“I’m going to say hello to Lorinda,” she told Chloe, and then made a beeline through the crowd until she stood at her friend’s side. “Where on earth have you been?”
Lorinda, who was of a petite stature, wore her thick brunette hair in such a tall and complicated style that Grace was at eye-level with a shimmering emerald adornment.
“We’ve been in the country all this time,” she said, clearly put out she’d missed some of the Season already. “We had to wait for Father to get back from his voyage to India, and he was three weeks late doing so. I kept begging Mother to let me go on ahead with Aunt Sylvia, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Well, you know Aunt Sylvia—not much of a chaperone, which suits me just fine but gives Mother heart palpitations. What have I missed? Have you set your cap for anyone yet? Goodness, did you see the Duke of Somerset. Pity he’s engaged to that wretched Lady Alicia.”
Lorinda kept talking but Grace had stopped listening. Lady Alicia seemed a fine and beautiful lady from afar—she’d never think to call her wretched. Part of her savored this information and was desperate to know more about what exactly made Lady Alicia so wretched.
“What do you mean?” she blurted out, cutting Lorinda off mid-sentence.
Lorinda tilted her head sideways and blinked her sapphire eyes a few times. “About what?”
“Lady Alicia.”
Lorinda met her with a blank stare, and Grace resisted the urge to laugh. Her friend spoke so quickly on so many different topics that she’d already forgotten what she’d said only seconds ago.
“You said she was wretched. What makes her so?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lorinda’s hand shot up to cover her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said anything. She’s your friend, and I’m sure she’s a lovely person. Please, forget I said a word.”
“No, no,” Grace rushed to correct her. “She isn’t my friend at all—I’ve never even met her.”
“Oh, thank heavens.” Lorinda slumped with relief. “I know I speak out of turn far too often. I ought to learn to bite my tongue.”
“That’s all right,” Grace said, brushing off her friend’s concerns on her character. “Now go on. What of Lady Alicia?”
Her friend cast about to make sure no one was close enough to hear them, and then grabbed onto Grace’s elbow and pulled her toward her. She stretched up on tiptoe and whispered, “She’s been—ahem—meeting, shall we say, with a man. Privately. And not just any man.”
Grace looked down, confused. “What do you mean? What kind of man is it?”
“The kind her father would have an apoplexy about if he knew.”
“A rake? A rogue? A lawyer?”
“A footman.”
The word hung in the air for a moment. The whir of voices around her faded until all she could hear was footman as it echoed in her mind. What in the world was Lady Alicia doing with a footman?
“Tell me more,” she demanded.
“The footman works for my cousin Cassandra. Well, her parents, really. She claims she’s seen them in the alley, down by the mews, in rather compromising positions.”
“You’re joking,” Grace said, unable to believe what she was hearing.
“On my life, I’m not. Oh, blast, here comes Mother. I’d better go. Will you come for tea tomorrow? We have much to catch up on.”
“Yes, of course.” Grace stared after her friend, dumbfounded. What on earth was she supposed to do with this scandalous information? And why was said information suddenly making her grin like an idiot?
~*~
Thank God they’d arrived late to that blasted concert. It was as if Hell had unleashed its fury on the Courtenay drawing room, intent on torturing a select few of the ton. Of course, the bright spot of the evening had been seeing a rather discombobulated Grace Clarke toward the front of the room. Was it possible she felt for him what he was starting to feel for her? She seemed so flustered upon his arrival, and the awkward smile she’d given him after turning to find him in the crowd was…well, telling. At least he thought it was, but perhaps it had nothing to do with him. Perhaps there was someone else there causing her to appear out of sorts. She certainly didn’t act so oddly on their garden walk yesterday. Not until the end, anyway. She had run off rather abruptly at the end of their little chat, hadn’t she?
Well, never mind. Lady Alicia sat across from him in their carriage now, not Grace Clarke. As a matter of fact, it was highly unlikely Grace Clarke would ever sit across from him in this carriage, or any carriage for that matter. Why did that thought sour his mood so?
