Say Yes to the Duke (26 page)

“I knew you had an excess of pride,” Janice said, “but I didn’t know you were capable
of … of
this
.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The duke brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek. “Everyone
loves me, Lady Janice. They respect me, too. As will you. It would behoove you, my
dear, to stay away from your handsome groom from this moment on. And if you attempt
to pass messages to him through any of your friends, they’ll have to answer to me
when I find out—and I will. Your father would appreciate my concern, I’m sure, even
if you don’t.”

He smiled at her, and bile rose in her throat.

“So,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

She said nothing. How could she get out of this?
How?

“Lady Janice,” he said, “I’ll ask again: will you marry me?”

“What do you think,
Your Grace
?” She stared at him for a pointed moment, and in his eyes she saw no warmth, no generosity.
No genuine interest in the world. His focus was inward. And small. Very
small.

She walked around him, giving herself a good few feet of space, and as she exited
the library she thought what a difference a day made. She’d no idea when she was searching
for that journal in this very room that she and Emily March would ever have anything
in common.

But they did. In more ways than one.

“I’ll get a special license!” he called after her.

She didn’t answer.

Chapter Twenty-one

Oh, the irony.
Grayson chuckled early the next morning, knowing full well that the groom his informants
in the stables had reported on was the same one who’d promised to protect the estate.
He’d guessed, even before the snitch—one of the older stable hands, a lazy one—described
the man as having waited for Lady Janice the evening previous with a glowing lantern
in the window.

They’d had a secret assignation.

Grayson knew it had to have been the quietly defiant groom. That man would turn any
woman’s head.

He’d certainly turned Lady Janice’s.

At the request of Grayson’s secretary, the man appeared at the library door while
Grayson was reading the week-old London newspaper. Rowntree sat in a chair by the
fire, looking into it drearily. He’d drunk too much the night before, as usual, and
was bored and ready for a nap already, like the hounds who lay sprawled on the floor
beside him. Yarrow, the idiot, was absent, probably still asleep himself.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” said the groom.

His name was Luke Callahan, according to the tattling stable hand.

Grayson raked him with an indifferent glance, but inside he felt far from indifferent.
He was supremely jealous of him. “Why did you leave Sir Milo in Bramblewood? Weren’t
you supposed to stay with him?”

“He told me to come back,” the servant said. “So I obeyed.”

“Really?” Grayson rested his jaw on his hand and observed the Callahan fellow speculatively.
“Why would he do that?”

“I’ve no idea.” The groom shrugged, his shoulders so broad, he looked like Atlas.

He was a cool one.

“I don’t suppose you came back because you missed the horses and the other groomsmen
so much that you disobeyed orders. Perhaps you were in the midst of an enthralling
card game.” Grayson chuckled.

“Of course not, Your Grace.”

Grayson arched one eyebrow. “I wonder who else you might have missed here?”

The man looked at him without blinking.

“No answer?”

“None,” Luke Callahan said. “As I said earlier, I came back because Sir Milo told
me to.”

Grayson yawned. “How long have you been working here, groom?”

“About six weeks, Your Grace.”

“Not very long.” Grayson shook his head. “Not long at all.”

“No, Your Grace.”

Grayson stood. “Yet you believe you can protect the estate.”

“I know I can, Your Grace.” Luke Callahan spread his legs a little wide, like a soldier.

“Interesting,” Grayson said. It took everything in him not to say that he knew the
groom had lain in the hay with a young lady in his charge. “This afternoon I’ll be
taking my future wife and the rest of my guests to see the orchids at the dower house.
Prepare two sleighs. There will be eight of us in all. We’ll leave at half past two.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Grayson watched him closely but saw no change in his expression. “You’ll drive my
sleigh. I take it you do well with the reins?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Was that a clenching of the man’s jaw he saw? Grayson had a wild hope that it was.
“Off with you.” He waved him out.

But he wasn’t done with him. Not by far.

*   *   *

Back at the stables Luke and Aaron were busy cleaning out two adjacent stalls. Luke
had never worked so hard in his life. It couldn’t be true. Not possibly. Janice had
told him herself she’d never marry Grayson. Ever.

