C*cky Marquess by Annabelle Anders

Chapter 17

Greys closed the door behind him, extinguishing the morning light, and then released a tired breath. Diana had welcomed his escort home after she’d insisted on walking back to her brother’s house. She’d not wanted to wake his driver because then one more person would know that she’d spent most of the night with him. Greys had agreed, despite trusting his driver not to gossip. Furthermore, It didn’t really matter.

Because he would be meeting with Chaswick, and she would consent to marry him.

Was she playing a game? It wasn’t necessary. He was hers—all of him.

And she was his.

A soft chuckle escaped along with his breath. His sweet Diana had even managed to turn what ought to have been an awkward stroll through the darkness into a refreshing adventure. She’d bounced along beside him, pointing out blossoms growing between the pavers and swinging from the occasional gate. And, of course, she’d laughed at him when he had the audacity to mock-scowl at her for giggling too loudly.

He ought to be exhausted and dreading the meeting he would eventually have to have with Huntly, and then with Chaswick. Although a part of him was anxious to get them over with. Now that he knew what he wanted, Greys looked forward to having both matters resolved.

All in all, he couldn’t help but anticipate the rest of his life with her in it.

Because an unexpected source of light had infused his soul.

Was this only temporary? He dismissed his mistrust of romance and instead allowed himself to enjoy the afterglow of…

Not love. Was it?

Greys rubbed the back of his neck, already working out a handful of new problems he’d brought upon himself rather unexpectedly over the last few hours.

All of them worth it.

He grinned.

Doubting he would sleep, he nonetheless turned to climb the stairs to his bedchamber of a mind to bathe and don a change of clothing. Before he got far, however, he halted with a start at the sight of Blackheart descending, looking more ducal than any self-respecting butler ought to.

Although his old friend appeared to have had a sleepless night as well.

“Trouble belowstairs?” Greys asked, not genuinely concerned as his household was apt always to run smoothly. And, because the duke was coming from above-stairs. Of which he likely had a perfectly reasonable explanation that Greys wasn’t interested in delving into just then.

“It’s nothing.” Blackheart stepped onto the landing and then cocked a brow. “Trouble with Miss Diana.” His wasn’t a question—rather more of an observation.

Was Diana trouble? Greys bit back a grin. She was indeed trouble, but apparently, she was the sort of trouble he needed. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

But his promise not to visit with Chaswick that morning placed him in the same uncomfortable predicament he’d found himself in the day before.

Moving to tug at the lace of his sleeve and finding none at his wrist, Greys realized he wasn’t at all presentable. The night had been warm, and he’d been more concerned with seeing Diana safely home than donning his usual apparel.

“Nice,” Blackheart smirked.

“It isn’t what it appears to be.” It seemed like what an innocent person would say under such circumstances, even though he wasn’t fool enough to imagine the duke would believe him.

“Care to discuss it?” Blackheart stepped across the foyer and opened the door to the small office Greys made available to the male servant overseeing the household. Bouncing one's troubles off of Blackheart was always a good idea, so without hesitation, Greys stepped into the room that was barely larger than a closet.

Blackheart closed the door behind him, for which Greys appreciated. He had no wish for his behavior, his tryst, his—debauchery—with Diana the night before to become fodder for gossip. As it was, Greys was going to have to resolve his and Diana’s situation without provoking her brother into challenging him to a duel.

“You’re going to offer for her.” Blackheart lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. Greys leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“Not the match I had intended this spring,” he answered. But the admission wasn’t as solemn as he might have expected.

Greys, in fact, only contained his satisfaction at the outcome out of respect for Diana.

“But you do intend to offer for her?” Blackheart pushed.

“Of course. Although I’ve promised Diana that I won’t go to her brother first thing this morning.” He wouldn’t provide further explanations. Blackheart didn’t need to know the extent to which Greys had ruined one of their best friend’s sisters.

The blighter likely knew already, anyhow.

“And Lady Isabella?”

“Her parents are going to have to find some other aristocrat to marry their daughter.” He cocked a brow at Blackheart. “I’ll keep her in mind for you in case you give up your position before the end of the season.

Blackheart scoffed. ”You do that.” But then his friend was solemn again. “This is what you want?”