“Did you enjoy the musicale?” he asked of his fiancée, desperate to shift his thoughts from Miss Clarke.
Half of Lady Alicia’s face was bathed in moonlight streaming in from the window; the other half was completely dark. This struck Evan in an odd way, as if it were a metaphor for her entire personality. Sweet and light in one moment, dark and cunning in the next.
“The sisters Courtenay worked very hard on their program, it would seem,” she said, avoiding giving him a direct answer.
“Hopefully, they’ll work a bit harder for next time,” Mother put in, never one to beat about the bush.
“And you, Your Grace? Did you find the music to your liking?” Alicia asked, her tone sweet as honey.
“I found the concert to be satisfactory.”
Silence fell over the carriage. Evan listened intently to the sounds coming from outside—the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, the muffled voices of people on the streets, the creaking and rumbling of the wheels over the road. It was soothing, and far preferable to conversation with the two women who sat across from him.
Thankfully, Lady Alicia didn’t live far from Courtenay House. Though Evan would have to tolerate his mother now that his fiancée was no longer with them, it was easier to ignore her than it was Alicia.
“You’ll not disgrace our name by leaving her at the altar,” Mother said once they were alone.
“Good God. What is with the two of you?” he returned, not caring that his tone was less than respectful. “I have no such intentions.”
“Good.” The duchess closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the squabs. Apparently, they were done speaking, which suited him just fine.
Upon their return home, Evan went straight out to the garden. He didn’t know why—he only knew he couldn’t go to sleep yet. His mind was racing. He felt restless and maybe just a little helpless. The constant talk of abandoning his bride at the altar was starting to wear on him, as if there weren’t enough things wearing on him as it was.
Five weeks. After fifteen years of putting it off, he found himself staring down the barrel of his marriage. How had it snuck up on him so quickly? Part of him wished he’d not felt that tug of honorability that brought him back to England. If he had just ignored it, he’d still be in Paris, enjoying his life.
Riddled with guilt.
But how would that have been any different than now? He would feel guilty no matter what.
He stepped out onto the verandah and lit a cheroot before descending the steps into the manicured garden. He should have gone to the left, far away from the Wetherby’s house, but he couldn’t help himself. Thoughts of Grace plagued him, and he wanted to know what she was up to tonight. Was she still at the Courtenay’s? Or had she come home and gone straight to bed? Would she take an evening bath by candlelight? Or would she come out for a moonlit walk in the garden?
Damn, but the thought of her in the bath was going to leave him aching and horribly uncomfortable.
Evan sauntered toward the right wall, trying to put the image of a naked, wet Grace from his mind as he scanned the windows on the Wetherby’s townhouse. Only a couple rooms were lit on the first floor, but all the bedrooms were dark. Perhaps they weren’t home yet, or perhaps they were already abed. Though that seemed unlikely, since he and his family had been among the first to make their departure from the musicale, despite their late arrival. Which had been entirely the fault of Lady Alicia. She
’d made them wait in her drawing room for the better part of a half hour before she finally swept into the room. The duchess had seemed pleased by this, so he could only deduce that it was her idea to have Lady Alicia keep them waiting. He couldn’t puzzle out why, though. The mind of a woman was a deuced complicated and often ridiculous thing. Why did they see the need to play games? All men wanted—or at least, all Evan wanted—was honesty and companionship. And passion, of course. None of which had anything to do with keeping him waiting en route to a dreadful musicale.
He stopped on the path and took a long drag of his cheroot, his thoughts shifting to Paris. Of evenings at the opera followed by raucous nights in a bistro, drinking with his friends without a care in the world. That was, of course, before his father died. The burden of his guilt and fear grew after that, and he’d started to retreat to drink alone, often finding himself in the arms of a willing widow or a lovely courtesan.
