Grace

by Deneane Clark

Gareth looked momentarily sober. “I’m afraid I did you a grave disservice, Miss Ackerly, by placing that bet at White’s.”

  Grace noticed for the first time how much he resembled his older brother. He looked so terribly contrite that her heart went out to him. She smiled warmly. “Please, my lord, don’t vex yourself on my behalf. I really don’t care what these people think of me. I never did.” She swept an arm in a wide arc that encompassed the entire room, then turned troubled eyes on the handsome man dancing with her sister. “But I do care very much what they think of Lord Caldwell,” she added quietly.

  Startled by the depth of feeling in her voice, Gareth followed her gaze. He saw Trevor leading Faith off the dance floor, courteously directing her back toward her aunt. In that instant he knew what he had to do. Considering the damage he had done to them both, he thought it only right. He excused himself and walked away in search of Amanda.

  Trevor dutifully returned Faith to Aunt Cleo, then stood for a moment, talking and laughing quietly with them. Finally he turned to Grace. She stood to the side, a gracious smile pinned to her face, feeling rather like an awkward interloper. Courteously he held out an arm and gave her a smile. “Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Ackerly?”

  Grace held her breath for a moment, then remembered her audience and let it out slowly. Returning his smile with a dazzling one of her own, she executed another graceful curtsy, then nodded and rested her gloved fingertips lightly on his arm.

  The orchestra had just begun a waltz as they stepped out on the floor. Trevor immediately swept her into the crowd of couples dipping and swaying in the lovely dance. She danced with him in silence, staring at his burgundy superfine-clad shoulder, not quite trusting herself to begin the conversation.

  After they had glided around the room in silence for a second time, Trevor finally spoke, his low, angry words at complete odds with the pleasant, almost relaxed look on his handsome face. “If you don’t wipe that damned look of bored disdain off your treacherous face, I’ll resort to one of your infamous tricks and leave you standing in the middle of the dance floor.”

  Seconds of shocked silence passed before Grace found her voice. She forced herself to smile up at him in a very plausible imitation of a simpering debutante. “And destroy all the work Gareth and Amanda have done to restore our respective reputations? Really, Lord Caldwell, that would be most ungrateful,” she admonished.

  Trevor ignored the impulse to smile, once again genuinely impressed by her control. He whirled her around the room again, angry with himself for the weakness he felt each time she entered his sphere. “You and I are going to finish this dance,” he bit out between clenched, bared teeth, “and then I’m going to ask your aunt to dance. And after that, Miss Ackerly, if you ever speak to me or approach me again, I will take great pleasure in publicly humiliating you. To hell with anyone’s bloody reputation!”

  Numb, Grace made herself smile as though he had just given her a flowery compliment. Only she and Trevor would ever know that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  True to his word, Trevor next took Aunt Cleo for a romp around the dance floor. Grace watched for a moment from the sidelines, then left the ballroom, searching for a quiet corner in which to compose herself and try to stop the suddenly uncontrollable quaking of her limbs. She found the darkened library and slipped inside. She sank down on a low, cushioned stool near one of the soaring windows that lined one side of the room. There she finally succumbed to the tears that raged within her.

  Unobserved by Grace, Amanda had followed. She watched as Grace entered the library, observing from a quiet post by the door as her friend sat down and seconds later buried her face in her hands, sobbing in anguish. Amanda withdrew, hurrying back to the ballroom to find Gareth and her husband.

  Her tears finally spent, Grace sat looking out the window at the strolling couples in the gardens below, wondering how she and Trevor had come to this point. They had found themselves at cross purposes from the moment they met, each wanting the same thing. They had simply wanted it at different times.

  Until now.

  Now they wanted precisely the same thing: for this to be over. Trevor had already put Grace from his mind. As the tears slipped slowly down her cheeks again, Grace decided that she would do the same. No more schemes or plans for winning him back. No more games. She would put the Earl of Huntwick out of her mind, and she would start by going back to Pelthamshire. Tomorrow.

