A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet)

by Jillian Eaton

  Stephen tilted his head down when she stiffened in his arms, and the lazy smile she saw play across his mouth infuriated her beyond all reason. Had he really thought it would be that easy to win her back? Did he truly think so little of her? Her mouth tightened. Oh, simple Grace! Oh, gentle Grace! Do whatever you wish and she’ll always come back to you like a foolish pup to its master complete with a wagging tail. Well, she was not a dog and Stephen was most certainly not her master. Perhaps they had a chance at true love, but not until he gave her a very good reason for why he had left, complete with a little begging. Yes, Grace decided ruthlessly. She would rather like to see a bit of begging.

  Conveniently forgetting the fact that she had been the one to ask him to dance, Grace came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the ballroom floor. “I do not feel well,” she said, which was not a complete lie. Her stomach was rather queasy, but it was not illness that made it so.

  Keeping one hand curved around her waist and the other clasped tight against hers, Stephen frowned and stepped closer. “You do look a little flush,” he observed, his eyebrows pinching over the bridge of his nose. “Would you like to sit down?”

  She could not breathe with him so close. She could not think with him so close. “No, I would not like to sit down. I do not want to dance any longer. I just want to go home.” And to her complete and utter embarrassment, Grace began to cry. “Except,” she choked out while Stephen stood frozen with a look of sheer helplessness on his face that she would have found comical if she weren’t falling apart, “I d-do not have a carriage b-because it had to be s-s-sold.” The last bit she wailed loud enough to have heads turning, and with a muttered oath Stephen whipped off his overcoat, threw it around her shaking shoulders, and guided her with all haste from the ballroom.

  From across the floor Catherine and Josephine watched Grace and Stephen’s very public exchange with wide eyes while their husbands beat a hasty retreat to the supper room.

  “We should go after them,” Catherine said at once. She gathered up her skirts to do just that, and glanced down with some surprise when she felt Josephine’s hand close around her wrist.

  “No,” the blond said calmly. “I do not think we should.”

  Catherine blinked. “I must have heard you incorrectly. It sounded as if you do not want to go rescue Grace from Lord Melbourne… But surely that is not what you meant to imply.”

  “That is exactly what I meant to imply.” Josephine rolled her eyes. “Honestly, have you ever known me to say something I do not mean? Let them go. If Grace needs us, she will come and find us.”

  “But—”

  “No, no ‘buts’. Grace came here with the intention of finding Stephen and that is exactly what she has done. Now they will either come to terms with their feelings or come apart completely, but at least it will be done once and for all.”

  Catherine crossed her arms and took a reluctant step back. “I do so hate it when you are right.”

  “I know you do,” Josephine said cheerfully. “Want to make a bet?”

  “On Grace and Stephen’s reconciliation?” Catherine’s eyebrows snapped together over sapphire eyes that flashed with disapproval. “Really, Josie, this time you have gone too far. Betting on our dear friend’s happiness is—”

  “Horribly vulgar,” Josephine finished for her, “which is why I made it with Margaret before she left. No, I am talking about how long our husbands will remain in hiding. It’s like magic, really. A woman sheds a few tears and they go poof, like little rabbits disappearing into a hat.”

  Releasing a very un-ladylike snort, Catherine tapped one gloved finger thoughtfully against her chin. “Ten pounds they come back within the hour.”

  “Twenty they stay out of sight until midnight.”

  “Twenty it is.”

  Exchanging a quick grin, the two women linked arms and sauntered off.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I am terribly sorry,” Grace gasped the moment she and Stephen stepped outside. The cool evening air hit her like a slap to the face but she welcomed the suddenness of it, for it helped to clear her spinning head and made her realize just how big of a fool she had made of herself. “I do not know what came over—”

  “No,” Stephen said savagely. His fingers bit into her arm and she winced, but one glance at his dark, dangerous expression told her he did not even realize he was still touching her. “You do not apologize to me. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?”

  Biting her lip, Grace sniffed back the rest of her tears and nodded vigorously. “I… I understand. Do you think… Do you think you might lessen your grip? I know you are not meaning to, but I fear you are cutting off the circulation in my arm.”

  “HELL AND DAMNATION!”

  The curse exploded in the air, shocking Grace down to her very core. She had never heard Stephen swear so vehemently before, not even when she accidentally spooked his horse and he was thrown into a pile of muck.

  He whirled from her and began to pace between the two stone columns that guarded the entrance to Almack’s, his eyes so dark as to nearly be black in the shifting shadows and every muscle in his body coiled tight as a lion’s ready to spring.

  Not sure what to do, Grace drew Stephen’s overcoat closer around her chilled shoulders and remained where she was. She had never seen him like this: so filled with anger it rolled off from him in waves. He was always so calm and in control. So sure of himself and his actions. “Stephen,” she began tentatively, “it is quite all right. I came with Catherine and I will simply wait until she is ready to leave.”

  Ever so slowly Stephen stopped and turned. Half his countenance was illuminated by flickering torchlight, and the raw, wretched pain Grace saw flash across his face caused her breath to catch.

