The relief she felt at the sound of the voice behind her was dizzying. Turning, she caught Rhys’ outstretched hands like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. His smile was brilliant, his rich mahogany hair capped by a dashing hat.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, well aware that tame country parties were not his preference.
He shrugged. “I feel the need for a little respectable company.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you ill?”
Laughing, he shook his head. “No, though I do believe I’ve caught a bit of melancholia. Something I’m certain a few days of fresh country air will do wonders to cure.”
“Melancholia?” Tugging off her glove, Isabel pressed her wrist to his forehead.
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Since when does a bad mood cause fevers?”
“You have never been in a bad mood in your life.”
“There is a first for everything.”
A firm grip at her waist drew her attention.
“Grayson,” her brother greeted, his gaze lifting above her head.
“Trenton,” Gray returned. “I would not have expected to find you here.”
“A temporary bout of insanity.”
“Ah.” Gray tugged her closer, a motion which had her gazing up at him with wide eyes. They’d had an unspoken accord to avoid touching each other in public, since it seemed to spark a flare of lust neither could control. “I appear to be suffering from the same ailment.”
“Grayson. Isabel. Lovely to see you both here,” the dowager said as she approached.
As Isabel opened her mouth to reply, Gray squeezed the upper swell of her buttock. She jumped, startling his mother. Reaching behind her, she swatted at his hand.
“Are you unwell?” the dowager asked, frowning in disapproval. “You should not have come if you are ill or out of sorts.”
“She is perfectly healthy,” Gray said smoothly. “As I can well attest.”
Isabel stomped on his booted foot, although doing so caused no damage at all.
“Crudity is common,” his mother reproved. “And beneath a man of your station.”
“But, Mother, it is so enjoyable.”
“Lord and Lady Grayson! How lovely of you to come.”
Turning her head, Isabel found Lady Hammond descending the stairs from her front door. “We are delighted to be invited, of course,” she replied.
“Now that you have arrived,” the viscountess continued, “we can set off. What a lovely day to make the trip, don’t you agree?”
“I do,” she murmured, eager to return to their carriage.
“I shall ride with you, Grayson,” the dowager said.
Isabel winced, suddenly finding the prospect of the daylong drive a torment.
Gray gave a soothing caress down the length of her spine, but the comfort it offered did not last. The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent in the tight confines of their traveling coach listening to his mother chastising them all for one transgression or another. She could only imagine the horror of living with a parent who found fault with everything, and she surreptitiously stroked Gray’s thigh with the back of her hand in sympathy. He sat deathly silent the entire ride, coming to life only when they stopped to change horses and take luncheon.
It was with great relief that they arrived at the Hammonds’ lovely country estate late in the day. As soon as the carriage rolled to a halt, Grayson leapt out and assisted her down. That was when she caught sight of Hargreaves, and realized why Grayson had been acting as possessive as he had. Even now, despite his outward appearance of boredom, she sensed his alertness in the proximity he kept to her and the slow sweep of his gaze across the drive.
“What a lovely estate,” the dowager cried, bringing the pleased smile of the viscountess her way. It was indeed a praiseworthy property with its lovely golden brick exterior and profusion of colorful flowers and climbing vines.
A week here under other circumstances would be a joy. Considering the personages in attendance, including Lady Stanhope who was presently ogling Gray in a manner that riled Isabel, she doubted that would be the case in this instance. “We should have remained in London,” she muttered.
“Shall we go?” Gray asked. “I have an estate not far from here.”
She turned wide eyes to him. “Are you mad?” But she could see in the intensity of his blue eyes that he was quite willing to leave. While it seemed sometimes that no trace of the Grayson she once knew remained, flashes of the one she recalled occasionally appeared. He was more polished, more somber, but no less ruthless than he always had been. “No.”
He sighed and offered his arm. “I knew you would say that. I hope you are amenable to spending a great deal of time in our rooms.”
“We could have spent time in our rooms at home. Here it will be rude.”
“You should have mentioned that earlier and saved us the trip.”
“Don’t foist the blame for this on me,” she whispered, shivering slightly at the feel of his powerful forearm flexing beneath her fingertips. “This was entirely your doing.”
“I wanted to travel away,” he said dryly, his sidelong glance revealing his knowledge of his affect on her, “and spend some time with you and Spencer. I had no notion this would turn into a gathering of all the people we most wished to avoid.”
“Isabel!”
Rhys’ cry caught their attention. Walking backward with his gaze directed elsewhere, her brother nearly ran her over. Grayson, however, stepped in as a formidable buffer and saved her.
“Beg your pardon,” her brother offered quickly, then he looked at her with a tangible excitement about him. “Do you know who that woman is over there?”
Looking around his tall frame, she saw a small group of women speaking with Lady Hammond. “Which one?”
“The brunette to the right of Lady Stanhope.”
“Oh…Yes, I know her, although at the moment, her name eludes me.”
“Abby?” he prompted. “Abigail?”
“Ah, yes! Abigail Stewart. Niece to Lord Hammond. His sister and her entrepreneurial American husband have passed on, leaving Miss Stewart orphaned, though quite wealthy I’ve been told.”
“An heiress,” Rhys said softly.
“Poor thing,” Isabel said with a commiserating shake of her head. “She was hounded to death last season by every scapegrace and destitute man in England. I spoke with her briefly once. She is very bright. A bit rough around the edges, but charming.”
“I never noticed her.”
“Why would you? She hides herself well and she is not your type of female at all. Too smart for you,” she teased.
“Yes…I’m certain that is true.” He walked away frowning.
“I think you were correct,” Gray said, his voice low and near enough to make her senses leap to attention. “I do believe he’s ill. Perhaps we can follow his lead. You and I can feign poor constitutions and lie abed for a week. Together. Unclothed.”
“You are incorrigible,” she said, laughing.
With quiet efficiency, they and the other guests were settled in their rooms to freshen up before the evening meal. Gerard made certain that Isabel was well established and tended by her abigail, before excusing himself to meet with the other gentlemen below.
Despite the unfortunate choice of guests, he found some slight convenience in it. The odd menagerie created by the presence of his mother and Hargreaves allowed him to dispense with whatever remaining illusions they had about his marriage to Pel. His affairs were not to be interfered with. Foolish of them, really, to forget how few qualms he had. However, it was no great burden to remind them.
Entering the lower parlor, he took in the design of the room, noting the large windows framed with dark red,
