Chapter Eleven

    

Tea, Emily?”

Ignoring her mother in her distraction, Emily nervously paced to the end of the drawing room and paused only long enough to pull back the gauzy curtain that filtered out the afternoon sunlight and glance through the large window at the front entrance—empty. No saddle horse. No carriage.

No Grey.

With a sigh of mounting agitation, she turned and headed back across the room, wringing her hands. Even after tossing and turning all night, she wasn’t able to sit still today and rest. She’d remained too upset over the news of Dunwich’s death, and she’d missed the warmth of Grey’s protective arms around her as she slept. Nothing eased her worry and nervousness today, either. Not the book she’d tried to read, not sitting in the gardens, not even her sketchbook and pencils—and certainly not the letter her father insisted she write to the Committee for Privileges, informing them that she was with child. The same letter he delivered himself this afternoon. By tomorrow, all of London would know that she might be carrying the Dunwich heir, and then, oh God, what would she do to protect her baby?

Which was why she was pacing now. No—not pacing so much as simply wandering between the two windows, the door, and back, because in her anxious distraction she couldn’t have managed a straight line if her life depended upon it.

The long case clock struck, and she jumped. Her heart thumped with the ringing of the hour…one, two, three, four…Her chest fell. Five o’clock, and still no Grey. Surely, he should have returned by now, to see how she’d managed through the night and if she were feeling better. Or at least to reassure her of Yardley’s whereabouts, knowing how much the woman meant to her. Or if he’d started the investigation into Andrew’s murder and the arson at Snowden. But…nothing.

Her mother held up a teacup as she wandered past, her brow furrowing with concern, and tried again. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

Emily waved it away and kept pacing, raising her thumb to her mouth to bite at her nail.

Thomas was also absent this afternoon, almost as if he was avoiding her, which pained her more than she wanted to admit. She’d told him about Andrew’s death and the fire when she told her father that morning. At least the stunned look on her brother’s face showed his concern and that he believed she wasn’t lying, although most likely he thought her slightly mad. Even if she’d wanted to dissemble, Thomas was the one who taught her how to lie, and she was certain not one of hers would slip past him now. Which was going to make it very difficult when she finally told him the truth about her marriage and how she’d gotten with child, just as Grey had urged her to do.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not on top of everything else. Right now, all she could think about was keeping her baby safe…and why, oh why, was Grey not here?

With a patient but determined sigh, her mother stood up and thrust the teacup in front of her as she circled the room again, nearly knocking Emily backward with surprise.

“Emily, your tea.” This time, the offer was not a request.

“Yes, Mama.” With a sigh, she sat on the gold-striped settee across the tea table from her mother and accepted the cup. Her mother meant well, making certain she ate even this tiny bit, but she had no taste for the stuff.

In fact, she’d had no appetite at all since leaving the inn yesterday morning. She’d swallowed only a few bites at lunch today and then mostly because she didn’t want to offend Cook, who had been so worried about her lack of appetite after returning her breakfast tray completely untouched that the woman had come upstairs herself to inquire after her. A quick look now at the tray loaded with cinnamon biscuits specially made for her told Emily that Cook didn’t believe her protests that she was fine. Her eyes misted at the generosity and concern of the household staff when they hadn’t seen her in two years.

“You need to eat, my dear, especially now that you are increasing.” Her mother held up a small plate of tiny cucumber sandwiches—also her favorites, and her eyes blurred even more that Cook remembered a detail that small about her. Her mother’s voice was soft with concern as she added, “I know you are still tired from traveling, but you must think of your baby’s well-being.”

His well-being? Emily nearly laughed. That was nearly all she’d been thinking about for the past five months. Oh, her mother genuinely worried about her, she supposed, but the irony grated—the same woman who now fretted over her unborn grandchild had banished her own daughter for one foolish kiss.

Emily reached past the sandwiches for one of the biscuits, hoping to find some comfort there, if not her appetite.

A noise sounded from the street. She jumped to her feet so quickly that she nearly spilled her tea, only for her hopeful heart to plummet when she heard the singsong refrain of the rag-and-bone man.

She slowly sank back down onto the settee and raised the cup to her lips.

Her mother drew a deep breath and asked quietly, “Does Major Grey know that you are in love with him?”

The teacup tipped in her surprised hand and splashed a puddle onto the Turkish rug. “Pardon?” she squeaked.

“Major Grey,” her mother repeated with a long-suffering sigh, only adding to Emily’s mortification that her mother would raise this topic, of all topics, with her. “You are in love with that man, and most likely have been since you were sixteen and saw him riding up to Ivy Glen in his scarlet uniform.” With a faint, wistful smile, her mother shook her head as if she knew herself what it felt like to lose her heart to a young officer the way Emily had lost hers so long ago to Grey. “A young lady would have to be blind not to find that sight dashing.”

Emily’s heart skittered uncontrollably. Good Lord, how was it possible that her mother knew what she felt for Grey? Carefully keeping her reaction as even as possible so she could deny it, she slowly returned the cup to its saucer, only to be given away by her trembling hands and the soft clinking of the china.

“But that is all it is, my dear,” her mother assured her firmly yet not unkindly. “Only a dashing sight, nothing more. And a lady must always remember to look past the uniform to the man beneath.”

A blush heated her cheeks. Oh, she’d certainly seen the man beneath! She set her tea aside before she spilled it again. “Major Grey is a fine man, Mama,” she defended. There was no point in attempting to hide her feelings.

