His Perfect Game (32 page)

As Greyson walked down the hall, he heard angry voices coming from the portrait gallery. Concerned, he changed his direction.

“Because she’s a temptress. Why don’t you see that?” the duke demanded.

“How can you say that? You don’t even know her. I have tried many times to give you an opportunity, but you refuse. Why?” Hauney countered.

“Get to know her? Why would I? I already know her type.”

Greyson knew the men discussed Lady Tabitha. From what he observed, she appeared to be a nice girl. Why would anyone have a problem with her? Regardless, this argument was none of his concern, but he could not allow it to continue in his house. The girl in question might appear at any moment.

“Gentlemen, please lower your voices,” Greyson said, stepping between the two of them. “I don’t think it would be fair to Lady Tabitha if she heard your argument.”

“This is none of your business, Merrick. Stay out of it.” The duke appeared ready to fight.

“You are in my house, and I make the rules. If you want to continue, take it off my property.” Greyson met his unwavering gaze.

The malice in the duke’s face brought out Greyson’s anger. How could a man with so much malevolence inside of him amass such a spotless reputation? Remorse swept over Greyson. His current station in Society had been brought about by this poor excuse for a man. Though finding Abigail had been the highlight of his life.

“That is quite all right. We have nothing more to say to each other,” Hauney spat.

“You will regret your interference, Merrick. Mark my words.”

With that, the duke turned and left. Greyson shook his head, no longer caring. It didn’t even matter if the man ruined his social standing. Greyson paused, realizing it was true. His whole life he’d aspired to be accepted, so this new thinking was abnormal. Over the past weeks, his priorities in life drastically changed. Abigail was now the most important thing to him.

Greyson turned to Hauney. “Do you mind me asking what that was about?”

Hauney shook his head as he crossed the room, then stopped in front of the portraits hanging on the walls. Greyson slowly followed behind him, sensing he wanted to talk.

“As a child, I used to think my father was perfect.” Hauney gave a harsh laugh. “It’s hard discovering your whole life was based on a lie.”

“Simply because he does not approve of your choice of bride does not mean he isn’t a good man.” Although Greyson didn’t believe his own assertion, he couldn’t help but try to ease the man’s suffering. The duke was Hauney’s father, after all.

“Normally I would agree, but not after learning his objection to Lady Tabitha.”

“Which is?”

“The color of her hair.” Hauney snorted. “Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous thing to hold her accountable for?”

Was that why Abigail hid her true hair color? Greyson frowned. His opinion of the duke fell even lower. He could just picture Abigail powdering her hair in a desperate attempt to please her father. His fists clenched. How could the man do that to his daughter?

“Why does he take exception to the color? I find it quite desirable.” Greyson recalled images of Abigail’s red curls cascading over her shoulders.

“Because he feels his father betrayed his mother’s memory by openly taking on lovers with red hair. He blames them for the old duke’s weakness.”

“So the stigma extends to all women with a similar shade?”

“I didn’t say it made sense.” Hauney shrugged. “Abigail used to have red hair, too. She was lucky when it darkened. I don’t think my father could have handled seeing her with it every day.”

“She still has red hair. Your father is probably the reason why she hides it.”

“That is impossible. Her hair has not been red for many years.” Hauney stopped walking and faced Greyson abruptly. “If you are right, she began hiding it as a mere child.”

“I can’t say for sure, but it would not surprise me. The duke does not appear to be overly fond of his daughter. From the moment I proposed marrying Abigail to settle his debts, his attitude toward me changed for the better. He was very encouraging toward the suit and even went as far as securing private time for the two of us.”

Hauney shook his head in disgust. “She deserves a better father. And, come to think of it, a better brother as well. I had no idea.”

“She doesn’t blame you. Actually, she adores you. You should have seen her reaction when I told her I invited you here.” Greyson could not contain his self-satisfied smile as he thought about how she threw herself at him following the news.

This conversation had been very enlightening. The realization she deserved better from him as well struck him. The time had come for him to tell her he knew the truth about her identity. Whatever her reaction, she needed to know his part in her charade.

