Chapter Seven
For the entire ride in the unmarked carriage, Letitia thought she would cast up her accounts at any moment.
Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and her body wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter what she did.
At least ten times, she almost told Greyson to turn around and take her home.
The only thing stopping her was that he was sharing this secret part of himself with her.
It couldn’t be easy for him, and she wouldn’t and couldn’t take it lightly.
If she asked to go home, she truly believed their courtship, if this was what they had, would end, something she didn’t wish to happen.
When he told her he wouldn’t leave her side and would keep her safe, she believed him.
He was an honorable man. Better than most. He showed his goodness every day, from worrying about his parents and hiring a nurse to see to their health and comfort, to chaperoning his sisters.
Greyson cared deeply about his family. No wonder he took off for several days at a time to relax and refresh or visit his family’s country estate.
Her parents had instilled in her the importance of family because only the three of them remained after her mother’s family disowned her. Unfortunately, her father had been raised by an elderly aunt after his parents died in a carriage accident—all the more reason to cherish one’s family.
When they arrived at the club, she wasn’t sure her legs would support her weight.
She had never been weak-kneed, but at that moment, she thought she might be.
She wrapped her arm tightly around Greyson’s and clung to him as they ascended the stairs.
The blood rushed so fast through her veins and pounded in her ears that she could hardly hear the behemoth of a man speaking softly to Greyson.
When he opened the door, she felt as though Greyson dragged her up the single step so they could enter the townhouse.
A townhouse, she might add, that looked like any other residence on the street.
No one would ever know it was a private club.
In the owner of Club Knight’s study, she stood trembling and lightheaded, her vision blurry.
Greyson, as if sensing her discomfort, moved beside her and took her hand in his large, warm one.
The skin-to-skin contact anchored her, and she cleared her vision after blinking several times.
When her eyes focused on the man behind the desk, she gasped, then mumbled, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I thought we were meeting a Mr. Knight.” She blinked a few more times, in case her eyes were playing tricks on her.
But no. The gentleman behind the desk was none other than the Duke of Tremont.
Unless someone was pretending to be him.
She’d never been introduced to him, but she had seen him and his duchess on Bond Street a time or two, which caused those around her to whisper about the disfigured duke who had bravely fought the French.
Also, no one else she knew of wore a black mask that covered most of one side of his face, ending just shy of his mouth.
He had sustained burns while serving as a naval captain.
That was the extent of what she knew about him. That, and people called him an enigma.
“Have we met?” he said in the deepest voice she’d ever heard.
“Forgive me,” she said, curtsying. “Not formally, but I have seen you on Bond Street.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I’m hard to miss. People do like to gossip about me and hurry to cross the street, hoping to keep their distance. I promise you my injury is not contagious and I do not bite.”
“Oh dear,” she said, placing her free hand on her chest. “I meant no disrespect . . .”
“Relax, Lady Rutherford,” he interrupted. “You have not insulted or displeased me in any way. I’ve come to terms with my disfigurement.” He waved toward the beautiful lady, close in age to her, standing beside his desk. “And so has my wife. Lady Rutherford, have you met my wife?”
“No, I haven’t.” She faced the duchess and curtsied again. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“Please take a seat, both of you,” Tremont said.
She nearly dove to the nearest chair, leaving the one farthest from the door for Greyson. She refused to meet Greyson’s gaze. He must think she’d lost her mind.
“Now, we can get down to club business. Inside the club, please refer to me as Mr. Knight or Knight. We don’t use titles here. At Club Knight, we are all equals. You may address my wife as Charlotte. May we call you Letitia?”
“Yes.” No titles? Everyone was equal? The Duke of Tremont was Mr. Knight? What strange world had she entered?
“Greyson,” he snickered, “refuses to be called by his given name, and he is not the only one. Though it has nothing to do with standing and everything to do with hating one’s given name.
Anyway, I presume he explained the club’s secrecy and its members, and that I need you to read and sign a confidentiality agreement to visit this evening.
” He paused, and his eyes shifted from her to Greyson and back.
