Grace

by Deneane Clark

  He began rubbing his thumb in light, feathery circles on her back. He felt her skin jump in response through the thin silk of her mint-green gown. “Some say the waltz is a dangerous dance,” he said, his low-timbred voice sending chills skittering down her spine.

  Grace forced herself to sigh in weary disinterest; then she squinted at his shoulder as if in deep concentration. Very deliberately, she reached up and flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his immaculate black jacket.

  Trevor pulled her ever so slightly closer, his warm hand firmly pressed to the center of her back. “Such an intimate partnering,” he continued in the same deep, sensual tone. “Almost an embrace,” he added meaningfully.

  Her heart began to pound so loudly she feared he could hear it. Making an effort to continue the charade she had started, Grace forced herself to yawn delicately again, then closed her eyes, trying in vain to shut out the evocative effect of the heat emanating from his hard body.

  “It feels good to hold you in my arms again,” he whispered, bending his head so that his lips moved very close to her ear, his warm breath stirring the tendrils of her hair that curled there.

  Her eyes flew open at the disturbing images that statement brought to mind, images of his strong hands gently caressing her body, his lips moving softly against hers. In spite of herself, two bright spots of embarrassed color suddenly flared on her cheeks.

  Trevor gave a low chuckle of satisfaction. “I see you remember as well as I the pleasure we found beneath that tree.”

  Having lost her battle to gain the upper hand, Grace raised angry eyes to the earl’s warm jade ones and became lost in their sensuous, unwavering depths. Helpless, she softened in his arms, gliding through the rest of the waltz with ease, her eyes locked with his, that now-familiar ache deep within her stomach beginning to unfurl and spread throughout her body. She searched for words to describe that intangible something that felt so innately right about dancing in the arms of this one man, this incredible, infuriating man who looked down at her with tender, aching promise as the lilting music drew to a close. Then reality came crashing down on the spell he had momentarily woven around them.

  Trevor led Grace back to her aunt, her eyes downcast to hide the dismay that was quickly turning to anger as she realized, with self-loathing, that she, not the tall, smugly self-assured man at her side, had behaved like a besotted little fool. By the time they reached Aunt Cleo, who waited to present her next partner to her, Grace felt once again the blazing fury that only Trevor managed to ignite within her.

  Deliberately ignoring the baleful stare she directed at him, Trevor kissed her hand. “Thank you for the waltz, my dear,” he said in a warm, low tone. He spoke politely to Aunt Cleo for a moment, then strolled off as though completely unaffected by their exchange on the dance floor.

  Grace followed him with infuriated eyes. How could he act so cool and unruffled when his very presence always left her feeling utterly unsettled? She tore her eyes from his retreating back to face her aunt. Stiffly, she greeted the young, eager-looking man who stood there, and she automatically accepted his nervous invitation to dance. As she moved toward the dance floor, she saw Trevor now leaning against the far wall, smiling at her with a decidedly wolfish leer.

  She lifted her chin and glared down her nose at him, then turned a deliberate, dazzling smile on her escort, Lord Pattingson, quite taking him aback, for he had noticed, along with everyone else, that she had not graced the Earl of Huntwick with even a small smile. So vivaciously did she smile and flirt and chat with him during their dance that afterward he was heard to remark that, although Faith Ackerly was undoubtedly the more beautiful of the Ackerly sisters, Grace possessed both beauty and charm. On top of that, he pointed out, she had shown a decided preference for him over Lord Caldwell.

  From that point on, Grace gave the appearance of a young lady having the time of her life. She danced every dance, flirted outrageously with her partners, and was so buoyantly charming that gentlemen of all ages and peer groups began to seek her out. The older gentlemen found her intelligent discourse on almost any subject refreshing, while the greenest of young dandies found they need not fear a rebuff if they screwed up the courage to speak to her. Even those gentlemen deemed prime catches by society found welcome respite from the ever-threatening claws of wedlock in her presence, for it stood to reason that if she had repulsed the attentions of Huntwick, the most eligible of them all, they certainly risked no matrimonial danger from Grace Ackerly.

