A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 7

  Julian scowled as he shrugged into his overcoat and listened to Rupert describing this paragon of womanhood. He was growing more suspicious by the minute. Ladies were not friendly and welcoming to Rupert. They hated his uncultured manners and unsophisticated conversation. They shied away from his brute physical presence. And now this Miss Godwyn found all that perfectly charming? Doubtful.

  The weather was quite fine for so early in the spring, and Miss Godwyn lived just a short distance away in Mayfair, so they chose to walk. Rupert regaled him of tales about Miss Godwyn as they made their way through the elegant streets. It seemed they had met at a ball nearly a month ago. Miss Godwyn had been abroad, too, and was only recently returned to London. He’d called on her the next day and they’d struck up quite a friendship since then.

  Listening to him extol her virtues just solidified Julian’s mistrust. Such womanly perfection scarcely existed, and if she did, she wouldn’t be interested in Rupert. This perfect angel, Miss Godwyn, seemed to see his good points when no one else had, and she happened to be penniless and without family? This woman was trouble, and Julian meant to protect Rupert from her. He was quite good at spotting fortune hunters. Rupert, so trusting and kind, would never see it coming.

  Rupert knocked at an elegant little townhouse near the border of Belgravia, just a stone’s throw from the park. Quite a fine residence for a young woman with no family and no money.

  “Miss Godwyn is staying with Lady Grantham, her old tutor, while she’s in London,” Rupert explained while they waited on the steps.

  Ah yes, he’d forgotten. Miss Godwyn was a Grantham Girl. Friends with those two other Grantham heiresses, the Duchess of Waring and Amelia Wheeler, now Mrs. Smythe. But why would she be under the tutelage of Grantham when she was penniless? Everybody knew Lady Grantham’s stock in trade was playing matchmaker between cash-strapped nobility and middle-class millionaires. Julian loathed the whole bloody business.

  They were received and shown into the parlor. It was quite a well-appointed room. Marketing heiresses must be a booming business. The woman herself, Lady Grantham, was alone in the room. Julian knew her by sight, but had never met her. He’d never had need of her dubious services, thank God.

  She rose, dressed in solid, elegant black, in stark contrast to her sunny-yellow-and-gilt parlor.

  “Mr. Humphrey, how delightful to see you today.”

  Rupert bowed over her hand, the best execution of manners Julian had ever seen from him. Generally, Rupert forgot all the little details of polite interaction Society treasured. “Lady Grantham, I’ve brought my friend with me today, just back from France. Lord Knighton, Lady Grantham.”

  Extending a hand, she graced him with a cool smile. Her face was ageless. She might have been as old as forty-five or as young as twenty-eight. It was impossible to tell.

  “Lady Grantham, a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. Please, do sit. Miss Godwyn is on her way down. She was just finishing a letter to our dear Victoria, the Duchess of Waring, when the bell rang.”

  Julian hadn’t realized his suspicion was so evident, but it must have been, because the eagle-eyed Lady Grantham had picked up on it and thrown down a gauntlet before Miss Godwyn had even entered the room. Grantham was already proving Miss Godwyn’s worth, pointing out her close friendship with the duchess. Grantham was very good, no doubt. But so was Julian.

  “Mr. Humphrey said you’ve been in France? Were you in Paris?” Lady Grantham began to pour their tea with enviable grace.

  “No, in the South of France.”

  “I see. What a pleasant time of year to be there. Our dear Miss Godwyn has spent a great deal of time in France, as well.”

  “You should hear her French, Julian.” Rupert leaned forward, his hands braced on his knees. “I’d swear, you’d think she was a native.”

  “She’s terribly accomplished.” Lady Grantham kept her eyes discreetly lowered. What a master.

  “Ah, here she is now,” Grantham said, standing. Julian and Rupert did, as well. Miss Godwyn entered the room, her eyes going first to Lady Grantham and then to Rupert, which meant she didn’t see the look of disbelief and horror washing across Julian’s face before he could repress it. His stomach plummeted straight down to his feet. It was her. The girl from the alley in Menton. The Dowager Countess of Marlbury’s paid companion. Frederick Musgrave’s mistress, Gracie. Miss Godwyn. Grace Godwyn.

