Page 29 of A Rogue to Cherish

Grant had scrambled out into the hallway still half-naked. Several servants had witnessed the entire debacle. He knew then that there would be more consequences to come.

The repercussions had been swift. Eleanor Dupree had been banished to the country estate, where she remained still, three years later. And Grant’s father had been the one to suffer; he’d not only lost the Dupree account but several others that accounted for a large portion of the family income. It had taken an overwhelming amount of diplomacy from his father to retain his remaining clients and weeks—no, months—of work, of speaking to people and apologizing for Grant’s actions.

The rumors had been rampant. Everywhere he turned, the gossips spoke of little else except how he’d not only ruined a marriage but had practically collapsed his own father’s career.

Grant had avoided his father for days and hoped that if he said nothing it would all—somehow—go away and be forgotten. That his father would forgive him. But one day he’d been beckoned to the study.

The conversation that day was prominent in Grant’s memory. Every word his father had uttered was concise and piercing. It was as if he sliced into his skin with a blade while speaking, and Grant welcomed the pain. He’d been careless, without thought.

“You have not only embarrassed this family, and almost ruined us with your actions, but I have lost every ounce of pride I had in you.” His father’s disappointment dripped from every word. And finally, he’d said, “Grant, I would prefer if you left this house. I can barely stand to look at you. In fact, I would like you to leave at once.”

“I am sorry, Father,” he’d uttered over and again, but it was a feeble apology even to his ears. It still was, even now…

*

“Sir, there issomeone here to see you.” Norman broke into his revelry. “Lady Roberts.”

A groan escaped Grant’s throat. The woman had the worst timing. If ever he did not wish to see her, it was then. But if he wanted that money, he had no choice, no matter how much the thought soured his stomach. “Thank you, Norman,” he said before making his way down the stairs. He had to hide his true feelings and assume what he hoped was a pleased expression, as he walked into the sitting room. But Lucinda wasn’t seated; instead she stood, imperious and obviously displeased—though for what reason, he had no idea.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked as he moved across the room to kiss her cheek. As expected, the woman turned her head away, something she did whenever she wished to display her displeasure.

He held back his own feelings of disdain, but kept a pleasant smile screwed firmly in place. “Lucinda. Please. Sit,” he said, motioning to a chair.

“I prefer to stand,” Lucinda answered, looking past him to where Norman stood.

“Tea?” the butler inquired.

“No,” Lucinda snapped. “Grant will serve me.” She motioned to the long table along the wall that housed several decanters. “You know what I like.” After pouring brandy, he handed her one, noting Lucinda’s hand shook. She took a large swallow as if fortifying herself. Then she fixed him with a stare. “Is it true? That you walked about with one of my servants? Out in the open?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Tell me it was a mistake. That you did not fuck one of my maids.”

With Herculean strength, he kept his face relaxed and without expression. “Since when are you interested in who I happen upon and walk with?” Grant acted as if it was a joke, nothing to worry about. Wren’s aunt worked for the woman, and the last thing he wished was to affect her. “I did see the girl who’d brought me a message. At the market. We spoke of nothing of importance, and she went on her way.”

“You left off that you went into a shop with her,” Lucinda exclaimed. “Do not lie to me.”

“We were both going into the shop. It was not planned,” he lied, hating to demean what had been a delightful experience by sharing it with the hateful woman. Seeing Wren’s pleased, shy expression when he’d gifted her the simple items was something he’d not forget. “Lucinda, did you really come all this way to chastise me about speaking to a servant? I was not aware I could not speak to whomever I wished. You worry overmuch.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “When I have an intuition about something, I take it seriously.” She drank again, this time finishing the contents of her glass. “Have you spoken to Tom?”

The change of subject told him the issue was dropped—for now—but he knew the woman well enough to realize she’d be keeping an eye on him for the foreseeable future.

“I have not. I will go to The Grant this evening. Perhaps he will be there.”

“Apologize,” she said, handing him her empty glass. “I must go. I have an appointment with the dressmaker. I need you to escort me to a gathering tomorrow night.” Lucinda drew near and raised her hand to cup his face. “Be a good lad now, and see me to the carriage.”

Just as she climbed onto the carriage, Lucinda met his gaze. “The chit has been sent on her way and no longer works for me. If she is seen with you again, her aunt will be gone as well.”