by Lyn Stone
“Except your constant presence in my life, eventually your love and children.” She wrapped her arms around her middle to still the trembling. “You must think me an ingrate to want so much after all you’ve already done on my behalf. I’m not, Caine. I feel enormously grateful to you.”
He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. “Gratitude is not what I want from you, Grace. That is the problem!”
“Your offer of marriage is what brought us together and gave me relief from a situation I could not control. How could I not thank you with all my heart? Because of all that I owe you in that regard, I have to let you go. You must find someone who suits you better.”
“You suit me,” he argued, moving closer. “No one else.”
Grace put out her palms and backed away. “Please leave my room, Caine. Enough has been said.”
If he came any nearer, she knew she could not resist throwing herself into his arms and pleading for him to care. He did not and never would. “Please go,” she added, turning away.
Grace stood very still long after she heard the door close. A numbness had come over her, as if all life had drained away and left only a shell. Though she stared out the window, she saw nothing through the haze of tears.
“I don’t want to leave,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Not with you thinking as you do, that I don’t care for you or want to marry you. I know what I said, but I was only trying to be fair.” She heard his groan of frustration. “I do want you. But can’t you understand what guilt I would carry, how miserable we both would be if you went through with this only because I was your only alternative? I don’t want to be that, for you to see me that way, as a relief from danger. I would always be that for you, marriage or no. Just do not choose me for that reason!”
She whirled around and saw him standing, back against the door. His look of distress moved her more than a declaration of love might have done. A long silence drew out as they regarded one another.
Finally, she broke it. “I know there is desire between us. You could stay tonight for that alone and I wouldn’t deny you. But you would see that as my repaying you for protection.”
He said nothing, which was an answer in itself.
Grace sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead, wishing she could rub away the memory of his embrace, that last heated kiss, his words to Trent, and think clearly.
“Anything I give to you at the moment, you will take as gratitude, Caine. And whatever you offer me, I would see as your way to keep me under your protection because you feel obliged to do it. Maybe both of us would be right.”
“No, you would be very wrong,” he said softly.
Her need to believe him was so fierce it frightened her. Yet he had not asked if he would be wrong in thinking her merely grateful. No matter what she said now, there was no way she could convince him of what she really felt for him.
“Could…could you leave me to think about it?” she asked. “Please, just for the rest of the night. We can settle things in the morning, one way or the other.”
“Just for the night, then,” he agreed finally. He crossed the room, took her hands and held them to his lips. His gaze held hers as he said, “Duty and fairness be damned, Grace. No matter what I’ve said, I do want to marry you if you want it, too.”
He slowly released her hands, bowed ever so slightly and left as she had asked.
Exhausted as she was, sleep was out of the question. She tried for over an hour to shut out the worries, but Caine’s final words echoed in her head and would not leave her alone. He did want to marry her despite what he’d said earlier. Could he mean it?
Grace left the bed and donned her wrapper. Perhaps a glass of milk with honey would help, she thought. With that in mind, she lit a candle, exited her room as quietly as possible and started downstairs.
The house was incredibly silent after the night’s activities, all the servants long abed. She noted the comfortable, somewhat faded grandeur of the place. She loved every inch of it and hoped it would remain her home. Hers and Caine’s. How could she ever make him see that she wanted him as a man, not a bulwark between her and disaster?
The cavernous kitchen was redolent of cinnamon, nutmeg and lingering wood smoke. She opened the cooling chest where perishables were kept and was about to lift out the container of milk when a noise alerted her. She paused, turning toward the back door. With the blast of night air, her candle had whooshed out. One of the guards, surely.
She waited. Perhaps whoever opened the door hadn’t seen her. It wouldn’t do to surprise him, armed as he surely was. But what if it was not a guard?
The room was totally dark and she sensed someone moving near the door. Prudence was the better part of valor. Grace sank in a crouch behind the cooling box and remained still. There were no further sounds.
She stayed where she was until her legs began to cramp from the uncomfortable position. Then she stood there in the dark, listening intently. Nothing.
The guard must have opened the door to check that all was well in the kitchen and then retreated, closing it again. She felt around until she found the candle, lighted it and looked around. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed. No one was in the room with her.
She abandoned the idea of having milk and hurried back upstairs. The incident, which was probably nothing significant, had shaken her more than she realized. Should she tell Caine?
The clock in the atrium bonged softly. Three o’clock. He would be asleep. Grace felt a strong compulsion to wake him. She admitted the sound in the kitchen only provided an excuse. Maybe she had imagined it for that very reason.
After all their arguing about the marriage, she could not deny how much she wanted to marry Caine. Somehow, even given the doubts he had, she would make things work.
When she reached his room, she didn’t stop to knock. She entered in a swirl of silk wrapper and shut the door behind her. “Caine!” she exclaimed softly. He had already rolled from the bed, weapon in hand to meet an intruder.
