Chapter Twelve #2
Did she want him to remain? Grayson had yet to meet a woman who rebuffed him, and despite her distant behavior, he knew he could rouse Kate’s passions effortlessly. He stared at her, willing her to give him answers to questions he could not put into words.
“Kate!” The sound of a shout brought them both around, and a short, rotund man burst into the room, followed by an apologetic Badcock.
“There you are!” the man said loudly as his head swiveled toward Kate.
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Badcock said, his expression tight with disapproval. “But this… gentleman insisted upon seeing Lady Courtland.”
“Squire Wortley,” Kate said, her greeting decidedly unenthusiastic.
“Uncle!” Rutledge exclaimed, jumping up with a look of alarm on his boyish face.
“And you!” the squire sputtered, turning toward his nephew. “What’s all this nonsense about you marrying?”
Squire Wortley. Grayson fixed his contemptuous gaze on the man who had so swindled the innocent Courtlands. Already annoyed by his recent exchange with Kate, Grayson found himself only too ready to take on the squire, preferably by slamming him into the wall.
“Squire Wortley,” he said coolly, rising to his feet. “What a propitious meeting. I have been anxious to speak with you.”
Wortley swung toward Grayson. “And who the devil are you?”
Grayson’s lips curled grimly. “I am Wroth.”
“Wroth?” the squire asked, looking puzzled. “The marquess?”
At Grayson’s nod, he swallowed. Obviously, even Wortley had heard of him, and Grayson took some pleasure in his reputation. He tilted his head in acknowledgment.
“And you, Squire, have arrived at a most opportune time. Let us speak, privately.”
“Privately, eh? What’s this? Katie?” The man shot Kate a panicked glance, but she ignored his pained expression with such regal grace that Grayson paused a moment to admire her.
Then he nodded to Badcock, and without blinking an eye, the valet assumed the duties of a butler, leading the marquess and his reluctant guest to the study and closing the doors behind them.
“Please, be seated,” Grayson said, waving his hand toward one of the threadbare chairs that stood near the empty grate.
As he moved to a place behind the desk, Grayson took the opportunity to assess his opponent and experienced a vague disappointment. The squire was a fleshy, red-faced little man whose bulging belly told of his fine table and whose expensive rings and watch fob spoke of his prosperity.
Suddenly Grayson wondered whether the fellow had sold the items he took from Hargate in order to realize a tidy profit. His fingers clenched, and he purposely spread them, steepling them before him as he fixed the squire with a cool gaze.
“I, uh, really, my lord, I do not see what business you could possibly have with me,” the man muttered. “I came to see Ka—uh, Lady Courtland—about a matter involving my nephew.”
“Ah,” Grayson said. “The impending nuptials, I assume.”
Wortley’s head swiveled toward Grayson, his small eyes bulging in surprise. “Yes! I, rather… It is most unusual, most unusual—”
“Surely, you can have no objection to the marriage.”
Wortley’s gaze darted about nervously as he cleared his throat. “I hardly think it is a matter for my lord’s interest.”
“Oh, but you are wrong. I am very much interested,” Grayson said smoothly.
With a scowl, Wortley abandoned his manners. “Dash it all, the boy has only a small allowance from his grandmother, and we all know the Courtlands have no money. I have allowed him to live with me, out of respect for his father—”
“A viscount’s younger son, I understand.”
The squire colored. “Well, yes, but blood hardly signifies, when there are pockets to let. As I was saying, I have allowed the boy to live with me—”
“And received his management skills free of charge.”
“Now, see here,” Wortley sputtered, apparently reaching the end of his patience. “I would like to know what connection you have to this household!”
Grayson smiled slightly. “Very well. Although it is not common knowledge, considering the circumstances, I will take you into my confidence.” He leaned forward, as though bestowing a favor upon the portly squire. “The elder Lady Courtland and I are betrothed.”
Grayson sank back in his chair while Wortley gasped in astonishment. “But, how? When? She has not spoken to me of it.”
To avoid speculation concerning the sudden betrothal, Grayson lied easily. “It is an old engagement, arranged by our families when she was just an infant, and one that was kept secret until we were both sure of our feelings.”
Wortley looked stunned, but swallowed the tale whole. “Why, this is astonishing news, my lord,” he said, nodding as if he had decided that such a scheme could benefit him. “Puts quite a different light on things, I must say.” He smiled eagerly.
“I thought it would,” Grayson said, dryly. “So, you have no objections to the match between Lady Courtland and your nephew?”
The squire cleared his throat again. “Well, now, as I was saying, we haven’t the room for a new family at the house, but if you are going to provide a living for the two of them—”
“Their income need no longer be your concern, Squire, for Mr. Rutledge will be moving from your household to take employment with me.”
Wortley sputtered some more, undoubtedly regretting his hasty words now that his nephew would be brother-in-law to one of the wealthiest men in the country. But Grayson paid him no heed. Leaning back in his chair, he eyed the man coolly.
“But that is not why I asked you here, Squire. I understand that you have borrowed some pieces from the estate, and I would like them returned as soon as possible.”
Wortley turned bright red, his eyes practically popping their sockets, as he spat out a denial. “Borrowed? I purchased those items, my lord!”
