“Where are you going?”
Where else would he go? “After Henrietta!” Grayson sprinted through the open stable doors. No time to saddle Trott. He opened the horse’s stall, vaulted onto his back, and urged him into action.
He outpaced the coach in no time at all, despite its head start. He whipped Trott ahead of the coach and brought him to a stop in the middle of the road. Seeing he refused to move, the coach came to a rolling stop mere feet from Trott’s nose. He whinnied in exasperation. Grayson patted his neck as he dismounted. “Good boy. Lots of apples for you later.”
As he approached the coach, its door swung open and Henrietta stepped down.
“Grayson?”
“Henrietta. I get the distinct impression you’re not off to see the folly with the rest of the guests.”
She lifted her chin. “Grayson, go back. We have no choices in this matter. The duchess made herself perfectly clear. If either of us is to achieve our goals in life, we must do so apart. You must marry Lady Willow.”
“I won’t. I told her last night. I verified it with her parents this morning. I reassured her mother I will not this afternoon.” Several times. “And I refuse to live in fear of the duchess’s wrath.”
“Her husband has power. Your father has power. Have you considered what they may do to you if you refuse to comply with their wishes?”
Of course, he had! He stalked away a few steps then swung back toward her. “I don’t care.”
“I do. You cannot be the good man you wish to be to those you will one day have power over if your father and his grace strip you of your funds. You cannot be an influence on society if your wife is a pariah, if her family is brought low and made destitute by scandal. And I can’t let that happen to my family.”
“If this is about your shop—”
“Mercy, Grayson! It’s not about my shop. You know I’ve dreamt of little else for years, but my shop matters less than the fortunes and happiness of those I love. My family. You.”
“Hen,” he groaned. His entire body felt like mud suctioned to the earth. “We can weather this together. Once we’re married—”
She shook her head, her gaze turning every which way but his. “This is no place for a discussion. Besides there is nothing more to be said.”
She had a point. Perhaps words were not wanted in the moment. Action, however … he could grab her around the waist, swing her onto his shoulder, and toss her up on Trott.
She tangled her skirts in her fists. “Grayson, I must go.”
He could toss her back into the coach and instruct the coachman to take them to Gretna Green.
She stepped toward the coach. “We’re leaving now. Please do not come after us.” The pleading note to her voice sliced him through. She waited, but for what? For him to speak? He had no words left, only things he wanted to do, but she’d asked him not to. He strode toward her until she stood but a foot away.
“You,” he said, leaning toward her.
Like a mirror image, her body leaned toward him in response, stretching up until her face was in the perfect position for what he knew would be the most melting kiss he’d ever experienced. “Yes?” she asked on a breath.
“You’re wrong. I’ll find a way.” He had to.
Her chin dropped until her forehead rested against his chest. “No.”
He tipped her chin back up, closing the already slim distance between them. Action, impulse, and longing thrummed through him in equal parts and, without thought, his arm wound around her waist, pulling her hips against his legs. She was soft and warm, but her body tensed. With anger? With reluctance? He wanted to wash it all away. He dipped down as if to kiss her, but stopped, a breath away from heaven, and whispered, “You’re mine.” He wanted nothing more than to pull her into the woods and kiss every inch of her. “And I’m yours.” He set her away from him.
“Grayson—”
“Ahem.” Henrietta’s grandmother’s head popped out of the coach window and swung to consider first Henrietta then Grayson. “Perhaps you should return to the conveyance, my dear, and let Lord Rigsby get on with his day. Unless the young man is saying something of import.” She blinked. “Are you? Saying something of import?” Her head quirked to the side. “I thought you were nearly engaged to the Valingford chit.”
Grayson groaned, his head falling back on his neck. He’d willingly walked into a box of his father’s design last year. He’d had good intentions, but now he felt trapped, self-shackled to a life he did not want.
“He is, Grandmama. His intentions are only to wish us a safe journey,” Henrietta said, scrambling up into the coach. “He is a gentleman, after all.” She shut the door and lowered the window curtain.
But her grandmother’s words reached beyond the barrier. “That’s nice. One likes to see young men going to great lengths to be gentlemanly, but this is a bit much. Wait … weren’t the two of you engaged last year?”
The coach rumbled forward, Henrietta’s grandmother’s last words a mere whisper on the wind.
