Stroke of Genius (21 page)

“Then you won’t mind if Grace elopes to Gretna
Green with me,” Hawke said. “There’ll be a bit of talk, but it will all blow over once society believes we’ve done the right thing.” He chuckled. “In fact, it’s just the sort of romantic nonsense the
ton
likes to believe of its artists.”

“Perhaps we should let Grace decide.” The marquess extended his hand. “May the better man win.”

“I’ll shake your hand,” Crispin said, matching his actions to his words. “But I cannot second your wish. You see, I know who the better man is. And my only hope is that Grace chooses me anyway.”

When Crispin opened the door, he found the marquess’s mother on the other side. She glared up at Crispin for a moment, obviously noticing the resemblance to her dead husband.

“You, out. Richard, sit. A matter of some delicacy and importance has come up. This changes all.”

Pygmalion began to feel optimistic about his chances, but he should have remembered the Greek tragedies. We carry the seeds of our own destruction within us.

Jasper Washburn stood at the threshold of the ballroom, scanning the crowd. The sooner he found his American cousin and pinned down her acceptance of his offer, the better.

“My lord, there you are.” Lady Sheppleton abruptly left her conversation with Lady Longbotham, who looked relieved to be abandoned.

“I have news,” she declared to Jasper.

“More news? This is indeed a banner day.”

“Quite. We need to speak privately.”

She pulled him to one side, approaching the long row of curtained alcoves that lined one side of the ballroom. He set his feet determinedly before she could drag him into one. The spaces were intended as trysting spots for lovers to snatch a kiss or two, something no man would entertain with Lady Sheppleton unless he was mad as King Geordie.

“This will suffice,” he said. “What is your news?”

“As you know, my agent discovered a wealth of information about Mr. Hawke through a liaison with one of his upstairs maids. Now that Mr. Hawke is not in residence in London, my investigator was able to gain entrance to his home and found something truly
astounding.” She stood tiptoe and whispered the salacious details into his ear.

“You’re sure?”

“It arrived today in the boot of Lord Smelton’s carriage.”

“And you’ve seen it?”

“Of course. I had to make certain of the facts.” A sly glint made her eyes bright. “It’s most scandalous, I assure you. Guaranteed ruin. What would you like me to do with it?”

Jasper ran his tongue over his teeth. Gossip always made his mouth water. Gossip with unequivocal evidence was positively delicious. This little morsel would give him the upper hand in dictating a monstrously generous dowry.

“It depends on my American cousin. Wait till the end of the evening. Then if I give you the word, I want you to present it to Lord Dorset with your compliments. It would be best to leave my name out of matters.”

“And if I do this for you, do I have your word that your sister Mary will accept dear Manfred?”

“You do, indeed.” Jasper cleared his throat.
God forgive me, for Mary never will.
He spotted Grace across the long room, dipping a final curtsey to her dance partner. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with my future bride.”

“Good evening, Grace,” Jasper said. “You’re looking especially lovely this evening.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She fought to keep her attention on the baron before her, but her gaze kept flitting about like a drunken butterfly, searching the room for Crispin. What could be keeping him?

“That last dance was quite an energetic reel,” Jasper
said, bowing over her hand. “Perhaps you’d like to sit for a bit?”

The suggestion was surprisingly thoughtful. She’d been afraid Lord Washburn would press her for a dance. Grace took his arm and he walked her toward the outer wall of the ballroom. But instead of depositing her on a chair along the brocaded wall, he led her into one of the curtained alcoves. Once the heavy velvet dropped behind them, the strains of music were muffled and even the furious buzz of multiple conversations was reduced to a low hum. Moonlight silvered the padded window seat in the small space.

“Really, my lord, I’d be more comfortable on one of the chairs.”

“In good time,” Jasper said. “I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you first.”

Her belly fluttered as she sank onto the tufted cushions. Surely he wasn’t about to—

Her distant cousin dropped to one knee before her and took one of her hands. She was too flummoxed to protest. In practiced tones, he recited his admiration for her, his belief that they were well suited and finished with, “And, of course, your parents will be delighted that you’ll be known after our nuptials as Lady Washburn.”

