Chapter Ten

    

You can do this,” Grey encouraged quietly as he stood beside Emily at the bottom of the front steps of Chatham House.

She stared at the massive door, her feet refusing to take another step. This was the moment she’d dreaded since leaving Snowden Hall, when she’d have to face her family, explain about the baby…and say good-bye to Grey, uncertain when she would be able to see him or be alone with him again. If ever. Now that it was happening, it was just as gut-wrenching as she imagined.

None of it was helped by Grey’s contemplative quietness today, ever since he left the room that morning. But if he was as troubled by this moment as she was, he chose not to confide in her, instead keeping to himself the heavy thoughts furrowing his brow.

“After all, what’s the worst your parents can do?” he asked wryly as he placed her arm reassuringly around his. “Marry you off to an indebted gambler in Yorkshire?”

Jittery laughter bubbled from her, and his teasing proved enough of a distraction to allow him to lead her forward and knock at the door.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, her hand tightening on his arm.

“You’ll be fine. Thomas will be happy to see you.”

Her throat tightened. “That’s not what I—”

The door opened, and Jensen, the family’s longtime butler, scowled down his nose at them, not recognizing her. “Major Grey.” He bowed stiffly in greeting with all the arrogance of a man who ran a duke’s household and brought to his position a solemn responsibility befitting his employer’s rank. “Miss.”

Emily took a deep breath and forced a nervous smile at the old butler. “Hello, Jensen. How have you been?”

The butler swung his startled gaze from Grey to Emily, staring at her blankly for a moment. Then recognition sank in, and an old affection replaced his scowl. He was so surprised that he actually smiled. “Miss Emily…my goodness! I mean Lady Emily—I mean, Mrs. Crenshaw.” The normally imperturbable butler stammered in stunned surprise. “My apologies, miss—ma’am—my lady.”

“Quite all right.” She smiled reassuringly, surprisingly touched by his befuddlement. “The last time I saw you I was still just a miss.”

Immediately, he collected himself, and his shoulders shifted back, his chin returning to its normal, haughty position. “If I might say so, my lady, you have been missed.” His voice choked with emotion. “Greatly missed.”

“Thank you, Jensen.” She rested her hand briefly on the butler’s arm, her eyes misting. She hadn’t realized until then how much she’d missed him and the other servants. At least someone in London was happy to see her.

With a low bow, Jensen stepped back and opened the door wide to allow her to pass. Emily drew a deep breath for courage and, letting her hand slip away from Grey’s arm, entered the grand house.

She glanced nervously around the entrance hall and up the wide stairs to the first-floor landing. “Where is my family, Jensen?”

“The duke is at the Lords, and the duchess is in the drawing room,” he informed them as he took Grey’s coat and gloves from him. “And Lord Thomas is resting in his room.”

Grey remained at her side, but in his peculiar distraction today, he seemed a hundred miles away. Already, she sensed the impending loss of him, and her eyes stung at the heavy emptiness in her chest. For the past several days, she’d come to rely on him, confide in him…love him. How would she be able to go on now without him when he left for Spain?

“Would you please tell them that Lady Emily has arrived home?” Grey asked, his expression grim.

Jensen bowed and retreated quickly down the hall.

Blinking at his unexpected exit, she mumbled with bewilderment, “He just left us here…standing in the foyer.”

“Yes, he did.” Grey chuckled. “I don’t think he quite knew what to do with us.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you are family and shouldn’t have to wait in your own home.” He averted his eyes to glance down the hall, searching for any sign of her family coming to greet her. “While I should never have been let through the front door.”

Her chest tightened with quick regret over the dismissive way her parents had regarded him over the years. “Don’t say that.”

He shrugged, as if no more bothered by that than a buzzing gnat. “It’s true.”

Regrettably, it was true. If not for his friendship with Thomas, he would never have been let inside at all. But Emily planned on changing that. She didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she would make certain that Grey never again felt unwelcome at Chatham House.

“It’s not really my home, though,” she said quietly, changing topics to move away from the embarrassment she felt over her parents’ concern with status. “I never lived here. My family moved here after I married.” She shook her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the irony of it all. “I’m coming home to a house where I never lived from one that’s now a pile of ashes!”