  As the circle of admiring males grew ever larger around Grace and her aunt, Trevor leaned against the wall and watched her, a small, indulgent smile lingering about his lips. He spoke periodically with friends who strolled by, and occasionally dutifully kissed the hand of a nervous young miss prodded in his direction by her chaperone, but his possessive gaze did not leave Grace for long; nor did he dance again that night, effectively putting the stamp of ownership on her just as surely as if his ring already graced her finger.

  Shortly after midnight, Lady Egerton, Grace, and Faith took their leave. Trevor, too, left Almack’s amidst whispering and gossip that flew on winged feet throughout the ballrooms and bedrooms of London. The earl, thoroughly satisfied with all he had learned this evening, decided to forgo the ball at Jon and Amanda Lloyd’s, and instead returned to his house on Upper Brook Street. He did not notice the tall, shadowy figure on the corner who watched both his carriage and the Egerton coach leave Almack’s.

  The Egerton coach made its way through the dark cobbled streets to the ball at the Earl and Countess of Seth’s home, the moods of its occupants quite different from Trevor’s. Grace sat in tense, brooding silence, her earlier acts of lighthearted frivolity entirely dispensed with, while Faith sat on the seat directly across from Grace and watched her sister thoughtfully. Aunt Cleo simply looked smugly well entertained. Yes, Lady Egerton thought to herself as the coach drew up at the Lloyds’ town house, the Season would prove most engaging this year.

  The newspapers the next morning told the story for those unfortunate Londoners who had not already heard the extraordinary news. The Times reported that Miss Grace Ackerly had debuted her first public waltz with none other than the Earl of Huntwick, after which she had enjoyed an unprecedented popularity, and appeared to have had a wonderful time (which she had not). The Morning Post’s article read that, after dancing with Miss Ackerly, the Earl of Huntwick seemed perfectly content to prop up a wall and watch her dance (which, indeed, he did). The Gazette went a step further, boldly promising to leave space in its society column should the Earl of Huntwick find need for a future wedding announcement.

  Trevor laughed uproariously and clipped all three articles to save and enjoy.

  Grace reacted much differently. She threw the papers into the drawing room fire.

  The tall man who had stood on the corner the evening before sat quietly in his rented rooms. He read each story, then viciously cut each offending newspaper into very small, precisely shaped pieces. Carefully he packed the pieces away in a box and slid it under the bed.

  Chapter Ten

  Grace awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and an unsettled stomach. She suffered through breakfast and decided she did not feel up to the usual morning ritual of paying calls and receiving visitors. Instead, she spent a quiet morning in the garden reading Pride and Prejudice, the new book considered all the rage in town. She had just begun feeling better as the noon hour approached, when O’Reilly, one of her aunt’s footmen, silently appeared next to the marble bench upon which she sat.

  “Pardon me, Miss Grace.”

  “Yes, O’Reilly?” She closed the book on one finger to keep her place and smiled pleasantly at the short footman.

  Both Grace and Faith treated the servants in the Egerton household kindly, just as they did at home in Pelthamshire. In addition to having actually learned each of their names, and often asking after the members of their families, Grace frequently had a nice word to say when she encountered them as
they went about their daily duties.

  Regardless of his affection for his young mistress, O’Reilly managed to keep his face appropriately solemn as he spoke. “You have a visitor, Miss Grace. I believe Greaves has put him in the blue salon.”

  “Him?” Grace inquired curiously. A bit surprised, she stood and shook out the wrinkled skirts of her lilac morning gown, wondering if she would have time to change before receiving her visitor. Until the night before, Grace had done absolutely nothing to cultivate the hope in any young man that she might welcome him as a caller, so she could not fathom who would want to see her. By contrast, her cool, unflappable sister collected admirers the way some children collected stray puppies, resulting in a steady stream of callers nearly every morning. “Are you quite certain he isn’t one of Faith’s suitors?”