“Lord Wa—”

“Jasper,” he corrected as he pressed kiss on her hand.

She pulled it out of his grasp. “Jasper, mutual admiration is all well and good.” In truth, she found little to admire in her English cousin, but she decided it would be politic to toss him a bone. “But we’ve hardly spoken more than half a dozen sentences to each other. How can you possibly know we’re well suited?”

“How does the sparrow know how to fly?” he said grandly.

“With a good deal of trial and error, I believe,” Grace said. “I have no wish to merely hope for success on an enterprise as important as marriage.”

“Spoken like the practical girl you are. I should have known romantic gestures are lost on Bostonians.” Jasper rose from his kneeling position to sit beside her. “Very well, let us speak plainly. I have need of a baroness to serve as my hostess. And, of course, one must be mindful that with privilege comes responsibility. I must produce an heir for Burnside one day.”

Grace swallowed hard. The heart-stoppingly intimate things she and Crispin had done together sizzled through her. The thought of doing them with Jasper instead made her want to retch.

“And there has never been any doubt that you want a title,” he went on as if Grace weren’t about to be sick beside him. “Let us help each other.”

“Since you’ve made no mention of it, I assume my dowry isn’t important to you,” she said archly.

“There’s no need for you to concern your head with such things.” An oily smile tugged at his lips. “That’s a matter for your father and I to discuss once he’s been apprised of all pertinent facts.”

“Such as?”

He shook his head. “No, Grace. Some things are best left to the men to sort out.”

“I do not require ‘sorting out,’” she said stonily.

“How you’ve missed the point! All I meant was you need not trouble yourself with anything but fittings for your trousseau. I will take care of the arrangements.”

“No.”

“Well, if you want to be involved in procuring the license and posting the banns, I suppose—”

“No,” she repeated. “My answer is no, Cousin. I will not marry you.”

“I would advise you to reconsider.” His voice had a sharp edge she’d never heard from him before.

“There is no need,” she said firmly. “I do not love you. You do not love me. It would be foolish in the extreme for us to marry.”

“Love has very little to do with such a decision,” he informed her.

“Perhaps for you.” She rose, preparing to leave. “You’re right about Bostonians waving off romantic gestures, but we are practical enough to know love is essential. I thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept it.”

He grasped her wrist as she started to leave, his grip so tight it was painful. “You will regret this, Grace.”

“You’ve just given me reason not to. Now, release my arm or I will scream loudly enough to be heard in the next shire,” she promised, willing her voice to remain steady while her heart thumped wildly. “Wouldn’t that give the men something to ‘sort out’?”

Once Grace pushed through the thick curtain, she drew a relieved breath. She’d thought Jasper Washburn a sedate, even-tempered fellow. When crossed, he’d shown a quietly vicious side. She wondered how his sister bore living with him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Grace made a mental note to ask her parents if Mary could come for an extended stay in Boston.

Whether Grace returned home with them or not.

She made her way across the long space to put some distance between herself and the alcove where she’d left Jasper brooding. She nodded and smiled a false little cat’s smile to each person she passed, as her mother would want her to do. Crispin still wasn’t in the ballroom.

She pushed back the curtains on another alcove and looked out over the stables and duck pond to the place
where the land fell away and Crispin’s cottage was tucked under the hillock. If he didn’t come, she might have to sneak out of the grand house again this night.

“That’s my favorite view, too,” a rumbling voice said from behind her.

She turned, expecting Crispin, and was surprised to find Lord Dorset instead. She was looking for Crispin so hard, the marquess’s voice had sounded remarkably like his to her ears.

“Your home is lovely,” she said politely.

“And usually very quiet.” He eyed Lady Sheppleton with a raised-brow expression that reminded Grace of Crispin as well. “Blast! Here she comes again. Do you mind if we step in here and close the curtain?”

Without waiting for Grace’s answer, Dorset did just that.

“My lord—”

“Richard,” he corrected, putting a finger to her lips as Lady Sheppleton passed by on the other side of the curtain, talking loudly so as to be heard over the music. Grace pitied whomever she’d cornered into taking a turn around the room with her.

