Oh, mercy. Henrietta had to escape. He strode toward them, his jacket pulling tight across his broad shoulders, the sun turning his hair to gold. Don’t look lower, don’t look lower. She looked down. His legs, strong from daily exercise, strained their tight casings. Mercy, but she did adore a pair of good strong legs. Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t see him without wanting him.
But she had to be able to if she wanted Lady Willow’s extended patronage, if she wanted to run in the same circles they did. There was, then, no escape for her. She couldn’t turn tail and run. She had to be poised and sophisticated and, most importantly, immune to Lord Rigsby’s charms.
It didn’t matter that she used to be in love with Lady Willow’s almost fiancé. It didn’t matter that last night, when they’d fallen to the garden path, she’d gloried in the feel of his hard chest under her or that the memory of the encounter had resulted in heated dreams and tangled bedsheets.
Successful businesswomen did not let feelings guide their decisions.
Besides, the key to her success lay in Lord Rigsby’s marriage to Lady Willow, and they couldn’t marry until he found his family’s necklace. And that meant—Henrietta heaved an internal sigh—she was going to help him find it.
Chapter 5
Grayson hadn’t been dragged about in such a way since his boyhood when, for one awful week, a particularly militant governess had delighted in tormenting him, pulling him by the ear to every destination. His future mother-in-law towed him, presumably, toward Lady Willow, though not by the ear, thank God. He let her haul him across the lawn toward Lady Willow. He’d not spent much time in her company since arriving at the house party yesterday. Frankly, he’d seen more of Hen—
He stopped and blinked. Did he dream? Had he entered a waking nightmare?
It had to be, because there before him stood not only his future fiancée but his previous fiancée as well. Hell. He couldn’t talk to them both at the same time! The world would explode. At the very least, his head would explode.
“Lord Rigsby, are you having an episode?” The Duchess of Valingford scowled up at him.
“Ah. No. My apologies. I remembered something.”
“Of great import, no doubt.” She sniffed. She didn’t believe him. Naturally. Even he wouldn’t have believed the lie. “Come.”
As they crossed the lawn, Grayson compared the two women they walked toward. Henrietta, a beacon of calm confidence. Her green dress hugged her curves in all the ways he wished to, looking elegant and sensual at the same time. Lady Willow had transformed. He’d never seen her so bright, so animated. Her current enthusiasm did not speak well for his own conversational prowess. He’d never whipped up that smile or those bright eyes.
“Willow, dear, look who’s come for you,” her mother crooned.
Grayson took Lady Willow’s hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing only the air above her skin. He’d been instructed to do no more by her mother. When he lifted his eyes to Lady Willow’s face, she’d retreated, no longer the vibrant woman he’d seen chatting with Henrietta.
His eyes flitted where they wanted most to rest. “Good afternoon, Miss Blake.”
She curtsied, and he couldn’t help noticing the way the sun transfigured her hair, turning honey into glinting gold.
The duchess interposed herself between Henrietta and Grayson. “Don’t you have other acquaintances to attend to, Miss Blake?”
“Not especially.” Henrietta smiled. Oh, Grayson recognized that smile. She used it when she meant to conquer.
“You’re an impertinent—”
“Madam,” Grayson interrupted. He didn’t want to hear whatever his future mother-in-law had been about to say. “I think I see Lady Pendleson, right over there, waving at you.”
The duchess sniffed but looked in the direction he pointed where Lady Pendleson raised her arm high above her head. “Helen, darling, I’ve got prime gossip you must hear!”
The duchess eyed her daughter before sidling closer to Lady Pendleson. “Gossip about whom?”
Lady Pendleson’s eyes danced as she tugged the other woman away. “You’ll never believe … do you remember what we were discussing yesterday?”
“In the sitting room?” She pulled her wrist away from Lady Pendleson’s grasp and arched a glare at Grayson. “I leave my daughter in your hands, my lord.” Her arched brow said she meant metaphorically. Literally, there would be no hand holding or, bloody hell, grabbing of any sort.
The two women disappeared, leaving behind a silent trio.
What to do? What to say? Not a single thing occurred to Grayson as the silence stretched between them like an interminable desert. He’d meant only to save Henrietta from the embarrassment promised by the duchess’s words. But he’d thrown himself into the fire instead. Two pairs of blue eyes now blinked at him, waiting.
Henrietta jumped into the silence first, her voice sparkling. “Lord Rigsby. It is good to see you again. It’s been a year, has it not?” It had not. It had been just last night. He bristled to correct her, to make her remember their bodies thrown together in darkness.
“You know each other?” Lady Willow asked.
“Yes. I am old friends with her brother.”
