“That sounds rather unlikely, Pippa, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Are you sure Crispin wasn’t just pulling your leg?”
“He didn’t sound as if he was.” Although anything was possible. Crispin did have an annoying habit of saying things just for the attention they would get him. “Your grandfather didn’t bring it up?”
Christopher shook his head.
“What did he want to talk about? Anything I should know?”
“He thinks it’s time I get off my duff and propose.”
He pushed open the door to his bedroom and pulled me inside. The weekender bag I had packed yesterday evening was sitting in the middle of the bed, unopened. Perhaps Grimsby hadn’t gotten around to emptying it. Or perhaps that was to be his excuse for the time he planned to spend here in Christopher’s room shortly.
“Pardon me?” I said.
“He thinks,” Christopher enunciated, as if the problem had been that I hadn’t heard him the first time, “that it’s time I propose.”
I blinked. “To who?” Or whom?
“To you,” Christopher said.
FOUR
I’ll admitthat for the first moment or two I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Part of my mind insisted that it had to be a joke, that the duke couldn’t possibly be serious, and so laughter was in order. The other part knew perfectly well that the Duke of Sutherland had no sense of humor whatsoever, and that Christopher wouldn’t choose to jest about this.
As a result, the laughter got stuck in my throat, and I needed Christopher to pound on my back so I would stop coughing. Once I could breathe again, I asked, “I’m sorry, but what did you say?”
“I have ruined you,” Christopher pronounced. “We’ve been living together without benefit of clergy, or for that matter without a chaperone, for several months. No one else will want you now. And while your heritage is clearly subpar for the grandson of the Duke of Sutherland—German, and a commoner to boot…”
“You keep quiet about my heritage!” I said, insulted.
Christopher arched his brows. Crispin can do one; Christopher has to do both. “You know I don’t care about your heritage, Pippa. Nor does it matter, you know. I have no plans to marry you.”
Of course. “I’m sorry. You took me by surprise.”
“Hetookmeby surprise,” Christopher said, and then stopped when we heard the sound of footsteps in the hall outside.
We exchanged a look, and Christopher put a finger to his lips before dragging me over to the edge of the bed, where he pushed me down and sat next to me. He transferred his grip from my elbow to my hand, which he folded between both of his. “Just in case he’s planning to report back to Grandfather after this.”
The footsteps stopped just outside the door, and Christopher called out, “Come in,” before Grimsby could knock.
The door opened and the valet stood on the threshold. Those reptilian eyes flickered between Christopher’s face and mine, and then down to our intertwined hands for a moment, before he glanced at Christopher, politely inquiring.
“Pippa stays,” Christopher said, with a touch of belligerence, as if Grimsby had questioned it. “You can say whatever you need to say in front of her. We have no secrets from one another.”
That wasn’t true at all, actually. Whatever Christopher gets up to during those drag balls he attends, is something he never talks about. He hadn’t been particularly forthcoming about the chap he knew from Eton, either, even though I had raised the subject again on the train this morning. And I did occasionally encounter something that I didn’t see it necessary to share with him, either, if it came to that.
I’m not sure I’d call those things secrets, though. At least in my case, they weren’t things I particularly wanted to keep from him, just things he probably didn’t need to know. And just because I hadn’t shared them yet, didn’t mean I wouldn’t share them at some point if the situation seemed right.
At the moment it didn’t matter, anyway. I certainly didn’t want to leave the room before Grimsby had had his say, so I was willing to play my part in this farce we were putting on.
Grimsby’s face retained its façade of bland nothingness. “As you wish.”
He closed the door behind him. The quiet click of the latch was loud in the silence. “Would you like for me to unpack for you, Mr. Astley?”
His glance flickered to the bag on the bed behind us.
“I’ll do it,” Christopher said, and I got the impression that he didn’t want Grimsby’s hands on any of his belongings.
Not that there was anything untoward or compromising in the bag. I was the one who had packed it, so I knew exactly what was inside. But Grimsby’s demeanor right now was such that it gave the impression that anything he touched would be just a bit tainted.