Richard released a sigh and indicated with a hand gesture that Grace should sit.

“Do you mind if we bide here for a while? I’m not normally the type to declare retreat, but that woman has been plaguing me for that last quarter hour over some grand ‘gift’ she wishes to present to me at the end of the festivities,” Richard said. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, but the best gift Lady Sheppleton could give me would be her swift departure.”

Grace laughed. “Some people do have that effect on others.”

“You certainly don’t,” he said with a smile. “I have a
reputation for reclusiveness. I’m not the sort to enjoy company at the best of times, but you’re very…restful to be around.”

“Thank you…Richard.” It still felt odd to call a marquess by his Christian name, even though she’d been invited to. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“Not at all.”

They sat in comfortable silence while the dancing and gaiety continued on the other side of the curtain. As the sprightly jig tune ended and the quartet started a more stately gavotte, Richard took her hand.

Oh, no.

“Grace,” he said softly and again she was struck by his voice. If she closed her eyes, he might fool her into thinking he was Crispin.

Or perhaps it was just because she wished he were.

“We do not know each other well, but you have impressed me considerably. I think we share a love of quiet things—fine books, an evenly matched chess game, a ramble in the garden.” He covered her hand with his. It was warm and dry and not at all unpleasant. “You seem happy here.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve enjoyed my brief time at Clairmont,” she said politely. If God sent lightning bolts as the penalty for understatements, she’d be burned to cinders on the spot. The time she spent with Crispin in the little cottage was the most wildly exciting time of her life.

“I believe mutual respect is not an inauspicious beginning for a relationship. One that might have ripened into something far deeper, if given time.”

When he looked at her, his deep-set eyes were tinged with sadness. Surely a prospective bridegroom shouldn’t be melancholy. Perhaps she misread his intentions.

“However, I have made a mistake of monumental proportions.”

She closed her eyes. Had he learned of her night with Crispin? She truly hadn’t meant to hurt this decent man.

“Richard, I hold you in great esteem.” She withdrew her hand from his. “But my affections are already engaged.”

“Hawke,” he said with a grim nod.

Grace blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “A marquess knows everything that happens on his estate.”

“Then you must know I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “And I you. For, you see, my affections are also engaged elsewhere.”

“Really? Who is it?”

“Your cousin Mary. I’ve loved her for years. In fact, we were secretly wed five years ago, but my mother wouldn’t have it. She’s been after the vicar to push through an annulment since the day she heard the news.”

“But you didn’t make your marriage public.”

“No. You must understand. My mother suffered so from my father’s indiscretions, I couldn’t add to her grief by bringing Mary into my home as my wife when Mother was so dead set against the union.” He cast a questioning glance at her. “Do you think me a coward?”

“No, I think you love your indomitable mother.” Grace shrugged. “I understand. I have one of my own.”

“But I wouldn’t ever sign the annulment papers,” he said. “As far as I know, Mary didn’t either.”

“Then you are still husband and wife.”

“Yes, but I’m such a fool. I thought it was because of that damned stallion that I couldn’t—” He snipped off his thought in midstream. “But it was really because I still loved Mary. After all this time, after the way I neglected her, I don’t know if she’ll have me.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Grace said. “She’s on the other side of that curtain. Go talk with her. Tell her how you feel.”

He nodded. “You’re a remarkable woman, Grace Makepeace. Hawke was right about you.”

“About what?”

“Your forthrightness and good sense. You wouldn’t wed one man and bed another,” he said softly, not meeting her gaze.

All the air fled from Grace’s lungs in a whoosh. Crispin had as much as told the marquess they’d been intimate. “Crispin said that?”

“His very words.”

She stood, steeling herself not to tremble. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I believe I need a bit of air.”

“Of course.” He rose as well and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you for a turn around the garden.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need. I’ll be fine by myself and you’re only delaying the inevitable. You need to speak with Mary,” she said with a final curtsey.

Besides, if I should accidentally meet and strangle Crispin Hawke, I’d rather not have a witness.