so utterly devastated. Despite the rift between them, Thomas loved his sister, and he knew Emily loved Thomas. And Grey’s heart melted for them both.
He gently wiped away the tear with his thumb. “No, Emily.” His knuckles trailed across her cheek to soothe her. “Your brother’s alive.”
Her eyes flew open. Watery sapphire pools stared at him, incredulous and vulnerable.
“Thomas is alive,” he repeated and cupped her face in his hands. “We never expected—but he survived.” He grinned at her, unable to hold back his own relief. “He’s too damned stubborn to die.”
“Oh, thank God,” she murmured, her petite body sagging with relief. “Thank God!”
She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck. His hands lifted to her back in a loose embrace to comfort her.
As she shifted into his arms, her breasts pressed against his chest, and his breath hitched—well, she was certainly no longer a stick with blond braids. The brat had grown into a woman, one whose warm lips now brushed against his neck as she murmured over and over her thanks to God for saving her brother, her thanks to him for bringing her the news…and each word shot straight through him to the tip of his tingling cock. Sweet Lucifer.
Swallowing hard, he gently took her shoulders and set her away from him.
She wiped at her eyes. “You didn’t have to come all this way.” But gratitude swelled in her soft voice. “You could have sent word—”
He grinned at her. “I’ve come to escort you to London.”
Her hand paused in mid-swipe as the bright happiness on her face disappeared, replaced once again by that mysterious fear he’d glimpsed earlier. This time stronger than before. For a moment, he thought she might just jump to her feet and flee like a frightened hare.
“Thomas asked for you,” he explained. “I promised to bring you to him.”
“Thomas asked…?” For a fleeting moment, a desperate longing registered in every inch of her, the overwhelming compassion and grief she felt for her brother palpable. She pressed her hand against her heart.
Then suddenly she stiffened, and the vulnerability he glimpsed in her vanished as a veil came down over her face. Yet she couldn’t hide the fear. That still shined in her eyes as brightly as her lingering tears. “Thank you for telling me about Thomas. I truly appreciate your kindness and your devotion to him, more than you know.” She hesitated, as if forcing herself to say, “But I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He was stunned. “Emily—”
“Mrs. Crenshaw,” she corrected, then more softly, “if you please.”
He clenched his jaw. What should he care if she preferred formality from him? But inexplicably, it angered him. So did her refusal to see her brother. Had the sweet girl he remembered turned into a coldhearted bitch?
“I can’t possibly travel right now, Major.” Her voice caught as she gave her apologies, but she hurried on. “So you and your man will have to leave after your tea.”
“We’re spending the night,” he countered.
Her eyes flared, as if she didn’t know whether to be furious or terrified at the prospect of having him as a guest. “There’s no room for you here.”
Skeptically, he raised his eyes to the large country house behind her and silently arched a brow.
“We’re not able to accommodate guests at this time,” she clarified with an almost desperate impatience to convince him to leave. Averting her eyes, she focused intently on pulling at her skirt with her fingers. “But there’s an inn at the village—”
He grabbed her hand, stilling it against her skirt.
With a shocked gasp, she looked up at him, her blue eyes round and huge.
“You really expect me to believe that?” He kept his voice low and his anger checked, but he refused to release her wrist as she attempted to yank her hand away.
“It’s true!”
“It’s a damned lie,” he growled.
“Captain Grey!” Aghast at his accusation, she struggled to free herself, but his grip only tightened. He didn’t trust her not to run for the hills. Or for a kitchen knife.
“Major Grey,” he corrected irritably, wanting no misunderstanding that he might still be the young officer she’d wrapped around her finger five years ago with her sweetness and innocence. He’d fallen for her manipulations then, but he certainly wouldn’t fall for them a second time. “This is more than simply not wanting visitors, Mrs. Crenshaw. You shot at me!”
She sniffed haughtily. “And you rode up uninvited.”
His eyes narrowed. The brat had grown into a woman, but also into one of the worst liars he’d ever met. And certainly the most infuriating. “Since when do society ladies shoot at visitors, uninvited or otherwise?”
“Since they—” Her mouth snapped shut on whatever it was she was about to say, and she stopped struggling. Her gaze dropped to his chest as she pleaded in exasperation, “Please, just go away!”
But the more she demanded he leave, the more determined he was to stay.
Yet this time when she tugged to free herself, he let her go. To give her enough rope to hang herself with her lies.
