To Love a Scoundrel: London Season Matchmaker Book Five Read online

  “I must pray,” she murmured, climbing from her bed to kneel beside it. “Pray for my soul and for my heart.” Closing her eyes and bowing her head, she began to pray in a desperate attempt to remove the strange feelings that were beginning to swarm about her heart.

  Chapter Four

  It was not until a few minutes had passed before Grayson slowly began to realize that the groaning that had woken him was coming from his own lips. Trying to open his eyes, the pain that lanced his skull from the beam of light coming from the chink in the curtains was enough to have him burying his head into the blankets once more.

  “Your mother requests your presence at breakfast, Lord Whitehaven.”

  The butler’s firm tone had Grayson frowning, despite the pain this brought him.

  “She has received a note that has her greatly concerned, and I was told to rouse you at once.”

  At this, Grayson lifted his head, feeling a shock running through him. “A note?” he croaked, suddenly afraid that his creditors had done the unthinkable and written to inform Lady Whitehaven of her son’s debts.

  “Indeed, my lord,” the butler replied in a rather frustrated fashion, evidencing the fact that he had been pulled from his other duties in order to seek out Grayson and waken him. “Now, your valet is present and your breakfast tray has been set out on the table, unless you should like it set before you in bed?”

  Grayson wanted to retort that the only thing he wanted to do was to close his eyes and crawl back down into the bedcovers, but instead he merely took in a long breath and murmured that he would rise and sit to eat. Not that he intended to eat very much, for the smell of the toast and coffee was sending his stomach twisting into knots rather than giving him any sense of hunger. The butler appeared satisfied with this, however, clicked his heels together, and excused himself, leaving Grayson in the capable hands of his valet.

  “Go and lay out my clothes,” Grayson told the man, trying still to lift his head from the pillow but finding it much too painful to be able to do so with any ease. “I shall rise in a few moments.”

  The valet said nothing but withdrew to Grayson’s small dressing room, which had its own adjoining door. Being left alone, Grayson was able to close his eyes tightly again and pull the blankets over his head once more, burrowing into the darkness and feeling his pain lift as he did so.

  But there was nothing for it. He could not remain abed, for if his mother had received some sort of note, then he would have to ensure he was dressed and prepared to speak to her about it with as much dignity as he could muster. Probing at his forehead with long fingers and wondering if there was any easy way for the pain in his head to disappear altogether, Grayson forced himself to sit upright – and then immediately regretted doing so. His head felt as though it were being split in two, for the agony that lanced through his skull was like a red hot poker being pushed into his head.

  “Here, my lord.”

  The valet had returned on silent feet, and Grayson felt something being pushed into his hand. A glass of water, mayhap. Throwing it back, he swallowed it before he had time to gag, coughing furiously as he half threw the glass back at the valet.

  “And now some water,” the valet added, before Grayson could speak. “Here, my lord. I have been told that the concoction that you took before will bring an end to your pain.”

  Grayson said nothing but grasped at the filled water glass with greedy hands, throwing it back as quickly as he could and feeling the last remnants of the first drink being chased away. Coughing heavily for a moment, he wiped his eyes and handed the glass back to his valet. “I do not know what that was, Featherstone,” he muttered, passing one hand over his eyes. “But I must hope that the torture of drinking it will be worthwhile.”

  His valet inclined his head. “Should you eat first or dress first, my lord?” he asked, not commenting on what Grayson had drunk. “If I might, I would also suggest a cold compress for your eye, although it may be a little too late to help.”

  “My eye?” Grayson repeated, reaching up to touch it only to pull his hand back with a yelp. No wonder he felt sore all over! He had quite forgotten that he had been in a fight last evening. Groaning, he shook his head and lowered it into his hands, trying to remember exactly what had happened.

  “How did I get back into my rooms?” he asked his valet, keeping his head in his hands for fear of what he would see on his valet’s face. “I do not recall anything other than stepping over the threshold.”

