Spencer wasn’t aware of the tears that streamed down his cheeks until a pair of soft hands framed his face and kissed them away, so impossibly gently it would have broken his heart were it not already lying in ruins within his heaving chest. Without opening his eyes he reached for Grace with hands that ached to touch her and she came to him without a murmur, settling in his lap and taking him in her arms as emotion racked Spencer’s body in a relentless flood and forced him to speak before he could stop himself.
‘He died for me, Grace. He pushed me out of the way even though I didn’t deserve it and it’s all my fault he never came home. My brother, my very best friend—I as good as killed him.’
She said nothing, merely stroking the hair back from his forehead and listening to the damning confession that sprang from his mouth. There was no recoil of horror or revolted gasp and the steady feeling of her fingers through his hair gave Spencer the courage, which he never knew, until that moment, he had lacked, to continue.
‘We should have been fighting side by side at Quatre Bras and would have been if we hadn’t argued the night before. It was the first time we’d ever let anything come between us, the first time we had ever really quarrelled, and all for a woman whose face I can now barely remember.’ He drew in a ragged breath, fragments of Constance’s chestnut hair and tilted nose gleaming dimly in his memory like pieces of shattered glass.
‘Both of us fancied ourselves in love with her, although neither of us truly knew the meaning of it, I realise now. We argued so fiercely that we went our separate ways, only reuniting on the battlefield—when it was all too late. I’d only just seen Will when we came under fire from enemy grapeshot and he—he threw me out of the way to take the worst of the impact himself.’
It was the worst of sensations to hear himself spilling out his darkest secrets, his deepest shame with no hope of stopping himself. By some magic Grace loosened his tongue beyond his control, all without a single word, still silent as he damned himself for ever beneath her soft fingers.
‘If we had been together from the start he wouldn’t have had to stray so dangerously close to guns looking for me. We could have survived the battle and returned home together if only I hadn’t been so selfish, so determined to be the victor of our competition for a woman’s heart... We might never have argued and, if it wasn’t for me, Will might still be alive, not turning to dust in some Belgian grave with nobody there to mourn him.’
A fresh storm threatened to spill from his burning eyes, but this time Grace wiped them away with fingertips that left a stream of fire in their wake. Belatedly Spencer realised the intimacy of their position, Grace curled in his lap like a cat and his face buried in the warm curve of her neck to breathe in the rich scent of her skin—it had happened so thoughtlessly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to kiss away his tears, and any shame he felt at his naked emotion seemed suddenly misplaced in the world of compassion he saw in her eyes as he lifted his chin to look into her face.
‘It was not your fault. None of it was. He loved you as you loved him and it was his choice to save you—just as you would have done for him, had your places been reversed.’
Spencer shook his head, although his grip on Grace’s waist never faltered. ‘I should have stopped him. I’ve replayed that moment over and over in my mind for two years, wondering what I could have done differently, but I can never get past the memory of his cheek pressed to the muddy ground, or how his fingers twitched for a moment before falling still—’
The words choked him, sticking in his throat as the horrors of his nightmare reached for him again to pull him back beneath their dark surface. He shouldn’t be telling Grace any of this, he knew; and yet somehow she drew him out, the unceasing caress of her fingers on his brow soothing the turmoil that shook him to the bone.
‘You hear the songs and the poems, see the grand paintings of the noble glory of war—but it’s all a lie. It isn’t glorious, or the pure fight of right against wrong. It’s men dying slowly in the mud, terrified and alone, coughing out their last breaths knowing they’ll never see their homes again. Those of us who return are the lucky ones, but even we who make it back alive leave pieces of ourselves behind, fragments of our humanity that we can never get back. I am only half a man now, Grace. I can’t escape those memories and neither do I deserve the mercy of being able to forget—’
He broke off, blind to everything but the horrific pictures chasing each other through his mind as he unconsciously tightened his hold on Grace and pulled her warm body closer to his chest as though she could ward off the terrors. She in turn twined herself around him, encircling him within the quiet peace of her arms, and hesitantly—as if surprised by her own courage—sought his mouth and kissed him with such simple sweetness Spencer’s heart soared in his chest.
