White Regency 03 - White Knight
Page 4
“I am so sorry. Our father died unexpectedly too, although I am told his death was due to an illness. I was not yet born, but Christian was very attached to our father and took the loss very hard.”
Lady Eleanor spoke her brother’s name with such an obvious affection, it was evident that they were quite close. Before Grace could think to question her more about him, his taste in reading, or odd bits about their childhood, a trio of young ladies caught her attention. They were staring at her from the corner of the room, whispering their disapproval behind their jeweled fans.
“Pay them no mind, Grace. They do not yet know it, but once you have become my brother’s wife, they will be falling over themselves for the favor of your attention. They will mimic every detail of your dress even if you wear a flour sack, and they will pray you won’t remember their behavior toward you here tonight.”
“I hardly think I shall ever fit in,” Grace said. “I have spent all my life in the country, where we lived a very simple life. I’m afraid I am quite a fish out of water here in London.”
“Do not be too distressed, my dear. Any one of them would sell their grandmother’s jewels for a chance at catching my brother’s eye. You should count yourself fortunate that you are unschooled in the ways of the ton. I, on the other hand, have been surrounded by this hypocrisy since birth. They lay claim to refinement while they shamelessly throw themselves at Christian in hopes of inducing him to marry—as if he would even consider wedding someone who would do such a thing.”
She glanced around the room. “Look there, near the door. Do you see that group of ladies crowding together? Do you know why they are all huddled there and are not out among the other gentlemen present? They are watching the stairs for my brother.”
Grace spotted the flock of young ladies congregating near the foot of the stairs. Some appeared to be elbowing others for a forward position, while others stole furtive glances up the stairwell.
“Oh, dear.”
“It is truly embarrassing. Once at a musicale, a girl even blacked the eye of another fighting over an empty seat beside him. Quite troublesome. It’s become the farce of the past several seasons. Hostesses at any ball he is rumored to attend must be on constant watch for these ridiculous annoyances. It has gotten so that he doesn’t go out much socially at all. I cannot tell you the number of ladies who have claimed to be my ‘dearest friend’ in effort to get close to him. I vow that once everyone learns he has wed you, I shan’t have any acquaintance left in town.”
Lady Eleanor chuckled, but Grace found herself wondering why the marquess would consider wedding someone he had never before seen, especially someone so unpolished, when he had the very creme of London society from which to choose. She was also beginning to understand why the old duke had insisted on such secrecy about their betrothal. If women were blacking one another’s eyes for a chair beside him, what would they do to her if they knew she might actually marry the man?
“Now, since my brother hasn’t yet braved this crowd, I shall have to go and search him out so that you may have your dance. I must admit, I think I shall enjoy watching him dance with the lady he doesn’t yet know he’s about to marry, especially in front of all the ‘helpless hopefuls.’ ” She inclined her head toward the cluster of ladies waiting at the foot of the stairs. “That is what I call them. Appropriate name, do you not think? May I beg your leave for only a moment or two while I go and find him?”
Grace wordlessly nodded, watching as Lady Eleanor departed through the crowd. When she had requested the dance with the marquess, Grace’s only thought had been the memory of her grandmother’s words to her. It would be a romantic waltz that would tell her the moment her eyes met his whether this man was indeed her “very parfit gentle knight,” the one she was meant to share her life with. Grace hadn’t considered what else this dance might entail, and had no idea that everyone’s attention would be focused upon them.
What if Lord Knighton were dreadful? But if he were, why would all these ladies be clamoring over one another for his attention? No, he must be perfect, and if that were the case, then she certainly was not the lady he should be wedding. He should have a wife of refinement and polish, someone more like his sister, not some countrified mouse who had never before set foot in a ballroom, and who had only just learned to waltz. What if she did something absurd like step on his foot? Or worse, what if she completely forgot the steps of a dance she’d never actually performed with anyone save the Cholmeley footman Henry?
She only felt all the more inadequate when she looked down and noticed that the seam on her glove had begun to come apart even as she felt her hair slipping from its knot. In that moment, Grace knew she could not go through with it. She would find Uncle Tedric and beg him to delay the marriage. Better yet, he could simply thank the old duke for his consideration, but decline the marriage offer and beg his pardon a thousand times over. She, Grace from Ledysthorpe? A future duchess? It was too ludicrous to consider.
Grace turned, remembering that her uncle had gone to the parlor, and started to skirt the room. It was no easy task. The ballroom, it seemed, had grown doubly crowded since her arrival. The musicians were seated and were preparing to play. The dancing was set to begin and the crowd thickened in anticipation.
No matter how Grace tried to work her way through, an unyielding wall of humanity prevented it. She was swept along with the tide of the others and soon found herself on the opposite side of the ballroom. She looked around, chewing her lip. There must be another way through the house, and so she stood on her toes a bit to survey the various doorways surrounding her. No doubt the best choice would be the one closest to her, so she sidestepped two gentlemen involved in deep debate, smiling politely as she headed for the door.
