Six
While walking down the long hall, Grace paused to rearrange the flowers in a large vase. From there she moved to straighten the ghastly watercolor and was on the point of checking for dust on the ivory inlaid table when she abruptly realized what she was doing.
For heaven’s sake, one would think that she was mistress of Chalfried rather than a temporary guest.
Her hand pulled back as if she had been scalded.
Drat, Alexander.
It was all his fault.
Ever since her arrival at Chalfried he had made her feel as if it were more her home than his own. He consulted her on the daily menu; he requested that she choose the flowers from the hothouse, and he even insisted that she be the one to explain the estate ledgers during their long afternoons together. It was little wonder she occasionally forgot that she was not the lady of the manor.
Rather disturbed by her thoughts, Grace staunchly resolved to keep closer guard on her wayward fancies. Any domestic tendencies would be better served in making the cottage more habitable, she told herself sternly. That was, after all, her true home.
Deciding she was in need of a bit of distraction, Grace was on the point of seeking out her mother when she was abruptly halted by the distinct sounds of Byron’s cries.
With a frown, she attempted to determine where the sound came from.
“Byron.” She moved further down the hall, slowly pushing open the door to the study. “Byron.”
Her heart shuddered to a halt as Boswan rose to his feet, holding out Byron by the scruff of his tiny neck. From the moment she had moved to Kent she had not liked the wretched man. Now she would gladly have smacked his smiling face.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I thought you would come looking for this rat.”
“Hand him over immediately.”
He smirked at her imperious tone. “Not so fast, Miss Honeywell.”
Something in his oily tone sent a chill down Grace’s spine. She might detest Boswan, but she would be a fool to underestimate him. He had obviously lured her into the study for some nefarious purpose. A purpose she was certain to dislike.
“What do you want?”
He slowly moved from behind the desk, dangling the protesting Byron with a callous indifference. Grace could only grit her teeth in frustration.
“I’ve been thinking there’s something mighty queer in this supposed engagement,” he taunted.
Grace sucked in a sharp breath. Good heavens. She should have suspected that it was only a matter of time before Boswan revealed his disbelief. In truth, it was a wonder he had not confronted her the moment the news of her engagement was announced.
“I do not comprehend why,” she attempted to bluff.
“I ain’t no sod,” he warned. “Not a month ago you were cursing the name of Dalford. Now you say that you’re engaged? Fah.”
Grace struggled to maintain her stern frown. She could not very well deny his accusations. She had made little effort to conceal her feelings toward the gentleman who was responsible for taking her home.
“My engagement is none of your concern.”
His smile revealed blackened teeth. “Mayhap not, but I figure that there might be a few interested in knowing there be something queer in the air.”
Courage, Grace, she silently chastised herself. She would not be bullied by this ruffian.
“If you have something to say to me, Boswan, then please just say it.”
His smile disappeared as a cunning expression settled on his razor features.
“I be thinking I would be willing to keep my lips tied if you were to hand over a few hundred pounds.”
Grace felt her mouth drop. So, that was the reason he had not brazenly scoffed the notion of an engagement between herself and Alexander, she seethed. His devious mind had clearly concluded the situation could be used for his own gain. A very, very large gain.
“Have you gone mad?” she gritted.
He took another step closer, and for the first time Grace could smell the scent of brandy on his breath. She shuddered in revulsion. How could Edward have ever hired such a sorry man?
“I be figuring that is what you cost me by sticking your nose in where it bloody well doesn’t belong.”
She faced him with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “Money that did not belong to you.”
“Says you,” he growled, angered by her accusation. “By my reckoning, that old skinflint owed me twice as much. Money that I intend to get one way or another.”
A tiny voice in the back of her mind urged her to flee. Nothing could be served by arguing with the ridiculous man. But the knowledge that he was indeed vengeful enough to spread a rumor that there was something odd in her engagement kept her feet firmly planted upon the carpet.
And, of course, she could not leave Byron with the monstrous brute.
She placed her hands on her hips as she glared into his cold eyes. “Surely you do not believe that I have a few hundred pounds lying about?”
“No, but I believe Mr. Dalford is certain to have,” he said slyly.
Grace gave an abrupt shake of her head. “This is absurd. I will give you nothing.”
With an ugly snarl Boswan stepped closer. Close enough that Grace could smell the sweat of his body.
“Oh, I believe you will. . . .”
“Do not take another step, Boswan,” a voice from the doorway commanded.
Grace’s knees nearly buckled with relief as Alexander moved to her side, his expression as harsh and icy as a Russian winter. Boswan on the other hand was not nearly so pleased with the interruption. The smug confidence wilted to a sickly smile.