  She was even lovelier than when he’d last seen her. Apparently Musgrave’s money had gone into a new wardrobe. The unflattering gray evening gown he’d last seen her in had been replaced by a delicate blue day dress edged in satin ribbons. Her glossy hair—hair he’d had his fingers buried in—was coaxed into an elegant twist at the base of her neck. A neck he’d wrapped his hand around as he’d kissed that soft pink mouth. This was a disaster.

  Rupert was looking at her as if she’d hung the moon just by walking into the room. But there was nothing for it. Rupert was his oldest friend. He’d protected Julian once when he’d desperately needed it. Now the time had come to repay that debt. He had to save Rupert from this trap he’d never seen coming. He had to destroy Grace Godwyn.

  When the bell rang, Genevieve had shooed Grace out of the room and told her not to come back for five minutes. She said it wouldn’t do for him to find her sitting in the parlor waiting on his arrival. Gen knew best about these things, so Grace loitered at the top of the stairs with the newspaper, memorizing the results of yesterday’s horse races, so she’d have something to discuss with Rupert.

  His smile, when she finally appeared, was just the reassurance she needed, proof he was daily becoming more and more attached to her. Hopefully it meant soon, all this hard work would pay off and he’d propose. Soon, perhaps, she’d wake to face the day without fear for her future.

  Today, however, was not to be that day. For standing next to Rupert, glowering at her like she’d just crawled up from a sewer grate, was the stranger from the alley in Menton.

  He was just as she remembered. Perhaps even more handsome in the clear afternoon light than he had been lit by flickering candlelight. That night, she hadn’t been able to make out the precise color of his eyes, and now she could. They were dark brown, nearly as dark as his black hair. The shadows had blurred his features. Now each one was brightly lit—his strong forehead, the slashing black eyebrows, the fierce expression about his eyes, and the elegant angles of his cheekbones, sloping down sharply to his squared jaw. His blistering stare brought her ruminations on his attractiveness to an abrupt halt.

  Genevieve was saying something, but Grace was finding it hard to hear anything over the roar in her ears. Was that her heart beating so fast it was almost one solid contraction? It felt like something—someone—had her lungs in a vise. She tried to draw in a breath to steady her nerves, but her throat had closed up and her chest felt constricted.

  Who was he? And what on earth was he doing in Gen’s parlor with Rupert? Gen was explaining, if she could only make herself listen. With effort, she ripped her eyes away from the stranger and focused on Gen.

  “...and Lord Knighton, just returned from France, came with Mr. Humphrey.”

  Lord Knighton. Good heavens, he was a nobleman. She frantically searched her mind for anything she knew about the Knighton title but came up blank. Right now, she’d be hard pressed to utter her own surname with certainty. But she had to greet him, he was Rupert’s friend. Rupert’s friend! Of all the terrible luck, the one time she allowed herself a tiny interlude with a stranger, he turned out to be the intimate friend of the man she meant to marry.

  A chilling new thought took root. Would he tell Rupert? His expression when she’d first looked at him seemed to indicate he was just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. But when he recovered? Would he tell Rupert about the kiss and ruin everything for her?

  Well, there was
nothing for it but to brave it out. Plastering on her best, most welcoming smile, she walked towards him, shoulders back, chin up, hand outstretched. “Lord Knighton, how good to make your acquaintance.”

  He stared back at her with those fearsome eyes and hesitated just a moment. Certainly nothing Rupert would pick up on, but hawkeyed Gen would. Gen would have surmised the instant she entered the room that she had some history with this man. Lord Knighton’s jaw twitched, and his lips narrowed, as if he were suppressing some ugly expression. Then he reached for her hand.

  She was so anxious, she told herself. That was why she could feel the shock of his fingers against hers all the way to her chest as he sketched a bow over her hand.