He threw his cheroot to the ground and stamped it out with a foot, trying to stamp out the memories of his darkest days at the same time. He was about to move on when a flicker of light appeared in one of the upstairs windows. He sucked in a breath and held it. Was it her? Would she undress before the window? A completely preposterous thought, but he could hope, couldn’t he?
Shadows danced on the walls, the silhouettes in the shape of a woman. Was it the woman he sought?
Damn it! Listen to him. He ought not be seeking any woman at all. What was the matter with him? Standing out here, waiting to catch a glimpse of his neighbor to whom he was most definitely not engaged.
Evan turned on his heel, determined to go back inside and go to bed, when he heard the click of a door opening on the verandah of the Wetherby townhouse. He held his breath again as the silhouette of a woman walked down the stairs.
Grace.
What was she doing out here? It was late. She ought to be going to bed, not wandering a garden in the dead of night.
“Evan?” came her tender voice moments later, making his heart beat so loudly in his ears that he barely heard her ask, “Is that you?”
Seven
“Grace?” Evan answered from just over the wall. “What are you doing out here?”
“Oh, erm…nothing,” she replied, even though she knew full well why she’d come out. She’d seen him light his cheroot from the library window just moments ago. “What are you doing out here?”
“Taking some air,” he replied. “And basking in the moonlight.”
“Can one truly bask in moonlight?” Grace wondered aloud. It was a random thought, but the idea did strike her as odd. Besides, it was easier to talk about the moon and its baskability than to address the more grave matter of his fiancée’s infidelity.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It just seems that while one can bask in the sun—its warmth, its rays, and so on—the moon offers none of that.”
“It offers light, and one can always bask in light.”
“But bask seems to be more directly related to the heat in my mind,” Grace countered.
“Well, then let me amend my statement…I was walking in the moonlight. Better?” There was a hint of humor to his tone that warmed Grace as if the moon did, in fact, put off heat.
“Yes,” she replied. “Better.”
There was a beat of silence and then she ventured, “Did you enjoy the quartet this evening?”
“Did you?”
“I asked you first,” she said, laughing.
“Yes, but the Courtenay sisters may be your friends, and I wouldn’t want to say anything insulting should that be the case.”
“Then I shall take that as a no.” Grace smiled to herself on the other side of the wall. She imagined he was nervous that he may have already insulted her or her friends. It was fun to make him suffer, even if only for a moment, but at last she decided to put him out of his misery. “There is no reason to worry, Your Grace. I contemplated several times throughout the concert chopping my own ears off just so I wouldn’t have to listen to it anymore.”
Evan burst into laughter. “You are quite an unusual girl, Grace Clarke, but I completely understand your desire.”
His choice of words made heat rush to Grace’s face. He was speaking of the desire to chop off her ears, but still…did he have any idea of her true desires? If he did, she might expire on the spot of embarrassment. Unless, of course, he returned her desires.
She shook her head of the thought. He was engaged to someone else, and even though Lady Alicia was not faithful to him, he’d been nothing but gentlemanly when it came to her. Mostly. He had spoken of his unhappiness, of his wish that he could marry whomever he pleased, hadn’t he?
That churning in Grace’s belly began again. She had information that she ought to share with him. He should know what Lady Alicia was up to, shouldn’t he? They were engaged to be married, so he had a right to know, didn’t he?
“Would you like to come walk with me?” she asked quickly before she lost her nerve.
“Oh,” he said, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I suppose I could.”
Grace’s heart raced as she went to meet him at the gate. He still wore his evening clothes, all fitted and black with a crisp white shirt underneath. Only he’d taken his cravat off and the shirt hung open at the neck, revealing a bit of dark chest hair. Everything about him made her anxious and aware, yet she couldn’t stand not to be near him. What on earth did that mean?
