by Amy Quinton
Chapter 9
The duke’s dressing room…
The next morning…
“Your grace, if it pleases you, I would like to have a quick glance over your jacket in the brighter light, and one last chance to see your coat in perfect order before you brave the wilds of the back garden,” said Bryans, with mock solemnity.
Stonebridge ignored his valet’s dry humor—he was not in the mood—and stepped into the wash of light from the sun shining through the window, eager to look outside. He preferred the outdoors to being inside, regardless of the weather. Today, it was sunny and brisk. Perfect. He noted the various pathways lined by hedgerows filled with roses while Bryans brushed at his coat. Despite the almost stark formality of the gardens, he anticipated being out there, breathing in the fresh, crisp air. A vision in blue on the garden path beneath his window caught his attention. He faltered and his heart skipped at least two beats. Even from his great height above, he knew her.
“Er, Bryans, if you’re finished, I’m off to take a turn about the gardens.” He hadn’t exercised Abacus this morning, yet a walk suddenly seemed just the thing.
“Certainly, Your Grace. May I ask? Will you be meeting Miss Radclyffe, perchance?” Bryans carried on with a few last swipes of his brush, pretending earnestness despite the knowing grin on his face. The servants knew everything. Or thought they did.
“No.”
“As I suspected. I shall speak to the housekeeper at once and see what sort of supplies she has on hand. The old lawn shirt might do in a pinch. I’m glad I thought to bring it. And a bath along with a change of clothes will be necessary.”
His valet walked away, mumbling to himself and making what appeared to be a mental list.
Stonebridge watched and listened. He could just make out the words: medical, herbs, bandages. When he could take no more, he asked, “Bryans, what on earth are you on about?”
“It never hurts to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“An encounter with Miss Radclyffe.”
“And what does seeing Miss Radclyffe have to do with my old lawn shirt?”
“One never knows. The housekeeper might be low on supplies. As such, it would make for fine bandages in a squeeze. Just in case, mind.”
“Bryans, amusing you are not. Don’t resign your duties for the stage.” And he left with haste, directly for the back gardens.
Clearly, he was a glutton for punishment. He just needed to explore why: why he thought of her night and day. Why he physically reacted to her presence. Why he wanted to throw away his future just to embrace her. Why she affected him so profoundly.
* * * *
“Shhhh…” warned Beatryce. “You don’t want Grace to hear us and spoil our plans, do you?”
Beatryce and Middlebury squatted indelicately behind a large rose bush as they watched Grace make her way along a garden path. Beatryce tried desperately to keep her morning gown away from the thorny branches while remaining out of sight.
She hated getting up this early, really, but she was desperate. Yesterday, it had become clear additional tactics were necessary to turn Stonebridge’s wandering gaze away from her cousin. Fortunately, Beatryce was clever, daring, and willing to do anything to get what she wanted. She had no choice.
“Just what am I doing out here in the garden at such an ungodly hour of the morning? I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, you know,” replied Middlebury, with a mischievous grin.
“Shhhh,” warned Beatryce again. She raised her head above the shrubs to mark Grace’s progress then ducked down again. As soon as Grace made it to the first bend headed into the copse of trees, she and Middlebury would move on and follow at a discreet distance.
Beatryce’s knees creaked as she adjusted her position. She was uncomfortable and cold. Her back, thighs and neck ached from squatting down for so long. The dew dampened her gloves as she used the ground for balance.
Grace, thankfully, was wearing her blue cloak this morning. It wasn’t a surprise, for it was the only cloak she owned. Beatryce had one exactly like it, but with a hood, which played perfectly into her plans.
Several guests were taking a tour about the gardens, and Stonebridge always did. Beatryce knew he was an outdoor lover, so it was just a matter of luck. And she was prepared for the opportune moment to present itself.
“How do you know Stonebridge will follow?”
“You must be joking? Have you seen how he looks at her whenever she’s around? He wants her, and I know how easily men are led by their…impulses…if not guided properly by their women. If I thought it would do any good, even I'd suggest he bed her and get her out of his system, but Stonebridge is too moral. He’s just as likely to think he has to marry her, and that just won’t do. So, no, I have no doubt he will follow if the opportunity presents. We just need to set the stage to our advantage. Believe me; if he thinks she’s ‘free’ with her favors to just anyone—no offense, dear—he’ll lose interest.”
“None taken, darling. No need to say more; this, I can handle, but it’s a good thing he doesn’t know…”
Oomph.
Middlebury winced when she elbowed him in the gut.
“For your own health, and since I am still in need of your help, I am going to forget what you intended to say.”
“Say what? Besides, you would miss me terribly if I weren’t around to keep things interesting,” replied Richard with a devilish grin.
At Beatryce’s obvious scowl, he quickly continued, “Oh, don’t go getting yourself worked up in a snit. Don’t forget, we’ve got a play to enact, right? So, lead on, fair maiden, for our quarry has just rounded the corner. I shall follow your direction, mistress.”
He said the last under his breath in a suggestive manner, and Beatryce forced herself to smile back at him over her shoulder before she crawled out onto the path.
Mistress, indeed.
* * * *
What the hell am I doing following this chit?