‘You’re still whole, Spencer. You’ve just been in such pain these past years, keeping your secrets for so long you’ve come to believe your own fears.’
Spencer’s pulse skipped ever faster as her lips again came down to his; a little more firmly this time, although still careful as he felt himself respond and allowed his fingers to stray from her waist round to her back to trace the column of her spine. She gave a little shiver, delightfully guileless, and drew back a fraction to look into his face.
Returning her gaze, he took in the petal-soft shape of her lips and the way she blinked, a little dazedly, as he reached up to wind one blonde tendril round his finger.
‘You’re as gentle as if I were a wounded creature.’ He meant to make her smile, to break the rising tension between them that was rapidly building to something Spencer couldn’t quite name, but instead Grace’s expression changed into a look that made his mouth dry and the hairs stir at the back of his neck.
‘But isn’t that precisely what you are?’
Shyly, as though half expecting he might still her hand and hardly believing her own actions, Grace slowly unfastened the buttons of his nightshirt and gently pulled the front open to reveal his ugly mass of scars. Spencer held his breath as her eyes roamed the ruined flesh stretched across taut muscle and saw her throat contract in a dry swallow—and he couldn’t help but utter a gasp as she leaned down to press her lips to the worst scar running a jagged line across his chest.
‘So many of them. How they must have hurt—and how you must have suffered, keeping the truth inside for so long.’
Spencer shook his head slightly, helpless beneath her touch. ‘Grace...’ The rest of his hoarse sentence stuttered and died as she trailed light fingertips through the tangle of coarse hair to trace another silvery ridge, the sensation awakening the longing within him he had tried so hard to master. An electric current began to flow through his veins, crackling in every nerve to rob him of any rationality he might ever have possessed.
‘You need never suffer alone again. All your confession made me feel was sorrow for you and regret I couldn’t share your burden long ago.’
She peeped up at him, pupils huge in the dying light of the fire that made her hair shine like spun gold. There was nothing he could do to quell the temptation to reach out and bury his fingers in its softness, to feel its silk beneath his hand and gently cup the back of Grace’s head to draw her into a kiss that made both of them breathless with desire. It was like a living flame passed between them, reducing everything in its way to ash as the conflagration Spencer had kept hidden for so long roared up to consume him and he held Grace to him to melt together in ferocious heat neither had ever experienced before.
A fine rug stretched out before the hearth and Spencer gathered Grace to carefully set her down on it. He joined her there, taking her back into his arms to feel her heartbeat racing next to his own and her breathing come hard and fast as this time it was his turn to explore her skin, one hand sliding cautiously at the neck of her nightgown to feel her pulse flutter at her throat. She let out a small sound, almost a sigh that
hinted at more—so more Spencer ventured, gentle fingers seeking her delicate collarbone and lower until she gave a shudder and arched against his palm.
‘I didn’t think—I wasn’t sure you wanted me.’ Grace’s words came out in a rush against his ear, her lips finding the lobe and closing around it to send a spike of longing through to Spencer’s core.
He pulled back a fraction to look down into her heavy-lidded eyes, taking in her blushing lips and cheeks flushed with yearning that made him want to groan aloud.
‘Have you run mad? It would be a man of stone who could have you in his bed night after night and not find himself wishing he could touch you. I told you once before I wasn’t there to impose and I intended to keep to my word until told otherwise.’
His mouth lowered to her neck and he relished the gasp and shiver that sent her jolting in his hold. The power of his hunger for her was becoming overwhelming, yet he held himself back from allowing it to overcome him, aware in the fuzzy part of his mind not yet hijacked by want that Grace was an innocent; that fool Henry hadn’t even kissed her, let alone counted the ribs that encased her pounding heart to feel her curve against his hand. The last thing he wanted was to go too far, too fast, and ruin the unexpected turn this unpredictable night had already taken.
