Page 38 of What A Rogue Wants
Grey had to forget Madelaine and what could happen and concentrate on what was about to occur. “What am I trying to learn about Constance?”
“Where she’s from and how old she is.”
“Simple.” Grey smiled grimly into the darkness.
“Not as simple as you might think. She’s unusually tight-lipped. It took me these last few days to find out where Constance is from and how old she is. If you fail to tell Pearson the answer when he arrives at the tavern, then it’s back to training for the both of us. WithPearsonas our trainer.” Gravenhurst abruptly stopped and pulled up his jacket and shirt sleeve. “See this?”
Grey squinted in the dark night. “No.”
Gravenhurst grabbed Grey’s hand and shoved it against his arm. “Do you feel that scar?”
Running his fingers down the length of a raised, knotty line, Grey nodded. “What happened?”
“Pearson happened. The man is worse than both of us at not making dangerous contact with his dagger during training. He damn near killed me when he trained me. So, make sure your head is clear ofalldistractions.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re sure?”
He was still worried about not making an appearance in his aunt’s apartments, but Gravenhurst was right. He had to block out all of the distractions. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. “I’m ready.”
“Not to drag your thought back to Lady Madelaine, but have you carefully thought about what pursuing her means? Do you realize of six of us only one—your father—is married?”
He’d realized it. But he hadn’t thought much about it until now. “Madelaine’s father was married as well.”
“True enough. But he felt he had to marry for the sake of an heir. From what I’ve been told anyway. Her parents’ marriage wasn’t a love match. It was convenience and mutual respect. I don’t think the woman was ever a weakness for him.”
“Your point makes no sense. His enemies could have still gotten to him because of her.”
“True,” Gravenhurst agreed. “But it’s easier to think logically if love isn’t involved. He didn’t love his wife. But his daughter…”
Grey understood without Gravenhurst finishing. “Madelaine is his weakness.”
“I think so.” Gravenhurst bounded across the grass toward the stables. “He’s acted strange lately, and my theory is it’s her. He wants to marry her off, so if something should happen to him, she’s taken care of.”
Grey paused. What if something should happen to him, and he and Madelaine were married. She’d be left alone. Vulnerable to his enemies. No. He frowned. She’d be surrounded by his family. They’d protect her. Was it fair to drag her into this life he had chosen? Was this the cost of being a spy—living with guilt and fear for those you loved or living with loneliness? He’d just have to get used to constant guilt and fear. He didn’t think he could let her go to another, unless she didn’t want him. “If things should work out between the lady and me, I’m Stratmore’s perfect solution.”
After Grey and Gravenhurst mounted the horses the stable master had readied for them, Gravenhurst led them into the dark night. He turned in his saddle to look at Grey. “I don’t think Stratmore will consider you a solution. In fact, he might consider your interest in Lady Madelaine a problem. I know I would if I had a daughter.”
Grey gripped his reins. He thought he knew what Gravenhurst meant, but he had to know for certain. “What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t want any daughter of mine marrying a man I knew to be a spy. I wouldn’t want her bound to someone engaged in life-threatening work, who would be forced to lie to her the rest of their lives. Would you?”
He tensed in his saddle, his fingers curling around his reins so tight, the leather of his gloves bit into his skin. No, he wouldn’t like or want a daughter of his to be married to a man who lied to her. But it was too late. He wanted Madelaine. He suspected he was beginning to truly care for her. And his father had made marriage work, so he could too.
He pushed the unwelcome doubts away and signaled his horse into a gallop. If they made excellent time, and he completed this latest assignment quickly, he could get back to catch Madelaine before she left his aunt’s apartments. The only problem he foresaw was coming up with a believable explanation for what had detained him. But if he ended up married to Madelaine, he would probably have to lie to her many times, so he needed to welcome the challenge, even if the idea of lying to her sat like a ball of lead in the pit of his stomach.
The more Grey’s aunt and sister carried on about how unpardonably rude Grey was, the more Madelaine’s embarrassment grew. She pressed a gloved hand to her warm cheek. She had to get out of Helen’s apartments and escape to the privacy of her own bedchamber where she could wallow in self-pity. She would have inhaled a deep, calming breath, but her stays prohibited it. The minute she was alone she was going to rip them off and burn them in the fire. It was too bad she couldn’t get rid of Grey with the same efficiency. To think she’d dressed with extra care tonight to impress him. She hated stays. And never wore the dratted things, but she’d wanted to show her figure in the most pleasing light. What a silly fool she was.
Elizabeth touched Madelaine’s arm. “Maybe Grey’s equerry training detained him again. I didn’t see him at dinner.”
“No, it wasn’t that.” Madelaine forced herself to look up and prayed her misery didn’t show on her face. Helen and Elizabeth exchanged a quick look. So much for disguising her unhappiness. Her throat and nose burned with the unshed tears of humiliation. “When the queen switched the dinner seating tonight, I ended up by Lord Pearson. And when I didn’t see Grey at dinner, I inquired whether his equerry training was over. Lord Pearson said it better be because the last he’d seen Lord Grey and Lord Gravenhurst, they were headed to the Merry Tavern.”
Her throat felt too thick to continue talking, but she swallowed and stood. “He said nothing else to me, of course. But Lord Thorton, the wretched man, spoke so loudly to Lord Pearson I heard him say the Merry Tavern will indeed make a man merry with its abundance of mead and willing wenches.”
“Oh, dear.” Helen rose and wrapped her arm around Madelaine’s shoulder.
Madelaine’s nose tickled unmercifully. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to be a blithering child. She’d opened her heart to a known rake and he had trod on it. “I wish I didn’t have such excellent hearing. I heard every word.”
