Grace

by Deneane Clark

  On impulse, Grace turned and looked for Aunt Cleo. She spotted her a few paces away, deeply engrossed in conversation with a small group of matronly ladies. Whirling back around, she grabbed Faith’s hand and pulled her behind a nearby pillar. “Since it seems you’re going to figure it all out anyway, I suppose I could use your help.” Briefly, she explained the contest between herself and Trevor, glancing around to make certain nobody else could hear. As she talked, she began to realize how ridiculous the entire scheme sounded. She watched as Faith’s expression changed from interest to dismay, and finally to shocked dis-belief. She finished her explanation with a lame, “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” Faith hissed, her usual calm logic deserting her in the face of her headstrong sister’s latest escapade. “Have you lost your minds? The only advice I could possibly offer is for you to act as if you have a brain in your head. Do you realize what people would say?” Grace began to look mutinous as Faith continued:“How in the world did you think I could possibly help you with this harebrained idea?”

  An interruption saved her from having to come up with a plausible answer. “Good evening, ladies.”

  The honeyed, golden tones of Trevor’s low-timbred voice deliciously touched, as always, a spot deep within Grace. Firmly she dismissed the warm feeling, saying irritably, “Must you always sneak up on people and pounce in that provoking fashion?”

  Faith inclined her smoothly coifed head at him and smiled, but her alert gaze registered Grace’s suddenly heightened color and bright eyes, as well as the way Trevor’s eyes softened and the corners of his mouth quirked up. Why, she is already half in love with him! Faith thought to herself, her assessing eyes darting quickly back to Trevor’s face. Did he know of her sister’s budding feelings? she wondered, peering closely at the handsome earl. No, she decided, as she watched her sister continue to verbally spar with the man, but he certainly felt the same way. His affection showed in the way he looked at Grace, in the tone of his voice as he spoke with her, and in the tender way he treated her.

  “Pounce?” Trevor quirked one of his eyebrows up in a way that never failed to infuriate Grace. Luckily, Aunt Cleo chose that moment to appear. Trevor wisely took full advantage of the distraction. “Ah, Lady Egerton, I’m so glad you’ve joined us. I was hoping to gain your permission to dance with Miss Grace.” He sent his prey a rather triumphant look, bowing charmingly over Aunt Cleo’s outstretched hand.

  Aunt Cleo scowled in mock irritation and pulled her hand away. She thwacked him squarely on the shoulder with the silver top of her cane. “Do stop that infernal simpering at me, young man,” she commanded.

  Grace stifled a horrified giggle as Trevor winced in pain. She hastily composed herself as her outrageous aunt turned to look at her. “Grace!” she barked, in a voice that carried halfway across the ballroom despite the din of more than seven hundred guests.

  “Yes, ma’am?” She gave Lady Egerton her best look of abject obedience.

  “Will you kindly dance with this gentleman before he injures his back with all that wretched bowing and scraping?” And without waiting for a response, Aunt Cleo swept away, the large purple feather on her turban bobbing helplessly along with her.

  Grace gaped in astonishment after her aunt, then slowly looked sideways at Trevor. He, too, stared after Aunt Cleo, a broad grin wreathing his face. With a shake of his head, he turned and held out his arm to Grace, politely asking Faith if she would excuse them. Too perplexed to argue, Grace put her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her away.

  Once on the dance floor, they moved effortlessly into each other’s arms. For a few moments they danced without speaking, in the fluid rhythm that came so naturally to them. Unwilling to bring up the subject that concerned her most, Grace chewed on her lower lip while Trevor watched with carefully concealed amusement. He could almost see the direction of her thoughts. She wanted to talk about the plan, but was unable to broach the subject without appearing too eager, so she hoped he would bring it up.

  He did not miss his guess. Curiosity demanded that Grace ask him, but pride kept her silent. She jumped in surprise when he finally spoke. “Are you trying again to make me look dull, as you did last week at Almack’s?”