“Mr. Dalford, I was just . . .”
“Spare me whatever lie you are attempting to utter. I have heard every word,” Alexander cut in ruthlessly.
With an effort Boswan attempted to regain command of his faltering composure.
“This here be between Miss Honeywell and myself.”
“Not anymore,” Alexander assured him in dangerous tones; then, turning, he regarded the silent woman at his side. “Grace, will you please return to your chambers?”
Although anxious to be away from Boswan, Grace found herself hesitating. Absurdly, she discovered herself reluctant to leave Alexander alone with the scoundrel. What if he became violent? She could not bear for him to be harmed.
“Perhaps I should remain,” she said softly.
“Please.” Reaching out, Alexander plucked Byron from Boswan’s grasp and pressed the maltreated kitten into Grace’s hands. He smiled tenderly at her anxious expression. “Byron is no doubt wishing to return to his mother.”
She met his dark blue gaze for a long moment, then realizing she would only be in the way, she gave a slow nod of her head.
“Very well.”
She allowed herself to be led out of the room and even took a few steps down the hall before she halted at the sound of the door closing. Although it might be ridiculous to suppose that a gentleman with Alexander’s firm muscles and swift intelligence would need her aid, she could not make herself walk away.
He did not know Boswan as she did, she told herself. He had not seen him furiously attack a groom or beat a poor hound that had the ill fortune to cross his path. For all she knew Boswan might even have a gun hidden in his coat.
The unwelcome thought sent a sharp pain through her heart. She could not leave until she knew Alexander was safe.
Pacing from the pedestal cupboard to the sideboard table, Grace listened intently to the muffled sounds resounding from the study.
After what might have been an eternity, the door to the study was abruptly thrown open. Grace turned to be confronted by a furious Boswan.
“Oh.”
Halting in midstride he regarded her with a feral grimace. “This is the second occasion you have ruined a plum chance for me,” he grated. “I’ll be back, and when I come you’ll be sorry for it.”
Grace instinctively held Byron closer to her bosom, a motion that was not lost on Boswan. Thankfully, at that moment Alexander stepped into the hallway and pointed a slender finger in Boswan’s face.
“Out.”
It was one word, but it sent the older man scurrying down the hall like a rat fleeing from a burning barn. Once alone Alexander turned to face her with a hint of resigned amusement.
“I thought I requested that you return to your chamber?”
She waved aside his words. “What occurred?”
His expression hardened as he recalled the encounter. “I have requested that Boswan pack his belongings and leave before sundown.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
Grace frowned with concern. “What if he speaks with Mr. Wallace?”
A hint of ice was visible in Alexander’s blue eyes. “Then I have assured him he will swiftly discover himself on a boat sailing for the Indies.”
“Can you do that?”
“Of course.”
Grace gave a tiny sigh. What a relief it would be to know that Boswan was gone from Chalfried forever.
“Can you be certain he will leave?”
“I will have my groom keep a close watch on him.”
“Wretched man,” she breathed, shivering in spite of herself
Moving closer, Alexander lifted a hand to gently brush her cheek. “He will not be allowed to harm you. I will make quite certain of that,” he promised in low tones.
For a breathless moment Grace swayed toward the strength of his large form. Never had she had anyone to depend upon. Her father had been no more than a stranger, and Edward had never encouraged more than a distant acknowledgment of each other. How often had she longed to feel secure? To know that regardless of what occurred there would be someone who would ensure that all would be well?
Then abruptly she stiffened her spine. What was she thinking? She was no helpless miss having to depend upon others. And even if she were, she would be a fool to depend upon a gentleman who would soon be returning to London without one spare thought for his pretend fiancée.
“You do not need to protect me.” She forced herself to step from his lingering touch.
“No.” His lips twitched with reluctant humor. “You are remarkably independent, and I have no doubt that you would have soon bullied Boswan into submission. But I wish to protect you.”
She regarded him with a faint frown. “Why?”
“Because the gentlemen in your life have been a shocking disappointment thus far,” he retorted. “And because you are my fiancée.”
A week ago those words would have made her bristle with antagonism. Now a peculiar sensation inched down her spine.
“You are not my fiancé,” she said as much for herself as for Alexander.
“Of course I am.” He gave a low laugh. “And I for one intend to enjoy our brief engagement.”
That tingle once again followed the curve of her spine. Really, it was most unaccountable. “What do you mean?”
His amusement only deepened at her breathless words.
“Nothing more devious than the pleasure of your company.” He held out his arm. “Come. I have something I wish to show you.”