“Grace?” He lowered the pistol. Moonlight haloed his form as he stood between her and his window. “What is it?”
“Morning’s too far away,” she whispered as she rushed to him and threw herself into his arms.
He closed around her, enveloping her with his strength and maleness, banishing any doubts she had about what she was doing. He was naked! Grace ran her hands over his back, loving the smoothness of his skin, the way his muscles hardened and flexed beneath her fingers. She drew in a deep breath, reveling in the compelling scent unique to him with its hints of bay rum, leather and Caine himself.
“This is your yes! At last, thank God.” He groaned as he took her mouth in a wild and wondrous kiss. Grace answered his passion, so stirred by his obvious relief, she could hardly think. He wanted her here, he really did.
His hand slid between them, working loose the tie of her wrapper. She moved a handbreadth to allow that as she sought another angle and renewed the kiss. It went on and on, mouths seeking, finding, increasing hunger and answering demand.
Seconds later, she felt his naked warmth with only the sheer fabric of thin nightrail between their bodies. A moment more, and he had raked it up above her breasts and they were skin to skin. She moved against him, fitting closer, seeking.
He cupped her hips and lifted her. Grace locked her legs around him as he carried her to his bed and followed her down. His hands were everywhere at once, caressing, fondling, clutching and soothing. Yet not soothing at all. Inciting.
She heard encouraging sounds emerge from her own throat with no prompting f
rom her mind, eager sounds that matched his own wordless entreaties.
His mouth found her breast and she almost cried out with pleasure. He murmured something, his words lost, their sounds and the whisper of his breath vibrating through her as he turned attention to the other. Sensations she had never felt rushed through her body, a liquid heat searing her veins.
He rose above her and entered her without a pause, a swift, determined exclamation to the sentence of her determined assault. The momentary glance of pain gave way to a heavenly invasion of pure pleasure.
He stilled inside her, his breath audible and unsteady. “Grace, I—”
“Love me,” she whispered. A demand. A desperate wish. A prayer.
Bracing on his elbows, their lower bodies joined, he peered down at her. She wished she could see his eyes, his expression in the darkness, but he remained a silent, featureless silhouette above her. Her conqueror and her conquered. Grace closed her eyes and uttered a deep groan of encouragement.
He sighed once, a ragged exhalation, and then began to move. The exquisite friction, igniting something new within her, began to ebb and flow. She matched his rhythm, glorying in every thrust she met. Her senses ruled, eclipsing thought and reason and possible consequence. This, this was everything. This, now.
He lowered himself onto her fully and she welcomed the weight. Strong fingers spread beneath her hips and held her fast as he rose and thrust time and again in an escalating cadence she tried to equal and exceed. Reaching for something…
She gasped his name, breathed in his essence, clutched at the strength in his hard muscled arms, his back and lower still.
“Give!” he ground out in a harsh whisper. She gave and took, surrendered herself and claimed him at once and forever. The feelings were so overpowering, she cried out, reaching a pinnacle she had never dreamed existed.
He groaned again as he thrust harder, filling her completely. His body seemed to melt into her, as if they were one. When they stilled, exhausted and sated, Grace released a soul-deep sigh.
She did not want to move ever again, just wanted to lie and savor the euphoria. Never had she known this exquisite feeling was possible. Never would she give him up.
His lips brushed her cheek as he moved to her side. “Oh, Grace,” he whispered, his words almost inaudible. “What have I done?”
“Whatever it was,” she whispered breathlessly, “I hope you can do it again.”
She felt the lazy rumble of what might have been a laugh, but emerged as another groan. A wry sound. No mistaking that.
“You deserved more care, but I was carried away, still half asleep,” he muttered. “I am sorry, Grace.”
It was her turn to laugh, weakly but with true amusement. “You are not sorry.” With a concerted effort, she reached up to her neck and raked her nightdress down over her nakedness. “And neither am I.”
“Are you all right?” he asked, brushing her tumbled hair off her shoulder and dropping a kiss there. “How do you feel?”
“Better than I can ever remember,” she replied softly and sincerely. “And you?”
“Delirious. This settles it, you know,” he said, sounding rather smug. And rather satisfied. “We will marry in the morning. No delay, indefinite or otherwise.”
“No, Caine. We cannot.”
Chapter Sixteen
Grace leaned into him, loving the way his strong arms surrounded her and held her close, as if she were precious to him. She turned her lips to his chest, just to taste him, to inhale his scent more keenly, to brand him as hers. “We can’t marry tomorrow. Cook will need to rally her staff and work half a night to prepare a wedding breakfast.”
“Hang Cook.” He slid a hand to her breast and caressed her through the silk.
“It is early morning now and tomorrow is too soon. The day after, then,” Grace suggested. “Will that suit?”
“And waste two perfectly good nights of married life?” he asked, continuing the caresses, becoming more determined.
Grace grinned and trailed the backs of her nails down his arm, a languid gesture, a loving touch. “So this will be a nightly thing, you think?”
