Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (17 page)

A few minutes passed as the men made plans for keeping Irene under protection. She didn’t hear what was decided, which was just as well. It would likely make her more fearful about the danger or more embarrassed about the fuss. Both, probably, and in equal measures.

Then it was over. Everyone left but her and Grant, who turned to her with a relieved smile. She touched his face, cherishing his moment of relaxed joy. A difficult evening done. A brother, if not yet reconciled, at least back in communication. She gave him a warm smile, allowing him a long moment to savor the relief. Then she said the words that would shatter his peace.

“I’m so glad that the evening went well. But I will have no secrets between us. You will tell me what happened those missing five years, or I will leave this instant, and you need not bother pursuing me.”

He looked at her then, his eyebrows raised and his jaw hard. Irene swallowed, but she would not change her mind.

“There is no secret,” he said. “You know what I have been doing the last five years.”

“Managing the mill as Mr. Grant?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowed.

“So why would you not tell your brother? First, you cannot hope to keep that a secret. Too many people know. Second…” Her voice faltered as she struggled to find the words. “Second, I cannot understand it. There must be more.”

He released a sigh and sagged in apparent exhaustion. She suddenly felt like the most horrible shrew, so she took his hand and led him to a settee by the fire. Did she really need to push for answers now? Every man had his secrets, didn’t he? And yet, this bothered her on a deep level.

She stroked her hand through his hair, feeling the silky texture of his curls, liking the way it tickled the back of her hand, even as her fingertips felt the heat of his body. It felt very intimate, and as she focused on that small wonder, she found the words to say.

“You are ashamed, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Horribly ashamed of working for your bread.”

He nodded, the motion a bare shift of his chin.

She sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder. He turned and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Again, it was a small gesture, but it was something she hadn’t felt in years—perhaps ever. Her husband had been about large movements and quick action. His voice had boomed, his laughter had filled her, and even their intimacy had felt like a storm at sea.

But with Grant, it was the little gestures that caught her. The way he tucked her close when they sat together. The press of his lips on her forehead and the stroke of his fingers along her arm. It was a quiet thing, and it felt as if this time together was as much a surprise to him as it was to her.

How horrible to hurt this quiet. There were so many other things they could be doing, but her heart would not let this fester.

“If you are ashamed of making an honest living then what must you think of me? I am a daughter of an earl, as nobly born as you.”

“I could never think less of you for that,” he said. “I know the strength it takes to work every day, to barter for the best prices, to seek out pieces that will excite your customer. And the exhilaration of a successful deal is something I dream about even now.”

He sounded sincere. God knows she felt everything he said. “But it is more than that for me,” she said softly. “I used to lie in bed at three in the afternoon and count the ticks of the clock. The sound would echo in my head louder and louder, and I would pray for it to stop. Just… stop.”

“Why didn’t you remove it from the room?”

“I did. And then it was breaths I counted. Or heartbeats. Or the number of times a branch scraped the window. It was all the same. An endless stream of time with no purpose.”

He tightened his hold, tucking her closer into his side. “You were grieving. You’d lost a husband.”

She laughed, the sound quiet in the room. “This was long before I met Nate. This was at home or sometimes at school. You cannot know the emptiness of my life then. My father was a gambler, so we were in constant fear of the duns. Even if my mother could stomach the shame of earning money in legitimate work, it hardly mattered. Father spent faster than we could earn. The only hope for the family was if I grew into a beauty.”

“Thank God you did.”

She snorted. Then she put her hand on his chest, enjoying the steady thump of his heart beneath her hand. “I did not, and you well know it.” But she liked that he had sounded sincere. Even better, he pulled back to look at her. He lifted her chin and studied her face.

“Your features are balanced, your skin is clear, and there is power in your eyes that I cannot explain.”

She blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone. “You see more than the average man,” she said. “And besides, back then my skin wasn’t quite as clear, my features were sharp, and my nose was like a hawk’s beak.”

“Certainly not!”

“Certainly so! The gossip columns reported my first debut as exactly such. ‘The hawklike features of Lady Irene will only attract those who want their eyes pecked out.’”

“Good God,” he gasped. “However did they get it so wrong?”

She smiled, the pain of that old hurt fading. “They didn’t. ‘Severe’ is perhaps the kindest term for my face.”

