A Night of Secrets (25 page)

“Here we are.” He loosened his hold. She inched her way down, until her feet hit the bottom of the boat. With her arm still hooked around his neck, she dared to look into his eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Had his gaze softened? Or had she imagined it? He didn’t respond, merely stepped back so quickly she nearly lost her balance. She found her seat, the lap of the water against the side of the boat mirroring the patter of her pulse.

Grayson pushed the boat into the pond and leapt into the hull, sitting across from her. His boots were covered in mud and a lock of hair had finally broken rank and fallen over his forehead. The mussed look fit him as well as his tidy appearance. He looked at ease either way, and she wasn’t sure which she preferred.

Who was the true Grayson Bellamont? Truth was, he’d never tell her. She knew that no matter how much she pleaded, his secrets would remain his. He could keep his past hidden, as long as she was sure he wasn’t here for Hanna.

“Do you have family?”

“No.”

He didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t surprised. “Have you never been married? Engaged?”

“No.”

She took her lower lip between her teeth. Did he tell her the truth?

“So, where is this elusive bloom?” He pulled at the oars, his muscles rippling under his shirt sleeves.

“Mr. Weatherly said across the pond.”

“And will this complete your collection?” A swan burst from the brush, his large wings flapping slow and wide across the lake. Meg jumped, startled, but Grayson didn’t even flinch. It was almost as if, without even having seen the bird, he’d known it was there all along.

“Almost.” She watched the bird until he disappeared over a hill. “You must think me silly.”

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged and picked at the lace on her sleeve. It was tattered beyond repair. With a frown, she tucked the frivolity under her cuff, wondering if he’d noticed her poor state and then wondering why she cared.

“I suppose most people think it’s silly,” she said. Mathew had thought it silly when she’d mentioned the book idea to him. She could still hear his words even years later.

“
Meg, don’t be daft, once we’re married you’ll need to take care of the children.”

“I think,” Grayson said, snapping her back into the present. “If you enjoy your book and if it will help support your family, then it is far from silly.”

Warmth entered her body and she fought the smile that pulled at her lips. “Thank you.”

He nodded.

She dared to relax somewhat. “I never understood the elite and their ways. To lull about all day, have nothing to occupy my mind, seems a waste of time. Searching for flowers gives me a purpose.”

He smiled, but didn’t respond. Had she offended him in some way? Blast, but she never could keep her thoughts quiet. Frustrated with herself, she instead focused on her surroundings. Dear Hanna would be ecstatic to know she’d found her last bloom. And how annoyed she’d be to know she hadn’t been able to come along. Meg’s gaze slid to Grayson. He hadn’t asked about Hanna in some time. Had she misjudged his interest? She’d found nothing in his room to incriminate the man. Then again, she’d had little time to look thoroughly.

“Where did you say you were from, Mr. Bellamont?”

“Meg,” he sighed. “I believe at this point, it would not be improper for you to call me Grayson.”

Her face heated at the thought. It would be completely improper. Dare she? “All right, Grayson.” She liked the way the word rolled off her tongue, the way it tasted and wished she had the nerve to call him Gray, as Millie did. “Where are you from?”

“London. My father was a lowly merchant in France before moving here.”

“I see.” A lowly merchant. For some reason she doubted that. She doubted there was anything lowly about the parents who’d produced Grayson Bellamont.

She tore her gaze away from the man, closing her eyes and focusing on the cool breeze that swept across the lake. When she did have time to search for her flowers, it was with a nagging sister or two at her side. But here, now, it was almost as if she was being courted.

Why, dear God, why was she so fascinated with Grayson? The man was arrogant, frightening, demanding... gorgeous, heroic.

Her eyes popped open. Her flower. She shifted, scanning the banks. The flower had floated away from her mind, insignificant in the presence of Bellamont. A splash of purple caught her attention. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “There. I think it’s there.”

Grayson steered the boat around a clump of reeds. Like a gift from the marsh, a tall purple bloom rose from the water and reached toward the sky. Only a few stakes were left, as if hanging onto dear life merely for her sake.

“What luck,” she whispered. “If we can pull it out by the root, the plant will last long enough to reach home. We can pack it in dirt and...” She glanced at Grayson to see him watching her curiously, as if not quite sure what to make of her. She shifted, willing the heat to stay from her face, but to no avail.

He didn’t say a word, merely steered the boat toward the bloom. It was no wonder why she hadn’t married. No man wanted a blue stocking. Not that she wanted to marry Grayson. The heat in her cheeks intensified. If only she could keep her mouth shut and speak of trivial things like fashion and weather. The boat ran into a clump of reeds and stopped with a thud.

“Can you reach it?” Grayson asked.

Meg nodded and leaned forward. The boat leaned with her, tipping precariously toward the water. On the surface of the pond, her reflection stared back at her, eyes wide, wondering, no doubt, what in the bloody world she was doing unescorted with a man.

“Hold tight, I’ll get closer.” Grayson used the oars to push them into the reeds, leaves scraping against the sides of the boat like the fingernails of a witch. Suddenly, they were surrounded by vegetation. Orange and red rays from the setting sun managed to pierce the gray clouds and sliced through the reeds, leaving them in a fairy land of color. The soft call of birds and frogs filled the air, a magical chorus provided by nature.

Her anxiety lifted and peace settled around her. This was why she could never live in London. “Everything is so perfect right now, so still.”

He looked out over the lake, as if just realizing where they were. The rays flashed against his face, highlighting the angles and making him glow like a golden Adonis. She wanted to reach out, to touch him and prove to her fanciful mind that he was real. He flinched, as if in pain and turned his head away, hiding his face in shadows.