  The valet cleared his throat. “I could not say, Lord Whitehaven,” he replied, seemingly honestly. “The rest of the staff were abed, as per both your and Lady Whitehaven’s instructions.”

  Grayson lifted his head slowly and looked up at his valet, surprised that the agony in his head was already beginning to fade. “You mean to say that no one knows how I made it to my rooms?” he asked, seeing the valet both shrug slightly and nod at the same time. “I cannot imagine that I climbed the staircase myself, given the effects of my drunkenness this morning, but still…” He trailed off, trying his best to remember. “Surely my mother would not have come to my aid.”

  The valet said nothing, leaving Grayson to consider this for some moments before sighing and rubbing at his forehead again.

  “I think I may break my fast after all,” he muttered, attempting to rise from the bed and shaking off his valet’s assisting arm. “Whatever it was you put in that, Featherstone, it seems to have worked rather well.” Grimacing as he recalled the taste of it, he shrugged and then stumbled across to the small table that sat close to the fire, sinking down into a chair as quickly as he could. Mayhap he had, after all, managed to make it up to his rooms alone. There wasn’t really any other explanation now, was there? Mentally shrugging, Grayson quickly poured himself a cup of coffee and allowed the smell of it to wash over him. He would have to appear as presentable as possible when he went to speak to his mother, and that would start with removing any stench of liquor from his breath and, hopefully, settling his churning stomach. Grimacing, Grayson threw aside the niggle of worry and set about trying to eat a small piece of buttered toast, hoping silently that this note was nothing of any great importance.

  * * *

  “Ah, Grayson!”

  Grayson grimaced, inclining his head and finding his mother’s somewhat shrill voice rather painful to listen to. She had thrown aside convention to refer to him as “Grayson” rather than “Whitehaven,” as she ought, but part of him presumed that this came from the agony that must still linger within her heart over the loss of her husband and his father.

  “Mama,” he murmured, lifting his head and thinking silently to himself that he needed to ensure that his valet was given some sort of reward for the concoction he had made Grayson drink, for it truly had done wonders. “I hear that you have received a note of some sort?” He tried to keep his voice light as he came to sit down opposite his mother at the dining room table, where she was breaking her fast. “What is it that concerns you so?”

  Lady Whitehaven, he noted, looked a little distraught, which he found to be a little concerning. His mother was usually quite at ease, with a ready smile and a welcoming word or two, but now she was tightlipped with a sharp look in her eye. Her brows knotted.

  “Whatever happened to you?” she asked, sounding a little horrified. “Your eye, it is quite bruised and swollen!”

  Grayson waved a hand. “It is nothing that should concern you,” he replied, desperate for his mother to ignore it. “Tell me about the letter. You received it this morning, I understand.”

  “I did, yes,” Lady Whitehaven proclaimed, straightening in her seat. “A note that I have found quite extraordinary and certainly have very little idea as to what I ought to do about it.”

  Grayson swallowed hard, his hands tightening into fists underneath the table.

  “Do you not wish for something to drink?” his mother continued, her tone a little gentler as she gestured to the waiting cups and saucers. “Pray, do not allow
me to prevent you.”

  Shaking his head, Grayson gave her a tight smile, trying to calm his frantically beating heart and praying that his mother would not lose her temper with him when she discovered the truth of his gambling.

  “It is about Dinah!”

  He blinked rapidly, staring at his mother and seeing her brows lift in evident awareness of his astonishment.

  “I am quite at a loss!” Lady Whitehaven continued, gesticulating furiously. “This gentleman – a Viscount Irving – has stated that he wishes to court Dinah and seeks my permission to do so. I cannot understand it, Grayson. Truly, I cannot!”

  Grayson swallowed hard, feeling his heart flood with both relief and an overwhelming sense of anxiety as he thought about Dinah. The idea of her being courted by a gentleman – any gentleman, in fact – ought to bring him a good deal of joy, but instead he felt himself reject Lord Irving entirely, even though he knew nothing of the fellow.