She smiled as he turned to her once he’d closed the gate behind him. The smile he returned made her legs all wobbly, like a poorly set aspic. They started down the garden path, silently, side-by-side, not touching but Grace desperately wished he would reach out and take her hand. She longed for his touch, longed to feel his warmth, some sign of affection, even though that was an unreasonable desire. He was engaged.
Grace couldn’t hold it in any longer. Under the auspices of wanting him to know what he was getting into, but really because she prayed it would give her a fighting chance to win his affections, she said, “I’ve learned something tonight I think you ought to know.”
There was a pause, and then, “Oh?”
Grace stopped in her tracks. She ought to be facing him head on when she told him this news. It wasn’t casual talk about the weather—it was a serious matter of life. His life. “I’ve heard an unsavory rumor about Lady Alicia,” she said, and then rushed on. “I know I shouldn’t tell tales out of school. It’s not my place—I know that. But as your friend, I cannot let you go on thinking the best of your fiancée.”
Evan’s brow furrowed. In the moonlight he looked even more dangerous than he did in the daytime. It both frightened and excited her. “What has she done?” he asked, his tone curious but tentative, as if he wanted to know but didn’t.
Oh, heavens. This was it. This was the moment. Surely he would be grateful to her for telling him, wouldn’t she?
She wiped her sweaty palms down her dress as she mustered up the courage to finally say, “Lady Alicia has a lover.”
There. She’d said it. The air whooshed out of her on a sigh. She felt so much better now.
“Are you playing a joke on me?”
His harsh tone took Grace off guard, and she looked up into the cold, hardened face of her neighbor. Perhaps she had celebrated her bravery a moment too soon.
“O-of course not!” she stuttered as her limbs turned numb with a combination of shame and fright and indignation. “I-I thought you would want to know.”
“Why the devil would I want to know such a thing?” he barked back. “I’m to marry the woman in only five weeks time, for God’s sake!”
“Exactly!” Grace countered. “I thought you should know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
Evan took a step closer to her so they were practically nose-to-nose. She tried desperately to ignore the musky, spiced aroma of the cheroot on his breath or the clean linen scent of his clothes that wafted to her on the breeze. “Let me explain some
thing to you, Miss Clarke,” he bit out. “I have not gotten myself into anything. My parents have gotten me into this. I did not choose Lady Alicia, she was chosen for me, and as unhappy as I am about that decision, there is not a thing I can do about it.”
“But—”
“Lady Alicia will be a pretty thing to wear upon my arm when we go to parties, and she will bear my heir, but beyond that, I do not care what she does, so long as she is discreet about it.”
Grace’s head was spinning. A pretty thing on his arm? “But—”
“Now you’ve gone and ruined things and all I can think about is retaliating.”
Grace gulped. “Retaliating?” Did he mean to say something awful to her about a family member or a dear friend? What in the world did he mean by that?
“Evening the score,” he said by way of clarification, but Grace still didn’t know what that meant.
“I—”
Before she could get out another word, Evan pressed his lips against hers, and her body slammed hard against his. He held her tightly, one hand splayed across her back, the other at the back of her head, keeping her lips firmly anchored to his. Grace couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She had no idea what was happening or why, but she liked it. Very much. It caused a tingling in her nether regions and that rapid fluttering in her heart. She never wanted it to end.
What was a firm, closed-lip kiss quickly melted into something far more sensual. Something that quite literally took Grace’s breath away. Evan’s lips softened and his tongue darted out to part Grace’s mouth. She opened instinctively for him, allowing him entry, all the while thinking how wrong it all was. All the while knowing that when the sun rose in the morning, Lady Alicia would still belong to him, and she, Grace, would belong to no one. Her heart and her mind battled feverishly as Evan ravished her mouth and caressed her back, her hair, making her fall more in love with him with every passing second.
“Stop!” she cried, shoving him away with all her strength.
He stumbled back a couple paces and stood staring at her, breathing heavily, his entire body as tense as Grace’s felt.
The Temptation of the Duke (Regency Romance) Page 7