‘His lordship has…er…left?’
‘Yes,’ she repeated and somehow managed to think of something other than Grant’s mouth on hers, kissing with the sort of desperation a condemned man might use if he were to be hanged the next day. ‘We are going back to London tomorrow morning, first thing. Please can you arrange that, Mr Gough?’
‘Certainly, Lady Allundale.’
‘Was that Papa? I didn’t know he was coming here. I heard him shouting.’ Charlie appeared from his bedchamber door, a clean shirt half on. ‘Papa never shouts like that.’
‘He has had a very trying day, dear.’ Possibly almost as trying as I have had. Kate forced back the hysterical laughter that was threatening. ‘We will be going back to Grosvenor Street tomorrow, first thing.’
‘Oh, good.’ Charlie’s anxious expression turned to a broad grin. ‘It is interesting here. I like the sea. But it’s not long until Christmas and we’ve got to get ready.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Kate hoped she looked less fraught than she felt. Christmas had completely slipped her mind. There was the anniversary of the old earl’s death to deal with and the challenge of creating a perfect new set of Christmas memories for Charlie and presents to buy and… And a husband who I thought I understood and now…
‘Run along and finish getting changed, Charlie. And try not to bother Mr Gough. He has lots of things to do.’
She went back and sank down into the chair, considered indulging in hysterics and concluded, rather wildly, that they would have to wait. ‘Wilson!’
‘Yes, my lady?’ The maid had a pile of folded underwear in her hands. Gough must have lost no time in telling her the news.
‘What is the date?’
‘The fifteenth, my lady.’
The old earl had died on Christmas Eve. They would travel back to London tomorrow and she must decide the best way to handle the anniversary for Charlie. Then there was Christmas to prepare for, which was also Anna’s birthday. When would Grant be back—and in what mood? No, this was definitely no time to have the vapours. Kate blew her nose briskly and found some paper and a pen. Lists were what she needed now. And my husband.
*
The clock struck midnight as Kate reached for the last sheet of paper and began to wrap up the pretty dress length and ribbons she had bought for Jeannie. All the presents had been bought in exhausting expeditions around the shops in the days after they got back from Southend.
All that was left was to worry about Grant. The note had arrived this morning from, of all places, Newport Pagnell. What he was doing there she could not imagine, nor could she gauge his mood, for it had simply read:
I will be there on the twenty-fourth. G.
Something had been written beneath that scrawled initial, then crossed out. She had squinted at it, held it up to the light, to a candle flame, and all she could make out was a small circle. Or perhaps a heart.
Now it was Christmas Eve. She had not dared hope, had hardly dared think about Grant and instead had plunged into planning, shopping and endless decision-making. The staff were not used to the family spending Christmas in London and seemed incapable of making the slightest decision without her. So footmen had been dispatched to enquire when evergreens would be available in Shepherd’s Market, Cook had been given guidance on two weeks’ worth of menus, decisions had been made on when the staff would have their Christmas meal, which carriages would be required for what church services and when a holly wreath should be hung on the front door.
Now Kate just wanted to sleep and not be plagued by dreams about Grant vanishing into the mist. She gathered up the scissors and ribbon, brushed paper scraps off the bed and took off her robe. As she reached for the snuffer, there was a noise from Grant’s bedchamber, then another. Muffled, cautious sounds. Sounds of someone who did not want to be heard.
When she snuffed the candle a thin line of light showed beneath his door. He was home.
Kate reached for the wisp of negligee that lay at the end of the bed, then, with a shake of her head, fetched the old flannel wrapper. This was no time for seduction. Either this marriage would hold because of what was in their hearts and in their minds, or it would not.
She made no effort to be quiet as she opened the connecting door. Grant was sitting on the side of the bed in the position she knew meant that he was contemplating pulling off his boots and was really too tired to bother, or to ring for Griffin. He looked up as she entered and she stopped, thinking wryly that when she had been rejecting thoughts of seduction she had not counted on the physical effect that her husband had on her. He looked saddle-weary, travel-stained and beyond tired. And he also looked magnificently male, strong and determined.
‘I am so glad you are home,’ she said simply. ‘Let me.’ And as she had once done before, when she had first come to Abbeywell, she straddled first one leg, then the other, and pulled off his boots.
‘Thank you.’ He waited until she turned and then reached out, put one hand on either side of her waist and drew her in to stand between his spread thighs. ‘I went to see Charlie first, woke him up. I wanted him to know I kept my promise to be back.’ He looked up at her, serious, watchful.
‘Of course.’ She resisted the urge to smooth his wind-tangled hair. Goodness knew what had happened to his hat. ‘Has he gone back to sleep or did he tell you the plans for tomorrow?’
‘He told me and went back to sleep. I had to promise to inspect all the decorations, right down to the very miniature yule log in the drawing room. You’ve done a magnificent job between the pair of you.’ He put his head slightly to one side as he studied her face. ‘Don’t you want to know where I’ve been?’
‘I don’t care, so long as you are back here.’ It was the truth. She trusted him to deal fairly with Henry and she knew he had not called Baybrook out. He would not risk killing Anna’s father. She gave in to the urge then and lifted her hands to cup his face. ‘I missed you.’
‘I lost my temper back there in the inn.’
‘I noticed.’ Was that the faintest curve of his lips? ‘You lose it so rarely that it is most impressive when you do.’