“What is it?” she asked, but was interrupted when a low rumble of thunder rolled across the lake.

Grayson glanced at the clouds. “We should hurry before we’re caught in the rain.”

The words brought an image of Grayson to mind… water trailing down his chest. He’d tilt his head toward her and ...

She tore her gaze from him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, not daring to look up. “Fine.”

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the stiff weed. It didn’t budge. She gritted her teeth and pulled again. Nothing.

“Blast,” she snapped under her breath.

“Here, allow me.” Grayson moved closer, his breath cold across her face. She jerked back, but not before his arm brushed across her breasts. Her nipples instantly hardened. Horrified, she crossed her arms over her chest. Had he noticed? Please, God, don’t let him notice!

He wrapped both his hands around the stem and jerked upward. The flower pulled free, black, wet earth dripped from the roots.

“Your flower, milady.” He turned and handed her the bloom.

Why did she suddenly feel as if it was the first flower someone had ever given her? Her smile trembled on her lips as she reached for the blossom.

The boat tilted.

Grayson’s smile fell.

Meg dropped the flower and grasped the sides of the vessel. It was too late. With a creaking groan, the boat tipped. Meg’s mouth opened, but her scream was muffled by the splash.

Cold, murky water pulled her into its chilly grip, tugging her down…down. Meg struggled against the weight of her gown but it won in the end. Her bottom hit the murky marsh floor. Shocked and confused, Meg opened her eyes. The world had grown muffled and still.

The water above glinted, a prize of golden light on the surface not far out of reach. She struggled to stand, but her clothing wrapped around her legs, tripping her. Panic bubbled inside.

Just when she was about to cry out, a face appeared, floating through the reeds in front of her.

A woman’s gray face, mouth gaping open, long gray hair twisting into the seaweed. The Dowager Lady Brockwell. Dead.

Meg opened her mouth and screamed.

Chapter 13

A strong manacled arm wrapped around her waist and jerked back against a hard chest. Vaguely, Meg was aware of being pulled upward. It wasn’t until her head broke the surface that reality came crashing to the forefront. From her neck down, water lapped against her body, while cool air pierced her exposed face like a thousand tiny needles. Meg gasped, filling her lungs with air and forcing the liquid out with a great cough.

“Meg, are you all right?” Grayson’s voice broke through the fog in her head.

She blinked the water from her eyes and his body came into focus. The first thing she noticed was his white shirt clinging indecently to his broad shoulders. Slowly, her gaze traveled up his neck. Water dripped down his face, but it was his eyes that held her enraptured. He looked truly worried. “Meg, are you well?”

“Oh dear God!” She pushed away from him and dove back under the water. Before she could even blink, she was jerked back upward.

“A body!” She pushed against Grayson, struggling in his steel embrace. “I saw a body!”

For a moment, he merely stared at her.

“Grayson?”

Dropping his hold, he turned and started up the shore. “You were seeing things.”

She surged after him, but her skirt slapped against her legs, wrapping around her ankles and making her stumble onto the shore. Before she hit the dirt, Grayson jerked her up against him. Her hand’s flattened against his chest, her breath harsh.

“I wasn’t imagining things! There was a woman in that water. A body!” Dare she tell him she thought it was the Dowager Lady Brockwell, or would he think her insane, or worse, guilty?

“Don’t be ridiculous. The stress of the current events is making you see things that aren’t there.”

Her anger flared to life. She was tired of people telling her what to do, what to think. “Yes, just as I saw things that night in my cell?”

He didn’t respond, but started toward the path visible through the woods. She didn’t miss the fact that he hadn’t denied anything either.

“Mr. Bellamont,” she called out, tripping after him. He didn’t slow. Catching up to his long strides, she clasped onto his arm. Apparently her mistake had been in touching him. He spun around, his eyes flashing green. For the briefest of moments, she swore they glowed!

“What, Meg? What do you want from me?” He backed her up until her shoulder blades pressed against a fir tree.

Her fingers curled into the rough bark. She wanted to flee, but she wouldn’t cower. There were too many questions she needed answered. “Merely the truth. Merely for you, for once in your blasted life, to believe me.”

For one long moment he merely stood there, water trailing down his face as thunder rumbled in the distance. And for a moment she wondered if he was something unworldly. A water God who could control the elements with his mood.

Hell, maybe he was right. Maybe she had imagined the Dowager. She wouldn’t be surprised. She’d had so little sleep the past few days. But there was one thing she wasn’t wrong about, and that was the fact that Grayson was hiding
something
.

“What are you?” she whispered.

“Just a man, of course,” he said just as softly, his voice overly controlled. “Don’t you believe me?”

Beads of water coursed down the hard planes of his face, dripping onto the collar of his white shirt. He stepped closer to her. “A man who could have you here if I wanted to. Do you not think I would have taken you in that music room, right there on the piano?”

An ache formed in her gut, swirling lower and ever lower until it spread to that wicked place between her thighs. “I wouldn’t have let you.” She tilted her chin stubbornly, hoping to give more credence to her words.

His gaze flashed with a wry, hard amusement. “Really? You think you can control yourself? Your emotions. Do you think you can control me?” He braced his hands on either side of her head. Meg sucked in a breath, squeezing back until the bark bit painfully through her dress. She dared to raise her gaze until she looked directly into those eyes.

“Of course I can control myself. The question is, can you, Mr. Bellmont?” She knew what would happen for she had practically dared him to kiss her. So why had she said the words?