  The door crashed open. The man she had resolved to forget only seconds before stormed into the darkened room. He stalked past the window where Grace sat, straight to the side-bar laden with decanters and glasses. There, Trevor poured himself a glass of brandy, drained it, then quickly poured another. He walked across the room to the fireplace and set the drink on the mantel. He braced one hand against the wall for support and ran the other through his thick, dark hair.

  Grace had come quickly to her feet as he strode past, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. As he stood by the fire-place, his aristocratic profile outlined in stark relief against the white marble, Grace realized that he did not know she was there.

  Moonlight mingled with the illumination from the gas lanterns in the garden below to spill through the row of tall windows that lined an entire wall in the room. Grace stood in the shadows to the right of the window farthest from Trevor, but he stood bathed in that light. The look on his face and the vulnerability of his stance made Grace catch her breath.

  His head was tipped forward in profound anguish, the lines of his handsome face harsh and angular, his eyes closed against the emotion that quaked through him. He had loosened his cravat at some point since she had last seen him, and the snowy white ends dangled in stark contrast to the deep burgundy of his jacket.

  He did not move for several moments. Grace’s tender heart constricted painfully as she felt a nearly uncontrollable impulse to go to him, to put her arms around him and to comfort him. She had actually taken a step forward before she thought better of it, then turned to leave quietly before he noticed. But her one step forward had brought her into the moonlight that streamed through the windows, and the subtle rustle of her gown caught Trevor’s attention; out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn to leave. He stiffened and whirled to face her.

  “I thought I’d warned you to stay away from me!” he ground out.

  Grace stopped and turned toward him, suddenly angry at the entire situation. “I was here first!”

  She looked like a defiant angel as she stood across the room, her chin outthrust and her hands curled into tight little fists at her sides. Her blue eyes flashed, her hair a fiery red halo created by the moonlight. A reluctant grin of admiration tugged at the corners of Trevor’s mouth as he looked at her. It widened when she stamped a dainty satin-shod foot.

  “Will you kindly cease laughing at me, Trevor Caldwell!”

  The grin slowly left his face. He belatedly took in the two bright spots of color flagging her cheeks and realized that her fury had escalated beyond reason.

  She proved it a second later when she advanced on him like an angry young tigress. “I have had it with you, my lord. You swoop into my life after nearly killing my sister and magnanimously declare that you are going to marry me, which forces me to run to London like a hunted rabbit in an effort to avoid you. I couldn’t even lose you in a city this size, though, because there you were, popping in for uninvited visits, following me to functions, making a complete nuisance of yourself!” She stood nearly toe-to-toe with him now, jabbing him in the chest with a long, tapered finger to add emphasis to her words. “And then,” she continued, spreading her arms wide in an exaggerated shrug of mystification, “when I finally admit to myself that I’ve fallen in love with you, I get sick, which you”—another jab—“found so inconvenient that you couldn’t even wait for me to recover before expressing your tender feelings to me so very eloquently in my bedchamber in the middle of the night!”

  She turned away, feeling suddenly deflated, and
failed to notice the expression of dawning amazement in Trevor’s eyes. Her voice trembled, small and weak, when she spoke again. “I thought you were just angry with me for the way I’d treated you, that you still cared for me, that perhaps I’d deserved it. But I hoped that if you loved me just a little before, then perhaps you could love me again.” She looked down and scuffed the floor with the toe of her slipper, desperate to keep him from seeing the tears that had welled to overflowing and now slipped silently down her cheeks.

  “I do.”

  He uttered the two small words softly but firmly. Grace refused to turn and look at him, certain her ears had deceived her. A second later she felt his hands on her upper arms. He turned her around, then crushed her against his chest. She almost sobbed in relief as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. They stood quietly like that for long moments, neither able to speak through the tide of emotions that swept through them.

  Finally Trevor pulled out of the embrace and took a small step back. “May I speak?” He grinned wryly. Grace nodded, then held out both of her hands to him. He took them in his.

