Page 48 of Along Came a Rogue

“He has my family,” she interrupted. But even as she said the words, she doubted them. He and Thomas were best friends, but while Thomas trusted him enough to send him to retrieve her home, she also knew how her parents felt about him. Would he ever be welcome at Chatham House for anything more than a game of billiards with Thomas?

Lady Gantry shook her head. “That is not the kind of family to which I refer.” She lowered her voice secretively. “The man is the son of a blacksmith, everyone knows that.”

“Not everyone,” she mumbled, thinking of the trust he’d placed in her when he’d told her about his past.

“And the women he associates with—disgraceful! For that alone, you should not be traveling with the man.”

George made yet another face into his glass but this time did not take a sip, and Emily wondered briefly if the disgusted look was meant for Grey or for his mother for frowning on the same activities in which George gleefully engaged.

“Guilt by association?” Emily chided. Her patience grew very thin now.

Lady Gantry sighed heavily. “It certainly is unfair, I grant you, but that is the way of the world, my dear. Now, I shall not utter a word to anyone, of course—”

Emily rolled her eyes. The blasted woman was certain to blab every detail to the London gossips as soon as her carriage rolled to a stop in Mayfair.

“—but you really must be more careful. As the daughter of a duke, you have a responsibility to your position and to your family.”

Hot anger flared inside her. Well, she certainly didn’t need to be lectured on that! She knew full well how dear the price of that responsibility. Her sense of responsibility had sent her without protest into exile at school. It had forced her to give up her dream of being an artist because proper ladies didn’t pursue such potentially scandalous careers. Or any career, for that matter. Responsibility to her family had also forced her to remain with Andrew. Even now her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

During this whole trip, she had purposefully avoided thinking about that responsibility and what lay ahead for her in London—more smothering responsibility to family, more merciless devotion to position—when all she wanted was to be a good mother and to protect her baby and the people she loved. Which now included Grey.

“Nathaniel Grey…my, my!” Lady Gantry shook her head once again. “Whatever was your family thinking?”

Enough!

“What my family was thinking,” Emily ground out, the last thread of patience snapping, “was that my brother was fighting for his life and that they wanted someone they could trust to deliver me safely to them from Yorkshire. Nothing more. And certainly not the scandalous, disreputable arrangement you’ve implied.” She slapped her serviette aside and rose from her chair. “So go ahead and spread your vicious gossip. To disparage a duke’s daughter for being escorted to her dying brother’s side—you’ll only make yourself look like a fool.”

Lady Gantry had the nerve to look offended. “Well, I certainly never—”

“Major Grey is a good man, and I am so very fortunate to have him with me, protecting me—” Her voice choked with anger, and she said a silent prayer that she’d be able to flee the room before she came completely undone. “Good night!”

Deaf to Lady Gantry’s pleas for her to stay and finish the evening, Emily hurried from the private dining room and made her way through the inn. She had to find Grey and apologize for what she’d said earlier, had to kiss him and touch him—

She halted in the doorway of the common room and stared, not wanting to believe her eyes.

Grey sat on a settle in front of the fireplace, his long legs stretched out casually, with a tankard of ale in one hand and a cigar clamped between his teeth. Between his smiling teeth, because a barmaid stood in front of him, her large bosom nearly spilling out of her scoop-necked bodice as she leaned over him. She whispered into his ear with an inviting smile as her hand slid along his shoulder to trace her fingertips through the soft hair at his nape before pulling away.

Emily stared, too stunned to look away. An agonizing stab of jealous pain shot through her, and she swallowed convulsively. Her eyes fixed on Grey as she fought to breathe, watching and waiting to see what his reaction would be to the woman’s blatant offer.

He tossed his cigar stub into the fire, pushed himself off the settle, and grinned charmingly down at the buxom woman as he tossed her a coin and said something that made her laugh. He gestured toward the door, the barmaid nodded—

Then he glanced up and saw Emily.

His eyes locked with hers for just a heartbeat before she fled for the stairs.

Chapter Nine

Lying on her side in bed, Emily faced the wall and tried to fall into the numbing sleep that refused to come. Her lashes still lay damp from tears as an occasional sob escaped her.

She’d barely reached her room before the hot tears began to flow like water from a broken dam, the anguish inside her chest unbearable. For several minutes she did nothing more than lean back against the closed door, cover her face with her hands, and weep inconsolably. Surely, Grey would follow upstairs after her…But as the minutes dragged on, she realized that he wasn’t coming, that most likely he already lay in the arms of the barmaid. With her body and mind both numb from the blinding pain of her heartbreak, she’d somehow managed to undress, pull on her night rail, and crawl into bed.

She had no idea how long she’d been lying here, unable to sleep. An hour, perhaps two. Long enough that the inn grew quiet around her, and the small fire died away and left the room dark.

Oh God, how much it hurt! She’d pressed her hands to her chest, squeezed her eyes shut against the images in her mind of Grey touching that woman, kissing her, enjoying her…She shuddered at each fresh slice to her heart.

In truth, she had no claims to him. No matter how much happiness she’d felt in his arms, he didn’t belong to her. And he never would. But Grey knew that. He’d tried to warn her away before he’d ever laid the first hand on her, and never once had he shown any kind of feelings for her beyond the lust of physical attraction and the loyalty of friendship. But she’d foolishly ignored the warnings and yielded her heart along with her body.

Now, teetering on the verge of fuzzy consciousness, her head swirled and her body ached, and she was unable to find the sweet oblivion of sleep. So her troubled mind didn’t register the muted click of the door or the soft rustle of fabric in the darkness.