  “Might I ask why you are so disturbed over this letter, Mama?” he asked, trying to make sense of his mother’s reaction. “Surely this is to be expected, given that Dinah is out.”

  Lady Whitehaven shook her head firmly. “Lord Irving has danced only once with Dinah, Grayson,” she explained, her brow lowering. “Only once, you understand.” Her lips twisted, as though this was something truly regrettable. “He does not know Dinah at all. He has not called upon her, taken tea with her, nor suggested that they might take a turn about the park together or anything of a similar nature. I am not inclined to accept a gentleman’s request to court her when it seems he does not know her at all!”

  Grayson, rather relieved at this but aware that he could not reveal an eagerness about the matter, tried to appear nonchalant. “But all the same, Mama, it may be that he has simply taken a liking to Dinah and wishes to court her. That cannot be a bad thing, surely?”

  “It is not as simple as that,” Lady Whitehaven protested, waving a hand. “You know as well as I that Dinah does not simply require any gentleman to wed her. She needs someone who is sensitive to what she has endured, who understands her need for her continued piety. She requires someone to seek her out, to pursue her so that the truth of her character is revealed to them.” Sighing, she set her hand back on the table and picked up the letter again. “I am not convinced that Lord Irving is such a gentleman, especially when I know nothing of his character.”

  “Then seek it out,” Grayson replied, trying to force himself to consider Lord Irving’s request without the immediate sense of rejection that filled him. “State so in your letter. Tell him that given that neither you nor Dinah know Lord Irving particularly well, you cannot accept him as yet. That way, if he is truly interested in her, he will pursue matters further.”

  “Who will?”

  Grayson turned quickly, seeing none other than Dinah standing framed in the doorway, one hand on the door and her body ramrod straight.

  “Oh, it is nothing,” Lady Whitehaven said quickly, rising from her chair and gesturing for Dinah to come forward. “It is only that a gentleman has requested to court you, and I sought out Grayson’s opinion on the matter.” She patted Dinah’s arm, as Dinah quickly sat down in the seat next to where Lady Whitehaven had been sitting. “I have to write to Lord Irving now, although I should inform you that I will not be granting his request to court you, my dear.”

  Grayson allowed a small smile to tug at his lips as he saw the relief etch itself into Dinah’s expression.

  “After all, as Grayson himself has said, the fellow does not know you from Adam – and you do not know him either,” Lady Whitehaven continued, leaving Dinah’s side and making her way to the door. “I shall write this very moment, have no fear. Do excuse me.”

  “Oh.”

  Dinah half rose from her chair, looking at the departing figure of Lady Whitehaven, as though she wanted to follow her.

  “Did you have something more to say to Mama?” Grayson asked quietly, aware of how Dinah flushed red and wondering what it was he had done or said to make her appear so. “I can have the footman call her back.”

  Dinah swallowed, shook her head, lowered her eyes, and sat back down in her chair.

  “Then please, do not allow my presence here to prevent you from breaking your fast,” Grayson added, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from his words. “I am well aware that you do not seek my company, Dinah.”

  Inwardly, Grayson berated himself for speaking so, aware that his hackles were rising and that his sense of confusion was growing within him. He did not know what it was nor what he ought to do with it, for his heart grew warm within him at her company, and yet his defense of such a feeling was, it seemed, to speak to her cruelly. Angry with his own demeanor and quite unable to understand it, he simply lowered his head and picked up his cup and saucer, thinking to drink his coffee quickly and then excuse himself.

  “Little wonder that I do not seek your company after your behavior last evening, Whitehaven.”

  Astonished at not only the boldness of her words but also the agony of what was held within them, Grayson lifted his head and looked directly into Dinah’s eyes. She was holding his gaze steadily, although her lips were trembling just a little. His heart sank to the floor, realizing suddenly who it was that had helped him to his bed. It had not been one of the servants, and he certainly had not managed to climb the staircase himself. Instead, it had been Dinah who had helped him to his rooms. Closing his eyes, he laced his fingers behind his head and set his elbows on the table in a most uncouth fashion, groaning quietly. What was it he had done?