  “First,” he began, “I did not declare that I was going to marry you that day, though I’ll admit the possibility was foremost in my mind. You informed me that you wouldn’t marry me before I even had a chance to do the asking.” He smiled tenderly down at her as a faint blush stole over her face; then he sobered and tilted her face up to his. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His voice caught, and he cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “The night you fell ill, you seemed to have given in to me. For the first time it all felt right. I was terribly worried that they wouldn’t let me stay with you for very long when you were so sick. I visited every day. Then, when the fever had passed and you were recovering, your aunt suddenly denied me visits. But even all of that wouldn’t have made me do what I did.”

  “What did?” asked Grace.

  “As I was leaving, Faith gave me your message.”

  Grace looked confused.

  “You told Faith to tell me that I had only a few days left our agreement,” he reminded her.

  Grace’s face cleared as she remembered when she had spoken those words. “But . . . I said that in jest!”

  He gently placed an index finger on her lips. “I believe that now,” he said, “but only moments before, your aunt had informed me that you would not see visitors for at least a week.”

  “So you sought to punish me by doing that terrible thing,” she said, hurt. Immediately she wished she had not spoken. Trevor looked so anguished by his actions that she tried to smooth things over. “It’s all right,” she began, laying her hand on his cheek.

  He caught her hand in his. “No,” he said quietly, “it’s not all right. We’ve hurt each other. The only way to go on from here is to face it and put it behind us.”

  Grace looked up at Trevor, and he caught his breath. The love she felt for him glowed in her eyes, shining brightly, deeply, and without shame.

  “I already have,” she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The next three weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity for Grace, although they dragged endlessly for Trevor. He had at first insisted upon getting married immediately, before, as he put it, anything else could possibly happen to keep them apart. However, Grace, who was rather inclined to agree, had had second thoughts when Faith, as logical and prudent as ever, pointed out that it would hardly be fair of them to get married without the rest of the family present.

  Trevor, who had no immediate family, had scowled. He’d opened his mouth to protest, then saw Grace’s guilt-stricken face and remembered how much the six motherless girls meant to one another. His face softening, he’d asked, “Would you like for your family to be here, darling?” He’d looked at Grace tenderly, willing to bear anything, even postponing their wedding night, in order to make her happy. She’d nodded gratefully and given his hand a little squeeze. Quite pleased with himself, Trevor had promptly decided the happy look was ample reward for waiting. He’d magnanimously announced that since they had to wait anyway, they might as well do the thing right with a formal church wedding.

  Now, weeks later, Trevor felt a bit less generous. The plans for the impulsively offered church wedding, which Trevor now privately considered a circus, had all but taken Grace away from him. During the few secluded moments Trevor managed to steal with her, Grace was distracted, crossly complaining about lists.

  “What lists?” Trevor asked, laughing when Grace muttered darkly about making somebody eat the bloody things.

  “Faith!” Grace threw her hands up in exasperation as she walked beside him through the garden. “She has made me a list for everything! So far she has given me a guest list, a list of thank-you notes that I must write, a list of menu items for the wedding breakfast, and a list of errands that must be run. That list has a sublist specifying the order in which I must run the errands.”

  The corners of Trevor’s mouth began to twitch. Grace glared at him. “Don’t you dare laugh, my lord.” With visible effort, Trevor composed his face, and Grace continued: “This morning, though, was the last straw. Would you believe Faith actually gave me a list that detailed which list I must attend to first?”

  Trevor turned, but his shoulders began to shake suspiciously. Grace stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and gave him a severe look. “I think you should know, my lord, that on none of my lists will you find an entry that reads, ‘Waste time strolling in the garden with Lord Caldwell.’ ” She elevated her nose and turned to go back into the house.

  Finally unable to contain his mirth, Trevor gave a shout of laughter. In two long strides he reached Grace, snatched her up in his arms, and whirled her about until she laughed, too. When he set her down, her eyes were glowing with love and the pure pleasure she felt from simply spending time in his company. Instantly Trevor’s mood shifted from gaiety to desire.

