Yet she was the one to reach out to him. But she needed someone, and he fit the bill.

  Funny that after all these years she could walk into a room and sense whether he was there or not, much like an apparition ready to haunt her. There was always a sense of ravenousness about the marquess, a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied. The way he stared at her at times, she almost felt like his prey.

  When it happened, she never let on how it affected her. Deep down, she loved the feeling. His heated gazes reminded her that he’d once looked at her that way when they were courting. His eyes would darken with promises of private caresses, titillating touches, and so much more.

  Late at night, much like last evening, she’d feel that same hunger. What she wouldn’t give to have a man who was consumed with her and not concerned with money, lineage, or other women.

  Just her.

  She cleared her throat gently to disperse her thoughts about Grayson. “I’ve given this thought. Everything is tied together. I wanted to meet the farmer who sold Meri your Hampshire boar.”

  Kat tapped her chin. “I have the papers that accompanied the sale. I could give them to you.”

  Beth sat on the edge of her seat and turned to Constance. “Do you have the lease from the mine Meri left you?”

  Constance placed her glass of lemonade on the table and rested her hand on her rounded stomach. She and Sykeston were expecting. “It’s at the solicitor’s office. I’ll send word to Mr. Hanes that you’d like to examine it.” She turned to Kat. “Does Randford still have that collection of personal items of Meri’s? Perhaps Beth could look at that before she goes.”

  “Of course. It contains old racing sheets, notices of horse sales, and a locked box without a key. Christian wanted to throw it out, but I asked him not to. You’re more than welcome to look at all of it.”

  “Thank you,” Beth said. For the first time in a while, hope surged. Yet unease niggled its way through her thoughts. Why was it that Meri left Kat and Constance something but seemed to have forgotten her?

  Did he think her unworthy of such a bequest? Perhaps she was the type of person who was forgettable. Society certainly didn’t remember her. Most of her friends from finishing school had stopped calling on her when it was discovered she was one of Meri’s widows. No one wanted any part of the scandal.

  But everyone loved to talk about it.

  What had hurt the most was that her pretend husband only spent one night in her bed. Perhaps it said more about him than it did about her. Another promise broken.

  She had quite the collection of those.

  Chapter Five

  Beth Howell was the key to Julian finding funds for the consortium’s proposal.

  Plus, if he and Beth were successful, she would never have to consider Siddleton’s proposal again. She could also move out of her brother’s home and live on her own. It would give her the independence she sought.

  Julian would do everything in his power to help her. Because by helping her, he’d help himself. God, if only they had a little luck on their side. With a painful sigh, he turned his attention to the business at hand, Willa Ferguson and Jacob Morgan’s wedding.

  “What are you bemoaning?” Cillian yanked the cravat tight before creating the elaborate knot that would soon be choking him.

  “I didn’t realize I said anything aloud. Forget—” His words lodged in his throat when Cillian tightened the bloody knot around his neck, making it difficult to breathe, let alone converse. Somehow, he managed to squeeze out, “Looser, if you have a care.”

  “I don’t want my masterpiece to sag midway in the ceremony. Do you? Now buck up and take it like a marquess. Besides, you want to make a good impression with Miss Howell.” A wicked smile appeared. “I think it’s marvelous to see you in such a state. You’re normally”—the valet drew back and regarded his work tying the neckcloth—“much too staid. Boring even.” Obviously, he wasn’t satisfied, as he continued to fret with the blasted knot he’d created.

  “I see that you hold me in the highest regard,” Julian answered sarcastically. “Remind me again why I keep you in my employ?”

  “Besides the fact I’m the only one you can afford, I think you’re quite lucky to have me by your side. I have a myriad of talents that you benefit from. More importantly, you need me. I even would venture to say that you enjoy my company.” Cillian lifted an eyebrow and critically evaluated Julian. “I enjoy you also, but not as much as you enjoy me.”

  “I never realized how pretentious you are,” Julian retorted.