“Yes, by all accounts, Major Grey is a good man.” A slight chagrin darkened her face as she clarified, “Although his reputation with the ladies leaves much to be desired in the sort of companion I would have chosen for my son.”

Her eyes flew up to meet her mother’s, and Emily stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, under many layers, yet still a compliment…for Grey. Heavens, she couldn’t have been more surprised if Mama had just declared pigs capable of flying!

“And from what I have personally seen,” her mother continued grudgingly, carefully pronouncing each word as if it cost her great pain to admit it, “he is devoted to Thomas, and his loyalty to this family and to his country is beyond measure.”

Oh, that was definitely a compliment! Yet hearing it come from her mother’s lips did nothing to soothe the unease rising inside her. Not when she knew how little her parents liked Grey and would gladly toss him completely from Chatham House if not for fear of losing Thomas’s favor.

Mama raised her cup to her lips. “However—”

There! There it was, the shift she’d expected. Emily steeled herself against the insults certain to be unfurled against Grey now.

“He is also an army officer and War Office agent.”

Emily forced down her rising ire. “I know exactly what he is,” she corrected softly. And what he was…was magnificent. Kind and caring, protective and brave, determined to secure a better life for himself—everything she could ever want in the man she took into her arms…and in a husband, should she ever dare let herself hope for that. “I also am quite aware of his faults.” And happily willing to overlook them. “So please do not attempt to turn my heart against him.”

Her mother’s face softened with remorse. “That is not my intention, but you must remember who he is.” She lowered her cup to the saucer perched precariously upon her knee. Her eyes never raised from her tea as she said, “No matter what rank he achieves, he will never be a gentleman.”

Frustrated anger simmered low inside her that her mother should denigrate him so, the man who saved her life and her baby’s. The same kind, caring man who made her feel loved and special. “Is that why you and Papa dislike him so much, because that’s how you see him?” she demanded bluntly. “As nothing more than a blacksmith’s son who dared to kiss your daughter?”

“Yes, we dislike him,” her mother acknowledged quietly but sincerely, her eyes softening as they lifted to meet hers. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Because you caught him kissing me in the garden,” Emily accused coldly. She remembered what Grey had said to her at Snowden. “Wasn’t it enough to punish me by sending me away to school? Why must you continue to punish him as well?”

A flash of shock sped across her mother’s face, and she shook her head. “Your father and I didn’t send you to school as punishment.” Sadness laced her voice. “We were trying to save you in the only way we knew how.”

“Save me?” The question came out as an incredulous gasp, and Emily could only gape, stunned. The years of loneliness and isolation, of being treated as an outsider by the other young ladies among whom she never belonged, missing her brother and her home so badly that she cried herself to sleep night after night—Good Lord, if that was salvation, then…“What on earth did you think you were saving me from?”

Her mother’s shoulders slumped, as if defeated. “From dashing young men in their scarlet uniforms,” she answered ruefully. She reached for the teapot to refill her cup, although her cup was still full, as if she needed to keep her hands busy and seized on the comfort of pouring tea. “My father was an army man, you know, a lieutenant in India, and I saw firsthand how hard army life can be, both for the men and for the women who marry them. Never enough money, being sent God knows where to live like natives, always the constant fear of attack and death…Later, when I married your father, I suffered through that same life. And I didn’t want that for my daughter.”

“But—but it was only one kiss!” Emily exclaimed incredulously.

“And I would have done anything necessary to keep it from becoming more, for your sake, with any man who wasn’t a gentleman. It wasn’t Nathaniel Grey we were worried about but any man who saw you as an opportunity for social advancement.” She shook her head and set the pot down, her hand lingering on it regretfully as if remembering her own harsh childhood in India and her marriage before Papa inherited. “I wanted more for you than the life I had—an army officer’s wife depending upon the kindness of relatives for a livable allowance.”

“It was a good life,” Emily argued, rising to her feet. “We had a wonderful home at Ivy Glen.”

“Thanks only to your father’s brother and nephew,” she interjected, bitterness lacing her voice. “Without their kindness in letting us live there, we would have been crammed into rented rooms with barely enough money to feed and clothe us. Nearly every penny we had was because of them. Even then I worried constantly about how to settle the accounts and felt ashamed every time I had to ask for our allowance, through all of it suffering the embarrassment of being beholden to them.”

Emily stared at her with astonishment. But that—that wasn’t possible! She remembered her childhood at Ivy Glen, how wonderful it had been…but she also remembered the visits by her uncle and cousin, the tension that descended upon the country house, how on edge her mother had seemed. Yet she’d had no idea of their circumstances or her mother’s worry. Her parents had always been so careful with appearances, always conscious of social rank and connections. She’d assumed it was because they were social climbers themselves, set on achieving higher positions than they were born to. Never had any other alternative occurred to her.

“I wanted a better life for you, Emily, and when your father and I stumbled upon you two that day in the garden…” A pleading look for understanding swept across her mother’s face. “Well, it was obvious to me that you might never get that life. So we asked your cousin for the tuition money to send you to school.” Her mother drew a deep breath and admitted, “You needed a better education than I was able to provide for you at Ivy Glen, one that would teach you how to become a gentleman’s wife. We also hoped that you would make friends among the other young ladies and acquire their tastes and standards.” She paused. “Especially in suitors.”