“Did you hear?” Aaron called over to him.

“No,” said Luke. “What?

“Lady Janice is going to marry the duke.”

It smarted to hear it confirmed, like a cut exposed to salt. Luke leaned on the handle
of his pitchfork. “Where did you hear that?”

“From Mr. Camp,” Aaron said. “He likes to visit the maids in the main kitchen. He
heard it from one of them. The duke already told the butler and the housekeeper that
there’s to be an engagement ball in London at his town house.”

“Any idea when?” Luke asked carelessly.

“Soon, Mr. Camp says. The duke wants to get a special license and marry her at St.
Paul’s.”

“So he’s impatient.” Luke went back to pitching hay.

“I suppose he must be.”

It made no sense. Lady Janice did
not
want to marry Grayson. Luke wouldn’t believe that she’d lied to him. Nor would he
believe that the agitation she’d felt when she’d left him in the stables had anything
to do with it. She’d been frustrated with him, yes, because he wasn’t very open about
talking about his past. But that wouldn’t drive her into his cousin’s arms.

There had to be a reason, and all Luke could think was that Grayson had given her
no choice.

He had to see her. Speak to her. He had to know what had occurred.

“I don’t know how it happened so fast,” Oscar told him near the coal stove, where
he sat polishing his gold coat buttons with the House of Brady seal, “unless the marquess
had an arrangement with the duke that none of us knew about.”

“How do you feel about it?” Luke was curious to know.

Oscar raised one eyebrow. “A few days ago, I would have thought it was a fine thing.
But now that I’ve been here and I see how this place is run, I’m not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“No servant appears very happy. And that tells me a great deal about the master.”
He sighed. “I’ve heard no bad tales against him, but I wish I had the marquess’s ear.
As soon as the roads clear, I’ll get a letter out.”

“What will you tell him?”

Oscar’s brow furrowed. “That he should withhold permission until he stays at this
place.”

“Do you have that much sway in your household?” Luke asked him.

“My opinion, kind sir, holds a great deal of sway. I’ve been with Lord Brady’s family
since he was ten years old.” Oscar eyed Luke with wry amusement—as if he couldn’t
believe he didn’t know—then went back to his coat buttons.

Luke would love to have told Janice’s driver the whole truth—he was sure the man was
trustworthy, and there might come a time when he needed to confide in him. But if
Luke said anything now, Oscar could do nothing to help. In a few days, the roads would
be open for travel. Things would be different then. Letters could go out, for one.
Beleaguered women could be whisked away from rotten cousins.…

Not that Luke would consider such an extreme possibility yet. He needed to know more.

*   *   *

At the appointed time, Grayson and Janice came out together leading the party. Luke
felt burning fury upon seeing Grayson possessively holding Janice’s arm.
Steady,
he told himself.
Stay the course.

Luke caught her eye, but she looked away immediately. Clearly, she was unhappy. There
was a pall to her skin. And she looked as if she’d gotten very little sleep.

Everything in him cried to save her. To punch Grayson to the ground. To scatter his
questionable houseguests—leaving Mrs. Friday alone, of course—and go roaring into
Halsey House in search of his mother’s diary.

Instead, he held out his hand. “May I help you, my lady?” he asked Janice.

She said nothing—and still wouldn’t look at him—but when their hands clasped, even
through her glove he thought he felt it: Her fear. Her need of him. Her determination
to be brave.

He couldn’t be sure. How could he be sure of anything with her, especially now? Even
so, he had difficulty letting go of her fine fingers. Only last evening, they’d clasped
his neck, caressed him, and brought him to a state of utter bliss.

The duke got in on the other side and sat next to Janice, facing the front. Opposite
them were Lord Rowntree and Miss Branson. Lord Yarrow rode in the other sleigh with
Mrs. Friday, Lady Opal, and Lady Rose.

“All ready, then?” Luke called to the other driver, who nodded.

