The Princess and the Pauper (15 page)

“
I broke Papa’s
heart when he found
me with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He—he went mad
because of me.”

Grey frowned
at the bizarre admission. “He
was angry with me, not with you, Emily.”

She bowed her head. “At first,
yes, but after a time
he suspected you and I were . . .”

“
I see.”

An unexpected pressure released
in his heart. He hadn’t believed her father had mattered to him,
but hearing the man had died knowing the truth, that Grey
hadn’t
attacked and violated his daughter, put a part of him at
ease.

Another
part was unnerved to think their
childhood affair had resulted in the man’s lunacy.

“
His symptoms were mild at
first.” Her lips quivered and she swallowed to keep back the
tears
.
“Memory loss and a short temper. But then he developed physical
pain and finally delirium.”

“
Hence his poor business
decisions?”

She nodded. Her eyes watered and she shut
them until the moisture receded. When she looked at him again, her
expression was flat, but there was no mistaking the grief she’d
struggled with a moment ago. She believed her father had descended
into madness.

Grey did not.

He rubbed his
chin
. When
he’d left the household, Wright had no such symptoms. Wasn’t
madness gradual? Didn’t it take years for the mind to unravel?
According to the information gathered by Smith, Wright had
deteriorated in a matter of months. And surely the thought of his
daughter being with Grey wouldn’t actually drive the man
insane.

“
Emily, I know your father’s
undisciplined spending started a few months after I left the house,
and the timing might be suspect, but you—we—didn’t trigger his
madness.”

“
Don’t. Don’t try and take
the blame from me. I broke his heart. I broke both your hearts. I
deserve what’s happened to me.”

H
e might have agreed with her at one
resentful time, but he sure as hell didn’t think so anymore. His
blood burned, fever hot, knowing she had lived with such misery.
And he’d every intention of taking away her misery.

“
Do you trust
me
,
Rees?”

His
breath hitched. She looked at him
with such a searching expression, he sensed his answer would
determine the course of their future. “Yes.”

“
You hesitated.
Why?”

“
What game is
this?”

“
No game, Rees. I want the
truth, is all.”

He frowned
again. “The truth?”

“
Why do you ask me to play for
you? What freedom do you seek?” She whispered, “Is it freedom from
me?”

Perhaps a
few days ago he’d wanted freedom
from her. Perhaps a few days ago he’d believed it possible. But now
he knew he would never be free of her. And he didn’t want the
freedom, even if it was offered.

He stepped
nearer the bed, lifted her chin
with his thumb and pressed his mouth over hers. She opened for him,
took his breath away.

“
A better answer than the truth,”
she said softly before she pushed him away and tossed aside the
bedding. She left the bed and wrapped her naked body in his robe.
“I’m famished. Shall we have breakfast?”

“
Emily—”

“
It’s all right, Rees.
Sometimes it’s better to keep the truth a secret.”

“
We once shared every secret,” he
said with regret.

She removed her brush from her carpetbag
and combed her hair. “But we’re not children anymore, and it’s time
to give up childish ways.”

She was right. She needn’t hear how
embittered he’d once been. She needn’t hear the words, even if she
suspected them. And she certainly needn’t hear he intended to break
his promise and keep searching for the truth behind her father’s
death.

CHAPTER
7

The pile of letters on the study
desk reached Grey’
s eyebrows. He needed to hire a secretary to sift through
the monstrosity and attend to genuine business while burning the
remaining correspondences. But he’d look into the matter of an
assistant at another time. With a wave of his hand, he knocked the
heap of papers onto the floor to be filtered at a later
date.

“
What’s that?” Harry jerked and
opened his eyes, disoriented. He was sprawled across the divan, an
arm and leg dangling over the edge of the cushions, a blanket half
twisted around his body. Although he’d ordered furniture for one of
the guest bedrooms, the pieces had yet to arrive, making Grey’s
study his temporary refuge still.

Harry yawned, then smacked his lips. “What
time is it?”

“
Eight o’clock.”

“
Why are you waking me at
dawn?
”

“
Go to the kitchen and find
yourself some breakfast. I’ve business to attend.”

Grey’s
“business” was mediation. And he’d
much to consider after exploring long denied passions. He still
ached for Emily’s touch. He had always imagined being with her. At
one time, he’d even fooled himself into believing his dreams about
her were romanticized. But after last night, he’d proof they were
not. And there was no going back to a time when he’d only pined for
her. His blood called for Emily, like his lungs called for air,
like his belly called for food.

She was a primal desire.

And that made his
approaching betrayal
all the more difficult, even self-destructive, for in hurting her,
he’d hurt himself. But he couldn’t let the matter of her father’s
death rest. It would always hang over them. A silent accuser. It
would always condemn them, denounce their affections as wrong or
immoral. He couldn’t have that wretchedness near her or between
them. He couldn’t let her go on misbelieving
she
had killed her father just by loving
his servant. He only hoped she’d forgive him one day for breaking
his word and “disturbing the past.”

A knock at the door.

“
Come,” said
Grey.

Mr. Smith opened the door and stooped as
he entered the room, cap in hand.

Grey glanced at Harry. “Get
out.”

For a second,
Harry ogled the
bruiser, then tossed the blanket aside. “Righto, chum.” He dashed
from the study.