He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “You’ll be welcomed here,” he said quietly, with that same contemplative demeanor that had shadowed him all day. So much so that he’d sat in the carriage with her for most of the long ride today staring thoughtfully out the window, saying nothing. He hadn’t even attempted to kiss her, let alone make love to her again, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

“Grey.” She frowned, suspecting that whatever clouded his mind today had little to do with simply delivering her home. “Is something—”

“Hello, brat.”

She looked up at the stairway landing, and her heart skipped. Thomas.

He was on his feet, although from the way his hand gripped the banister he was still unsteady, but his color was normal, his eyes shining bright with happiness to see her. Her throat tightened. He was a glorious vision, despite the half-dressed state of his shirt hanging untucked to cover the bandages he wore around his waist and the growth of beard that gave him a devilish air, and she had never been happier in her life to see him.

But emotion overwhelmed her. All she could do was stand there, staring up at him, while her eyes blurred with tears.

He smiled warmly as he carefully descended the stairs. When he drew nearer, she noticed the stiffness in his movements, the dark circles beneath his eyes, his tired and drawn face. He’d lost at least two stone in weight, and through the unshaven growth of beard, she easily glimpsed the sallow paleness of his cheeks. Her heart ached for him, and her grief for the hell he’d suffered stole her breath away.

But he was alive. Thank God!

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Thomas,” she whispered, his name a plea for forgiveness.

Silently, he held out his hand to her, and she ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

She pressed him close, feeling the warmth in him and the steady beating of his heart. Thank God, he was alive! And he was going to be all right. To think how close she’d come to losing him, to never seeing him again—to risk that he would go to his grave believing she’d stopped needing him…But she would always need him, and she would never again let her own foolish pride come between them.

Thomas winced, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth.

Quickly, she stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh! I’ve hurt you.”

“It’s all right.” He placed a hand over the wound in his side and reached for the banister with the other to steady himself before giving her a weak smile, but one beaming full of love. “I’m just glad you’re here.” He slipped his arm around her to carefully hug her to him, then he looked over her head at Grey. His voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for bringing her home to me.”

“You said you needed her,” Grey replied softly, and Emily thought she saw his eyes glisten just as much as Thomas’s. Clearing his throat, he glanced down at Thomas’s side with concern. “Should you be out of bed?”

“I’m fine.” Despite his assurance, she thought she saw him tremble as he scratched at his wrists, only to drop his hands to his side when he caught her watching him. “Can’t stand another damnable minute in that bed. Besides, there’ll be plenty of time to rest later.” Grinning at Emily, he swept his gaze over her, taking her all in. “I wouldn’t have missed my sister’s homecoming for the world.”

New guilt swept through her, and Emily bit her bottom lip. Grey was certain Thomas would forgive her, but so much had happened…Would he truly forgive her for all the mistakes she’d made?

She drew a deep breath. “Thomas, I need to speak with—”

“Emily!” Mary Matteson, Duchess of Chatham, glided down the hall and into the foyer. “Thank goodness you’re finally here!” Her mother turned a commanding gaze at the butler, who followed behind. “Jensen, send a footman to the Lords right away. Tell Chatham that his daughter has returned and is waiting to see him.”

The butler nodded and signaled to a uniformed footman standing by the front door who hurried from the house, most likely with a prepared message already waiting in hand for her arrival.

Mary hugged Emily to her briefly, then pulled back and squeezed both of Emily’s hands in hers. “We’ve been beside ourselves with worry about you traveling alone, all the way from Yorkshire.”

“I wasn’t alone.” Emily cast a grateful smile at Grey as he moved to stand beside Thomas. “I had Major Grey to protect me.”

Mary glowered briefly in Grey’s direction, as if displeased that he, of all people, had been sent to Yorkshire to fetch her daughter, before smiling again at Emily. “Nevertheless, we were worried. An uneventful trip, I hope?”

She lowered her eyes, unable to answer in a way that wouldn’t make her mother faint.

“Well, thank God you’ve arrived safely. We were so upset when we received your letter, stating that you couldn’t travel. Of course, it was perfectly understandable, but—” Her mother broke off suddenly and frowned in bewilderment. “Whatever are you wearing?”

Emily shot a pleading glance at Grey to keep his silence. Knowing her family might be in danger even now from whoever killed Andrew, she hesitated over how much of the truth to tell them, wanting to reveal all her secrets in her own way, in her own time.

Grey’s eyes met hers, and although he didn’t say a word, she now knew him well enough to know that he understood. But there was something else there in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes that caught her attention, something that had been there all day through his distraction and that she couldn’t quite fathom—

“Emily?” her mother pressed, interrupting her reverie.

