money to pay for lodging. "Why can't we?"
The question stopped him. He stood for a moment and stared at her, this bold, commanding man, his handsome face shifting into hard, frustrated planes as he seemed to carry on some battle within himself.
"For now, let's just say that it isn't proper for an unmarried woman to sleep in the home of a bachelor," he replied evenly.
With that, a slow smile pulled across Sophie's lips, her equilibrium finally, truly restored. She stepped back and ran the tips of her fingers provocatively down the sleeve of his suit coat, ignoring the heat that flared in his eyes. "So it is true. You really have turned into a fine Victorian prude."
Surprise flared, though only briefly, before the muscles in his jaw tightened. Tension crackled in the air, and standing so close to him she could smell the deep, heated scent of sandalwood.
"Alas," she continued, stepping away as quickly as she could without looking like she was fleeing, "I'm not terribly concerned about my reputation. But if you're concerned about yours, the Hotel Vendome isn't too far down the road. No doubt you could secure a suitable room over there."
Grayson slammed the brass knocker against the massive front door of the palatial limestone and marble mansion on The Fens. The street was quiet, gaslights his only company. It was late, much too late for a call. But Grayson wasn't about to wait until morning to confront Conrad Wentworth.
Impatiently he banged the knocker again, pacing across the gray-slate terrace until he heard fumbling inside. At length, the door pulled open a crack.
Raymond, the Wentworth family butler, peered through the opening, his face creased with sleep, his trousers and waistcoat hastily thrown on, a candle and holder held up, casting a faint circle of light onto the front stoop.
"Mr. Hawthorne," the man stated, alarmed.
"I'm here to see your employer."
Raymond stammered, stepping back, the door opening farther. "But Mr. Wentworth has retired for the night."
"Then tell him to
un
retire."
The butler clearly didn't know what to make of the situation, but when Grayson stepped into the house, he didn't stop him.
Boot heels ringing on marble tiles, Grayson strode past two jewel-encrusted lions that perched in the foyer. Unlike most Bostonians, Conrad Wentworth wasn't opposed to displaying his wealth.
Wealth? Hell
. If Conrad had bought fewer jewels for his house and his wife they might not be in this situation.
Grayson was only glad he had learned about Conrad's desire to sell Swan's Grace before it had gone to someone else. Though that certainly didn't help them now.
"But, sir—"
"Get him, Raymond."
The butler was saved from making a decision when a light came on at the top of the stairs.
"What is going on down there?"
Grayson turned to find Conrad Wentworth pulling on a silk robe over his nightshirt.
"Good God, Grayson. What is going on?"
"I want to know why the hell you signed a legal document selling your daughter's property without her consent."
Conrad halted on the stairs for a moment, then continued on. When he came to the foyer, his slippered feet hit the tiles with a shuffle, and when he spoke, his voice was a study in calm as he smoothed his sleep-ruffled gray hair. "I signed that document because I had every right to."
Grayson pinned him with a glare. "You told me she was in agreement." He reined in his frustration as he stared at the older man. "And if you didn't tell her about the house, I can only surmise that you didn't tell her about the betrothal." The house went quiet.
Conrad shifted his weight uncomfortably. With a wave of his hand he sent the butler away, then he strode into a study off the foyer. The room was dark, but a gaslight quickly brightened the fine wood interior. He directed Grayson to one of the two wing-backed chairs that faced a beautifully carved mahogany mantel. But Grayson wasn't interested in sitting.
Conrad cast a quick, nervous glance at him. "No, I haven't
Janwillem van de Wetering