Stonebridge wasn’t really paying a lot of attention to the beauty surrounding him; he was too caught up in his thoughts. His eyes caught a shimmer of blue up ahead in the distance. What he saw remarkably resembled the blue cloak he'd seen Grace wearing as she walked beneath his window.
He peered ahead and unconsciously increased his stride when he made out the cut and color of her cloak through the trees and determined she was not alone. As the lovers intimately embraced, fire raced through his veins, and his temper boiled.
To think she played the innocent and I fell for it. God, I am such a fool.
A moment passed before he realized he had picked up his pace to the point that he was running. Running? He slowed his speed to a normal, albeit brisk, walk.
God, I have surely lost my mind.
He glanced down and realized he was clenching his hands. In fact, he clenched them so tightly into fists, he was drawing blood. He forcibly relaxed and looked up in time to see Middlebury (Grace’s lover!) approaching on the path ahead.
Was he adjusting his clothes and tucking in his damn shirt?
He reigned in his instinct to attack—barely. Why should he bother? What man wouldn’t take what was offered so freely from such a comely wench? No, he knew where to direct his anger, and she was clearly staying on up ahead.
As he passed Middlebury, he scarcely managed a curt “Middlebury” in passing. That would have to do—else he would throttle the man.
* * * *
Grace sighed as she looked out over the lake behind Beckett House. Such beauty was a sight to behold. It was her favorite place to be. This time, she was sitting on a bench built into the dock since, realistically, there were too many guests about for her to risk dipping her toes in the water as was her wont. Today, the air was crisp and tinged with the fresh scent of water. How refreshing for the soul, and how lucky she was to be able to enjoy such natural beauty.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Miss Innocence? What? Your lover had to leave you alr
eady? If I had known your favors were so freely given, our library encounter could have ended quite differently, to our mutual benefit,” scorned a voice from behind.
Goosebumps traveled up and down her arms at the ice in his voice. How could a man that large approach so silently? The breeze had been blowing gently, enough to mask the footsteps of the approaching storm that was the Duke of Stonebridge. She had been so content in the tranquility of her surroundings, she had unconsciously attributed his footsteps to the water lapping below, gently rocking the floating dock on which she sat. Thus, she had been blissfully unaware of the impending fury until he spoke.
She continued to stare out over the water a moment longer. She would not react rashly to his provoking words, even though her first instinct was to retort with offended fury. She had thought they were past all this after his apology yesterday. Apparently not. He was determined to distrust her. She braced herself for a confrontation as she stood and turned to face the man who seemed determined to haunt her every thought.
And she decided at that moment to fight fire with overt friendliness. “And a good morning to you, Your Grace. It seems we’re back to where we started, again. And what, pray tell, did I do this time? Meeting a lover, was it?” Well, perhaps friendliness with a wee bit of sarcasm thrown in for good measure. She always did wear sarcasm well.
“As if you didn’t know? This time I saw you!” he bellowed. My, such feeling.
“You must be mistaken,” she responded with poise. “I haven’t seen a soul since I left the house this morning until you…to my everlasting regret.”
She said the last just above a whisper. She was proud her voice remained steady when she was dying a little on the inside. She was not guilty of whatever he was accusing her of, but it didn’t stop his anger from making her feel small.
“And a liar to boot,” he continued to roar. “How can you face your looking glass in the morning when your lips drip with lies and deceit? You flirt with every man here, including me.”
Now her anger flared to life. “You have got to be joking? Flirting? With you? Ha! And I told you; I have been alone. If you saw two people embracing, it wasn’t me.”
Scratch that, she was outright furious. How dare he accuse her of such heinous behavior?
“Like hell it wasn’t. I saw you and Middlebury kissing. Christ, he was still tucking in his shirt as he walked away from your little rendezvous. You may have had your hood up, but that cloak, with its patterning and blue color, is unmistakable. You’re still wearing it, for God’s sake.”
She laughed wildly. It was just too unbelievable, or perhaps not. Good ole Beatryce. Grace had no doubt that the mistake was deliberate. And he was going to marry that woman? Ooooh, they deserved each other. Grace wished she could witness the moment when he realized just what he had married.
She stepped toe to toe with the duke as she smugly revealed what she could so easily prove, “My. Cloak. Doesn’t. Have. A. Hood. You. Miserable…”
Grace punctuated each word with a punch to his chest, and he just stood there, taking it all, as she did. She was crying now, for what she didn’t know, but she threw her last punch with all the strength she could muster. Unfortunately, it was with too much force, and he, as large and muscular as he was, was too big to be moved. Which meant she moved, backwards, and head over heels into the water.
* * * *
“Grace! Grace! Oh, God, Grace!” yelled the duke. Terror made his heart hammer inside his chest. It had all happened in slow motion: her sudden and obvious anger. The fire he witnessed in her eyes. His realization that he was mistaken. His surprise that she would actually hit him. Her fall…And through it all, he was stunned and slow to react, but only for a tick.
He snapped to with the realization that even if she could swim, her skirts and women’s trappings would weigh her down. She would drown. He didn’t hesitate then…Oh, God, Grace. He dove in.