Andrew. The realization hit her like a slap. That was why they’d urged her to marry him, because they thought he would provide the best life possible for her. A gentleman with a decent allowance and a small country estate of his own, relatives in a well-respected family, even a distant connection to a title…They must have thought they’d been blessed by fate to have such a man offer for her. No wonder they didn’t believe Thomas’s doubts about him—Andrew had been everything they’d ever dreamed of for their daughter.

Emily knew then that she could never tell them about the full misery of her marriage, that the man they thought would be her salvation turned out to be exactly the kind of fortune hunter from whom they’d tried so desperately to protect her. Their concern and love was misguided, oh, terribly so! But it was love, nonetheless, in its own way.

“And you might now be carrying a marquess, which means all those dashing young men will once again be clamoring for your attention.” Her mother set her tea aside, as if she, too, had lost her appetite. She added softly, “You might once again be in danger of losing your heart.”

Not losing, Emily thought, pressing her hand against her chest. Lost. Her heart was already gone, although in truth she’d lost it five years ago, and only finding Grey again had brought it back to her. “Grey isn’t one of those men, Mama. He’s not a fortune hunter.”

“No, I do not believe that he is.” Her mother’s brow furrowed.

Confusion pulsed through her. “Then why do you—”

“Does he know that you are in love with him?” she asked again, with more tenderness and concern than Emily expected, so much that it took her breath away.

Her face flushed, and she averted her eyes, even as her mother’s gaze watched her closely, waiting for an answer. “No,” she admitted in a whisper. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Her mother’s voice softened. “And does he love you?”

Her chest tightened with a painful clench. She didn’t have the strength—yet possessed far too much pride—to admit that her mother had no worries there, that Grey didn’t care about her, at least not the way she wanted. So she deflected the question. “I would consider myself lucky to have his love. He’s a war hero and patriot, a man who carved out a decent life for himself against all odds.” She added pointedly, “He saved my life.”

Her mother shook her head sadly. “You know the reputation he has, Emily.”

“As a rake, you mean,” she snapped out irritably. Why must Mama persist in disparaging him like this?

“No, not that,” her mother corrected softly. “His reputation as a man who craves adventure and action, who loves the chase and the hunt.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know Major Grey well, given his friendship with your brother,” she told her gently, “and you are not the first woman to fall for his dashing nature, nor the first who has wanted to wed him.”

Her chest tightened with a hot rush of jealousy. It was true, certainly—if she loved Grey so deeply, then surely other women had also lost their hearts to him just as she had. She couldn’t imagine anyone not falling in love with him, so completely did she love him. But coming from Mama, the observation was heartbreaking.

Her mother’s eyes glistened with sympathy. “And it is a mistake for you to want marriage with a man like him.”

“Grey would be a wonderful husband and father,” Emily protested, blinking back the stinging in her eyes. Why was Mama torturing her like this? “The best I could ever hope for.”

“I’m certain he would,” she conceded, surprising Emily so much with her compliment that she gaped at her mother. Yet her mother’s eyes filled with regret and sadness. “But my sweet daughter, what makes you think you would be the right wife for him?”

Emily blinked, stunned. Of all the things for Mama to say—she certainly hadn’t expected that! Her heart skipped, and the air left her lungs in one anguished breath. Because I love him. Because I know his secrets and he knows mine, yet we still care for each other. Because we’re perfect together…But nothing came from her lips, because with each skittering beat of her thumping heart, she feared her mother might be right.

“I know both of you, perhaps better than you know yourselves. Even if you somehow managed to change his tiger’s stripes and convinced him to marry, even if he became accepted by society…” Her mother paused, an expression of grim knowing crossing her face. “A man like him would never be happy leading a respectable life in English society, and you wouldn’t be happy with anything else.”

“That’s not true,” Emily whispered defensively, but even as she spoke, tears burned in her eyes.

With a soft expression of knowing pity, her mother folded her hands in her lap and gently shook her head. “To give up his freedom, to leave behind the excitement of battles and chasing enemies for a life of domesticity, babies, social outings—could you imagine a man like him, retired to a life of leisure on a country estate? He would go mad within a fortnight.”

Emily lowered her gaze to the floor as she began to tremble. No. Grey wasn’t like that. He might consider himself a lurker who belonged between worlds, but he knew society and its benefits and would fit into that life as well as any gentleman. She knew it! He’d hurt his own cause in the past by cultivating his reputation as a rake and an outsider, but surely, he could overcome that…couldn’t he?

“I knew men like him in India,” her mother continued quietly, “those men who had a taste for adventure. They were never happy leading an ordinary life, and your Major Grey is the same. I see it every time I look at him.”

Emily glanced away as uncertainty swirled through her and mixed with the roiling pain knotting her insides. She had seen the same look in him herself.

“For a man like him,” her mother said softly as she rose to her feet and stepped slowly toward her, “even the best marriage would be…well, it would be like trapping a tiger in a cage.”

A tiger in a cage. Pain tore through her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force away the heartbreak of her mother’s words. Because she was right. Grey valued his freedom more than anything else. Good God, he’d told her so! The freedom to shape his own life, to come and go between worlds as he pleased…to accept a promotion in Spain.

“In time,” her mother assured her, placing her hand on Emily’s arm and gently squeezing, “he would regret choosing a wife over the War Office, and whatever love he holds for you now would only turn to resentment.”

“He would never…” Yet even as Emily whispered the words, she doubted them.

Pity swam in her mother’s eyes. She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Emily’s ear, the same motherly gesture she used to do when Emily was just a little girl, still in braids in the nursery at Ivy Glen. “Please understand. I do not tell you this to hurt you, my darling, but to keep you from being hurt.”