“I’m glad she has you. I just wish you . . . Wait a second. She has red hair.” Hauney said it like an accusation. “I thought the maid looked overly familiar. Why is my sister dressing like that? You should not have to sneak around to have your wife.”

He cocked his head at Greyson, apparently expecting an answer. Greyson kept his face blank. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing Abigail with her brother. Besides, he didn’t even know the reason behind her choice to act as a servant. However, when he admitted his knowledge to her, he intended to find out. She may not appreciate his deceiving her, but he still deserved an explanation.

“The reason does not matter. Come, let us go seek out our ladies and take them on a walk.”

Hauney nodded, and they exited the portrait gallery. Although they would start their outing with four people, Greyson fully intended it to end in pairs.

“I understand, but I prefer to work in the garden while the guests are here,” Abigail explained to Mrs. Coushings as if the previous ten times didn’t occur. She could not comprehend why the woman insisted on ignoring her wishes when she catered to the other staff members.

“As you have said before. However, you work for Lord Merrick, and he needs the drawing room cleaned. The duke has spilled his brandy on the carpet, and I’m assigning you to the task.”

Abigail felt the blood drain out of her face. Her father? Was it a trick? Did he demand Mrs. Coushings fabricate an excuse to get her in there alone? She would not do it. Sandra or someone else would have to.

“Is the duke still in there?” She tried, but failed to keep the terror from her voice.

“I don’t see why he would be. He approached Matthews to alert him of the accident. Don’t worry, he is a powerful duke. He will not even notice the likes of you.” Mrs. Coushings shook her head then walked away, obviously expecting Abigail to obey.

Taking a deep breath, Abigail calmed herself. The desire to tell that woman exactly who she ordered around overwhelmed her. But nothing good would come of it. The housekeeper probably wouldn’t believe her anyway.

What should she do? Although she knew exactly how much notice her father would take of her, she could not imagine him attempting anything. Not only were they in her husband’s house, but it was the middle of the day.

Gripping the bucket of cleaning supplies in her hand, she slowly made her way to the drawing room. After mentally bracing herself, she quietly stepped inside. Her heart pumped wildly as she surveyed the room. It was empty. Letting out a sigh of relief, she quickly bent down by the overturned glass, desperate to finish her task and escape.

“I knew they would send you,” her father’s slimy voice said as the click of the door closing echoed in the room.

Sweat broke out across her forehead when she realized she was trapped. He stood between her and the closed door. By experience, she knew who was faster. With shaking hands, she ignored him and set back to her task, hoping he would grow disinterested and leave her alone.

When she felt him touch her hair, she jumped to her feet and spun around. He stood inches away. Keeping her gaze fastened on his feet, she slowly backed away.

“Such disgustingly beautiful hair. You have been taunting me with it on purpose, I know. I have seen you around here only giving me glimpses, but I have you now.”

“I . . . I have done no such thing,” she whispered as fear clutched her heart.

“Don’t play that with me. I have seen the games you have played with the viscount. I also know he only puts up with you because he has access to your body.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. “I only want the same privilege.”

Feeling her father’s body up against her made her want to retch. “Father, you can’t. It’s me, Willimena, your daughter.”

He reared back and stared at her, revulsion filling his gaze. His hand on her arm gripped her tighter. She whimpered, unable to contain her pain, but remained motionless while his face displayed his inner battle.

“You are not my daughter. Not any longer, but I’ll still punish you.”

As he raised his hand, she closed her eyes. She heard nothing beyond the blood rushing in her ears. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She could never escape him.

“Get your filthy hands off my wife.” Greyson’s furious voice broke through, filling her with hope. Opening her eyes, she saw her husband coming forward with Braiden at the door. She wanted to run to them, but her father held her tight.

“She isn’t your wife. She is a wh—” His words broke off as Greyson slammed his fist into the duke’s face.

