“Let us be direct, Margaret. We do not wish to waste your valuable time. The viscount has a few questions about last year’s house party. You’re not in trouble. We’re hoping to find someone with any small bit of information that could help us.” She smiled brightly again, folding her hands harmlessly in her lap.
The maid’s eyes grew wide as windowpanes. Mercy, frightened again. But perhaps her frightened reaction revealed hidden secrets. And, hopefully, a hidden necklace. Her eyes had grown as transparent as windows, too. Henrietta easily read what lay behind them. Grayson must have, too. He glanced Henrietta’s way, anticipation in his expression.
“You see,” Grayson said, “I’m afraid I lost a family heirloom last year.” A dramatic pause as the maid held her breath. “A necklace.”
Margaret’s eyes shrunk. The fear and guilt replaced with relief. “A necklace? No. I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t know of any necklace.” Her words rang true. She may have found another piece of jewelry, but not a necklace.
Henrietta pushed the matter with a few more questions, but soon Grayson dismissed the maid. Once she disappeared behind the door, Grayson sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. “For a brief, glorious moment, I thought we’d found it.”
Henrietta shook her head, collapsing from her poker-straight posture and sliding into the back of the couch. “I suppose it couldn’t be that easy.” A shame. The sooner they completed their mission, the sooner she could leave Grayson’s tempting presence.
Unfortunately, five maids and two footmen later, it had become abundantly clear “easy” did not describe their endeavor. Any part of it. Not only would they never find the necklace, or even any knowledge of it, Henrietta’s entire body felt taut and attune to the hard, lean male body so close to hers.
Grayson shifted in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and his arm behind his head. The movement caught her attention; his body held it. His Hessians were scuffed arrows leading her eyes up his body, across muscled thighs tightly encased in blue superfine, and then even higher to broad shoulders, and finally, to closed eyes with dark shadows of exhaustion beneath. He appeared powerful and vulnerable simultaneously, an irresistible combination.
Grayson seemed impervious to her own charms, however, despite his earlier advances and confessions. Perhaps he didn’t actually want her.
“I think we are done for the day,” Henrietta said, leaning back in her chair. Outside the window, the sun dipped low.
Grayson sighed and sat up straight. “One more.” He scrubbed his face with his palms, as if waking himself up. “It’s killing me, Hen. You’re killing me, but dinner is still a few hours away, and the sooner we finish this, the better.”
What did he mean, “you’re killing me”?
She started to ask when he said, “A few more interviews today. They are progressing more smoothly and quickly with you present.” He offered her a wary grin, a gift that sent her heart stuttering against her ribs.
“You were right,” he continued. “They are more at ease with you.”
“I think we can complete a few more interviews before retiring for the day,” she conceded.
He groaned to his feet. “Very good.”
The butler appeared not long after Grayson pulled the bell and disappeared immediately after he requested three more available servants be sent up for interviews.
Grayson aimlessly wound his way around the room to the window, and Henrietta enjoyed the view of him silhouetted against the dying light of the day as much as he seemed to enjoy the view of the sun setting in a pastel sky. He turned around so abruptly, he caught her staring. He grinned, and she whipped her gaze to her lap. The route he made to her side seemed as aimless as the one he’d made to the window, but she felt his gaze on her, heated and purposeful. She dared not look up. Oh mercy, yes, she did. She did dare.
As she’d guessed, his attention had settled on her as if she were the only bolt of bright silk in a shop of white muslin. He stopped only when his body almost pressed against the side of the couch she slouched into.
She continued holding his gaze, tipping her head up, up, up, the closer he curved to her side. “Yes?” she queried, when he simply smiled down at her.
His hands, which had been clasped behind his back, unlocked, and he drew a finger around the curve of her ear, down her neck, and over her collarbone. She dragged the pleasure of his touch into her body with each ragged breath.
“Hen,” he said just as the door opened, and a maid strode in.
Chapter 9
Grayson snapped upright, locking his hands behind his back once more, and Henrietta bounced to her feet like a lamb fleeing a wolf and offered the maid a cheery welcome.
What was he doing? He couldn’t touch her like that. He shouldn’t touch her at all. He still danced to Valingford’s tune, with good reason. He wouldn’t see Lady Willow hurt or uncomfortable. He had promised to remain attentive to her throughout the remainder of the house party, and he intended to do so. That meant no touching other women, not even other women he intended to pursue after this sham almost engagement had run its natural course.
He smiled brightly at the maid and returned to his chair after both she and Henrietta had seated themselves on the couch. “How are you, today Miss …” He paused, waiting for her to supply a name.
Posture rigid, the maid sniffed. “I’m Annie, my lord.” She didn’t meet his gaze, and her mouth pinched into a thin line.
Grayson glanced at Henrietta. Did she note the maid’s stiffness? He thought she did.
She sat straighter, more attentive than she had in the last hour. She leaned slightly toward Annie, her eyes sparkling. “We won’t keep you, Annie. We’re inquiring into a piece of jewelry Lord Rigsby misplaced at last year’s house party.”
Annie’s eyes darted toward Grayson. “I don’t know of any necklace.”
