Along Came a Rogue (21 page)

“I wanted a better life for you, Emily, and when your father and I stumbled upon you two that day in the garden…” A pleading look for understanding swept across her mother's face. “Well, it was obvious to me that you might never get that life. So we asked your cousin for the tuition money to send you to school.” Her mother drew a deep breath and admitted, “You needed a better education than I was able to provide for you at Ivy Glen, one that would teach you how to become a gentleman's wife. We also hoped that you would make friends among the other young ladies and acquire their tastes and standards.” She paused. “Especially in suitors.”

Andrew.
The realization hit her like a slap. That was why they'd urged her to marry him, because they thought he would provide the best life possible for her. A gentleman with a decent allowance and a small country estate of his own, relatives in a well-respected family, even a distant connection to a title…They must have thought they'd been blessed by fate to have such a man offer for her. No wonder they didn't believe Thomas's doubts about him—Andrew had been everything they'd ever dreamed of for their daughter.

Emily knew then that she could never tell them about the full misery of her marriage, that the man they thought would be her salvation turned out to be exactly the kind of fortune hunter from whom they'd tried so desperately to protect her. Their concern and love was misguided, oh, terribly so! But it was love, nonetheless, in its own way.

“And you might now be carrying a marquess, which means all those dashing young men will once again be clamoring for your attention.” Her mother set her tea aside, as if she, too, had lost her appetite. She added softly, “You might once again be in danger of losing your heart.”

Not losing, Emily thought, pressing her hand against her chest.
Lost.
Her heart was already gone, although in truth she'd lost it five years ago, and only finding Grey again had brought it back to her. “Grey isn't one of those men, Mama. He's not a fortune hunter.”

“No, I do not believe that he is.” Her mother's brow furrowed.

Confusion pulsed through her. “Then why do you—”

“Does he know that you are in love with him?” she asked again, with more tenderness and concern than Emily expected, so much that it took her breath away.

Her face flushed, and she averted her eyes, even as her mother's gaze watched her closely, waiting for an answer. “No,” she admitted in a whisper. “I haven't told him yet.”

Her mother's voice softened. “And does he love you?”

Her chest tightened with a painful clench. She didn't have the strength—yet possessed far too much pride—to admit that her mother had no worries there, that Grey didn't care about her, at least not the way she wanted. So she deflected the question. “I would consider myself lucky to have his love. He's a war hero and patriot, a man who carved out a decent life for himself against all odds.” She added pointedly, “He saved my life.”

Her mother shook her head sadly. “You know the reputation he has, Emily.”

“As a rake, you mean,” she snapped out irritably.
Why
must Mama persist in disparaging him like this?

“No, not that,” her mother corrected softly. “His reputation as a man who craves adventure and action, who loves the chase and the hunt.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know Major Grey well, given his friendship with your brother,” she told her gently, “and you are not the first woman to fall for his dashing nature, nor the first who has wanted to wed him.”

Her chest tightened with a hot rush of jealousy. It was true, certainly—if she loved Grey so deeply, then surely other women had also lost their hearts to him just as she had. She couldn't imagine anyone
not
falling in love with him, so completely did she love him. But coming from Mama, the observation was heartbreaking.

Her mother's eyes glistened with sympathy. “And it is a mistake for you to want marriage with a man like him.”

“Grey would be a wonderful husband and father,” Emily protested, blinking back the stinging in her eyes. Why was Mama torturing her like this? “The best I could ever hope for.”

“I'm certain he would,” she conceded, surprising Emily so much with her compliment that she gaped at her mother. Yet her mother's eyes filled with regret and sadness. “But my sweet daughter, what makes you think you would be the right wife for him?”

Emily blinked, stunned. Of all the things for Mama to say—she certainly hadn't expected that! Her heart skipped, and the air left her lungs in one anguished breath.
Because I love him. Because I know his secrets and he knows mine, yet we still care for each other. Because we're perfect together…
But nothing came from her lips, because with each skittering beat of her thumping heart, she feared her mother might be right.

“I know both of you, perhaps better than you know yourselves. Even if you somehow managed to change his tiger's stripes and convinced him to marry, even if he became accepted by society…” Her mother paused, an expression of grim knowing crossing her face. “A man like him would never be happy leading a respectable life in English society, and you wouldn't be happy with anything else.”

“That's not true,” Emily whispered defensively, but even as she spoke, tears burned in her eyes.

With a soft expression of knowing pity, her mother folded her hands in her lap and gently shook her head. “To give up his freedom, to leave behind the excitement of battles and chasing enemies for a life of domesticity, babies, social outings—could you imagine a man like him, retired to a life of leisure on a country estate? He would go mad within a fortnight.”

Emily lowered her gaze to the floor as she began to tremble.
No.
Grey wasn't like that. He might consider himself a lurker who belonged between worlds, but he knew society and its benefits and would fit into that life as well as any gentleman. She knew it! He'd hurt his own cause in the past by cultivating his reputation as a rake and an outsider, but surely, he could overcome that…couldn't he?

“I knew men like him in India,” her mother continued quietly, “those men who had a taste for adventure. They were never happy leading an ordinary life, and your Major Grey is the same. I see it every time I look at him.”

Emily glanced away as uncertainty swirled through her and mixed with the roiling pain knotting her insides. She had seen the same look in him herself.

“For a man like him,” her mother said softly as she rose to her feet and stepped slowly toward her, “even the best marriage would be…well, it would be like trapping a tiger in a cage.”

A tiger in a cage.
Pain tore through her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force away the heartbreak of her mother's words. Because she was right. Grey valued his freedom more than anything else. Good God, he'd told her so! The freedom to shape his own life, to come and go between worlds as he pleased…to accept a promotion in Spain.

