She should have felt shame or even degradation, but instead it seemed a curiously intimate gesture. She took his handkerchief and, reaching under her skirts, wiped his semen from her thighs. She let her skirts fall and stood holding the soiled cloth, unsure of what to do with it.
He finished buttoning his breeches and took the cloth from her fingers, folding it and slipping it into his coat pocket. He twitched at her skirts, straightening them carefully as she stood there, as complacent as a child. Griffin caught her eye, reaching gravely to push a lock of hair behind her ear.
“There,” he whispered almost sadly. “Your toilet is done, my Lady Perfect. No one will ever know how I’ve despoiled you. You are as lovely as ever.”
She swallowed and leaned her head back against the door. “You’ve never called me lovely before.”
“Haven’t I?” he asked lightly. He turned away, glancing about the room, presumably to make sure there was no evidence left behind. He looked back at her, his wide mouth curled at the corner. “Perhaps I never found the need with Thomas constantly praising your beauty.”
“He does it by rote,” she said. “Do you?”
“No,” he murmured, and touched her hair lightly. “Nothing I do with you is ever rote.”
Her heart gave a pang then. What was he telling her? She inhaled to say something—what she wasn’t sure—but his hand fell, and he stepped back, executing a graceful bow.
His face wore a polite mask when he said, “The usual thing in these instances is for the lady to leave first. I’ll wait an appropriate amount of time before following you so that we are not seen together.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling suddenly naive, “of course.”
Hero smoothed her skirts one last time and peeked out the door. The dim hallway was deserted. She looked over her shoulder at Griffin, feeling as if she should say something, wanting to say something.
He cocked an amused eyebrow at her.
Well, she could play the sophisticate, too. She inhaled and sailed forth, moving without hurry. She was new to this type of subterfuge, but it seemed sensible to appear unruffled. She walked to the end of the hall, took another breath, and slipped into the ballroom.
She was just congratulating herself on having succeeded in avoiding detection when her brother’s voice spoke beside her. “There you are, Hero.”
She didn’t quite jump, but she may have squeaked before she turned to face Maximus.
His dark, heavy brows drew together. “Something the matter?”
“No.” She made herself unclench her fingers as she inhaled and smiled brightly. “No, of course not. I didn’t realize you were attending tonight.”
His lips pressed together in an expression that wasn’t quite a grimace as he scanned the room. “I need to discuss an urgent matter with Mandeville. Have you seen him?”
She nodded. “I talked to him earlier.”
“How is Phoebe?”
She blinked and glanced at her brother. His razor-sharp eyes were suddenly focused on her. “Better. Will you come to see her again? She asks after you.”
“Yes. Tomorrow afternoon, I think. I will have to tell her when I see her.”
Hero inhaled, closing her eyes. “Then you’ve come to a decision.”
“I have. She cannot have a season.”
“She’s been dreaming of one—you know that.” Her heart was aching.
“Would you have her make a fall at a dance?” he asked gently. “Can you imagine her humiliation? I will not let her endanger either her pride or her person. We’ll keep her safe with us, with her family.”
“How will she make a match?” Hero bit her lip. “Surely you don’t mean for her to remain a spinster all her life?”
Maximus shrugged one shoulder impatiently. “She is only seventeen. When the time is right, I can introduce a select number of gentlemen to her. Never fear. I will take care of her.”
Hero nodded. Of course he would. Maximus always took care of those around him. And perhaps he was right—a season might prove too stressful for Phoebe with her failing eyesight.
Still, it would be a terrible blow to Phoebe. She had been so excited at the prospect of her season.
“You’ve made the correct decision,” Hero murmured, glancing down at her hands.
Maximus brought his eagle-eyed gaze back to her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Naturally.” She smiled at him rather wistfully.
It would be so nice if she could talk to him about her troubles. About Griffin and the strange, tangled relationship they had, her doubts about the coming marriage to Mandeville, and whether it would even take place. There was so much she’d like to share with him, her elder brother. She’d lost Papa and Mama too young to really miss them overmuch, but at times like these, she longed for them. To have someone who truly cared about her.
But she’d never had that kind of rapport with Maximus. Perhaps it was because of her own reserved personality or because he was so much older than she and shouldered so many duties as the Duke of Wakefield. Or maybe it was simply never meant to be. Whatever the case, she realized now that she didn’t really know her brother. Not, at least, in the deeper sense. She didn’t know what he feared—if indeed he feared anything. If he’d ever loved or ever cried or if, late at night, he ever suffered any self-doubt.
Of course, he didn’t really know her either, did he?
Maximus surprised her by taking her hand. “I care for you and your welfare—you know that, don’t you?”
She nodded silently, feeling guilt mixed with pain at his words.
“If you ever need me, Hero, you have merely to ask,” he said.
He squeezed her fingers and then tucked them into the crook of his elbow. “Come. I see Mandeville in the far corner. I’m sure he’d be much pleased to see his fiancée.”
She agreed because she could hardly do otherwise, but she searched the ballroom as they crossed to Mandeville. She couldn’t see Griffin. Perhaps he’d already gone in to dinner.
“What is the urgent matter you wish to discuss with Mandeville?” she asked idly.
“It’s his brother.”
Hero stopped, causing Maximus to halt as well. “What about Reading?”
Maximus frowned down at her. “He’s distilling gin in St. Giles. I will have to arrest him.”
The blow was so sudden, so sharp, that for a moment she didn’t feel the pain. “No!”