Intimate Deception

by Laura Landon

  “Does your new home meet with your approval?”

  She looked up and met Vincent’s serious gaze. He truly cared what she thought of his home.

  “It’s beautiful, Vincent.”

  His gaze softened. “I’m glad you like it. It will be our home for—”

  He paused as if he wasn’t sure how to finish. Grace finished for him. “For the rest of our lives.”

  He nodded. “Yes, the rest of our lives.”

  The way he spoke those words caused her whole body to turn strangely warm. Spiraling spikes of emotion soared to every extremity the moment he touched her. She trembled.

  “Are you cold?”

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her closer to him. “No, I’m fine.” But she wasn’t fine. His nearness was like a fiery blaze, warming her. She was burning from the inside out.

  “It’s been a long, exhausting day. I’ll have some warm tea brought to you before you go to bed.”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.”

  They walked up the steps and through the open door. Even though it was quite late, the whole staff was dressed and waiting.

  Her stomach churned. At first she was nervous to meet the servants. But any qualms she had vanished the minute she saw the broad smiles on their faces.

  “Carver,” Raeborn said to the butler, “may I present Her Grace, the Duchess of Raeborn.”

  Carver bowed politely. “Your Grace.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carver.”

  “Your staff, Your Grace,” the butler said.

  With Raeborn at her side, Grace went down the long line of servants, with Carver introducing each of them. She made an effort to speak to each of them individually. When Carver finished, the staff bade her good night and went to their quarters, probably glad to lay their heads on their pillows.

  “If there’s anything you need, you have only to ask. The staff is at your disposal.” Raeborn tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and walked with her to the long, curving stairway. “It has been a while since they’ve had a mistress to oversee them, but they are all longtime employees and very loyal.”

  “I’m sure everything will be perfect, Vincent,” she said as they walked up the stairs. Grace turned her head and looked back behind them to the rich oak woodwork and the ornate vases adorning the massive foyer. “Your house is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. But it’s your home now. Tomorrow I’ll take you on a tour. I think you will be especially pleased at the gardens. Hennely seems to have the ability to turn even the homeliest plants green.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  They reached a room at the end of the hall and he stopped. “This is your suite of rooms, Grace.”

  “My suite?”

  “Yes. My rooms are next door. There’s an adjoining sitting room.”

  Grace felt a cold chill race through her body.

  He looked to the side as if he couldn’t meet her gaze. “I will be nearby if you have need of me.”

  “I see,” she whispered, struggling to find her voice.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of asking Alice to serve as your lady’s maid. Carver recommended her. If she isn’t to your liking—”

  “I’m sure she will be fine.”

  “Very well. Good night then, Grace.”

  “Are you coming to bed now?”

  “No. I’ve got work to see to before I can sleep. I’ll be in my study.”

  “I see.”

  He gently pulled her toward him and kissed her chastely on the forehead. “Good night,” he said again, then opened the door to her room and stepped back for her to enter.

  Grace walked into her new room on legs that weren’t quite steady beneath her. Surely he did not mean he intended to separate himself from her? Surely he did not mean theirs was to be a marriage in name only?

  Grace didn’t see the pretty young maid standing beside the bed until she spoke. Her tumultuous thoughts were too confused by the way Vincent intended to start their marriage.

  Grace changed from the gown she’d worn for her wedding into a beautiful satin nightgown Anne had given her especially for this night, then sat on the cushioned stool before a mirrored table and let Alice comb out her hair. The little maid chatted nervously while doing her work, but Grace hardly heard a word she said. Her thoughts were too occupied with her husband who’d gone back downstairs. With her husband who’d left his wife on their wedding night.

  “Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” Alice asked, standing behind her with a pensive smile on her face.

  “No. Thank you, Alice. That will be all. I appreciate your help.”

  Alice opened the door just as an upstairs maid named Jane came with a tray. “His Grace thought you’d like some hot tea before you went to sleep.”

  Grace looked at the tray and for a second wanted to send the plump little maid back downstairs to tell His Grace that what his wife wanted was her husband to come up to her. Instead, she motioned for the maid to set down the tray.

  “Please tell His Grace thank you.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  Grace stared at the pot of tea long after the servants left. The tea service was of fine china, and Grace rubbed her finger over the delicate gold-leaf design on the cups while her anger and disappointment grew stronger.

  How did he think they could have a marriage if they never shared the same bed? How did he think they could grow closer if he separated himself from her?

  She walked to the window and looked out in the darkness, seeing nothing.

  How on earth could she breach the wall he intended there to be between the two of them?

  Linny’s words came back to her. “You breach it with patience and with love.”

  Grace sat in the burgundy velvet wing chair next to the dying fire and waited, praying he’d change his mind and come to her eventually.

  Several hours later she heard him climb the stairs. Then she heard the soft thud of the door when he closed it.

  Her heart pounded in anticipation. She waited, praying the door connecting their rooms would open. Praying he wouldn’t leave her alone on their wedding night. Praying he didn’t intend for theirs to be a loveless marriage. Praying...

