Grace

by Deneane Clark

  She spoke the truth. Pride dictated that she compose herself and give the gossips no more fodder than she already had. She straightened her shoulders and turned her face toward the stage, which was nothing but a blur. Her mind raced feverishly. She considered and rejected several plans by which to extricate herself from the agreement with Trevor.

  The thought of returning home to the peace and quiet of Pelthamshire was more than tempting, but the realization that Huntwick would certainly follow her marred that possibility. Refusing to see him had not worked in the past, and besides, she hardly relished the thought of barricading herself in her room for days on end. Ten days! Ten days still remained of the original fourteen she had promised Trevor. She could find no solution. She would just have to grit her teeth and stick it out.

  Then a flash of inspiration struck and she sat up straighter in her seat. She would find spending time with Trevor much easier if she had a goal, a definitive reason for doing so. Grace smiled to herself. She could suffer now for the greater reward of beating him at the game. She would simply kill him with kindness. She would be so utterly agreeable, so nauseatingly adoring, that one of two things would happen: Trevor would either be smugly certain of his victory, which would make handing him his defeat all the sweeter, or he would realize he could not stomach her presence even if he did manage to win the wager.

  Elation soared through her. She turned to look again in the direction of Trevor’s box. Just as she had expected, he was still looking directly at her. She gave him a sweet smile and a little wave, which he acknowledged with a slightly surprised nod. Grace returned her attention to the stage and concentrated on enjoying the rest of the opera.

  Chapter Fifteen

  What are you doing?” Faith asked.

  Grace sat quietly upon the third step from the bottom, elbows on her knees, her small chin propped in her hands. Her eyes were fixed on the massive front door at the end of the long foyer. “I’m sitting,” she replied.

  “Why are you sitting?” Faith asked with a puzzled frown. She sat down on the step next to Grace, leaned forward, and peered at the front door in confusion for a moment. The door looked just as it always had to her.

  “I’m waiting, of course.”

  “For what, please?”

  “For whom,” corrected Grace.

  “All right, for whom?” Faith amended patiently.

  Grace smiled pleasantly at the door. “A low, morally corrupt, conniving, degenerate scoundrel.” Her voice was congenial. She might well have said she was waiting for the morning post.

  “Lord Caldwell?”

  “The same.”

  Faith searched her sister’s composed face for any sign of the anger that should have accompanied Grace’s colorful description, but could find nothing unpleasant in her calm, unruffled features. “How do you know he’s coming?”

  “He sent flowers with a note stating his intention to call at eleven to take me driving in the park.” A sudden thought occurred to her, and she looked away from the door for a moment to address her sister.“Would you like to go with us?”

  “That depends,” said Faith with a direct look.

  “On what?” Grace glanced again down the foyer. Her face brightened as she heard a conveyance pull up in front of the town house.

  Faith shook her head. Whatever freakish plot her sister had contrived in order to punish Trevor, she knew from the way Grace was acting that she would certainly see it through. Nevertheless, she tried to divert her from what was surely a reckless path. “It depends upon what you intend to do about his lordship’s choice of escort last night.”

  Grace grinned, her dimples flashing impishly. “Nothing,” she replied. The sound of the knocker echoed through the foyer, and Greaves shuffled toward the door. “Nothing at all,” she added under her breath. She stood and fixed her most dazzling smile on the tall man who stepped through the door.

  “Good morning, Grace,” Trevor said. He smiled with pleasure at the breathtaking vision moving toward him, her face radiant, both hands outstretched in welcome.

  She wore a high-waisted cream silk walking dress accented with tiny cobalt ribbons tied in cunning little bows at intervals on the scooped neckline, around the cuff of her small puffed sleeves, and along the scalloped hemline. A wide sash in the same lively shade of blue ran beneath her breasts and tied in a flat bow in the back, the ends falling in long, trailing streamers that reached almost to the floor, fluttering gaily behind her as she walked. Perfectly matched slippers and gloves encased her dainty feet and hands, and she wore her flaming hair pulled back from her face, secured at the crown with a blue filigree clip, then left to fall in riotous abandon well past her shoulders. The effect was simple, fresh, and incredibly alluring.

