His eyes were darker than I remembered, a stormy sea, when they met mine. “And if I want to share them, that is my right.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I protested.
“You don’t need todoanything. Except eat a tart. Take one with you if you wish.” Tom swallowed, his throat bobbing enticingly. “One last tart before you leave them behind.” Something about the note of his voice was puzzling, but I could find no explanation for it in his expression.
I wanted to say yes. It was tempting to accept anything he had to offer. But I knew Davina would find some way to steal it for herself. Or mother would declare herself on a reducing diet without warning and order every sinful treat thrown from the house. Somehow, some way, it would be ripped from my grasp. And that would be worse than never having had it at all.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
Tom only cleared his throat in response, the sound settling low in my spine and hovering there, meaningfully.
With a short, solemn nod, he rolled the top of the bag down and snatched his gloves off the table. “Well, then. I suppose I should leave you to your day. I’ve monopolized more than enough of your time. I hope your haven is everything you wish and more.” His tone was dull and flat, nothing earnest or sensual to be found.
“Tom...” I floundered, wondering precisely where I had gone wrong.
“Have a wonderful afternoon, Your Grace.”
“Mr. Grayson,” I replied with a sad nod. I watched, silent, as he slipped out the door and passed by my little window. Far from the peaceful quiet before his arrival, the space around me now felt heavy… He’d taken the peace with him. Tom left behind a disquiet that couldn’t be sorted.
Fourteen
GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816
TOM
Another night,another ball. At least this was Kate’s and she had been able to guilt Mrs. Hudson from her retirement to cook for the event.
Hugh regretted his poor performance during the first ball his wife hosted so he had a tendency to glue himself to her side during these events. Which left the study for Michael to commandeer until the lure of his wife became too great.
Kate’s guest selection tended to include those she generally liked, regardless of station, so the company was nearly always better than it was at other events. My only concern was her propensity toward matchmaking.
If I hid in the study drinking jovially with Michael, Kit, and Augie… Well, that was an hour or two less for Kate to throw me at her unwed friends.
But when Mr. Hart arrived, Michael made quite a mess ofthatinteraction. It was too painful to watch, and I was forced to abandon him to his shame.
A quick glance in the ballroom confirmed I had no interest in any of what was happening there. Instead, I trailed listlessly down the halls, then climbed the steps unnoticed to the family wing.
Mine was the second door on the left, as it had always been. There was the familiar nick in the oaken wood beside the brass handle where I had drunkenly attempted to unlock the already unlocked door with a penknife at sixteen.
The absence of dust over the mahogany dresser and clean grey bed linens reflected the addition of several members of the staff with the improved financial situation of the estate. But the fundamentals were unchanged. Small writing desk below the window, too-large wardrobe beside it, dresser across from the too-small bed—all precisely as I had left them.
Absently, I traced a finger across the dresser, obstructed only by a few knickknacks. A cufflink box that contained precisely one cufflink, the other lost to the ages. A tin soldier, half melted in an ill-conceived experiment with Hugh and a magnifying glass. A wooden token Michael once allowed me to win off him in a game of hazard. The old penknife responsible for the nick in the door—father’s.
Whispers of the orchestra below floated along the corridor and up the stairs, offering the suggestion of an evening’s occupation.
Disinterested, I flopped down on the bed. As always, my feet hit the board, even with my knees bent. Christ, I really was a damned cricket.
I curled up on my side facing the window. The moon was bright and low, just kissing the roofs of the homes behind us. It was a lovely night for Kate’s ball. At least she would be pleased. There was no threat of rain to dampen the evening, nor wind to muss hair and gowns.
Crickets or grasshoppers—I suppose as a cricket myself I ought to be able to differentiate, but I couldn’t—joined with musicians below. The effect was surprisingly lovely. I was content to listen to the strange, beautiful amalgamation of man and nature and watch the moon rise in my too-short bed. It was a more pleasant fate than what awaited me downstairs. Hours of pointless chatter with ladies whose hopes I would dash—no, I would delay that as long as possible.
The night was so still that I actually startled when one of the small treetops swayed. Just the one…
It was a significant enough change to have me unfurling from the bed in favor of whatever intrigue was happening below.
A jolt went through me. Awareness, hot and live, danced along my spine. Rosehill, in all of his orderly perfection, leaned heavily against the very tree—barely more than a sapling.
I was halfway out the door before I realized I’d made the decision. The servants’ staircase was a safer bet than the main for such an endeavor and I slipped out through the kitchens.