“Unless you bar your door and even then, I think so.” His palm traveled to her hip as he pushed her back on the bed. “Perhaps an hourly thing.”
“My, my,” Grace said with a happy laugh. “How greed becomes you!”
He kissed the tip of her nose as his hand soothed her comfortingly. “It was your first time. You should rest and recover.”
Grace ran a finger down the side of his face and smiled into the darkness. “If I did as I should, I would never have come here in the first place.”
“You chose me freely, didn’t you, Grace?” he asked, a hint of worry lingering in his voice. “I hope you’re certain you want this marriage…that you want me?”
Grace blew out a gust of frustration and rolled her eyes. “If you think this was merely a gesture of thanks, perhaps not.”
He rolled away from her and locked his hands behind his head. “Even if it was, there’s no retreat possible for you now.”
“Or for you, either!” Grace climbed off his bed and swept up her discarded wrapper. She tugged it on and tied the sash with a determined tug.
“Grace!” he exclaimed as he sat up. “Come back here!”
“You are the most pigheaded man! It’s a wonder I love you at all!” She yanked open the door. “Do not come after me, you hear?” The slam probably woke the house.
And he did not come. She had halfway hoped he would. Fitfully, she passed the remainder of the night, wondering what the morning would bring. And, more crucial to their future, all of the mornings after that.
*
The next day dawned with a deluge. The pouring rain would force everyone to remain indoors, Caine thought as he dressed. He was filled with both anticipation and trepidation at seeing Grace. Would she still be angry?
The thought he had clung to all night was that Grace actually said she loved him. She’d not uttered it in the context he would have chosen to hear, instead coupling it with his being pigheaded, but she’d said it all the same.
He had to smile every time he thought of that. The words had slipped out in the midst of her fury, which made them all the more believable. He admitted he might not have taken her admission as truth if she had declared it in the midst of passion.
And what passion it had been. How eagerly she had welcomed his kisses, his hands exploring her body, making her his own at last. The memory of her smooth, creamy skin and the taste of her, her little cries of delight aroused him even now.
He tucked the sapphire parure in his coat pocket. Jewels should go well with an apology. He had planned the set as a morning gift anyway. This particular morning would probably seem more significant to her than the one after their wedding night. It certainly was significant to him.
“Where might I find my little lady?” he asked Mrs. Oliver as he stopped her on the stairs.
“In the morning room with his lordship,” she said, eyeing him keenly as if she knew he had taken Grace’s innocence in the early-morning hours.
His own guilt made him imagine that, he decided. “Lord Trent is up?” Surprising. It was not yet nine and Trent was a late sleeper.
“No, sir, Lord Hadley. He’s up and about. Much improved! See for yourself.”
Caine took the stairs two at a time. When he entered the morning room, his uncle sat on the divan. Grace had her ear to his chest. “What’s this?” he asked, curious as to how they had gotten so close that his uncle would offer her a comforting embrace. And a greater question was why she
might need one.
Grace sat up, beaming. “His heart! Come and listen! The foxglove has worked its magic!”
Caine approached them and stood, hands on his hips. “Foxglove? What are you talking about?”
“Gracie cured me, that’s what!” his uncle exclaimed. He tapped his chest. “Sound as a sovereign!”
Caine frowned. “Foxglove, Grace? That’s poison!”
“Not in a small tincture,” she informed him. “It regulates the heartbeat. Too fast, it slows it, and too sluggish, speeds it. It has a steadying and strengthening effect either way.” She smiled at Hadley. “Dr. Ackers has been taking great care, though, according to Dr. Withering’s writings. A week on and a week off in dosing.”
His uncle laughed. “She and Ackers have done you out of a quick fortune, boy. I ain’t all that ready to cock up my toes now!”
“Glad to hear it,” Caine muttered, distracted by the very sight of his uncle. His color looked as near normal as could be, his eyes much clearer. Except for his arrival at Wildenhurst, this was the first time since returning from the war that Caine had seen the man in other than nightgown and banyan. Dressed in trousers and morning coat, he was every inch the earl. “You look…splendid, sir.”
“Neckcloth’s not right, but I feel like a new man.” He lay a steady hand against Grace’s face and gave it a fond pat. Then he got up. “Off to the kitchens. I’m not waiting for breakfast. Cook will have biscuits, won’t she, Gracie? And coffee on the brew?”
“No coffee, mind,” Grace warned. “Milk or weak tea, sir.”
The earl knocked Caine on the shoulder playfully with his fist as he passed by.
Caine was too amazed to speak. He stared at Grace, who sat, one arm propped on the back of the divan. However did he manage to underestimate the woman when he strove not to with every breath he took? She kept adding dimensions he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“Come, sit,” she offered, glancing at the cushion beside her that the earl had just vacated. “Immediately on arriving here, I wrote to Dr. Ackers about Father’s patients and how well it worked for them. He and the earl agreed the risk was worth it.”