He wished he could reach past the shards of his broken heart and find a fragment of love that remained unclaimed that he could offer her, but she deserved so much more than a scrap. She was worthy of the whole of a heart and then some.
She would give to a man all she had to give and she deserved to receive no less in return. A man would be better for having loved her. She would cause him to rise above mediocrity. Of that he had no doubt.
She skimmed her hand along his thigh.
“Grace.” It seemed to be the only word he was capable of uttering.
“You’ve touched me intimately, Lovingdon. Why shouldn’t I be able to touch you?”
“Because you’re a lady.” Thank God, he managed to find more words, not that they were particularly adequate.
She laughed against his mouth, and he breathed in the scent of cinnamon. He wondered if she’d enjoyed a hard sweet while she prepared herself for the lecture.
Then she nipped at the underside of his jaw, and he groaned. Her fingers tugged at his cravat. “This is in the way,” she said. “I want to kiss your neck. Everything is in the way.” She reached for the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Grace, we’re traveling in a coach through the London streets. Your reputation—”
“Who’s to see? When did you become such a prude?”
He’d been born one, had lived as one until two years ago. He’d certainly never taken Juliette in a moving conveyance. He wasn’t going to take Grace either, but he could damn well enjoy her, and if she wanted to explore him in the sheltered confines so be it. His neck cloth had disappeared, and she was suckling at his flesh, nipping the tender skin along his collarbone. He might bare evidence of her conquest on the morrow. Wicked, wicked girl.
Bracing a foot on the opposite bench, he drew her across his lap. Her hands were in his hair, traveling over his shoulders, touching, touching, touching. Her mouth slipped inside his unbuttoned shirt collar. “So what can you tell me of hummingbirds?” she asked.
Hummingbirds? “Who the bloody hell cares?” he asked, just before reclaiming her mouth. With her, he had no rules about kisses. He kissed her and wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to touch her, be touched by her. Lust, it was only lust, and yet it was a fiery need unlike any he’d ever possessed.
She pushed back slightly, dragging her mouth across his bristled jaw and he wished he’d shaved recently. “My mother will care,” she whispered. “She’ll ask me what I learned this evening. I can’t very well tell her the truth of it.”
“They hum,” he answered, distracted as she wedged her hand between them and began caressing him through his trousers.
“When they sing?” she asked.
“I suppose. No, that’s not right.” He couldn’t think. “Perhaps it comes from their feet. Is it important?”
“Depends what Mother asks.”
“It’s a sound they make, when they fly, I think.”
“Their wings, then?”
“Yes, all right.” He should take her to the lecture but how could he possibly sit contentedly beside her when he knew he could have her sprawled over his lap?
Reaching for the laces on the back of her dress, he began to make short work of the knots and bows. She straightened so quickly that her head nearly sent his jaw out the window, snapping his head back. The suddenness of her movement, with no warning, allowed him only enough time to bite back part of a harsh groan.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gently rubbing his chin, massaging his cheeks. “But you can’t undo my bodice.”
“Grace, I’ve seen you below the waist.”
“Yes, I know. I was there when you did.”
Had his passion frightened her? That made no sense as she was the one who instigated what was happening between them now. “You can tear off my clothing, but I can’t reciprocate?”
“No. I . . . I apologize. I think I lost sight of myself there.” She scrambled off him, returned to her side of the coach, and gazed out the window. “I’m sorry.”
“They have a name for women who lead a man on a merry chase and then leave him in agony. It’s not very complimentary.”
“Are you in agony?”
He was close to dying. He was angry, but more so at himself for not stopping things before they got to this point. Shifting on the seat, he straightened himself. He would most assuredly be taking a frigid bath when he returned to his residence.
“I’ll survive,” he said harsher than he intended. “But I suggest you not take such liberties with any gentleman courting you. He might not stop when you ask.”
“He will if he loves me.”
“It’s the ones who don’t love you who cause the problems.”
“You stopped,” she pointed out, and he wondered if she was hoping for some declaration of affection. No, she was too smart for that.
“I stopped because it never should have begun,” he told her.
“You care for me.”
“Of course, I do, but I don’t love you as I loved Juliette. And that’s what you’re seeking, isn’t it? A love such as I had?”
“You judge love by her,” she stated. No question, and yet he felt obligated to answer.
“I judge everything by her.”
She’d known that of course, which made her wanton actions incredibly embarrassing. His desire for her didn’t go below the surface, and while the sensations were incredibly lovely, they left her wanting.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
Her heart hammering with trepidation, she snapped her gaze over to his. “Pardon?”
In spite of the shadows, she could feel his gaze homed in on her like a physical presence.
“Sometimes I have the sense you’re not being quite honest with me, that there’s something more going on here than a quest for love.”