As though reading his racing thoughts, Grace stilled and took his face between both hands, making Spencer pause in his blistering exploration of the forbidden paradise secreted beneath her gown.
‘You needn’t feel you should hold back now. I wouldn’t feel you had—imposed.’
Spencer swallowed, the beat of need deep inside him echoing louder to drown out all other thought than that of how beautiful Grace looked in that moment, lying back with her hair fanned out like a golden halo and her grey eyes alive with the same feeling that flickered in Spencer’s soul. She stared back, the smallest suggestion of a defiant smile at her own boldness curving the lips he leaned down to capture once again that trembled beneath his own.
‘You’ve always known your own mind, Mrs Dauntsey. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you.’
He reached down to take the hem of her nightgown between his fingers, allowing them to trace the slender length of her leg as he sought it out and wanting to smile in turn at her quiver. With one fluid movement he drew it over her head and, as the long night crept towards dawn, by the light of the glowing embers, the Captain and his unlikely bride were as one at last.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace’s dreams were interrupted by a startled gasp, filtering through her hazy unconsciousness to invade the deep sleep that fogged her mind and made her slow to open her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, sir, ma’am. Please forgive the intrusion. I’ll just—I’ll make up the other fires instead.’
Hasty footsteps made floorboards creak oddly close to Grace’s head and she finally prised open an eye to see why her usually comfortable bed felt as though it was made of wood that morning and the mattress so strangely furry...
‘That should put paid to any lingering rumours about whether we’re truly married.’
Grace blinked as Spencer’s familiar features hove into view, hardly lit by sunlight creeping beneath still-drawn curtains. He lay propped on one well-muscled arm, hair tousled and, judging by her excellent view of his ravaged torso, wearing nothing beneath the blanket that covered them—the same state of undress a swift glance down showed she shared. His eyes were warm and held a gleam of humour mixed with something else as he watched Grace’s gaze flick from his chest to the bearskin rug they lay on to the empty hearth, understanding beginning to bloom on her face.
‘We’re—we’re in your study, aren’t we?’
Spencer nodded, the amusement in his look growing with the horror in Grace’s own.
‘And was that one of the maids? She came in and saw us—like this?’
Another nod, this time accompanied by light fingers tracing the ridge of her collarbone to make her mind stutter to a halt and her breath seize in her throat.
A small smile curved Spencer’s lips, enhancing their already tempting contours and sending a flicker right through to Grace’s centre. ‘Don’t look so mortified. I’m sure she’s more embarrassed than you are, if that’s possible.’
Any reply Grace might have made was stolen by the caress of those warm fingers across her skin, the unfamiliar sensation scattering stars through her nerves with each stroke. They visited the hollow of her throat to feel where her pulse fluttered before venturing upwards along her neck, skimming its length with such determined softness Grace had to grit her teeth on a sigh.
She was aware of every inch of her body as she lay next to Spencer and allowed him to explore the curve of her bare shoulder emerging from beneath the blanket. Every nerve, every fine hair at her nape felt alive and ready to welcome Spencer’s gentle hands in their careful study, so different from the feverish movements of the night. In the darkness their hunger for each other had seized them in its grip and refused to let go until Grace had arched in Spencer’s arms and come apart at the seams, leaving her breathless and dazed. Now they faced each other in grey daylight all impatience was stripped away to reveal the sweet truth of Spencer’s fascination for the shape of Grace’s knuckles as he stroked each one and she couldn’t help the glow of cautious joy that warmed her at his intent face.
Is this what it’s like? To be with a man who values more than just your name and fortune?
The thought bubbled up inside her to increase the already rapid flit of her heart, so novel and delightful she hardly dared allow it to cross her mind. If Spencer felt the same flood of happiness that coursed through Grace’s veins, it would be the most wonderful thing, more than she had ever dreamed possible. All the hurt, all the painful education Henry had given with her as his unwilling student would be forgotten in the wake of new lessons: that she was worthy of real love and her feelings for Spencer were not a sign of bad judgement at all, rather of her ability to see the good in a man so determined there was none left for her to find.
