A Lot Like a Lady (24 page)

He stalked to his desk and dropped into the chair, still surprised how angry he’d become when Regina had stated her intent to dismiss Juliet. Of course she deserved to be let go. And he certainly had every right to be infuriated at the girl. She had lied to him, made a fool of him before all of London… Made him love her.

Love her…

No.
Grey scrubbed a hand over his face as though to dislodge the notion from his mind. He simply didn’t want to see the chit punished for helping her friend. Most especially not when his actions had caused Annabella to concoct such a plan in the first place. His heart, however…

Dread settled in the pit of Grey’s belly, spiraling up to squeeze his chest as he waited for his summons to be answered. He should have put off his demand for an explanation until he had his anger in check, but nothing would lessen the stinging bite of being lied to.

She’s taking too long.

Restless, he stood again and paced to the window. The draperies remained pulled back to let in the light. He stared through the glass, seeing not the busy street outside but countless images of the past few weeks as they floated through his mind. The breeze lifting Magpie’s hair as she sat atop his devil of a horse… her eyes flashing fiery frustration as she’d learned to dance… the way her golden eyes reflected the fire racing through his veins…

He squeezed his eyes shut. He had to erase those pictures. But they waltzed across his memory in fine detail. Magpie… parading around the museum with childlike glee as she accused him of paroxysms of fury. She’d thought she’d seen him in a fury? She had no idea the rage he could feel… did feel.

It had been obvious the imposter was not his stepsister. Bore very little resemblance to her, as a matter of fact. And had he not let lust for a beautiful woman interfere with his good sense and judgment, he would have returned her to Wyndham Green and demanded an accounting from her, his stepsister, and his stepmother for their actions.

And those aunts. They’d been quite apparent in their intent that he take an interest in their “niece” almost from the start. He should have sat them down when he’d noticed and inquired as to their motives.

But he’d known. Even from the beginning, he’d been aware he likely would be unhappy with any answers he managed to get, so he hadn’t delved too deeply.

He had no one to blame but himself for being made a fool. She’d woven a spell, set a trap, and he’d tumbled right on in.

Because you wanted to. You wanted
her
…

But he
had
made it clear he didn’t believe her to be Annabella for one second. If not from the moment she arrived, certainly from the night of the dinner party he had thrown for her — or rather Annabella. And he
had
asked her a time or two who she really was.

But you never put any real effort into learning the chit’s identity, did you?

Not even when Jon had confirmed his suspicions had Grey pursued the matter.

You didn’t want to know…

A hackney slipped along the street, moving slower than normal for a hired carriage. Would he be able to do it? Would he be able to put her in a carriage and send her away?

Grey sighed and turned from the window. His face burned at the memory of Regina’s announcement:
“
This is my daughter’s maid.”

He’d been embarrassed for Magpie… mortified for himself. The
ton
would tear her to shreds and him along with her. He scrubbed his face with his hands. It was an impossible situation. He stopped his motion and slowly dropped his hand as a current of truth edged into his rumination.

Could he really be
more
perturbed at Regina for her innocent revelation that Juliet was a servant than he was at the girl for her deceit?

“Ridiculous!” He strode to his desk. He’d needed to know the truth. Juliet should have informed him herself. Then he could have…

Could have… What? Offered her a position on his staff in London? Given her a townhouse near Cheapside and visited her to scratch his urges?

Absurd
. Best it all stopped now. With her return to Wyndham Green.

Grey allowed his restless feet to once again carry him to the window.

Juliet.

He sighed. The name fit her.

“Excuse me, your grace.”

Grey jerked around to see his butler hovering in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“What is it, Higgins?” Grey turned his back on the window.

“I do apologize, your grace, but m’lady asked that I give you this.” His voice shook as he spoke, revealing a raw edge of emotion Grey had never heard from the man before.

Higgins laid the slim wooden box on the desk. The case that held his mother’s pearls. Grey clenched his fingers, resisting the urge to punch his hand through the window. So she thought to avoid him? Refuse his summons? Well, he would just go to her.