Her father released her as he stumbled backward from the blow. Shrinking down, she cowered in the corner as he caught himself and lunged at Greyson. Her husband was ready and knocked her father down again. This time blood dripped down his nose, and it took him longer to get up.

“You are making a mistake,” her father threatened, his voice breathless. “You will lose your hard-earned reputation for this worthless girl.”

Abigail’s heart stopped as the realization dawned on her. Greyson had finally obtained good social standing, and he would lose it now. Because of her. She could not allow him to give away so much, nor could she let him be forced to decide between something he always wanted and her.

“I don’t care. Now, leave my house. You are not welcome here,” Greyson boomed.

Abigail stared at her husband in shock. His face held anger and not a bit of the regret she knew he felt. How could he give up everything for her?

“My lord,” Matthews said, appearing in the room. “Would you like me to escort him out?”

“I can see to myself,” her father snapped. “You are ruined, Merrick.” His parting remark dripped with malice.

Without acknowledging him, Greyson faced her. “Are you all right?”

In response, she flung herself into his arms, grateful when he wrapped them around her tightly. He’d saved her and had lost everything in return. Joy infused her as she clung to him. She felt whole with him and safe knowing her father could not hurt her anymore.

When her heart rate returned to normal, she lessened her hold and released him. His eyes searched her face as if anxious for something. It only took her a second to realize what he wanted.

He knew her secret.

Judging by his reaction, he had known for some time. Her heart sank. He’d played along with her all this time. Feeling her throat closing, she took a step back from him. She shut her eyes, trying to find her voice.

“How long have you known?” she asked, her words as shaky as her hands.

“Since that first day in your bedchamber.”

Her mouth dropped open. He’d been lying to her for almost two months. This whole time he never let on, simply allowed her to look like a fool. She could not bear to be in his presence any longer. Looking at him hurt too much.

Holding her head high, she walked around him and exited the room. Thinking over their interactions, her face burned. How could he do this to her?

Chapter 19

Greyson lay awake in his bed, not knowing what to do. After Abigail left him so abruptly that afternoon, she never exited her bedchamber. The hurt in her face would forever be etched in his mind. He’d intended to tell her he knew her secret more gently, but the words came out of his mouth without thought when he saw her and the duke in the drawing room.

Anger infused him as he relived that moment. Had he arrived a second later, the duke would have struck Abigail. What had she done to deserve such treatment? In addition, the duke had now put distance between him and his wife. Greyson’s hands itched to wring the man’s neck.

Rolling over onto his side, he fixed his eyes on his wife’s door. He wanted to go to her and learn what she was thinking. Although he understood her taking some time to come to terms with his knowledge, she owned as much guilt as he. She’d knowingly led him to believe she was another woman.

He blinked, for he had been staring at the door so long, he imagined it opening. When the figure appeared, he resisted the urge to pinch himself. She had come to him. Remaining still, he waited until she climbed into his bed.

“Are you awake?” she whispered in the sweet Scottish accent he’d come to love. She sat on the end of the bed, hugging her knees.

“Yes.” He, too, sat up. The moonlight bathed her face, but he could not see well enough to discern much.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew I was your wife?”

“At first, I wanted to find out why you donned the clothes of a maid. Then when we became closer, I waited for you to trust me enough to tell me yourself.”

“I trusted you, but things had gone too far. I didn’t know how to tell you.” She took a deep breath. “I forgive you for not telling me you knew. Can you forgive me for not confessing?”

“Of course I can.” He smiled as her shoulders sagged in relief. “Can you tell me why? I never understood your preference to spend your time working instead of carrying out the duties of my wife.”

Her gaze dropped to the bed as her fingers drew an indecipherable pattern. “When I first arrived at Merrick, making an alternate identity had been the only way for me to be myself. For the first time, I actually felt free. Then after you arrived, I thought I would have to give that up, but you didn’t recognize me. I just wanted my freedom a little longer.”

“You can have your freedom without the disguise. When I ordered you those gowns from Madam Debot, it was my attempt to tell you that. I chose colors to complement your fair skin and red hair.”