His Perfect Game (30 page)

Hearing shuffling in the next room, he turned as the woman of his thoughts entered. She looked delectable wearing a green muslin gown offering an impressive display of breasts. The dress hugged her perfect curves, making it very clear she wore no armor underneath. If only he could get her to remove those glasses and forgo the hair powder.

“Good morning, my lord.” Her stiff voice betrayed nothing of their encounter last night.

“Good morning. You look exceptionally lovely today.”

Her eyes narrowed, then quickly turned to the sidebar. He wondered how this could be the same person who had left his bedchamber only hours before with the glow of pleasure tinting her cheeks. Then he realized it was not. She didn’t intend to tell him the truth.

Anger dissolved his enjoyment of the day as he watched her fill her plate and take her seat. She appeared to be intentionally ignoring him, but he refused to be treated thus.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, arching a brow.

She dropped her fork, color rising high on her cheeks. “Not particularly, you?”

He bit back a grin as she squeaked out that last word. “I can’t complain.”

“How wonderful for you.” She turned back to her breakfast, but didn’t eat. Instead, she spread the contents of the plate around as if searching for a lost earring.

As he watched her, she squirmed in her seat, restless. When she tugged at her dress, trying to inch the top higher, he wanted to laugh. As if she could hide her body from him. Last night he’d seen every glorious inch, and he would not forget it.

“Is there something in particular you want?” she demanded when the silence stretched.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her exactly what he wanted, but stopped himself. If she wanted to play the part of outraged wife, he would let her, for now. But these games grew tiresome, and he was quickly losing his taste for the charade altogether.

“You’ll have to be more specific. There are many things I want.”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“Have you neglected to check your reflection this morning? I believe the better question would be, How can I stop looking at you?”

Her face tinted red, but his words only seemed to anger her. He wondered why wives didn’t come with instructions. She wanted too many conflicting things from him, forcing his choice to be wrong no matter what he did.

“Please excuse me, my lord. I have duties to attend to today.”

With that, she stood and left the room. Knowing he would have a frustrating day ahead of him, he abandoned his meal and instead went to the study.

Barry sat in his customary spot working on the books. Knowing the task would not give him enough of a distraction, Greyson could not force himself to greet his steward. Settling in his chair, he edged his correspondence forward, preferring to begin with something less mundane.

An hour later, he’d tired of the work. He longed for a ride to clear his head, but knew the images would not leave him alone. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. How could a day with such a promising beginning take such a wide turn for the worst?

Opening his eyes, the subject of his torment stood at the door. She held a feather duster and a mischievous smile. The sight of his wife having to work in his house angered him. If she’d told him the truth last night, they could still be in bed. Not here with her toiling as he helplessly watched.

“My lord, Mrs. Coushings has requested I dust this room. May I come in?” she asked, sliding her gaze to Barry.

“Certainly.”

If she wished to work in front of him, he would bear it. But what had he done for her to treat him like this? Knowing she wanted a reaction from him, he kept his head down on his books, but his eyes constantly strayed.

Her lack of knowledge about dusting was obvious, but he didn’t care. When she reached up to work on higher places, he enjoyed the sight of the material pulling tight against her breasts. He caught a glimpse of Barry watching her as well and wanted to kill the man.

“Barry.” His harsh tone caused his steward to jump. “I’m in need of a break. Why don’t we continue this later? Then she will be able to do her job in peace.”

“At once.” Barry stood, obviously flustered. “When would you like to resume?”

“This afternoon.”

After nodding, the man quickly gathered his books. To his credit, he didn’t even glance in Abigail’s direction as he left the room.

With Barry gone, Greyson didn’t try to hide his interest in Abigail as she worked. He remained seated, but his eyes focused on the temptress in front of him. As she moved about the room, it became apparent she meant to tease him. Her unnecessary movements had her bending down to reach lower shelves or stroking the binding of the books.