He stalked to the desk and plucked up the container without stopping.

“I’m sorry, your grace, but she’s gone.”

Grey halted, whipped around, and glared at the servant. “I beg your pardon? Gone?”

“Yes, sir.”

Fist clenched around the jewelry case, Grey marched back to Higgins. He forced calm into his voice. “Where did she go?”

“I’m… not certain, your grace. She wouldn’t say.” Higgins lowered his gaze.

A raging fire boiled through Grey’s veins and erupted. “You allowed her to leave at this late hour, alone, without telling me?”

Higgins barely flinched. “Of course not, your grace. I sent Sam Foster, the footman, to ensure the lady remains safe. He will see she is unharmed.”

Relief soothed the fire. At least she wasn’t on the London streets alone. The burn slowly chilled until ice gripped his heart.

So this was her answer. To run. To show little care for her deplorable actions and avoid the consequences. And his own servants had apparently helped her do it.

“Get out!” He snapped as he rounded his desk. When the butler just continued to stand with his head bowed, Grey’s control shattered. “Higgins!”

The man jumped. “Begging your pardon, your grace. There seems to be…” He bent down then stood, holding a sheet of folded paper in his hand. “This was lodged in the paneling of your desk.” The butler laid the paper on the desk. After a final bow, he hurried out the door.

With a muttered curse, Grey raked his hands through his hair. He snatched the page from his desk and started to crumple it up when he noticed writing on it… in an unfamiliar hand. Curious, he sank into his chair and started to read.

…never meant to hurt you… trying to protect Annabella… I am truly sorry for my deceit…

A blanket of numbness settled over Grey. He tossed the missive on the desk then rubbed his forehead. Reaching out a finger, he traced the letters on the paper.
Splendid. Another person I care about leaving me nothing but written words to say goodbye.
His finger stopped, hovered over the page.

The next words blurred and Grey traced the two round splotches of long dried tear stains. His heart gave him an unwelcome wrench at the picture of her crying while she had penned the note.

Blast it all! No!
That was part of her allure. Rather than the sheen of hardened veneer, she had a peculiar vulnerability that made him want to hold her in his embrace and keep the rest of the world at bay. He wouldn’t allow the fact that she’d shed a few tears to lessen his annoyance.

Juliet had been encouraged to read his books. She came to the study frequently to retrieve or return a book. When had she left the note? And why in such an odd place? How long had the note been lodged in the desk?

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and his mind flashed to the evening he’d received the message from his brother, when she’d slipped into his study and been surprised to find him there.

“Perhaps I should just call you Grey,”
she’d whispered that night before he’d come within inches of taking her on his desk. Grey’s eyes flew open, the memory so real he thought he might have really heard her. But he was alone and he let his memory carry him back again.

That day… when they’d gone to the museum… when he’d kissed her… and asked for her real name. She’d come to his study that evening for a reason and he’d not given her the chance to accomplish what she’d been about. He rubbed his jaw. No. Indeed he’d set upon her like some sort of feral rutting beast. And what had she done? Nothing more than offer him comfort in his distress.

Grey slapped his hand against the top of his desk. And what would have come of
that?
Had she been scheming even then? Would she have turned up a year later with a child claiming it was his? Demanding he acknowledge his heir? He crumpled the letter and aimed for the fire but hesitated, then smoothed the paper and slid it into his top desk drawer. Even now, he couldn’t — quite eliminate all trace of her.

Slumping back in his chair, Grey closed his eyes again and let the pain wash over him. He wanted to hate her — needed to. But his heart would have to heal from the rend she’d put in it first.

At the whisper of the study door being pushed open again, Grey ground his teeth. Shuffling footfalls over the carpet approached the desk. Could no one leave him in peace?

Grey sighed and spoke without opening his eyes. “I do not wish to be disturbed, Higgins. Please see to it I am left alone.”

“I do beg your pardon, my boy.” Lucien cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I should be securing transport to Gretna Green for myself and my lovely bride-to-be.”

