A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (78 page)

Gil tried to speak but coughed
instead. Once the fit subsided, he said, “Lord Chatham, you might
wish to reconsider.” He paused to catch his breath. “Lord Alexander
will not be without property for much longer. He’ll inherit my
estate in Somerton upon my death.” Another bout of coughing
overtook him. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, which came away
bloody when the coughs ceased. “As you can see, that won’t be too
far in the future. One of your complaints against Lord Alexander is
now baseless.”

Chatham passed Alex a squinty-eyed
look. “He has no title. And he won’t also inherit a title in
addition to your property when you pass, will he?” The marquess
laughed at his crude joke, but soon sobered.

Alex’s heart sunk to his toes. He had
been sure Chatham would acquiesce after the situation last night.
But he hadn’t given the man enough credit for cruelty. He turned
away in dejection and wished he could leave the room. Why had he
ever brought the subject up in front of his family and friends?
This was his problem, not theirs.

Peter interrupted his thoughts. “Lord
Chatham, I would ask you to reconsider your decision.” His voice
was soft, controlled. Cold.

Alex’s head jerked around. He couldn’t
sit idly by, yet again, and allow his eldest brother to rush in and
save the day. Peter spoke over him before he could say as
much.

“
Under the current
circumstances, wouldn’t it be wise to align yourself with a family
the Regent respects and trusts? Suspicion of treason is not a
matter to take lightly.” Peter stroked his chin with his right
hand. “He hasn’t brought you in for questioning yet, but that could
change. Your character is already in question based on your prior
associations with Barrow and your desire for a connection with him.
Otherwise, the Regent would not have requested that I keep an eye
on you.” He leaned forward and stared straight into Chatham’s eyes.
“A marriage between your daughter and my brother might actually
save you.”

Chatham slammed his glass against the
table, sloshing the liquid over the sides and onto the pristine
cloth. “But he has no title!”

Alex shoved his chair away from the
table. “So a title means more than your reputation? Your freedom?”
He paced through the room. “More than Grace’s reputation or
happiness?”

“
And you think you can make
my daughter happy, is that it? You think you know better than I do
what is best for her?”

“
Yes, I do. You’ve ignored
her for far too long.”

“
I have done the best I
could for her.” His chin quivered. “When the scandal broke out, I
ordered her to stay put in her chamber, so she wouldn’t have to
face society in her shame. But then her aunt and uncle came along
and stole her right out from under my nose, stole her from my
house!”

“
If the Kensingtons took
her from you as you claim,” Peter interjected, his voice steely,
“then why did you not make such an accusation last night before the
gentlemen from Bow Street? I asked them about it when I met with
them yesterday afternoon. They have received no such report. It
would have been a perfect opportunity to level your charge. Of
course, one would think such a charge ought to have been reported
long ago.”

“
Why, well…er, they were
occupied with dealing with the traitor!”

“
And you have not reported
it before now because…?”

“
Because I had hoped to
bribe them to return her through a ransom from Barrow, if you must
know. He was going to pay for her return, since she carried his
child. Now I have no idea how I’ll convince them to return her
without bringing in the authorities. I had hoped to keep it all
quiet, so they would not suffer more than necessary.”

Alex burned to rip the bastard’s head
from his shoulders. “They never kidnapped her, and you know it. And
she has been far better off in their care than she would ever be
with you, or with Barrow.”

“
Better with the
Kensingtons, has she been? Then how, pray tell, did you get your
greedy paws on her? What sort of chaperones have they been for her?
But what more could I expect from the whore, than she would throw
herself at the first young buck who caught her eye?”

Alex flew across the room and grabbed
Chatham by the throat, pulling him up from his seat. “You will not
call Grace a whore in my presence.” His words were controlled, even
if his actions were not. “And you will apologize immediately to my
mother and sisters for using such foul language in their
presence.”

Chatham gasped for air, and his face
turned a dangerous shade of blue.

He wanted to break the man’s neck. He
wanted to hear the bones snap beneath his hands.

Derek placed a hand on Alex’s arm and
gave a firm tug. “Let him go. He can’t apologize if you refuse to
let him breathe. Let go.”

He loosened his grip and backed away.
The marquess placed his own hands where Alex’s had just been and
rubbed while he tried to catch his breath, falling to the floor in
his efforts to do so.

Alex looked around the room at his
family and friends and winced at the expressions he saw: shock,
sadness, a touch of fear. And pity.

He couldn’t handle the
pity.

Alex took one more look at Chatham
where he was crumpled on the floor, still rubbing against his neck.
Then he left.

He needed air.

He needed to cool off and look at the
situation with fresh eyes.

He needed to get foxed. No…

He needed Grace.

Chapter
Twenty-One

As Grace and her aunt and uncle
finished their tea, the messenger once again knocked at the door to
Uncle Laurence’s townhouse on Curzon Street. He guided the man
inside, and nausea swept over Grace when she recognized him. Her
trembling had to be visible. Had he found Father?

“
What else have you
discovered?” Uncle Laurence asked. “Have you found
Chatham?”

“
I’ve not found Lord
Chatham yet, no sir. But I can tell you more of his dealings last
night.” The messenger looked eager to continue, but waited for a
signal from Uncle Laurence. “You see, he was not only seen with the
Earl of Barrow at the ball, but he also spoke with the Duke of
Somerton.”

Grace felt faint. The Duke of
Somerton? But he was Lord Alexander’s brother. Why would Father
have spoken with him? And was the earl involved too?

“
Some say he left with the
duke, but others weren’t so certain.” He pulled out a paper and
passed it to her uncle. “There’s His Grace’s address. He may be
able to give you more information.”

