“More than kissing?” Her eyes widened. “Better than kissing?”
“God help me.” He cleared his throat. “The combination of kissing and the more make what I have in mind quite pleasant.”
What an utterly fascinating idea! Sleeping in his bed? She’d slept alongside her sister before, especially during storms, but what would it feel like to share a bed with him? “I enjoy time with you, especially the kissing parts. I think I can manage whatever…togetherness you have in mind.”
His jaw tightened. “Do you really have no idea of the intimate workings of a husband and wife?”
“Well, I know about the kissing and an occasional loss of clothing, but Lillias told me she’d share more when I became engaged.”
“I see.” He released another sigh.
She really was a troublesome creature, and the poor man had married her. Was he regretting it all now?
“There is more to it, but it is an intimate affair that requires, in the best cases, the mutual readiness of each party, especially if the pair wish to engage in such affections on a frequent basis.”
She certainly wanted to engage in his kisses on a frequent basis. She stared at him for the longest time, trying to sort out why his entire body looked as stiff as sitting in a pew on Sunday.
“So we need to become better acquainted before we engage in such intimate affections?”
“Yes, that’s it.” His voice firmed as if he’d come to some sort of decision. “Exactly.”
She studied him again, at a complete loss to his meaning. “Do you think it will take a long time for us to become that acquainted?”
He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against his pillows, and groaned. “Heaven help me, I hope not.”
Chapter Eleven
Grace was created for travel, even if she responded with a bit more exuberance than most of the other first-class travelers were used to seeing.
And though Frederick should likely rein in a little of her enthusiasm before they met with his mother, something in the way she filled every corner of his shadowed heart with a new perspective on…well, everything, paused his attempts. The world took on a ruddy glow through her eyes, and his life of loneliness came alive with colors and beauty and hope.
Hope.
Was this what marriage would be like to her? He couldn’t even fathom it.
Of course Frederick had never been married, but he’d engaged in enough relationships to place him among the persons of interest to gossips in town. Yet this was wholly different. Whether from his own repentance from a life of recklessness in trying to sate a thirst or drown a curse or make amends for past wrongs, this connection with Grace, married and free, changed everything.
He’d watched her sleep across from him for five nights, and he wanted to span the distance between their two berths, gather her up in his arms, and discover if every part of her was as beautiful and vibrant as those eyes. But she deserved the wooing process, the chance for affection to build toward an intimate encounter to which she was unprepared. With whom better to aspire for a fairy tale than one’s own wife?
“I’ve never been surrounded by the sea until now, and I’ve always wanted to know what it would feel like since my grandfather’s favorite hymn was one that mentioned God’s love being as vast as the ocean.” She sighed as if the thought ushered a tender memory. “Viewing all these gray and blue waves from the shore is different than being surrounded by them.”
“Yes, quite different.”
“Grandfather said God’s love is like that. Fathoms and fathoms surrounding us so we can never escape it.” Her arms stretched out as if to capture the sea. “To be loved like that must make a great deal of difference in the way we live, mustn’t it?”
“Indeed.” He stared out at the roiling waves dancing to the edge of the sky. Fathoms of love? Apart from his grandparents, love—if one could call it love at all—had been doled out by teaspoons, but God’s love? His throat constricted, memories hammering through opened flood-gates of his mind. Grace’s sentiments echoed hints of his grandmother’s wisdom and called to a deep place in his heart that he’d stuffed beneath his hurt and frantic search for approval—for the love his mother refused to share and the perfection his father expected. He cleared his throat and ushered up a teasing grin. “Is this the same grandfather who taught you how to swim, ride a bicycle, and climb trees?”
“Yes, that one. He was incredibly devout, but he didn’t let that impede his living life fully. In fact, his faith likely fueled a bit of his adventure because he believed God was the maker of creativity and wonder, who created life as a grand journey.” She leaned back against the railing, her fiery hair blowing around her in ringlets.
His throat tightened. “My…my grandmother would have liked you.”
She offered a wrinkle-nosed grin, completely unaware of the impact of her simple declaration. “My grandfather would have liked you. I’m sure of it.”
He cleared his throat and offered his arm to her. “And why is that?”
“Because you are kind, and grandfather always told me to marry a man with a kind heart.” They walked ahead on the promenade, the sea breeze blowing her scent of mint and rosemary around him. His fingers itched to capture the fiery tresses, to know their texture against his skin. They’d certainly become more comfortable with sharing space and holding hands. Would she allow him the freedom of unraveling her hair?
“I’m glad you see kindness in me, Grace.” He tipped his head to her. “Because I am certain you will hear different accounts when we reach Havensbrooke.”
“Well, you may not have been armed with kindness in the past, but you have it now, and now is all we have anyway.” She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Grandfather would say, ‘Kindness is your most valiant weapon. People may fight against many things, but against kindness, they fall unprepared.’” Her gaze held his, and she blinked. “But of course you have other delightful attributes, like being clever and charming.” She leaned nearer, her brows raised. “And excellent company.”