The desire to follow that delicious train of thought whispered to her again with every pass of Spencer’s fingers down her own as though he was memorising each detail to recall later, his dark brows slightly drawn in a pinch Grace longed to smooth away. It would be so tempting to give in and simply ask Spencer if he felt the same way, and yet...
Her eye fell once again on the complex mess of scars scattered across Spencer’s chest, some hidden beneath the blanket, but others standing proud amid his thatch of dark hair.
There are other things to discuss first. The reason we’re in this situation in the first place is because of his distress last night.
Carefully, as slowly as she might have reached to calm a frightened animal, Grace placed her hand on Spencer’s wounded chest and watched as his throat moved in a reflexive swallow of apprehension and helpless desire that made her shiver. His own hand stilled in its mission of capturing the slight dip of her inner elbow and moved to cover hers, hovering as if to be sure she didn’t venture too far across the ruined skin.
She hesitated, trying hard to find the right words to begin. The knowledge of how close his body was to hers, both of them missing the nightclothes that lay in a tangle of linen a few feet away, made it difficult to think.
‘Do you want to talk about it? What you told me last night?’
Spencer’s sharp eyes dimmed for a moment. A ghost of the pain that had made Grace abandon her self-control the previous night returned to once again tear at her until Spencer dismissed the shadow with a small shake of his head.
‘No. For now, it’s enough that you know the worst of it—and didn’t turn away.’
The temptation to reply was so strong for a moment Grace thought her lips might frame the words of their own volition, but she regained hold of her tongue and instead merely nodded. It was surely safe now, after the events of the night, to tell Sp
encer she had no intention of turning from him for the rest of her life; but the final dregs of the fear Henry’s rejection had instilled in her still circled, to murmur there was no harm in some attempt at restraint. They might have achieved the closest accord a man and a woman ever could, their bodies moving together in instinctive rhythm they had no need to choreograph, but the cruel roots of that pain had forced themselves deeply into Grace’s heart, to twine around it and do their damnedest to halt how it leaped with fresh hope.
If Spencer’s feelings mirrored her own, there would be time enough to explore them later, once she was sure her affections weren’t again misplaced. The way he looked at her now, drinking in the unsure set of her mouth and the way her hair fanned across the rug like a pool of melted gold, was surely the image of a man in love—but she had been wrong before and there was nothing to be gained by rushing in only to have her heart shattered beneath the soles of another man’s boots.
Belatedly Grace realised goosebumps prickled on her skin and she drew up the blanket—taken from the armchair, I see—to cover her bare shoulder. ‘It’s cold in here. Perhaps we should have let that poor maid make a fire before scaring her away.’
Spencer’s dark chuckle stirred the glowing embers in Grace’s stomach, stoking them brighter as he sat up and the cover slipped down to his waist to display his upper body in its full glory.
‘Were you thinking of staying in here a little longer? I can easily warm you myself if that was your intention.’
Distracted by the fascinating and disconcertingly close show of masculinity mere inches away it took a moment for Grace to understand his meaning, but the sudden wicked gleam in his eye wiped away all traces of the sorrow of moments before and she could only gasp as he leaned down to steal the sound from her mouth.
Bracing himself on one strong hand, Spencer gathered her to him with the other, never breaking the heated contact of their lips as Grace reached to twine her arms around his neck. He pulled her closer as effortlessly as if she weighed nothing at all, warm fingers sliding beneath the blanket to curl round and glide down her spine, tongues of fire crackling in their wake. Grace arched her back to allow more room for those clever fingertips to explore, feeling almost faint when they retreated to wander lazily over her ribs and higher while the searing heat of Spencer’s body touched her own and set her every sinew ablaze with want.
Scandalously Wed to the Captain Page 20