Colin nodded. “Agreed. But this could blow up in our faces. Especially if she is reconsidering her decision to become a viscountess instead of a duchess. She might learn to like his company too well.”
“She chose Griff once,” Jarrod said, his voice full of conviction. “I am willing to bet that she will again.”
Colin nodded. “Now, how do we manage to make our little proposition attractive to himself?” he asked in the well-modulated Scottish burr that sent shivers of anticipation up the spines of his favorites at Madam Theodora’s.
“That’s easy.” Jarrod poured another dram of whisky for himself and for Colin. “We negotiate. He’s been nosing around us for weeks. He’s not working for Grant or for anyone else we know, so my guess is that he wants something we have. We discover what it is and offer it to him in return for this favor.”
“How do we accomplish that?”
Jarrod smiled. “We ask him.”
“Bloody hell!” Colin took a deep breath, then exhaled it. “All right,” he said finally. “Invite His Grace over.”
* * *
A similar conversation was taking place at the Weymouth town house on Park Lane as Lord Weymouth broke the unhappy news to his wife.
“Have you seen her, Trevor? Have you spoken to her?” Lady Weymouth asked.
“No, my dear, I’m afraid I have not,” Lord Weymouth answered.
“Then how did you discover that she isn’t—”
“Breeding?” Lord Weymouth said the word they had both been avoiding.
“Yes.”
“I read the letter she posted to Griffin,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“You what?” Lady Weymouth was shocked. “You read her private correspondence?”
“Of course I did, my darling Cicely,” he cajoled. “I read everything that goes into the military dispatches. It’s one of the responsibilities of my position. We are at war, my dear.”
“Don’t patronize me,” Cicely snapped. “I realize we’re at war. My son is on the Peninsula fighting it. But you know as well as I that Alyssa’s letters hardly fall into the realm of military secrets.”
“That doesn’t mean they can’t bring harm to our son,” he told her.
“I don’t understand.”
“I may have forced him into marriage, but Griffin chose the young lady.” Weymouth faced his wife. “You saw the way he looked at her, Cicely. Whether the boy knows it or not, he’s beginning to care for her. Perhaps, even love her…” He paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “What if she doesn’t return his feelings? What if she decides, now that she’s had a taste of it, that she doesn’t like being married or having the responsibility of the manor? Or worse yet, what if she decides, now that she’s no longer a virgin, that she doesn’t like sleeping alone?”
“Trevor!”
“Well?” he demanded.
Lady Weymouth stared at her husband as if he’d just announced he was preparing for his coronation as king. “Trevor Abernathy, did you not pay any attention to what was going on around you?”
“Of course I did,” he replied. “I saw the way Griffin treated the girl, the way he looked at her, touched her.”
“Well, you should have paid more attention to the way Alyssa was looking at Griffin.” She sighed. “She refused a duke, for heaven’s sake! For our son.”
“That fool father of hers refused the duke.”
“And Alyssa refused him as well—at the wedding breakfast.” She reached across the arm of her chair and took hold of her husband’s big hand. “Trust me, that girl loves our son.”
“I should hope so,” he grumbled.
“Have you heard anything different? Anything that might lead you to believe she doesn’t?”