She scrambled to her feet, her restless hands brushing nervously at the bits of grass clinging to her skirt as she backed away from him. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Major, but I’m too ill to travel. I’ll write to Thomas—”
“The hell you will!” he exploded as the thin thread of his patience snapped, the curse so fierce she flinched. “You are coming with me to London, and we are leaving first thing in the morning.”
“No.” The damned chit jutted her chin defiantly into the air. “I absolutely refuse!”
Slowly, he rose to his full height and clenched his jaw to keep back the ungentlemanly response about where she could shove her refusal. Her eyes grew big as saucers at the white-hot aggravation she sensed in him. Instinctively, she stepped back.
And he pursued, advancing toward her with each step she retreated. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Please, Grey.” Another step back, another advance…until her back hit against the wall of the house, until she raised her hands futilely against his chest to push him away. “You have to go!”
The pleading tone in her voice, the increasing panic in her eyes—she was desperate to make him leave. “Why?” he demanded, refusing to budge.
“Because—because you can’t stay—”
“Why did you shoot at us?” He pressed in closer, trapping her between the house and his body. So close that her hands flattened against his chest.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“Obviously. Why?”
“Please just go—”
“What’s wrong here?”
“Nothing! I swear.”
“Tell me.”
“Grey, please!” Her shoulders slumped, and he felt her hands on him change, no longer pushing him away but now fisting into the lapels of his coat to keep him close. Not that he would have gone anywhere until he had the truth.
In her panic, her breathing faltered, unwittingly drawing his attention to her chest. And that was a mistake. Because it was a very fine chest indeed, the tops of her full breasts rising and falling rapidly against the neckline of her tight bodice with each fast breath.
She’s the brat, he reminded himself, tearing his gaze back up to hers. Thomas’s sister. The woman who would get him killed at the hands of his best friend if he dared lay a finger on her again. And certainly not a woman he should be looking at as…well, as a woman.
He locked his eyes on hers and refused to let them stray lower. “You shot at me.”
“There have been highwaymen—”
“Brat,” he growled in warning at the lie she was about to tell.
“There is nothing of concern here.” Then she forced a smile that did nothing to reassure him. “And I promise not to shoot at you when you leave.”
Despite her attempt at humor, his eyes narrowed. “If nothing’s wrong—”
“There’s not,” she protested, far too quickly.
“Then answer me this.” He lowered his head until his eyes leveled with hers, until his face hovered so close he could feel her trembling breath shadowing his lips. “Where are all your servants, Mrs. Crenshaw?”
She froze, the only movement a momentary widening of her eyes, a deepening of the fear in their wild depths. The look of a caught prisoner.
“I’ve been here for a while now, and no one could have missed that gunfire when we arrived. Where are your footmen and grooms?” He took her chin in his fingers and held her so she couldn’t look away. “And do not lie to me.”
She stared warily at him, as if trying to decide exactly how much she could trust him. Then she answered, the single word tearing from her in a hoarse whisper—“Gone.”
He couldn’t possibly have heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“My husband was killed in a riding accident five months ago,” she whispered, as if terrified of being overheard. “But there were other…incidents. The servants feared for their lives. Half departed the night of his death, the others were gone by his burial. A handful remain, and if they hear gunfire, believe me, they will not come to investigate until it is long over.”
Grey stared at her, unable to fathom the creature before him and the situation she described. Was she really spinning ghost stories and expecting him to believe them?
He straightened away from her, yanking her fingers free from his coat. For a moment, her hands stayed in the air, as if still grasping for him, before she lowered her arms to her sides to bury her hands in the pockets of her baggy pelisse.
He shook his head. “Your parents never mentioned any of this. Thomas never said a word.”
“My family doesn’t know.” She drew a ragged breath, her gaze training on his chest. “Andrew died last fall when the weather was too bad for them to travel to his funeral. Then, the time was simply never right to tell them about the servants.”
Never right? For God’s sake, she’d been widowed and abandoned by her staff, and the time was never right to ask for help? “Mrs. Crenshaw—”
“I was unwell,” she interrupted. “Andrew’s death was such a shock—I fell ill. And then…” Her voice trailed off, and whatever she had been about to say was lost. “But I’m better now. In fact, I plan on closing up the house and returning to London next month, when the roads will be passable and when I’m feeling stronger.” But the words came far too smoothly, too practiced, and her eyes lifted to his, as if searching for proof that he believed her. “And now you know everything.”
That was a laugh. He’d barely scratched the surface of the secrets being kept here.
“As you can see, there’s nothing to concern you, but I cannot accommodate guests. Nor do I feel up to traveling…even as much as I want to see Thomas.” An aching grief passed over her face before she averted her eyes, and she drew a shaking breath, her hands wrapping in her skirt. “So when will you be leaving, Major?”
