“With all due respect, Huntly. It’s not up to you to presume to speak for my grandfather.” Greys straightened. The man was wrong, anyhow. Disowning an heir to a title was not even legal. “This meeting is over.”
“I’ll sue you for this.” Huntly threatened.
“Feel free to contact my solicitors at the offices of Stuart and Lords on Bond Street.” Greys executed an exaggerated bow. “And please extend my sincere apologies to Lady Isabella.”
And with that, he let himself out, not even stopping to allow the anxious manservant to hold the door.
That meeting had been uglier than he’d imagined. And with it behind him, that uncomfortable sense of urgency ought to have disappeared.
It had not, however. A glance at his fob watch revealed that it was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon. Greys pivoted, and not taking even a moment to reconsider his decision, set himself in the direction of South Audley and Mount Street.
“Good day, my lord.”Mr. Ingles held the door for Greystone and then led him directly to Chaswick’s study.
“You’re looking unusually magnificent today.” Chaswick glanced up from his desk; a towel draped around his neck as though he’d just completed one of his constitutional jogs around Mayfair. “Didn’t expect to see you until the Ball tonight.”
Greys nodded and rolled his lips together, contemplating his choice of words. By all rights, Chaswick ought to be perfectly understanding considering he’d ruined Lady Bethany. Ironic, somewhat, that it had been Chaswick who’d compromised Westerley’s sister.
Greys reached into his pocket and extended one of the finest cigars to be bought in all of London. Chaswick and Westerley were no longer on the outs with one another, but their truce hadn’t come until after meeting in the park at dawn.
The baron raised his brows but accepted the gift without question.
“I have a serious matter to discuss with you.” Greys began.
“Nothing grim, I hope?” Chaswick’s easy manner in the face of adversity was one of the characteristics Greys had always appreciated about him. He hoped such good humor extended to where his sisters were concerned.
“Has Blackheart’s charade been discovered?” Chase asked.
“Nothing like that.”
Chaswick glanced around and then gestured for Greys to take a seat. “I hope you don’t mind if I light up now. How about you? Cigar? Scotch?”
“I don’t mind, actually.” Greys chose a cheroot from the humidor while Chaswick removed a decanter from his liquor shelf.
The next few moments were spent stoking perfect orange and red embers and also comparing Chaswick’s stash of scotch with the blends introduced to them by Lady Westerley’s father—both of which were immensely satisfying.
“Very well, Greys.” Chase placed his half-empty tumbler back onto his desk, leaned back, and inhaled a puff. “What’s on your mind?”
Uncomfortable for the first time since he’d arrived, Greys tugged at his sleeve and swallowed around a lump that had not been in his throat a moment before. “I find myself in an unexpected situation.”
Was that what one called this? Chaswick waited quietly.
“Nothing that isn’t easily remedied,” Greys added.
Wasn’t that what Huntly had just told him?
Greys ought to be able to resolve all of this without difficulty. Or he hoped so, anyway. All he needed was Chaswick’s permission to propose and then Diana’s acceptance of that proposal. Greys hunched his shoulders forward and nearly gave in to the urge to crack his neck.
Something Westerley did that Greys normally abhorred.
“How can I be of help?” Chase leaned forward.
“Grant me permission to offer for your sister.” No point in delaying the inevitable.
“I’m going to assume you are referring to Diana?” Chaswick leveled his gaze on Greys. “Seeing as you’ve disappeared alone with her more than once this past week.”
Greys hadn’t realized Chaswick had noticed.
“And considering that my manservant followed her to your house, where she spent most of the early hours of the morning last night.” Chase lifted his fob watch and frowned. “I was expecting you to put in an appearance hours ago.”
