Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)

“Well,” she said. He glanced up to find that her expression held not disdain or shock, as he might have expected. As such an admission deserved. Rather, she looked intrigued.

“The pineapples and chickens, the dozens of ships …” She traced a groove in the tabletop with her finger. “All these I can easily imagine. But stealing an inheritance … twice? However did you manage that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve no pressing engagements.”

“I was in England, on break from Oxford, summering in Wiltshire at my grandfather’s estate. We received word that my father had died. My grandfather took the news hard. I think the old man always held out hope that his prodigal son would one day make good, return to the fold. When that hope was extinguished …” Gray cleared his throat. “He suffered an apoplexy within the week and never recovered.”

She made a small, crooning noise in the back of her throat. “You lost your father and your grandfather in the space of one week?”

“No. My father had already been dead for two months.”

“Yes, but still. You’d only just learned of it.” She hugged herself. Gray frowned as she stroked her shoulder, inflaming his own long-buried hurt even as she soothed herself. Damn it, she was supposed to be reviling him, not pitying him. And certainly not sympathizing with him. “Do you want me to finish the story or not?”

“I’m sorry. Go on.”

He spoke briskly now, as if conducting a business transaction. “My grandfather left Clarendon to my father. In the event my father was no longer living, the lands were to be divided between my father’s male children.”

“You and Captain Grayson.”

“Yes.” He leaned forward over the table. “But you see, sweetheart, they didn’t know about Joss. I gather my father neglected to mention his half-African by-blow in his annual estate report. The solicitors had no idea.”

“But if he’s illegitimate … Would he have stood to inherit at all?”

He turned his hand palm side up and studied the blunt, clipped edges of his fingernails. “Perhaps not. No way to tell without explaining matters to the executors.”

“And you didn’t.” Her eyes turned from curious to piercing. “You accepted the lands, and then you sold them. Without asking your brother.”

Gray nodded.

“Did you divide the proceeds with him, after the fact?”

“No. I bought this ship and had it fitted for privateering. It was all in my name, but I promised him we would split the proceeds after the war.”

“And did you?”

Gray shook his head. “No. I gave him what share he earned as first mate, and not a penny more. I took the rest, bought a house in London, and started Grayson Shipping.”

“Grayson Shipping,” she repeated. “Not Grayson Brothers Shipping.”

“Grayson Shipping. The ships, the investment, the risks, the profit—it’s all mine. I am my brother’s employer, not his partner.”

“My goodness.” She sat back in her chair, still regarding him intently.

“Yes, I think you are rightly ashamed.” And there it was. The prim face of censure he’d been seeking. A strange sense of satisfaction descended on him. Divine justice, perhaps. Other men, better men, confessed their sins to priests and saints, but Gray had chosen for his confessor this governess. The most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on, in all his years of chasing pleasure from one horizon to the next. The only woman to stir this desperate yearning in his breast. And this was his penance—to watch her shrink back into her chair, to see those clear eyes glaze with mistrust as she at last recognized him for the devil he was.

Yes, this was his due. And she wasn’t finished yet, his petite, austere inquisitor. No, there was so much sin yet to be revealed.

“Go on, then,” he prompted.

She gave him a quizzical look.

“Conclude the interrogation, sweetheart. You’ve more questions to ask.”

She stared hard into a corner of the cabin. “Are you married, Mr. Grayson?”

“No. I’m not the marrying sort.”

“Have you had many sw—” She paused. “Many sweethearts, then?”

“Yes. Many.”

She winced, almost imperceptibly, but he felt it like a flick of the lash. Still, she turned to meet his eyes again. Brave girl.

Ask it, he urged silently. Make the confession complete.

“And how many lovers, Mr. Grayson?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I couldn’t say.”

“I’m afraid that answer’s not an option.” Sophia smiled and rapped the table with her fist, grateful for the chance to tease. “Truth or eels, Mr. Grayson.”

He did not smile back. “I tell you most truthfully, Miss Turner—I couldn’t say. I lost count years ago. It’s been fifteen years since I tumbled my first tavern wench. And in those fifteen years, I’ve traveled three seas and four continents, sampling the ladies in every port. If it’s a number you require, then you count them. I can’t.”