The air tore from her lungs. Oh, it was too late for that! Already the pain and loss reverberated inside her.

A soft scratch sounded at the door, and Jensen entered. “Your Grace.” He bowed to the duchess, then turned to Emily with a nod. “There is a caller downstairs for Lady Emily. Major Grey, ma’am.”

Pressing her hand hard against her chest and the heart that pounded so achingly within, Emily drew a sharp breath to gather her strength and find the resolve to face him. All day she’d paced and hoped he’d come see her, but now that he was here, dread fell coldly through her.

The butler paused, waiting for a response. When she didn’t answer, he pressed gently, “What would you like me to do with him, ma’am?”

For the first time concerning Grey, she hesitated. Then, drawing a deep breath, she answered nervously, “Would you please show the major upstairs?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jensen inclined his head and retreated.

“I shall leave you two to talk,” her mother offered soberly. “But please remember all I’ve said. It would break my heart to see you hurt.”

Her mother kissed her softly on the cheek, then silently left.

With her mother gone, Emily looked down at her hands. They were shaking, with no way to stop them.

She turned away and once again set to pacing the room, this time in desperation to collect herself before Grey saw the anguish on her face and the pain of her shattered heart. Her mother was right. He wasn’t the sort of man who could tolerate a normal society marriage, but he knew it, too. Which was why he’d never made any promises to her for a future or any kind of commitment beyond delivering her to London, why he’d never even hinted about marriage. Oh, she was such a fool! While she was falling in love, he had been planning his relocation to Spain.

Even if he changed his mind and decided he wanted her—a tiger in a cage. She closed her eyes against the pain of the truth. Her mother was right; Grey loved being an agent and the life of excitement that accompanied it, the possibility for an even better future it might yet bring him. All she could do was take that away.

And what would become of her if she did and if he grew to resent her for it? She knew what hell it was to be married to a man who hated his wife, who blamed her for turning his life into something he never wanted—who would only end up abandoning her. Oh God, she couldn’t bear that again! And certainly not from Grey, of all men. The only man she’d ever loved, and the only man she ever would.

“Emily.”

His deep voice shivered through her. She opened her eyes and watched him saunter into the room. The sight of him stole her breath away.

Dressed in formal afternoon attire of a silk maroon waistcoat, tan trousers, and a black superfine jacket, he could have put Beau Brummell’s dandies to shame, certainly outshining them all with his golden hair and handsome face. His man had spent hours on the intricately knotted cravat at his neck, his close shave, and the shine of his polished boots. He’d taken her breath away before, even half-dressed and sporting two days’ growth of beard. But this…sweet Lord, she hadn’t been prepared for this! Every inch proclaimed him the gentleman he was born to be instead of the orphan fate had made him.

But when he smiled at her, a look so full of affection that his eyes shined, the tug at her heart told her that nothing from his past signified. What mattered was his future. And she would do whatever she had to in order to ensure that.

Even if it meant a future without her.

*  *  *

Grey stared at her, unable to tear his gaze away. He’d spent all last night pacing and practicing what he would say to her. Now that the moment had arrived, however, he couldn’t remember a blasted word. Of course, the ferocious pounding of his heart didn’t help alleviate his nervousness, or how his palms had grown so sweaty that he didn’t dare remove his gloves. Or by the weight of the ring box in his breast pocket, acting as a constant reminder that his life was about to change forever.

And it certainly wasn’t helped by the way Emily simply stood there on the far side of the room, making no move to rush to him as he’d hoped.

He frowned, a soft pang of uncertainty rising inside him. “Emily.” He came forward. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” But instead of stepping into his arms as he wanted, she moved away.

He froze. A warning prickled low in his gut. No, she wasn’t fine. Not at all.

She averted her eyes as she took another step away from him, and he saw her hands tremble before she twisted them into her skirt to hide them. She was nervous, anxious—

Damnation! His jaw clenched with anger. If Thomas had told her of his proposal plans, he’d pummel him senseless for it, bullet wound or not.

When she moved back yet again as he stepped forward, he halted. His eyes narrowed on her. Bewilderment instantly replaced the anger. Had he completely misread her? From the way she’d clung to him yesterday when he had to leave her, as if her heart would break to part from him, he’d been certain she’d sparked an affection for him. Yet he didn’t dare hope for love. That would make this moment far too easy, and he’d never been a friend to fate.

But to behave like this now, as if she’d flee from the room—and him—if she could sidle herself closer to the door…

“Did Thomas speak to you?” he half demanded, not knowing whether to be furious at Thomas or worried about her.

She shook her head. “I haven’t told him yet about my marriage,” she answered quietly, her gaze pinned to the floor. As if she couldn’t find the courage to look at him. “With everything else he’s had to deal with, I thought it best to wait a few days.”

He clenched his jaw. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh,” she breathed out knowingly, still not daring to look at him. “That.”

Yes, that. Even now ire at her brother prickled in his chest, right beneath the ring box.

“Of course I haven’t,” she blurted out, blushing scarlet with embarrassment. “But I think he suspects what happened between us.”

He gaped at her. She thought he meant about the journey from Yorkshire. She didn’t know about the wedding proposal, Thomas hadn’t told her—so why on earth was she acting so strangely?

Then her eyes raised slowly, and he heard her catch her breath when she noticed the ugly bruise at his eye. Her mouth fell open as she stated breathlessly, “But you had a talk with him about it.”

“Yes.”

She bit her bottom lip, her concern for him warming his chest. “He hit you?”

