This Marquess of Mine: (Romancing the Rogue Book 2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It drizzled overnight and into the early hours of the following morning, but by noon the storm had passed, leaving behind a cloudless sky and the scent of wet forest in the air.

“Where are you headed after you leave Keswick House?” Griffin asked James as he guided his horse, a black Arabian named Rasputin, around a fallen branch lying on the forest floor.

“Falconridge,” James replied from his own mount, a handsome chestnut Griffin had recently purchased. “We’ll stay there through the new year and then return to London. Unless, of course, some fortuitous event keeps us at home.”

Griffin flicked a glance at James, noting the contented smile on his face. It was strange, seeing his normally subdued friend so free and easy with his smiles, so obviously happy in his role as husband. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly believed he would see this day come, or that James would so obviously relish the notion of becoming a father. To be honest, it was a bit surreal.

“I’m glad to see you so happy,” he said to him. “Marriage seems to agree with you.”

“It does, indeed,” James said with a grin. “I’ll spare you the dissertation on the merits of taking a wife, though.”

“Much obliged.”

They came into a small clearing then, and Griff tugged lightly on the reins, slowing Rasputin to a halt.

“It’s still intact,” he said, his eyes trained on the ramshackle structure a short distance off.

James grunted from beside him. “Mostly.”

The fort was in piss-poor condition, but it never was much to look at, even twenty years ago when they’d first cobbled it together.

“Shall we?” Griffin quirked a brow at James, who grinned, and the two dismounted, tethering their horses to the trunks of two sturdy English oaks before heading for the fort.

The ‘door’ was nothing more than a thick slab of tree trunk propped against the opening to the shack, and Griff moved it out of the way before peering inside. The space was dim and damp, but there appeared to be no immediate danger, so he ducked his head and entered, brushing aside an abandoned spider web with his sleeve.

“Like finding ancient ruins,” James mused as he followed Griff inside.

The fortress was dank and smelled of rot. It was much smaller than he remembered. Wild mushrooms and peat moss flourished, filling nearly every crack and crevice, even the giant oak log they’d used for a bench. A rusted tin sat beside it on the ground, as if they’d left it there, intending to return for it the next day.

“Not half so glamorous as I remembered it,” Griff joked.

With the tip of his boot, he nudged the tin onto its side. Water spilled onto the already damp dirt floor, carrying with it a heap of ‘treasures’—stones and old buttons, chestnut shells, obsolete coins. A collection only a child would value. He smiled to himself. It had taken years to amass.

“Remember that time we nicked a bottle of Cook’s sherry?” James asked with a grin.

Griffin nodded. “We drank the whole thing in one sitting, and you fell off the log.”

“You fell off the log, and took me with you,” James shot back, slipping his hands in his pockets. “God, was I sick the next morning.”

Griffin chuckled. “My mother called the doctor, and we spent the remainder of our holiday confined to our beds.” He glanced at James. “Think she knew?”

James grinned. “Without a doubt.”

After one final glance around the dilapidated fort, the two exited and made their way back to the horses.

The two mounted and began the short journey back to the house, keeping a leisurely pace as they cleared the forest and crossed the wide, green fields, still wet from the early morning rains.

“So,” James said some minutes later, “I understand you journeyed to Surrey last month. To pay a visit to Olivia’s father, I believe?”

Griff threw him a look, surprise slackening his jaw. “Does everyone know?”

James shrugged. “Lady Augusta told Olivia and Olivia told Sophie and, naturally, Sophie told me.”

Griffin gritted his teeth in annoyance. “It was meant to be a secret,” he muttered, guiding his mount around an abandoned fox hole.

He’d told no one about his visit to Surrey. How the devil had Lady Augusta found out about it?

“You know there are no secrets in this family,” James said with a chuckle. “So, what did you say to the man? And why did you do it?”

Griff blew out a slow breath. “I don’t know. I just…” His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t right, her marrying a duke to make her father happy. Especially when he’d done nothing to deserve it. I didn’t like it.” A gross understatement.

“Hm.”

Griff lowered his brows. “What?”

“Are you certain that’s the only reason?”

“Of course.”

“Hm.”

Griffin sighed. “Will you stop grunting and say what you wish to say?”

James looked at him. “Could it be you want her for yourself? That you went to her father in the hopes it would end her betrothal and leave her available for you?”

Niggling doubt scraped at the nape of his neck, but he ignored it. “I have no interest in marrying right now, as you well know.”

“Perhaps you hoped she would wait until you are interested.”

Griffin grunted his disagreement and reached down to pat Rasputin’s neck.

“So, what did you do when you met with her father?” James asked a moment later. “Demand he treat her better? Take back his ultimatum?”

“Yes.”

“And? What did he say?”

“He was…unreceptive,” Griff said, recalling the pinched expression on Lord Blakely’s face. “So, I offered him five thousand pounds.”

“Five thou—” James broke off and whistled his surprise. “That is an awfully large sum of money, Griff.”

He shrugged. “He refused to accept it. And he assured me he had no idea Olivia felt the way she did. He said he would work at mending the rift between them and apparently, he has.” He cleared his throat. “I would ask that you keep this between us. I don’t want Olivia to know about it.”

