“I don’t care who your whore is,” the duchess sneered.
“Careful, madam.” Grayson’s voice rang cold as steel.
The duchess hardly noticed. “But I know who she is—a nobody. Her father’s in trade.” She spat out the last word.
Henrietta burned with indignity. She shot to her feet, wishing for a burning sword to run the duchess through with.
As if he sensed Henrietta’s intentions, Grayson pushed the duchess into the hallway and closed the door behind them, leaving Henrietta alone in the room. The empty air buzzed around her, pressing in through her ears, shaking her body. She should do something—climb out the window or smash a vase over the duchess’s skull. She should most certainly be breathing. She concentrated on forcing air in and out of her lungs. She’d be able to think once she stopped shaking.
The first thud barely registered. The second thud, which shook the walls around her, shot her toward the door, but then she paused, her hand hovering over the handle. She couldn’t go out there. The duchess assumed Henrietta cowered in this room. The assumption would be enough to cast aspersions on Henrietta’s character. Should she step into the hall and turn assumption into truth, everything she’d worked for—gone with the turn of a door’s handle.
Another crash, accompanied by a groan, vibrated the door. Then another crash shook the hallway, this time accompanied by the tinkle of broken glass, before the door to the room burst open, the Duchess of Valingford filling the frame.
She looked as cool and calm as if she were attending an afternoon garden party, but her words were cut glass. “Shame on you. Not only have you ruined yourself, but the vase they shattered was priceless. Lady Stonefield will be distraught.”
Part of Henrietta wanted to laugh. For the Duchess of Valingford, Henrietta’s reputation mattered less than a vase. Perhaps she should cry. She certainly should have escaped out the window when she’d had the chance.
The duchess strode toward Henrietta, clasped her wrist in a grip more ironclad than Henrietta ever would have expected, and yanked her out of the room. Composed yet irritated, the duchess watched two brawling bears barrel down the hallway. “They won’t listen to me. And if they don’t stop, they’ll ruin the whole house and cause a scene.”
She hated to agree with the woman, but she did have a point. Henrietta rushed toward the two men, locked in battle. “Tobias! Let him go right now!”
Her brother shoved his palm in Grayson’s face. “Thank you for the help—ack!—sister, but I don’t need it. Eep!” Grayson barreled into her brother, and they sprawled to the floor.
“No! Let Grayson go! This instant, Tobias.” She stomped her foot to punctuate her point.
Pinned beneath Grayson’s heavier form, Tobias wheezed. “It’s him that’s got me, sis.”
“Gah!” Henrietta marched after them. Leave it to Tobias to argue when being beaten by a mad bear of a man. If they wouldn’t stop this insanity, she’d make them.
Grayson hauled Tobias to his feet. “Get away, Hen,” he growled.
“What in heaven’s name is going on?” she demanded, shoving herself between the two seething men.
Grayson threw Tobias away from him and strode down the hall then back up it, rubbing his fists. “Tell her what you did.”
“Tobias, what did you do?” Henrietta demanded.
He shrugged a shoulder, wincing with pain. “I had a conversation with the gracious duchess.”
Henrietta’s stomach soured. “You didn’t.” She glanced between the duchess and her brother. His face flushed as pink as his waistcoat, and not all his coloring stemmed from the thrashing he’d suffered. That was a guilty pink if she’d ever seen it. The next bolt of pink just such a shade that her father produced, she’d insist be named after him. All the ladies next season would have dresses in Tobias’s Guilt.
He straightened his cravat and smoothed his hair into place.
Henrietta had no doubt; Tobias had alerted the Duchess of Valingford. “Why?”
“I didn’t need him to tell me anything,” the duchess said. “I already had confirmation.” She curled a smug lip and advanced on the trio at a determined clip. “You.” Her gaze jerked to Tobias. “You will leave. I thank you for your information, but you are no longer needed. Go.” She narrowed her eyes at his clashing clothes. “Go straighten yourself up. And you.” Her gaze snapped in Grayson’s direction. “You, too, must tidy yourself. You’ve spent precious little time with your fiancée in the past few days. She’s downstairs in the music room, expecting you.”
Grayson lifted his arms away from his side then dropped them in helpless frustration. “If you’ll remember, my lady, your daughter is not my fiancée and never has been. I will not propose. I told you both so this morning.”
The duchess pulled herself up at tall as she could manage, which wasn’t much. “And I do not accept it. You don’t have to propose, but you will marry her.”
“I’m engaged to another.” Grayson took a step toward Henrietta, knitting his strong fingers with her own.
“You’re engaged to my daughter, Lord Rigsby,” the duchess hissed. “And you’ll marry her or your dear Miss Blake will know the consequences.”
Henrietta had been waiting for it. A lady of such consequence as the Duchess of Valingford did not know defeat. She would have what she wanted any way she could get it.
The duchess caught and held Henrietta’s gaze. “You’re no one, but you want to be. I’ve seen your father’s shop. Funny thing he’s never there. You always are, though.”
