“Oh, yes, my lord. You’re an excellent host. Are you enjoying yourself, too?”
“I am now.”
“Charmer,” she chided softly.
His smile broadened. “I have some news.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head in curiosity.
“Sir Phillip has just made me the new constable.”
She laughed aloud. “Are you serious?”
“I am. You knew it was coming, didn’t you?”
“I suspected.”
“Well, it’s soon to be official. So don’t do anything naughty, or I may have to arrest you.”
“Me? Naughty?” she retorted.
“Oh, yes,” he answered evenly, narrowing his eyes as he fixed her with a wicked half smile. “Come, Miss Kenwood, you may fool the rest of the world with your all-conquering niceness, but I have firsthand experience of your naughty side from a certain night in Lievedon House, remember? And cue the blush,” he added with a sardonic laugh.
She folded her arms across her chest as, indeed, her face turned scarlet. “You obviously have me confused with someone else. I am Grace Kenwood. I am practically a saint. Ask anyone.”
“Right,” he whispered. “Why don’t you come over here and let me see about that?”
“Are you trying to tempt me?” She bit her lower lip, enthralled by his searing stare.
“Is it working?” He put out his hand. “Come here,” he ordered softly.
She swallowed hard and took a cautious step closer. “You’d better not try to kiss me,” she breathed, though that was precisely what she longed for him to do.
“Never.” He reached out and captured her wrist, tugging her nearer. “It’s just that I haven’t seen much of you lately, with all the work going on. I’ve been missing my pretty friend. Missing our talks.”
“Talks?” she asked with an arch smile as he gathered her into his arms.
“Aye, just talking,” he assured her in a whisper. He took hold of her waist and drew her up against his chest.
Grace quivered when his hand pressed gently into the small of her back, a slow, sensual caress that focused her fevered attention on how perfectly their bodies fit together.
“So how’ve you been?” he whispered, but she never got the chance to answer the playfully casual question, for he tipped her head back with his fingertips and claimed her mouth.
His kiss deepened as she opened her mouth wider for his questing tongue. As she wrapped her arms restlessly around him, clinging to his shoulders, weak-kneed with desire, Trevor turned her with a smooth motion, bracing her back against the wall.
He kissed her harder, faster, driving his body against hers. She moaned in pleasure and confusion. Trevor threaded his fingers through hers, lifting her hands above her head to pin her to the wall. He kissed her again and again and did not stop until she was panting.
But voices from downstairs warned them not to get any more carried away than they already were.
It would have been so easy to do. Grace couldn’t stop touching him, exploring his chiseled jaw with her knuckle, twining her fingers through his long, dark hair, rubbing the muscled expanse of his chest.
She wanted him—and he knew it.
He closed his eyes and licked his lips with a small moan as though he couldn’t get enough of her caresses. But when the noises from downstairs grew louder, after a moment, he captured her hand and kissed it, bringing her explorations to a halt. “Come to me whenever you’re ready,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” He kissed her chin softly where his day’s beard had chafed her skin, then he nuzzled her cheek and skimmed his lips along her throat. She tilted her head back to cradle his face against her neck, her fingers threading through his long, dark hair.
But when he lifted his head again and braced his hands on the wall on either side of her, Grace looked up to meet his stare and saw the hungry smolder in his eyes.
He needs it bad, Marianne had opined, and Grace was beginning to think that she did, too.
“Whenever you want me,” he repeated in a searing whisper, and it was all suddenly more than she could bear.
She dropped her gaze, her blood on fire, her cheeks burning. He let her escape with a patient, knowing gaze full of hunger; her pulse pounding in her ears, she ducked beneath his muscled arm and fled.
Chapter 21
“You look different,” George said to Grace when he arrived a few days later in answer to her urgent summons.
They went out onto the terrace and sat down on the chairs.
George stretched out his long legs and crossed one champagne-polished bootheel over the other. “This whole place seems different, actually. What’s happened around here?”
“Lord Trevor Montgomery, that’s what happened.”
He furrowed his brow. “The Order agent?”
“He bought the Grange, haven’t you heard?”
At first, George received this news with a curious smile, but then he shot up from his chair, his face draining of color. “Has Callie met him?”
“Yes,” Grace answered darkly. “That’s why I wrote to you.”
George stared at her for a long moment with a stricken look, no doubt remembering all those ladies mobbing Trevor on the night of the ball at Lievedon House.
“Very well, don’t try to spare my feelings,” he said as he slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “Is she in love with him?”
“Maybe a little,” Grace admitted gingerly, “but we both know Callie belongs with you! George, listen to me,” she insisted when he cursed. “If you’re ever going to sort out this bad blood between Callie and you, you’re going to have to stop being so passive. Take responsibility for your relationship with her and for your own actions. That’s what a man must do.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” He shook his head uneasily. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“Well, it’s either that or lose her.” She paused. “I know you love her, George. You and Callie belong together. You have to make her see that. The time has come for you to win her, whatever it takes, as I said in my letter—or this time, I fear you may lose her for good.”
