The Princess and the Pauper by Alexandra Benedict

Author:Alexandra Benedict [Benedict, Alexandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: romance, Mystery, Princess, Historical romance, historical mystery, alexandra benedict, fallen ladies society
Goodreads: 25960433
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

The pile of letters on the study desk reached Grey’s eyebrows. He needed to hire a secretary to sift through the monstrosity and attend to genuine business while burning the remaining correspondences. But he’d look into the matter of an assistant at another time. With a wave of his hand, he knocked the heap of papers onto the floor to be filtered at a later date.

“What’s that?” Harry jerked and opened his eyes, disoriented. He was sprawled across the divan, an arm and leg dangling over the edge of the cushions, a blanket half twisted around his body. Although he’d ordered furniture for one of the guest bedrooms, the pieces had yet to arrive, making Grey’s study his temporary refuge still.

Harry yawned, then smacked his lips. “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock.”

“Why are you waking me at dawn?”

“Go to the kitchen and find yourself some breakfast. I’ve business to attend.”

Grey’s “business” was mediation. And he’d much to consider after exploring long denied passions. He still ached for Emily’s touch. He had always imagined being with her. At one time, he’d even fooled himself into believing his dreams about her were romanticized. But after last night, he’d proof they were not. And there was no going back to a time when he’d only pined for her. His blood called for Emily, like his lungs called for air, like his belly called for food.

She was a primal desire.

And that made his approaching betrayal all the more difficult, even self-destructive, for in hurting her, he’d hurt himself. But he couldn’t let the matter of her father’s death rest. It would always hang over them. A silent accuser. It would always condemn them, denounce their affections as wrong or immoral. He couldn’t have that wretchedness near her or between them. He couldn’t let her go on misbelieving she had killed her father just by loving his servant. He only hoped she’d forgive him one day for breaking his word and “disturbing the past.”

A knock at the door.

“Come,” said Grey.

Mr. Smith opened the door and stooped as he entered the room, cap in hand.

Grey glanced at Harry. “Get out.”

For a second, Harry ogled the bruiser, then tossed the blanket aside. “Righto, chum.” He dashed from the study.

As soon as the door closed, Grey demanded, “What more have you found, Mr. Smith?”

The man removed a small card from his inner coat pocket and dropped it on the desk.

Fingering the stock paper, Grey scanned the name and address. “And what does Dr. Snow on Harley Street have to say about Mr. Wright?”

“Plenty.”

He lifted a brow. “Well?”

“He would not tell me.”

“Then how do you know he has plenty to say?”

“I know.”

Grey peered at the man. “And he would not tell you?”

“No, but he might tell you. You have an appointment with him this morning at ten o’clock for your chronic headaches.”

“I see.”

Perhaps Mr. Smith was right. It might be better if Grey had a private audience with the good doctor. Besides, he didn’t want the physician’s head split open.

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