The sleigh bells jingled. It was too early to think about Christmas, but to Luke’s
ear the merry sound was usually welcome, especially when winter was unrelenting, as
it had been this year. Today, however, the ringing sounded false. Jarring. His back
was to Janice, but he could sense her there next to Grayson. And it killed him a moment
later to listen to them speak to each other as if the world hadn’t just turned upside
down, which for Luke it had.

The sleigh was a beauty and the ride smooth. The two horses pranced, their ears twitching
in enjoyment, as they pulled their load to the dower house. The air was cold and dry,
relentless, like the conversation behind him, which exposed more of Luke’s misery
with every passing second.

“We’ll go to Paris on our honeymoon,” Grayson was saying. “And then Rome. Which is
your favorite, my dear?”

Luke’s hands tightened on the reins.
“My dear.” Hah!

But before Janice could answer, Miss Branson spoke up. “What about Boston? I can set
you up in a cozy thirty-room cottage facing Boston Harbor.”

“Next year,” Grayson said. “I plan on taking my bride all over the world and lavishing
her with anything she wants. America is on the list of destinations.”

“You’re a fortunate lady,” Lord Rowntree said. “To be a duchess and so adored. How
many women in London would like to take your place?”

There was silence. A long silence that made Grayson’s heart soar. Good for Janice
for ignoring the blathering of Grayson and his friends!

“My lady?” Grayson’s phony cultured voice was more annoying than ever. “Lord Rowntree
asked you a question.”

Luke detected some pique there—and loved it.

“Did he?” Janice sounded surprised. “I was admiring the view. I didn’t hear. What
was that, Lord Rowntree?”

Luke’s spirits plummeted. Deuce take it, maybe she really
hadn’t
heard the question! The sleigh bells were jangling so loud, they were giving him
a headache.

“He wants to know how many women in London would like to be the next Duchess of Halsey,”
Grayson said.

Smug bastard.
Luke urged the horses to go a little faster. He couldn’t wait to get to the dower
house.

“All my London friends will be envious, I’m sure,” Janice said.

God, Luke hated that answer. And he hated that voice. It was the same lofty London
one she’d used on him when they’d first met and she’d been so defensive. Which meant
either she was scared at the moment—which wasn’t good but gave him hope—or she’d given
up.

Surrendered to the life that she was meant to lead, according to her class.

He knew that was the right choice for her. But even so, his stomach roiled at the
thought that perhaps she
had
decided to take on a leading role in the ton. Her parents would be pleased. She’d
never want for any material thing. Her life would be colorful. Adventurous. She’d
become that world traveler and meet important people wherever she went.

The temptation of becoming a duchess might have proved too strong for her to resist.

And if that was the case, well, Luke was relieved to be done with her. And on the
heels of that thought, he swiftly admonished himself not to be angry. She’d proved
herself just like the rest of the world by looking out for herself.

It was his own motto, wasn’t it?

He shouldn’t be angry. No. He really shouldn’t. He focused on the sleigh hissing across
the snow. Around the next tall hedge the Oriental-style gazebo would come into view,
and around the bend from that the dower house. But—

Dammit, he
was
angry. And he well knew why.

Forget her.
He inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. What had he been thinking getting all soft and
caring?
Get yourself back on track, Callahan.

“Damn tootin’ she’s a lucky woman,” Miss Branson was saying. “What do you think, Lady
Janice? Boston next year? Lobster? Clam chowder?”

“Whatever His Grace decides is best,” Janice answered.

Luke made a face at that comment and sat up a little taller so no one would guess
that he was dying to get away. He’d begun to hunch over, he noticed, as if that would
help him hide.

But no, he determined as the sleigh slid past the snow-laden gazebo. He would endure
this ridiculous conversation.

“Boy, she’s obedient,” Miss Branson said with a chuckle, presumably to Grayson. “I
know you men like that kind of woman.” She sighed. “Just don’t get all namby-pamby
on us, Lady Janice. When you come to America, you’ll need a backbone.”

Miss Branson obviously didn’t know Janice. She had a backbone, all right. Luke prayed
she still knew how to use it.