“But, Grace, I’m an idiot! A scoundrel!”
“Excuses.”
“Facts! I’m a happy-go-lucky rake. How can I ever compete with a hero of the Realm like an Order agent, especially when he looks like a bloody demigod like Montgomery? Ugh, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“George,” she soothed with a sympathetic frown.
“I’ll die if I lose her! I’ll die if she marries someone else! She’s probably already forgotten I exist.”
“No she hasn’t. She mentioned you just the other night.”
“She did?”
“Yes. Now get ahold of yourself,” Grace scolded. “You don’t have to worry about Lord Trevor and Callie.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s—” She stopped abruptly. It seemed too bold, too grandiose to claim that he was in love with her. “That is,” she cast about, “Lord Trevor and I—”
George’s eyebrow slowly rose. “Yes?” he prompted.
Grace stared at him, tongue-tied.
“What? How now, Miss Kenwood? Are you telling me . . . you and the Order agent?”
She closed her eyes and nodded fervently as her cheeks turned radish red.
George let out a short, loud, and very roguish laugh. “Jove’s braces! Well how do you like that.”
“Oh, George, I love him terribly.” The words slipped out in spite of her modesty. “If I had any idea what agony it is to fall in love—but I didn’t mean to!”
“There, there, my dear. I know. I sympathize, believe me. But are your affections returned? They’d better be, for if he breaks your heart, I’ll run the bleeder through. Even if he murd
ers me before I have the chance to draw my sword.”
“Ah, there’s no need for that,” she said with a tremulous laugh. “For, yes, I have reason to believe that he cares for me, as well.”
“Well, dash my wig,” George murmured, gazing at her. “Somebody finally got to you.”
“It’s not so strange, is it? I am a woman. I do have a heart.”
“One so diligently turned to love of fellow man that I wasn’t sure you were capable of the Cupid sort.”
“Not capable?” she protested.
He shrugged.
“Well, the little bounder obviously had an arrow with my name on it hidden away in his quiver,” she said. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
George chuckled and leaned in his chair. “I’m so proud of myself! I feel absurdly responsible for this somehow. After all, you were at my house when you first saw him.”
She shot him a dubious look. “And I recall your saying you told your father’s secretary not to invite him.”
“And you were the one cringing in terror that ‘the assassin’ was going to kill everyone in the ballroom!” he retorted, and Grace giggled.
“Well, he hasn’t killed anyone since he arrived here, so I think we’ll be all right.”
“I’m glad you have amended your opinion of our celebrity guest.”
She paused. “Are they still talking about him in London?”
“A bit. Not as much, though, now that his former fiancée has married her new beau.” He looked askance at her. “Do you think he knows about that?”
“No.” She puzzled over this. “I don’t think so.”
“From the sound of things, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to care.”
“I hope not. He’s already been hurt enough.” She sighed. “I can’t believe that after his involvement with such a dazzling beauty, that he’d ever look on me—”
“Oh, don’t be a cake-head!” George cut her off with lordly indignation. “Honestly! What are you, fishing for compliments?”
“No!”
“You’re as lovely as any other woman out there, Grace. You just try to hide it, for some strange reason. I’ve no idea why.”
“Vanity is wrong,” she said after pondering it briefly. “One oughtn’t parade oneself.”
“Why not? Everybody else does! You’d like to blend into the furniture if given a chance.”
“Not anymore,” she replied.
George studied her intently. “I see. Well, if that is the case, then this fellow is good for you, and therefore, I approve.” He bowed his head.
She laughed.
“As happy as I am for you, and for him, frankly I am happiest for myself. This really means he has no designs on Callie?”
“None whatsoever,” she replied, mimicking his slouching pose with a one-shouldered shrug. “He sees her as little more than a child. He’s nearly twice her age, after all. He’s tried to drop the hint, but you know Callie. Once she makes her mind up, she’s not one to take no for an answer.”
“Ho, believe me, I know it,” George answered with a snort.
“I don’t want her to make a fool of herself, and I really don’t want her to be hurt. You must help me. At this point, to be honest, you are my only hope. Otherwise, war might break out in the village. At least between the Kenwoods and the Windleshams.”
“I see . . . What exactly shall I do?”
“Simple. Go and make up with her and save her from heartbreak. You’re the only one who can prevent a lot of sorrow around here if you can persuade her that she belongs with you, not Trevor. I’m worried, George. I don’t want to lose her friendship any more than you want to lose her love. I just want everything to be peaceful.”
“Do you really think she’s in a frame of mind to forgive me?”
“I’m not saying it will be easy,” she admitted, watching the birds flit from tree to tree. “But most ladies can’t resist a man who’s genuinely sorry, especially if he is willing to grovel to be given another chance.”
“Grovel?” He shot her a skeptical frown. “I am a future marquess.”