The water was icy as it slid over his back, but bracing cold was what he needed. His adrenaline was in high gear as he searched for her in the darkness. If felt like an eternity had passed before he spotted her sinking beneath him. Fortunately, her coat was lightly colored, otherwise…He shut off that train of thought before anxiety got the best of him and dove down, reaching out toward the blue fading away below him.
His heart raced and his lungs were near to bursting as he broke the surface. He gasped beloved air into his starved lungs then looked down at the woman he grasped tightly in his arms. She was too still and he needed to make the shore, quickly. He hadn’t gone far when he realized he had to remove her cloak. It was too heavy and slowed him down. He ripped it off, releasing it to fall to the depths of the lake.
He scrambled up the bank. She wasn’t breathing. God, she wasn’t breathing! He lifted her up, popped the upper buttons on her dress, and slit the laces to her corset with the knife he kept hidden in his boot.
“Grace, you will live, damn it! Come back to me!” he roared between breaths.
He alternately blew in her mouth and pressed on her chest to try to get the air moving and her heart pumping. His hands were shaking; he was terrified.
Water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too panicked to bother brushing it out of his face. He saw nothing but a dull world without her in it, even if he couldn’t be an intimate part of her world. She was funny, in her own way, and nice. Too nice. Her antics made him laugh—for the first time in many years he felt light hearted despite the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders.
Why didn’t he think about that before he confronted her with his accusations? Because he didn’t think. He saw the ‘evidence’ and reacted without forethought. He was enraged by the thought of another man, any other man, touching her goodness. But especially a scoundrel like Middlebury. He should have known something wasn’t right.
She reared up suddenly and began to vomit water. He held her as she bent forward and continued coughing and gasping for air.
His relief was palpable. She'd almost died. It was his fault. All because he let emotions rule his actions. After Eton, he had sworn to never do so again. Would he ever learn his lesson?
After a few moments, her coughing subsided. As it did, she relaxed in his arms. He sat on the ground with her legs across his and held her sideways to his chest. He could not resist the impulse to brush back a few wet strands of hair off her face.
At his touch, she looked up, slowly, and as she squinted up at him, she weakly punched his chest with her fist and said, “Bastard…”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. After all that, the minx was determined to finish her tirade. He was simply relieved she was going to be all right. His soul felt light and he could finally breathe again.
After a few moments, they stood, a bit unsteadily, to be sure. He chuckled like a candidate for Bedlam as he worked off his coat. Grace grabbed him by the lapels of his ruined jacket before he had made any reasonable progress and said, “Are you laughing at me? I almost died, you big oaf. Oh, God, I almost died! And you saved me!” she shouted with obvious glee.
And then she was kissing him.
What started out as frantic pecks all over his face took a serious turn as she stopped and pulled back to look at him. He stood frozen; so still.
She searched his eyes. He didn’t know what she sought. He saw her pulse beating furiously in her neck. And he could imagine why. Nearly drowning. Being alive. Being near him. Well, possibly the last. She was soaked and a mess and still clinging to his jacket. They both should have been shivering, but instead heat flared, arching between them as she dove into his eyes. Embedded herself into his soul.
He stared at her lips. And he wanted. Yearned. Ached. For her. Only her. And before he could stop himself, he reached out, grabbed her, and kissed her.
He angled his head left, then right as he sought the perfect angle. His tugged on her chin and whispered, “Open up for me, sweetheart.”
She did, and he plunged inside with his tong
ue. His entire body burned. He was flooded with sensory input: her taste…of mint from the kitchen garden. Her smell…of lavender fresh linens hanging in the breeze to dry. Her sound…soft moans coming from deep within her chest. Then, there was nothing but heat burning throughout his body. The dukedom, the lake, Beatryce…the world…ceased to exist. Everyone and everything fled from his memories but this woman, Grace, whom he had only met a few days ago.
And he was quickly losing all control. Never had a kiss been filled with such all-consuming fire. Before, kissing other women, even Beatryce, had just been, well, wet. This kiss, on the other hand, was explosive, hot, emotional.
Oh, God, why her? Why now?
Abruptly, he pulled back and struggled to bank his desire. No matter what his wishes, this could not be. He knew when he became the tenth Duke of Stonebridge he would have to put the estate above his personal desires, but he never thought he’d have such difficulty in doing so. Never had there been such temptation, temptation that made him want to risk everything to slake his own personal cravings.
He was a cad; he knew that now. He was wrong about her, again, and he acted the jealous fool. He knew without the evidence of that blasted cloak that she had been telling the truth. But none of it mattered. His destiny was set.
He shivered with cold. They needed to get back to the house before they became sick from their sodden clothes and before they were discovered in such dishabille.
Why did that suddenly seem like a good thing?
He glanced at Grace. Her eyes were just now opening. He knew he shouldn’t look, or he’d be lost again, so he looked away, everywhere but at her as he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Hmmm?”
He chuckled softly; he couldn’t help it. She was still dazed from their kiss. It was probably her first, and he felt like a king.
“I asked, are you all right?”
“Oh, if you count almost dying, then flying to the moon, all right, then, yes. Yes, I am.”