“Oh yes.” He crooked a chagrined brow.

“I’m so sorry.”

With an expression of concern darkening her face, she began to reach a trembling hand toward the bruise, then stopped suddenly and pulled back. As if she’d momentarily forgotten herself. Or was afraid of being burned.

She cleared her throat, her gaze returning to the floor, but not before he saw a flash of pain in her eyes. And guilt. The niggling voice inside his head that she wasn’t behaving like herself grew louder.

“Have you seen him yet today?” She nervously twisted her hand in her skirt to prevent herself from reaching for him again. “I’m certain he’ll apologize.”

He drew a deep breath, determined to ignore whatever was upsetting her—for now—and get through the proposal. Then, once he was certain of his place in her life, he would take her away from here and whatever had happened to make her so nervous, so…pained. “I’m not here to see Thomas.” His gut flip-flopped with fresh nervousness. Dear Lord—he was about to propose, something he’d never thought he’d do. “I’m here to see you.”

“Oh?” She’d forced a casual lightness into her voice, but nothing about the nervous way she stood there, trembling and pale, was at all casual. “I’m fine. A good night’s sleep and some of Cook’s delicious food did me wonders.”

His eyes narrowed, the bewilderment and nervousness pulsing through him turning to irritation. She was lying. Again.

“You were right.” She forced an unsteady smile. “Being home with my family is where I belong.”

Good Lord, was she lying! But why?

He took a slow step toward her, tamping down his growing frustration. “I came to a decision yesterday,” he told her calmly, despite the hard tattoo of his pulse, “and I wanted to speak with you about it.”

She shifted away to move behind a chair, placing the piece of furniture between them as if she were afraid he might pounce on her. He smiled at that, knowing he just might.

“I’m glad you came by.” Yet her voice trembled with anything but gladness at seeing him. “I never had the chance to properly thank you for—”

“Emily,” he interrupted quietly. The time for games was over. “Marry me.”

Her wide eyes flew up to his, so full of raw emotion in their blue depths that he caught his breath. For a moment, all she did was stare back, her lips parted in stunned disbelief, her breathing coming in shallow, little pants…Then she began to shake, so hard he feared she might fall to the floor.

“Darling, sit.” In a single stride, he closed the distance to her and took her arm to help her sink down onto the chair. Then he knelt beside her and took both her hands in his. Lord, how she shook! Grinning up at her, he raised her trembling hands to his lips and kissed them. “Stunned you, did I?”

“More than you know,” she breathed, so softly he barely heard her.

He chuckled. Her eyes glistened, and his chest tugged at the sight of her tears. At least this time, they were tears of happiness.

She desperately searched his face. “Why?” She choked out the words in breathless astonishment. “Why would you want to marry me?”

He reached inside his jacket—dear God, his own hands were shaking now!—and withdrew the ring box. “I swore to protect you and the baby, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

She remained perfectly still and silent as he opened the box and slipped onto her finger the sapphire and diamond ring he’d purchased because the stone was the same color as her eyes. Her hand trembled even more as she stared down at it, as if she couldn’t believe it was real.

“Marry me, brat,” he repeated, his own voice catching on the words as a knot tightened in his throat. “Make an honest man of me.”

Instead of laughing at his teasing words as he’d hoped, she soberly shook her head. “But—but you were going to Spain—your promotion—”

“I’m going to decline it.” Even now, the decision tore at him. It was what he’d been working for since that day he left the orphanage when he was ten and set out to gnaw and claw his way into a better life. But he knew this choice was the right one. Because he would now have Emily. “You were right, brat. I can’t protect you all the way from Spain.” Hell, he couldn’t protect her from the other side of Mayfair. Which is why he needed to marry her, so he could keep her and the baby close.

“Is that why, then?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the ring on her finger. “The reason you want to marry me—only to protect me?”

His smile faded. “I think it’s a damned good reason.” Had she really expected love? Admitting he loved her was certainly not one of the speeches he’d practiced last night. He’d barely gotten used to the idea of getting married. To throw love into the mix…Good Lord. Yet he drew a deep breath, held it a moment, and admitted, “Emily, I lo—”

“No!” She shook her head and yanked the ring off her hand with fingers shaking so violently he wondered if she might drop it. She shoved it back at him. “I won’t, Grey. I won’t marry you!”

Her words stabbed like a knife into his heart. He stared at her, his breath gone from his lungs, utterly bewildered.

During their time together, he’d seen her affection for him—he knew it! No woman could fake the caring with which she touched him, the vulnerability when she gave herself to him so tenderly, or the passion when she seized her pleasure from him. Two days ago, lying in the bed still warm from their lovemaking, the little minx had wanted to marry him, he’d been certain of it.

But now…

“Emily.” Her whispered name was filled with pain and uncertainty.

His hand closed over hers as she pushed the ring against his chest, to keep her fingers wrapped securely around it. Because if she gave it back—Christ!

Each beat of his heart pounded with the grim force of a death knell. Her rejection left him just as stunned as she had been when he’d proposed, just as shaken with disbelief. And filled with confusion. The world had tilted beneath him until he no longer knew which way was up.

He shook his head, not wanting to believe…“Don’t you want to be with me?”

She stilled, and the anguished pain in her eyes answered truthfully even as she lied, “No, Grey—no, I don’t.”

“Why the hell not?” he growled. He was angry—furious!—that she’d lie to him now, of all times, and the burning anger mixed with the pain of rejection in his chest. “I care about you, Emily, more than you know. Enough that I am willing to lay down my life to protect you and the baby.”

