Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace

by Regina Jeffers

  “One does not control it,” he said on a rasp as his hand cupped her breast. “He must simply hold on and permit it to take him where it chooses to go.”

  “Where shall this lead, my Lord?’ She had lived on a working estate and knew the mechanics behind the act, but Grace certainly knew nothing of the passion, which encased her.

  Lord Godown’s thumb mindlessly stroked her nipple. “It depends on you, Grace. I want you, but I will not force myself upon you. It must be your choice.”

  Grace sighed heavily. She desired him–wished to know him intimately–wanted to savor the feel of him, but the thought of relinquishing her virginity without marriage bonds confused her. “I fear I may become enceinte,” she admitted before a blush trailed its fingers across her skin.

  “I will withdraw before any opportunity of your becoming with child occurs,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you must want this, Grace.”

  “I do wish it, my Lord.”

  His Lordship caught her chin and raised it to where their gazes held. “Say my Christian name, Grace. I wish to hear it on your lovely lips.” He kissed her again. It was several minutes before they separate. Both gasping for air.

  It was the kiss for which she had waited her entire life. “I surrender, Gabriel.”

  She felt rather than saw him smile. “I will be gentle.” In the moon-filled room, he studied her, and Grace wished she could read his intentions. She held no true idea what to expect, but when he slid his hand to the hem of her gown and gave it a gentle tug she wondered whether she should withdraw. She possessed no doubt he would permit it without censure. Yet, a part of Grace’s mind wanted to know what other women knew. As a governess, she would have few, if any, opportunities to truly know a man.

  His hand caressed her hip, gently massaging it. Lord Godown was kissing her again. Restraint disappeared. His hand returned to her breast, and a shudder rippled through her frame. “I would pray for light where I might see you. Then I would pray to be healed so I might love you properly. A woman deserves the best for her first time.” Grace thought even weakened from blood loss, Gabriel Crowden would be more than enough man for her.

  From that point forward, Lord Godown’s fingers spoke for him. He caressed her cheek, massaged her breast’s nipple, and ran his hands up and down her thigh. All along, he kissed her. Then he tapped her leg with his fist, and Grace opened for him.

  As his tongue slid in and out of her mouth’s warm recesses, Lord Godown’s fingers traced lines to her most secret place. As wanton as it was, Grace spread her legs wider and welcomed his touch. It was the most exquisite feeling in the world. As he spread her wetness across the cleft of her opening, he lifted her right leg over his hip and edged closer. Grace could feel the heat of him as his erection rested against her stomach.

  He slid a finger into her opening. “God, Grace, I want you more than I can say. I burn for you,” he whispered into her hair. “I will make this the best it can be. Making love on one’s side is not the most convenient of matings, but it may be ideal for a woman’s first time. It keeps me from burying myself in your wetness.”

  Hesitantly, she asked, “Is there another way? Something I can do?”

  He brushed his lips across hers. “Many ways, my love, and I hope to one day show you all of them.”

  His tenderness and words of endearment were Graces undoing. If he had asked her to walk on water, she would have drowned trying. “Then present me a taste of desire, Gabriel,” she said with a newfound bravado.

  She lifted her hips, and Lord Godown placed himself at her opening. His lips captured hers again. Grace felt the pressure. Felt the stretch. Felt the ache. He groaned, and she answered with her own guttural response. He lifted her hips higher and pressed forward again.

  He stopped and for a brief instant she thought the act done, and she knew disappointment. Then he began to rock. Withdrawing and pushing forward. Inch by inch, Lord Godown filled her. She had the very real desire to rip what clothes remained between them away. She rocked her hips toward him, and His Lordship gasped as he sank further into her wetness. They moved together. A primitive synchronized dance of obsession.

  He pinched her nipples, but not in a cruel manner Pure passion flashed between them, and Grace’s hips moved faster. Their rhythmic stretch increased. A hard thrust of his hips brought a brief spasm of pain, but Grace only winced once. His hand. His mouth. His heat. It was faultlessness. He drove into her again and again. His breathing shallowed, as did hers. Each thrust brought him deeper. When his finger began to massage the nub at the tip of her cleft, Grace lost all reason. This moment with this man was all that mattered.

