Chapter Seventeen
After the Fieldhavens left, Diana turned to find several members of Geoffrey’s staff standing there. He looked horrified, as it apparently sank in that the servants had heard everything.
He cleared his throat before addressing them. “I appreciate your help with my relations. I wish I could promise you this won’t happen again, but I can’t be sure. My father had many distant relatives.” Joining his hands behind his back, he said, “I would ask, however, that you not repeat what you heard here tonight. I assure you it was all lies.”
“Please, Your Grace, no need to explain,” the butler said. He looked back at his fellow servants, who nodded their encouragement. “We don’t believe such rumors. We are very proud to be in your service and will exercise the greatest discretion concerning this matter. You need not worry about us.” He drew himself up ramrod straight. “We would never betray you. Just tell us what you require.”
Geoffrey stood there, clearly dumbfounded by this show of support from a staff who’d only known him a month or two. “Thank you. You humble me, all of you. I appreciate your concern more than you can possibly know.”
“And,” Diana said, “if you gentlemen will forgive me for interrupting, you can best show your support by . . . er . . . getting back to your duties in the ballroom? At the ball being held for His Grace’s sister?”
Everyone, including Geoffrey, looked at her blankly. Then, as if finally realizing most of the footmen were in the entrance hall, everyone hurried away.
All but the butler. He approached Geoffrey with a determined look. “Do you think the Fieldhavens are likely to return this evening?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not anyway. So I believe it’s safe for you to attend to your other duties.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
As the servant marched back to the ballroom, Geoffrey took Diana’s arm and said, “Come with me.” Then he paused. “Please. If you don’t mind.”
She fought the laugh bubbling up in her throat. Apparently, Geoffrey the Almighty could actually use good manners when he wanted. “Of course. I’m sure I can be spared for a few minutes.”
“It may be more than a few,” he murmured as he guided her through rooms where they were unlikely to be seen by anyone.
Next thing she knew, they were entering his study.
“I’m locking the door,” he said. “I don’t think anyone has seen us enter, but if someone comes looking, I don’t want them to be able to walk in on us.”
Was he implying what she thought he was? She eyed him askance. “Here? You want to have an intimate encounter here and now?”
“Not exactly.” A rueful smile crossed his lips. “I wouldn’t mind, but that’s not why I brought you here. I need to speak to you about my father’s death.”
“Oh. I see.” She sank into the chair in front of the desk. “Believe me, I know there’s no chance whatsoever that you killed your father.”
He steadied his gaze on her. “You have that much faith in me?”
“Of course. If I hadn’t, you and I would never have had our first intimate encounter. I wouldn’t even have allowed you to get me alone. I’ve had plenty of experience fending off untrustworthy clients.”
“Sadly, I believe you.”
When he fell silent, she said, “You were going to tell me about your father?”
“Yes. You heard the so-called ‘evidence’ my relations gave. It’s only a tiny part of what could be alleged.” He sat down behind his desk, unlocked a drawer, and took out a letter. For a moment, he just stared at it, as if debating something. “I’m afraid the only cure for such gossip—this letter—is worse than the disease itself.” With a sigh, he reached over the desk to hand it to her. “Read it and you’ll understand. What you don’t, I’ll explain, if you care to ask.”
A chill swept over her as she took the document. “Just like that? All this time you could have told me your deep, dark secret, and you choose to do it now, in the middle of a ball. Merely because some distant relations of yours made a fuss?”
“Yes. Because others might also make a ‘fuss.’ Because the gossip has followed me to London sooner than I expected. Because . . . you seem to actually care about my family and not only as clients. I don’t fully grasp why that is, but I’m grateful.” His gaze bore into her, haunted, torn . . . vulnerable. “You’ll understand when you read the letter.”
Should she tell him what Rosy had already revealed?
Perhaps not yet. If she could keep his sister’s secret, she would. Because he was clearly already worried about this gossip business. Not on the surface, of course. He always had to be a fearless fellow on the surface. But deep down, he truly was worried. She could tell. How odd that she had come to read his emotions so well.
“Are you going to look at the letter?” he asked impatiently.
“Yes, right away.”
As she unfolded it, he said, “Try not to damage it. I may need it one day to save my own skin.”