“My apologies,” she mumbled and turned away from Grey to force a smile for her mother. “We left Snowden quickly, so I wasn’t able to properly pack.”

Mary’s frown only deepened. “But surely Yardley—”

“So quickly that Yardley had to follow behind,” she added, carefully avoiding Thomas’s eyes as she dissembled and resisting the urge to place her hand protectively over her baby. Her brother had an uncanny ability to read people, and he’d always been able to see right through her, even when they were children. “I had to buy a dress along the way, and we didn’t have time for it to be altered.”

“Well, no matter.” Her mother looped her arm through Emily’s and led her from the foyer toward the drawing room. “You are here now, and that is all that matters. Tomorrow, we shall go to Madame Bernaise and have you measured for a new wardrobe.”

Measured by a modiste, who would see her without her clothes—Emily cast a panicked look over her shoulder at Grey, who only stared silently back as her mother led her away, leaving it up to her to tell her family the truth.

“Thomas?” his mother called out to him. “You’ll join us in the drawing room?”

With amusement, Grey noted that her question was actually a command, and one that predictably ignored him. Just as he noted that Thomas stood his ground and didn’t move from Grey’s side.

“In a moment, Mother. I want to properly thank Grey for bringing Emily to us.” With a smile, and surprising strength for a man still convalescing, Thomas slapped his hand onto Grey’s shoulder and turned him toward the stairs. “Come up to the billiards room. Have a drink with me before you go.”

A warning knotted in Grey’s gut at Thomas’s sudden cheerfulness. “I should be going—”

“I insist.” Thomas’s smile deepened.

And so did the warning in his gut to flee. But there was no way out of it. It was time to pay the piper. He nodded and smiled grimly, knowing what was coming. “I’d love a whiskey.”

As Thomas slowly started up the stairs ahead of him and Mary Matteson led Emily into the drawing room, Grey caught a last glimpse of her as she raised her hand to swipe at her eyes. He halted. Emily was crying—Lord, how he hated when she cried! His hands fisted at his sides as he fought the urge to return to her, sweep her into his arms, carry her from the house, and then—

And then nothing. He was still going to Spain, and with all the planning for the baby’s arrival and her sudden return to her family and society, Emily would soon forget him. It was the right ending for both of them.

But damnation, the right ending certainly hurt like hell.

He bit back a curse and spun on his heel to follow after Thomas, up the stairs and into the billiards room. Distracted by Emily’s tears, he stepped into the room where the two men usually spent most of their time—

Thomas’s fist plowed hard into his face. The force of the unexpected punch propelled him back against the wall.

“Christ!” He glared at Thomas, not even considering returning the punch. Because Thomas was so weak that a single push could send him sprawling onto the floor. And because he knew he deserved it. Instead, he met his friend’s angry gaze and blew out a hard breath, arching a wry brow. “Feel better now?”

Thomas gave a curt nod even as he panted hard for breath after the exertion of the punch. “Much.”

Leaving Grey to rub his throbbing cheek, Thomas crossed to the liquor cabinet in the corner. He retrieved a bottle, splashed whiskey into two tumblers, then held one out in a belated peace offering.

Satisfied at the tenuous truce between them, Grey accepted the proffered glass. He couldn’t help but notice the irony that this was the room where they’d always ended up on past evenings when he’d come to visit. And the same room filled with hard sticks perfect for beating him senseless should Thomas still carry a grudge about Emily that the punch hadn’t satisfied.

“You’re doing better since I left,” Grey commented as Thomas sank into one of the red leather chairs lining the wall. Choosing to stay out of punching distance, he leaned back against the billiards table, rubbed his cheek, and winced at the bruise already forming there at the corner of his eye. He muttered, “Obviously.”

“Strong enough to get out of bed now, but my side still hurts like hell.” His eyes—as sapphire blue as his sister’s—stared at Grey over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. He shook his head with incredulous disbelief. “You and the brat, for God’s sake…” There was more curiosity in Thomas’s voice than anger, and Grey took that as a hopeful sign, despite the throbbing at his cheek. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

His fingers clenched against the rail of the billiards table as he stared down into the whiskey. He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. When he was with Emily, she chased all rational, logical thought from his mind, and all he knew was the joy of being with her. She made him feel dashing, brave, strong…worthy of someone like her. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, inside and out.

