Gail Ranstrom – The Missing Heir (страница 12)

“I-is there something you needed, Mr. Hawthorne?”

Her words were a reproach—a dismissal at the very least—and he bristled. “No,” he admitted. “You looked as if you needed a friend.”

She glanced up at him again, little creases forming between her eyes. “I did not mean to be short with you, Mr. Hawthorne. You surprised me. I hadn’t realized you were standing there.”

“I heard a sound when I was passing,” he explained. Their stilted conversation was awkward and he turned to go.

“Mr. Hawthorne, please wait.” She stood and came around the desk to face him. “I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. I fear I am so used to keeping my own counsel that I have become unfit company. Forgive me?”

“Of course.” He’d have forgiven her anything when she looked at him so earnestly. She was close enough that she had to look up to meet his gaze, and he found himself leaning toward her, drawn almost against his will. “Does your brother often affect you in this way?”

“Always, I fear.” She sighed. “He knows just what to say to bring me to a boil.”

He laughed, relaxing. “I gather that is ordinary for brothers.”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. I only have the one, and we have ever been at odds. He thought Papa favored me and has always found ways to make me pay for it.”

“And he has found another way?” Before he could think better of it, he reached out and touched her shoulder. She flinched and then caught her breath on a sob, as if the human touch had been more than she could bear. He’d only meant to comfort her, not devastate her.

She turned her face away and murmured, “I…I am sorry, Mr. Hawthorne. I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

Selfishly, because he wanted to feel her against him, he tugged her into his arms and held her tightly, half expecting her to pull away. Instead she fit against him perfectly. The tension drained from her shoulders and she gave a shaky sigh.

There was something shy and uncertain in her surrender. Grace, for all her composure, was human, after all. He regretted his suspicions. She could not possibly be guilty of murder. “How long has it been, Grace, since someone offered you comfort?” he asked.

“Since…since Mr. Forbush,” she whispered.

“Mr. Forbush,” he repeated. “Did you always call him that? Was he never ‘Basil’?”

She sniffled. “He always called me Mrs. Forbush, and so I returned his courtesy. I believe he preferred it that way.”

Adam struggled with that for a moment. Could his uncle have been blind? How could he not have invited—even welcomed—informality between himself and his lovely wife? Unforgivably, but needing to know, he asked, “Even when…intimate?”

He felt her stiffen and pull away. “Really, Mr. Hawthorne, I do not wish to discuss such things.”

“I’ve offended you.”

“I…it is not appropriate for you…for us, to have a conversation regarding my…your uncle’s…at all,” she finished, more at a loss than he’d ever seen her.

The calm mask that drove him insane fell into place again and she moved toward the door. “I would appreciate it, Mr. Hawthorne, if we could avoid a repeat of this scene. I find it disturbingly inappropriate considering our…connection.”

“We have no connection, Grace. You might have been married to my uncle, but you were never my aunt.”

She paused at the door, her back to him. “Nevertheless.”

“Nevertheless,” he agreed.

When the door closed behind her, he lifted the forgotten letter on the desk and scanned the lines. Though he was not a snoop by nature, if there was anything here that would help him solve his uncle’s death, he’d better know it now.

The first disturbing item came early on. Her brother evidently wanted Grace to tell Adam to leave the house. And what the hell had he meant that he could be the instrument of Grace’s destruction? He read on, appalled at the arrogance of Leland York.

Good God! Who was this prig? Even more disturbing than the order for Grace to evict Adam was the veiled threat. York knew Grace’s secret and would use it to blackmail her? What secret? Adam could only think of one thing dire enough to warrant such a threat and connect him as the “instrument of her destruction.” That she’d had a hand in his uncle’s death and that he might discover and expose her.

Chapter Six

T he scene with Adam had Grace on edge and impatient when Lord Barrington arrived to escort her to Belmonde’s in Pickering Place. By the time they were inside and Grace had purchased her counters, Barrington was wearing on her nerves to a high degree. He had done nothing but complain about her “ridiculous new diversion” and the “insane chances” she was taking with her reputation during the entire drive. It was eerily like listening to her brother.

