Along Came a Rogue (20 page)

For her sake, he forced a small smile he didn't feel. He was deeply worried about her and now also incredibly uneasy about leaving her here, knowing it would only be a matter of hours—days, if they were lucky—before news of the baby flowed through London like the Thames. The house wasn't well protected from anyone who might want to break in, with old window sashes and easily picked locks, and it was staffed with men like Jensen who were too old and too portly to stop anyone who tried. Even though Thomas was healing, he wasn't well enough to protect Emily and the baby.

His brows knit together. “Do you have other family in London, any place else you can stay?”

She shook her head. “I'll be fine here.” Her fingers tightened against his. “The surprises are over now. It wasn't the way I wanted to tell them about the baby, but now that they know, the worst is over. And I want to be close to Thomas.”

She'd misunderstood his concern, but he didn't correct her, not wanting to upset her further. Deciding instead to place men on guard around the clock to watch the house, he acquiesced to her wishes and nodded. “Thomas needs you.”

Her eyes glistened. “And I need
you
, Grey.”

The soft words tore at him, a raw wound opening in his chest as he stared down at her beautiful face, the paralyzing fear once again showing in her sapphire eyes. He
hated
that fear and never wanted to see it in her eyes again.

But what were his choices? If he left her—

His heart stopped.
If
he left her…He knew then what he had to do, and the decision hit him with the force of a lightning bolt.

“I told you, brat,” he answered quietly but with deep resolve, “that I would always protect you and your baby.” He couldn't resist stroking her cheek in an attempt to soothe her, even as a knot of emotion lodged in his throat. “And that's exactly what I plan to do.”

“Grey, a word with you,” Thomas called from the doorway with a glance into the hall. “
Now
, please.”

Nodding, he stood and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You're not alone anymore, Emily.”

He hadn't quite reached the door of the room when her mother bustled inside. The look of recrimination the duchess gave him to find him in the bedroom stunned him for a moment, and he glanced past her at Thomas, who mouthed a silent
You're welcome.
Thank God Thomas was on his side, or her mother would have come in to find him sitting on the bed with her daughter, stroking her cheek. And army life had certainly never prepared him for a battle like that.

“Major Grey,” the duchess snapped, “a lady's bedroom—”

“—is no place for a gentleman. Thank goodness you're here now, Your Grace.” He sketched her a bow and sent her what he hoped she'd believe to be a grateful smile of relief. “I was just leaving to find you.” Behind her, he saw Thomas roll his eyes. “Lady Emily needs her mother to care for her, especially at this delicate time.”

That
took the wind from the woman's sails, and she blinked with momentary confusion, uncertain whether to continue her berating or thank him for his concern. “Well…yes,” she sputtered instead. “Yes, of course.” She paused, grudgingly forcing out, “I'm certain Thomas has thanked you for bringing Emily safely to us. We…appreciate all you've done.”

That was as close to gratitude as he would ever get from her. “I was happy to help, Your Grace.”

He glanced back at Emily. Even from this distance, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes, and fresh anguish sliced through his chest. This parting couldn't be helped, but he would be back. And he would make it his personal mission to never see her cry again.

With a polite bow to the duchess, and a deeper bow to Emily, he said his good-byes and strode from the room, each step filled with resolute determination.

“Where are you going?” Thomas demanded, falling into step beside him, his hand covering his wounded side.

“To make arrangements,” he answered, pausing at the top of the stairs to glance back at her room. “I've changed my mind.”

Thomas shook his head grimly. “If you leave her to go to Spain now, in her condition—”

“No,” Grey corrected with unyielding resolve. “I meant about marrying her.”

For a moment, Thomas only gaped at him incredulously. “When I asked earlier…” He shook his head. “My parents won't allow it, you know that. And certainly not if that child's a boy.”

He blew out a weary breath, not looking forward to
that
battle. But it couldn't be helped. “It's the only way I can protect her.”

“Protect her?” Thomas's brows drew down sharply. “Why would—”

“Do I have
your
permission to marry her, Thomas?” he asked solemnly. Emily was over twenty-one and didn't need anyone's permission, but Thomas's opinion mattered. A great deal.

Thomas stared at him for a moment as if his best friend had lost his mind, then grinned slowly. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” he sighed with relief, resting his hand briefly on Thomas's shoulder. “Not a word to Emily yet. I want to do this right.” He started down the stairs. “I'll be back tomorrow with a ring and posies for a proper proposal.”

“And a smelling bottle to resuscitate my parents,” Thomas called grimly after him.

Grey ignored that. He'd deal with her parents later. For now, his only concern was protecting Emily. And he
would
protect her. With his life.

T
ea, Emily?”

Ignoring her mother in her distraction, Emily nervously paced to the end of the drawing room and paused only long enough to pull back the gauzy curtain that filtered out the afternoon sunlight and glance through the large window at the front entrance—empty. No saddle horse. No carriage.

No Grey.