All the while, she tossed looks at him over her shoulder. Her sensual smile alone proved to hold power over his body. His breathing increased when she crossed the room to run her duster over the back of the door as it clicked shut. Her purpose for being here clearly wasn’t innocent.

Her actions confused him more. Judging by her angry reaction to his flirtation this morning, he had no idea how to act. Did she expect him to go to her? Deciding to wait, he watched her ministrations on his books.

“Did Mrs. Coushings really send you in here?”

“I resent your insinuation that I don’t follow directions. She mentioned the necessity of seeing to this room. I merely chose a time most convenient for me.”

“I see. Please don’t let me get in the way of you doing your job.”

“I don’t intend to.”

She continued wiping at the shelves as she drew closer to his desk. Although she confused him, he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of watching her. Anticipation slowly built up within him. As her moves deliberately enticed him, his member swelled. He was ready to end this.

“My desk,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “My desk needs a thorough cleaning.”

She stopped dusting the lower shelf, gracefully pulling her body erect. As she sauntered toward him, her smile held triumph. He didn’t care that he’d played into her hands. His body burned too much to wait in the hope she would eventually come to him.

When she bent forward to wipe at his immaculate desk in an openly provocative manner, Greyson dug his fingers into the arms of the chair in an attempt to remain still. Setting her hands on the desk, she leaned even further down, thrusting her breasts out. He wished she were still wearing the dress from breakfast, not this prim maid’s costume. The mental image proved too much for him.

Jumping up, he practically ran across the room to lock the door. Obviously his wife didn’t want to acknowledge him as her husband, but she was more than willing to continue their relationship under the guise of a maid. Considering she waited only a few feet away with the plan to seduce him, he could not complain.

The satisfying sound of the lock sliding into place increased his heart rate. He had her to himself. Turning to survey his prey, he smiled. Until she trusted him with her secret, he would allow things to continue as they were.

His eyes focused on her as he stalked forward.

Abigail sat ridged in her chair, almost afraid to breathe. Knowing her father would soon be there made the blood freeze in her veins. The clock ticked by, giving her the urge to check her hair again. Since her father had seen her natural color years before, he would more readily notice if Sandra didn’t apply enough powder, whereas her husband had nothing to compare it to. Readjusting her armor, which now felt foreign to her, she forced her nerves aside.

She looked up as Greyson sat beside her. He smiled down at her and took her hand. Seeing him smile so readily still surprised her. The past week with him would have been perfect if she could have spent it as one person.

Although keeping up the deception took a toll on her, she’d passed the point where she could confess to him with little-to-no repercussions. Greyson continued to be kind to her as both Lady Merrick and the maid, but he still had no idea they were the same woman.

“Don’t be anxious.” He squeezed her hand. “They will be here soon.”

She nodded, not having the desire to correct his assumption. Over the course of their marriage, she realized she had been wrong about her husband’s character. He was nothing like her father. Knowing that, she worried over his reaction if he discovered how her life had been in her father’s house.

When her parents finally arrived, her nerves were shot. As she stood to greet them, she automatically dropped back a few paces behind her husband and trained her gaze on the floor.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace and Your Grace,” Greyson welcomed in a comfortable tone. “I trust your journey was agreeable.”

“Not at all,” her father complained, clapping Greyson on the back. “But here we are. Come, I need a drink.”

Greyson’s smile faded as he glanced back at her. It was apparent he didn’t know the duke very well. Abigail could not bring herself to feel sorry for him. He’d been the one to form an alliance with her father in the first place.

“Certainly.” Her husband’s emotionless mask returned after having been gone for a week. “Ladies, we will leave you to catch up.”

After the men left, her mother raised her eyes and offered a weak smile. Abigail sat and indicated she do the same. Her mother appeared frailer than before. At one time Abigail believed her mother to have achieved the lowest point her body could bear, but she had been wrong.

“I can’t say how pleased I was when the duke received Lord Merrick’s invitation. Although your letters helped immensely, being able to see you is a true gift.” Her mother patted her on the back of her hand.

