She turned an aggravated glance in his direction, then continued, “But what part of tonight has been proper, may I ask? And why must we suddenly be concerned about propriety now? Give me one good reason.”
Samantha turned to her husband, her expression expectant.
“Because the secrets aren’t mine to tell,” the viscount replied.
“They are mine,” Ramsey remarked. “And while Miss Grace has an excellent point”—he smiled at her, as if giving proper credit, and she lifted her chin a touch higher—“this is truly something that should be discussed in private. But, before you begin to petition the resolution, you will be happy to know that since I have no plans to leave Kilpatrick House before all is settled, your curiosity will not have long to wait.”
Grace sighed, but gave a nod. It was acceptable, but just barely. Yet some part of his words carried a further interest. What else needed to be settled? What exactly had transpired? Was Westhouse blackmailing them? Were they blackmailing Westhouse? Good lord, never had she imagined such intrigue till she came to London.
Granted, she was also in the company of two of the three most notorious men in London, owners of the most notorious and secretive club in London, which certainly contributed to the situation.
She turned to the viscount, but he wasn’t watching her, or Samantha; he was giving a very level gaze to Ramsey, conveying some intense meaning.
Her head hurt.
She blew out a rather unladylike sigh.
“Soon enough,” Ramsey remarked softly, only for her to hear. It was intimate, it was private, and her tension fled and a new sort of anticipation flooded in.
And then she remembered.
He saved her.
She turned to him. “I don’t believe I ever said thank you, my lord,” she remarked softly.
His lips parted to say something, but he simply shook his head, leaving her to interpret the meaning.
Thankfully it was a short trip to Kilpatrick House, and after they arrived, it was decided that Ramsey be given some time to refresh himself and tend to his wounds.
Grace changed from her evening gown into a more comfortable day dress. She had the feeling it was going to be a rather long conversation and she wanted to be comfortable, or at least more comfortable than if she hadn’t changed.
In less than half an hour, they all reconvened in the parlor, with tea and biscuits awaiting their leisure. Mrs. Marilla had closed the door with a soft click once they all arrived, and finally, they were in the privacy needed to divulge all the information Grace desperately wished to know.
The silence was thick, and though it only lasted perhaps a few seconds, to Grace it seemed to stretch for hours. Finally, the viscount cleared his throat and began. “I’m sure that you are all aware than Lord Westhouse forcibly led Miss Grace from the ballroom this evening.”
Samantha gave a sharp nod. She was seated beside her husband, and Grace was opposite them in a wingback chair. Samantha’s gaze flickered to Grace, her expression tender and concerned.
“I’m quite well,” Grace reminded her.
The viscount continued, “Once Ramsey noted that Grace was missing, we all searched for you.” He directed these words to Grace, and then took a breath. “Ramsey took the gardens, where he found you with Lord Westhouse. Now, that should be an ample platform for the rest of the story.” He nodded to Ramsey, who gave an agreeing nod.
“Now then, after you quite cleverly escaped—”
Grace interrupted, “You did do an excellent job of distracting him. Are you really his half-brother?” On the edge of her seat, she eagerly listened to Ramsey as he started his answer with a curt nod.
“Indeed. Which led to some further understandings that have quite colored what I knew as a child.”
“Good Lord,” Samantha murmured.
Ramsey twisted his lips, as if uncertain where exactly to begin. “Suffice to say that there is quite the history of jealousy and dishonesty, but I must lay the blame for most of it at my father’s feet. It seems they carried quite a close confederacy as Westhouse grew, more so than my father’s interest in me. As such, I must say it was very much like speaking to my father, when I was speaking with Westhouse. Not something I’d like to repeat, ever. I can’t imagine how I didn’t see it, there are so many similarities, it’s rather absurd. Regardless, in the end his downfall was the same as my father’s, his bloody pride. And after Lucas and Heathcliff asserted themselves in the situation, Westhouse was forced to walk away slowly, or be exposed to ruin. It was an easy choice for him to make since he loves his reputation and honor nearly as much as our father did.”
Ramsey took a deep, slow breath and then took a seat to the left of Grace. He had been pacing about while speaking, his words as restless as his feet. Now, with the story told, it seemed he had lost the restless edge to his manners.
Grace thought over his words, comparing them with what she had experienced with Lord Westhouse. In the most basic ways, they didn’t look related, but there was something in the eyes, in the posture, that was familiar. It wasn’t of any consequence, but it was interesting.
“Will we be seeing any more of Lord Westhouse this season?” Samantha asked cautiously.
“No,” the viscount answered. “His . . . estate needed some tending.”