With a sigh of mounting agitation, she turned and headed back across the room, wringing her hands. Even after tossing and turning all night, she wasn't able to sit still today and rest. She'd remained too upset over the news of Dunwich's death, and she'd missed the warmth of Grey's protective arms around her as she slept. Nothing eased her worry and nervousness today, either. Not the book she'd tried to read, not sitting in the gardens, not even her sketchbook and pencils—and certainly not the letter her father insisted she write to the Committee for Privileges, informing them that she was with child. The same letter he delivered himself this afternoon. By tomorrow, all of London would know that she might be carrying the Dunwich heir, and then,
oh God
, what would she do to protect her baby?

Which was why she was pacing now. No—not pacing so much as simply wandering between the two windows, the door, and back, because in her anxious distraction she couldn't have managed a straight line if her life depended upon it.

The long case clock struck, and she jumped. Her heart thumped with the ringing of the hour…one, two, three, four…Her chest fell. Five o'clock, and still no Grey. Surely, he should have returned by now, to see how she'd managed through the night and if she were feeling better. Or at least to reassure her of Yardley's whereabouts, knowing how much the woman meant to her. Or if he'd started the investigation into Andrew's murder and the arson at Snowden. But…nothing.

Her mother held up a teacup as she wandered past, her brow furrowing with concern, and tried again. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

Emily waved it away and kept pacing, raising her thumb to her mouth to bite at her nail.

Thomas was also absent this afternoon, almost as if he was avoiding her, which pained her more than she wanted to admit. She'd told him about Andrew's death and the fire when she told her father that morning. At least the stunned look on her brother's face showed his concern and that he believed she wasn't lying, although most likely he thought her slightly mad. Even if she'd wanted to dissemble, Thomas was the one who taught her how to lie, and she was certain not one of hers would slip past him now. Which was going to make it very difficult when she finally told him the truth about her marriage and how she'd gotten with child, just as Grey had urged her to do.

But she couldn't. Not yet. Not on top of everything else. Right now, all she could think about was keeping her baby safe…and why, oh why, was Grey not here?

With a patient but determined sigh, her mother stood up and thrust the teacup in front of her as she circled the room again, nearly knocking Emily backward with surprise.

“Emily, your tea.” This time, the offer was not a request.

“Yes, Mama.” With a sigh, she sat on the gold-striped settee across the tea table from her mother and accepted the cup. Her mother meant well, making certain she ate even this tiny bit, but she had no taste for the stuff.

In fact, she'd had no appetite at all since leaving the inn yesterday morning. She'd swallowed only a few bites at lunch today and then mostly because she didn't want to offend Cook, who had been so worried about her lack of appetite after returning her breakfast tray completely untouched that the woman had come upstairs herself to inquire after her. A quick look now at the tray loaded with cinnamon biscuits specially made for her told Emily that Cook didn't believe her protests that she was fine. Her eyes misted at the generosity and concern of the household staff when they hadn't seen her in two years.

“You need to eat, my dear, especially now that you are increasing.” Her mother held up a small plate of tiny cucumber sandwiches—also her favorites, and her eyes blurred even more that Cook remembered a detail that small about her. Her mother's voice was soft with concern as she added, “I know you are still tired from traveling, but you must think of your baby's well-being.”

His
well-being
? Emily nearly laughed. That was nearly all she'd been thinking about for the past five months. Oh, her mother genuinely worried about her, she supposed, but the irony grated—the same woman who now fretted over her unborn grandchild had banished her own daughter for one foolish kiss.

Emily reached past the sandwiches for one of the biscuits, hoping to find some comfort there, if not her appetite.

A noise sounded from the street. She jumped to her feet so quickly that she nearly spilled her tea, only for her hopeful heart to plummet when she heard the singsong refrain of the rag-and-bone man.

She slowly sank back down onto the settee and raised the cup to her lips.

Her mother drew a deep breath and asked quietly, “Does Major Grey know that you are in love with him?”

The teacup tipped in her surprised hand and splashed a puddle onto the Turkish rug. “Pardon?” she squeaked.

“Major Grey,” her mother repeated with a long-suffering sigh, only adding to Emily's mortification that her mother would raise this topic, of all topics, with her. “You are in love with that man, and most likely have been since you were sixteen and saw him riding up to Ivy Glen in his scarlet uniform.” With a faint, wistful smile, her mother shook her head as if she knew herself what it felt like to lose her heart to a young officer the way Emily had lost hers so long ago to Grey. “A young lady would have to be blind not to find that sight dashing.”

Emily's heart skittered uncontrollably.
Good Lord
, how was it possible that her mother knew what she felt for Grey? Carefully keeping her reaction as even as possible so she could deny it, she slowly returned the cup to its saucer, only to be given away by her trembling hands and the soft clinking of the china.

“But that is all it is, my dear,” her mother assured her firmly yet not unkindly. “Only a dashing sight, nothing more. And a lady must always remember to look past the uniform to the man beneath.”