  She looked up at him with a swift, startled laugh, relieved to see by his expression that he was teasing her. “You’re really horrid to bring that up again,” she admonished. He looked solemnly back down at her, but a teasing grin played about his mouth, and his jade eyes held a decided glint. Grace realized he knew exactly what consumed her thoughts.

  Trevor watched in amazement as a sudden impish grin lit her features. The moment she smiled, her already beautiful face transformed into something of flawless, breathtaking perfection. She opened her mouth slightly, offering Trevor a tantalizing glimpse of her even white teeth. He was just envisioning those teeth sinking gently into his lower lip, when she spoke, startling him from his momentary reverie. “All right, Huntwick,” she said.“Let’s hear this plan.”

  Wondering how she would react if she knew of the plan currently taking shape in his mind, Trevor pushed away his amorous thoughts. “First, is there no way I can talk you out of doing this?” He watched as she began to look stubborn, and sighed. “I thought not. Can you manage to leave here early?” Grace nodded slowly, her nimble mind already racing ahead to a possible excuse for going home.

  Trevor watched her brows draw together. “I think ‘twisted ankle’ might suffice,” he supplied helpfully, again correctly interpreting her thoughts. “That should get you home early, preclude a large amount of fussing, and you can miraculously heal overnight with a minimum of raised eyebrows.”

  Grace gasped in startled laughter, merriment shining in her eyes. “I’ll wager you plagued your poor tutor half to death when you were still in the schoolroom, my lord,” she accused good-naturedly.

  “Several,” Trevor returned, smiling pleasantly as he nodded at an acquaintance who danced nearby.

  “Several times?” she asked when his attention returned to her.

  “Several tutors, my lady,” he corrected solemnly. Grace laughed, causing those dancing nearby to notice that, once again, the Earl of Huntwick appeared to enjoy himself immensely with the elder Miss Ackerly.

  Aunt Cleo had also noticed that Grace and Trevor greatly enjoyed their dance. If she was suspicious when, moments later, Trevor led a limping Grace up to her, she did not bat an eye. If she wondered why, thirty minutes later, Grace gamely hobbled alone up to her chamber, firmly insisting that nobody fuss over her, she did not ask any questions. And if she heard, sometime during the night, some suspicious bumps and whispers coming from the room across the hall, she merely shrugged it off, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this insane idea,” said Faith as she walked into Grace’s room through the small dressing area that connected their bedchambers.

  Grace looked up from where she sat on the floor, gave the tasseled Hessian a final tug, and experimentally wriggled her toes inside the shiny black boots. Rising gracefully, she struck a dandy’s pose. “How do I look?”

  Her sister slowly took in Grace’s attire, from the tips of the boots gleaming in the moonlight that streamed in the open windows, to the dangerously high points of the heavily starched white linen collar. She shook her head, hiding a smile. “You look exactly like you did when you were a little girl playing dress-up with Papa’s clothes,” she said.

  Undaunted, Grace grinned. “That’s because you know what you’re looking for.” She added an unfashionably outdated light brown wig with a short clubbed ponytail to the ensemble, tucking in several wayward red-gold curls, then topped off the entire ensemble with a curly-brimmed hat. Her smile widened with each addition to her costume, until finally she laughed aloud at her finished reflection in the full-length, gilt-framed mirror.

  “Do you mind telling me what this idiotic escapade is supposed to accomplish?” Faith asked mildly, seating
herself primly on the edge of the bed.

  Grace began walking back and forth in front of her sister. “This ‘escapade,’ as you term it, is going to accomplish absolutely nothing. I am simply going out for an evening of cards with some friends; that’s all. Do you ever do anything simply for the pleasure of it?” She stole a quick look at her sister, noting with a touch of annoyance that Faith’s composure remained intact. She altered her stride a bit in an effort to move in a more masculine manner, and walked a couple more times back and forth in front of Faith. She frowned. “Do you think I walk like a girl?” she demanded, looking over her shoulder into the mirror as she walked away from it.

  “You are a girl, Grace,” Faith pointed out reasonably. She tried another tack.“Do you really think it’s wise for you, a girl, to go alone to the home of Lord Caldwell, a man, dressed like that, to play cards with a group of men you don’t know?”