  “Miss Godwyn,” he murmured. “An honor.” His voice was the same clear tenor she remembered from the darkened alley. She could almost feel his breath across her neck as he murmured “Shhhhh” with his hand over her mouth. Then he surprised her and went on, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I wish I could say I’ve been waiting ages to meet you, but I confess, your existence was a mystery to me until just this morning.”

  His eyes met hers again on the last, a glare and a silent accusation. Heat flooded her cheeks. Drawing a deep breath, she tugged her fingers from his grip. Too tight. He held her fingers too tightly for a polite introduction. Why was he so angry? Surely he couldn’t think she’d somehow engineered this meeting? Or the one in France? It was all just chance. Stupid chance, which had never, not once, been on Grace’s side.

  She raised her chin another fraction. “Well, Mr. Humphrey and I only became acquainted a few weeks ago and I believe you’ve been abroad.”

  “Indeed. It seems much has transpired in my absence.”

  Enough of these pointed stares and the accusations threaded through every word. So she’d kissed him once. It was a moment, fleeting and inconsequential. And now he happened to be friends with the man courting her. If he took exception with it, then it was his problem. She refused to be intimidated by him or to alter her plans in any way. She needed Rupert too much to back down now.

  “Mr. Humphrey and I had plans to take a walk in the park this afternoon,” she said brightly, ignoring him as she smiled at Rupert. “You’re welcome to join us if you like.” She said this over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on Rupert, and making it clear it didn’t matter to her if he joined them or not.

  “Not today, I fear,” Knighton said. “I’ve got another call to make.”

  Grace silently let out a breath of relief. Yes, go. Leave me in peace. But her temporary reprieve was just that.

  “But I’ll see you tonight, Rupert.”

  “Ah, are you coming to Lady Longville’s, then?”

  Grace finally chanced a glance at Knighton. He was already looking at her, which made his answer seem meant just for her. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Chapter Six

  Grace had suffered through more of these Longville musical evenings than she cared to count. Lady Longville considered herself quite the trendsetter when it came to music. She had a great passion for it, but little taste, so her choices for musical entertainment were uneven. Tonight she’d dug up some florid Italian tenor who promised to be dreadful.

  Things were at a critical stage with Rupert. He hadn’t declared himself, but he was comfortable with her now. He enjoyed the time they spent together, and even attended her to events like this, even though she knew they weren’t his first choice. It hadn’t seemed to occur to him yet to move the relationship forward into new waters, bless his heart, and it wasn’t as if she could initiate it. All she could do was to continue spending time with him, encouraging him, and waiting for him to suddenly realize he wanted to kiss her.

  Now his friend Knighton was here, and because of their one, ill-considered encounter, he’d marked her out as an enemy. If he began whispering in Rupert’s ear, turning him against her, there wasn’t much she could do about it. She had no claim on him yet.

  For all she’d been straining to catch a glimpse of Knighton’s arrival, so she could be ready for it, when he did appear, he managed to surprise her. One minute Rupert was telling her in detail about the new hunter they had in at Tattersall’s and the next, Knighton had materialized at his side. With a woman.

  “Julian!” Rupert cried, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

  Julian. His name was Julian.

  She scarcely heard their greetings as she took in the lady with Knighton. She was pretty, with delicate features, lively dark eyes, and dark hair swept up in a graceful topknot. Her dress was terribly stylish, lavender embroidered satin and cream Brussels lace, and her white kid gloves were the finest Grace had ever seen. Her hand was tucked into the crook of Knighton’s arm with easy familiarity. Was he married? Of all the outrageous, hypocritical—

  “And Lady Honor,” Rupert said, taking the lady’s hand. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

  “My parents and I stayed for some time after Christmas at Dorney Park. We’ve only just come to town last week. How are you, Mr. Humphrey?”

  Not his wife. Not that it mattered. Let him be married or betrothed or anything at all. He was nothing to her.

  “I’m well, as always, thank you. Might I introduce my new friends? Julian knows them already. Lady Honor Chatham, may I present Lady Grantham and Miss Godwyn?”