The main salon of Belmonde’s was decorated in shades of deep green and gold, the lighting was dim, and the tone was more sedate and the crowd of a higher social class than at the Two Sevens. A low hum of voices played against a background of a single pianist. Feeling quite comfortable in this venue, Grace seized the first opportunity to divert him to happier matters. “My lord, I see Mr. Elwood by the vingt-et-un table. I think it would be an excellent idea for you to congratulate him on the arrival of his heir. I understand the birth went well. The baby is the picture of health and everyone is completely over the top about it.”

Barrington looked toward the group across the room. “Yes? Well, if you think I should…”

“Oh, I do,” she sighed, anxious for any respite from his complaints. “Take your time. I shall find a nice little game and settle in.”

“I dislike leaving you on your own, Grace. You’re bound to encounter trouble.”

“I swear I will find you if I should need the least little thing,” she said, straightening his cravat and sending him off with a little push in the direction of the vingt-et-un table.

She hoped to find a game of hazard. She wanted to learn it quickly, but she really must remember to ask Miss Talbot the game her brother had been playing when he lost his fortune. If she could watch Morgan at that, she might be able to determine whether he cheated or not. Though men of experience had been unable to catch him, she expected to have better luck. Morgan would not be so cautious in dealing with her, since she was a mere woman. And, she smiled to herself, she had always been of the opinion that women had the superior intellect.

Holding her wineglass in one gloved hand and her counters in the other, she circulated, watching the activity at one table and then another. She was engrossed in studying the intricacies of betting at hazard when she felt someone leaning close to her left ear.

“I wouldn’t advise it, Mrs. Forbush. The odds are heavily in favor of the house.”

She turned and smiled at Geoffrey Morgan. Had he done that deliberately? “From what I’ve been able to determine, sir, the odds are heavily in favor of the house no matter the game.”

“Precisely why I prefer to play games that pit my skills against other players instead of the house.”

Now this was interesting. Grace sighed and gave him a sidelong glance. “Few men will allow a woman at their table, Lord Geoffrey. What would you suggest I do?”

“Play with me,” he said in a low, husky voice.

Grace smiled and dropped her gaze to the silver embroidery at the hem of her gown. “Do you recommend a particular game?”

“Whist. Do you know it?”

“Quite well,” she admitted. She had learned it at a country house party many years ago where the ladies had played for pins, and she had played it frequently since. “Are you asking me to be your partner, Lord Geoffrey?”

“I’ve come looking for one. If I bring you to the table, Mrs. Forbush, no one will say you nay.”

“I am surprised that you are willing to link your fortunes to my skill when you really haven’t the slightest idea what my proficiency might be. My misjudgments could cost you dearly.”

He laughed and took her by the arm to lead her away from the main salon. “All of life is a risk, Mrs. Forbush. The greater the risk, the keener the excitement.”

She tilted her head to look up at him again and found a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. She laughed. “Then you should be very excited right now, Lord Geoffrey.”

He returned her smile. “You have no idea, Mrs. Forbush.”

Grace had a momentary flash of fear. She took a deep breath at the suggestiveness in that comment and hoped things had not just slipped out of her control. “Who are our opponents?”

“Reginald Hunter and Adam Hawthorne.”

Heavens! This had not been in her plans. Adam! Even in the midst of all these men, she could only think of that extraordinary kiss in the library and how she wished it could happen again, despite what she’d told him. She willed her breathing to even and her heartbeat to slow. There was nothing for it but to brazen it out. “Lead on, sir,” she said.

Laughter trailed off and conversation stilled as Lord Geoffrey led her into a small side room. Just the appearance of a woman could, evidently, make men feel awkward. She was entering a male domain—one that few women ever saw. It would take all her resources to ignore the fact that she wasn’t wanted here.