Confessions of Lady Grace

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Color rose to the older man’s cheeks. “My lady, it is my pleasure to welcome you.”

  “My thanks to you and the staff for accommodating our early arrival. I do look forward to meeting everyone on the morrow.” Grace bestowed one of her rare bright, heartfelt smiles upon Kirkland.

  Matthew led Grace down the hall and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. Each step closer to her chamber, his apprehension grew. He hoped his memory had not failed him. It was nearly three years since he had led her to this room and asked her to describe the perfect bedchamber. She had spun about the room rattling off colors—indigo, cyan, ultramarine, all of which he had thought of as simply blue. But the sparkle in Grace’s eyes at the time told him they were more than blue, that the various colors could evoke within the human brain certain emotions. He grinned, recalling her swiveling and declaring she would never care for the color yellow in her bedchamber for she believed it spurred one to anger. While he hadn’t any idea if the notion was, in fact, truth, Matthew had ordered the designers to decorate the room in various shades of blue and to avoid any hue of yellow. Pushing the door open, he allowed Grace to enter first.

  His wife stopped three steps in and twirled about the room. “Oh, Matthew, it’s perfect.” She moved to the bed and ran a hand over the silk bed linens. “You remembered everything.” Grace stepped out of her slippers and rubbed the sole of her right foot against the plush floor rug and then walked over to the corner where an extraordinary number of cushions of all sizes and fabrics were strewn about. “Where is Tilman?”

  Her maid appeared at the entrance of the connecting door that led to a separate chamber he had refurbished for Grace. “Here I am. I have your bath ready, my lady.”

  “Through there?”

  Tilman smiled, “Yes.” The maid ducked out of sight.

  “I had a chamber refurbished for your use.” Pleased at the shocked expression upon Grace’s face, Matthew continued, “If Tilman finds you need more cabinets designed and installed, please inform Kirkland, and he will contact the carpenters.”

  “Cabinets?” Grace raced to the adjoining door that Tilman had occupied moments ago and stuck her head into the room.

  The woman gasped, but from across the room, Matthew couldn’t decipher if it was in horror or excitement. He used to be able to interpret every single sound and facial expression Grace made. She was probably eager to bathe and be rid of Burke’s blood.

  Matthew cleared the knot that was forming in his windpipes. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  Whirling around, Grace walked directly up to him. Matthew released a breath as he recognized the emotion in her eyes—joy. She was pleased with what he’d done to the room.

  “You transformed an entire chamber for me to bathe and change. I shared my dream with you and…” Grace blinked, she had tears in her eyes. She lifted her gaze and said, “You made it come true.”

  His heart pattered in his chest. “My hope is that I can make all your dreams come true.”

  A pink blush appeared at the tops of Grace’s cheeks. “All of them?” The minx was up to something. Her voice had dropped an octave.

  He nodded, and his wife’s lips were upon his. Wrapping her arms about his neck, she leaned up close to his ear. “I’ve had a few new ones.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Perhaps we could discuss them in the other room?” Her gaze slid to her bathing chamber. “Will you assist me this eve?”

  Matthew blinked. His entire body hummed with excitement. One of his favorite reoccurring dreams was seeing Grace soaking in a tub, slick and soapy, and him drying her with soft linens while her fingers massaged the back of his neck. The angels were blessing him with a reprieve of sorts. He could remain fully clothed, while Grace would be naked in the water.

  “It would be my pleasure to aid you tonight.”

  Rewarded with a smile and a kiss, Grace stepped back and headed for the connecting door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Grace crossed the threshold with Matthew in tow. Her husband was behaving strangely. His irises were dilated, and one corner of his lips was curled into a grin. Though his body was responsive, something was preventing him from acting upon his desire.

  Tilman rose as they entered. Upon seeing Matthew enter also, her maid quickly bobbed and left, along with the remaining maids and footmen in the room. The sensitive spot on the back of her neck prickled as Matthew placed his hand at the small of her back. Grace clasped her hands tightly in front to prevent from wringing them like a nervous ninny. The notion of Matthew pleasuring her and experiencing the exquisite connection with him once more had her bones turning to pudding.

