Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(52)

“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.”

Sophia blinked, waiting for that devilish, teasing grin to appear. But it didn’t. He wasn’t teasing at all.

She hadn’t been under any illusions that he led a life of chastity. But for a shrewd tradesman, who lived his life by numbers and amounts, to lose count … the actual number must be great indeed. The man sitting across the table from her had bedded countless women, from every corner of the globe. The thought repulsed her and, in some shameful way, thrilled her. But most of all, it disappointed her. Regret stung her somewhere between the shoulder blades, and her spine stiffened.

“Well,” she said finally, unable to mask the bitterness in her voice. “It’s a miracle you’re not dead of the pox.”

“It’s not a miracle. It’s a combination of caution and sheepgut.”

“More to your credit, then. And here you’ve remained seemingly hale and stout, despite fifteen years of such strenuous exertion. A remarkable feat. No wonder you seem so proud of your exploits.”

“Do I?” His jaw tightened.

“With good health, you may have every expectation of de cades of further debauchery.”

“Sweetheart, that’s my greatest fear.”

“Which part? The good health, or the debauchery?”

“The de cades.”

Sophia studied his face. Fidgeting under her scrutiny, he lowered his gaze and scratched the thick growth of beard along his jaw. She’d been wrong, she realized. He did not take pride in his exploits at all. “What about love?”

He did not look up. “What about it?”

“The many sweethearts, the countless lovers … How many of them did you love, Mr. Grayson?”

He linked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Every last one of them, sweet. Every last one.”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s the same as saying none.”