A blush heated her cheeks. Oh, she'd certainly seen the man beneath! She set her tea aside before she spilled it again. “Major Grey is a fine man, Mama,” she defended. There was no point in attempting to hide her feelings.

“Yes, by all accounts, Major Grey is a good man.” A slight chagrin darkened her face as she clarified, “Although his reputation with the ladies leaves much to be desired in the sort of companion I would have chosen for my son.”

Her eyes flew up to meet her mother's, and Emily stared at her, wide-eyed and speechless. There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, under many layers, yet still a compliment…for Grey.
Heavens
, she couldn't have been more surprised if Mama had just declared pigs capable of flying!

“And from what I have personally seen,” her mother continued grudgingly, carefully pronouncing each word as if it cost her great pain to admit it, “he is devoted to Thomas, and his loyalty to this family and to his country is beyond measure.”

Oh, that was definitely a compliment! Yet hearing it come from her mother's lips did nothing to soothe the unease rising inside her. Not when she knew how little her parents liked Grey and would gladly toss him completely from Chatham House if not for fear of losing Thomas's favor.

Mama raised her cup to her lips. “However—”

There!
There it was, the shift she'd expected. Emily steeled herself against the insults certain to be unfurled against Grey now.

“He is also an army officer and War Office agent.”

Emily forced down her rising ire. “I know exactly what he is,” she corrected softly. And what he was…was magnificent. Kind and caring, protective and brave, determined to secure a better life for himself—everything she could ever want in the man she took into her arms…and in a husband, should she ever dare let herself hope for that. “I also am quite aware of his faults.”
And happily willing to overlook them.
“So please do not attempt to turn my heart against him.”

Her mother's face softened with remorse. “That is not my intention, but you must remember who he is.” She lowered her cup to the saucer perched precariously upon her knee. Her eyes never raised from her tea as she said, “No matter what rank he achieves, he will never be a gentleman.”

Frustrated anger simmered low inside her that her mother should denigrate him so, the man who saved her life and her baby's. The same kind, caring man who made her feel loved and special. “Is that why you and Papa dislike him so much, because that's how you see him?” she demanded bluntly. “As nothing more than a blacksmith's son who dared to kiss your daughter?”

“Yes, we dislike him,” her mother acknowledged quietly but sincerely, her eyes softening as they lifted to meet hers. “But not for the reason you think.”

“Because you caught him kissing me in the garden,” Emily accused coldly. She remembered what Grey had said to her at Snowden. “Wasn't it enough to punish me by sending me away to school? Why must you continue to punish him as well?”

A flash of shock sped across her mother's face, and she shook her head. “Your father and I didn't send you to school as punishment.” Sadness laced her voice. “We were trying to save you in the only way we knew how.”

“
Save
me?” The question came out as an incredulous gasp, and Emily could only gape, stunned. The years of loneliness and isolation, of being treated as an outsider by the other young ladies among whom she never belonged, missing her brother and her home so badly that she cried herself to sleep night after night—
Good Lord
, if that was salvation, then…“What on earth did you think you were saving me from?”

Her mother's shoulders slumped, as if defeated. “From dashing young men in their scarlet uniforms,” she answered ruefully. She reached for the teapot to refill her cup, although her cup was still full, as if she needed to keep her hands busy and seized on the comfort of pouring tea. “My father was an army man, you know, a lieutenant in India, and I saw firsthand how hard army life can be, both for the men and for the women who marry them. Never enough money, being sent God knows where to live like natives, always the constant fear of attack and death…Later, when I married your father, I suffered through that same life. And I didn't want that for my daughter.”

“But—but it was only one kiss!” Emily exclaimed incredulously.

“And I would have done anything necessary to keep it from becoming more, for your sake, with any man who wasn't a gentleman. It wasn't Nathaniel Grey we were worried about but any man who saw you as an opportunity for social advancement.” She shook her head and set the pot down, her hand lingering on it regretfully as if remembering her own harsh childhood in India and her marriage before Papa inherited. “I wanted more for you than the life I had—an army officer's wife depending upon the kindness of relatives for a livable allowance.”

“It was a good life,” Emily argued, rising to her feet. “We had a wonderful home at Ivy Glen.”

“Thanks only to your father's brother and nephew,” she interjected, bitterness lacing her voice. “Without their kindness in letting us live there, we would have been crammed into rented rooms with barely enough money to feed and clothe us. Nearly every penny we had was because of them. Even then I worried constantly about how to settle the accounts and felt ashamed every time I had to ask for our allowance, through all of it suffering the embarrassment of being beholden to them.”

Emily stared at her with astonishment. But that—that wasn't possible! She remembered her childhood at Ivy Glen, how wonderful it had been…but she also remembered the visits by her uncle and cousin, the tension that descended upon the country house, how on edge her mother had seemed. Yet she'd had no idea of their circumstances or her mother's worry. Her parents had always been so careful with appearances, always conscious of social rank and connections. She'd assumed it was because they were social climbers themselves, set on achieving higher positions than they were born to. Never had any other alternative occurred to her.