“Tomorrow.” He stared at her, grimly noting all the obvious signs of fear and unease she so openly displayed. “First light.”
Her shoulders sagged, and a soft sigh of relief escaped her. “I’ll have Yardley bring the letter to you at the inn—”
“Oh, no,” he interrupted with a forced calmness he didn’t feel. “You misunderstand me.”
Her eyes darted up to his. Sudden panic made their blue depths resemble a storm-tossed ocean. The tip of her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips, and he watched, fascinated by the little movement. He placed his hand on the wall beside her shoulder and leaned in closer, close enough to see her pulse racing tantalizingly in the hollow at the base of her throat.
The brat, he reminded himself again. Thomas’s sister, which meant she was as good as a sister to him, too…a sister who just happened to have amazingly plump breasts.
“I’m not leaving without you.” He drew a deep breath to steady his concentration. “Hedley and I are spending the night here, and in the morning, you’re coming with us to—”
With a frustrated groan, she shoved futilely at his shoulders. “Why won’t you just trust me?”
His rising frustration matched hers as he ground out, “Because the last time we met, you nearly ‘trusted’ me straight into a duel.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The words poured from her with an angry groan. “How many more times will that kiss ruin my life?”
His head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. “What?”
Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she’d said, deep regret dancing in her wide eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she forced out, muffled between her fingers. “I didn’t mean—oh, Grey…”
His eyes narrowed on her. She’d certainly meant it, all right. “The last time I saw you—” He angrily choked off. Lord, how this woman roiled his insides! One moment, the minx had him wanting to strip her naked, the next he wanted to wring her little neck. “Damned stupid of us—of me—to let you talk me into…” Christ!
He’d been kicked out of Ivy Glen, nearly lost Thomas’s friendship—now the damned woman had the nerve to blame him for ruining her life?
“Forget it, Emily. Please.” He’d certainly done his best to do just that, until Thomas sent him here, apparently straight into hell after all. “I’m still being punished for it by your parents. I don’t deserve to be punished by you, too.”
She gaped at him. “Punished—you? When I was sent—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing curiously on the bewildered look he gave her. Remorse darkened her face as she asked quietly, “You truly don’t know? Thomas never told you?”
“Told me what?” He sighed heavily, wanting nothing more than to put the past behind them for good, get on the road to London, and leave for Spain, where he already should have been. “He said you went off to school, then got married.”
And widowed last fall. Was that what was wrong? His heart skipped. Was all this emotion because she was still grieving her late husband?
“Emily,” he pleaded, his voice gentling, “tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
She hesitated, an expression of such grief and fear dashing across her face that he lost his breath. For one moment her lips parted, and she looked pleadingly at him for understanding, as if she wanted to unburden herself—
Then her mouth snapped shut, the veil once more falling over her face.
She arched a brow. “You won’t leave here without me?” she asked, veering the conversation back to their standoff.
“No,” he answered firmly.
“Then we seem to have a problem, Major.” Indignantly, she pushed him back and stepped past. “Because I’m not going anywhere!”
Clenching his jaw so tightly that the muscle twitched in his cheek, he watched her bend over to pick up the hunting gun she’d used to shoot at him. Then she walked away toward the house.
“You don’t have a choice,” he called out to her retreating back. He’d shove her into a carriage and drive away with her inside if it came to that.
She faced him, holding the gun expertly in the crook of her arm. “Thomas taught me how to shoot. He’s a very good shot. The best, in fact.” She paused meaningfully, a warning in her voice. “Since my husband’s death, I sleep with a loaded pistol next to my bed. And I never miss.”
His mouth twisted wryly. “You missed me earlier.”
“I hit a foot above your head, exactly where I aimed.” She tucked a golden curl behind her ear. “So please keep that in mind should you decide to try kidnapping me in the middle of the night.”
With a toss of her head, she opened the door and disappeared inside the house.
Grey stared after her, blowing out an aggravated breath. Where on earth had the adorable brat gone? How had this woman with the temperament of a she-devil and the body of a temptress taken her place, a stubborn minx who refused to leave her home without force and who had just threatened bodily harm to him should he attempt to try?
He rolled his eyes. Good Lord. What had he gotten himself into?
* * *
Emily leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut as she struggled to calm both her racing heart and her swirling mind.
Captain Nathaniel Grey…Impossible!