  “I think you should help Miss Howell. She trusts you, and the idea a lady of Miss Howell’s worth setting off on such an adventure without someone loyal and faithful? It would be a travesty,” his valet said, then waved a hand at the mirror. That was the signal for Julian to admire Cillian’s handiwork and give effusive praise.

  “Loyal and faithful? You make me sound like a dog. Furthermore, I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Julian turned to the mirror. “Pink.” He blinked to ensure that the vision in the mirror was him. Once verified, he shook his head. “You tied a pink cravat around my neck?”

  “Don’t make such a great fuss and clatter about a piece of fashion.” Cillian pointed to a table where a bouquet of blush-colored roses lay. “The duke wants you to wear one of those on the lapel. Why he sent so many is beyond me.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Perhaps you could present them as a token of your esteem to a special someone.”

  “Stop.” Julian captured his valet’s gaze in the mirror.

  Julian tugged at the cravat absently, while his other hand clenched in a tight fist. Blood pounded through his veins as it always did when he thought of how he’d lost Beth years ago. Then when he told his father that Howell had refused his offer for her, his father had offered no advice or even empathy. He’d merely said, What a disappointment.

  Perhaps his father had been referring to him.

  Or perhaps he was disappointed in Grayson’s sense of pride.

  He’d never forget the day when Howell had called him a fortune hunter. Beth’s brother had threatened to buy all the marquessate’s debts and force Grayson’s father into insolvency if Julian had pursued the match. Defeated and unable to find another way to win Beth’s hand, Julian had no choice but to walk away. Which at the time had seemed the best course of action, since he’d never wanted to embarrass his father or Beth.

  Pride was a possessive mistress.

  Unfortunately, his father’s financial worries hadn’t lessened. If Grayson had succeeded in securing Beth’s hand, their futures might have been vastly different.

  Instead, he’d seen his father wither away with the remorse and anguish of seeing the coffers of the proud estate and the farms start to falter under his watch. Julian had known even before the doctor’s prognosis that his father’s heart problems were due to the constant anxiety of trying to find a way out of the financial burden he’d created. At his early death, that burden had become Julian’s.

  Perhaps he could have saved his father if he’d married another heiress. But his heart wouldn’t allow it. Those precious weeks wooing Beth were ingrained in his memories.

  His saving grace might be delivered by the Six Corners Consortium. Julian had done his own research on the group. They were quite conservative in their thinking and in their investments. The fact that they were extremely interested was more than promising. He just had to find some money.

  “Now that you’ve mentioned Miss Howell, I’ve decided to accompany her.” Julian turned in a tight circle and faced Cillian. “I need money, or this investment opportunity will fail to come to fruition.”

  “I’m delighted you see this for the opportunities that it presents.” Cillian frowned when he saw Julian’s scowl. “What?”

  “What does opportunities mean?” He released a breath, but it did little to loosen the knots in his chest.

  “For someone who is so book smart, you can be so dense at times. You and she can start again where you left off.”

  “She doesn’t want to marry.”

  “Why?”

  Julian escaped Cillian’s probing eyes by studying his cravat in the mirror. “She’s convinced she’ll be much happier if she continues through life by herself.” He smiled slightly, but the bitterness of their ill-fated circumstances made him want to howl at the ceiling like a wild animal in pain. “So, it’s not to be. I want a family. I want a wife by my side and children tugging on the knees of my breeches.”

  Cillian’s look of horror almost made him laugh.

  He reassured his valet. “Hopefully, by then, I’ll have dozens of pairs in my wardrobe, so it won’t make any difference how wrinkled and stretched out my clothes become.”

  All his adult life, he’d imagined it would be Beth by his side. When he’d heard she’d married Randford’s half brother, he grieved. Yes, grieved for all he’d lost. Then when it was declared that Beth’s marriage was void, he silently rejoiced only to be dejected once more when she’d informed him that she would never marry again. She was finished with the male species, and unfortunately, that included him.

  “As an inventor, sometimes your ideas lack any imagination whatsoever.” With a tad too much enthusiasm, Cillian brushed a piece of lint off his coat.