She shook her head. “That isn’t—”

“Then what is it?” he demanded.

When she didn’t answer, he cupped her face in his free hand. She closed her eyes as if his touch pained her. The sinking feeling seeped through him that she was once again keeping secrets from him. And that this secret might just destroy him.

“We’re good together, brat,” he murmured, touching his lips to hers and feeling her inhale jerkily. “So very, very good…and not just intimately, you know that.” He kissed her again. If she wouldn’t confess the truth on her own, then he’d seduce it from her if he had to, one torturous kiss at a time. He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, and his tongue slid over the seam of her lips to coax her to open to him. “I’ve never met another woman like you.”

When she parted her lips hesitantly beneath his soft cajoling, he swept his tongue tenderly inside, increasing the intimacy of the kiss until she trembled, until the hand at his chest stopped pushing him away and instead clung to him. A pang of victory pulsed through him, followed by an immense wave of relief. A heavy sigh heaved from him. She was his…finally.

“If I had known five years ago the woman you would become,” he whispered as he swept his mouth along her jaw to her ear, “I never would have let you go. Not even then.” He smiled against her ear as she shivered from the soft flick of his tongue against her earlobe. “Although my career would have definitely suffered.” He laughed at himself as he took her earlobe between his teeth and sucked gently. At the shivering response he elicited from her, warmth blossomed in his chest. The warmth of possession. “With you to distract me, I never would have become a major.”

She froze, her body stiffening against his with a catch of her breath. Then she shifted away. He leaned in, following her like the pull of a magnet, but she turned her head and pushed at his chest once more. Hard enough this time that she slid out from underneath him and out of the chair, putting half the room between them before his surprised mind thought to reach for her.

He looked down at his palm in utter bewilderment. A fresh wound ripped through his chest, and he flinched with pain. In his hand, she’d left the ring.

“You’re wrong about us, Grey,” she told him, shaking her head adamantly. “What we shared was amazing. You made me feel so feminine, desirable…,” she admitted in a whisper. “You made me feel wanted.”

His eyes narrowed in white-hot anger as the niggling voice warning inside his head turned into a scream. This wasn’t a list of the reasons for why she wanted him; it was a rationale for rejection.

“But we’re not the same people we were five years ago. You have your career, your future plans—” She choked, and he thought he heard a sob in her voice. “We’re from different worlds.”

His heart stopped, and in that moment’s tiny death, he prayed he hadn’t heard her correctly. Surely, she didn’t mean…But she did. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to himself. And when his heart started again, the pain of it stole his breath away.

He knew this woman better than anyone else in the world, yet for Emily to be so cruel as to say something like that, and directly to his face—the warmth inside him vanished instantly, replaced by an icy bitterness.

“Please understand. I have to think of my baby now.” Her hands slid down to her belly, but her eyes never lifted to meet his. “And no matter how much we care for each other, no matter if there’s love—” Another rasping choke as the words caught in her throat, another sob. She drew a deep breath and hurried on. “If we marry, you can’t protect me and my child, not from society. I’ll be cut direct at every opportunity, whispered and gossiped about in front of my face, no longer welcome anywhere in Mayfair…I’ve seen it happen to women for indiscretions far less serious than the lo—than the closeness you and I shared.”

Love. She was going to say love. His chest burned with betrayal, with the same pain as if she’d slapped him.

She shook her head. “I can’t allow that to happen, not when my baby’s future is so important.”

His eyes hardened on her. “So that’s it?” he drawled resentfully, his hands fisted at his sides to keep from shaking her. “You want me to believe that you’re refusing marriage so that you can keep waltzing at balls.”

A blush of guilt colored her otherwise pale face. “This isn’t as inconsequential as you make it out to be.”

“Damn you,” he said softly.

A soft gasp tore from her. “Grey!”

“Damn you for lying to me again.” He saw her flinch beneath his words— Good. She deserved to know the piercing pain she’d sent spiraling through him. “Even now, after all we’ve been through together.”

She swallowed. Hard enough that he could see the undulation of her throat even from so far away. “I-I’m not—”

“I know you, brat.” He took slow steps toward her, more to keep his own anger in check than from fear of chasing her away again. “You don’t give a damn what society thinks of you.”

Through tear-blurred eyes, she stared at him silently, her lips falling open—every inch of her so blatantly showing that she knew he’d caught her in her lie yet still desperately clinging to it. But the tears were real, and so was the anguish behind them. He’d come here, engagement ring in hand, because he wanted to protect her and stop her from ever crying again, only to end up putting her into tears himself. But he had no intention of leaving her unprotected, even if he had to toss her over his shoulder and drive away to Gretna Green.

“Why are you refusing me—the real reason?” he demanded. He cupped her face in his hands so she couldn’t retreat from him again. “What is it that you want? Tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

“I want you to do what you planned all along,” she forced out through trembling lips, “what you told me you would do that first day in the carriage…love me and leave me.”

His heart tore at the anguish he saw on her face. When he’d told her that, he’d believed it of himself. But she’d changed him, and he no longer wanted that life. What he wanted now was her. “I am not leaving you, do you understand? Not now, not ever.”

“I want you to go to Spain.”

“I am not leaving—”

“Just go!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “Please, just leave!”

Pain surged through him, mixing with anger and rising betrayal. To blatantly lie to him once again, and to offer that, of all reasons, as her excuse— “I’m not going anywhere,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Her hand darted up to swipe at her eyes as she whispered, “Then I will.”