But he answered simply, “I’ve never met another woman like her.” And as he took a gasping swallow of whiskey, he knew he never would again.

Grey glanced at his best friend, not surprised to find the look of a protective bulldog on his face, because he was certain he wore the same look on his. Emily was wrong to think that Thomas had ever stopping caring about her. The bruise he’d be sporting for the next week certainly proved that.

Thomas leveled his gaze on Grey. “Do you plan on marrying her?”

The unexpected question pierced him like an arrow to the heart. Marry the brat?

He’d never thought of marriage as a possibility for his life. Marriage was a fine institution, perfectly noble for other men, but for him it had always meant the end of his freedom. Yet for once, the thought of domestication didn’t terrify the daylights out of him. And he’d even considered it briefly that morning at the inn when he’d watched Emily sleeping in the bed they’d shared, dreading the moment when he would have to leave her.

But marriage, even to Emily, would be impossible.

She wasn’t wrong when she’d acknowledged how different they were. Within days, she’d be welcomed back into the bosom of society, invited to lavish dinners and soirees, and feted as the center of attention in drawing rooms across Mayfair. His reputation, both as an army officer and a rake, would only interfere with that.

Further, he was due in Spain. Past due, in fact, and he was already wearing Bathurst’s patience thin with his delays. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass by when it was everything he’d spent his life working to achieve. If he proved himself in Spain, he could expect another promotion and reassignment, this time perhaps back in London at Whitehall itself, an administrative role instead of fieldwork. And with that, he would reach the pinnacle of his career.

Choosing Emily meant having to give up those dreams, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that, especially when he had no guarantee that she’d choose him in return. He’d seen how much she’d enjoyed being with him, and he’d felt the way she’d given herself so completely when she lay naked in his arms. But he’d also seen the panic on her face when Lady Gantry saw them together at the inn. Emily might need him now, but what would she do when the immediate need disappeared? Or if the baby she delivered was a boy, born into a marquessate? Which would she choose then—her proper position in society or the rake she couldn’t be seen with in public?

Need was a far cry from love. If choosing Emily meant giving up the War Office when she might yet choose society over him, then need simply wasn’t enough.

“No, I cannot marry her,” he admitted soberly. “And she knows that.”

“Then I suggest you two keep your hands to yourselves from now on.” Thomas swirled the whiskey in his glass, the force of his warning masked by a trace of sarcasm as he added, “It’s damnably dull having this same conversation with you every five years.”

With a chagrined grimace, Grey took his words to heart. Thomas might have been joking, but the underlying message was wholly serious. “At least this time you didn’t threaten to shoot me.”

He dryly arched a brow. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

And at that, Grey knew his friendship with Thomas was still intact, if slightly fractured, although how he’d managed not to find himself at the end of Thomas’s pistol this time he hadn’t a clue. Unless that was because of the other truth he also knew—that Thomas loved Emily and would never do anything to hurt her, including hurting him with anything more than a punch. Even the past two years apart hadn’t dulled the special bond between them. Grey only hoped she realized that, as well as how much she could trust her brother. Because the niggling instinct in his gut that had kept him alive as a soldier and a spy told him that the worst was yet to come.

Grey set down his empty glass and pushed himself away from the billiards table. “You need to talk to Emily. She has quite a bit to share with you.”

Thomas rose carefully to his feet, his hand over his side. “About what?”

Grey shook his head. “She has to be the one to tell you.” And hopefully, resolve the rift between them. “And I’ve lingered here too long as it is. I need to check in at Whitehall, now that I’m back.”

“You’re still leaving for Spain, then?” Thomas’s face darkened at the possibility.

Grey hated seeing that look after all Thomas had gone through, but leaving was for the best. Emily had her brother again, and he had his new position waiting for him. He nodded. “Within the fortnight.”

“Stay, Grey,” Thomas urged quietly, placing a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “Just a few weeks more.” Then he added a bit grudgingly, and Grey knew it cost him a great deal to say it, “In case she needs you.”

A hard tug pulled from deep in his chest, and rashly, he yielded to it. “All right,” he agreed soberly, hoping he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Although after seeing Emily appear so utterly desolate and wretched when he left her, how could he have done otherwise? But the War Office certainly wouldn’t like this new delay, and as Thomas walked him slowly downstairs, he was already trying to think up a new excuse for Bathurst.

As they reached the foyer, Jensen opened the front door, and the Duke of Chatham strode into the house. He handed his coat, hat, and gloves to the footman.