  Julian kept his balance, then stared into his valet’s eyes.

  “You’re looking at it the wrong way.” Cillian took a step back and regarded Julian’s formal wear. “If you help her find her missing fortune, she’ll trust you.” He pointed his finger at the middle of Julian’s chest. “And she’ll trust your dedication to her.” Cillian could perfectly arch a single eyebrow better than any stuffy aristocrat Julian had ever seen. “Paving the way for you to sweep her off her feet.” He straightened a nonexistent wrinkle in Julian’s morning coat, then nodded his satisfaction.

  Julian turned around for a final glance in the mirror. His gaze landed on his valet’s. “This might be a fool’s errand with no fortune at the end of the rainbow. I doubt if I’ll have her good opinion then.” Not to mention the fact that she acted as if she could barely tolerate him at times.

  “You’re blathering like a bubbly-jock,” Cillian argued.

  Julian lifted his own brow in answer. “If she finds her fortune, she has even more reason to stay independent. Frankly, it’s her life. I’ll wish her all the happiness in the world.” He glanced at his signet ring on his little finger. It was the seal of the Marquess of Grayson. Once upon a time, she had wanted to marry him even when she knew the truth about his wealth.

  It hadn’t mattered then. But now her circumstances had changed.

  “Perhaps you’re right. It is her life to do what she pleases,” Cillian said, but by the set of his jaw, Julian knew he didn’t believe it. “Perhaps she won’t accept anyone’s heart. But you could leave a small piece of yours as a remembrance.”

  “What does that mean?” Julian shook his head. “More of your sentimental Irish wisdom?”

  “It means, if you have a chance to win her again and fail, then at least you tried.” His gaze bore into Julian’s. “Could you actually take another woman as your wife without trying to win Miss Howell’s hand?” He snorted, then brushed his own coat, an old livery uniform. “Call me a tried and true romantic, but if I were you, I couldn’t.” He lifted both brows in defiance. “You can’t do it either.” He glanced at the clock on the mantle. “Enough of the philosophy lesson. If you’re not out the door this instant, we’re going to be late.”

  “We?”

  “Who do you think is going to play coachman?” Cillian said with the lift of an eyebrow.

  “I’ll ride over myself. You don’t have to come.”

  “You can’t. Your horse is hitched to the carriage. If you ride over to Randford House, you’ll smell like horse at a wedding. Uncouth.” Cillian sniffed, then slipped the tall hat on his head and tugged. It matched his uniform. With a look of satisfaction and a sly smile to match, he quickly pinned a rosebud to Julian’s jacket. “Besides, you’ll be like Cinderella arriving at the ball.”

  “Spare me,” he said, chuckling. Julian appreciated Cillian as more than just a loyal servant. Many nights, Julian would work late into the early morning hours, forgetting to eat. But Cillian didn’t. He’d bring a meal and keep Julian company as he ate. Many nights it kept Julian from realizing how lonely his life had turned. His friends, the Duke of Randford and the Earl of Sykeston, were married. Their futures had taken a different path while Julian was still stuck in the same position he’d been in for the last eight years.

  Satisfied with his formal dress, he walked to the door, then turned to Cillian.

  He should have known. His valet and coachman was straightening his own appearance again in the mirror.

  “Are you trying to impress someone?” He arched an eyebrow. Cillian had never mentioned having someone in his life, but the way he took interest in the details of his own clothing made Julian pause.

  Cillian nodded. “Naturally. I must keep up appearances with the other drivers. You’re a marquess and need to look the part, so I must look the part.”

  For all his flaws, Cillian Patrick was loyal.

  Without another word, Julian left his valet standing in front of the mirror rearranging his hair.

  A quarter of an hour later, Julian stepped out of his carriage and straightened his coat. The Duke and Duchess of Randford’s Mayfair home loomed before him. Julian had visited hundreds of times before, yet this time felt different. A couple was ready to commit their lives to each other, and he’d been invited to witness such an event. Was there ever a celebration of life more worthy than that? Perhaps the birth of a child. His parents had taught him to appreciate such occasions, whether it was a couple from high society or his own tenants who joined together in matrimony. It was all to be celebrated. He just wished he was in a celebratory mood.

