“Your mother and Miss Darling are not related in any way,” Harper told him. “All of this is about you, Grayson. You’re the last Ashmore. Miss Darling has the potential to give you sons. Seven to be exact. Seven Ashmore/Blagden males to break some curse. I’m not sure of its origin. Of course, Lady Rose Planc de’Vere also has the same potential. There’s a possibility of having them with Sarah Gable—”
“Harper,” he snarled through clenched lips. “Don’t say another word. Sons with Sarah Gable? Have you gone mad? And how in damnation would you know about how many sons I could have with these women? Is this real, Harper? Are you from the future? Have you seen my entire life played out?” He didn’t realize it but tears were glistening at the rims of his eyes. “Have you been lying to me since I was ten years old? Because keeping a truth like you come from the future is a series betrayal! Is my mother in the future?”
She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.
“Are you going to tell me that my grandmother made you keep this from me and in the fifteen years that you’ve known me, you never cared for me enough to go against her and tell me the truth?”
“I’m telling you now,” she tried.
“And since you’re so gifted a liar, I’ll consider it another lie that Miss Darling has nothing to do with this since sheobviouslycomes from your future.”
“Grayson, listen—”
He shook his head. “I’m finished listening. I don’t know what is going on, or who to trust. I don’t even know if I can trust my own eyes. I thought I could trust you. Whatever the reason for all this is… Whatever you and my grandmother—and possibly the woman who gave birth to me had planned, won’t work. I may dance like a puppet, but I don’t do anyone else’s bidding. My purpose here is not to father seven sons to break a curse. Tell my grandmother I’ll choose my own wife and my own path.”
He left the parlor and the main door to his rooms. He strode back to his dance hall and didn’t come out for the next two days.
Chapter Seven
Gray stood infront of his Baroque wall mirror while his personal butler Jonathan tied a lavish bow made of expensive cream-colored lace at Gray’s nape. The loops were small and the tails long, pulling the back of his shirt down. Jonathan never questioned Gray’s fashion statements, trusting that his lord would always look his best. And he did, even with his hair powdered gray and slicked back with two thin tendrils waxed with pomade, one curled against his forehead in the shape of an S and one down his temple. He wore a dark turquoise coat with cream edging and strips hanging down his arms. A matching shirt with lace ruffles at his cuffs and down his chest and beige breeches with polished boots.
“My lord,” Jonathan said, stepping back to examine his work, “may I say you will have every tongue wagging at the ball tonight.”
Gray shifted his gaze, made all the more colorful by his suit, all the slyer by the chiseled cut of his shaved jaw and sleek hair.
“I heard that the Duke of Hamilton and his daughter will be in attendance.”
“Yes, my lord. He has accepted his invitation.”
Gray nodded and returned his hard gaze to his reflection. Gray had been told that Duke Hamilton had suggested to Gray’s father that he should consider sending Gray back to the battlefield instead of constantly letting his son bring shame upon them.
He felt like he might smile for the first time in days, but it wouldn’t form on his lips. He looked away and refused the cup of wine offered to him by Clifford, one of the servants.
He went to the door and opened it. Music wafted up the stairs, drawing him out of his rooms. Harper would be downstairs. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in two days. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to speak to her again. He didn’t want to hear any more about Thoren Ashmore, the Blagdens, time-travelers, trust, or anything else. He wouldn’t send Harper away or stop her from marrying, but her duty to him was over.
Miss Darling wouldn’t be there. Good. That was how he wanted it. He didn’t want her to see him dance. Especially not the ones he’d practiced for the last pair of days. For the most part, he had put her out of his mind while he practiced—which was day and night. There were a few times he was tempted to ride around the perimeter of the Gable holding and watch out for her. Spirited, saucy, hell witch.
“My lord, are you feeling unwell?” Jonathan said, keeping pace beside him and gaping at Gray’s flushed cheeks.
“Go away,” Gray warned quietly. “Go find Mae in the kitchen and take her out to look at the stars.”
“My thanks, my lord,” Jonathan hurried on ahead without argument and raced down the stairs. Gray watched Jonathan leap down the last four steps and run toward the kitchen.
Without pausing to smile, Gray’s gaze warmed on the servants and guests as he kept going. As he approached the main ballroom, his icy expression returned. He hated facing his father and the disappointment and anger in the duke’s eyes. But it didn’t hurt anymore that his father found his replacement. Now, while his father lived in Dartmouth, Gray would bring him more “shame”. Gray didn’t expect his father to find pride in his son’s dancing and interpretation skills. The Duke of Devonshire had not been a father to him. Gray felt little or no loyalty toward him or his new family.
But he did like making an entrance and watching everyone’s gaze turn in unison to his father.
Now, he descended the stairs and strode toward the open doors and the people dancing on the other side.
“My lord.”
Gray turned before he entered the ballroom to the woman coming toward him. He tried to remember her name, then gave up.
“I was hoping to see you tonight.” She reached him and gave him her most radiant smile.
“Why is that?” he asked, slipping his gaze to the people dancing just beyond the doors.
“You are an interesting man, unlike the others here. You do what you like and to hell with what the rest of us think.”