  “Stephen, what—”

  “I am always hurting you,” he said bitterly. “Then. Now. I thought coming back here would make a difference, but it has not. It cannot. What I did to you… There is no penance large enough that I can pay to make up for it. I never deserved you. I hurt you, Grace.”

  “Yes,” she said simply, for it was the truth. “Yes, you did. The way you ended it was cruel, Stephen. Did you think…,” And here Grace hesitated, for although she desired to know why Stephen had left with every beat of her heart, she was afraid as well, for what if the reason was one she could not understand?

  Steeling her spine for any possible answer he could give, she finished her question with a calm reserve that disguised the panic that simmered just below the surface. “Did you think you had done something I could not forgive you for, and that is why you left? Tell me, Stephen.” Her tone urgent, Grace went to him and clutched his forearm. His jaw clenching tight, he bowed his head and refused to meet her gaze. “Look at me,” she demanded.

  Stephen looked. “I want to give you all of the answers you seek. I do, Grace. It is why I came back. There was no other reason for me to return but you. Everything I have done was always for you.” His Adam’s apple jerked convulsively in his throat and he paused, seemingly at a loss for words. Seeking to comfort, Grace splayed her hand over his heart and he leaned into the pressure as if he needed it to hold him up, slight as it was. “And no matter what you decide when you have learned the truth,” he finished roughly, “I want you to know that.”

  Their eyes met and held. Stephen cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of her bottom lip while his other arm curved around her back and pulled her tight against him. Grace felt the warmth and the hardness of his body simultaneously, and even though she knew she shouldn’t, and even though she knew it was wicked, she tipped into his long frame, her nipples drawing taut beneath the thin fabric of her gown as her pulse quickened and something tightened low in her belly.

  “Stephen…” she whispered achingly. Her fingers crept up to catch in the ends of his hair. He lowered his head, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark with need. Grace wet her lips, sliding the tip of her tongue across the edge of his thumb and tasting the merest hint of s
alt. He groaned, and she felt the hand at her back begin a slow, sensuous descent. Tilting her chin up, she closed her eyes…

  “I should get you home. The hour is late, and I do not want you to catch a chill.”

  Had Stephen kicked her feet out from underneath her he could not have shocked her from her state of arousal any faster than he did with those two short sentences.

  “Get… Get me home?” she repeated dumbly.

  “Yes. At once. Immediately. Now. You there!” Spinning free of her grasp so quickly she was set back on her heels, Stephen marched across the cobblestone drive and flagged down a footman. Before she quite knew quite what was happening Grace was tucked into an unfamiliar carriage with Stephen sitting across from her and they were headed for her home some twenty blocks away.

  When they arrived Stephen assisted her from the carriage, but his mood was aloof, his touch on her arm oddly detached. Bewildered by the sudden change in his demeanor Grace remained silent, caught up in her own thoughts until Stephen’s third knock on the front door went unanswered and he turned to her for an explanation.

  “Oh, my parents are away,” she recalled belatedly, her brow furrowing. “They went to fetch Rosalind. I do hope they catch her before she marries the Baron,” she added thoughtfully.

  “Your sister ran away to marry a… Never mind.” Raking a hand through his hair, Stephen hissed out a breath between his teeth and glowered down at her. “Where are your servants? Surely someone should be up to answer the damn door.”

  Finding she did not like his tone one bit, Grace hugged her naked arms to her chest – they had left before she could fetch her cloak and she had returned Stephen’s overcoat to him in the carriage – and took a step back, retreating the furthest distance from him the narrow front portico would allow. “Mother let most of the household staff go. There is only a cook and an upstairs maid, both of which live elsewhere. That is why I am staying with Catherine. I told you all of this, Stephen.”

  “You bloody well did not!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

  “You curse more now than you used to,” she observed idly.

  As if to prove her point Stephen swore again before he turned from her and braced both arms against the wrought iron fence that surrounded the portico. Stifling a yawn, Grace leaned back against the door, letting her head thump loudly against the wood once, twice, three times before Stephen spun around, fists clenched and chest heaving.

  “Would you stop that?” he snapped.

  Grace paused mid-thump. “You are also much more temperamental. I must say, it is almost like you are a different person.” Although she desperately wanted nothing more than to ask Stephen a hundred questions, she was rather enjoying provoking his ire. “Why did you want to leave Almack’s so suddenly?” Her lips twitched. “Was it past your bedtime?”

  “It was either leave then or ravish you up against the pillar,” he said silkily. “Which one would you rather I have done?”

  Grace swallowed audibly, then gasped when Stephen sprang forward and slapped one hand on either side of her shoulders, effectively pinning her against the door. His knee slipped between her legs, parting them easily. Even through her voluminous skirts she felt her womanhood brush up against the length of his hard thigh, and her cheeks suffused with color even as her mind cried, Yes! Yes, this is what I want.

  “Well?” Stephen whispered, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her own. “Which one, Grace?”

  It felt like she was burning from the inside out. Every inch of her was aware of his presence. Every nerve screamed for his touch. Whether she ever got the answers she sought or not, this is what she truly wanted. To feel alive. For Stephen to make her feel alive. For him to love her, if only for a little while, for she would rather have one minute of ecstasy in his arms than one hundred years of loneliness without him.