Her generous compliments widened his grin even more. She was much too easy to find endearing. “I must say the company has been my favorite part of the last five days. You’re much better to look at than Blake and not nearly as annoying.”
“What a mercy anyhow. At least someone is more annoying than me.” She released a light laugh, continuing their walk. “But I do wonder how I might improve in my refinement. I feel certain there are probably so many suggestions you have it’s difficult to narrow them down, but perhaps you could begin with a digestible three?”
It took him a full five seconds to catch up with her topic change. “Three?”
“Oh dear.” Her lower lip pouted in a most distracting way as she looked up at him. “There are too many to number, aren’t there? Perhaps you should just start with one.”
“Right now, I only wish for you to enjoy your first transatlantic crossing.”
She studied him through narrowed eyes and then turned back to the view. “Do you think I shocked Mr. and Mrs. Stein at lunch this afternoon with my thrill over the way the sunlight glowed off the ceiling in the dining salon? I didn’t think her brows could rise any higher.”
“Once the shock subsided, I do believe they found you quite charming.”
“I hope I eventually learn how to be quite charming without shocking people senseless first.”
He barely stifled his laugh.
“I do wish you’d laugh,” she said as they resumed their walk. “I imagine it sounds as intoxicating as your voice.”
He leaned his lips near her ear. “You find my voice intoxicating?”
“Oh.” Her breath hitched and his skin heated. “One word and I’m nearly melting to the floor. Imagine how useless I’d be if you put effort into seducing me.”
“My dear Lady Astley, I might terrify you if I unfurled my powers of seduction.”
Her eyes widened, pulling him back to a stop. “You mean you want to seduce me?�
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The way the woman was unaware of her own attractiveness was maddening! From the curve of her jawline to her ready humor to the tenderness in her touch. Seduce her? He wanted much more than that. “Most certainly.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it. I’ve never been seduced before.” He nearly coughed his surprise at her ready response. “Why do you wait? Is it because my unladylike ways have horrified the kissing notions right out of your head?”
“That may be impossible.” He drew in a deep breath and placed his palm over her hand resting on his arm, attempting to turn his wayward intentions back to cold, calm patience. He stopped their walk by the railing and glanced out to sea, his brow furrowed. “My parents did not share a friendship, let alone a—what would you say—lifelong romance?”
Her grin rewarded him.
“I should like more for us.”
“I think we have excellent potential for friendship, don’t you?” She looked back out at the ocean, her smile dimming a little. “Perhaps I’ll have worked out my many blunders by the time Blake visits us as Havensbrooke next week, and then I’ll appear the very model of an English lady.”
“Did I happen to hear my name?” Blake stepped forward from the salon doorway, his gray hat tipped in its usual fashion to match his grin.
“We were just discussing my practice of becoming a proper English lady, Mr. Blake.”
“Now why would you want to do that?” Blake grimaced and shook his head. “I’ve already told Freddie that gloomy old Havensbrooke could use a bit of your American sunshine. And you’ll certainly improve the view.”
“Blake.” Frederick shot Blake a tempered warning, which bounced off Blake’s smile like rain off a roof.
“And who would care for your little idiosyncrasies, when everyone will be so distracted by your style?” He winked over at Frederick, trying to get his back up, if Frederick knew his cousin. “Your hats have no rival, and hats are everything about status, I hear.”
Grace looked from Blake to Frederick, her eyes rounding as she raised a hand to her brim. “Are they?”
“Of course. The bigger the better,” Blake added, eyes brightening with a hidden laugh. “And every additional bird only proves who the real ladies are from the counterfeits.”
“You really talk nonsense, don’t you?” Frederick shook his head, but Grace’s smile had completely faded. “He’s only teasing, Grace. Blake knows as much about fashion as I do.”
“Not so,” Blake was quick to respond. “My mother forced such information on me since she was determined that I should have been the much longed-for daughter she failed to have until my much younger sister finally arrived.” He gave a shrug. “However, Lady Astley, I feel certain you would garner attention wherever you go with such excellent fashion sense and eye-catching hair.”
Grace’s smile died as she absently ran her finger across the edge of her hat’s brim. “Your comment about my hair just reminded me about a rather disgruntled man I saw today. He…he said he’d heard about Lord Astley’s new ginger-headed bride but didn’t believe it.”
Frederick shot Blake a look before turning his attention back to Grace. “What man, Grace?”
“He passed me in the hallway as I went to our room for my scarf.” She patted the blue cloth at her neck. “You remember I went back for it right after lunch?”
“I remember.”
“He seemed to know a great bit about you. He said something about being acquainted with your brother and wondered if he’d run into you on the ship, but I didn’t like him at all.” Her brow crinkled with her frown. “There was something shifty about his eyes. I felt uncomfortable enough that I withdrew a hatpin in case I needed to defend myself. My grandfather said he knew a woman who kept two thieves at bay with a single hatpin and the heel of her—”
“What did he want?” “Only enough to ascertain whether I was Lady Astley or not.” She looked up at him rather quizzically. “He seemed rather shocked that you were my husband, but of course that may be because he expected Lillias. Her sylphlike beauty is widely known. I didn’t tell him much at all and got away from him as quickly as possible.”