“In time,” her mother assured her, placing her hand on Emily's arm and gently squeezing, “he would regret choosing a wife over the War Office, and whatever love he holds for you now would only turn to resentment.”

“He would never…” Yet even as Emily whispered the words, she doubted them.

Pity swam in her mother's eyes. She reached up to tuck a stray curl behind Emily's ear, the same motherly gesture she used to do when Emily was just a little girl, still in braids in the nursery at Ivy Glen. “Please understand. I do not tell you this to hurt you, my darling, but to keep you from being hurt.”

The air tore from her lungs. Oh, it was too late for that! Already the pain and loss reverberated inside her.

A soft scratch sounded at the door, and Jensen entered. “Your Grace.” He bowed to the duchess, then turned to Emily with a nod. “There is a caller downstairs for Lady Emily. Major Grey, ma'am.”

Pressing her hand hard against her chest and the heart that pounded so achingly within, Emily drew a sharp breath to gather her strength and find the resolve to face him. All day she'd paced and hoped he'd come see her, but now that he was here, dread fell coldly through her.

The butler paused, waiting for a response. When she didn't answer, he pressed gently, “What would you like me to do with him, ma'am?”

For the first time concerning Grey, she hesitated. Then, drawing a deep breath, she answered nervously, “Would you please show the major upstairs?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Jensen inclined his head and retreated.

“I shall leave you two to talk,” her mother offered soberly. “But please remember all I've said. It would break my heart to see you hurt.”

Her mother kissed her softly on the cheek, then silently left.

With her mother gone, Emily looked down at her hands. They were shaking, with no way to stop them.

She turned away and once again set to pacing the room, this time in desperation to collect herself before Grey saw the anguish on her face and the pain of her shattered heart. Her mother was right. He wasn't the sort of man who could tolerate a normal society marriage, but he knew it, too. Which was why he'd never made any promises to her for a future or any kind of commitment beyond delivering her to London, why he'd never even hinted about marriage. Oh, she was such a fool! While she was falling in love, he had been planning his relocation to Spain.

Even if he changed his mind and decided he wanted her—
a tiger in a cage
. She closed her eyes against the pain of the truth. Her mother was right; Grey loved being an agent and the life of excitement that accompanied it, the possibility for an even better future it might yet bring him. All she could do was take that away.

And what would become of her if she did and if he grew to resent her for it? She knew what hell it was to be married to a man who hated his wife, who blamed her for turning his life into something he never wanted—who would only end up abandoning her. Oh God, she couldn't bear that again! And certainly not from Grey, of all men. The only man she'd ever loved, and the only man she ever would.

“Emily.”

His deep voice shivered through her. She opened her eyes and watched him saunter into the room. The sight of him stole her breath away.

Dressed in formal afternoon attire of a silk maroon waistcoat, tan trousers, and a black superfine jacket, he could have put Beau Brummell's dandies to shame, certainly outshining them all with his golden hair and handsome face. His man had spent hours on the intricately knotted cravat at his neck, his close shave, and the shine of his polished boots. He'd taken her breath away before, even half-dressed and sporting two days' growth of beard. But this…
sweet Lord
, she hadn't been prepared for this! Every inch proclaimed him the gentleman he was born to be instead of the orphan fate had made him.

But when he smiled at her, a look so full of affection that his eyes shined, the tug at her heart told her that nothing from his past signified. What mattered was his future. And she would do whatever she had to in order to ensure that.

Even if it meant a future without her.

Grey stared at her, unable to tear his gaze away. He'd spent all last night pacing and practicing what he would say to her. Now that the moment had arrived, however, he couldn't remember a blasted word. Of course, the ferocious pounding of his heart didn't help alleviate his nervousness, or how his palms had grown so sweaty that he didn't dare remove his gloves. Or by the weight of the ring box in his breast pocket, acting as a constant reminder that his life was about to change forever.

And it certainly wasn't helped by the way Emily simply stood there on the far side of the room, making no move to rush to him as he'd hoped.

He frowned, a soft pang of uncertainty rising inside him. “Emily.” He came forward. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” But instead of stepping into his arms as he wanted, she moved away.

He froze. A warning prickled low in his gut. No, she wasn't fine. Not at all.

She averted her eyes as she took another step away from him, and he saw her hands tremble before she twisted them into her skirt to hide them. She was nervous, anxious—

Damnation!
His jaw clenched with anger. If Thomas had told her of his proposal plans, he'd pummel him senseless for it, bullet wound or not.

When she moved back yet again as he stepped forward, he halted. His eyes narrowed on her. Bewilderment instantly replaced the anger. Had he completely misread her? From the way she'd clung to him yesterday when he had to leave her, as if her heart would break to part from him, he'd been certain she'd sparked an affection for him. Yet he didn't dare hope for love. That would make this moment far too easy, and he'd never been a friend to fate.

But to behave like this now, as if she'd flee from the room—and him—if she could sidle herself closer to the door…

“Did Thomas speak to you?” he half demanded, not knowing whether to be furious at Thomas or worried about her.

She shook her head. “I haven't told him yet about my marriage,” she answered quietly, her gaze pinned to the floor. As if she couldn't find the courage to look at him. “With everything else he's had to deal with, I thought it best to wait a few days.”

He clenched his jaw. “That's not what I meant.”

“Oh,” she breathed out knowingly, still not daring to look at him. “That.”

Yes,
that
. Even now ire at her brother prickled in his chest, right beneath the ring box.

“Of course I haven't,” she blurted out, blushing scarlet with embarrassment. “But I think he suspects what happened between us.”

He gaped at her. She thought he meant about the journey from Yorkshire. She didn't know about the wedding proposal, Thomas hadn't told her—so why on earth was she acting so strangely?