  Grace sat in the darkness long after the last ember in the fireplace had died. Her head ached, her temper grew increasingly more fitful, and her heart ached as it never had before.

  She took a shuddering breath as Linny’s advice slapped her full force in the face. You breach the wall he erects with patience and love...and don’t give him a chance to turn away from you.

  Grace dropped her blanket to the floor and walked to the door that connected their rooms. She understood with clarity how much she would truly lose if she gave him the chance to turn away from her.

  Chapter 15

  Vincent stood at his bedroom window, looking out into the darkness below. The street outside was quiet, the last of society’s partygoers having gone home long ago. His wedding day was finally over. And somehow he’d survived.

  Bloody hell, he never thought he’d have to go through another wedding day.

  He remembered every detail of it, from the time he stepped into Wedgewood’s town house this morning. He’d thought to have a moment alone with Grace. A moment to prepare her for how their personal lives would be instead of seeing the surprise, even disappointment, on her face tonight when he’d walked her to her rooms—and left her.

  But there hadn’t been an opportunity to talk to her. Lady Caroline gave the excuse that Grace was busy getting ready for her wedding, but he knew that wasn’t entirely truthful. He knew she was ill. Ill from the babe he’d planted inside her. Like she’d been ill every morning when they’d been in the country, even though she’d tried to hide it from him.

  Vincent fought a rush of panic that nearly took him to his knees. He’d never been part of a family like this. A family burgeoning with life and love and laughter. Their numbers alon
e were staggering. Their exuberance astounding. He’d grown up alone, an only child. To this day he had only one living relative. Grace grew up in a crowd, and they had descended on Wedgewood’s town house like a band of merrymaking revelers. En masse. Her entire family. Her six sisters and their husbands.

  Lady Caroline and Wedgewood were, of course, already there. Then Lady Josalyn arrived with her husband, Viscount Carmody. And Lady Francine and her husband, the Earl of Baldwin. And Lady Sarah and her husband, Baron Hensley. And Lady Mary and her husband, the Earl of Adledge. And finally Lady Anne and her husband, Wexley.

  Thankfully the children—good God, eleven of them, and if he were any judge there would be more by Christmas—were immediately closeted upstairs with a regiment of nurses and nannies. How was it possible for them to be so cavalier when it came to producing children? How could each of these men risk his wife in childbirth again and again?

  At first he thought perhaps their marriages weren’t based on love or any emotion resembling it. But that hadn’t been the case. The affection between each sister and her spouse was plain to see, even surprising at times in the looks they gave each other, the smiles, the familiarity with which they touched.

  Vincent wiped a sheen of perspiration from his brow. They didn’t know the risks. They hadn’t experienced the devastating heartbreak of losing someone you cared for. Of knowing you were to blame.

  He closed his eyes and willed Angeline’s heart-shaped smiling face and Lorraine’s somber, porcelain features to appear. He wouldn’t forget them or repeat his mistakes in this marriage. It was too late to prevent a third pregnancy, but it wasn’t too late to protect his heart.

  A heavy pressure weighed painfully against his chest, stopping his lungs from taking in air. Oh, how he wanted her. How he’d wanted her since the night he’d trapped her in Wedgewood’s study, her eyes wide with fright, her breasts rapidly rising and falling as she gasped for air. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase how he’d felt when he held her and touched her and buried himself deep inside her as he’d done on their first meeting. Or how he ached to hold her in his arms even now and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

  He braced his hands on either side of the window and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. If only he’d never had her. If only he didn’t know what loving her was like. He was burning inside, on fire from flames he had no hope of extinguishing except in her arms.

  He dragged his hand across his face, praying the gesture might wipe any thought of her from his mind. He breathed a heavy sigh, then walked to the fireplace and placed another log on the dying embers. The door opened and a faint light crept across the floorboards. Vincent jerked upright and turned. “Grace?”

  He reached for a dressing gown and put it on to cover his nakedness. “Is something wrong?”

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course. Is there something you need?”

  “Yes.” She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

  He waited where he was. After a slight pause, she walked toward him, her back and shoulders straight, her satin gown shimmering around her legs. He locked his hands behind his back to keep from reaching out to her. To keep from pulling her into his arms and holding her. To keep from covering her mouth with his own.

  “What is it? What do you need?”

  She lifted her chin and answered, “You.”

  Grace stood close to him, so close she could feel the heat from his body. So close she could smell the fresh scent of soap he’d used to bathe. So close she could hear the breath he sucked into his lungs when she answered him.

  Her heart thrummed with excitement, with fear. The blood raced through her veins with such speed that every part of her body came alive with need. She clutched her fists in the material at her sides to keep from reaching for him.

  “What do you need?” he asked again, as if he hadn’t understood her. As if he chose not to understand her.

  “Is this where you intend to sleep for the rest of our marriage?”

  His shoulders lifted. “This is my room. Yes.”