  “No, Miss Grace,” O’Reilly said as they started toward the house. “I’m quite sure I heard the earl specifically ask for you myself.”

  Grace abruptly stopped. She looked with wide, frantic eyes toward the set of long windows that marched across the back of the house. Did one of them open from the blue salon? She clutched at O’Reilly’s sleeve and pulled him behind a tall, leafy hedge, safely, she hoped, out of sight of the house. “Are you talking about the Earl of Huntwick?” she hissed.

  “Well, yes, Miss Grace,” the footman stammered, completely confused by her unusual behavior.

  An unwelcome feeling of panic beset her at the thought of seeing Trevor again. The odious man had a horribly tumultuous effect on her thoughts and feelings, and she could never tell how she might react to anything he said or did. She thought hard for a long moment and tried, biting her lower lip in dismay, to figure a way out of the situation.

  Unconsciously she twisted O’Reilly’s sleeve, attempting to force herself to stop panicking and start thinking. Obviously he had already received the information that she was at home. She would have to think of a good reason why she might be in but not taking callers. After a moment’s reflection, she settled on the weak but nearly truthful excuse of her earlier discomfort. “You have to tell him I’m indisposed, that I have . . . I have . . .” Her mind groped for a suitable way to phrase the message so it would be both honest and discouraging. She snapped her fingers. “Tell him I have a stomach ailment,” she finished triumphantly. That could keep her down for days, she thought with a decisive nod.

  “But . . .” O’Reilly started to say, before he remembered his place and closed his mouth. He bowed deeply instead and started back toward the house. As a servant, he had neither right nor reason to question her actions.

  “I’ll wait right here, O’Reilly,” Grace called anxiously. “Please come and tell me when his lordship leaves.” A pang of guilt at involving him in her ruse struck her as she watched him walk away. She sank down on another of the marble benches scattered throughout the garden, this one conveniently placed behind the boxwood hedge, and tried to muster the discipline to keep herself from peeking at the windows that opened from the back of the house. She now felt certain that one side of the blue salon actually did look out on the gardens.

  Ten long minutes passed while Grace tried, with little success, to occupy her mind by resuming the reading of her book. She started and stopped, then started and stopped again, then sighed when she realized she’d read the same sentence several times. With a sharp snap, she closed the book. She felt horrible about sending O’Reilly inside with a story that, while not technically a lie, skirted dangerously close to deception. She battled internally for a moment, torn between doing what she knew she should, and fear of her odd inability to remain reasonable and objective around Trevor Caldwell.

  The battle was short. Disgusted with herself, Grace squared her shoulders and started to walk to the house, intending to tell Trevor herself, firmly and politely, that she would rather not see him. She drew up short when she saw O’Reilly emerge from the house and walk across the lawn, heading straight for her hedge. She sat back down on the bench, her face tight with self-directed anger. Contrite, she looked up as the footman approached.

  “I’m so very sorry I put you in such an awkward position, O’Reilly,” she said.

  The small man looked surprised at the remorse in her tone. He shuffled from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. His ears began to turn red.

  Grace realized he felt a bit off balance and took pity. She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, her lilac skirts spread about her in a brightly colored pool of silk. “Has he gone?” she asked hopefully.

  O’Reilly nodded, grateful for the subject change. “Yes, Miss Grace, I watched him leave, myself.”

  Grace breathed a sigh of relief. “What did he say? Did he see me from the window?” Her voice was rushed and breathless. When O’Reilly looked a bit taken aback, she softened her voice. “Please, you have to tell me his exact words.”

  “Well,” the little footman began, scrunching up his rather bulbous nose in an effort to recall the conversation. “When I went back into the salon, he was looking out the windows with his back toward me, so I couldn’t see his face.”

  “You mean the windows that open to the garden?” Grace asked, holding her breath.

  “Yes, miss, but his lordship didn’t seem to have seen you, or at least, he didn’t mention it.”