  Fumbling behind her, Grace closed her fingers around the doorknob. The metal was cool against her skin. “R-ravish me,” she gasped before her hand twisted, the door opened, and they stumbled inside.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The house was dark, but they didn’t need light. They had touch.

  Stephen’s hands were everywhere as he backed Grace into the parlor. She tripped over the rug and her hip bumped hard against a side table, but neither of them paused. They fell onto a velvet chaise lounge in a tangle of limbs, Stephen on top, Grace writhing beneath.

  Months worth of frustration and helplessness and unrequited longing came pouring out of Grace as she pressed her mouth greedily to his, not caring when their teeth bumped or he nipped too hard at her bottom lip.

  They had made love only twice before. Both times had been sweet and filled with tenderness. Gentle words had been spoken, loving glances exchanged. Stephen had been so careful with her, as if she were spun of glass. Grace had been shy. Reserved. Hesitant, even. Now they tore at each other’s clothes like animals and the air was filled with the sounds of their gasps and throaty moans.

  Stephen ripped the stays on her gown and all but wrenched the delicate fabric in two to get it off of her. Laughing, she struggled to help him, half sitting on the chaise and lifting her arms high above her head so he could pluck the dress from her body in one fell swoop.

  “Did they sew you into this?” he wondered out loud when the bustle caught around her throat and Grace released a startled yelp. The moment she was free of the cumbersome fabric she launched herself into Stephen’s arms and he caught her with a little grunt of surprise before he took her with him to the floor, careful to keep her tucked atop his body so she could not bang an elbow or a knee on the hard wood as he rolled them both onto the plush carpet while simultaneously kicking a table out of the way.

  Ranging over her, one arm on either side of her face, he leaned down and sprinkled kisses over her nose, her cheeks, and down the slim column of her throat. “Are you cold?” he murmured against her flesh before his mouth dipped lower still and licked at the edge of her corset, her chemise having come off with her gown.

  “No.” Grace’s fingers caught in his hair and her hips bucked when he pulled the chemise down and his lips closed around a taut nipple. “I am on fire.”

  Sensation after wonderful sensation glided over her as Stephen used his hands and mouth all over her body. Closing her eyes, Grace let herself drift, drunk on the knowledge that at long last she was in her lover’s arms. Once she had thought their time apart an eternity, but as his mouth traced a blazing trail down her side and settled on the slender jut of her hip to nibble and lick before – oh God – sliding down to the heart of her, she realized no time at all had passed between them.

  Nothing had been wasted, nothing had been lost.

  They were together as they had always been meant to be, and as Stephen wrung the first orgasm from her with his lips and tongue everything else faded to black, and there were no questions, and there was no uncertainty, and there was no doubt. There was only Stephen, and when he finally pushed inside of her Grace cried out his name and clung to his shoulders as if she would never let him go.

  Their eyes met while he thrust; his eyes a fierce, triumphant green, hers a soft, dreamy blue, and they came together, their fingers entwining as shudders wracked their bodies and bliss carried them both off the edge of the cliff.

  He had taken her on the floor.

  It was the first coherent thought to pass through Stephen’s mind when he sat up on one elbow and gazed down at Grace. She smiled up at him, her expression that of a lazy cat sunning itself. Except there was no sun, for it was dark, and he had not even possessed the foresight to start a fire before he ravaged her like some kind of wild animal.

  Disgusted with himself and his lack of self control, Stephen rummaged through their pile of clothes before he found his shirt. “Put this on,” he said before he rose to poke at the dimly glowing embers in the fireplace.

  He could feel Grace watching him as he brought the fire to life, and when it roared to full strength and bathed the room in a rosy glow he felt her ar
ms wind low around his hips and her face press against his back.

  “Let’s sleep here tonight,” she whispered. “In front of the fire.”

  Stephen’s jaw clenched tight. “Grace, I…” He stopped himself short, not sure how he wanted to finish the sentence.

  Grace, I am sorry for what just occurred.

  Grace, I am afraid I cannot give you what you want.

  Grace, I fear you will never forgive me.

  “Stephen?” Her hands dropped away from his waist and she padded forward to stand beside him, a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down and drawing his eye to her swollen lips. Swollen because he had kissed her without a care for his own strength. Swollen because he had taken what he had no right to take. “What is it? What is the matter?”

  “Grace, this never should have happened.”

  A line appeared between her brows. Her arms crossed, causing his shirt to skim dangerously high on her thighs. She didn’t seem to notice. “Do not say that.” Her lower lip trembled. “Stephen, please do not say that.”

  With an oath, Stephen looked away from the tears that glittered like diamonds in her eyes. “There are things I need to tell you. Things you may not want to hear. I never meant… I did not want this to happen.”

  “Stop saying that!” she cried. “It did happen and it was wonderful and no matter what you tell me now I will not regret it.”

  His laugh was short and bitter. “If I told you I left because of another woman, would you regret it then?” He heard her gasp, but he plowed ahead, determined to clear his conscience once and for all. “Would you regret if I told you I was forced to choose between you and another, and I chose her?”