James raised one brow. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. Because I want her to have a decent relationship with her father.” Because it makes her happy, and I need her to be happy.

He glanced at James, who nodded and said, “Of course. You have my word.”

Satisfied, Griffin looked forward again just as the stables came into view. He gave Rasputin’s neck another rub. The curiosity in James’s eyes suggested there were other questions he wanted to ask, but being the excellent friend he was, he kept them to himself.

The two rode back the rest of the way in silence, and as they reached the stables, Griff asked James if he would join him for a game of billiards.

“Not now,” James said after they’d dismounted. “Later, perhaps.”

Griff handed the reins over to a groom before following James from the stables toward the house. They had just walked through the door when Lady Keswick met them in the corridor.

“There you two are,” she said with a smile. “You’re both looking windblown and red-cheeked. Did you enjoy your ride?”

“Very much,” James said, smoothing his hair. “Can you tell me where my wife has got to?”

Her smile widened. “She’s out on the terrace, James. All of us ladies are.”

“Excellent,” he said with a grin. “I’ll see you out there, then.” And with that, he set off, a noticeable spring in his step.

Lady Keswick chuckled and looped her arm through Griffin’s, tugging him along with her. “I’ve never seen James so happy,” she said. “Marriage obviously suits him.”

“Sophie suits him,” Griff said dryly. “He can barely keep away from her.”

His mother nodded as they stepped onto the terrace and paused just outside the door. “It is sweet, isn’t it? They are a good match.”

There was no arguing with that. The two were obviously in love, as evidenced yet again by the way the two were smiling at each other as Sophie handed James a glass of lemonade.

A stab of envy shot through Griffin’s chest, its intensity surprising him, and before he knew what he was doing, his gaze had shot to Olivia.

She was standing with Lady Augusta at the edge of the terrace, her pale pink gown rustling in the breeze, the late summer sun warming her hair to an even richer shade of wheat. God, she was lovely today.

Of course, she was always lovely, whether she wore pink silk, peacock feathers, or nothing at all.

Especially when she wore nothing at all.

“When are you going to marry the girl, darling?”

Griff stiffened and glanced at his mother, feigning ignorance, though she’d clearly caught him staring. “I beg your pardon?”

“Olivia suits you,” Lady Keswick said quietly. “The same way Sophie suits James. And it is obvious you’re in love with her.”

He drew in a steadying breath, resisting the urge to look to the sky. First Emmy and now his mother. Why was everyone so bloody certain of his feelings when he didn’t know them himself?

“I don’t know how you can say that,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I’ve done nothing to suggest it.”

“Nonsense. Your feelings are right there for everyone to see. It’s the way you look at her.” A small smile curved her lips. “It’s the same way your father used to look at me.”

Was it? He remembered how his parents were with each other. Did he really look at Olivia that way?

“Your story is special,” he argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was love at first sight for you.”

She hooked a brow. “For your father, it was, but I wasn’t so certain of my feelings. Or of marrying your father, for that matter.”

Griffin glanced at her in surprise. “Really? That isn’t what he told me.”

Lady Keswick smiled. “Your father was a romantic, bless him. And love at first sight makes for a far more romantic tale than the real story.”

“What was the real story?”

His mother motioned to an empty bench abutting the house, and after they sat and she’d adjusted her skirts just so, she continued.

“I loved your father dearly,” she said, “but our beginning was anything but romantic. It was a match arranged by our parents, and we met only a handful of times before we were married, but your father always said he knew the moment he laid eyes on me that we were meant to be. That it was divine intervention that brought us together.”

She laughed softly. “I liked to tease him that it was our parents who brought us together, but he would only smile and say we would have found our way to each other, with or without their help.”

Her smile softened and her eyes turned wistful, as if seeing the memory anew.

“Do you think he was right?” Griff asked.

“Oh, without a doubt,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “It took me a little while to realize it, but eventually I came to agree with him. And, day by day, I fell more and more in love with him. With his kindness, his quiet strength, his infectious laugh.” She flashed Griffin a wry grin. “And, of course, the way he spoiled me with gifts and flattery did help sway me to his way of thinking.”

Griffin smiled, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I don’t remember you two together as much as I’d like to, but I do remember bits and pieces. His arm around your waist, your hand on his cheek. A kiss in the corridor when you thought no one was around.”

His smile faded a bit. He missed that. He missed when they were whole.

“You can have that for yourself, you know,” his mother said, her gaze on his face. “Marry the girl, Griffin. Marry her and make her as happy as your father made me.”

Griff’s jaw clenched and he gave a sharp shake of his head. “And if I do, how long will her happiness last?” he asked. “Fifteen years? Ten? Five?”

Lady Keswick’s head tilted to one side. “What do you mean by that?”

“Father gave you ten years of happiness. And fifteen years of missing him. Fifteen years and counting.” His gaze dropped to the floor, his heart thudding in his chest. “What if I do the same to her? What if we marry and have children and then I—” He broke off, working his jaw. “I care for her too much to risk hurting her like that. The way Father hurt you.” The way he hurt us.

“Oh, Griffin…” His mother reached for his hand, and he sat up, meeting her pained gaze.

