Chapter 21
Grayson swatted at the fly buzzing around his head. Couldn’t it see he tried to sleep? The persistent little devil continued fluttering about his ear. Then it spoke.
“My lord, a letter from the Duke of Valingford.”
Not a fly. “Willems. Go away. I rode through the night in the rain to get to London. The duke can stuff his letter right up his—”
“The Valingford footman did not wait for a reply.”
Grayson pulled the pillow over his head. “Go away.” He wanted to get back to the dream he’d been having about Henrietta in the dusty old room wearing nothing but his family’s old necklace. And speaking of Henrietta, if he didn’t get a bit more sleep, he’d be unable to contemplate the dilemma hanging like a guillotine blade above them all. But Willems wasn’t budging. Grayson didn’t hear theshushof footfalls retreating across plush carpet. “You haven’t gone away, have you?”
“No, my lord. The footman said—”
Grayson sighed, threw the pillow across the room and sat up. “What did the footman say?” Something horrid Grayson wouldn’t have the patience for, no doubt.
“The footman said he waited for no response because the duke expected his word to be carried out without one.”
Grayson grabbed the letter Willems still stretched toward him and opened it.
Lord Rigsby,
You will appear this morning at noon at Valingford House to request my daughter’s hand in marriage.
Valingford
Grayson shot to his feet, crumpling the paper in his fist. “To hell I will!” The devil of a duke thought he could demand anything of anyone, and it would be carried out, no different than his wife, or than Grayson’s own father for that matter. They all thought to manage everyone and everything around them.
Grayson had played the men’s game at first, but no more. He looked out the window. The sun hung low, casting a rosy dawn glow into the room. He rubbed a hand down his face. A few hours’ sleep at most. But anger punched through exhaustion and Grayson punched his arms into his shirtsleeves.
“Where’s my father?”
“In his study.”
Grayson nodded as he pulled on a pair of trousers and stomped toward the door.
“You can’t speak with him looking like that!” Willems protested.
He was barefoot. He didn’t even wear smalls under his trousers, and his shirt lay open and loose on his frame. “I will, Willems,” he said, slamming the door behind him.
He also slammed the door of his father’s study behind him.
Grayson’s father shot to his feet. “Grayson! When did you return home?” His eyes swept over Grayson from rumbled head to bare toes. “Are you well?”
“No, I’m not bloody well! I’ve been backed into a corner of your making!” Grayson paced forward until he leaned over his father’s desk, supported his weight with flat palms on the smooth, uncluttered surface.
His father blinked rapidly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Grayson strode away, flinging his hands into the air. “You wouldn’t! You’re perfect for the role you play, the title you hold. You do everything exactly as it should be done. It delights you to follow rules and act a certain way. It’s not hard for you because that’s who you are, but it’s not who I am!”
Grayson’s father fell back heavily in his chair. “I don’t know what to say, Grayson. What are you trying to say?”
“I want to marry Henrietta, but because of you and the damned duke, Henrietta instructed me to marry Lady Willow!”
“Henrietta?” Grayson’s father closed his eyes, thinking. “You mean Miss Blake?” He groaned. “I feared sending you to a house party with her would prove your undoing.”
“So then, you knew how I still felt about her!”
“I’ve had my suspicions. But Lady Willow is such a nice girl, and you seemed to change so much in the last year, I thought, perhaps, you’d outgrown Miss Blake.”