  On a rasp, he coaxed, “Permit it to happen, Love. Permit the pleasure take you to the stars.” And then release found her just as he had said. Darkness and piercing light fought for control of her mind. Those two and the purest shades of red and blue and yellow. Lord Godown had stilled as he milked the last of her shuddering response from her. “You are so beautiful.”

  “It is too dark for you to see me, my Lord,” she protested weakly.

  “For an intelligent woman, you are in error again. I see only you. When I close my eyes, it is your image, which remains behind my lids.”

  Grace wanted his words to be true. Intuitively, she tested the pressure of his erection by tightening the muscles that held him. He reacted immediately. The rhythm returned, and their dance continued. Her heat rose again, and she could feel the tension in Lord Godown’s body as he strained against her. “God, you feel magnificent,” he groaned. The emotional response carried them forward until Lord Godown stilled and then jerked from her. Grace felt a stream of wet heat gush against her inside thigh. “I promised,” he groaned, as his body jerked intermittently.

  She lay exhausted against him. Her hand rested on his chest, and Grace could tell his heart raced as violently as did hers. “Are you well, my Lord?” she whispered.

  “Gabriel,” he said with some effort.

  Despite her uncertainty, Grace smiled. “Gabriel.”

  He rolled heavily to his back. “I am more than well, Grace.”

  “Your fever?” she asked in concern.

  “Remains,” Lord Godown confirmed. “But I have never felt more alive.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed the back of hers. “Next time, I will use more finesse.”

  Grace smiled easily. “Then I did not disappoint. There will be a next time?”

  “For an awkward position, it was most satisfying, and there will definitely be a next time and one after that and after that.”

  Grace could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “Rest, my Lord. We have more than enough time to decide what follows.”

  Within minutes, Lord Godown’s steady breathing indicated he had returned to his dreams. Grace, too, felt the quietness of sleep creep closer, but she was very self-conscious over her dishevelment. Therefore, Grace carefully edged from the bed. Slowly, she made her way to the water basin. Lighting a single candle, she washed away the proof of their lovemaking. She had always thought the loss of her innocence would change her somehow, but other than a trace of blood and a few sore muscles, Grace felt very much as she had before she had lain across His Lordship’s bed.

  She caught her reflection in the oval mirror hanging on the wall. The reflection indicated a difference–likely both on the inside and the outside. It had come from her first encounter with a man–a thoroughly masculine man. A secret aspiration. A fulfilled desideration. A memory to which she could cling. One designed to drive away the loneliness. To quell the emptiness.

  Deliberately, she lifted her breasts and set them aright within the gathered night rail. They still felt heavy with yearning. With sensation. With an emotional completeness found in Lord Godown’s touch. This night would define her previously staid existence. Grace held no illusions a relationship with His Lordship would ever know fruition, but it was wondrously satisfying to have a hook upon which to hang her dreams.

  *

  Gabri
el had closed his eyes and had breathed evenly, but he had not slept. Instead, he had thought of the woman who had willing laid beside him. Grace Nelson was a corundum–as plain and simple as they came–but certainly more lovely than he could have ever imagined. Having been banished from England when his parents had passed, he had never had time to properly grieve. He had returned to an empty estate. The life he had known at Gossling Hill had been ripped from his grasp.

  As a young buck, he had known his fair share of women. They had blatantly thrown themselves at him, and he had learned of a woman’s true passions at the hands of some of the ton’s most notorious ladies. He had known courtesans, widows, and wives, and he had carefully built a reputation as an expert lover, but he had not known Lord Harold Templeton’s eldest daughter, Gardenia. In fact, until this night, he had never known an innocent.

  Grace Nelson had presented him with her most precious gift. Gabriel wished now that he had waited until he fully recovered to seduce the woman. Now that he knew her–knew something of the lady’s mettle–he would enjoy courting her properly.

  The deep pain he had experience when he left his home behind had come close to unmanning him, but he had found those of a like mind among the men of the Realm, and he had not regretted his service to England. Yet, he had regretted disappointing his father. Regretted bringing shame to the family. All the good he had accomplished in Europe was a small token to the debt he owed his family. He owed the Crowden name a resurgence of its former glory. Despite having strong ties to France, he would become the ideal British aristocrat. He would find a proper wife–one who could fill the emptiness at Gossling Hill with a brood of children and his heart with her caring nature. Just as his father had always dreamed, he would become a Parliamentary force.