  Grace let out her breath slowly. That did not mean that he had not seen her, she knew. “Go on,” she prompted.

  “He was quiet for a few moments, and just stood looking out that window while I told him what you asked me to say to him.” Grace silently congratulated herself for not succumbing to the urge to peek around the hedge. “Then he turned, smiled rather oddly at me, and bade me give you his best wishes for a quick recovery.”

  Grace drew her brows dubiously. “How ‘oddly’ did he smile, O’Reilly?”

  The footman thought a moment, his mind stirred by long-forgotten memories. “It was rather like the way my father used to smile at me when he knew I wasn’t being truthful,” he said slowly. “He never actually accused me of lying, and yet I knew he thought I was.”

  Grace propped her chin on her knees, guilt assaulting her again. “And that was all?” she asked quietly, her mind searching for unexpected traps in Trevor’s few words.

  “Yes, miss.”

  Well, she thought, it really made no difference whether or not he believed her. It was not likely he would take it upon himself to come up to her chambers and see for himself if she was ill.

  “Thank you, O’Reilly.” She smiled at the waiting footman, then watched as he bowed and turned to walk back toward the house. She sat in pensive silence, her smile slowly fading. Her almost-lie had not come without consequence. It would obligate her to spend her evenings at home for a few days, for fear of encountering Trevor at some ball or at the theater. Grace grimly accepted her fate, then peevishly sought to lay the blame at his feet. Why, she wondered, did this man take such perverse pleasure in tormenting her? She thought back over the few times she had seen and spoken with the earl and could not remember anything she had either said or done to encourage him. She shook her head. If anything, he should have developed a decided dislike for her by this time. With the exception of a few brief moments in the portrait room at home, she had really behaved in a rather sulky and, on occasion, downright rude manner to him. That realization made her frown. Why did she comport herself in such a way toward him?

  Her mind inadvertently returned to the heated moments they had spent together beneath the tree in the wildflower glade. She felt a hot blush slowly spread across her face. Her hands flew to cover her warm cheeks, as if she could control the direction of her thoughts by hiding the evidence of her embarrassed chagrin. Perhaps Trevor felt she would welcome more advances of that nature. Deeper mortification flooded through her as she recalled the lascivious way she had pressed herself against him that day, and the way she had melted in his arms only the previous evening at Almack’s.

  She dropped her forehead to her upraised knees, trying to block the th
oughts of Trevor from her mind, but images of his hands kept coming into her head, his strong, long-fingered, comforting hands. She remembered how secure she’d felt when they had kept her from falling at the Assembly Rooms in Pelthamshire, and how gently they had touched her when he’d caressed . . . Hurriedly, her mind skittered away from that thought.

  “O’Reilly told me I’d find you out here.”

  She jumped in surprise. Her younger sister smiled down at her, as usual the perfect picture of smooth serenity. Grace looked down at her own wrinkled gown and the comfortable, if unladylike way she sat. Spotting a new grass stain on the toe of her lavender slipper, she hastily drew the offending foot beneath her skirts. “Does nothing ever fluster you?” she asked.

  Faith sank gracefully onto the bench next to her sister, her own pale pink skirts settling around her in precise arrangement, like a well-disciplined extension of herself. Grace noticed her sister did not have a single hair out of place, and unconsciously reached up to smooth a bright, wayward curl (that never would stay where it belonged) from her own forehead.

  Faith ignored her sister’s question and asked one of her own, giving Grace a direct, no-nonsense look. “Did I hear correctly that the Earl of Huntwick was here to pay a call on you?”

  Grace raised her chin. “He was. And you may as well know,” she said defensively, “that I had O’Reilly tell him I was ill and couldn’t see him.” She looked like a child caught with her hand in the candy jar.

  “I know,” said Faith softly, her gray eyes gentle. She paused, then added, “He has sent you flowers.”

  Grace rolled her eyes heavenward in disbelief. “Already? He only just left. When did he have time?”