‘When was this?’
‘On the second occasion he visited.’
‘And you agreed?’ cried Grace.
‘Yes, to my eternal shame, but in my defence, the Earl swore it was in your best interests. He said that man, Caville Sharp, was a danger to your person and that he was determined to protect you from his villainy.’
‘How could you, Dawson? Where is your loyalty? Was I not always kind to you?’
‘That is why I did it. I wanted you safe, Lady. And the Earl is not the sort of man one can say ‘no’ to.’
Well, on that subject, they could agree, for she hadn’t exactly fought Rawden off last night. Grace’s face flooded with heat, and Dawson mistook it for anger, for he looked distraught suddenly, his adam’s apple bobbing.
She relented out of pity. ‘See here, Dawson, I am most disappointed in this turn of events. I thought you were more trustworthy than to collude with a stranger. But I am willing to overlook it, if you swear never to do so again and to give me loyal service.’
‘I will. I do. I will be your most loyal servant, Mistress, I mean, Lady Voss.’ He gave an exaggerated bow, and Grace dismissed him.
What to do now? She could not spend all day hanging about Marshgrave like some unwanted ghost, achieving nothing and consumed with angry yet yearning thoughts of Rawden. So Grace pulled on a shawl and set about exploring each wing of the house, enlisting Mrs. Percy as a guide.
Most of the upstairs was shut off – each bedroom as unloved and bone-cold as the next, pieces of furniture draped in sheets, just like Rawden’s London home. Grace concluded that Rawden’s father had not entertained visitors much. And Mrs. Percy remarked that the old man had retreated to Marshgrave in the years before his death, ‘like a grumpy old badger backing into its burrow,’ and from there, he had shunned society of any kind.
‘But he set such store by William, his younger son. You will have heard of him from the master.’
Grace blinked back tears. Nobody had heard of her at Marshgrave because William had kept her a secret.
‘What hopes he had for him,’ continued Mrs. Percy before catching the expression on Grace’s face and excusing herself. ‘Forgive me. I should not rattle on so about private matters.’
‘And what of Rawden? Did the late earl not have high hopes for his eldest son, too?’ asked Grace, ravenous for gossip.
‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘I should not speak so and do not tell the master, but his father was rotten and cruel to him. As a boy, he bore it with fortitude, but when he became a man, he fought back, and there were vicious rows, broken crockery and windows. Why, they even fired pistols at each other once.’ She put her hand to her heart. ‘Rawden has his mother’s good looks but his father’s black temper, so it made for a very uncomfortable few years until he came of age and ran off and purchased a commission.’
‘Oh. Then I pity him for his unhappiness,’ said Grace.
‘Aye, but never show it, is my advice,’ said Mrs. Percy with a horrified expression. ‘He will not like your pity, not a bit, for he is proud, very proud indeed. And he has changed a great deal recently. He is less taciturn, less morose. I suppose it is because now he has you to give him cheer. I can see it on his countenance. Now, let us go below where it is more cosy. We will make for the kitchen where you may meet cook and the other servants.’
After a dizzying round of introductions, Grace retired to her room and waited out the rest of the day for Rawden’s return, but night fell, and he did not come. Grace could not sleep, torn between longing for his arms about her and irritation that he did not seek her company. Surely, if he liked her, he would have rushed back to her bed, tide or no tide. In a fit of pique, she sprang out of bed, took her candle and set off for the library. She might strain her eyes reading in semi-darkness, but it would calm her whirling mind.
When she padded into the library, it was to find a figure sprawled over the desk, illuminated by a few candles, all burned low. Rawden’s broad shoulders were unmistakable, heaving gently in sleep, and there were papers spread all over the desk. A Messrs. Gable and Gilchrist, Solicitors, appeared on the letterhead. It was too dark to make out their nature, and Grace did not want to pry, but it seemed Rawden had told the truth when he said he was going to see his notary. He had not run away from her company after all.
Grace shivered. It was cold in the library, and Rawden was deep in sleep, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. How vulnerable and boyish he looked, with no glare or irritation to mark his fine features. It was as if she were looking down on the unloved boy he had once been, lonely and abused. In a fit of pity, she took the shawl from her shoulders and draped it over Rawden’s. She smiled as she reached out and gently brushed the hair out of his eyes.
Rawden woke with a start and a curse. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist in a fierce grip. ‘What are you about?’ he demanded.
The change in him was staggering. ‘I saw you were asleep, and I…’
‘You were spying on me?’
‘I came to get a book. Rawden, you were cold, so I put my shawl about you.’
He looked down at her shawl in amazement and frowned. ‘You do not have to coddle me like an infant.’
‘I had best go then,’ said Grace.
Rawden’s grip softened, and he shook his head at her. ‘Forgive my sourness. Your gesture was well-meaning. It is just that I am not used to such small kindnesses.’
‘Rawden, if I am to leave you in peace, you must let go,’ cried Grace.
He stood up and cast aside the shawl. ‘I’ve a mind to hang on,’ he said, pulling her close. ‘Did you miss me today?’ he breathed in a voice like velvet running down her skin, making Grace acutely aware that she was naked under her nightgown. He began to kiss his way down her neck to her collarbone.