  Trevor caught her gloved hands in his, bringing them both to his mouth for a kiss, unable to take his eyes from her entrancing smile. Her skin tingled above the gloves where his lips brushed her wrists. Grace fought the overwhelming urge to snatch back her hands, to turn and run. Instead, she smiled up at him in what she hoped would pass for adoration.“Good morning to you, my lord,” she said.

  Although he had not set out the previous evening with the intention to do so, Trevor decided that making Grace jealous had been a good move. He had fully expected to find her coldly furious, spoiling for a fight. Instead, she stood before him this morning voluntarily holding his hands and practically simpering. He frowned, his pleasure turning to suspicion, suddenly unable to reconcile this previously unseen side of Grace. He narrowed his eyes.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Oops! thought Grace. She must have laid it on a bit thick. Deliberately, she made herself look puzzled. She reached up as though checking her hair, then looked down at her dress in distress. “This isn’t all right for our drive?”

  Faith shook her head and rolled her eyes, her sister’s ploy suddenly plain. Yet Trevor fell neatly into the trap. He hastily assured Grace she looked as lovely as always, then asked solicitously if she would like to depart. Faith nearly snorted in disgust.

  Grace brightened. “Oh, yes, my lord,” she said with bubbling enthusiasm. “Would you mind terribly if Faith joined us? After I described your beautiful horses to her, she said she simply had to see them for herself. Isn’t that right, Faith?” Grace asked, turning to her sister for confirmation.

  With Trevor and Grace looking at her expectantly, Faith searched for an answer both truthful and in keeping with her sister’s story. “I’ve heard they’re quite something, my lord,” she managed politely, mentally throttling Grace for involving her in this deception.

  “Of course you must come with us, then,” agreed Trevor. He gallantly held his free arm out to Faith. Grace quaintly wrinkled her little nose and batted her eyes up at Trevor, while clinging to him as though she never intended to let him go.

  As he handed both girls up into his landau, Trevor mentally scrapped his tentative plan to get Grace off alone somewhere for a few moments of tender persuasion. He almost groaned in disappointment as he looked up at her, talking animatedly with her mostly silent sister. He longed to push his hands into her heavy hair and turn her face to his for a deep kiss. Resolutely, he swung up and seated himself across from the two girls, and the spirited team sprang into motion at the command of Trevor’s coachman. The horses settled into a smart trot and headed toward the park; Grace was already controlling nearly all of the conversation.

  How strange, Trevor thought, that he had never noticed Grace’s talkative nature—the first characteristic of hers he found he disliked. She prattled on endlessly in a mindless monologue, leaping from topic to inane topic with astonishing speed. He felt himself growing annoyed. When she switched from discussing the latest gossip and began to describe and critique the clothing of the friends and acquaintances they passed along the way, he found he could no longer stand it. “Miss Ackerly!” he broke in.

  “Yes, my lord?” both young women said in unison.

  “I was speaking to Miss Faith, my d
ear,” he said to Grace. She gazed at him. The rapt, adoring expression in her sapphire eyes reminded him of a cocker spaniel. She looked crestfallen, but obediently subsided with a pretty little pout.

  “Yes, my lord?” Faith repeated in her quiet voice, her calm gray eyes leveled at him.

  “Are you enjoying the Season?”