“It is highly irregular for me to allow a visitor inside these walls. However, I have known Greyson for some time, and I asked him to invite you.”
She was having a hard time not staring at his masked face. She was mortified that she couldn’t look away until Greyson cleared his throat. “Letitia, are you unwell?”
“No, I’m sorry. Yes. Greyson explained everything. I’m ready to sign the document.”
“Good.” His Gra . . . Mr. Knight slid the paper across his desk toward her. She reached forward and picked it up. Her eyes scanned the words. Short and to the point. She took the pen Mr. Knight held out to her and scribbled her name.
“Thank you,” Knight said, putting the paper in the middle drawer of the desk. “Now for some refreshments. I think you could use a little sherry to calm your nerves.” He looked at his wife. “My dear, would you pour sherry for Letitia and yourself, and brandy for Greyson and me?”
Charlotte handed out the drinks, and Letitia took a sizable sip, hoping to settle her nerves.
After Charlotte took a sip, she said, “We have never met, but I am friendly with Clarice and have heard her mention you. I’m so happy for her and Stanton.
I only wish Nathaniel and I had been able to attend the wedding.
I received a letter from her the other day saying how much they are enjoying Venice. ”
“I received one as well and look forward to their return next month.”
“As do I. If you both are wondering why my husband mentioned inviting Letitia to Club Knight for a visit, it was because of me. Call it women’s intuition, but I thought you would fit in. I also believed we could become friends.”
“Thank you. I believe we can become friends, too.”
“We will not monopolize any more of your time,” said Knight. “Please enjoy your time at the club. Please close the door on your way out, Greyson.”
Letitia placed her empty sherry glass on Knight’s desk, stood, and walked out of Knight’s study, holding Greyson’s hand.
She felt two sets of eyes follow her into the corridor.
Once Greyson shut the door, she said in a low voice, “I’m shocked to find that a duke owns this club. Do you know his reason for opening it?”
Greyson paused, then pulled her into an empty room.
“Yes. He wanted a place for people like him to go without everyone staring and whispering about him. He also wanted to employ men who fought in the war alongside him and now have physical deformities, making it nearly impossible to find employment. Another reason was to give members of the ton, who were willing to pay his exorbitant membership fee, a place to go when they wanted to be free from all the propriety and formal rules governing other establishments. Don’t get me wrong, Club Knight has its rules. But come, you can see for yourself.”
“I have a question before we go. Knight hinted that you dislike your given name. Is that true?”
“After everything you were just told by Knight and me, that’s what you want to ask?
” he chuckled. “Yes. While growing up, my parents called me everything from my real name—Archibald—to Archie, Arch, or Baldy. Then one day, when I was ten, I stomped my foot and yelled, ‘My name is Greyson.’ And that solved that.”
“Oh, I see. But really, Archibald is a fine name,” she said with a smile.
He grinned back. “Then perhaps one day I’ll let you use it. Meanwhile, let’s go look around and enjoy ourselves.”
They made their way back to the entry, where the main staircase was, and climbed up to enter what looked like a ballroom transformed into a gaming room.
Round tables filled much of the center of the room, while comfortable settees and chairs were tucked into the corners for relaxing and socializing.
Considering how many people were in the room, she wasn’t bombarded by overly loud voices.
Servants moved about with trays of drinks, and she spied a banquet table overflowing with food.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, all lit, casting a warm glow throughout the room.
Wall sconces added to the lighting. Even so, the large room appeared serene.
“Would you care to try your hand at a game of cards?” Greyson asked, his hand squeezing hers lightly.
“I don’t know how to play,” she replied.
“If you will allow me, perhaps I can teach you. But not tonight. This is not the place to learn.”
“I would like that very much. I’ve wanted to learn.” Glancing around the room again, she said, “Do you mind if we sit on one of the settees?”
“Not at all,” he said, leading her toward the far corner of the room, near the glass double doors that opened onto a veranda, where a vacant settee stood. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Yes, please.”
Greyson waved a nearby servant over. “Two glasses of wine, please.”
“Yes, sir.”