The duke had made his decision, and he doubted he could wait until the end of the week to announce it to those it affected. For one thing, he could not tolerate another afternoon tea or hour of playing noughts and crosses with his aunt. He and Harriet could not live on stolen moments forever. One of these nights he was going to get caught sneaking into her sarcophagus suite, and no one would believe he was only playing mummy. Or Butler would creak around one of the columns and catch the master kissing the companion. Sooner or later the maids would giggle when they saw him staring at her in a desperate moment or glaring down the footmen for helping her too willingly with some small task.
Perhaps the servants had noticed already.
She was the one.
He had known it all along. He had never needed to look for anyone else. She had seen right through him from the start. She wasn’t afraid of thunder or lightning, and after the last two years Griffin understood that no one could predict or prevent the storms that life held in store. But would it not be nice to have a strong woman to keep one steady during the tempestuous parts? And who would make a better wife than one who had spent most of her life fighting to come out on the right side?
Indeed, it was on the following night that this realization was put to the test by a storm that struck him without warning-before he could formally begin the proper courtship that Harriet desired. In fact, the crisis came before he could even admit to her in private that the Duke of Glenmorgan was no longer in search of a suitable wife.
Harriet thought it had been a delightful evening. Griffin had escorted her and his aunt to the theater. When the play ended, he had claimed both women by the arm to lead them through the crowd of onlookers, who thrilled to the unfoldment of another Boscastle scandal before their eyes. “You do realize what people are thinking, Griffin?” his aunt asked in a curious undertone, all the while smiling and nodding at the awestruck, as if impervious to the whispers that erupted in their wake. “The ton is now of the firm belief that you are not only a reprobate but a man who thumbs his nose at public opinion.”
He shrugged, and Harriet was rather astonished to realize that he had just acknowledged their relationship to not only his aunt but to the beau monde without uttering a single word. Of course, the nature of their relationship had yet to be revealed to her. The true shock appeared to be in the making.
She had been gathering the courage to leave at the end of the week. She had also been too much of a coward to let Lady Powlis know of her decision. Perhaps she would tell her tonight. Griffin had had his chance to speak up.
As they exited the theater, someone in the crowd called out a mocking reference to the Duchess of St. Giles. Harriet had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly Griffin turned with a fury that sent the offender slinking away before he could be confronted.
“You damned swine,” Griffin said, in an enraged voice that thrilled his audience to no end and sent a chill of foreboding down Harriet’s back. “Why don’t you come forth so that I might have the pleasure of inviting you to pistols at breakfast?”
The gathering dispersed. A few pedestrians hurried down the pavement, hesitating to cross the duke’s path. The other theater guests scrambled for the line of phaetons and town carriages that awaited them. Lady Powlis and Harriet stared at each other in complete silence. The duke wheeled toward the street.
She reached back for his hand. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Not in front of me.”
“I do believe you’re tempting fate tonight, your grace. Can we please go home?”
Chapter Twenty-six
We look before and after, We pine for what is not- Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
Harriet froze in panic when they entered the house to discover Lord Heath Boscastle, Griffin’s cousin, waiting in the hall with another gentleman, who had once played a less pleasant role in her life. Sir Daniel Mallory had been her nemesis. At one time, he had served as a Bow Street detective. After his sister was murdered by a gang of street thugs, he had decided that he would rid the city of its dangerous elements, and Harriet’s family fit the bill. He had retired and now served as an agent to private clients. Harriet had stayed with Lord Heath and his wife during the time he had allowed his home to be used by the academy. She had seen Sir Daniel visiting the St. James’s house at odd hours.
Her last encounter with Sir Daniel, more than two years ago, was humiliating to recall. Prior to that, he had arrested her on more occasions than she could count. He had a good heart, and she’d taken advantage of it by promising repeatedly that she would stay out of trouble.
Then one night, he had been waiting for her outside a house she’d intended to burglarize with her half brothers. The useless boobies had run off as Sir Daniel dragged her cursing and crying into an elegant carriage that no detective could ever afford. “I trusted you,” she shouted, bouncing up and down until she wore herself out. In secret, her instincts had recognized his goodness from the first day he had broken up a fight in a cookshop and pretended not to notice her pinching a steak pie for her supper.
“I don’t wanna go to gaol!” she had bellowed, banging at the drawn blinds. “I’ll be mouse meat, a little scrap like me! I’ll catch some ’orrid illness, and when I die, it’s your name I’ll be cursin’ on my lips.”
He’d sworn a blue streak under his own breath. “Damn it, stop hitting the window like that. They’ll think you’re mad.”
“I will be mad if I’m put away-”
“You are not going to gaol.”
“I hate yer lousy-what?”
He exhaled loudly. “You are being taken to a private school.”
She sat back, glaring at him. “To work as a maid? And who’s stupid enough to trust me with their silver?”
“Your sponsor is a member of the Boscastle family. I don’t suppose the name is as well known in the slums as that of Grim Jack Gardner.”
She’d settled down then, her interest caught.
“Wot the devil would they want with the likes of me?”
“For reasons perhaps only the devil can understand, one member of that family has accepted it as her moral duty to offer you a chance for a decent life. I warn you, Harriet, there will never come an opportunity like this again.”
He had been right.
But what did he want with her now?
Had someone in her rotten family been caught in a felony? Honest to God. There was no rest for the wicked.
The gravity of his manner as he introduced himself to the duke and Lady Powlis heightened her mistrust. “Good evening, Miss Gardner. I am pleased to find you well.”
She felt Griffin’s hand at her shoulder, a welcome reminder that she had a staunch protector in her shade. “I think our guests and I would do better to privately discuss why they are here in the drawing room,” he said stiffly. “The ladies need not be upset.”
Lord Heath shook his head. “They should come, Griff.”
Griffin slowly removed his evening coat. “Very well.”
He offered sherry after everyone had settled in the upstairs drawing room. Only his aunt accepted. She had
