Seduced By His Touch

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Restless and abruptly needy, her breath quickened, her skin sizzling as he scattered hot kisses over her throat and cheek and ear. Closing his lips around her earlobe, he gave her a shiver-inducing bite before soothing her throbbing flesh with a warm, wet lick.

  Shoving her nightgown higher, he inserted a heavy, masculine thigh between her legs. Then, holding her steady with his arm still cradled against her belly, he penetrated her in a long, deep thrust.

  She groaned, their position making her exquisitely sensitive, as he rocked them together with increasingly harder, deeper strokes. Nudging her knee slightly upward, he thrust again and gained total possession, the move taking him as far as he could possibly go. He took her with a relentless rhythm, building the ache until she thought she might go mad.

  Without warning, the fever broke, rapture claiming her in a sweeping torrent of delight. She clung, aware of him still thrusting fast and deep within her until he found his pleasure as well.

  Skin damp beneath her tangled nightgown, she lay quivering and waited for her sanity to return.

  He held her for a long while, until their flesh cooled and their breathing returned to normal. Sliding from her, he rolled away, turning onto his back so he could go to sleep.

  Relaxed and drowsy again, she waited for sleep to embrace her too. It was only as she was drifting off that she realized neither of them had said a word through the whole of their coupling. Maybe in this one place, though, it was because no words were needed.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Mallory whispered to Grace nearly seven weeks later, as they stood together in the marble-tiled entrance to the Clybourne House ballroom. “You’re going to be brilliant.”

  “If you say so,” Grace replied in an equally restrained tone.

  The guests were due to arrive any minute now, the family gathered in preparation of their welcome. Grace only hoped her tongue didn’t seize up when it came time to make the actual greetings.

  Hosted by Edward and her mother-in-law, tonight’s ball was being held in her honour as a dual celebration of the start of the new Season and her introduction to the Ton. As Jack’s wife, she was expected to take a place beside him in the receiving line.

  Glancing across the room, she found him talking with Edward and Cade. The three Byron men were all handsome, but to her, Jack far outshone his siblings. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, standing tall, dark, and dynamic in his stark black and white evening attire, his neatly combed hair already showing a charmingly rebellious bit of wave.

  Her chest grew uncomfortably tight and she looked away.

  “Of course I say so,” Mallory reassured her, returning Grace’s attention to the conversation at hand. “You look absolutely gorgeous in that gown. I only wish I were allowed to wear such a strikingly deep shade of green. But until Michael and I are wed, I shall have to content myself with the same old maidenly whites and pale pastels.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mallory’s smile faded, a wistful expression clouding her lovely aquamarine eyes.

  Fully aware of the source of her discontent, Grace reached out and squeezed her gloved hand. “He’ll be back soon, and you’ll hear from him often. I’m sure he’ll try to write you every day while he’s gone.”

  “Exactly,” Meg Byron stated, entering the conversation. “The military is generally very good about delivering the mail. No matter where Papa used to be assigned, his letters never failed to reach us. Often more reliably than the domestic post.”

  Mallory gave them both a weak smile. “I know you’re right. It’s just that I worry so about him down there in Spain.” For a moment, the girl’s gaze strayed to Cade. Grace and Meg were aware in which direction Mallory’s thoughts had taken her, since her brother had nearly died of his war wounds. His limp served as a permanent reminder of the price he’d paid in service to his nation. It was only natural that she would be afraid for her fiancé.

  As for Michael Hargreaves’s departure, the major had received his orders shortly after he and Mallory had announced their engagement. They’d barely had time to celebrate their coming nuptials, when he’d been packing his kit and kissing her good-bye.

  “The major is wise and won’t take any unnecessary chances,” Meg counselled. “He’ll come through just fine.”

  “Of course he will.” Mallory forced another smile and nodded. “Still, my spirits are going to need buoying until he comes home. Until the last of this dreadful war is over and done.”

  “I shall cheer you at every possible opportunity,” Grace pledged. Meg seconded her promise.

  Lowering her gaze, Grace took a few seconds to collect her own suddenly scattered emotions, wishing she could ask for the same pledge.

  Lord knows, I could use a measure of cheering myself these days. But since she was supposed to make everyone, including her new family, believe she was happy in her marriage, she had no one in whom she could confide her troubles.

  With any luck, the busy pace of the Season would keep her mind occupied and her spirits out of the doldrums. And based on the way the last several weeks had flown by, she had good reason to hope.

  A tingle traced over her skin just then, her body recognizing Jack’s presence at her side, even before her mind did. Glancing up, she met her husband’s gaze.

  “Apparently, the first guests have arrived,” he said, addressing the remark to them all. “Mama says we are to take our places now.” Offering his arm, he waited.

  Grace accepted in silence, while Mallory moved to his opposite side. Cade appeared, bending to kiss his wife with visible affection before the pair started across the room. Seconds later, the rest of them followed.

  The next hour went better than she’d imagined it might, her initial nerves quickly dissipating beneath the steady succession of curtseying, smiles, and banal chitchat. The exercise had become so routine by the end that she was almost relaxed.

  Then Jack asked her to dance and her muscles drew up tight again.