Without a glance backward, she fled from the room.

*  *  *

Grey angrily slammed shut the front door of his rented town house, stopping his man Hulston in his tracks in the foyer as he scrambled to open the door for him.

“Major, you’re back,” Hulston said with flustered surprise, knowing the purpose of Grey’s afternoon mission and having put much care into dressing him for it. “And so soon.”

Muttering a string of curses, Grey yanked off his coat, hat, and gloves and shoved them all into Hulston’s waiting arms. Then he slapped the ring box down on top of the lot of them. “Get rid of this!”

“Sir?” Hulston blinked in surprise, not daring to press for more explanation.

“And tell Mrs. Smith to take the night off,” Grey ordered, stalking toward the stairs. “I’m going out for dinner.”

“But, sir—”

“And then I plan on spending the rest of the night at the clubs.”

“Which club?” Hulston’s face reddened, even more flustered than before as he held the ring box at arm’s length in a futile attempt to hand it back.

“Whichever one lets me through the door,” he grumbled, the words too true to be amusing.

“But, sir!”

He snapped out another curse, this one aimed at Hulston’s ancestry. “I don’t care what you do with that ring. Pawn the goddamned thing and spend the money on drink and whores for all I—”

“Major, you have a visitor waiting,” Hulston blurted out before Grey could interrupt him again. “I told her you wouldn’t be back for hours, but she insisted.”

Damnation! The last thing he wanted to deal with right now was a visitor, especially a female one. After this afternoon, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for anything regarding women and had no other goal for the evening than getting blindingly drunk.

“I’m not receiving visitors.” He headed up the stairs. “And you can tell whoever is waiting that she can take her parasol and shove it up her—”

“Nathaniel.”

The mature female voice stopped him in mid-step, his foot hovering above the stair. He knew before he turned around—

“Lady Henley,” he said curtly but politely, facing her as she stood in the doorway to the drawing room.

The last person he wanted to see right now was the stern old woman from his youth. Emily had damned him to hell with her rejection, only now for the devil herself to appear in the flesh.

But with no other choice, he shoved down his anger and descended the stairs. He bowed stiffly to her. “Viscountess.”

She nodded her head regally. “Major Grey.”

He motioned toward the drawing room. She had always been inexplicably generous toward him, when the stiff-spined dowager was rarely kind to anyone outside her own family. He wouldn’t insult that generosity by asking her to leave, even if at that moment he’d rather shoot himself than entertain a visitor. “Shall I ask Hulston to prepare tea for—”

“I shan’t be here long enough for tea.” Her old but sharp eyes swept over him critically, and he had the odd impression that she was sizing him up. Like an opponent before a fight. Good. He could use a fight right now, the anger over Emily’s rejection still burning hot inside him.

With the help of her cane, which he suspected served more as a weapon than a walking support, she spun on her heel and charged into the drawing room.

He followed after, gritting his teeth. The very last person he wanted to see right now…when he wanted nothing more than to be making his way to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Not taking a seat—apparently, she didn’t plan on staying even long enough to bother with sitting—she stopped in the middle of the room and faced him, thumping her cane firmly against the floor.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, ma’am?” Although no pleasure rang in his voice as he ground out the question, getting right to the point. There was nothing to be gained in attempting polite conversation, not with her.

Her brow rose haughtily. The viscountess had always possessed an intimidating air, even when he first met her twenty years ago. Her crusty imperialness was one of the traits he’d liked best about her, and very few people had the arrogance—or bravery—to defy her. “Your name was mentioned at Lady Agnes Sinclair’s garden party.”

Well. That was a damned lie. Lady Agnes Sinclair was the spinster sister to the late Earl of St. James, aunt to the current earl, and if rumors could be believed, a particular favorite of Wellington’s. No one who would have given a scoundrel like Grey a second thought. While he could imagine several scenarios in which his name might arise amid a group of society women, it certainly wouldn’t have been at Lady Agnes’s garden party. And certainly not in a context to which Lady Henley would have been privy.

“Was it?” He kept his face carefully blank, not giving a damn what those tea party biddies had said about him, yet he felt compelled to ask. Because she expected it. “In what context?”

“Oh, just the usual gossip.” She dismissed that with a wave of her gloved hand, which confirmed the falsehood for him and frustrated him even more.

He folded his arms impatiently across his chest. God knew, with the way he was feeling right now, he might just throttle her if she didn’t soon get to the reason for her visit. “And?”

“I remembered that you used to work in the stables at Henley Park. I wanted to see you again for myself, to discover with my own eyes what kind of man you had become.”

Another lie. He knew from contacts within the War Office that the old woman had been keeping an eye on him since he left Henley Park for the Peninsula. Odd. Why would Lady Henley call on him at his home, then lie about her motives? She’d given him a job when he’d been starving and homeless, and later, she was the reason he was commissioned into the First Dragoons. He would always be grateful to her. But being grateful didn’t mean he trusted her. Or wanted her nosing around in his life.

He’d had enough of lying society women today. His lips curled sardonically as he held his arms out from his sides, insolently putting himself on display for her. “Have you satisfied your curiosity, then, my lady?”

Ignoring his sarcasm, her eyes narrowed on his face. “You’ve been punched.”

Reflexively, his hand went to his eye, bruised but no longer aching. “I have.”

“Well, I certainly hope you deserved it.”

He grimaced. “I did.”

“And did you return the favor?” she demanded.

“No.”

She humphed with disappointment.