Grace shrugged. “You either love her or you don’t. Besides, you know full well that even a marquess can be miserable if he lets love slip through his fingers.”
“Hmm.” George slouched again and scanned the cloudy sky. “Very well,” he said judiciously at length. “I will do this thing, no matter how she rails.”
“Callie loves you, deep down.”
“Very deep,” he said wryly.
“I firmly believe she doesn’t have any intention of ever marrying anyone else but you. Her interest in Lord Trevor is but a fleeting infatuation. I think she longs for a serious love in her life. You just have to show her that you’re the one she’s meant for and that you’re ready.”
George was silent for a moment, pondering her words. Then he reached into his waistcoat pocket. “Do you think this might convince her?” He pulled out something that glinted in the light.
When he held it up between his fingers, Grace marveled. A diamond ring! “Well done, Georgie-boy,” she murmured in astonishment. “That’s the spirit!”
“I had a feeling you were going to say these sorts of things to me. I brought it just in case you thought she might finally be receptive.” He grinned and tucked the engagement ring safely back into his waistcoat pocket. Then he shook his head and took a deep breath. “As they say, I shall either come back with my shield or on it.”
Laughing, Grace reached over and squeezed his hand in affection. “Now, George, that’s what the Romans said to a young man going off to war, not one setting out to win the hand of his lady.”
“Love, war, same thing. Either one, you bleed for.”
“When did you become a philosopher?” she asked in amusement, as he rose to undertake his mission.
“All gamblers are philosophers, poppet. Hard-won wisdom. It’s the one thing you have left after you lose your shirt.”
“Bosh. Now then,” she said, rising to see him off, “I want to be the first to hear the news of how you fare! And remember, the bit about Trevor and me is still a secret, all right?”
“She’s going to find out eventually, isn’t she?”
“Yes, but not until the two of you make up. After that, she shouldn’t mind so much that Trevor and I want to be together. Nor will her mother,” Grace added pointedly.
“Such scheming, Miss Kenwood!” he taunted in mock disapproval.
“I have no choice. If it goes badly, Lady Windlesham is sure to paint me as the villainess of the county.”
“So you had devious motives for summoning me here all along.”
“I can’t help it, George! I love him so much, my heart could burst.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we? Fear not, dear lady.” He laid his finger to the side of his nose and gave her a wink. “I can be as secretive and sneaky as a spy when the occasion calls.”
“Good luck, George,” she answered in affection.
He leaned down and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. “Same to you, my dear. Now go get ’im.” He elbowed her in teasing affection before striding off to his carriage.
She watched him spring up into his phaeton. Instead of waving farewell, the jester made the sign of the cross over himself. “Wish me luck! Better yet, get your father to start praying because this is probably going to take a miracle.”
“You’ll do fine. Just don’t lose your temper. And remember to grovel!”
He sent her a dubious wave, then drove off.
Grace stood there for a long moment, watching his elegant phaeton zooming away down the drive behind his prancing horses. In truth, she was nervous for him. She prayed that Callie was in a good mood today.
She knew the debutante was at home. Hopefully, Lady Windlesham would not spoil everything by a gus
hing overreaction when her original, hoped-for son-in-law appeared at the front door.
Lady Windlesham had always been George’s greatest campaigner with her daughter. Perhaps that was part of why the teenaged girl had dug her heels in—not just to punish George for cheating but to defy her overbearing mother.
Then Grace’s restless thoughts about her neighbors and everything else faded as she cast her gaze out beyond the trees toward the Grange.
All her focus—mind, body, and emotions—homed in on the prospect of taking Trevor up on his scandalous invitation.
A shiver of desire moved through her. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, losing the battle against temptation. How long had she been fighting it?
She did not want to fight anymore.
She took a deep breath and stared at the ground, then tilted her head back and looked up at the sky.
Everything in her longed for him. Suddenly, she gave up trying to resist. Surrendered to her need. She left the doorway of her father’s house without a backward glance and started walking down the drive.
Her pulse thrumming, she refused to think of anything except the next step over the graveled ground, the next and the next, until she was on his doorstep, rapping on the door with a hand that shook, her heart pounding.
And when he came to the door, opened it, and saw her, she took an uncertain step forward, then she was in his arms.
He did not make her talk, did not ask her to explain.
She launched herself into his embrace and kissed him passionately. He pulled her into the house with an arm hooked round her waist.
She heard the door bang as he pushed it shut, but she paid no mind, enthralled in the fevered stroking of his open mouth on hers. She clung to him, trembling. Then he swept her off her feet and carried her upstairs to his bed.
Joy and lust surged through his veins, a heady, potent brew spiked with startled relief that she had come at last. That this was finally, actually happening. Intoxicated by her fiery onslaught, Trevor felt like the lad who’d kicked the beehive: Instead of stings, she swarmed him with delightful kisses all over his face and neck and chest.
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