  Needing to be free of her soiled gown and soak in the scented bathwater, she spun around to find Matthew coatless and kneeling next to the bath as steam rose into the air. His lawn shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he ran his hand through the water.

  “What are you doing?”

  He stood, and a familiar beguiling smile appeared on her husband’s handsome face. “What does it look like? I was checking the temperature to ensure the water doesn’t scald you.”

  He reached out and turned her by the shoulders. His fingers grazed along her spine as he worked the long row of buttons free. The man was taking double the length of time Tilman would require. Grace suspected Matthew’s slow progress was intentional. Her breathing became shallow as the green silk gown slid over her hips to the floor.

  She giggled at the light tug at her laces. Tonight Matthew was taking extreme care. Grace supposed he did not wish to knot the ribbons, as he had once before.

  Matthew chuckled. “I don’t have a knife on me tonight, love. You’ll have to be patient.”

  The mention of a blade had her spine stiffening. She had successfully blocked out Burke and her violent actions up until now. The air left her lungs.

  “Damnation. I’m sorry. I did not mean to…”

  Grace turned and placed a hand over his mouth. Guilt filled his gaze. “Don’t apologize. It is not your fault Ellingsworth didn’t administer enough poison to ensure Burke’s death. It’s not your fault. The man was mad and set out to kill us both.”

  He shook his head, and her hand fell away. “I should never have placed you in danger. I could have intervened sooner.”

  “Should. Could. Would. I too use these words far too often. They can be extremely dangerous.” She cupped his face, ready to confess to the inner turmoil she was experiencing. “I will not lie. My encounter with Burke has my nerves rattled.” She raised her trembling hands for him to see. “I feel remorse for being responsible for another’s death, but I don’t regret my actions. Even knowing the impact on my soul, if I were confronted again by such a danger, I’d take the same actions. There is no reasoning with a madman.” A weight from her heart lifted as each word left her mouth. Matthew was the only person she was able to share these innermost thoughts and revelations with without feeling as though she was being judged.

  Her corset fell away. Matthew must have been working on the strings all the while. Free and at peace in her husband’s arms, she finally breathed easy.

  Matthew’s soothing strokes along her back ceased, and desire flared in his eyes. She inched her hands down the sides of his neck and then threaded her fingers into his hair. Her husband’s lips were upon hers, gentle at first, but when she poked her tongue out, seeking his, Matthew deepened the kiss and devoured her like a starving man.

  He pressed her closer, and his hands roamed over her body. Blast the fabric of her chemise. Every inch of her skin tingled and longed for the feel of his palms. When his hand brushed up against her ribs as it moved to cup her breast, her nipples hardened in anticipation. She wanted to feel his fingers against the taut buds. Grace took a step back, and Matthew released his grip on her. Crossing her arms, she gripped the offending material at her hips and drew it over her head. Standing bare before Matthew, Grace finally felt whole once more. Her brazen spirit roared within her.
She stepped forward and reached for Matthew’s hand. Grace placed his hand upon the center of her chest just below her neck. His thumb and forefinger rested upon her collarbones. His forearm rested along her middle.

  Frozen, her husband stared at his hand. It used to be his favored starting position, for she never knew what to expect. She loved the anticipation, and he did too. Would he tease the sensitive skin of her neck? Lower his hand to cup her swollen breasts? Skim it along the center of her to rest at her core? Grace didn’t care which he chose.

  Matthew’s thumb stroked Grace’s collarbone back and forth repeatedly. Her breath hitched in anticipation, unfurling throughout her body. In the past, he had been the teacher, guiding Grace to explore. He encouraged her to express which of his touches she preferred. Her preferences tended to closely align with his reactions. If his breathing became erratic or his pulse beat faster, it only heightened her own responses and a desire for more. Matthew’s breathing remained slow and steady. Grace stepped back. It was time to see if she could set Matthew on edge as she had long ago.