His eyes landed on Grey, then slid dismissingly away to his son. “Where’s your sister?”

“Chatham?” Mary Matteson scurried into the foyer, with Emily treading more slowly behind. The duchess saw her husband’s face, and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Emily looked up and saw Grey, her eyes widening with surprise to see him still there. Taking the distraction of her father’s entrance to slip away, she moved to stand between him and Thomas.

Grey’s chest panged painfully for her, hating to see her looking so alone, even when surrounded by family. He didn’t know much about her relationship with her parents, but he knew they’d never been close, a rift that his kissing lesson from five years ago certainly hadn’t helped. Yet he surreptitiously brushed his fingers against hers as her hand dangled at her side, to reassure her as much as possible.

“Emily, there you are.” Her father turned to her, and Grey felt her stiffen next to him as her hand jerked away from his. “I’ve just heard the news and came as quickly as I could to tell you, since it directly affects your dower at Snowden Hall.”

“What news?” she half whispered, holding her breath.

“Word was announced on the floor of the Lords this afternoon.” Her father’s face turned grim. “The Marquess of Dunwich is dead.”

*  *  *

The words echoed through Emily, her body flashing numb as the room pitched around her. The familiar metallic taste returned to her mouth, the numbness behind her knees, the uncontrollable shaking in her hands…all the signs of suffocating fear rushed back in a drowning flood. Dear God, no—it was happening again!

And she’d unwittingly placed her baby right in the heart of the lion’s den.

Terror churned inside her. As soon as her pregnancy was revealed, all of London would know, and she would never be safe. The murderers would come after her again—oh God, not my baby! Her breath ripped from her lungs, leaving her gasping for air and her head spinning with panic. The world plunged away beneath her.

“Emily!” Grey’s strong arms swept around her as her legs buckled, catching her as she fell.

He lifted her off her feet and gathered her against his chest. With the strength to do nothing more than cling to him, she buried her face against his shoulder, her hand protectively folded over her belly. Over the innocent baby she loved more than life itself.

“No,” she whispered over and over between sobs, “please, God, no…”

“What’s wrong?” Mary Matteson demanded with an accusing glare at Grey, then laid a hand against her daughter’s cheek as she cried inconsolably. “Emily—Emily, dear, why are you crying? You barely knew the man.”

“Give her air,” Grey ordered sharply, his deep voice edged with worry, as he turned her away from her mother. When Thomas pressed in with concern, his pale face drawn, Grey explained reluctantly, “She’s with child.”

Her mother beamed with happiness. “A baby?” Then a beat later she realized its significance and gasped. “An heir!”

Her father’s stunned eyes darted to Emily’s hand as it lay over her belly, then he took his wife’s arm and gently led her back. “Major Grey is right, Mary. She needs space and calm.”

Thomas stood beside them, saying nothing. With one arm wrapped tightly around Grey’s neck and the other still guarding her baby, Emily closed her eyes, unable to bear the bewildered look of betrayal on Thomas’s face for not telling him before now.

“Grey,” she whispered, his name a breathless plea.

“She’s overwrought,” he told them, protecting her once again. “Give her time to rest, and then she can explain. Where is her room?”

“Bring her this way,” Thomas ordered without hesitation, then started quickly up the stairs, grimacing in pain at the effort. “Mother, have Jensen bring up a tea tray.”

The duchess nodded and hurried away.

“I’ll send for Dr. Brandon,” the duke offered helpfully.

“Thank you.” For just a beat, Grey met the man’s eyes, for once united in their concern for her. Then he carried her upstairs.

Thomas led them to the second floor and down the hall to the bedrooms in the west wing, then pushed open one of the doors and stepped back. As Grey carried her inside, Thomas leaned against the doorway like a tired sentinel, standing guard but giving them privacy.

Grey gently placed her on the bed and reached for her hand as he sat beside her. Her face was ashen, her body trembling, but at least she had stopped sobbing and was breathing steadily now.

He frowned down at her as deep concern pinched his gut. “Well, that was quite a homecoming,” he muttered, brushing a golden curl away from her cheek.

“You should experience a Matteson family holiday sometime,” she assured him with a weak attempt at a smile, despite a hitch in her voice. “One could confuse it for a stay at Bedlam.”