  Sensing the change, Grace put her hands up as he stepped forward to close the small distance that separated them. “Trevor,” she said, her voice turning breathless. “What are you doing?” He bent his head to hers, his lips lightly brushing her cheek en route to the sensitive skin behind her ear.

  “I’m making a list,” he murmured.

  “What kind of list?” Grace whispered back shakily as he lightly nipped her earlobe, sending a surge of desire through her. She felt her knees weaken.

  His lips moved down along her jawbone. “A list,” he said in a melting voice, “of all the places I am going to kiss you.” He took her lips in a sweet exchange that made Grace forget everything: the lists, the plans, even the wedding. She lifted her arms to pull him closer, opening her mouth at the insistent caress of his tongue, returning his kiss with equal ardor. She groaned as his lips left hers, then arched her neck and tilted her head back as she felt his moist mouth move down the column of her throat to the shadowy hollow between her breasts. She gasped and pushed her fingers into his dark hair as she felt his tongue lightly probe there.

  “Good heavens!”

  Grace and Trevor jumped apart and looked down the path toward the last turn they had taken. There stood Mercy, grinning impudently at them, garbed in, of all things, a dress. “It’s a good thing, I think, that the two of you are already planning on getting married. If Papa saw you kissing like that, he’d have had you in front of Reverend Teesbury faster than you could blink.”

  Her face bright red, Grace glanced at Trevor. He was openly glaring at her little sister. Hastily she smoothed her hair and dress, laid a restraining hand on Trevor’s arm, and went to give Mercy a hug. “My goodness, look at you,” she exclaimed, taking Mercy’s hands and spreading her arms wide to get a good look at the dress. She laughed and fingered a puffy silk sleeve. “It’s pink!”

  Mercy scowled. “Patience promised I could come visit you and Lord Caldwell in London after the wedding, so long as I behave like a young lady.” She wrinkled her little nose in distaste.


  “You’re off to a bit of a rocky start, aren’t you?” Trevor walked up behind Grace and placed his hands on her shoulders. He glowered at Mercy dampeningly.

  She shrugged with an impudent grin. “What Patience doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” She turned to walk out of the maze, then looked back as a sudden thought struck her. “You won’t tell her, will you, my lord?”

  Trevor simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Well, since it would be my house you invade on your intended visit, I suppose I would have to weigh the relative value of my silence, wouldn’t I?”

  Mercy gave him an assessing look for a moment, then, amazingly, stuck her tongue out and flounced away. Grace watched her leave, then looked back at her glowering fiancé. “You wouldn’t tell on her, would you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you still look so put out?”

  “Because,” he predicted grimly, “with a house full of Ackerlys, and only a week until the ceremony, I seriously doubt I’ll have another chance to be alone with you until our wedding night.”

  As it turned out, Trevor was right. He seldom, if ever, saw Grace alone. When he called at the Egerton town house, he invariably had to wait long moments, or had to swallow his ire as Greaves reported, with obvious satisfaction, that Grace was “otherwise occupied.” If Trevor did manage to see her, he often received only a hurried kiss before one of the many female Ackerlys whisked her away.

  More often than not, Mercy appeared in the parlor when she knew Trevor was waiting. She said it was so she could keep him company, although she admittedly had another, more selfish purpose: she shamelessly pumped him for details about her hero, the Duke of Blackthorne, whom she still insisted she would someday marry. Trevor, who could already glimpse a great deal of Grace’s stubborn spirit in her younger sister, simply shook his head with amusement. He hardly knew what he looked forward to more: watching his enigmatic friend deal with the adoration of this elfin girl with hair too short and eyes too large, or the prospect of leading his young sister-to-be a merry chase in her quest for Sebastian’s hand. Either way, the entire situation promised to be entertaining, for he did not see Mercy giving up her crush any more than he saw Blackthorne falling prey to it. So he usually patted her atop her curly head, asked her to take Grace a message from him, and left, finally giving up waiting for his fiancée to appear.