“But your eyes—”

“Hollow and haunted. Even I could see it. I just couldn’t do anything about it.”

He touched her face, his fingers a slow caress across her cheek and lips. “You’re beautiful, Irene. It’s in your face. All those things they decried—your nose and your chin—they are like the facets of brilliant stone. A diamond, or… have you ever seen a pigeon blood ruby? The tone is subtle, but it gives everything around it warmth. That’s you.”

She blinked, absorbing his words. A ruby? A diamond? No one had ever compared her to such things. Not even her father. It was so ridiculous as to make her speechless. But he was studying her face as if it were true.

“I’ve sketched you, you know,” he said.

She straightened slightly in his arms. “What?”

“A day after I met you. And almost every day since. But I cannot capture your eyes. Or your mouth. Or your… essence. It is too beautiful for my talents.”

She did not know what to say. Even Nate had never called her beautiful. He said she was beautiful enough for a rough sailor like him. And, at the time, she had thought him especially sweet. But that was nothing compared to what she felt for Grant at this moment.

So she stretched up just as his lips came down. Their mouths met in the slowest, most gentle of kisses. His tongue stroked her lips, their breaths mingled in a heated tease, and eventually, their tongues touched. A quick stroke, a twist, eventually a thrust. He pressed her backward into the cushions. She absorbed his words and his kisses into her very being.

It was a powerful kiss and one she knew she’d remember for the rest of her life. But before she became too drunk on his kisses, before his compliments stripped her of all reason, she had to explain the rest. She had to let him know why
his
shame hurt
her
so deeply.

“I met Nate at the market while I was staring at a melon I couldn’t afford,” she said. “We’d long since let our cook go, so I did the shopping with what little coins we had. Mama thought it would be less embarrassing for a daughter to be shopping, rather than a countess.”

He sighed quietly, his forehead dropping to meet hers in a gentle press. “You had a hard time of it,” he whispered.

“You keep saying that as if it makes me special. As if I deserve praise or sympathy for it.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes impossibly dark. “It does. You do. What you have struggled through takes my breath away. You are so strong—”

“Everyone struggles, Grant. No one has a life of ease. From the lowest bootblack to Prinny in his rich indulgences, we all search for a way to get through.”

He swallowed, and she knew he was listening. If only she could express herself more clearly.

“Nate bought me that melon. He was large and handsome, and he had a laugh that boomed through the room. He’s much like his father in that,” she said. “He made me feel safe, and he had money to spare. I clutched onto him, like I would grasp a rope at sea. Or perhaps, he was a cake before a starving woman.”

“You fell in love.”

She nodded. “I did. He looked at me as a woman, not a title. He made me laugh, and he bought me presents. Every day, there was something. They weren’t even expensive. A ribbon, a bauble, an ugly wooden bird he had tried to carve. He gave these things to me—little things—and he became the whole world to me.”

Grant pulled back, his expression open, despite the fact that they were speaking of her first lover.

“When we were together, he filled my days. There were endless stories about the sea. And when his throat grew tired from talking, he would whistle.”

“Whistle?”

“Yes, whistle. A tune. Or the call of a bird, though I think he made those up. He had traveled the world, so he could claim it was the call of a yellow songbird from China with a beak like a duck and the wingspan of an eagle. I would never know if it were true or just a story.”

“A story, I would think. At least that one.”

She smiled in memory. “Yes, that one was. But others, maybe not. It never mattered. He made me laugh, and when I was with him, I was full. Not just my belly, but my whole life.”

“And when he was away?”

“I counted the ticks of the clock. Only this time, it was an ormolu clock rather than an old wood clock from my grandmother.”

“The waiting must have been interminable.”

“Then he died. The news came as I was helping my father-in-law with his accounts. His eyes are failing him, and he needs help from someone he trusts. The messenger came from the boat. He told us they had been attacked by pirates, but Nate had marshaled a defense. They had fought them off, but he had been wounded during the fight. An infection set in, and he was dead soon after.”

“I’m so sorry, Irene,” Grant breathed, the passion in his eyes shifting to sadness.

She acknowledged his words with a nod, but she couldn’t focus on him. Not if she wanted to tell him everything. “Mama screamed and collapsed. Papa shuddered. I remember that. He just shuddered and then sat in his chair. The servants did everything then. They called for the doctor. Papa’s secretary handled all the arrangements.”