She clutched her hands tightly together until they began to ache. She couldn’t tell him everything. She didn’t want her truth revealed in a coach, especially with a man who loved another and not her. Love was the key to acceptance. She was sure of it. Yet she knew she must tell him something. “If you must know I don’t much like this life you lead. I thought that in your helping me, you might also help yourself to again become the man you were.”
“He no longer exists.”
“So I’m beginning to realize. You’re never going to return to Society completely, are you?”
“No.”
His certainty was disheartening. Although she should have expected it.
Reaching up, he rapped on the ceiling. The coach slowed, and she was aware of it turning down another street. She had little doubt he was returning her home.
“I should fasten you back up,” he said somberly.
“Yes, all right.” While she turned slightly to give him easier access to her back, he crossed over to sit beside her.
With a solitary finger, he caressed her nape. Closing her eyes, she wished she possessed the courage to give him permission to undo all the fastenings.
“I apologize for what I said earlier,” he whispered softly. “You’re an incredibly beautiful woman, Grace. You entice me, but I am not yet blackguard enough to take complete advantage. I would have stopped short of ruining you.”
“But you don’t think Vexley will.”
“Do you really like him?”
“He seems nice enough. They all seem nice enough. I should be content with that, I suppose.”
He began tying her laces. He’d loosened so many so quickly. She fought not to consider where he might have obtained that experience.
“You deserve more than contentment,” he said. “You deserve a man who smiles every time he sees you.”
“Unlike you, who scowls.”
“Precisely. A man who loves you will want an accounting of every moment when you’re away from him—not because he’s jealous but because he missed you dreadfully and wants to assure himself that your time apart brought you a measure of happiness, because the price he paid was loneliness in y
our absence. Nearly everything he sees will remind him of you. No matter what he is doing, he will wish you were there to experience it with him. No matter how boring he may find the things that interest you, he’ll willingly be there to share them with you.
“Within a pocket, he will carry something that reminds him of you. It can be the silliest or seemingly most inconsequential item: a button from a dress, a handkerchief that carries your perfume, a locket of your hair, a petal from your favorite flower, a missive that you penned. Not a particularly endearing missive, but it’s from you and so it matters.
“He’ll hoard every smile you give him. He’ll want to make you laugh. He’ll awaken in the middle of the night simply to watch you sleep.”
“How will I know that he’s doing all these things?” she asked.
Done with his task, he folded his hands over her shoulders. “You probably won’t.” He pressed a light kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Just as he’ll never know the myriad ways in which you privately express your devotion to him.”
The coach came to a halt, and she couldn’t help but believe a good deal remained unsaid, that the task of knowing that a man loved her for herself was an impossible one.
A footman opened the door, and Lovingdon stepped out, then handed her down. He offered her his arm and escorted her up the steps.
At the door, he faced her. “When he leaves you, he’ll count the moments until he’ll be with you again. He’ll find excuses to delay saying goodbye.” He touched her cheek. “Good night.”
Abruptly, he turned and jaunted down the steps. No delays, no excuses. He might not have intentionally done it, but he’d provided her with another lesson.
“Will you be coming to Mabry Manor?” she called after him.
“I still haven’t decided.”
“I wish you would.”
“Unfortunately we don’t always get what we wish for.”
No, she thought, as he leaped into the carriage and she watched it disappear onto the street, we don’t always get what we wish for.
But it seldom stopped one from wishing.
Chapter 13
Several days later, as the coach bounced along, Lovingdon couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the country for merriment. After deciding not to attend the gathering at Mabry Manor, he received a missive from Grace alerting him that his assistance would be required, as she fully intended to narrow the selection down to one.
Which he supposed meant there were some gents she was beginning to love or perhaps was leaning toward loving.
He wanted that for her, to love and be loved.
So why had he nearly thrown his red and coppery vase across his library?
On her wedding day he would send it to her to complete her collection, as he certainly had no plans to attend the ceremony. He needed no reminders of his own wedding, no reminders of what he had held and lost.
Although he was hit with a sudden jolt of guilt, as he had not thought of his loss in . . . days. He recalled when he counted not thinking of it in minutes. A minute had passed without thinking of them, then two. Sometimes with enough liquor and a woman, he could go hours.
But days?
It was the blasted vase. He would go into his library and see it, and images of Grace would start circling through his mind like a damned carousel. Her smiling, laughing, sipping rum. Then his gaze would drop to the wine stain on his carpet, and he would feel the silk of her flesh against his tongue, hear the cries of her being pleasured.
And here he was thinking of her again. Well, that would end quickly enough when she was married.
He rapped on the ceiling, and the coach slowed to a stop. He leaped out before a footman could open the door. “Prepare my horse. I’m going to ride.”
He always brought his horse to Greystone’s when he came to visit. While they had a fine stable of horses, nothing was better than having one’s own horseflesh beneath him, a horse who knew his moods, his movements, and his hands.