It didn’t lead to the parlor, but to a narrow corridor used for getting servants from one side of the house to the other without notice. It would indeed serve her purposes very well. She started walking, hoping to find a doorway that would lead her to the parlor. Halfway down the length of the hall, however, the door she had come through suddenly closed behind her. What followed was the rather disquieting sound of the latch being turned on it. Oh, dear, she thought, this wasn’t at all a good thing.
Grace stood a moment in the dark, contemplating her next move. She had but two options. She could go back and knock on the door in hopes of summoning someone, but then she’d be no closer to finding her uncle than she had been when she’d started. Even worse, she would look very foolish for having gotten herself locked into a servants’ corridor. Her other option, of course, was to proceed a bit further down the passageway to see where she might end up.
Grace prudently chose the latter.
With one hand against the wall to guide her, she made her way slowly in the darkness. But there didn’t seem to be any openings at all, just smooth wall along a corridor that seemed only to grow blacker with each step she took. She stumbled on some stairs and slowly she made her way up. At the top of the steps, she flattened both hands against the wall, moving along until, blessedly, her fingers found an opening in the wall. It seemed to be some sort of panel. Grace felt around the edge of it, but could find no mechanism, nothing that might release it. She listened but didn’t hear any sound coming from the other side. She tried to fit her fingers around the outside edge, but the seal was too tight. So Grace placed her palm flat against the panel and gave it a push. The upper corner seemed to give a bit, so she slid her hands upward and gave it another try, and then another, this time putting the weight of herself against it and—
The panel gave way and Grace tumbled through headfirst, landing with a thud on her hands and knees. The fall set the weight of her coiffure forward. She looked through the fallen mass of curls to see the polished toes of a pair of boots standing directly in front of her—boots that were most assuredly attached to a body.
Chapter Five
Grace drew her breath and held it as she looked up past long legs and a trim waist to a chest that was both broad and—
“This is certainly a first.”
His voice was deep and rich and he had the most startling pair of eyes she’d ever before seen. They were silvery blue and the way they were looking at her so candidly made her feel as if it was she who was unclothed, not he. Grace had never before seen a man in any state of undress and was appalled to find herself staring at the muscles that lined his abdomen as he took up his shirt and slipped his arms inside.
“Oh my goodness!” was all she could manage to say. Her next mistake was in wondering how the situation could possibly get worse.
She soon had her answer.
“I suppose, given the circumstances, I should introduce myself,” he said as he fastened the buttons on his shirtfront. “I am Lord Knighton, your host this evening. And this”—he smiled, a half-grin that was anything but warm—“is my dressing room. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”
Good God—of all the dressing rooms she could have fallen into in this vast house, how had she managed to choose his? With anyone else, she could quickly beg their pardon and leave, knowing she would likely never see them again. But this was the man she was supposed to marry, the man who didn’t yet realize that the woman who had just come tumbling through his dressing room wall was his intended bride. Could she dare to hope he would forget this night and this meeting within the next fortnight?
The marquess turned and folded his neckcloth with an ease Uncle Tedric would have applauded, all the while staring at her as if it were perfectly reasonable for a woman to have come popping out of the woodwork. Grace, on the other hand, felt utterly humiliated. It wasn’t until Lord Knighton lowered before her, resting his forearm on his thigh while he held out his other hand to her, that she even realized she was still sprawled ignominiously upon his carpet.
“Unless you have acquired a sudden fondness for my carpeting, might I suggest we find more equal footing?”
Cheeks burning, she placed her gloved hand into his, coming as quickly as she could to her feet. She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come out. She couldn’t quite decide if it would be considered proper in such situations to thank a half-naked man for assisting a lady to her feet. So Grace merely stood, her curls askew, silent as a candlestick while Lord Knighton finished dressing. She was suddenly reminded of Eleanor’s words earlier that evening, telling how the other ladies had been so bold and relentless in their pursuit of her brother’s attention. She had just fallen through the wall into Lord Knighton’s dressing room—where Lord Knighton was presently dressing. Somehow she didn’t think there would be a more undignified manner for one to “throw oneself” at a man.
There was one thing that was certain: Seeing him now only brought Grace to understanding exactly why ladies were blacking one another’s eyes to get near to him. Christian Wycliffe, Marquess Knighton was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Hair that was a deep chestnut brown swept back from his forehead to fall about the stark white of his high collar. He had the sort of face that sculptors committed to marble— clean, strong, inherently powerful. Tall and lean, he carried himself with an air of noble distinction. One need not be told he was the heir to the wealthiest dukedom in England. Everything about him declared it.
“I… uh…” Grace faltered, somehow suddenly unable to speak. How in heaven’s name was she going to explain her appearance there? “I was looking for my uncle…”
He quirked a brow. “Your uncle, is it? Well that’s as good a tale as any. It happens all the time, although I would say you are certainly more inventive than the others. This is the first time I’ve ever had anyone come through my dressing room wall.”
Grace watched then as he took up his coat—elegant black—and put it on, taking his time in adjusting his cuffs. He is angry. He thinks I have come here in hopes of catching him as a husband, like one of the “helpless hopefuls,” she thought to herself. If only he knew the truth. But it was too ridiculous a notion to even laugh at.