“What did you do?” he asked. She could hear the regret in his voice, as if he didn’t want to hear her answer, but knew she needed to say it.

“I took to my bed, Grant. And I stayed there for weeks just counting heartbeats. Or breaths. Or the taps of a branch. There was no reason to get out of bed. At least before my marriage, there had been some things to do. Food to buy, a dress to restitch, and always, the bill collectors to avoid. At school I had a few friends. Helaine, for one. But I’d lost my friends when I married a cit. And since my in-laws are wealthy, they had servants do the cooking and cleaning. They didn’t need me for anything.”

“My God,” he breathed. “What did you do?”

“Nothing at all.” She looked at him, trying to explain what was in her heart. “Don’t you see? I had everything I ever wanted—people who loved me, good food, beautiful clothes—but there was nothing to fill me. No husband, no children, no… nothing. I prayed for death, you know. Anything to bring an end to the tick of the clock.”

“It’s a wonder you did not go insane.”

“No, it’s a wonder that I could be so ridiculously stupid and not realize it.”

He started, drawing back at the anger in her tone. “You were grieving.”

“I was lazy and self-indulgent. Other women have their base needs taken care of. Other women have missing husbands. They occupy their time with charities or art. They spend hours helping at hospitals or supporting relatives who need an extra pair of hands. Even working at your mill, you gave thought to your mother and to the barn you’d burned down.”

“Do not confuse thought with guilt.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I did none of that. I never have. I lay in bed and counted the ticks of the clock. Until the day Helaine came and offered me a job as her purchaser, I did nothing at all.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the thing for the daughter of an earl to work. Even when charitable, it is for her to supply the goods, not carry the baskets.”

She slammed her hands down in her lap, startled that she had made fists. “But that is exactly my point! I was raised to think that the ultimate life was one of ease—every need provided for, every desire already met. And any woman or gentleman who had those things and chose to work anyway was considered of the lowest mind-set. A woman is seen as less desirable, a man is despised as unfortunate. And neither are accepted in the highest levels of the
ton
.”

He nodded, obviously knowing it was true.

“But it is wrong. From the depths of my soul, I say to you, that is wrong thinking. I love setting my mind to a task. I adore finding fabrics that Helaine will fashion into the most beautiful of gowns. I don’t even keep the money I earn. I give it to St. Clement Church. The point is that I am working, and nothing has ever filled me so well.”

“Then I am pleased that you have found it.”

“Are you?” she challenged. “Are you truly? You are ashamed of your work. That tells me that deep in your heart, you despise the very thing that makes you valuable in mine. And the reverse. That you must naturally hate the one occupation in my life that… that
is
my life.”

He took a deep breath. She studied his eyes, trying to read his expression or garner some clue to his thoughts. In the end, he looked away. A wood fire had been lit, and it was burning quietly, the logs more a glowing heat than a crackling flame.

“Did you see my brother’s face when he spoke about the canal? He has been talking about building it since he was a boy. He has an engineering bent, you know. Always saw how things fit together. Not just mechanically—though he is good enough at that—but in people too. When there was a problem in the village or with a crofter, he knew how to adjust things to make them fit. He said once that discordant things bother him, and he lives to set them right.”

She thought back on the evening, focusing specifically on Will. She could see the quiet in him, built on a solid foundation of confidence. She remembered the satisfaction in his voice when he talked about an engineering problem that had been solved or the unrest in the village now at peace. And now, with Miss Powel by his side, Will had a good life ahead.

“He’s happy. It’s an excellent thing.”

Grant nodded without turning his head. “My father had it too. He was a genius with numbers. Got him into trouble sometimes, especially when gambling. But it set the odds in his favor. If any man could make it as a gambler, it would have been him.”

Grant’s expression lightened. “He used to make this face when he was sorting through the odds. A tight pinch to his brows, like he had a pressure between his eyes. Then he’d snap his fingers.” Grant did the same, the sound a loud crack. “It was his idea to buy the mill, you know. He taught me how to calculate the profits and the losses. If he could have stayed with me instead of running back to London, I could have bought our land back two years ago.” He sighed and shook his head. “But he left, and I wasn’t half the man he was.”