Grey popped his eyes open, leaned forward, and fixed his uncle with a stony stare. “Have you asked for the lady’s hand?”

Lucien nodded eagerly.

“She’s accepted?”

Again his uncle nodded.

“Then I shall secure a special license for you and we will have a quiet ceremony here.” Grey sighed, suddenly feeling the burden of his responsibilities even heavier than before, though the Lord knew Lucien and Harmony deserved one another. “Now please, Lucien, leave me in peace.”

“Certainly, nephew… er…” He lingered with his hand on the door.

“What is it?” Grey held his temper in check with difficulty.

“Well, it’s only… will your lady be returning in time to attend with you?”

Grey clutched the edge of his desk to keep from crossing the room and throttling his uncle. “I do not
have
a lady, Lucien. Therefore, I shall likely attend alone.”

Inviting one of the respectable ladies of the
ton
to his eccentric uncle’s scandalous nuptials was out of the question. Besides, it wasn’t one of
those
ladies he longed for.

Lucien grunted but made no move to leave. At his feet, Percy whined and began to scratch himself. “I say then, why don’t you follow after her and bring her home?”

A harsh laugh escaped Grey’s lips and he pushed to his feet, intent upon ejecting Lucien from his study physically if need be. “Because, Uncle Lucien, the
lady
in question is not, in fact, a lady. She never was, and she has left in disgrace. She was simply not — not who she claimed to be. She wasn’t Annabella.”

Lucien appeared puzzled as he scratched his jaw. “Why would you think she was Annabella?”

“Because she said she was.” Grey slapped his palm on the desk.

Percy stopped scratching his hindquarters and subjected Grey to a low growl. Then he began to chew his front paw.

“She did?” Lucien cocked his head to one side. “Dang me if I remember the chit saying her name was Annabella.”

Grey curled his lip. “Maybe she
didn’t
say her name was Annabella, but she—” 

“Well then, did you ask
her
for her name?” Lucien puffed out his chest.

“Of course I did!” How was it Lucien knew exactly where to poke and prod to irritate him the most?

”And what did she say?”

Grey opened his mouth to answer then snapped it closed. His mind drifted back to the night before at the masquerade ball. They’d danced and danced. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from claiming a kiss. And he’d begged her to reveal her real name.

“Juliet,” she’d answered.

“Well, boy, what did the girl tell you when you asked?”

A chill washed over Grey and he heaved a deep sigh. “The truth, Lucien. She told me the truth.”

Lucien shook his head slowly and made to leave. He then halted and turned to face Grey. “Boy, do you know why I named my dog after the Marquess of Clareborne Pool?”

Grey brought his hand up to rub his eyes. He had to stop that infernal twitching. “I can only imagine you did it for the same reason you do everything — to shock people.”

His uncle snorted. “You would think that.” He shook his head. “No, I named him after Perceval because I respect the man… he’s one of the most noble people I know. Why I remember one time—”

Grey let out an exasperated sigh.

Lucien waved his hand. “Yes yes, of course… never mind about that. What I’m trying to say is that they might have the same name, but Percy is still a dog and the marquess is every bit an aristocrat.”

The dog stopped chewing his paw, stood, and stared at his hindquarters. Then he bent himself nearly in half and began chewing at an area just in front of his tail.

Grey rolled his eyes. “Your
point,
Lucien?” he nearly growled.

His uncle stood up taller, stuck his nose in the air. “The point is that a name is just that — a name. And a title is just that — a title. It’s what you do with it that matters. That girl might not be of noble birth, but a more genteel lady I’ve never met.”

Grey raked his hands through his hair and cursed. “But she’s still a
servant
.” And she’d lied about it.

Lucien’s mouth fell open. “A… you… I…” He scratched his chin and then shook his head. Grey wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn his uncle mumbled a few pithy words under his breath. When he finally lifted his eyes, anger flashed in their depths. “Better to be a servant that a fool — which is exactly what
you
are if you don’t go after her. She is the
best
thing that has ever happened to you.”