He was watching her, quite obviously awaiting her name, a thing she wasn’t about to give. Instead she intended to get out of there as quickly as she could manage.
Grace started for the door. “Truly, I was looking for my uncle and I got lost…” The thought of sharing a dance with him now was beyond comprehension. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I shouldn’t have come here.”
As she made for the door, the marquess stepped directly in her path, effectively preventing her from leaving. Grace’s heart was pounding as she stared up at him. His eyes, she noticed, had changed from silver blue to smoky, dangerous slate.
“Surely you don’t expect to leave so soon after you went through such effort to get here.”
His smile had changed, too, into something infinitely more predatory. Grace swallowed against a sudden nervous tightening in her throat. “I’m afraid I do not understand, my lord.”
“That, Miss Whoever-You-Are, is precisely my point. Didn’t your mother ever warn you against the dangers of entering a man’s bedchamber?”
Grace frowned at his sarcasm, a small part of her pulling deep inside. “My mother died when I was a child.”
For a moment, she thought she saw a softening in his expression, but it didn’t remain that way long. “Allow me to instruct you on the finer points of propriety.” He took a step toward her. He was standing so near, Grace had to cock her head back to look at him, for he was at least six inches taller than she.
“There is a reason ladies of good breeding do not sneak their way into the bedchambers of men. A very good reason.” He took her by the arms. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She wondered fleetingly if her feet still met the floor. She couldn’t feel them. “A lady can never know for certain if the man in question is a gentleman or a blackguard who would seize the opportunity to ravish her.”
“But you are a gentleman, sir. Your grandfather is the Duke of Westover.”
His hands tightened on her arms and any light to his expression was instantly gone. “A fact, my lady, that should have been warning enough.”
Before Grace realized what was happening, the marquess lowered his head, taking her mouth completely with his as he drew her hard against the length of his body.
Christian felt the girl stiffen against him and he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss, tasting her with his tongue, running a finger along the slender column of her throat until he felt her begin to tremble against him. He had had enough of female wiles and machinations to last a lifetime. These antics had been amusing at first, but this latest invasion of his privacy had gone far beyond the bounds. Had she arrived but five minutes earlier, she would have discovered him at his bath and he would now be embroiled in a mess he would have no hope of extricating himself from. He intended to teach the lady a lesson she would not soon forget. Only there was one problem. She didn’t seem to realize he was punishing her. She wasn’t resisting him. Instead she melted against him, taking his kiss and releasing a soft pleasing moan into his mouth.
Punishment be damned.
Christian kissed her back, forgetting for the moment who he was, where they were, how she’d come to be there. He indulged in the moment and in her—the softness of her skin, the faint herbal scent of her pale hair, the total innocence of a gesture she so obviously knew nothing about. A heat begin to kindle within him—more precisely within his groin—something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Even as he tightened his arms around her, Christian wondered that he should feel this way, with this woman, when no other had been able to stir him in quite some time. Perhaps it was the fact that in less than a fortnight, he was going to be marrying a woman he’d never even set eyes upon. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew, but in the very next moment, she pressed her hips forward against him. Christian nearly lost his mind.
The thought to drag her to the carpet and take what she was so obviously offering near
ly overcame him. Every inch of him begged to know her, to test the softness of the skin along her belly. Instead he abruptly pulled away from her, even taking a step back. He watched her, her eyes half-closed, her breathing coming quickly, her mouth so damned desirable. One errant curl twisted over her forehead just above her brow, a twirl of amber honey. Slowly her eyes drifted more fully open and he suddenly knew the color of blue fire. She said nothing, just stood there, lips glossed from his kiss, and the way she was looking at him could only be termed one thing—
Dangerous.
Was she truly as innocent as her kiss hinted? Or was she simply playing the part of the unschooled maiden? She had to be a practiced seductress, he decided. What virgin would ever think to sneak her way into a man’s bedchamber?
Christian stared at her hard. Who was this mystifying creature? She was lovely, yes. Her nose was small and straight, her lips a very becoming shade of pink—darker now that he’d kissed them. The silk of her bodice strained against the fullness of her breasts, breasts that were neither too small nor too large—but perfect. Honey-gold hair curled about her head; her eyes, wide and staring, were the brightest blue he’d ever seen. Still, any number of the other young women who had attempted to attract him before could lay claim to similar loveliness. How had she been able to arouse him so thoroughly when no other had?
He realized then there was something to her—a difference, a uniqueness he could not quite define. How else could he explain how he had gone from seeking to teach her a lesson in one moment to being the one who was overcome in the next? How had she managed to defeat the untouchable self-control he had spent most of his life perfecting?
He wondered who she was, but then told himself it was better to keep her a stranger. Once he was wed, any assignation between them would be impossible. He would not tolerate adultery in his marriage. He would demand fidelity from his wife and would practice the same. It could be no other way. So better to get her out of his dressing room as quickly as possible.