Dear man. She pushed away from him to reach up and stroke his chin. When was the last time he’d shaved? The bristles pricked her fingers. “Together.”
He pulled away, bathing her in a look of pure joy. “Finally, you see sense!” He stroked his fingers along her collarbone, up her neck, and down her jaw until they rested on her chin. He gently tilted her head and placed a chaste kiss where her pulse beat.
“Mm,” Henrietta sighed, leaning into the kiss. “Oh!” She jolted away and threw her head back to see him clearly. “I forgot!”
His brows drew together over unfocused eyes. “Mm? What?”
She rummaged in her cloak pockets, then her dress pockets. Where was it? Her fingers brushed against a warm, slim metal chain. “Ah-ha!” She pulled the necklace out and held it up before him.
“Is that …?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He reached out tentatively, then took it from her. “Where’d you find it? When?”
“The last day at Hill House, right before the duchess intruded and you went into the hallway to speak with her. And to beat Tobias to a pulp.”
“Where was it? We searched every inch of the room.”
“It was hanging from a nail on the back side of the bed. It must have been lodged up higher and come loose while we were …” She finished her explanation with a laugh.
“It was quite the energetic bed play.”
“Grayson!”
“I look forward to doing it again.”
Henrietta huffed and started down the hill without him.
He caught up with her and wrapped his arm around her waist, matching his steps to hers. “Very soon, in fact.”
She leaned into him. “Will the coachman notice, do you think, if we …?”
“Not if we’re quiet.”
She could be quiet. It was nice being quiet now, his arm wrapped round her, knowing he was back to being not only her Grayson, but simply Grayson, the confident, energetic man she’d met and fell in love with. If he was two people at once, so was she. If they had to straddle two worlds, they’d do it together.
Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief when the coach came into sight. “Thank goodness. It’s still here. Grandmama and Grandpapa still think I’m on my way to Manchester.”
He bent over her, clasping the necklace around her neck and placing a gentle kiss next to where the bird rested in the hollow of her throat. “Perfect. But I’m afraid there’s no time to ask the coachman to drive an extra lap or two around the park. I’m late for a conversation with a duke. Tell me, Hen, do you think you can play dead a little bit longer?”
Chapter 29
Valingford had expected to hear gossip about the Blake chit’s untimely departure from this mortal coil whispered in the halls of White’s. He certainly expected the Duchess of Valingford to tell him plainly over their weekly chat, It’s all taken care of, my dear. There would be a notice in the papers and a funeral, but none of it would have bothered or inconvenienced him in any way. He’d expected to go on as usual, even though the Blake chit wouldn’t go on at all.
He had not expected to be personally invited to a mourning service at the Earl of Bennington’s townhome. He looked out the carriage window and cursed his recent luck. Despite the fact such a thing was patently ridiculous in and of itself, the inclusion of the Duke and Duchess of Valingford in such an event multiplied the absurdity of it all infinitely. The dead girl had stolen the bridegroom right out of his own daughter’s incapable hands. To think he’d care a whit about her death—ludicrous!
“But we really must attend.” The Duchess fidgeted with her reticule on the other side of the carriage.
Yes, they must.
“Think of your daughter.”
“I am, madame. She’s the only reason I’m here.” The Earl of Bennington and the Duke of Devonmere knew too much about his disastrous finances, and they surely suspected more. He’d have to dance to whatever tune they played until he’d secured a new fortune through new marriage arrangements for Willow. “The deal with Lord Cordell cannot fall through.” The only other appropriate candidate for marriage to a duke’s daughter, Lord Cordell, was titled and rich, if a bit flighty. It mattered not. He could forget he had a wife as long as that wife was Willow.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Valingford jumped out and stalked to the door, rapping it twice with the head of his cane. The duchess huffed up beside him as the door swung open wide, and a footman ushered them inside.
“This way,” the footman said. He led them to a medium-sized room. Heavy curtains shut out all light from the windows and candles filled the room, their glow absorbed by the heavy black velvet draped over the walls. A coffin took pride of place at the front of the room. It was open, and inside Valingford made out the slight outline of a figure covered in cloth.
