Lord Grayson returned then and handed her a white china teacup filled with hot black tea. As she thanked him, Grace hoped he had put some sugar in it. He smiled at her, satisfied that he had pleased her, and took his seat on the other side of her. Grateful for the steaming liquid to calm her racing nerves, with shaking hands she brought the cup to her lips.
Before she could take a single sip, that strange tingling sensation crept along the back of her neck again and she froze in place. The gaslights in the ballroom dimmed. He was here.
On pure instinct Grace slowly glanced up and, just as she knew she would, she met the eyes of the man who haunted her dreams. He stood casually against a long marble column across the room, staring at her. His dark eyes were focused on her alone. In his impeccable black suit and crisp white shirt, his form was tall and imposing. Every other man at the ball paled in comparison to his muscular and broad build. He was utterly handsome. He looked as if he were carved from marble, so perfect were his features. The tea forgotten, she lowered her hands with the china cup to her lap.
Could no one see him but she? Could no one see him staring at her?
Mesmerized, Grace could not look away from him. The intense longing and profound sadness he conveyed with his dark eyes stunned her. He seemed to speak to her through his eyes and she wanted to hear every word.
I know, he said to her without making a single sound. I know everything.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest and she longed to answer him. She wanted to say, I know that you know, but other words sprang unbidden from the depths of her soul. I love you. She could not stop them from pouring from her, while the very outrageousness of her thoughts frightened her. His eyes widened slightly and he smiled at her with such deep understanding, her heart turned over in her chest. He knew her.
Suddenly people obscured her line of vision and she could no longer see him. Her view momentarily hidden by a dancing couple, Grace craned her neck to find him again. But he was gone and she felt his absence like a physical blow. Her breath, which she had not realized that she was holding, escaped her lungs with a long whoosh.
“Who was that gentleman?” Mary’s voice demanded shrilly in her ear.
“Which—which gentleman?” Grace asked, nervousness settling in. Then he was real! Mary had seen him. He was not a figment of her imagination!
“That black-haired man across the room. He was staring at you quite intently not a moment ago.”
“I . . . I noticed him as well, but I have not the faintest notion of who he is.” Grace murmured. He was real. He was real. He was real. He had been staring at her. He had! Relief washed through her at the confirmation that she had not completely lost her mind.
“Well. I don’t believe I care for the way he was looking at you, Grace,” Mary intoned with clear disapproval. “I hope you gave him a properly dismissive glance.”
Grace nodded absently, her eyes frantically scanning the room for him, wondering where he had gone. Her heart thumped an erratic rhythm in her chest.
“Lord Grayson.” Mary leaned across Grace’s lap toward Reginald Marks and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Lord Grayson, do you know who that gentleman is? That one. The tall one in the corner over there conversing with Lord Mayhew.”
Immediately Grace’s eyes locked on to him as he stood listening with polite interest to Lord Mayhew, a young man with blond hair. As if he knew Grace was staring at him, he lifted his gaze slowly to meet hers. Again she felt his presence physically. A surge of passion washed through every fiber of her body. Her cheeks warmed under his intense regard.
“Oh, that is Lord Radcliffe,” Lord Grayson explained to Mary. “I believe he is a guest of Lord Rutherford from the country, if I am not mistaken. I was introduced to him earlier. Seems to be a nice enough fellow, although I do not know much about him or his family.”
Grace watched him. Lord Radcliffe. He shook the other man’s hand. He gave her one long glance, as if to say, I will see you again. And then he was gone.
She suddenly felt as if her world had turned upside down.
“Aren’t you going to drink your tea?” Lord Grayson asked.
She blinked at him, realizing she still held the cup in her hands. “Oh, yes, of course.”
As she finally sipped the tea, she puzzled to make sense of it all. He was real! An actual person. She had not dreamed their meeting in the hallway. But how did he know who she was? He could have learned her name from anyone at the ball. And he could easily have found out that she was engaged to Lord Grayson, for their engagement was the talk of the evening. It was merely a coincidence that this gentleman resembled the man in her dreams, and she had only imagined that he called her Gráinne and imagined the words he was saying with his eyes. Everything that had happened between them could be explained quite logically. Yes. It could. Quite logically.
Logic, however, played no part in the indescribable, hauntingly familiar feelings that swept over her in his presence. She knew this man from somewhere....
Later that evening Lord Grayson escorted them home in his carriage. Once inside the townhouse, Mary pointedly excused herself and Grace found herself sitting alone with her new fiancé in the main parlor. A blaze crackled in the fireplace, warming the room.
“I know I said this to you earlier, but I am quite pleased that you have agreed to become my wife,” he said pleasantly, standing before the white marbletopped mantel.
“I am happy that you are pleased,” Grace responded from her seat upon the large damask sofa. And she was happy to please him, when she actually thought about it. He was a kind man and she knew he would be good to her. Her life with him would be peaceful. If she had a child with him, that would make her happy, although he already had an heir. His grown son attended Oxford.
Lord Grayson moved from the mantel and sat beside her, his face beaming.
“I hope we shall be very happy together, Grace,” he said, taking her hand in his. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Have you given any thought to when?”
