Page 20 of Vying for a Viscount
“Thank you, Mr. Savage.”
During all this time, Letitia hadn’t let go of his arm or moved an inch away from his body. Her trembling had only gotten worse, and he feared she would run out the door screaming. Except he knew she wouldn’t. She was the type who followed through on her decisions once made. Much like him, if you discounted the time he said he would call on her and didn’t. Something he would forever regret. Otherwise, his word was sound.
He moved his arm forward, indicating a corridor straight ahead from the entry. “Shall we?”
“Excuse me, Lord Greyson,” Mr. Savage said. “May I take your things?”
Greyson chuckled, stepped away from Letitia, helped her remove her cloak, and handed it to Savage. He then removed his greatcoat, hat, and gloves and handed them to Savage as well.
He lowered his voice and said, “Letitia, would you care to take off your gloves? No one bothers with them here.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. “I suppose so.” Once she removed them and handed them to him, he added them to the pile Savage was holding in his arms.
“Thank you, Mr. Savage. We will go see Knight now.”
Letitia quickly slipped her arm through his again and walked with him out of the modest entry and down a corridor lit by wall sconces. They passed several doors, some open, some closed. The billiards room was full of players and spectators. She never took her eyes off the end of the corridor, and he felt like an arse for putting her through this trying visit. He could only hope she would relax at some point. And if she didn’t, at least she knew this one secret about him, since she had a rightful aversion to being lied to.
“The door ahead on the right.”
Greyson knocked softly on the wood trim, and when he heard Knight say, “Enter,” he opened it, unwrapped her arm from his, and waved Letitia in ahead of him. Please let him be doing the right thing by bringing her here.
Chapter Seven
For the entireride in the unmarked carriage, Letitia thought she would cast up her accounts at any moment. Her mouth was as dry as a desert, and her body wouldn’t stop shaking, no matter what she did. At least ten times, she almost told Greyson to turn around and take her home. The only thing stopping her was that he was sharing this secret part of himself with her. It couldn’t be easy for him, and she wouldn’t and couldn’t take it lightly. If she asked to go home, she truly believed their courtship, if this was what they had, would end, something she didn’t wish to happen. When he told her he wouldn’t leave her side and would keep her safe, she believed him. He was an honorable man. Better than most. He showed his goodness every day, from worrying about his parents and hiring a nurse to see to their health and comfort, to chaperoning his sisters. Greyson cared deeply about his family. No wonder he took off for several days at a time to relax and refresh or visit his family’s country estate.
Her parents had instilled in her the importance of family because only the three of them remained after her mother’s family disowned her. Unfortunately, her father had been raised by an elderly aunt after his parents died in a carriage accident—all the more reason to cherish one’s family.
When they arrived at the club, she wasn’t sure her legs would support her weight. She had never been weak-kneed, but at thatmoment, she thought she might be. She wrapped her arm tightly around Greyson’s and clung to him as they ascended the stairs. The blood rushed so fast through her veins and pounded in her ears that she could hardly hear the behemoth of a man speaking softly to Greyson. When he opened the door, she felt as though Greyson dragged her up the single step so they could enter the townhouse. A townhouse, she might add, that looked like any other residence on the street. No one would ever know it was a private club.
In the owner of Club Knight’s study, she stood trembling and lightheaded, her vision blurry. Greyson, as if sensing her discomfort, moved beside her and took her hand in his large, warm one. The skin-to-skin contact anchored her, and she cleared her vision after blinking several times. When her eyes focused on the man behind the desk, she gasped, then mumbled, “Forgive me, Your Grace. I thought we were meeting a Mr. Knight.” She blinked a few more times, in case her eyes were playing tricks on her. But no. The gentleman behind the desk was none other than the Duke of Tremont. Unless someone was pretending to be him. She’d never been introduced to him, but she had seen him and his duchess on Bond Street a time or two, which caused those around her to whisper about the disfigured duke who had bravely fought the French. Also, no one else she knew of wore a black mask that covered most of one side of his face, ending just shy of his mouth. He had sustained burns while serving as a naval captain. That was the extent of what she knew about him. That, and people called him an enigma.
“Have we met?” he said in the deepest voice she’d ever heard.
“Forgive me,” she said, curtsying. “Not formally, but I have seen you on Bond Street.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I’m hard to miss. People do like to gossip about me and hurry to cross the street, hoping to keep their distance. I promise you my injury is not contagious and I do not bite.”
“Oh dear,” she said, placing her free hand on her chest. “I meantno disrespect...”
“Relax, Lady Rutherford,” he interrupted. “You have not insulted or displeased me in any way. I’ve come to terms with my disfigurement.” He waved toward the beautiful lady, close in age to her, standing beside his desk. “And so has my wife. Lady Rutherford, have you met my wife?”
“No, I haven’t.” She faced the duchess and curtsied again. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“Please take a seat, both of you,” Tremont said.
She nearly dove to the nearest chair, leaving the one farthest from the door for Greyson. She refused to meet Greyson’s gaze. He must think she’d lost her mind.
“Now, we can get down to club business. Inside the club, please refer to me as Mr. Knight or Knight. We don’t use titles here. At Club Knight, we are all equals. You may address my wife as Charlotte. May we call you Letitia?”
“Yes.” No titles? Everyone was equal? The Duke of Tremont was Mr. Knight? What strange world had she entered?
“Greyson,” he snickered, “refuses to be called by his given name, and he is not the only one. Though it has nothing to do with standing and everything to do with hating one’s given name. Anyway, I presume he explained the club’s secrecy and its members, and that I need you to read and sign a confidentiality agreement to visit this evening.” He paused, and his eyes shifted from her to Greyson and back. “It is highly irregular for me to allow a visitor inside these walls. However, I have known Greyson for some time, and I asked him to invite you.”
She was having a hard time not staring at his masked face. She was mortified that she couldn’t look away until Greyson cleared his throat. “Letitia, are you unwell?”
“No, I’m sorry. Yes. Greyson explained everything. I’m ready to sign the document.”
“Good.” His Gra... Mr. Knight slid the paper across his desk toward her. She reached forward and picked it up. Her eyes scanned the words. Short and to the point. She took the pen Mr. Knight held out to her and scribbled her name.