It was, and yet…

A sick feeling settled in his gut, confirming his assumption that euphoria was always temporary. He needed to marry Diana. He wanted to marry her. There was no way he’d allow her to slip away. But in making her his wife, he was going to have to relinquish ideals he’d valued all of his adult life.

“Of all my grandfather’s expectations, I never imagined I’d fail at this one.”

“Marrying well.”

“Yes,” Greys said.

“Chaswick’s title goes back almost as far as mine.” The duke pointed out.

“And Mrs. Jones?” Greys sounded like a snob, even to his own ears. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. His heart didn’t care, and although he was prepared to marry Diana, that didn’t mean he was prepared to embrace her mother’s history.

Blackheart smirked. “I’m apt to reconsider the notion of a noble alliance every time I see Westerley and his countess together. The Blighter broke every rule in the book and seems all the happier for it.”

“He’s only been married a few months. I’m not sure that qualifies as a resounding success.” Although Blackheart was right, the earl’s absolute contentment was almost sickening at times. Although it didn’t seem to bother Greys as much today as it had yesterday.

“Our school chums are falling left and right—and all for love.”

Greys nodded. “They have the right temperament for it.”

“Meaning you and I do not?’ And what is that temperament, anyhow? Stone Spencer likely has one of the hottest tempers I’ve ever seen, and yet Lady Tabetha appears to adore him. Who would have thought Chaswick would end up with Westerley’s bluestocking sister? Not to mention a giant of a man like Mantis landing the delicate Lady Felicity.”

Blackheart exhaled and leaned back in his chair, an enigmatic expression in his eyes.

Greys’ heart had come alive when he’d conceded to his feelings for Diana. She made perfect sense to his heart, to his body, but she wasn’t the ideal he’d imagined.

“She’s the bride I want.” Greys exhaled.

But Blackheart’s demeanor had him wondering why the duke would seem as confounded as he did. Greys snapped his head up, pinning his stare on the man.

“You aren’t dallying with one of the maids, are you?” That would be beyond the pale.

“No,” Blackheart said. “Not with one of the maids.” But then he folded his hands together and changed the subject. “Do you love her?”

“No,” Greys answered instinctively. Love was irrational and chaotic, and messy. Dash it all, precisely how Diana made him feel. But other emotions coincided amongst those—passion, tenderness, acceptance, the desire to protect her and to share his interests and passions.

They had made love, yes. But they’d also talked for hours. She made him laugh. She needed him.

Greys needed her.

Blackheart chuckled. “She’s not one of your equations you can manipulate at will.”

“I’m well aware of that.” However, “I care for her. With proper training, she’ll make an excellent marchioness. And she’ll never lack for anything.”

“Was not your mother possessed of all the proper training? And Lady Posy’s mother too?”

Both women had lived tumultuous lives, unable to rein in the mood swings and behavior that came with them. Although their husbands weren’t any better. “All the more reason I ought to have—”

“Kept your hands to yourself where Miss Diana Jones was concerned?” Blackheart offered. Had he made such a comment sarcastically, Greys would have planted his duke-turned-butler a facer. But since his friend was likely only testing him, Greys settled on a murderous glare instead.

“Careful now.”

Blackheart’s expression remained impassive, which was how most of the Ton knew him. “What’s done is done.” He said, staring at the papers stacked on his desk. Greys got the impression his friend was talking about some other situation.

Nonetheless, the duke’s words rang true. What was done was done.

Not only had Greys touched Diana intimately, but he’d taken her virginity. Or, as she had insisted, she’d given it to him. That alone ought to have him changing into something presentable and driving over to Byrd house without further delay.

But she’d tied his hands with a promise. Or had she?

Greys swallowed hard even as the sounding of the clock chimes reminded him of the early hour. There were other issues to clean up first—such as meeting with Lord Huntly to inform the earl that he’d changed his mind. He could only be grateful that he hadn’t gone so far as to sign any contracts as Westerley’s father had.

Once he’d dispatched himself of that commitment, he’d meet with Chaswick about making Diana an offer. With any luck, he’d secure her promise shortly after.

Because Diana might be stubborn when it came to getting what she wanted, but she hadn’t gone up against him yet.

Not in his world, anyway.