“
Excellent. You’ve done
good work today.” Uncle Laurence passed the messenger a fistful of
coins. “If you discover anything else, let me know
immediately.”

He closed the door behind the
messenger and turned to Grace and Aunt Dorothea. “Well I suppose we
should pay a visit to the Duke of Somerton then. It’s not yet too
late for a social call, and I’ve not seen the man in far too long.
It has been years since he resided at Somerton Court.”

“
But Uncle,” Grace said,
then faltered. What had she intended to say? She scrounged for
something to say. Anything at all, really. “Wouldn’t it be better
if you paid the call to His Grace by yourself? Aunt Dorothea and I
can stay here. Surely someone ought to wait for more news from your
messenger, or possibly for Father to arrive here looking for me.”
They looked astounded by her scrambling. “And won’t His Grace be
put out by having so many visitors arrive without an invitation?
Surely only one of us would be better.”

Her reasoning was paltry even in her
own estimation, but she wanted desperately to avoid the duke. He
was bound to remind her of Lord Alexander. Something she would far
prefer to avoid.

Or even worse, Lord Alexander could be
there with his brother. She hadn’t seen him since he left Bath, and
all indications pointed to his having returned to London with Lord
Rotheby. She missed him more than she ever imagined possible. But
seeing him again would only give her hope when truly, she had none.
Her future had been decided.

And the possibility of seeing both
Lord Alexander and her father together—Grace would prefer not to
even think of that.

“
Now why would you think it
better to call on Lord Somerton without us, Gracie?” asked her
aunt. “What fustian nonsense. No, we shall all visit the duke
together. I daresay he would ask after us if we weren’t there.
Certainly he’s aware you’ve been staying with us. After all, he is
Lord Alexander’s brother you know, and we’ve been friendly with his
family for quite some time.”

Yes, Grace knew.

“
And it is a perfectly
acceptable hour for all of us to pay a social call. He won’t be put
out at all. Really, your father has done you a great disservice by
keeping you so sheltered all this time. One might think you had no
understanding of society whatsoever.”

As usual, there could be no arguing
with Aunt Dorothea. Grace resigned herself to something she would
far prefer to avoid. She didn’t dare feign optimism at the task,
and feared her dread of the impending meeting showed on her
face.

The combination of longing and
trepidation grew as she secured her bonnet. She must be daft to
experience so many emotions—conflicting emotions, at that—all over
a simple visit, a mere social call.

They boarded Uncle Laurence’s
carriage. A visit to the Duke of Somerton would wait for no one,
after all.

For the entire journey there, Grace
could not bring herself to look at either her aunt or uncle. She
dreaded walking in to the Hardwicke family home and seeing a room
full of people who all looked like Lord Alexander. Had he not once
told her they were all uncommonly tall, and all bore some shade of
ginger in their hair? And there were so many of them.

Really, if she must meet the man’s
family, would it not be better to do it an individual at a time?
But why must she meet them at all, since she had refused his
pursuit? This was all highly bothersome.

As the carriage rounded the corner, a
home far grander and more regal than her father’s London home came
into view. Number three, Grosvenor Square stood tall and proud.
White Grecian columns stood as sentinels next around Palladian
porticos and tall, arched windows. The gardens were precise rows of
color situated against the backdrop of soft grey stone and brick.
This home would rival even the most elaborate country homes such as
she’d seen in Somerton and Bath in elegance, if not in
size.

She felt thoroughly insignificant next
to it—much as she was doomed to feel in the presence of its
inhabitants.

His Grace must be quite an
imposing figure, indeed, to own such a lavish residence in Town.
Images of
ton
balls held here, like the one she had attended last Season,
flashed through her mind, filled with all the glittering
extravagance her imagination could muster. Such an event held here
would be immaculate, perfect—everything in its place, no detail
missed, nothing forgotten. It would be exquisite.

She admonished herself for daydreaming
of things she would never see. A ball at Hardwicke House? With her
presence? Grace pushed the thought as far aside as she could
manage.

As they pulled to a stop before the
structure, a tall man dashed out. Was it him? Could it be Lord
Alexander? Tingles of pleasure and trepidation coursed through her
body and the air around her felt alive. But before she could
determine his identity, he was gone.

“
Gracie, are you ready
dear?” Her uncle held out a hand to her from the street, where both
he and her aunt already stood.

Before she could respond,
she snapped shut her jaw. She must remain composed. “Yes, of
course.” She allowed Uncle Laurence to hand her down from the
carriage and to lead her to the entryway of the glorious house. The
house she wanted anything but to draw nearer to. The house she most
certainly did
not
want to enter. Her legs propelled her forward, but she felt
almost as though she were floating, as though her body had taken
over since her mind wouldn’t quite cooperate.

Perhaps that had been one
of his brothers. Or perhaps it was him, and his leaving meant she
wouldn’t have to face him. Facing just his family would be enough
of a trial. If only she could decide whether she
wanted
the man to be him
or not. This indecisiveness might be the death of her.

Before she could make up her mind,
they were being escorted into the house and led through stately
hallways until they arrived at a dining room. A lovely dining room.
Perhaps the most beautiful dining room she had ever seen, filled
with silk fabrics hanging over the windows and covering the
furnishings, in rich colors that beckoned to her, and a huge table
that would easily seat fifty people without batting an
eye.

Of course it was also filled with
people. Her head was still in a fog, and she found it difficult to
concentrate or to look at these strangers and determine who they
were and if any of them happened to be Lord Alexander.