Who Will Take This Man?

to marry a mere baron when she could have married the heir to an earldom? Perhaps there is something to the popular belief that his years abroad affected more than Greybourne’s mental capabilities. One certainly must wonder what on earth Miss Chilton-Grizedale was thinking when she attempted to make this disastrous match.

Meredith closed her eyes and rested her face in her hands. She’d known the gossip would be relentless once word of Lady Sarah’s-or rather Baroness Weycroft’s- marriage got out, but this was even worse than she’d anticipated. Yet it wasn’t so much the story regarding Lady Sarah’s marriage or her own matchmaking failure that distressed her so-after all, those things were inarguably true. No, it was the sly innuendos regarding the reason behind Lady Sarah’s defection that riled her. Good heavens, any fool could see there was nothing mentally or physically wrong with Lord Greybourne. Such cruel rumors were no doubt very embarrassing for him. Sympathy for him, along with a healthy dose of outrage on his behalf, flooded her.

“Guess ye’ve seen The Times,” came Albert’s voice from the doorway.

Meredith raised her head and stared at him through gritty eyes. “I’m afraid so.”

“I hate to see ye so upset, Miss Merrie. Yer eyes look like bruises.”

Bruises? Not the most flattering assessment, but Albert was correct. In spite of her intention to enjoy a good night’s sleep, she’d spent a restless, fitful night. But not because of the gossip. No, her thoughts had been filled with Lord Greybourne and the increasingly disturbing way he made her feel-warm and heated, trembly and excited all at the same time. Being in his company was an aspect her mind dreaded and her heart anticipated. And as always, with her practical nature, her mind won. However, the battle had proven particularly bloody this time. She’d always managed to beat back her feminine longings and urges whenever they raised their heads, but since meeting Lord Greybourne, her longings and urges were not so easily dismissed.

Rising, she straightened her shoulders. “While this all looks bad on the surface, I’m confident that we can turn all the gossip to our advantage. Human nature being what it is, there won’t be a woman in London who won’t be at least curious to know if the rumors regarding Lord Greybourne are true. These same women will attend the soiree Lady Bickley is hosting at Lord Greybourne’s home, and poof.” She snapped her fingers. “We’ll have a bride for Lord Greybourne in no time.” Surely those words should have filled her with satisfaction rather than a sensation that felt unpleasantly like a cramp.

“I hope ye’re right, Miss Merrie.”

“Of course I’m right. And now I have a favor to ask of you, Albert. I know you’d normally take Charlotte and Hope to the park this morning, but would you postpone your visit until this afternoon and accompany me to the warehouse instead?”

“To help look for the missin‘ piece of stone?”

“Yes.”

Albert looked at her in that penetrating way he had-as if he could read her mind. She tried her best to keep her features impassive, but knew it was a futile effort with Albert.

“Of course. But ye don’t just want me there to look for that bit of rock…” His eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “Did that Greybourne bloke say somethin‘ untoward to ye? Has he shown himself to be the ill-mannered lout ye believe he is? I told ye not to trust him.”

How to tell Albert that it wasn’t Lord Greybourne but herself she did not trust? “Lord Greybourne’s behavior has been exemplary.” Occasionally. “However, it is not proper for me to be alone with him in the warehouse. There is enough gossip circulating already. I’ve no desire to add to it.”

Albert’s angry expression relaxed. “So I’d be like a chaperone of sorts.”

“Exactly. And helping to locate the missing stone at the same time. We can spend the morning there, then return here. I’ll ask Charlotte to prepare a basket of cheese and biscuits, and the four of us can all go to the park together this afternoon.”

Albert nodded. “I’ll tell Charlotte about the change in plans, then see to the gig.” With that, he quit the room, the scrape of his boot sounding against the parquet floor.

Meredith drew in a relieved breath. Now she did not have to face the prospect of hours alone in Lord Greybourne’s company. Her heart tried to voice a protest, but her mind firmly quashed it. It was better this way. And this was the way it had to be. Anything else was impossible.

Philip folded The Times and tossed it down on the breakfast table with an exclamation of disgust.

“How dreadful is it?” came Andrew’s voice from the doorway.

Philip shrugged. “Not that bad, I suppose, as long as I do not object to the inferences that I am”-he ticked off points on his fingers-“a liar, daft, and unable to… perform.”

Andrew winced. “Particularly nasty, that last one.”

“Yes.”

Andrew’s ebony eyes took on a wicked gleam. “Perhaps this inability to perform is the real reason you have not kissed the object of your affections.”

“Do you know who’s a bigger bloody pain in the arse than you?” Philip asked pleasantly.

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

Chuckling, Andrew walked to the sideboard and helped himself to a hefty portion of eggs and thinly sliced ham, then seated himself across from Philip.

Keeping his tone light, Philip said, “Thought you might like to accompany me to the warehouse today.”

Andrew looked up from his eggs in surprise. “Instead of me going to the museum and continuing my search through the crates there? Why?”

“Well, you said Edward was planning to go the museum today, and I could use your assistance at the warehouse.”

“Won’t Miss Chilton-Grizedale be there?”

“I’m not certain. We did not discuss her plans for today.”

“But you think she may go to the warehouse?”

“Possibly. However, she cannot help me open those heavy crates, and she lacks your expertise in antiquities.”

Andrew nodded thoughtfully, slowly chewing a mouthful of egg. He swallowed, then touched his napkin to the corner of his lips. “I see. You don’t want to risk being alone with her.”

Bloody hell. When the devil had he become so transparent? He felt like a damn piece of glass. Knowing there was no point in prevaricating, he jerked his head in a nod. “That’s about the size of it, yes.”

Andrew looked back down at his breakfast plate, but not before Philip caught his slight grin, along with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a jackass’s bray. “Happy to come with you,” Andrew said. “I have a feeling this is going to prove a most interesting morning.”

Philip, with Andrew’s help, had just removed the wooden tops from two crates when the squeak of hinges announced that someone had arrived. To his annoyance, Philip’s heart galloped off like a horse out of the gate when Miss Chilton-Grizedale called out, “Lord Greybourne, are you here?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Bloody hell, was that rusty, croaky sound his voice? He cleared his throat, then tried again. “In the same place as yesterday.”

To his surprise he heard the low murmur of voices, as if she were conversing with someone. The tap of ladylike footfalls sounded upon the wooden floor, accompanied by another set of heavier footsteps. A man’s, he decided. A man with a limp.

Seconds later Miss Chilton-Grizedale, followed by Albert Goddard, appeared from around a stack of boxes. Goddard, Philip noted, stood behind Miss Chilton-Grizedale like a scowling sentinel guarding the crown jewels.

Today she wore a plain brown gown, clearly in deference to the dusty task at hand. Her bright blue gaze met his, and for one insane second it felt as if he’d been punched in the heart. She, however, clearly experienced no such battering, as she merely inclined her head in his direction. “Lord Greybourne.” Her gaze shifted to where Andrew stood, several yards away, and to Philip’s annoyance, her face lit up like a bloody gas lamp.