His silence said everything.
She rushed to fill it, not caring what she said, only that there were words in the air between them instead of this sizzling electricity. “You’ve been so near. But so very far. And you get so close, but you never touch, and …” She let loose a harsh sigh that tore the air around her into ragged strips. “I apologize.”
He shook his head, the tension in his shoulders draining, softness lighting his brown eyes. “Do not apologize. You’ve made several things abundantly clear for me. Thank you. And you were not the sole participant.”
What had she made abundantly clear for him? Everything seemed murkier than before to her. “No, I was not, but you would never have participated had I not flung myself at you.”
He chuckled and drew nearer, slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.
How embarrassing! Henrietta turned, paced away from him, and refocused her mind on the business at hand—finding the necklace. “Jack was no help. Except that we know his necklace is not our necklace.”
Grayson stepped in line beside her, matching his strides to hers. “Not a very useful piece of information.”
Thank heavens he took her lead and abandoned talk of the kiss for talk of the necklace. Still, she avoided looking at him. “Have you searched the house yet?”
“No, I’ve not.” A hand wrapped gently around her upper arm, stilling her. He stared intently down at her. “I think you’re the cleverest woman I’ve ever met. The most determined. But tell me, what do you think of me?”
She sucked in a breath, then quit breathing altogether. Why would he ask that? “You—” She paused, afraid she’d stutter. “You know what I think of you.”
“Do I? I thought I did, once.” He shrugged. “But much can change in an instant. Tell me,” he insisted, “what do you think of me?”
The conversation would not help them locate the necklace, but it potentially held answers to questions she’d been asking since Ada first told her of Grayson’s appearance at the party. Whatever answers she found in such a conversation would lead to a sort of madness. She knew that instinctively, yet she could not help it. “I think you do not appear to harbor a tendre for Lady Willow. I … I speak as a concerned friend. Though, of course, I should not concern myself.” Not after she’d kissed him. The kiss had been an overstep. Her inquiry would be another. Yet she blazed forward anyway.
Grayson scratched behind his ear and averted his eyes.
“You do not have to reply,” she assured him. “Just, perhaps, consider giving Lady Willow more of a chance. Become better acquainted with her. She seems lovely if a bit odd. But, then, all the best people are. Odd, that is.” She clamped her mouth closed and strode away, her brother’s childhood nickname for her roaring into memory. He’d been right. Shewasa hen wit.
A hand wrapped around her wrist, gentle but strong enough to stop her escape. When she turned toward him, Grayson’s hold on her lessened even more until it felt like a caress, not a clasp, and his thumb brushed rhythmically, softly, back and forth over the pulse at her wrist.
“You are not wrong,” Grayson said. “I feel no deep affection for Lady Willow, and I have not given myself much opportunity to develop affection for her.” He released her wrist and tapped her chin before lifting it so she could see plainly into his hungry, burning eyes. “It is nigh impossible to give your heart away when it belongs to another, no matter how lovely the girl in question.”
Henrietta looked away, scorched to the core. She took two unsteady steps away from him, and he let her go. He always did that—let her go—an action that clearly contradicted his words. Why?
“I should not say such things,” he continued with a ragged sigh. “But I find it difficult to pretend with you. I hate pretending in general. But with you, it feels criminal.”
“What do you mean?”
He studied the clouds above their heads. Other than the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, he resembled a living statue. “I miss my brother,” he admitted, “I miss the life I had when he still lived. I’m a selfish child, I know, mourning the liberties of youth.”
“Selfish? You’re marrying a woman you have no deep emotion for.” She shook her head, trying to make sense of her response to his revelations. “I’m sorry you lost your brother.” Dear Lord, had she ever said as much? Had she ever given him her sympathy for his loss? She couldn’t remember, and she burned with guilt for it. “I cannot fathom the grief of losing a beloved brother.” The thought of Tobias, gone forever sent a shiver through her, and she changed the direction of her thoughts. “You’ll be a duke one day. I don’t understand why you would miss your old life.”
“My old life had fewer restrictions, more activity.” He licked his lips, dropped his gaze to the ground, and kicked a clod of dirt. “Do you know why I’m named Grayson?”
She shook her head.
“In my family, every generation christens a younger sonGrayson. It’s a family tradition.”
“I’ve never met another with your name.”
“It is rare. More than that, it’s a reminder of the younger son’s duties. In my family, younger sons have always worked as stewards of the land, and Grayson comes from an old word meaning just that—steward.”
“What word?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Hell, if I remember. I should, though. It was beaten into my head enough as a child.” He shrugged. “The first-born son takes care of the title, the family, and the younger son takes care of the land, the estates. I always relished my role of steward, the riding, building, solving problems, talking to the people.”
And, if what she’d observed today was any indication, he’d been good at it, too.
“And you cannot do these things now, in your new role?” she queried.
