Page 80 of The Lady's Last Mistake
Grant chucked the lens into a drawer and slammed it shut. He sent Hannah a baleful stare. “No.”
The rumors she referred to were the inevitable aspersionsbeing cast against Cassie’s character for her overnight stay at Lindstrom House. It did not matter if Mother Nature had given them no other choice, or that his entire family had also been required to stay the night. Hell, had Cassie had a bed made up in the entrance hall and been guarded all night by half a dozen footmen, there would still be whispers about Grant ruining her.
The problem was that the rumors were utterly true.
Of a fashion, at least.
“They say you must propose,” Hannah said. “Or that you already have.” She tried not to sound very interested, but he knew her too well.
There had been a time after he’d stopped actively mourning her older sister when she had soured toward him. The rumors of his lascivious behavior had reached her, and she’d told him it might be best if she resigned her post. They’d had a frank discussion, where he’d explained he would not be taking another wife, but he also would not be living a sad and celibate life. Grant promised not to flaunt women in front of her, and she’d given him a second chance. It had worked, and over the years, she’d loosened up considerably.
But some member of his family—most likely the marquess himself—had fed the betrothal news to the gossips, and the rumor was quickly tangling itself up with another rumor—that he’d ruined the lady.
Pangs of conscience locked up inside his chest, and he stepped away from his desk. “I have not proposed,” he told Hannah. It was the truth. After a bracing breath, he exhaled, and then told Hannah everything about the courtship scheme. About the marquess’s demands and ultimatums,and how he’d used Cassie to put off his father, at least for a little while.
Used Cassie. A slick twist of his gut accompanied those words as they came out of his mouth, Hannah’s puckering expression increasing. When at last, he’d finished explaining, Grant held out his arms in defeat. “So, no, the rumors that we are betrothed are not true.”
Hannah continued to pucker her brow. “What of the other rumor?”
That he’d ruined her. Grant rubbed his chin, discomfited. “That is a complicated answer.”
“It’s not. The answer is either yes or no.”
He trusted Hannah, but Cassie’s past with Renfry was off limits. He would not attempt to explain it away. If he needed to take responsibility for that, too, he would. “Yes.”
She set her hands on her hips. “And yet you will not marry her?”
“Cassie doesn’t wish to marry,” he replied. “And without going into detail?—”
“I thank you for that,” she muttered with a nauseous grimace.
“She made it more than clearbeforethe fact.”
The corner of her mouth pressed downward, hinting at disbelief. But she moved on. “All right. She doesn’t wish to marry you, and you don’t wish to marry her. So why have you been in such a high dudgeon all week?”
It hadn’t beenallweek. The exhilaration of delivering a baby had stayed with him for at least a few days. Despite his fear, he’d done something he’d firmly believed he would never be able to do again. But Cassie had needed him that night at Hope House; his fear had not. After, when she’dpraised him, he’d reveled in it, while his fear had never given him anything in return but more weight on his soul.
The whispers and printed lies regarding the need for a hasty union between him and Cassie had dulled that exhilaration considerably. A decorous courtship could have gone on for some time. One dogged by rumors of iniquitous behavior, however, could not. Fournier would expect Grant to formally propose tonight, at the dinner. A dinner that he now could not attend. He also could not see Cassie again. The courtship was over.
And to top things off, the previous evening, a message from James had arrived.
“James’s wife has delivered their new child,” Grant said to Hannah now. “A perfectly healthy baby boy. Mother and infant are well,” he added because Hannah would want to know. She liked Vera and James the most out of his family.
Her eyes popped with glee. “A boy! Well then, that is wonderful news. The marquess has his grandson. Surely this means his demands of you are unnecessary.”
Grant took out his fob to check the hour. The afternoon was closing in on five o’clock, when he would shutter the clinic for the rest of the week.
“Yes. Good news. I’m sure the marquess is in raptures and has forgotten entirely that he threatened to see me destitute should I not fall in line.”
The false courtship would have ended anyway, he reminded himself, with or without the chatter about Cassie’s night at Lindstrom House. Everything was always supposed to go back to normal, and now it would. Tonight, Grant would go directly to Lindstrom House after closing the clinic and abolish the betrothal rumors. He’d tell his father thatCassie had cried off when she found him kissing another woman, or some such rubbish. He would believe it, and that was all that mattered.
“Perhaps you should speak to Lady Cass?—”
A few quick knocks on the clinic’s front door bowled over Hannah’s comment. Thank God. No, he could not speak to Lady Cassandra outside of a letter to inform her that she was released from his scheme. She would be pleased. He’d been an arse to her from the start. He’d lied through his teeth too. He’d have never told the duke a thing about Hope House, but how was Cassie to have known? He’d exploited her doubt, and for that, he would likely rot in hell.
Hannah went to open the clinic door and brought in the next patients. Grant’s spirits lifted marginally to see it was Mr. Mansouri and Amir. The boy limped in, but he had a crooked grin on his face as he avidly leaped onto the table.
“We couldn’t make it last week, what with a busy day at the wharves,” Mr. Mansouri said, extending a newspaper-wrapped bundle to Hannah. She was accustomed to taking the offerings some of the prouder patients made in place of money and left to deliver the fresh catch to the kitchen.
