Page 61 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

The thought of dancing alongside that lady sent a pain arrowing through her chest. ‘I need to go home. I have a headache.’

Concern filled Graydon’s face. ‘I will send for the carriage.’

Chapter Thirteen

Walking down the street where Eloise lived, Graydon wanted to kick himself. Why the hell had he agreed to visit her?

It wasn’t until after he had gone to bed alone, because his wife had a headache, that he had realised he could have asked George to act as an intermediary. George could have gone to her and found out what she wanted, what she needed so badly.

This was not a good idea.

He did as he had been instructed and went around to the lane at the back of her sister’s house and entered the stables. He glanced at his watch.

He was a couple of minutes past ten.

‘Dear God, there you are at last,’ she said, emerging from one the stalls. ‘I thought you had gone back on your word.’

He bristled at the accusing note in her voice. ‘I have never gone back on my word, Eloise. Unlike you.’

She caught his hand and pulled him into the stall from which she had emerged. The air danced with motes from the straw where it caught in a beam of light from one of the vents high on the wall. The air was redolent with the smell of horse.

He caught a whiff of her perfume: jasmine. He had always associated that flower and its sickly sweet smell with her.

‘What do you mean, unlike me?’ she said sullenly.

‘Your promised to wed me.’

‘I told you, I had nothing to do with it. I had to do what my parents said I must.’

He recalled that about her: she had always blamed others when things went wrong, no matter her part in it.

‘Why did you ask me to come today? And why all this havey-cavey business, meeting secretly? It will not do.’

‘The servants—they might talk to my husband. He is very strict. He might not like me meeting alone with you.’

‘That doesn’t sound strict. That sounds completely natural.’

‘You always were a stick-in-the mud,’ she grumbled. ‘George has more gumption than you do.’

His jaw dropped. He’d always done whatever she wanted. ‘Then ask George to help you.’ God, what a relief. ‘I will go and fetch him this very moment.’

Her beautiful face turned hard. ‘Don’t you think he would, if he could? George has always been the most loyal of my friends.’

Loyal and scorned. She had told him in confidence one day that she hated looking at George, he was so ugly. At the time, he had put it down to her delicate sensibilities. And of course he had never mentioned it to his friend.

Pity filled him. Why had he not seen it before? George; poor, ugly, poverty-stricken George still thought of her as his unattainable goddess of whom he was not worthy.

He’d been just as bad, back then. He’d deliberately ignored a feeling of relief when she’d told him she would not marry him, because of his stupid pride. He’d decided to make her see she was wrong to spurn his suit. And, because he was as stubborn as Uncle Robert had always said he was, he had refused to give up his quest.

But he had loved her once, and she was in trouble of some sort. ‘Tell me how I can help you, Eloise.’

She stared at him, puzzled. Her lower lip trembled as if she might cry. He remembered that she had done that often. It had always unmanned him. Now, it merely irritated him. He’d far rather have the brave way his wife faced problems head-on, with a determined look on her face and her shoulders straight. The thought surprised him.

Eloise clutched his sleeve as if she feared he might leave. ‘I—I owe money.’

Astonished, he stared at her. ‘Speak to your husband.’

She hung her head and peeped up at him. ‘No. I cannot. He swore he would beat me the next time I ran up a debt. I am so scared, Gray.’ She really did sound terrified.