“Did you, now?” Grayson asked, fixing the squire with a gaze that made him squirm in his seat.
In the silence that ensued, Grayson casually picked up a silver-handled knife used to break the seals on correspondence. It was a trifle that Kate once might have sold to the man across from him, and he fingered the blade while Wortley’s crimson cheeks lost their color.
“Well, then, perhaps you can return these missing goods as wedding gifts to the Courtland ladies, your neighbors of long standing, as a sign of your goodwill,” Grayson said, feigning a smile.
Wortley squeaked out a protest, but Grayson disregarded it, as if the man had not spoken. “Very good. I knew we could come to an agreement. Now, I’m sure you will want to attend to that at once. Shall I have a full accounting prepared for you?” he asked, rising to his feet.
“No! I recall every item, but—”
“Badcock,” Grayson called out, and the vigilant valet immediately opened the doors to the study. “Show the squire out, will you?” he asked.
“Very good, my lord,” Badcock said solemnly, leaving Wortley no option but to follow behind.
Watching the fellow’s exit, Grayson’s lips curved slightly. Now he had only Uncle Jasper to run to ground, and his business with the Courtlands would be completed—with one glaring exception. His smile faded.
There was still Kate to contend with.
Resting his hands against the back of one of the few remaining chairs, Grayson stood pondering her increasingly troublesome behavior until he realized that his knuckles had turned white. Deliberately lifting his hands from their position, he stretched his fingers, then turned to rejoin the others.
Perhaps it was time he settled things with the poppet.
Grayson had nearly reached the drawing room when the sound of raised voices drifted to him from the foyer. Was Wortley giving Badcock trouble? He ought to have wrung the man’s neck!
The annoyance and frustration that dogged him so much lately made him swing on his heel, determined to test his fists on the squire’s red face. Stalking back along the gallery, he strode into the tiled entranceway, only to halt in his tracks.
Wortley was gone, but in his place were other visitors, two men and two women, and Grayson drew in a sharp breath as he recognized the gentlemen.
They were all talking gaily as Badcock tried to fob them off, and for a moment Grayson thought he might escape unnoticed, but it was too late.
One of the men glanced his way and gave up a happy shout.
“Wroth!”
Inwardly groaning, Grayson could do naught but make the best of the situation, while wondering what had brought Raleigh and his cronies to Hargate. He stepped forward as the other man, a rather obnoxious character named Pimperington, ogled him curiously.
“Wroth? Is that you? What the devil are you doing here, I’d like to know!
Egad, man, the whole of Town is abuzz with speculation as to your whereabouts,” the fellow said before turning to Raleigh.
“I say, where the devil are we? Who owns this place?” Slightly deaf, he spoke in a loud tone that Grayson recalled all too well.
“You are at Hargate, the ancestral home of the earls of Chister.”
Grayson stiffened at the sound of Kate’s cool voice, and total silence fell as all four visitors, including the giggling females, stopped talking to stare at the woman who stood in the doorway. She was beautiful, of course, and had more dignity than any of them, Grayson thought proudly.
“Eh, what? Who’s this?” Pimperington shouted.
“Indeed!” Raleigh echoed, lifting that ridiculous quizzing glass of his to gaze at Kate boldly.
“Lady Courtland,” Grayson said, moving swiftly to her side. “May I present Viscount Raleigh, Mr. Pimperington, and…” He trailed off.
“Oh, yes, of course!” Pimperington blustered. “Gels,” he said, motioning to the females to step forward. Then he turned back to Kate. “This lovely widow is Mrs. Parker and her sister, Miss Collier.”
“My lady. My lord.” Both women simpered and fluttered their eyelashes at Grayson in a manner that made Kate’s composure all the more appealing, by contrast. How easily he had forgotten the differences that drew him to her.
“Wroth, you wretch!” Raleigh cried accusingly, dropping the quizzing glass to stare unabashedly at Kate.
“I wagered a small fortune that you had discovered some new gambling den. Lud, no one will win in the betting books, for who would have ever thought you to rusticate in the country? But I can see why you’re here,” he added, bowing low to Kate.
His usually amusing charm suddenly grated.
“Eh, what’s that? Oh, I should say so,” Pimperington said, edging closer. The ladies, not to be outdone, crowded in, too, and began to pepper Kate with questions.
“Why is it we have never seen you in London?” the widow asked coyly.
“Eh, what? Yes, what are you doing, buried up here in the country?” Pimperington asked.
“Perhaps she thought to keep the marquess all to herself,” Miss Collier suggested, and Grayson knew he had to put a stop to such talk before it grew out of hand or Kate, taking offense, said something regrettable.
“Or perhaps Wroth thought to hide this diamond from the rest of the world,” Raleigh said, coming to Kate’s defense in a way that irritated Grayson.
He felt a primitive urge to lay claim to her, to announce his possession in no uncertain terms. Schooling his features to reveal none of the emotions that surged through him, Grayson leaned toward her.
“Indeed, I’m afraid that you have found me out,” he said, his brow lifting slightly. “I’ve been enjoying a respite from Town with my future bride.”