Cruel, more like. “I may very well still tear him limb from limb.”
“Be my guest. You were quite angry with me for letting you leave.”
She let silence be her answer.
“Are you still?”
Truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure. But she felt enough good toward him that she could certainly imagine all anger dissolving entirely. Soon. Especially if they repeated their recent intimate activities often enough.
“You looked happy,” he sighed. “With that other man. And your happiness is all I ever wanted. If being a duchess would make you miserable”—he swallowed—“I couldn’t ask it of you.”
The anger rushed out of her. How could she retain a furious state when he said things like that? How could she retain her righteous anger when he stroked circles into her skin, trailing fingertips from shoulder to inner wrist, then crossing her midsection to circle lazily around her belly button?
“But it’s too easy, Grayson.” She forced herself to concentrate. “How can one day’s revelations see you throw over a courtship you’ve spent months on?” She couldn’t say Lady Willow’s name. Simply thinking it sent guilt slinking through her.
“Lady Willow is lovely. She’ll make a splendid wife for another man. But she and I, we don’t suit.” He stared up at the ceiling, a frown forming.
“And are you sure Lady Willow is not upset?”
“No, I do not think so. But I will make sure she is all right.” He rolled back onto his side, placing a palm on Henrietta’s shoulder. “But I have not been all right without you. I’ve felt trapped. I’ve tried so hard to be exactly as my father has asked me to be, a better heir, at least, than my brother, one more aware of the duties and obligations owed to the estate and its tenants. I thought being exactly who my father wished me to be, doing as he wished me to do, would better enable my goal. But now I know it wouldn’t. I can’t be a good duke if I’m a miserable one. And I’m miserable without you, Henrietta.”
She leaned in and placed a kiss on his chest, right above his heart.
“And your business?” he asked. “Do you think Lady Willow will still be able to help your shop?”
Henrietta nuzzled close to his chest and he tightened his arms around her. “Not in her unwed state, I’m afraid. Her mother would never allow it. But I’m not worried.” She’d believe it if she said it with enough bravado and confidence. “Others will support me. A Blake gown doesn’t need anything other than its own fine quality to sell it. And I could not do business with Lady Willow were she married to you.” Knowing she dressed Lady Willow to please a man Henrietta herself loved would have been intolerable. “I would have found it difficult being so near you before I learned you still want me. After knowing the truth, it would have been impossible. It’s why I wanted to deliver the list to you myself. I needed to tell you I could no longer offer my help finding the necklace. I couldn’t help you marry another woman, even if it resulted in more business for my shop.”
He stroked a hand through her hair.
“Oh!” Henrietta sat bolt upright in bed. “The necklace! You still need to find it.”
He laughed, pulling her back down. “It’s gone, Hen. And no matter. There’s—”
A knock on the door turned both their heads. Her heart, so happy, so sated a moment ago, froze in fear.
Grayson bolted upright, his body tense. “What the hell?” He cast a worried scowl at the door. “It’s likely my valet,” he mused. “I’m not sure how, but Willems always knows where I am and what I’m doing.”
Henrietta breathed again. Better his valet know about this afternoon’s activities than anyone else.
As Grayson threw a shirt over his head and cracked the door open, Henrietta slid to the floor and searched for her clothes. They rested, it seemed, on every surface.
Her chemise on top of the wardrobe. She had to jump to get that.
Her stockings on the windowsill. Hopefully no one had seen them land there.
Her slippers under the bed. With a huff, she bent to retrieve the shoes and saw something glinting in the dark. She reached, and her fingers closed around a thin, cold chain. Could it be? She pulled gently, and the item slid easily out from the behind the wall and bedpost where it had been lodged. In the dusty light of day, the necklace looked older and plainer than she remembered it.
What a homely object to be so significant to so many noble women. The duchesses likely had closets full of priceless jewels, but this beaten heirloom held more importance than them all.
“Grayson,” she said, bolting upright, a smile spread wide across her lips. “Look.”
He didn’t look, and indistinct mumblings at the door grew into undignified shouts. “This, you see, is why I pay the household staff wherever I go. It’s wise to have eyes everywhere.”
Henrietta’s smile vanished. Was that? It couldn’t be. Oh, but it was—the Duchess of Valingford.
Henrietta dropped to the floor, putting the bulk of the bed, not to mention Grayson and a mostly closed door, between her and the angry woman in the hallway. Mercy, mercy, mercy! The Duchess?! How had she known? Eyes everywhere, indeed.
Henrietta and Grayson had given those eyes multiple opportunities to witness scandal. Last night in the dark hallways, twice in gardens, behind the stables, beside the lake this afternoon. Mercy! Her pulse rose, and her chest constricted. The room felt warmer than before. She clutched the necklace to her chest and pressed her back against the bed, trying to keep her breathing as quiet as possible. What should she do? Hide? Climb out the window?