For her sake, he forced a small smile he didn’t feel. He was deeply worried about her and now also incredibly uneasy about leaving her here, knowing it would only be a matter of hours—days, if they were lucky—before news of the baby flowed through London like the Thames. The house wasn’t well protected from anyone who might want to break in, with old window sashes and easily picked locks, and it was staffed with men like Jensen who were too old and too portly to stop anyone who tried. Even though Thomas was healing, he wasn’t well enough to protect Emily and the baby.

His brows knit together. “Do you have other family in London, any place else you can stay?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be fine here.” Her fingers tightened against his. “The surprises are over now. It wasn’t the way I wanted to tell them about the baby, but now that they know, the worst is over. And I want to be close to Thomas.”

She’d misunderstood his concern, but he didn’t correct her, not wanting to upset her further. Deciding instead to place men on guard around the clock to watch the house, he acquiesced to her wishes and nodded. “Thomas needs you.”

Her eyes glistened. “And I need you, Grey.”

The soft words tore at him, a raw wound opening in his chest as he stared down at her beautiful face, the paralyzing fear once again showing in her sapphire eyes. He hated that fear and never wanted to see it in her eyes again.

But what were his choices? If he left her—

His heart stopped. If he left her…He knew then what he had to do, and the decision hit him with the force of a lightning bolt.

“I told you, brat,” he answered quietly but with deep resolve, “that I would always protect you and your baby.” He couldn’t resist stroking her cheek in an attempt to soothe her, even as a knot of emotion lodged in his throat. “And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

“Grey, a word with you,” Thomas called from the doorway with a glance into the hall. “Now, please.”

Nodding, he stood and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You’re not alone anymore, Emily.”

He hadn’t quite reached the door of the room when her mother bustled inside. The look of recrimination the duchess gave him to find him in the bedroom stunned him for a moment, and he glanced past her at Thomas, who mouthed a silent You’re welcome. Thank God Thomas was on his side, or her mother would have come in to find him sitting on the bed with her daughter, stroking her cheek. And army life had certainly never prepared him for a battle like that.

“Major Grey,” the duchess snapped, “a lady’s bedroom—”

“—is no place for a gentleman. Thank goodness you’re here now, Your Grace.” He sketched her a bow and sent her what he hoped she’d believe to be a grateful smile of relief. “I was just leaving to find you.” Behind her, he saw Thomas roll his eyes. “Lady Emily needs her mother to care for her, especially at this delicate time.”

That took the wind from the woman’s sails, and she blinked with momentary confusion, uncertain whether to continue her berating or thank him for his concern. “Well…yes,” she sputtered instead. “Yes, of course.” She paused, grudgingly forcing out, “I’m certain Thomas has thanked you for bringing Emily safely to us. We…appreciate all you’ve done.”

That was as close to gratitude as he would ever get from her. “I was happy to help, Your Grace.”

He glanced back at Emily. Even from this distance, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes, and fresh anguish sliced through his chest. This parting couldn’t be helped, but he would be back. And he would make it his personal mission to never see her cry again.

With a polite bow to the duchess, and a deeper bow to Emily, he said his good-byes and strode from the room, each step filled with resolute determination.

“Where are you going?” Thomas demanded, falling into step beside him, his hand covering his wounded side.

“To make arrangements,” he answered, pausing at the top of the stairs to glance back at her room. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Thomas shook his head grimly. “If you leave her to go to Spain now, in her condition—”

“No,” Grey corrected with unyielding resolve. “I meant about marrying her.”

For a moment, Thomas only gaped at him incredulously. “When I asked earlier…” He shook his head. “My parents won’t allow it, you know that. And certainly not if that child’s a boy.”

He blew out a weary breath, not looking forward to that battle. But it couldn’t be helped. “It’s the only way I can protect her.”

“Protect her?” Thomas’s brows drew down sharply. “Why would—”

“Do I have your permission to marry her, Thomas?” he asked solemnly. Emily was over twenty-one and didn’t need anyone’s permission, but Thomas’s opinion mattered. A great deal.

Thomas stared at him for a moment as if his best friend had lost his mind, then grinned slowly. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” he sighed with relief, resting his hand briefly on Thomas’s shoulder. “Not a word to Emily yet. I want to do this right.” He started down the stairs. “I’ll be back tomorrow with a ring and posies for a proper proposal.”

“And a smelling bottle to resuscitate my parents,” Thomas called grimly after him.

Grey ignored that. He’d deal with her parents later. For now, his only concern was protecting Emily. And he would protect her. With his life.