A temptation he was determined to resist forever.
Instead, he talked of politics, books and plays, family and property and plans for the future…anything to keep his mind off that generous, glistening mouth. It was difficult to speak with his teeth clenched, so he was thankful Rachael kept up her end of the conversation. She'd always been easy to talk to, especially for a female.
At long last, in the early afternoon, the carriage rattled over the drawbridge and into the modest courtyard before the small castle that was Rachael's home at Greystone. Spring rain pelted his head when he shoved open the door and leapt to the circular drive. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached to help Rachael out.
She hadn't worn gloves, damn it. Her hand felt entirely too warm in his, especially when she left it there while they made their way down a short, covered passageway and entered through the unassuming oak door. Her fingers trembled, either from the cold or from nervousness at what they might find; he wasn't sure which.
He was thankful she dropped his hand when the butler, Smithson, approached. "Lady Rachael. Lord Cainewood." Tall and lean with gray hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to match the old castle, Smithson was too mannerly to show dismay at their unexpected arrival. "What a pleasant surprise."
"We'll be here but a short while," Rachael assured him. "No need for any preparations."
He glanced at the tall-case clock that stood in the square, stone-floored entry. "I'll ask Cook to prepare a luncheon. Will you be wanting anything more?"
"No, thank you. I wish only to fetch something of my mother's, and Lord Cainewood was kind enough to accompany me." She headed toward the oak staircase that marched up the wall opposite the entrance. "Please don't trouble yourself or anyone else."
Griffin followed her up the steps, past two of her mother's watercolor paintings and along the corridor that led to what used to be her parents' bedroom. The chamber's walls were covered in pale green paper with gold tracery, the bedding green velvet of a deeper hue, the furniture light and slender, of the style popularized by Sheraton.
"Wasn't this room decorated in red?" he asked. "And the furnishings of dark oak?"
"I changed it all for Noah." Having come of age last year, her brother had finally taken responsibility for the earldom—a responsibility Rachael had borne herself since their parents died when she was just fifteen. "To make it his, not Papa and Mama's."
How thoughtful. How Rachael. "But some of your mother's things are in here now?"
"In that chest." She gestured toward the one heavy, dark piece of furniture, a large carved trunk set in a corner. "Noah had it brought down from the attic." Her voice sounded thin. "He said nothing in it is important."
"He could be wrong," he said, hoping that was the case. "Let's have a look."
"Yes, let's." She crossed to the trunk and removed an embroidered covering and a lamp someone had set on top. Then she knelt and took a deep breath before reverently opening the lid. A musty scent wafted out, starch and aged leather mixed with hints of her mother's gardenia perfume. "Oh, God, Griffin."
Griffin knelt beside her. "Pretty," he murmured, lifting a straw hat from atop the contents.
"It's years out of style. I remember her wearing it when I was a child." Rachael removed a few more dated items of clothing, then shook out a white gown. "This must be the wedding dress Noah mentioned. I remember seeing it in their wedding portrait."
Though clearly out of fashion, the gown was lacy and beautiful. Georgiana, Rachael's mother, had been slender like her daughter, all willowy, graceful curves, and she obviously hadn't been pregnant long when she married John Chase. The dress looked like it would fit Rachael perfectly. "Will you wear it for your own wedding someday, too, now that you've found it?"
"I'd love to, but…" Her eyes grew misty as she gazed into the trunk. "Damn. I'm not going to cry."
Rachael could cuss as colorfully as a cavalryman, but that didn't bother Griffin. He considered it part of her charm. It reminded him she'd spent years as the Earl of Greystone in all but name, and he admired her for that.
"But what?" he prompted.
"She wore it for her wedding to him. Lord Greystone. Not my father."
He reached out to take her chin and turn her to face him. "Lord Greystone was your father in every way that counted. I'm sure he would have wanted you to wear it. He would have been honored, as a matter of fact."
She nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm not sure I'll ever marry, anyway."
"Of course you will. Any man would be lucky to have you. I'm surprised Noah hasn't found you a match."
"Noah?" Her eyes cleared, and she laughed, turning back to the trunk. "Who would run his household should I wed? He won't be matching me anytime soon."
Though but eighteen months her junior, Noah had always seemed far less mature. But Griffin couldn't imagine any man wanting the responsibility of three sisters. Much better to find them good husbands and enjoy their company from time to time without worrying over the lot of them.
A few old books lay beneath the clothes, but they were all signed, To Georgiana with love from Mama, and dated with her early birthdays, giving no clues to her first husband. There were no diaries or anything else of a personal nature. A stack of letters tied with a ribbon held no pertinent information, either. They were all written in the years following Rachael's birth.
When the trunk was otherwise empty, Rachael found a tiny box in the bottom and pulled it out. It held a narrow, plain gold band.
"Her wedding ring?" Griffin guessed.
"She was buried wearing her wedding