“I agree. It’s wonderful to see you, too. Have you been well?”

“Yes.” Her mother’s eyes didn’t meet hers as she obviously lied about how the duke had been treating her. “And your husband? Has he continued to be kind?”

“He has. I found a very good match with him.”

“I can’t say how glad I am to hear it. To know you have been spared . . .” Her voice cracked as her body crumpled with sobs.

The sight broke Abigail’s heart. Fighting tears herself, she put her arms around her mother’s bony shoulders. They clung to each other as the tears ran their course. In all the years suffering at the duke’s hand, Abigail had never known her mother to have such a breakdown.

Abigail sat back once her mother calmed down. It was apparent the situation with her father had deteriorated. Something had to be done. Seeing her mother’s hand shake as she wiped it over her eyes hit her with a hard realization. Her mother would not survive much more abuse.

Before Abigail could say anything to her mother about leaving the duke, the men returned. Her father appeared irritated but relaxed, whereas Greyson still wore his mask. Crossing the room, her husband took a seat beside her.

“Two more carriages have been spotted. I suspect our other guests will be arriving any moment,” Greyson explained.

Suppressing the urge to smile at the news, Abigail’s eyes rested on her mother’s unchanged expression. There were no signs of her earlier emotions. Moving her gaze to the duke, Abigail was surprised by the anger on his face.

No one must have informed him of Braiden’s intention to visit Merrick. Although she worried over her brother’s punishment for not telling their father himself, the fact Braiden finally made his own decisions thrilled her.

When the carriages arrived, Braiden entered the drawing room with Lady Tabitha and her mother, Lady Lorrian. Then to Abigail’s surprise, Julia and Winston came in behind them. Joy welled up inside of her. Everyone she loved had made the journey to see her.

Feeling her husband’s gaze upon her, she turned and read no surprise in the depths of his eyes. He had known. He had invited them for her. She would have to remember to thank him later.

An upsetting thought crossed her mind. With the additional guests, she didn’t know if she would be able to play the part of the maid any longer.

Her throat clogged with emotion. How would she survive a month without being able to spend private time with her husband? She didn’t want to get caught, but she refused to stop seeing him. How would he react if she confessed her duplicity? Would he be pleased or angry? She shook her head. No. She would have to continue as she had been.

After everyone settled and enjoyed a brief rest from the journey, Abigail took Julia and Lady Tabitha for a walk through the garden. The two mothers had decided to stay behind in the drawing room while the young ladies spent time together.

“Lady Tabitha, has my brother spent much time in London?”

“Please call me Tabitha.” She tucked a strand of her deep auburn hair behind her ear. “Yes. The duke encourages him to stay away from London, so Lord Hauney purchased his own townhouse.”

“Uncle Hammond was mighty unhappy that day,” Julia added somberly.

“Good. Braiden needs to start acting like his own man and make decisions for himself. I don’t care what my father thinks about that. It’s the truth.”

Tabitha hung her head. “It’s my fault. The duke does not approve of me. I don’t know why. My father is an earl, and I have always presented myself in order to honor my family.”

Abigail heard the misery and exasperation in the girl’s voice. Eying her neatly styled red hair, Abigail wondered why her father didn’t care for the color. Tabitha’s hair was more of a deep red, where her own resembled orange flames. Considering the difference in the two shades, she could not understand her father’s problem with Tabitha.

“Don’t concern yourself over it. The only person’s opinion you have to worry about is Braiden’s.” Abigail, having experience with the hurtful comments from her father, lightly touched the girl’s shoulder.

“Besides, Uncle Hammond will change his opinion once you are part of the family.”

Although Abigail knew Julia’s assurance wasn’t true, she didn’t have the heart to tell the girl. One thing was certain however, Tabitha needed to do something about her hair. Unfortunately, telling her would raise too many questions Abigail didn’t want to answer.

“Until then, it would be best if you were to avoid him unless you are with Braiden,” Abigail suggested.