  Faith opened her mouth to answer, but Grace immediately piped up. “Oh, yes, my lord, she’s having the most perfectly wonderful time! Such scrumptiously lavish parties and balls, and so many invitations that one can hardly begin to decide which of them to attend, for, of course, one couldn’t possibly have time enough to get to them all. And, of course, nothing was at all fun until you arrived in town, my lord. Oh, I know that I was rather difficult to deal with at first, but you quite surprised me with your sudden interest, especially when I am used to such a quiet country life, with such quiet country activities and such quiet country pastimes. And could anybody else have possibly been so utterly patient and kind to me as you have been, my lord, putting up as you have with all my petty little temper tantrums?” She stopped to take a breath, laid a hand on his knee for a moment, then launched right back into speech. “Why, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you simply couldn’t abide spending another moment in my terrible, sullen company, and wouldn’t I just deserve it? Oh, look!” she exclaimed suddenly. “There’s Lady Burton in a brand-new white carriage! Oh, isn’t it shiny!” She half stood in the swaying landau and waved enthusiastically, nearly toppling out of the vehicle. She recovered her balance and sat down once again, hardly missing a beat as she began going on about Lady Burton’s various coats, hats, and jewels.

  It was then, as he watched Grace gesture and babble on in a way completely foreign to her, that Trevor finally figured out her game. Grace intended to either bore him or disgust him into giving up on their little wager. He let her blather on until she finally had to stop to take another breath.

  “It won’t work, Grace.” He addressed her gently, but firmly. Faith stirred and looked at him with interest.

  Grace stopped speaking in midsentence. She nearly scowled, but recovered nicely. “Why, my lord, surely you didn’t think that I was trying to hint that I’d like some sort of gift from you? Why, I would never be so—”

  Trevor cut her off. “I meant that your poorly executed imitation of an empty-headed widgeon will not work,” he said calmly.

  “Imitation!” Grace looked gloriously indignant. “My lord, if you don’t like me as I am, then just say so, but please don’t hurl unkind accusations at me. I am as I am, and you can just take it or leave it!”

  Trevor shrugged. “I suppose I’ll just have to take it then.” His eyes twinkled merrily at Faith as he leaned past Grace to say conspiratorially, “She can’t keep this up, you know.”

  Faith smiled back, inclining her head in deference to his excellent logic, a trait she particularly admired.

  Grace sat furiously and rigidly silent. Trevor had always had the power to anger her, but the fact that Faith, her own sister, had defected to his camp so easily . . . How could she? She stole a glance at her sister out of the corner of her eye. Faith silently and serenely admired the passing parklands. Grace glanced at Trevor and found him quietly watching her, his smile smug. She snapped her gaze back to the front, glad to see they were approaching Aunt Cleo’s town house. She pressed her lips together and resolved to stop trying to best him with plots and plans. She would simply ignore him for the next nine days.

  Before the horses had come to a complete stop, Grace stood up. She brushed past Trevor’s knees in her haste to get out of the vehicle and away from his irksome presence. She gained the ground without injury, then stalked up the steps and swept into the house without a backward glance at her treacherous sister or the irksome earl.

  Trevor watched her go, a wide grin sweeping his features. He climbed down and held out a hand to Faith. “It has been a real pleasure, Miss Ackerly. Would you please tell your sister that I look forward to escorting her to the Corwins’ ball tonight?”

  Faith gave him a direct look as she stepped down from the landau. “You know she would rather die than go with you this evening, Lord Caldwell.”

  Trevor raised his eyebrows. “Ahh, but she hasn’t such a choice, has she? Will you be there also?”

  Faith nodded. “I’ll be there with Aunt Cleo.”

  “Well, good, then. I shall have a chance to give your aunt my regards.” He tipped his hat to her and climbed back into the landau. The vehicle pulled away, leaving a be-mused Faith standing silently at the curb. She watched him go, turned to walk up the steps, then stopped for a moment, her attention caught by a subtle movement in a dark doorway across the street. She peered at the shadowed alcove for a moment, then shrugged and decided her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her thoughts quickly returned to the problem of her sister and the earl as she walked up the steps and slowly entered the house.

  As soon as she came in, Grace pounced on her like an angry cat. “How could you take his side?” she accused furiously. “Against your own sister!”

  Faith looked at Grace calmly as she pulled off her gloves. “Think about what you’re saying, Grace. What is it, exactly, that Lord Caldwell has done that is so very terrible?”

  Grace stubbornly pressed her lips together and averted her gaze.