When Beau was ready, he mounted him easily and set off in a hard gallop. The coach driver knew the way, so he didn’t have to wait. He needed to feel the horse beneath him, the wind in his face. He needed to concentrate on keeping the beast in line. He needed something to keep his mind off Grace.
Ever since their carriage ride, she had been a constant in his thoughts. If she wasn’t so desperate for love, if he didn’t care for her as much as he did, if he didn’t want to see her happy, he might have considered taking her to wife.
Without a doubt their nights would be fulfilling. She was as carnal a creature as he’d ever met. But she wanted what he dared not give.
And therein rested his dilemma. He didn’t love her as he’d loved Juliette.
They were such different women. What he felt for Grace was beyond description.
He would not dance with her while at Mabry Manor. He would barely speak with her. He would seriously observe the men who still held her attention, provide what insights he could, and be done with the entire affair. She would be married by year’s end and happy for the remainder of her life. It was what he wished for her, what he would strive—
At the sight of a horse and rider loping over the gently rolling green, he drew Beau up short. He’d forgotten how well Grace rode, how she seemed to be one with the beast. She gave her all to everything she did. She’d do the same with marriage.
It was imperative that he secure her a husband who would give equally.
For half a second, he considered staying on his current path, but she was so damned alluring. What would it hurt to spend a little time with her before the festivities began?
Kicking his horse into a harder gallop, he raced after her.
Her hair had come undone and was flying out behind her. He’d never seen it unpinned. It appeared that it went past her waist. He had an absurd thought that brushing out the tangles would be a pleasurable task, a task that some other man would have the opportunity to relish.
She must have heard the hard pounding of his horse’s hooves as they ate up the ground, because she glanced back. Any other lady would have drawn her horse to a halt, but then he had forever known that Grace was unlike anyone else.
He was near enough that he saw her triumphant grin before she urged her horse into a faster lope. A gentleman would have half heartedly accepted the challenge and then let her win, but he was far from being a gentleman. He gave Beau the freedom to try to overtake them.
“You won’t catch me!” Grace yelled over her shoulder, taunting him.
Impressed with Grace’s skill as she maneuvered her horse over the slight hills and around the trees that dotted the land, he considered letting her have the victory. Then decided against it. He was almost upon them.
After glancing back, Grace barreled on. “Three dances if I get to the top of the next rise first!”
Her laughter echoed around them, and the excitement thrummed through him. He wanted this victory. He wanted her. Stretched out on the green grass among the wildflowers. He wanted to run his mouth over her body with the sun beating down on them. Though that was unlikely to last long with the dark clouds gathering in the distance.
They were neck and neck now. She looked over, and he saw the determination in her blue eyes. It ignited his blood. He was tempted to reach out, snag her from the saddle, settle her across his lap, and take her mouth until she begged for mercy.
To escape those thoughts he gave Beau a final kick, and his horse reached the top of the rise a nose ahead of hers.
“Blast you!” Grace yelled, drawing her mare to a halt near his gelding. “I almost had you.”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“You could have let me win.”
“You would have despised me for it.”
“True enough.” Her hair a wild mess, she breathed almost as heavily as her horse.
Against his better judgment, he took several strands between his fingers. “You have the most gorgeous hair.”
“M
en seem to prefer blondes or brunettes.”
He cocked up a corner of his mouth. “Men are fools.”
Smiling brightly, she pressed her teeth to her lower lip. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
He didn’t want to acknowledge the pleasure it brought him to have pleased her so. “One last effort to help you find the right man.”
“Someone I’ve overlooked all Season, you think?”
“Perhaps.”
“Such a noncommittal response. Still, I’m glad you’re here.”
“You won’t be so glad when I chastise you for being out here with no escort.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s my father’s land, Lovingdon. I’ve ridden out here alone for as long as I can remember. I could walk about blindfolded and not get lost.”
“You have gentlemen arriving, and some of those might seek an opportunity to be alone with you.”
“Not this afternoon. Drake’s keeping them occupied with billiards, cards, and drink until dinner.”
“I suppose I should carry on to the residence then.”
“I suppose you should.” She held his gaze, a question in hers, but more an answer that he recognized.
Slowly he dismounted, removed his gloves, stuffed them in a pocket, and approached her horse. It shied away, but he grabbed the reins and calmed it, before placing his hands on Grace’s waist. “You should give your horse a rest after that jaunt.”
With a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgment, she curled her hands over his shoulders and he brought her down, deliberately allowing her body to brush against his. He should have released her then, but he was loath to do so. It didn’t help his convictions any that she neither moved away nor lowered her hands from his shoulders.
Tucking the hair behind her left ear, he wondered how it could feel so soft when it appeared so untamed, but then it seemed to mirror her: bold, yet with an undercurrent of vulnerability that he would have never suspected had he not witnessed it. “My assisting you in your quest isn’t doing either of us any favors. After this affair, I’ll be returning to my debauched life.”
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