  “It’s the expected thing for me to lead you out for the first set,” he explained on a murmur only she could hear. “Never fear, I’ll be careful not to step on your toes.”

  But her toes were the least of her worries. Spending the next half hour with him while the whole room looked on—that’s what worried her.

  “Maybe you’re the one who should worry about getting stepped on, my lord,” she said with a sudden spark of defiance.

  Jack laughed, his smile so warm that anyone watching would have mistaken the expression for devotion.

  Oh, how deceptive looks can be, she mused.

  Allowing herself to be escorted into the ballroom, she and Jack mingled for a few minutes, furthering her acquaintance with several of the people she’d met earlier in the receiving line.

  Then the first dance was called, and couples moved onto the dance floor to form a line for a contra dance. Facing Jack, Grace waited for the first notes to be struck.

  True to his word, he didn’t come close to stepping on her feet, his movements light and agile. But then she already knew what a superb dancer he was from the times they’d stood up together in Bath.

  Memories of Bath curdled in her stomach, making it suddenly hard for her to maintain her happy expression.

  “If you’re not careful,” he whispered to her during a turn, “people will think you’re in pain.”

  “I’m smiling,” she defended.

  “Like a cadaver. Try something a bit less forced.”

  Glaring, she showed him her teeth.

  He laughed again, then deliberately bobbled his step so that she tripped against him. Her eyes widened only seconds before he clutched her tight and pressed his mouth to hers. Her thoughts scattered in an instant, the music fading to a low hum as the pleasure of his kiss surged through her.

  But just as abruptly as he’d drawn her to him, he released her again. “There,” he stated, “that should set them all agog.” Barely missing a beat, he resumed the intricate steps of the dance, while she strugg
led to do the same.

  Heart fluttering, she realized she was rather agog herself. Hot colour crept into her cheeks, embarrassment working to mask the other emotions churning inside her.

  Recovering enough that she was able to continue dancing without shaming herself, she realized that his ploy had achieved its intended goal. No matter how she might appear to others at present, everyone would attribute her reaction to his audacious kiss. And they would not be far wrong.

  When the music ended, she found the entire room watching them. But instead of disapproval, she discovered indulgent smiles and twinkling eyes. As he led her from the dance floor, she overheard someone whisper their astonishment over the fact that Lord Jack’s marriage was clearly a love match, after all.

  How foolish they would surely feel if only they knew the truth.

  Jack escorted her to a quiet spot on the far side of the room. Grateful for the respite, she opened her fan and applied it to her still burning cheeks.

  She was about to suggest that Jack go do something useful—like procure her a glass of punch, or perhaps soak his head in a bucket—when her father strolled into view.

  “Well, aren’t you two a sight!” Ezra Danvers declared with a toothy smile. “A right pair ’o lovebirds, if ever I did see.”

  Her fingers tightened against the delicate staves of her fan, but she mustered a smile nonetheless. “Papa.”

  Inviting her father to tonight’s ball had been Ava’s idea, a suggestion Grace had naturally had to support in spite of the resentment that still brewed inside her over his underhanded bargain with Jack.

  Since returning to London, she’d seen little of her father, and not once had she visited the house on St. Martin’s Lane. She’d used the excuse of being too busy in her new life to make the trip across Town. But in truth, she’d been afraid to go, fearing the welter of emotions that might rise up and spill over once she was surrounded again by old memories and familiar surroundings. She worried too that her unhappiness would show. Or that her simmering temper might cause her to reveal that she knew the whole of his and Jack’s scheme.

  Perhaps such revelations wouldn’t matter at this point, but pride was a strange thing. Pride and the fact that she refused to give her father the opportunity to ever again interfere in her life.

  To maintain the appearance of family harmony, she’d twice invited Papa to dinner at the town house, where he’d been one of a larger group of family and a few intimate friends. But he never stayed long, too “uncomfortable” around the Quality to be at his ease. So her real feelings and the truth about her marriage remained easy to conceal from him.

  Actually, she was surprised he was even here tonight, considering his discomfort around members of the Ton. But apparently his puffed-up conceit at seeing her so well-placed in Society had overcome his reluctance to be in their exalted midst.

  Striving to push aside such unkind musings, she waved her fan in languid arcs before her face, using it to distract both her father’s attention and her own.

  As though sensing her agitation, Jack laid a hand against her waist. Rather than pull away, she leaned into his touch, strangely glad of his support.

  “If you aren’t careful, yer going to get my girl talked about in the papers, my lord,” her father admonished in a cheerful tone. “But it does my heart good to see the both of you so wild for each other. Why even now, you can hardly keep your hands off my Gracie. As for that spectacle on the dance floor…well, I suppose there’s no harm done, seeing yer married and all.”

  She continued waving her fan, by no means trusting herself to speak.

  Luckily, Jack stepped into the breach. “You are most understanding, Mr Danvers, since Grace is simply too sweet to resist. No man could wish for a better wife.”

  She lowered her gaze, an ache forming beneath her ribs to hear him utter such charming lies.

  “Moment I laid eyes on you, Byron, I knew you were the one for my girl,” her father continued. “It’s good to be proven right. Now, I just need a few grandchildren.”

