His Christmas Countess

Hell, he would be whimpering next that it wasn’t fair, that she had told him she was happy with him. He was a man and he’d show some backbone over this, but he was not going to confront Kate with it, not yet. He examined that decision for cowardly motives and decided it was only right, and fair, to investigate first. If he was wrong about her, then a direct accusation would shatter that miraculous happiness between them for ever.

The place to start was her family. He should have insisted on contacting her brother before now. ‘Griffin, fetch Mr Bolton to me at once. He is in, I assume?’

‘Yes, my lord. He remarked he had some notes to transcribe. I believe he is in his room.’

When his secretary entered, tugging his sleeves down with one hand and running the other ink-stained hand through his hair, he looked harassed. ‘My lord, I’m still working on your notes for this morning. I should have them finished—’

Grant waved a dismissive hand. ‘My handwriting is execrable, I know. Some time tomorrow evening will be fine, for goodness’ sake. Have your dinner in peace. Thank you, Griffin, that will be all for now.’ As the door closed behind the valet, he added, ‘In the morning I need to speak to a discreet enquiry agent.’

Bolton’s eyebrows shot up. ‘My lord? What sort of enquires, might I ask? I will enquire at your solicitor’s office, but such men may come with, er, different specialisms.’

‘I wish to trace someone, a connection of Lady Allundale’s with whom she has lost touch.’ He made himself smile. ‘A bit of a black sheep, if you get my meaning. I would like to reunite them, but I will need to be satisfied of his character before I do so.’

‘Of course, my lord. One cannot be too careful. I assume this will be a surprise for her ladyship?’

‘Precisely,’ Grant agreed. If she had deceived him about her lover, then had she told him the truth about her brother—the man she was so very reluctant to get in touch with, despite her new position? If Kate was in trouble, he would do whatever it took to get her out of it, but the deceit wrenched at him. And now he was deceiving her and telling himself it was for her own good. Somehow he was going to have to go downstairs, face his wife over the dinner table and put on a mask, pretend nothing at all was wrong.

Caring is the very devil, Grant thought as he walked downstairs, schooling his face to reveal nothing whatsoever. Certainly not fear.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘Allow me to summarise and make certain I have this correct, sir.’ Mr Martin, the highly respectable and discreet enquiry agent Grant’s solicitors had recommended, glanced down at his notes.

Grant, or Mr Whyte as he had introduced himself, sat in the comfortable client’s chair in Mr Martin’s elegantly simple office off Ludgate Hill and made himself sit still and apparently relaxed as Martin recapped.

‘There is a gentleman, probably by the name of Henry Harding, resident, possibly in Suffolk, who entertained Lord Baybrook in the spring of last year. The gentleman is married, has a sister named, probably, Catherine, and is of a somewhat profligate nature. You wish to identify him.’

‘That is correct.’ Grant was fairly certain that Catherine had given him her correct name, because she surely would not risk the marriage being invalidated by her using a false one. ‘How long will it take you?’

‘If he is in Suffolk, and he is a gentleman, then not long. But if the information you have been given is incorrect, then I will need to attack this from the direction of Lord Baybrook’s movements and that may require some, shall we say, excavation.’

Grant remembered Kate’s hesitation in answering his questions. At the time he had attributed that to exhaustion. Now he wondered. ‘I would not be surprised if the county is incorrect.’

‘Let us say a week, Mr Whyte.’

‘So fast?’

The enquiry agent smirked modestly. ‘I have many sources, sir. And Lord Baybrook is, or was, a colourful character. I will send to your solicitor as soon as I have news.’

Grant took his leave and hailed a hackney carriage to take him to Brooks’s Club. He was avoiding going home, he knew that. He knew he could not make love to Kate and hide from her that something was wrong and so he pretended to have far more work with his Parliamentary colleagues than he was actually undertaking and retired to his study every night after dinner until he thought she would be asleep.

If this went on for more than a week, he was going to be desperate with the need to hold her, he knew that. Kate had shown him happiness, taught him how to trust his heart to someone else. Now he struggled not to flinch back from that trust, like a man who has already been grievously burned and who expects the same pain again when he reaches out. Something was wrong and he would make it right for her, trust that her reasons for pretending that Baybrook had not been her lover were good.