Yet here he was. The man she still remembered so vividly from his visit to Ivy Glen when she was sixteen…those chocolate eyes that crinkled when he laughed, that mouth that grinned so charmingly, and that thick, unruly blond hair curling at his neck. His body was broader now, the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders much more developed, but those eyes were the same. So were the chiseled lines of his handsome face.
Grey. She could hardly believe it. Thomas had sent him to her after all these years, and he’d appeared like some dashing knight in shining armor. Yet as she fought back a sob of anguish, she knew she had no choice but to chase him away.
With grim resolve, she pushed herself away from the wall and hurried downstairs to the kitchen to find Yardley.
The woman had been with her for the past two years, arriving just after Andrew brought her to Snowden, when he decided the maid who had attended Emily since her debut was disrespectful to him and replaced her. Emily had been devastated. But the older woman was kind and gentle, and now Yardley was the only person in the world she trusted with her secrets.
“My lady.” Yardley nodded as Emily entered the kitchen, putting together a tray to take upstairs to the men.
“We’re having guests for the night,” Emily told her unhappily.
Yardley’s hand froze in midair as she placed a saucer on the tray. “Is that wise?”
“I don’t believe we have a choice.” She frowned as she looked down at the shortbread on the tray. Five years ago, Grey had raved about Cook’s cinnamon biscuits. If she had known he was coming, she would have made some for him. Yet perhaps it was better not to make him feel too welcome, not when her primary goal was to drive him away.
“And who are they, my lady?”
“Major Nathaniel Grey and his man.” Emily hesitated. How on earth did one describe Grey? “The major is…an old family friend.”
But he was far more than that. Even at sixteen, she’d realized how special Grey was. Dashing and kind, he possessed a fierce determination to carve out a brilliant career for himself, and a handsome presence that caught the ladies’ attentions. With her, though, he’d simply captured her heart. Yet to her chagrin, he’d paid her no more mind than a piece of furniture…until that one afternoon in the garden.
“A family friend, eh?” The suspicious glance Yardley slid her as she placed a teacup onto the saucer told her that the woman didn’t believe her.
“It’s not what you think.” Yet she couldn’t stop the blush of embarrassment heating her cheeks.
The last time she’d seen him, the very last time—heavens, she’d been so foolish! She’d asked him to give her a kissing lesson so she would know what to do with suitors…or some such silly nonsense she barely remembered now. Yet her manipulation worked, and he’d kissed her. It had been the most magical moment of her young life, until her parents stumbled upon them. Amid angry shouts and accusations, Grey left Ivy Glen, with Thomas riding away after him. And two days later, she was sent to boarding school, where her parents hoped to keep her away from “upstarts” like the captain.
“Major Grey served with my brother in the wars,” she explained with more pride than she had a right to feel. Even after suffering the consequences of what she’d done that day, she couldn’t forget him and followed him the best she could through Thomas’s letters—her heart soaring with his heroics, laughing at his antics, even crying when he’d been wounded. She’d been so upset, in fact, that she wrote to his parents to assure them that he had friends in her family, only for the letters to return undelivered. “I trust him.” I think…
Yardley removed the water from the stove and poured it into the teapot, giving Emily a wary look. “Why do I suspect there’s more you’re not telling?”
She bit her lip and divulged with embarrassment, “When I was a girl, I fancied him.”
Yardley paused as she set the teapot onto the tray.
“It’s nothing to worry about now,” she insisted. She shrugged it away as the childish infatuation it was.
But it wasn’t childish infatuation that had just made her curl her hands around his lapels and attempt to pull him closer, that had her pulse racing and her body tingling in the most intimate places—
Silently, she cursed herself. It wasn’t Grey that made her behave like such a cake. It couldn’t possibly be him. Certainly, she’d gotten over her fascination with him years ago.
No, it was all the changes she was going through. All the lonely and fear-filled nights she’d endured. All the responsibility for the farm sitting on her shoulders. For the past two years, she’d run the property in Andrew’s absence, managed the tenants’ leases, and somehow made certain the servants were paid. Then she had to bury her husband and pretend to mourn. No one could go through that and remain unaffected.
So when Grey appeared this afternoon, a kind face from her past offering to help her, it was natural that she should yearn to be comforted, consoled, protected—God help her, she wanted to be wanted. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Grey had lain on top of her like that, the solid weight of him pressing down deliciously into her, or that the masculine scent of him filled her senses, the heat in his chocolate-brown eyes warming between her thighs…
Well, she thought with chagrin, perhaps she hadn’t completely gotten over him, after all. While he’d certainly not given her a thought in five years.
She ignored the twinge of vexation in her chest as she admitted, “He never paid me any mind then, and he won’t now.”