As soon as the door closed, Grey
demanded, “What more have you found, Mr. Smith?”

The man removed a small card
from his inner coat pocket and dropped
it on the desk.

Fingering
the stock paper, Grey scanned
the name and address. “And what does Dr. Snow on Harley
Street
have
to say about Mr. Wright?”

“
Plenty.”

He lifted a brow. “Well?”

“
He would not tell
me.”

“
Then how do you know he
has plenty to say?”

“
I know.”

Grey peered at the man.
“And he would not
tell
you?
”

“
No, but he might tell you. You
have an appointment with him this morning at ten o’clock for your
chronic headaches.”

“
I see.”

Perhaps Mr. Smith was right. It might be
better if Grey had a private audience with the good doctor.
Besides, he didn’t want the physician’s head split open. Grey
suspected Mr. Smith rarely heard the word “no.”

“
A wise decision, Mr. Smith. I’d
rather speak with the man myself.” He opened a side desk drawer.
“Here is the other fiver, as promised. I thank you for your
help.”

A bob of the head and Mr. Smith was
gone.

Grey picked up the card again,
rubbing the corner with his thumb. What secrets did Dr. Snow keep?
The sooner Grey unearthed them, the sooner the past
would
be
buried.

He headed for his
bedroom and stopped
at the door, uncertain if Emily was still inside. She had passed a
quiet breakfast with him before he’d left for the study. He still
wasn’t sure how their relationship had changed since this morning’s
revelations, but it had changed, and soon it would change
again.

H
e opened the door and found the room
empty. Perhaps she’d gone to her own chamber down the hall. Once
the freshly papered walls had cured, fittings, fixtures and
furnishings would be delivered. Perhaps some pieces had arrived
today.

His heart missed a
beat
. He
didn’t want her to move, not even a few rooms away. He wanted her
to stay with him. He wanted her to be . . . his wife.

A
longing gripped him as he remembered his
boyhood dream, so hopeless then. He’d wanted to do everything, be
everything for Emily. But he’d learned it was impossible to
be
any
thing for her, pauper that he was. He wasn’t a pauper
anymore, though. He was worthy of her now. And the thought of being
with her forever pressed him to meet with Dr. Snow and make the
past right.

In
brisk strides, he crossed the rug and
entered his dressing room. His clothes were rumpled from his heady
night with Emily, and he almost loathed to remove them, to remove
her scent from his body. But he couldn’t go to Harley Street
looking like a vagabond and smelling of lavender oil. He gathered a
clean, pressed pair of fawn trousers and a white shirt.

As he stripped off his clothes,
he se
nsed
another presence. Emily. Even with his back to the door, he knew
the moment she’d entered the dressing room, the moment she’d found
him naked. Her light steps faltered, her breath hastened. He smiled
knowing she admired him, hungered for him. At least that had not
changed between them. And his own body reacted to her desire. Even
the marks on his arms, where she’d buried her fingernails, pulsed
with awareness.

He slipped into his trousers
before another moment passed and he found himself buried
inside
her
.

“
Where are you going?”
she wondered in a
low voice.

“
I’ve an
appointment.”

He
turned around and took a breath. She stood
inside the room, her arms crossed under her breasts, her fair
features covered in a blush. She wore a day dress with horizontal
stripes of repeating red, brown and yellow shades, and her lush
auburn hair was tamed in a tight braid.

She appeared younger than her
twenty-two years,
vulnerable, and again he confronted the disturbing truth—if
it hadn’t been for the twist of fate that had brought him to
Woodward’s, she would be at the mercy of a stranger right
now.

He hardened at the
insufferable
thought. She had almost fallen. And his quest for the truth was
even more meaningful now. He was determined to make sure she never
slipped again.

“
With who
m?” she wondered, her blush
rising.

He pulled on his
shirt
, unsure
how to answer her. After a thoughtful pause, he resolved to voice
the truth. There was no reason to withhold it from her, for she
would learn it when he confessed his findings. “A
physician.”

“
Are you ill?”

“
Perhaps.”

Her eyes narrowed.
“I saw a man leaving
the house.”

“
Can’t I have a visitor in
my own house?”

“
No.
Harry is your only visitor, according
to the staff.”

He fastened his
waistcoat.
“The staff should mind their own affair.”

“
He was your hound, wasn’t
he? You promised, Rees. You promised not to snoop
anymore.”

“
Emily, I—”

“
No! I
told you everything. Papa went mad.
There’s
nothing
else to know.”

“
I’ll believe it when I
hear it from his doctor.”

She sucked in a sharp breath,
then said with restraint
, “I didn’t lie to you.”

“
I know.”

“
Then why can’t you leave
the past alone?”

“
I don’t believe your father died
from madness, even if you believe it.” He looped his necktie.
“Don’t you want the truth?”

“
I
know
the truth. Dr. Snow won’t tell you a different
tale.”

“
Then I should be home before
lunch.” He tugged on his boots and coat, enrobed in full morning
dress. “I am doing this for your sake, Emily.”

“
If you leave
, I won’t be here when you
return.”

He stilled. “And where will you go?
Back to Woodward’s?”

“
If I must.”

“
He would only return you
to me. We have a business arrangement, remember?”