  Jack eased her even closer and smiled. “Not to worry. We are applying ourselves to the matter with great diligence.”

  Her father let out a booming laugh. “From what I’ve witnessed tonight, I can be assured of that.”

  Jack gave a reciprocating laugh. But even knowing she should, Grace couldn’t bring herself to join them.

  A couple of moments later, a tall, older gentleman joined them. If Grace remembered right, the man was one of Jack’s paternal uncles. They all conversed for a brief time before his uncle asked if he could “steal” Jack away for a minute or two, leaving Grace alone with her father.

  Waving her fan a little faster, she wondered how much longer it would be until dinner—not that she was hungry, but at least the meal would give her an excuse for new company. Something of her displeasure must have shown as her father met her gaze.

  “Come now, don’t poker up so,” he said. “We were just teasing before. Never knew you to be so sensitive.”

  At first, she wasn’t sure what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about his and Jack’s recent conversation. Grabbing onto the topic, she used it as cover for her uncertain mood.

  “I am not sensitive. I just don’t think a ball is the place to discuss the subject of making grandchildren.”

  “Don’t see why not,” he chortled. “But if it discomposes you, then I won’t say another word.”

  She gave him what she hoped was an appreciative smile.

  Music filled the room as a new set began, couples moving with elegant form to the melody. She and her father watched in silence for a short time.

  “Yer happy, aren’t ye, Gracie?” he asked, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

  Her gaze shot to his. “Yes. Of course I’m happy.”

  He studied her for a moment before he relaxed. “Good, good. Because you know, I’ve never wanted anything but the best for you.”

  “Yes, Papa. I know.”

  “And I’ve never done anything that I didn’t think would lead to your happiness.”

  Why is he saying this? Is he feeling guilty? She wondered.

  “But I’m glad you’re so happy. And I know ye are. Doesn’t take a genius to see how much you love Byron. And he’s clearly besotted with you. I’m just pleased it’s all worked out so well.”

  And she realized that in his own opinionated, overbearing, high-handed way, he meant what he said. As wrong as his methods might be, in his mind what he’d done had been for her benefit. She would never be able to condone his actions, but she understood them. Perhaps she could even forgive them in time.

  Suddenly, her anger fell away.

  This time when she smiled, it wasn’t forced. “You’re right. It’s all worked out as planned. Frightening as it may seem at times, this is my world now, the world to which you’ve always wanted me to belong. And now I do because of you and Jack. How could I possibly be anything but ecstatic?”

  Yes, she thought sadly. How indeed?

  * * *

  CHAPTER 22

  Grace had thought herself busy in the weeks leading up to Easter, but as she rapidly discovered, those days had been a leisurely rehearsal compared to the whirlwind that was The London Season.

  From morning to night, her schedule was full, whether she was promised to attend a breakfast fête, an afternoon picnic, or an elegant evening soirée. In between, there were social calls and shopping expeditions, carriage rides and promenades in the park, and an occasional night at the theatre or opera.

  Having been taken beneath the collective wing of Ava, Meg and Mallory, Grace was content to abdicate the responsibility of deciding which invitations she would accept, while she learned to navigate the sometimes treacherous shoals of the Haut Ton.

  To her great surprise, she found herself warmly received by Society—although with the Byrons standing guard over her, most people would have been hard-pressed to attempt a cut, especially with Jack bei
ng her husband.

  As for Jack himself, there were days when she saw a great deal of him, others when she saw almost nothing.

  An excellent escort, he was always available to accompany her to whatever entertainment she chose. At balls, they would frequently share a dance before taking a walk around the room to converse with various acquaintances and friends. Afterward, they parted as expected, since even couples who’d supposedly married for love were frowned upon if they spent too much time “in each other’s pockets,” as the saying went.

  As for her own obligation to play hostess and entertain at home, she was relieved when Jack made no such demands on her time. And given her newness to Society, as well as her status as a newlywed, no one seemed to mind the lapse. Next year, they all agreed, would be soon enough for such polite duties—except there would be no next year, she knew, only the remains of the one presently at hand.

  With June now upon them and the Season entering its final weeks, she realized she’d grown almost used to the constant rush. And as she often told herself, the frantic pace kept her mind off her troubles and her body weary enough for sleep.

  Awake and attired in a light silk dressing gown, she smothered a yawn as she took a seat at the small table in her sitting room. Breakfast was spread there courtesy of her very efficient lady’s maid.

  Reaching first for her tea, she took a sip, pleased to find the brew hot and strong, exactly the way she liked it. Across on the fireplace mantel, the flower-covered porcelain Meissen clock pinged out the hour in dulcet, high-pitched strokes.

  Noon. Late even for her.

  But then she had good reason to have overslept, considering the fact that it had been nearly three in the morning when she’d taken to her bed. And not much past five when Jack had joined her beneath the sheets to take her in another way entirely.

  Her skin warmed at the memory, remembered pleasure curling like an opiate through her veins. And he was rather like a drug, she decided, addictive and dangerous. She only hoped that when the time came, she would be capable of weaning herself away. Frowning over the thought, she picked up a buttered toast square and bit in with savage purpose.