He inclined his head, his patience with her visit growing thin. “In the future, ma’am, I will endeavor to please you by pulping at every opportunity any man who disagrees with me.”

“Impertinent,” she scolded, yet he had the strangest feeling that she approved of his angry sentiment. With a lift of her chin, she pulled at the long sleeves of her old-fashioned dress and swiftly changed topics. “I was pleased to hear you were promoted to major. It was the least Arthur could do for you.”

“Arthur?” Good Lord, the woman was frustrating!

“Wellesley.” She blinked, visibly confused that he didn’t know whom she meant. “Why, Wellington, of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed wryly, as if everyone referred to Wellington by his Christian name.

“And now you work for the War Office.” A flicker of amused pride crossed her face, which stunned the hell out of him.

He answered warily, “Yes.” For now. When Bathurst heard of his plans to marry Emily and decline Spain, he might not be employed there much longer. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on this cake of a day? No wife and no more career.

“A fine life you’ve made for yourself for a stable boy.”

“Thank you.” I think…He didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or an insult. And at that moment, he was too damned frustrated to care which. He blew out an irritated sigh, no longer able to tamp down his impatience. “My lady, why are you—”

“Major Grey.” Her steely eyes pinned him. “I have been told that you inquired around Trovesbury Village as to your parentage.”

He drew up straight. So this was why the dowager deigned to pay him a visit.

But why should it matter to her if he’d written to the constable and to the old parish vicar, asking for any information they might have about a pregnant, unwed woman from nearly thirty years ago? Or that he’d bothered to look through the church’s record books when he’d been in Surrey last winter? A wild-goose chase. And none of her business. He’d been curious, that was all, then dropped the matter and not given it a second thought.

Until now. Now he was surprised. “Why would you care—”

“You must stop this, Nathaniel.” An order? A plea? Or a warning? He couldn’t tell from the odd intensity in her voice, the firm resolve on her wrinkled face. “There is nothing there for you to find.”

His eyes narrowed. He’d had enough today of society ladies telling him what his life should be. “You don’t know that,” he snapped.

“But I do. I had you fully investigated when you first arrived at Henley Park, just as I did all the servants employed there.” Her gray brow rose slightly. “Your father was not a blacksmith. You were left on the doorstep of the parish vicarage when you were only days old, and the vicar gave you to the orphanage. The name of your mother remains unknown, as it always will.”

He forced his face to remain impassive, but he couldn’t help the unseen clenching of his jaw, the tightening in his chest as anger rose inside him. She knew—she knew about his past. And he suspected she knew a great deal more that she wasn’t telling.

“Lady Henley,” he growled, “if you know—”

“The past is dead, Nathaniel. Leave it alone.” She hooked her cane over her arm. “You have made a good life for yourself, better than even I had hoped. There is no point in dredging up harm and heartache now.”

Better than even I had hoped…Confusion surged through him. “Why the hell should you care?”

She didn’t even blink at the biting profanity. Instead, her head raised indignantly, and for a fleeting moment, he had a glimpse of the strong woman she must have been in her youth, the woman who ran Henley Park without any help from her philandering husband and eldest son. The woman who still made even the most imposing gentleman quake in his boots and most likely would have referred to the Prince Regent as Little Georgie if His Royal Highness had somehow entered the conversation. A more formidable opponent he’d rarely met.

But he’d already lost one battle today with a willful woman, and he sure as hell didn’t plan on losing another.

“Because Henley Park is Trovesbury Village,” she announced. “Everyone who lives there either works at the main house or possesses a tenancy. Asking questions will only raise speculation, and I will not tolerate rumors of illegitimacy attached to Henley.”

Illegitimacy? Anger flared through him. After Emily’s lie this afternoon that he wasn’t good enough for her, he had no patience left for anyone implying that he’d overstepped his station. His eyes narrowed icily. “I never attached—”

“Let me be clear.” Her chin raised impossibly higher, her eyes sharp. “I have always held a special affection for you, Nathaniel, and I have always wanted the best for you, including using my influence to make your way easier.”

He glared at her, not knowing what to say to that. Not knowing whether he should thank her or toss her out on her bony, aristocratic ass.

“But I will not let anyone ruin my family’s name and reputation by unleashing spurious gossip. Not even you, Nathaniel.”

He forced through clenched teeth, “I am not unleashing—”

She slammed her cane against the floor. “The Henley family name is unsullied, and I intend to keep it that way until my last breath!” Spinning on her heel, she stomped from the room, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him with a final warning. “Leave the past alone, and be happy with what you have.”

He stared daggers after her, hearing the thump of her cane into the foyer and out the front door as Hulston scurried to open it.

What the hell was that about? He let loose a curse that would have sent the dowager’s head spinning. One that did, in fact, make Hulston gasp in the hallway.

He stormed from the drawing room and charged up the stairs three at a time. Blasted aristocrats and their pretentiousness! Damn their arrogance! And for what reason were they special, except to be squeezed from the right woman’s womb in the right birth order? Wealth and position unearned. Wholly undeserved. Yet thinking they had the right to reign over everyone else, bending them to their will.

He tore at the buttons of his waistcoat, ripping away two as he hurriedly peeled it off and then set to removing his shirt. The viscountess had always been generous to him. But he’d be damned before he allowed anyone to hold his life hostage, to tell him what he could or could not have.

Including Emily.

She would marry him, and he would protect her. No matter what he had to do to convince her, no matter how long it took, he wasn’t giving up without a fight.