“When?” Grace echoed, her heart still reeling with all that had happened this evening with Lord Radcliffe.
“When you would like to get married, sweet girl!” He chuckled at her obtuseness and continued lightly. “I was thinking perhaps just before Christmas. We could do something quite small, just our families and a few close friends. There’s no need for a grand wedding, since this is not the first for either of us.”
Christmas? Why, that was only a month away! She could be out of Mary’s house in a month. “Yes . . . Of course.”
He smiled at her, obviously delighted with her acquiescence. “I knew you would be reasonable about this. But with some women, you never know for certain. They set such a store by weddings and the like.”
He leaned in to kiss her. Grace instinctively recoiled from him.
Good heavens! Grace was no innocent maiden. She had been a wife and knew what her duties entailed. And she was not averse to kissing Lord Grayson. He was attractive and smelled clean. But somehow, after seeing Lord Radcliffe this evening, it seemed wrong to have Lord Grayson kiss her. She dared a glance at his pale blue eyes. He looked embarrassed. She knew she had insulted him.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, feeling contrite. “You surprised me.”
“No, no. Forgive my impulsiveness.” He shook his head and squeezed her hand again. “I admit I am a bit carried away with you. I should have asked your permission first.”
She smiled at him.
“May I?”
She nodded. This time she did not pull away from him, but sat perfectly still while he placed a light kiss upon her lips. It was not unpleasant. He simply did not inspire within her the same passion she felt merely thinking of Phillip.
Satisfied, he released her hand and rose from the sofa. “I shall begin first thing tomorrow to make arrangements for our wedding.”
Relieved that he had not pressured her for more, she sighed. “That sounds lovely.”
“Good night, Grace.�
�
“Good night, Lord Grayson.”
He flashed her an indulgent grin. “You must call me Reginald now, my darling.”
“I shall . . . Reginald.”
With that, he left the house and Grace continued to sit there for some time, staring at the golden flames flickering in the fireplace.
She was now officially engaged to be married to Reginald Marks.
How different this wedding would be compared to her first wedding to Henry Sutton ten years ago. She had been in love and excited to marry her handsome young beau, filled with hope and excitement for the future. But about her upcoming marriage to Lord Grayson she felt nothing but . . . indifference.
Her heart was filled with an indescribable longing for something, someone she dared not name.
Chapter Three
“Gráinne! Wait for me!”
She laughed at him, her red hair blowing wildly about her face, her horse racing across the green fields. Let Phillip catch her if he could! She urged her horse to go faster, leaning into him and whispering in his ear. Midnight leapt gracefully across a small stream, landing with ease upon thick grass on the other side. Excited that she had such a lead over Phillip, who usually bested her in everything, she smiled in triumph. He would not catch her now.
She guided Midnight up the small hill in eagerness, imagining Phillip straining to reach her. Savoring the victory that she knew was within her grasp, she moved farther up the hill. Just as she crested the top, Gráinne screamed in frustration.
Phillip sat astride his large gray stallion, waiting patiently for her at the top of the hill. Not even out of breath. He smiled winningly, his handsome face a picture of absolute superiority.
Furious beyond words, she flung her riding crop at him. It missed his head and sailed to the ground behind him.
He laughed loudly as he leapt from his horse and was at her side, reaching up to pull her with ease from her saddle.
“How could you possibly arrive before me?” she cried with undisguised irritation.
“Because, my darling, I have powers beyond your wildest dreams.” He grinned at her, revealing his perfectly white teeth. He wrapped his muscular arms around her shoulders, pressing her to his broad chest.
Gráinne’s anger melted at his very touch, as it always did. He had that effect upon her senses. She turned her face toward his and he leaned in and kissed her, as she had wanted him to.
“Why don’t you ever let me win?” she pouted when his lips left hers.
“Because you are so beautiful when you are angry.” He laughed again. “And you kiss better too.”
She shoved at his chest, but it was like shoving a brick wall. He pulled her tighter against him, bringing his mouth down over hers in a rough and hungry kiss. Gráinne felt that familiar rush of desire pour through her veins and kissed him back with an eagerness that matched his own. His lighthearted laughter and her petulant anger dissipated instantly, replaced by the heated passion that they could barely conceal when around others. Their mouths devoured each other, lips and tongues meeting in a frantic and erotic dance.
His hands moved along her spine, to her neck, splaying through her long, silky red curls. He cupped her face with his hands and stopped kissing her long enough to whisper, “I love you more than is humanly possible, Gráinne.”
“I love you even more,” she murmured before he lifted her in his strong arms and carried her to the small, whitewashed cottage with the thatched roof. It was to this refuge they were racing. It was to this little cottage, tucked away in the woods, where they met in secret, where her parents could not find her. Her parents not only disapproved of Phillip, they outright detested him. They had forbidden Gráinne to see him, but that had not stopped her. For she had fallen madly in love with the handsome stranger, who had arrived mysteriously one day in their small Irish village a few months earlier. Everyone was wary of Phillip Stuart and disliked his blatant wealth and polished manner. Gráinne’s father was a landowner and her family was the wealthiest in the county, so Phillip’s money meant nothing to Gráinne. It was everything else about him that fascinated her.