  Grace experienced a sharp pang of guilt. The social repercussions, for herself and for her family, could be huge. “Trevor wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” she assured Faith.

  Seeing that her attempts to appeal to Grace’s sense of propriety would go completely unheeded, Faith gave up and changed the subject. “Where did you manage to get the clothing?”

  “Trevor had a footman deliver it to O’Reilly—all wrapped up, of course. It was right here waiting for me when we came home, just as he told me it would be.”

  Faith gave her sister a level look, then rose and walked back toward her own chamber. At the door she paused a moment and turned back. “I do hope you enjoy yourself, Grace,” she said. “You’ll come tell me when you return home, won’t you?”

  Impulsively, Grace ran across the room and hugged her. “I’ll be fine, Faith, really.” She picked up a discarded cane she had found in a closet, making it her own addition to the costume. “Now, I’m off!” she said, dramatically flourishing the ebony stick with a jaunty air.

  Faith rolled her eyes and closed the connecting door. Grace took a deep breath and eased the bedchamber door open just a crack to view the corridor. Carefully she peered out into the gloomy hallway. Seeing no one about, she stepped outside, closed the door behind her, then tiptoed through the darkened house to the moonlit garden.

  The garden was bright in comparison to the gloomy interior of the house, the damp night air just slightly chilly, although Grace hardly noticed it as she walked through the shadowy maze of well-kept flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. She found her way unerringly to the hedge that concealed the low marble bench from the house, half expecting to see Trevor already waiting for her on the other side. To her surprise, he had not yet arrived. She sat down and crossed her legs, thoroughly enjoying the freedom of movement that wearing men’s clothing allowed her, a luxury she had not indulged in since coming to London.

  As she waited, Grace allowed herself to think again about the enormity of what she planned to do. In Peltham-shire, where she did as she wished with no thought for the possible results, her neighbors would frown upon but ultimately forgive such a venture. The same did not hold true here in London, where the daunting consequences for breaking the rules kept most young women from daring to act with anything even resembling impropriety. Suddenly the whole adventure struck her as a very bad idea. What if someone recognized her? Grace’s stomach clenched as she thought of how quickly such a delicious story would spread. It would upset and anger Aunt Cleo, Faith would not have a prayer of making a suitable match, and the ton would consider the entire Ackerly family a laughingstock.

  “I see you’re ready,” came Trevor’s low, mocking voice from out of the darkness.

  Grace jumped quickly to her feet, her heart beating a quick staccato. “Damn you, Huntwick, you startled me!” She glared at the shadowy figure leaning lazily against the garden wall.

  Trevor chuckled at her unladylike language, then patted the smooth wall behind him, easily ten inches higher than his own six feet, two inches. “Do you think you can make it over this?” he asked, knowing she would likely try to scale a building if he said he thought she could not.

  Sure enough, Grace’s head snapped up and her small chin jutted out in a way that became daily more endearing to Trevor.“Of course I can,” she shot back immediately, completely forgetting that, only moments before, she had considered backing out of the entire scheme. With a confident toss of her head, she walked over to the wall, handed Trevor her cane, then gave the barrier an appraising look. It suddenly looked much higher than it had only a few moments before. Backing up a few feet, she took a couple of running steps and leaped at it. She managed to get her hands up and around two of the decorative iron spikes that marched along the top of the wall. She hung there in triumph for a moment.

  Then she promptly ran out of ideas.

  Trevor watched in mirthful enjoyment as Grace first tried bracing her feet against the wall, but found that the slick soles of her new boots could not get a purchase on the equally slick marble. He let her struggle for a few moments, admiring the unobstructed view of her trim derriere in breeches. Realizing she would continue to attempt, unsuccessfully, to climb the wall unless he intervened, Trevor finally took pity on her plight. He stepped up behind her and gave her pert backside a firm upward boost.

  Surprised, Grace landed and perched catlike between the spikes atop the marble wall, glaring down at Trevor. “I would have made it myself,” she hissed hotly.