  She raised her leg, exposing her inner thigh, and dipped her pointed toe into the lukewarm water. Easing herself into the bath, she turned back to reach for the washcloth and scented soap, but they were no longer on the stool.

  Instead, Matthew knelt behind her, with both items in his hand. “Allow me.”

  He submerged the cloth in the bath. He squeezed the small square of material, and water rolled down over her shoulder, collarbone, and gently down the slope of her breast. His palm, covered with the soapy cloth, retraced the path the water had made.

  Grace leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Matthew’s warm breath tickled her ear. His tongue flicked at her earlobe, and then he suckled it. She controlled her breathing, wanting to prolong his attention. If the man detected her already-heightened state of excitement, he would ease up only to build them up once more, over and over, until she was on the edge of bliss without the pleasure of him inside her.

  In a steady voice, Matthew said, “I see I’ll have to relearn all your preferences.”

  No. Grace was fairly certain all the spots on her body that were partial to his touch remained the same. She slid her hands under her bottom, preventing them from reaching out for Matthew. Grace refused to be the first to reveal the depths of her true desires. She wanted to hear his voice crack, see him shift with discomfort, or better yet, to listen to his breathing come in fits and spurts. She didn’t have to wait long. Matthew drew the cloth over one breast and then the other. He released a moan of pure desire as he lowered the fabric over her slit. Her eyes fluttered open.

  Matthew moved to the side of the bath and stared directly at her. “I need you, wife.”

  Grace needed him too. Her hands twitched, eager to explore his body once more. Her pulse raced as she raked her gaze over her husband. His dark nipples taunted her through his wet lawn shirt. His breeches were strained tight against his enlarged manhood.

  Matthew bent over her. For a moment, she pictured pulling him down into the soapy water with her, but that wouldn’t allow her to fully explore his form. She wrapped her arms about his neck as he dipped his arm into the water and placed it under her bent knees. With his other arm wrapped securely around her back, he lifted her from the bath. Water sloshed to the floor. Careless of the mess they were making, she kissed and nibbled at his neck. The vibrations of his neck against her lips as he groaned rippled throughout her. Hot flames of desire flared in her belly. Focused on the salty taste of him, Grace was surprised to feel the silk sheets beneath her bottom.

  Her smile faded as Matthew stepped back and ran his hand through his hair.

  Grace shifted and knelt at the edge of the bed. “Love, will you share with me what is truly troubling you?” She refrained from reaching out for him; they needed to have this out first.

  “I’m not the same man as I once was.” Matthew toed off his shoes. “I find I don’t like wearing shoes and especially boots that are confining and restricting.” He bent and rolled off his stockings next. “My clothing is itchy despite being made from the finest fabrics.”

  Grace swallowed hard. She was trying to concentrate on Matthew’s speech, but in reality, she was silently praying he would remove his soaking lawn shirt next. To her dismay, Matthew stopped disrobing entirely.

  “I left England believing there wasn’t anything in this world that would stop me from succeeding in my mission. It was a crushing blow to realize that, in fact, I was a pampered, titled gentleman that had seen and been exposed to little.”

  The distant look in Matthew’s eyes told her he was no longer here with her. She needed to bring him back to the present. If she reached out, it might startle him. If she distanced herself, he may assume the worst, that she no longer desired him.

  In a voice barely above a whisper, Grace said, “No person is perfect. I loved the man you were before, and I love you now, imperfections and all.”

  Her husband inhaled deeply and pulled his shirttails out from his breeches. Slowly, as if he was in pain, Matthew lifted the garment over his head and let it fall atop his stockings and shoes. With his chest puffed out, he hadn’t released his breath, as if he was awaiting her reaction.

  Grace took in the marvelous sight of him. Matthew’s skin was no longer silky smooth, and his muscles were not as well defined, but in her opinion, he was perfect. Grace placed her hands on his waist to tug him closer. Instead of exhaling, the man gasped. She quickly pulled her hands away.