  “And is the room next to yours where I am to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever intend to come to my room? To my bed?”

  A frown covered his face, his features turning almost angry. “What is this, Grace? It is nearly three in the morning. Surely your questions can wait until some other time. At least until tomorrow.”

  “No, Your Grace. I think it best we put everything out in the open so there will be no misunderstandings.”

  Grace fought the urge to walk away from him. Fought the urge to lower her eyes so she didn’t have to look into his ironclad gaze. “Please answer me, Your Grace. Do you ever intend to sleep in my bed?”

  His chest rose and fell with each labored breath. But he remained silent.

  “Is this my punishment, Your Grace?” she said, her voice sounding hollow to her ears. “Is this how I am to suffer for deceiving you?”

  She lost her courage and stared at the burning logs. “Do you intend to parade me through the ton, keeping up with our charade? Do you intend for us to continue playing our parts as if we had a perfect marriage?”

  She knew her voice held an accusatory tone. Knew the words had not come out as a question but as a criticism. She did not care. She was fighting for her very existence.

  “How long do you intend for us to pretend our infatuation was so all-consuming that we could not be bothered with a courtship or lengthy betrothal but married mere weeks after we met? And by special license?”

  She turned from the fire and caught his gaze with hers. “A month, perhaps? Longer?”

  “Grace, I—”

  “Then what, Vincent? Do you intend for us to return home each evening and for me to allow you to politely kiss me on the cheek, then tuck me into bed and not bother with me until it is time for our next performance? Do you envision us walking up the stairs each evening, arm in arm like the loving couple we have pretended to be for the day and evening? And do you intend to bid me a polite good night before you close the door behind me so you can forget I exist?”

  “Grace, that’s not—”

  “I cannot live like that, Vincent. I will not.” Grace swiped her hand through the air. “I would undo what I did if I could, but it is too late. I cannot turn back the hands of time. I can’t—”

  “Enough! What is it you want from me?”

  She took a step toward him so he had no choice but to look her in the eyes. “I want you to be a husband to me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  Grace stood her ground. “I do. I know how much it hurt you to lose your first wife and your babe with her. I know how much harder it was to lose a second wife with another babe, then go on living while your heart was breaking. I know the vow you made afterward never to marry again.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “How did you—”

  “Your cousin told me while profusely congratulating me on stealing your heart and forcing you to take the risk you’d vowed never to take again.”

  “Then you know—”

  She shook her head. “I know nothing except that I am taking just as big a risk as you. Can you guarantee me you will not walk out onto the street and get run down by a team of horses before our child is born? Can you promise me Fentington will not attempt to harm you again? And this time succeed?” She tried to keep the tears at bay, but they swam in her eyes. “Do you know the guilt I live with each day, knowing he blames you for what I did?” Grace hugged her middle tighter. “Do you know the guilt I live with each day, knowing the bullet you took was because of me?”

  “No. That was not your fault.”

  “Yes. Just as forcing you to marry again is my fault. I would give the world to have thought of another way to escape Fentington. One that did not involve you. One that did not put you in danger. But I could not. I didn’t expect you to ever find me. I didn’t expect you would ever want to.”


  Her tears ran freely now. He reached out to pull her to him, but she twisted out of his grasp and slashed the air between them with her hand. “I do not want to live my life like this, Vincent. I don’t want a chasm of fear between us that can never be bridged. I don’t want our marriage to be an empty shell with no substance. Please, don’t leave me alone with my regrets.”

  She watched the haunted look in his eyes grow darker and felt her world fall away from her. “I don’t expect you to ever love me,” she said, her words no louder than a whisper. “Not after what I did to you, how I deceived you. But please, don’t condemn us to a bitter existence. Don’t make me pay for deceiving you every day for the rest of my life.”

  He stood as if rooted to the floor. Finally Grace heard and saw the ragged sigh that lifted his shoulders.

  “I do not blame you for what you did to escape Fentington. You had little choice. And anything Fentington did after that is not your fault, Grace. He is deranged. He does not think like you and I. You are not responsible for his attempt on my life.”

  “Then what is it? Is it so impossible for you to want me as your wife? Is it so hard to hold me like you did that night at Madam Genevieve’s before you knew who I was? Is it so impossible to make love to me?”

  “No,” he cried out, and Grace could hear the pain in his voice. “But it would be impossible to give you up once I did. I cannot go through that again.”

  His words struck her with the force of a battering ram. He’d laid his fear out before her like an open wound, raw and festering. An infected sore that tormented his very soul.

  “You will not have to give me up, Vincent. I promise. You will not lose me like you did Angeline and Lorraine.”

  “You can’t make such a promise,” he said, his voice teeming with regret.

  “I can.” Grace reached for his hand and placed it low on her stomach. “I am going to give you this babe I have growing inside me. And a dozen more besides. Together we will love them and care for them and watch them grow into adulthood.”

  His agonizing moan held the untold heartache and sorrow of his painful past.