“Very good thinking, Lady Astley.” Blake’s expression gave away nothing, but his eyes sharpened with their usual acuity. “Though I feel you could have taken him with your fierceness and a hatpin.”
A smile burst onto Grace’s face, Blake’s nonchalance setting her at ease. But Blake’s behavior didn’t fool Frederick. Something was amiss.
Frederick attempted to match his cousin’s casual response by carefully pulling Grace’s arm through his to resume their walk. “Perhaps he was one of Edward’s business partners. Do you recall what he looked like?”
“Well, he looked exactly as I’d imagine Captain Hook to look. Large, terrifying set of owlish eyebrows. An unruly black mane. A protruding nose just above a very unsatisfying moustache. With the size of his face, he ought to have grown it out a bit more.”
Blake chuckled. “Perhaps we should listen for a ticking crocodile among the waves.”
Grace flashed him a smile and then looked back at Frederick. “He tried to be sly when asking about our travel plans, but I told him it was none of his concern, to which he seemed put out. I kept my hatpin at the ready until I returned to the deck with you.”
“Very smart of you, Grace.” Frederick raised his eyes to Blake, an unspoken agreement passing between them to keep alert. Perhaps it was nothing, but Grace was a part of the equation now, and he’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, even if the “villain” proved nothing more than an exaggeration of her imagination.
Grace had been so happy only a few hours before.
But now, as Frederick sat back in his berth and watched her riffle through three books without reading a page, he knew something was terribly wrong. Her anxiety had been growing ever since dinner, but at first he’d thought it had been her overly conscious attempt to keep from fidgeting.
Blake and Elliott had come to an agreement to keep watch outside the room for any suspicious activity, and even after a solid scout through the ship after dinner, neither Frederick nor Blake located a man fitting Grace’s description. His bride may have an overactive imagination, but she was no liar, and her sense proved adept, but she wouldn’t have let the mysterious man agitate her to such a degree. Truly, if anything, the presence of a mysterious man likely would have fueled her excitement.
She slipped into her bed and shifted around with the blankets, then stood, walked to the closet, and brought out a different book. But that didn’t seem to suit her, so she stood back up again, wringing her hands a little as she moved.
“Grace, are you well?” The silky material of the gown brushed over her skin in a most enticing way. He squeezed his eyes closed to maintain his good intentions.
She paced the length of the row between their beds. Her brow puckered along with her bottom lip. “We arrive in England first thing in the morning, and after Mr. Blake’s comments earlier today…”
“Yes,” he answered slowly. Was she concerned for her safety?
“I—I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Frederick,” she muttered, pausing long enough to look over at him before resuming her pattern. “I never meant for the subterfuge to continue this long.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve not been completely honest with you.” Her breath pumped with the quiver of her lip. “And I should have from the start.”
Everything within him stilled. No, not her. First Celia, then Lillias, and now Grace? He couldn’t have been wrong about her! “Grace?”
He braced himself for the blow.
Her rounded, sapphire eyes met his. “I don’t know the first thing about fashion.”
He released his held breath. “What?”
“I am well read, and I’ve helped Father with his house parties, so I have some understanding of being a hostess, and I can even, possibly, fake being clever, but I’m at a complete loss about fashion. All that
hat talk today was terrifying.”
He stared at her as her words and the intentions behind them moved through his comprehension as if they swam through thick treacle.
“You think my talking and fidgeting are bad, but I have no concept of the clothing world.” Her eyes rounded in the most pitiful of ways. “All these beautiful outfits were Lillias’s. I’d never know what shoes fit with which gown and what hat was meant for afternoon and—”
The pent-up fear she’d built with her introduction burst out of him in an uncontrollable wave of relief and laughter. She stopped her pacing to stare, bright eyes widening.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about me not knowing the proper fashion.” She placed her hands on her hips. “What would your mother think if I walked into public wearing a winter dress with a summer hat? She’d be mortified. And that’s an appropriate use of the word.”
He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t catch his breath. Her adorable concern left him useless to anything but another round of laughter.
“You’re not helpful at all right now, are you?” Her pout started to slip into a grin. “But…but you do have a delightful laugh.”
He couldn’t stop himself. In one fluid motion, he grabbed her nearest hand and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her so she fell against him in the bed. The silky cloth of her gown slid over him until she fitted to one side, pressed against him in the small bed.
She didn’t seem aware of the intimate move he’d made, because she simply pushed up from his side, hand on his chest, and looked at his face, brow peaked. “I don’t see how this helps my fashion sense at all.”
He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her near him, where she belonged. This was a good start in the right direction of their growing intimacy. He slipped his hand through her wealth of hair to cup the back of her head and drew her down to his mouth. She melted against him, warm, soft, each curve pressing into him with a wonderful ease.
The Mistletoe Countess Page 12