He was so different from any of the other men she knew. The worldly and sophisticated way in which he spoke, the air of mystery that clung to him, and the devilmay-care attitude had lured her restless spirit from the moment she laid eyes on him. She knew she was meant for him. And he knew it too.
Once they were inside the cottage, Gráinne could not remove her clothes fast enough. Phillip obliged by hastily undoing the rows of buttons down the back of her gown. The soft kisses he pressed upon the sensitive skin along her spine sent shivers of delight through her entire body. Oh, there were people in town who would tear her to shreds if they knew what she had been doing in this little cottage with Phillip, but she did not care. Their scornful looks were worth even one of his kisses. Her parents were ready to send her to a convent, but Gráinne only laughed at them. She was marrying Phillip and that was that. She loved him and wanted to be with him. Forever.
She pressed her naked body against his and they fell into the large feather bed together. His body was perfect and she ran her hands across his chest, moving over the smooth, taut planes. His warm skin was like velvet. Her mouth found his and that was all that mattered. Being here in his arms was all that mattered to her anymore. All except one thing.
“When?” she begged him. “Please tell me when.”
He moved over her, settling himself firmly between her legs. She sighed.
“Soon,” he breathed into her ear, her body shivering in response. “Very, very soon, my love.”
She arched her hips hard against him, her heart hammering. “You said you wanted to marry me. My parents are becoming more and more anxious about us. What are we waiting for?”
His dark eyes bored into her, desire flaming within their depths. “I want to marry you, Gráinne. I want it with all my heart. I just don’t know if you truly wish to marry someone like me.”
Her fingers clawed into the smooth skin of his back, pulling his weight down upon her. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She wanted him with a desperate need. “I do. I do want to be your wife. I want to be with you always.”
“You have no idea what that means.”
“Then tell me.” She began to cry, even though she tried to fight it. The hot tears sprang unbidden. It had come to this argument last time they were together and he had not given her a satisfactory answer. “Tell me . . .”
“Oh, Gráinne,” he whispered, a tortured expression on his face. He pressed kisses to the tears that spilled from her eyes. “I wish I could. I want to give you everything. I want to give you the world and spend eternity with you.”
“I want that too!” she cried, through her sobs. Through her desire for him.
“The cost for that is too high.”
“No cost is too high to be with you, Phillip.”
She maneuvered herself beneath him, feeling the hardness of his body and wanting him with an urgency that terrified her. Thrilled her. He responded willingly, driving into her with a force that startled them both. She met him stroke for stroke. They moved with increased rhythm. Their bodies and eyes locked with each other.
“Make me what you are, Phillip, please. . . . Make me what you are.”
An anguished cry sprang from his lips as he lowered his head to her neck....
Grace awoke with a strangled gasp, her body soaked with sweat and her heart pounding. She could not think where she was. Her body throbbed with a familiar, aching need.
Another dream. Another quite intimate dream. About him.
Trembling, Grace sat up, her damp flannel nightgown clinging to her breasts. She covered her heated cheeks with her hands and breathed deeply, willing her heart to return to a more normal pace. Although she shook with the unfulfilled ache of desire, she fought the urge to cry.
The dreams were becoming more intense, more passionate and fraught with an impending sense of loss. There was some secret, some so
rt of mystery, to these dreams and Grace could not unravel it. Something did not make sense. Something she was not sure she wanted to know.
After a moment more she lit the lamp next to her bed. Again, the pretty ormolu clock read quarter past five. Following her usual pattern, she left the warmth of her bed, wrapped herself in her robe, and moved silently to the window, seeking she knew not what. With trepidation she drew back the rose toile curtain to peer out at the dark enshrouded garden.
Her eyes scanned the lawn, searching for him as she always did. Wondering why she did this after every dream, she stared intently, almost willing him to appear. The clock ticked. She waited and watched, standing perfectly still. A wild hope in her heart, she held her breath. And then, there he was, stepping from the shadows along the garden wall. He wore a black top hat and a long cape flowed behind him. He walked with an elegant grace, his tall form moving with purpose toward the house. Stopping just below her second-story window, he looked up at her.
Her fingers gripped the curtain tightly, almost tearing the fabric. They stared at each other in the dim morning light. She could make out his pale skin and perfect features, could see the edge of his black hair beneath his hat. He looked exactly the same as he had in her dreams. Exactly the same as he had when she met him in the hallway last night. The dark eyes in his handsome face bored into her and she fought the impulse to throw open the window and jump out. She knew with an instinctive certainty that he would catch her in his arms quite easily. As if he could read her thoughts, he held out his hand to her in invitation to do just that.
Then what? She asked him, but he did not answer. He merely raised a dark winged eyebrow.
Make me what you are. The words she had uttered to him in her dream flooded her consciousness, even though she had no idea what they meant. Make me what you are. What was the significance of that?
He was inviting her to be with him. Whatever that entailed, she knew that if she went to him now, her life would change irrevocably. What would happen if she ran off with him? The ensuing scandal would be beyond repair. In spite of the wave of desire and longing that overcame her at the sight of him, blind fear kept her rooted to the relative safety of her bedroom.
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