“Hope’s husband, Daniel, was a diplomat, but I never did learn much about that.”
He managed a smile. “I hope you find it in your heart to believe me when I say that I loathe to leave you.”
“You ask too much.” Tears hovered on her lashes. His bride blinked them away angrily. Mercy rose and rang for her maid. She turned from the window, an aloof expression firming her lips. “Excuse me, please? I wish to dress. I believe I’ll ride this morning. It promises to be a lovely day.”
She sounded so brittle his heart turned over. “A groom shall accompany you, Mercy. I’ll have Johnson saddle a mare for you.”
Grant strode from the room grinding his teeth. There was nothing more he could say. He must do as Black requested. And he had to admit he did want to see Jenny. Haighton’s widow could still be in danger.
Chapter Seventeen
ALONE, MERCY SANK into despair. She had obviously failed to interest Grant in the bedchamber. Her marriage was doomed. His masculine charms and the gentle way he’d made love to her, made her believe he cared deeply for her. What a fool she was. She had expected them to spend the coming weeks together, discovering more about each other, while she could learn how to please him and show him what pleased her. But after having done the barest of what he considered was necessary for a new husband, he was gone. To visit his mistress more than likely, as if he’d answered her siren call. The day stretched ahead lonely and long.
Mercy sighed. The incredible intimacy she’d foolishly believed they’d shared last night had enthralled her. She’d fallen head over heels in love with him and had believed his loving words came from the heart. Finding him in bed beside her this morning had been the happiest day of her life. Until Grant told her. She rubbed her arms. It boded ill for the future.
She allowed Penny to help her dress in the cerulean-blue habit with the fitted jacket, silver buttons, and braid on the sleeves, fashioned for her new life. She’d wanted to wear this new finery for Grant, and here she was riding alone. Donning the black riding boots and hat, she tugged on her leather gloves, then picked up her crop, left the house and walked along a gravel path to the stables.
The groom emerged from the shadowy interior. He touched his hat. “Johnson, milady. His lordship requested I saddle a suitable mount for you.”
“Thank you, Johnson.”
He led out a dainty gray mare. “This is Hebe. I hope she suits.”
“Oh, she’s perfect.” Mercy stroked the horse’s satiny muzzle.
After Johnson assisted her onto the sidesaddle from the mounting block, he mounted a tall bay and led the way from the stable yard along a bridle path through the trees. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy of green. How could the weather be so perfect when she was so miserable?
“Did Lord Northcliffe ride his horse or travel by carriage, Johnson?” Mercy asked when he brought his horse alongside hers. Although it gave her little clue of Grant’s direction, she needed to ask it.
“He rode, milady.”
“Surely it’s a long ride to London?”
“It is, but his lordship often rides.” He held back a branch to allow her to ride past him, releasing a smell of pine into the air. “Prefers it to a closed carriage.”
She tensed. Was she about to learn that Grant had lied to her? She almost didn’t want to hear it.
A red squirrel scurried up a tree, and two wood pigeons took flight. Her mount’s ears twitched and the horse sidled. Mercy patted the glossy neck, firming her lips, the beauty of the woods lost to her.
“That wasn’t his direction today, of course.” She angled her horse closer on the path. “North I believe he said.”
“Indeed, my lady,” Johnson said as they emerged onto a grassy meadow.
Relieved because Grant was not visiting Lady Alethea, Mercy tapped the gray’s hindquarters with her crop. “I fancy a gallop, Johnson.”
Her gray galloped across the ground while the breeze cooled Mercy’s hot cheeks, with Johnson following on his bay a discreet distance behind her. For a moment, the sense of freedom exhilarated her, but she remained unsatisfied, her curiosity about Grant roused.
When she returned to the house, Mercy changed into a saffron-and-white striped morning gown, then made her way to the breakfast room where His Grace drank coffee and read the newspaper at the table by the long windows. He rose at her entrance.
“Oh, please don’t stand, Your Grace.”
“Of course, I shall stand for a lady. You have roses in your cheeks, Mercy. Have you been riding?”
“Yes. It was glorious. I shall ride to the river tomorrow.”
He sat down. “How delightful to eat my breakfast in the company of a charming young woman again. Makes a man quite forget his age.”
Mercy laughed. She’d not been able to eat a bite of the toast in her room. But she now found she was hungry. At the sideboard, delicious, steamy smells rose into the air when she lifted the silver domed lids. She helped herself to omelet, ham and kippers.