“I wouldn’t trade those ten years with your father for anything in this world,” she said quietly. “When we first lost him, in my grief, I did sometimes wish I had never met him, but that feeling didn’t last. Yes, I still miss him every day, even now, but I know how lucky I am, too, to have had those years with him.”

She squeezed Griff’s hand. “He gave me his love—a love I never thought possible—and he gave me you and your sister. How could I possibly regret knowing him?”

She held his gaze, her blue eyes unflinching yet gentle, and he could see the truth of her words staring back at him.

His throat tightened and he looked out across the lawn, swallowing hard as memories and feelings assailed him, even as the knot between his shoulder blades began to ease.

His mother did not regret knowing his father.

“You cannot let fear dictate what you will or will not do, darling,” Lady Keswick said. “Life is a risk. Marriage is a risk. It’s a frightening thing, binding oneself to another person, not knowing what the future will bring. But, Griffin…”

She gave his hand a tug, seeking his gaze, and he turned to look at her.

“Even if you avoid all risk,” she said, “the future will always be unsure. And wouldn’t it be worse living with the regret of what might have been? Of watching the woman you love bind herself to someone else?”

Griffin drew in a deep breath as his gaze found Olivia again, and he thought of her marrying another man, of living with him and bearing his children. He thought of her gone from his life.

His chest hollowed. He could think of nothing worse.

But it wasn’t his own future he was thinking of. It was hers. He cared for her.

Damn it all, he might even love her.

Could he really ask her to marry him, to give him her love, her years, when he knew he might leave her one day? When he knew he could not promise to keep her happy, no matter how desperately he wanted to?

On the other hand, could he live with himself if he didn’t try?

Hours later, Griffin satalone in his study, slumped before the fire in a leather wingback chair, an untouched glass of brandy cradled in one hand on his knee.

It was well after midnight—the rest of the party had gone to their beds ages ago—but here he sat, wide awake, gazing into the fire as if it might reveal the answers he sought.

Wearily, he rubbed at his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair’s supple leather. His gaze flicked to the large portrait hanging above the fireplace, and he stared up at his father’s face, at the mischievous half-smile so perfectly captured, the kindness in those warm gray eyes peering down at him.

“What should I do, Father?” he murmured, his low voice mingling with the snap and crackle of the fire. “What would you do?”

No answer came, of course, but then, he didn’t really need one. He already knew what his father would say. He would tell him to face life’s challenges without fear, and to fight for what he wanted. He would tell him to go after the girl.

Griffin blew out a frustrated breath and drank from his glass. Go after the girl.

It was what everyone seemed to want him to do, what they all seemed to think he should do. Were they right? Should he go after Olivia?

Did he even want to?

He cared for her a great deal, of course, and there was no denying he wanted her. He wanted her to be happy; he could admit that. After all, he’d gone to see her father, hadn’t he? He’d gone to Surrey on her behalf, to secure her freedom and ensure her right to make her own choices. He’d done it because he cared for her, and because it was the right thing to do.

Could it be you want her for yourself? That you went to her father in the hopes it would end her betrothal and leave her available for you?

James’s words slithered through his mind, and he shifted in his chair, his gaze slipping from his father’s portrait to the fire. Uneasiness pricked at the back of his neck.

Could James be right? Had he been fooling himself this entire time, telling himself he’d gone to Surrey for unselfish reasons when, in fact, he’d gone because he’d hoped Olivia would wait for him?

Uncertainty warred within him, even as a guilty flush bloomed in his cheeks.

Damn it all. It was true, wasn’t it? He hadn’t gone to Surrey for her at all—at least, not entirely. He’d gone there for himself, too, in the hopes she would wait until he was ready to marry her.

He raked a hand through his hair, disgust burning his insides. Jesus, he was a selfish cur. A cowardly cur.

He loved her, for God’s sake.

He surged to his feet and set his brandy on the mantel with a sharp thunk of glass on marble. Then he began to pace, back and forth, back and forth, marching an agitated path in front of the fireplace, his mind alive with realization.

He loved Olivia Blakely.

Of course he loved her. He wanted to marry her, too, and spend the rest of his days with her at his side. Why was he only now realizing it? Why had he resisted for so long?

“Because you’re a ruddy idiot,” he grumbled, his mouth a twist of agitation.

He’d told himself he wanted his freedom, that he wanted to enjoy his life as a single man for as long as he could, when in reality, he was simply scared. Scared of the future, of the uncertainties of life, of the vulnerabilities that came with being human.

These vulnerabilities were felt by everyone; faced by everyone. No one was immune to them. He knew that. So why was he acting as if he didn’t? Why was he acting as if he were the only man on the planet coursing through life without a safety net?

Why was he so bloody scared?

He halted before the fire and stared up at his father’s portrait again, determination setting his jaw.

He was through with it, with living like a frightened man. He was done. Life was much too short to live it in fear of what might be, and if his father’s death had taught him anything, it was that time was our most precious commodity.

He owed it to himself, and to his father’s memory, to make the most of every second he was gifted, and he wanted to share them all, every last second, with the woman he loved.

He only hoped he could convince her to take them.