  “I am not surprised that your head aches,” Dinah continued, mistaking his demeanor for that of someone who has a painful head after a night of debauchery. “But if you believe that speaking to me and treating me in such a fashion is appropriate, Whitehaven, then you are very much mistaken.” Her voice was shaking now, her anger and upset more and more apparent. “I am aware that you want me gone from this house and that your only wish is to see me wed so that I might no longer be a burden to you, but I will not be forced from it by you, Whitehaven. You may attempt to encourage me from your side in all manner of ways, but I will not accept them from you.” Drawing in a long, audible breath, she let it out slowly. “How dare you treat me with such inconsideration?”

  “Whatever it was I did or said, I am truly sorry.”

  Raising his head and letting his hands drop, Grayson looked directly back into Dinah’s face and saw the tears glistening in her eyes. Guilt seared him, his eyes closing tightly so that he did not have to see her sorrow.

  “I mean no ill will,” he said, even though his behavior had said otherwise. “I was not in my right mind, Dinah. Truly.” Opening his eyes, he saw her stiffen, her gaze somewhat fixed as she looked back at him. “I am truly sorry.”

  It took some moments before Dinah reacted. It was as if she were trying to work out whether or not she could trust him, whether or not she could accept what he had said to be the truth. Grayson looked back at her with a calmness in his expression that he did not feel for inwardly, his emotions were running wildly though him, his heart clamoring and his mind begging her to believe him.

  “You do wish me to be gone, however, do you not?” she said eventually, her eyes no longer glistening with unshed tears. “You will, of course, push me towards this Lord Irving.”

  “That is not so,” he replied at once, a small flicker of anger in his heart. “I have told my mother that she ought to refuse Lord Irving’s request to court you until he knows you a little better.”

  “And should I refuse to accept his court?”

  The question was thrust at him like a knife, a sense of coldness rushing through him. What would he do if Dinah refused to accept Lord Irving? Would he force her to do so? Demand that she court the fellow regardless of what she felt? It would be one way to remove her from his house and, in doing so, hopefully allow his own affections to go with her.

  “I think that you would push me towards Lord Irving regardless,” sh
e said, answering for him. “It is obvious to me that you want me gone from your house.” Lifting her chin, she sniffed and turned her head. “And that will occur, Lord Whitehaven, you need have no fear about that. But only I will determine when it will take place and in which direction I shall go.”

  Grayson did not know what to say for this displayed more strength than he had ever seen before in Dinah. She was as regal as a queen, sitting across from him and refusing to follow anyone’s path but her own.

  “Then if not Lord Irving, then mayhap someone else,” he suggested slowly, aware that his heart leapt at the thought of taking her in his arms but knowing that he could not do so, not when she was so pure and he so ugly. She deserved a gentleman who, as his own mother had said, would treat her with the kindness, gentleness, and love that she deserved. He was nothing more than selfish, and Dinah had seen more than enough of his arrogant character these last few years. No doubt she would refuse him even if he were to lay his heart out for her to see. “You shall have to dance with gentlemen, converse with them and the like, if you are to make a decent match.”

  Dinah let out a short, guttural exclamation before turning her head back to his.

  “Or mayhap I should be permitted to follow my own path,” she told him bluntly. “Mayhap there are other ways that I might seek out my future.”

  Frowning and not at all understanding what she meant, Grayson tilted his head, regarding her. “If you mean to say that you wish to vet the gentlemen who seek you out, then by all means do so. Or if it is that you fear that your dance card will remain empty, then I should be glad to aid you in such a thing.” He did not quite know what he meant by such a remark, for given that his damaged leg could not even allow him to walk without limping, he did not think that he would be able to dance and certainly had refused to do so over the last few years whenever he had been in company.