  “He’s done nothing,” Faith answered with cool logic, “except escort you to balls, tolerate your temper, and gift you with his time and undivided attention. In return, you’ve repeatedly deceived him, tried to make him look foolish before the entire ton on more than one occasion, and flayed him with your tongue at every possible opportunity.

  “Despite this, he continues to try to please you in every way he can, which only leads me to believe that the man must genuinely care for you. What more could I ask for my sister than that she be cared for?”

  Grace shook her head. “You’re wrong, Faith. It is merely his desire to win that makes him continue with this farce. I’m nothing but a prize to him.”

  “My point exactly. If he wins—and let me point out that he’s working quite hard to do just that—he gets you, Grace. If the prize weren’t worth getting, why would he work so hard to get it? Why hasn’t he quit if it isn’t worth it to him?”

  Grace turned away and walked slowly into the yellow salon, her thoughts jumbled as she processed the information she had known all along but stubbornly denied.

  Faith followed her persistently. “I’ll tell you why, Grace. He wants the prize.”

  Grace did not respond.

  “Try being nice to him,” Faith urged.

  “I have no wish to marry, Faith—not even Lord Caldwell,” Grace protested weakly.

  “Just please try to be kind to him for the next nine days. At the very least, you’ll be able to look back and say that you kept your part of the agreement honorably.”

  Grace sank into a chair, lost in thought. “I’ll try,” she promised her sister quietly.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trevor sat uncomfortably in a delicate gold brocade chair in the yellow salon, his long legs crossed carelessly, his impatience evidenced only by the tapping of his index finger upon the intricately carved arm of the chair. He sat because he knew that if he stood he would pace, and if Grace caught him pacing, he would be forced to concede yet another small victory to her.

  He had already cooled his heels for more than fifteen minutes before he’d decided to take a seat, choosing the gold brocade armchair because it looked like the only piece of furniture in the dainty, feminine room substantial enough to bear his weight. Even so, he felt like a great, hulking beast caught in a doll’s house. He grimaced. Trust Grace to try to throw him off balance in varied and subtle ways before she drove the final dagger home at the end of the allotted fortnight.

  Upstairs, Grace was pacing. Troubled by a nagging headache and an odd sense of weariness, she briefly considered writing a note begging him for the evening off, but was loath to use the fact that she did not
feel well as an excuse, ruefully reflecting that she had already dishonestly done so. After several starts and an equal number of stops, she gave up and decided she would have to brave the inconvenient pain for the evening. She reread the last draft of the note:

  Dear Lord Caldwell, I know you will understand when I say things have transpired rather quickly between us. I hope that you will therefore allow me some time alone to reflect upon the enormity of the steps we are taking. This is not something I treat lightly. . . .

  Grace shook her head and prepared to go downstairs, leaving the unfinished letter on her dressing table. Trevor had no idea of her thoughts since she had angrily left his vehicle. He deserved more than a simple note.

  After he had waited for twenty-five minutes, Trevor finally heard Grace’s voice in the hall. He stood, automatically composing his features into those of a gentleman who had nothing better to do than to wait for a woman to honor him with her presence.

  A moment later Grace entered the room. She walked directly to him. She stopped a mere foot away and searched his features for a clue to his mood. What she saw appeared to satisfy her, for she smiled and held out a hand. “Good evening, Lord Caldwell,” she said softly. “You look very nice this evening.”

  Trevor stopped in the act of kissing her hand, her fingers still pressed to his lips. He quirked an eyebrow, then let go, trying to reconcile this very agreeable Grace with the girl who had stormed out of his carriage without a backward glance only hours earlier. He found he could not. “I look very nice?” he drawled in exaggerated shock. “Why, Miss Ackerly, that was a very nice compliment. You look very nice, yourself. I expect we shall have a very nice time tonight, don’t you?”

  Her eyes glowed with humor. “I suppose I deserve that,” she admitted with a little laugh. “Can you possibly forgive my wretched behavior the past few days?”