  Greetings were exchanged between the ladies. Lady Honor was all friendliness, a contrast to Knighton’s icy silence. He glowered at Grace like he’d set her on fire with his eyes if he could. He had a nerve, judging her when he was just as guilty. Lady Honor might not be his wife, but they were clearly quite familiar with one another. The sort of familiarity which had to predate a certain encounter in France and a kiss with another woman.

  “Will you sit with us for the performance?” Rupert asked Lady Honor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Humphrey, but my parents are here and I’ve promised to sit with them. Perhaps we can talk at the intermission? I’d love to hear what became of the young hunter you purchased last spring.”

  “I’m afraid I need a word with Rupert at the intermission,” Knighton interjected. Then he cut a chilling glance at Grace. “In private.”

  He meant to tell Rupert about France, that hypocritical bastard. Well, she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  “Rupert,” she said, placing a hand familiarly on his arm. “Didn’t you tell me Lord Longville expressed an interest in purchasing that horse from you? Tonight’s intermission would be an ideal time to speak to him.”

  “Ah, you’re right, Grace. I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity, should I? Is it important, Julian?”

  Knighton smiled tightly. “It will keep. For now.” Grace felt no relief, because she hadn’t conquered him, she’d only thrown up a temporary obstacle. He’d find his way around it soon enough. “I’ll take Honor back to her parents,” he said, his hand coming up to cup Lady Honor’s elbow. Then his eyes slid to Grace again. “But I’m happy to join you for the concert. If I’m not intruding.”

  “Not at all! Come back and join us!” Rupert enthused. Grace didn’t bother to add her own encouragement. After all, he wasn’t asking her, he was challenging her. And she refused to be intimidated by him.

  * * *

  The tenor was just as dreadful as she’d predicted, but it didn’t bother Grace half so much as it usually would, since her attention was wholly consumed by the presence of Knighton next to her. She’d tried to arrange things so she was between Rupert and Gen, but then Gen had dropped her handkerchief and Rupert had stepped forward to retrieve it for her and she couldn’t have inserted herself between them without appearing obvious.

  When Knighton rejoined them, the only seat open for him was the one to Grace’s left. He said nothing. She said nothing. They hadn’t even glanced in each other’s direction. And yet her neck ached with the effort of not noticing h
im. Her eyes burned as she stared steadfastly at the terrible tenor without so much as a glance at Knighton. The heavy weight of his presence pressed in all along her side, warming her skin as if she was sitting too close to a fire. Every small sound he made, the rustle of his clothes as he shifted in his seat, his breath as he exhaled, sounded louder to her ears than any other person or thing in the room, even the caterwauling tenor.

  The overwhelming tension strained her last reserve of decorum. A headache threatened behind her eyes, and if not for the necessity to stay at Rupert’s side to keep him away from Knighton, she’d have pleaded illness and gone home. As soon as the tenor fell silent for the intermission and Rupert left to find Lord Longville, she stood up, intending to escape to the ladies’ retiring room, or upstairs, or any space Lord Knighton wasn’t currently inhabiting. But the man himself currently sat between her and the aisle.

  “Please excuse me,” she murmured.

  He looked up at her and didn’t move a muscle. Her stomach contracted almost painfully with nerves. Then, slowly, he rose from his chair, never taking his eyes from hers. He also made no effort to back out of her way. It forced her to press too close to him to get by. He wanted to discompose her, and perhaps even insult her. He’d have moved aside for Lady Honor or Genevieve.

  Tilting her chin up, she slid past him, taking no care to avoid brushing against his body. He drew in a sharp breath at the shocking contact, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead and didn’t stop to see how he’d reacted. Nor did she dwell on what that brush against his body had done to hers.

  Once she was clear of the ballroom, she bypassed the ladies’ retiring room and every other place containing people. All the guests were on the lower floor for the musical entertainment, so she was alone as she climbed the stairs. At the landing, hallways branched to either side. Grace took the one leading away to the left. Some ways down, it intersected with a narrow room running the length of the house front to back. Stepping inside the gallery, she let out a relieved breath. The Longvilles might have terrible taste in music, but they had an excellent art collection, and Grace made a point to slip away to view it whenever she chanced to visit their house.