  “Your hands are like ice blocks.” Matthew grabbed her hands and rubbed them between his.

  “If you would hurry and undress, we could warm each other.” Taking control, Grace deftly unbuttoned his falls and tugged at the waistband of his breeches. Warm hands brushed hers away. She licked her lips in anticipation as Matthew bent, pushing the last remaining garment standing in her way down to the floor.

  Pleased to see his full erection, Grace shimmied lower. She wanted him. Grasping him with one hand, she guided the tip of his shaft along the seam of her lips before she opened and took all of him into her mouth.

  Matthew’s fingers threaded through her hair. “Lord, I’ve missed you.”

  His graveled voice had her relaxing her jaw as he gently pushed on the back of her head. She took in every inch of his manhood.

  Matthew released a guttural groan. “Love, that feels so damn good.”

  She tightened her lips about him as she slid her mouth over the length of him over and over until he tugged at her hair and released a deep moan. Moisture pooled between her legs. Pulling back to glance up at Matthew, she stuck out her tongue and circled the tip the way she remembered would drive the man to act. He didn’t hesitate. He gyrated his hips forward, and he entered her waiting mouth once more. This time it was Grace who let out a moan as his staff thickened with each stroke. She released him with a pop. “I want you, husband.”

  Matthew showed no hesitation and sprawled upon the bed, assuming a relaxed pose with his hands behind his head. “Do as you please, wife.”

  Grace could barely contain her excitement. She loved riding him—it was her favorite position. His intense gaze brightened as Grace situated herself over him. Matthew let out a groan of relief and satisfaction as she lowered herself inch by inch until she was fully seated upon him. She lifted herself up slightly and then circled her hips as she glided back down. His arms wiggled as if he was about to remove them from their position.

  Grace stopped and arched an eyebrow.

  “No hands?” Matthew asked.

  “Not until I find my release.”

  He shifted under her as his gaze roamed over her body and back to her face.

  “Very well, until your first.”

  Grace leaned forward and placed her palms flat against his chest, then trailed them down his sides. Matthew wiggled, as he was especially ticklish just below the ribs. They both enjoyed testing each other’s limits.

  Matthew’s movements awakened an urge within her that had
lain dormant. She reached one hand behind her and slid his cock between her first two fingers and cupped her bottom. As she rose and fell, his erection pushed against her slick fingers. With her other hand, she cupped her breast and squeezed. Every muscle in her body tightened. Her rhythmic movements became erratic as she came apart. Matthew’s hands flew to her hips. He lifted his own hips, entering her over and over with increased speed and force.

  Grace commanded, “Don’t stop.” She was on the verge of climaxing again. Matthew obliged, pumping into her as his hands shifted to her waist and then up and over her breasts. Eyes closed tight; he was on the verge of finding his own release. He tweaked her nipples, sending pure pleasure down to her core.

  “Matthew… don’t stop until you spill your seed.”

  If he answered, Grace hadn’t heard it over her moans. She rode him hard until he released his bottom lip that was trapped by his teeth, and his thrusts slowed. Circling her hips, she found her second release, and his manhood twitched inside her.

  Grace collapsed atop of her husband, who chuckled, “Shall I keep going?”

  Pushing herself up, between heated kisses, Grace whispered, “Please.”

  Her husband again obliged, except this time he rolled her onto her side and took her from behind—her second most preferred way to take him. Grace was determined to find out if he remembered her third, fourth, and fifth most favored positions.

  Epilogue

  Halestone Hall 1818…

  Finally, after two weeks, and a house full of guests, Matthew found himself alone in his study. Without the constant drone of guests’ voices, the ringing in his ears was driving him mad. Eyes closed, he rested his elbows upon the desk, placed his palms over his ears, and pressed his fingers against the back of his head. He lifted his right forefinger and began to tap. Fifty would be his goal this morn. Last evening after the last guests had left, it had taken a hundred evenly timed beats to ease the persistent buzzing in his head.