  Julian tugged on his beaver hat, then proceeded to the front door, where the Randford butler stood waiting for him.

  “Welcome to Randford House, my lord,” Wheatley called out. The white-haired butler bowed elegantly in his formal morning suit.

  “Good morning, Wheatley.”

  The butler waved him in with a flourish. Julian stepped inside, where a footman in the red livery of the Duke of Randford stood ready to take his hat and cane. He nodded a greeting at the footman.

  “Lord Grayson, you’re the last to arrive,” Wheatley informed him. “If you’ll follow me to the family salon.”

  He followed the butler to the Duke of Randford’s personal sitting room. Even outside the door, he could hear the joyous conversations that floated through the air. His old friend Jonathan Eaton, the Earl of Sykeston, was the first to notice his arrival.

  “Grayson,” he called out as he came to Julian’s side.

  Julian took his friend’s hand for a shake. “You look remarkably well, old man.”

  Sykeston had been severely injured during the war, and miraculously, he’d survived. But his recovery wasn’t without its own peril. He’d become a recluse. But all that changed when he married his childhood best friend, the former Constance Lysander. She just happened to be the legitimate widow of Randford’s half brother, Lord Meriwether.

  Julian smiled at his friend, who held Miss Aurelia Vareck, Constance’s daughter by Meriwether. Sykeston loved the little girl and claimed her as his own. He proclaimed her a miracle, as she taught him to see there were bigger things in life beside dwelling on your past losses.

  “My lord.” Sykeston’s countess joined them.

  Julian bowed to his friend’s lovely wife. “Lady Sykeston, you’re a vision.”

  She blushed prettily, then smiled at her husband. The look between the two of them was intimate, as if they were having an entire conversation without saying a word. Julian marveled at such emotion and tenderness shared between the couple. It was what he wanted with his future wife.

  Sykeston juggled the little one in his arms. “Grayson, when are you coming to visit us?”

  “Well, I could stop by tomorrow,” Julian answered.

  Constance laughed. “No, he means Portsmouth. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. Do say you’ll come for a visit. We’ve asked Randford and Kat. We’re inviting Beth. We could make it a party.”

  Randford had sidled up beside him. “You should join us. Kat and I are coming later in the week with Beth.”

  “I have other plans,” Julian said, but he didn’t add that Beth wouldn’t be attending either. She’d be with him.

  Randford nodded toward his duchess, who stood beside the bride and groom along with Beth.

  Julian stole a glance in Beth’s direction. She looked stunning today wearing a topaz-colored silk gown that accented her beautiful eyes and with her hair in an elegant and relaxed coiffure. His body tightened, such an inconvenient response.

  “The vicar is ready to start.” Randford nodded in the direction of his wife. “Kat and I are standing as witnesses.”

  “We’ll take our seats.” Sykeston lowered his daughter to the floor but still held her hand. With Constance by his side and his cane in the other hand, he escorted them to the front of the room.

  Julian chose to sit in a chair behind the group. If he knew Beth, she’d want to sit next to Constance and Aurelia.

  As the vicar welcomed everyone to the joyous occasion, the Randford servants and the remaining guests quieted. Julian purposely didn’t allow his gaze to wander, but he knew the instant she slid into the seat next to his.

  “Grayson, I didn’t see you come in.” Beth’s low voice reached him, the sound deep and slightly hoarse, as if she’d just awakened.

  Like a steel trap, his mind clamped down on such an image. What would she wear as she slept? Perhaps a silk nightgown that she’d embroidered by her own hands. The sound of silk sliding across her curves as she slowly woke from a deep slumber echoed around him. He could almost feel the softness against his fingers. His lower body tightened much like a compactly coiled copper wire primed to release all that pent-up energy.

  He crossed his legs hoping to hide the burgeoning tautness in his breeches.

 

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