“Don’t be so sure, my lady,” Yardley warned as she wrapped a towel around the pot to keep it warm.
No, that was the one thing about which Emily was certain. Clearly, Grey remembered that kiss only for the temporary rift it caused with Thomas and the lingering animosity between him and her parents. But she’d lived with its consequences every day since, in a life of isolation and abandonment that affected her even now…only to discover that he hadn’t known any of the hell she’d suffered.
She’d never blamed Grey—well, perhaps she’d blamed him just a little bit. But truly, it had all been her fault, a childish stunt to capture the attention of a man with whom she’d been so infatuated that she hadn’t considered the consequences. And yet, while she regretted manipulating him and certainly regretted getting caught, she’d never once regretted kissing him.
“Why are they here, then?” Yardley asked, reaching for the spoons.
“My family sent him.” Emily took a deep breath to steady herself and not let fresh tears fall at the thought of Thomas. “He came to tell me that my…” She choked out around the knot in her tightening throat, “My brother is alive.”
“Oh, my lady.” Her bottom lip quivered, and Emily suspected Yardley might just cry, too. “It’s a miracle!”
She nodded slowly, then forced out with a smile, “Thomas has asked the major to escort me to London to see him.”
A teacup slipped from Yardley’s hand and smashed against the stone floor. Emily startled, jumping back a step, her hand reaching to cover her belly.
“Oh no!” Yardley shook her head adamantly.
Emily knew she wasn’t speaking of the broken cup. “Don’t worry,” she reassured her. “I’m not going with him, and I’ve told him so.”
But her heart tore at not being able to sit at Thomas’s side and hold his hand while he recovered. How much she so desperately wanted to do exactly that! But at what cost? To endanger her own life, the lives of her family, possibly even Grey—her father was a duke now, but even a duke and all his money wouldn’t be able to stop someone determined to harm them. Her heart ached with grief and fear. Dear God, how would she ever bear it if anyone was hurt because of her?
Doubt darkened Yardley’s face. “He doesn’t seem like the type of man who gives up easily.”
No, he certainly wasn’t that. In fact, she doubted Grey had ever waved a white flag of surrender in his life. “I’ll find a way to convince him to leave.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.” She lifted her hand to her mouth and worriedly chewed on her thumbnail. He had seemed so determined to keep his promise to Thomas, but she was just as determined to stay right where she was. “But I will.”
Yardley lowered her voice. “Are you going to tell him about your husband?”
“No,” Emily answered firmly. “And neither can you. Not one word, not to anyone.”
Yardley bent down to sweep up the broken cup. “You can trust me.”
At the hurt tone in her voice, Emily immediately felt guilty and murmured apologetically, “I know.” But sometimes she wished there was someone else she could confide in and trust besides Yardley. Ironically, someone exactly like Nathaniel Grey.
No. Not even he could know her secrets. Because then he would tell her family, and if her family knew, they would come for her to return her to London themselves, and then it would only be a matter of time until all their lives were endangered.
“We’re going on to Glasgow, just as we planned,” she said quietly. But her chest tightened painfully as she realized that meant she couldn’t see Thomas when he needed her most, that she might never see her brother ever again.
As if sensing her doubt, Yardley smiled reassuringly at her. “My sister will be right glad to have us with her. New place, new life…you’ll be safe there. No one will think to come looking for you there.”
Emily nodded, but she didn’t feel reassured. They would have to leave soon; she wouldn’t be able to delay much longer. But lately, as the time drew closer, the dread inside her grew until she thought she might not be able to bear it.
Her shoulders slumped. She was suddenly tired, the energy vanishing from her limbs as a headache pulsed at her temples. Usually at this time of the afternoon she lay down for a nap, partly because she always tired after lunch, but mostly because she was seldom able to sleep well at night. Today, with the surprise of seeing Grey again, the fatigue swept over her in a wave.
Yardley frowned, placing a motherly hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right? You don’t look well.”
“I’m just tired.” She was so very tired, in fact. Tired of struggling on her own and not being able to turn to her family for help, tired of being so isolated and alone with only Yardley to confide in, tired of being frightened all the time…“I think I’ll go up to my room and lie down. Would you take the tea things into the drawing room for the men and give my apologies to Major Grey? They’ll need rooms as well, and please ask Phipps to stable their horses.”
“Aye, my lady. I’ll take care of everything.”
Emily smiled wearily. “I know you will.”
Yardley nodded over her shoulder at her as she lifted the tray and carried it from the kitchen. “I always do.”