He’d hunted for her all evening, but in a half-hearted way. He hadn’t been that eager to locate her. He never liked to quarrel, and he’d assumed he could bluster in, tease her, make a few points, then leave her to ponder his comments.
He’d been certain she’d come to her senses, so scant persuasion would be necessary. But now that they were face to face, he couldn’t start.
He hadn’t rehearsed any remarks, for it hadn’t occurred to him that she had such adamant tendencies. As he glared at her through the open door, it dawned on him that he was a tad afraid of her. In light of how bizarrely she was behaving, who could predict how she might act?
“What did you need, Gregory?” she asked.
She stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her, as if she didn’t like him looking into her bedchamber. Well, wasn’t that a snooty attitude for her to have! He was her fiancé, and Grey’s Corner was his home. He could look into any bloody room he chose.
“I thought we should talk,” he said like an idiot.
“What is there to say? I’ve called off the wedding.”
“Father told me that was your plan, but I didn’t believe him.”
“We don’t suit, Gregory. You can’t honestly tell me you think so.”
“We’re cousins! We grew up together, and we’ve always been fond. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Uncle Samson convinced me to betroth myself to you, but I shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have agreed either. You know that, Gregory. Deep down, you know I’m right.”
“I don’t know that. What’s come over you? I feel as if you’ve turned into a stranger.”
“I’ve been questioning our engagement for months—for years!—and I’ve realized I can’t proceed.”
“The ceremony is Saturday!”
“It was Saturday, but it’s been cancelled. Could you send a message to the vicar for me? Or will you make me do it?”
“Caroline Grey! Stop it this instant.”
“Fine then. I’ll pen a note to him in the morning.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“I want a different life. I want to walk a different path. I’m sorry, but that path doesn’t include having you as my husband.”
He huffed with offense. “What could be better than having me as your husband? Name one thing.”
She smiled oddly, as if there were dozens of candidates who would be better than him, but she hadn’t seemed to notice there was no line of suitors begging to marry her instead. He was the only fellow who’d ever been willing.
“Could we not bicker?” she said. “It’s late, and I’m weary.”
“We’ll stand here all night if that’s what it takes for me to get you to listen.”
“I’m listening to you, Gregory, but you are not listening to me—as usual—so goodnight for now. We’ll chat again tomorrow. I’m sure we can settle this amicably without having to brawl over a single issue.”
With that, she slipped into her room and closed the door. She spun the key in the lock, and he dawdled like an imbecile who had been completely emasculated.
He thought about pounding on the door and demanding to be admitted. He thought about shouting at her, informing her that she was being absurd. He thought about reminding her that he was about to be her spouse, and he didn’t have to put up with such insolence, but he couldn’t imagine behaving that way.
Obviously, she was fixated on some weird ideas he couldn’t chase away. But his father could. That was probably what the situation required. Samson was her guardian, and he would decide who her husband should be. It wasn’t up to her.
She had to realize there could be consequences to force her compliance. Gregory had already explained them to his father: Female hysteria was a dangerous condition in a woman, and male relatives didn’t have to tolerate it.
There were laws and asylums to deal with the illness. Gregory was incredibly fond of her and always had been, but he liked the money in her trust fund much more than he liked her. When it was a question between having her or her money, he would always pick the money.
She couldn’t be allowed to imperil Gregory’s livelihood. It simply couldn’t be permitted, and he needed to have another frank talk with his father. Immediately.
“Dammit, Ralston. How do you keep winning?”
“I’m lucky and you’re not.”
Caleb stared at Gregory, and he was struggling to hide his loathing, but he wasn’t succeeding.
There were bizarre, unspoken rules attached to gambling, the main one being that when a man incurred extensive losses, the winner had to provide him with a chance to get even. Caleb had wound up furnishing Gregory with dozens of chances, but it always ended badly—for Gregory.
They were in a rear parlor at Grey’s Corner, engaged in another pointless session of cards. Gregory was too proud to quit and too drunk to realize he should stop. The other London guests had given up and gone to bed. A footman had been serving them their alcoholic beverages, but he had to be up at dawn to work at his usual chores, so he’d departed too.
Even Lucretia Starling had left. Thank goodness.
Caleb and Gregory were the only two still seated at the table. Blake hovered by the sideboard, pretending not to be interested in the proceedings, but Blake was a sly character. If Gregory grew disruptive, his brother would jump in and yank him to his senses.
“Lucretia thinks you cheat,” Gregory blurted out.
Caleb and Blake stiffened. It was a dangerous comment, and Blake said, “Be careful, Mr. Grey. You haven’t ever seen my brother when he’s angry, and I can guarantee you wouldn’t like him when he’s in a temper.”
Gregory harrumphed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was simply repeating what Lucretia mentioned.”
Blake warned, “Perhaps your mistress should
