“But it’s to be in two or three weeks,” Susan added. “Emma needs our help with planning.”
Griff’s spirits plummeted. She would probably leave that very afternoon. The house would feel empty and lifeless once more. It might be months before he had a chance to see her again. That prospect bothered him more than the difficulties her departure presented in terms of securing Orion. Perhaps he should return to London forthwith, forget the horse, forget Susan, forget Clifton Heights.
“They’ve extended an invitation to you, of course, Pendlebury,” Susan said.
It may have been his imagination, but the hint of breathless anticipation in her voice convinced him he’d never get Susan Crompton out of his system. “Decent of them,” he replied, trying not to sound too much like a schoolboy promised a special outing.
Indecision
“This development meansRebecca and I must leave Clifton Heights, Lord Pendlebury,” Susan said, the use of his title sour on her lips.
His arched brows told her he’d noticed the retreat into formality. And was there a hint of disappointment in his green eyes?
Conscious of Rebecca, James Footman and the all-seeing Potts standing close at hand, she bit back the longing to confess she didn’t want to leave. Born with an innate compulsion to always get to the bottom of things, the prospect of leaving matters as they were didn’t sit well. If Griff’s sexual advances were prompted solely by self-interest and he felt nothing for her, then so be it. If his feelings were genuine…
For once in her life, she faced a quandary for which there seemed to be no solution. Logic insisted Griff was an inveterate rake, but there was no logical explanation for her attraction to him.
“Of course,” he replied coldly. “With your permission, I might follow. I’ve been anxious to see how Orion is getting on in his new home.”
Susan floundered in a quagmire of conflicting emotions. He was coming to Thicketford Manor. She didn’t have to bid him farewell. But Orion was the lure, not her. “Of course,” she replied. “We’ll appreciate your input into starting up our stud farm.”
“I’m sure I’ll be welcomed at Withins Hall if it’s too much to have me underfoot while preparations for the ball are underway.”
Again, Susan’s thoughts see-sawed. It would be better if he stayed with the baron, wouldn’t it? Then she might quickly rid herself of the constant need to see him, and give her full attention to the ball. “Emma won’t hear of it,” she declared. “You must stay at Thicketford.”
*
An hour afterseeing the ladies off in the Farnworth carriage, Griff dithered in the foyer of Clifton Heights. His valise was packed and loaded aboard the carriage waiting outside. Frederick had served as his valet and helped him shave and change out of his riding clothes. The versatile footman now stood ready to drive him to Thicketford Manor. If he didn’t depart soon, it would be dark before he arrived. Still, he couldn’t make up his mind if he should go or not.
He’d be better off staying at Clifton Heights, far away from Lady Susan Crompton. However, the house was full of laborers and reeked of fresh paint and plaster. Besides, he missed her already, damn it.
He was genuinely interested in Orion’s welfare, but worried seeing the horse again might resurrect the compulsion to get his hands on the stallion. And why on earth did Susan’s opinion of him suddenly seem more important than owning Orion?
He glanced around the newly refurbished foyer. His mother would be pleased with the changes Susan had made. She’d no doubt also be happy to see him settled, with a wife and family of his own.
The prospect of marriage had always sent shivers racing up and down his spine. Now, God help him, his errant thoughts kept wandering to planning a future with Susan. He was even contemplating moving back north.
Jaw clenched, he yanked open the front door before Potts had a chance to open it for him, ran down the steps, jumped into the carriage and ordered Frederick to drive him to Withins Hall.
In the course of the two-hour journey, he began to wonder when he’d started chewing his fingernails. “This love business is getting out of hand,” he muttered, pulling on his leather gloves.
Love! Ridiculous! He could concede he might be in lust with Susan Crompton, but love?
By the time Frederick knocked on the door of Withins Hall, night had fallen. Standing behind his footman, Griff prepared his apology for arriving late, unannounced and uninvited.
He was taken aback when a scowling young man he hadn’t met before opened the door. His ill-fitting clothes—tawdry, off the rack stuff by the looks of it—indicated clearly he wasn’t a butler.
“Griffith Halliwell, Earl of…”
“The baron’s not at home,” the fellow said rudely.
“Nevertheless, he and I…”
He gritted his teeth when the door slammed in his face.
The anger contorting Frederick’s chiseled features mirrored his own. “I never saw the like, my lord,” his footman declared, fists clenched.
However, banging on the door and demanding to see the baron, or Springer at least, was out of the question. “Nothing for it but to proceed to Thicketford Manor,” he said, hoping a similar welcome didn’t await them there.