  “Of course you would have,” he agreed, vaulting easily to the top of the wall beside her, then jumping down on the other side to the street below. “Now jump.”

  She hesitated.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you,” he promised in his most reassuring voice, infuriating her further with his condescending attitude. He held out his arms encouragingly.

  So Grace jumped—not lightly into his arms, as Trevor had expected, but straight down at him, knocking him off balance so he ended up sprawled on the street with Grace sitting on his chest, glaring down at him in belligerent scorn. She tossed her head disdainfully. “I could have done it myself,” she reiterated.

  The watcher crept through the darkened house to the second floor. He listened intently at each door, but heard no movement within the rooms. He reached the end of the hall and eased open the door to the last room on his right. Slipping inside, he softly closed the door, then turned and headed purposefully toward the bed. He stopped short when he saw it was empty and unslept-in.

  He looked around in confusion, certain he had seen her come home, limping slightly, with her sister and her aunt. He walked to the high round window that opened to the street, suddenly unsure whether he had entered the correct room. Stepping on the chest beneath the small aperture, he looked down, saw the street below, and knew he had gone to the room he had intended.

  A movement caught his eye. Two men came around the corner and walked in front of the Egerton town house. The watcher immediately recognized Trevor Caldwell as one of the men. He narrowed his eyes. The other man had an unusually small stature, and walked with a decidedly feminine gait.

  He sucked in his breath, cursing inwardly as the pair disappeared down the street. He knew he would never make it outside in time to follow them.

  The smoke hung in a thick haze above the green baize–covered table. A tomblike silence enveloped the dark room, punctured by the quiet clink of chips, the shuffling of cards, and the occasional low murmur of men’s voices placing bets. The only illumination came from a gas lamp suspended just above the playing surface around which the four figures sat.

  After Grace had wormed her way into attending the card party, Trevor had carefully revised his guest list. The men who remained invited to this card party were chosen for their proven loyalty, unquestionable friendship, and, above all, their unerring discretion. He knew he could count upon both men to keep to themselves anything that might happen this evening. More important, he knew they would also protect Grace, should the need arise.

  Grace had felt a momentary pang of dismay when the first
guest arrived and she found herself looking into the eyes of Gareth Lloyd, the younger brother of the Earl of Seth. He was Amanda Lloyd’s brother-in-law, a man to whom Grace had previously been introduced, well-known throughout the ton for his reckless—though rather successful—gambling habits. Amiable and charming, an unapologetic prankster, he could be counted upon to bring life to any gathering, and was thus quite a favorite addition to any guest list. Relief washed through her when his face registered no surprise at her introduction as Grant Radnor, Trevor’s young cousin from Cornwall. But her alarm again escalated when she discovered the Duke of Blackthorne would join them as well. After the completion of the introductions, she turned angry eyes on Trevor, who met her glare with laughter lurking in his.

  After a few moments of uneventful play, Grace began to relax. She felt more secure in the knowledge that her disguise was intact, blissfully unaware that Sebastian, at least, knew precisely who she was. She was comfortable, she played well, and she had thus far managed to thoroughly enjoy herself.

  Trevor watched with a sense of pride as Grace played her role to perfection. She spoke little, but managed to create an air of quiet confidence rather than one of shyness. She appeared, in fact, just a shade too comfortable, Trevor thought, as he watched her rake a pile of chips from the center of the table and deftly begin sorting them into neat piles. He grinned to himself. Perhaps she could use a little shaking up. He glanced toward Wilson, who had stationed himself near the door, then nodded his head toward the decanterladen sideboard at the far end of the room.

  At his employer’s unspoken command, Wilson walked across the room on silent feet and began pouring the drinks, already well accustomed to the preferences of the earl’s close friends. He poured a glass of port for Gareth, then filled two glasses with brandy, one each for Trevor and Sebastian. He paused a moment with the brandy decanter poised over the fourth glass and looked at Trevor in inquiry. At the earl’s almost imperceptible nod, Wilson filled the remaining glass and brought the drinks to the table, serving them and returning immediately to his post by the door.