  As he listened to Miss Nelson’s quiet movements, he imagined escorting her about London. Saw the happiness on her countenance when she experienced a wardrobe of fine clothes and the best of Society. He had known when he had pressed her that once he recovered he would offer for Grace Nelson; it was expected of a gentleman who had intimately used a lady, but Gabriel had possessed no qualms regarding the obligation. It was as if she had fallen into his arms, and he was more than willing to carry her into his life.

  Chapter Five

  His rants woke Grace, and she scurried to assess the marquis’s condition. More than once she wished she had something she could give him for the pain. Other than the brandy, Lord Godown had faced his ordeal with nothing more than his resolve. As dawn’s streaks sliced the room into segments filled with light and shadow, his fever had escalated, and Grace held remorse for their encounter. “I am deeply sorry, my Lord,” she whispered as she washed his face and shoulders with cool water. “You are so brave.”

  Slowly, his lids opened, but his gaze had lost its clarity. “Grace?”

  “Yes, Gabriel. I am here.” She touched the cloth to his lips and squeezed a few drops of moisture across them.

  “No regrets,” he said weakly.

  Grace swallowed hard. She moistened his lips again. “Knowing you is the most exquisite moment of my life.” Tears misted her eyes, but she was certain he could not see them. His eyes drifted closed. “My Lord. Gabriel.” Pause. “I have been considering what might be best. For your care.” Pause. “I think it prudent I write to your estate and ask someone send a competent physician and a carriage.” Grief tightened her throat. Grace worried for his recovery. From the beginning, Lord Godown had pronounced his doom. Of course, she would not give credence to the idea by speaking of her fears. “With your recovery, you shall require time before you may ride once again. A carriage is a better alternative.”

  He fumbled for her hand and gave it a weak squeeze. “I remain in your capable hands.” He stared at her in open speculation.

  Grace breathed relief’s sigh. “I shall do so at once. I shall also pay Mr. Bradshaw for three additional days.”

  “Use my purse,” he said softly. Then he, too, sighed and gave way to the nagging sleep.

  Grace remained at his side for the next hour. Then she dressed in her one remaining gown and waited for the inn’s staff to deliver her breakfast. When the maid arrived, she placed a hastily written note in the girl’s hand. She had removed Lord Godown’s signet ring and franked the letter. She assumed His Lordship had a competent estate manager or secretary. His calling card had provided her the name of his estate and the directions. “See this letter goes out in the morning post,” she instructed. “My husband has taken an ague and our journey must be delayed,” she lied convincingly.

  “Mr. Bradshaw be pleased to have you stay longer, Ma’am,” the girl said as she sat the heavy tray on the serving table. “I be bringing your gowns by shortly.”

  “That is most kind of you.” Grace slipped a coin in the girl’s hand. “If you will inform Mr. Bradshaw of our extended stay, I would appreciate it. If your master will call later, I shall see to the additional charges.”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  When the girl exited, Grace counted the coins in His Lordship’s purse. It held more than she earned in a year of tending children. She slipped the ring into the leather bag. After checking his comfort again, Grace enjoyed the hearty breakfast and then spent more than an hour recording their encounter in her makeshift journal. When Mr. Bradshaw made his call, he mentioned that another of his guests had asked after Lord Godown.

  Grace’s fingers tightened on the chair’s back. “I did not think my husband held any acquaintances in the area,” she said aristocratically.

  “I do not believe the gentleman is an intimate of the marquis. He mentioned knowing of His Lordship’s estate,” Bradshaw said distractedly.

  Grace shot a glance to where Gabriel Crowden rested uneasily. “Does the gentleman have a name?” she asked with as much casualness as she could muster.

  “Wright,” Bradshaw disclosed. “Jonah Wright.”

  Grace forced calmness into her voice. “It is not a name with which I am familiar, but I shall mention it to His Lordship when he wakes. I have insisted my husband seek his bed until he recovers.”

  “I will ask Mrs. Bradshaw to send up somethin’ for Lord Godown’s cough.” Bradshaw made his way to the door.

  Grace thought quickly. A draught for cough would do His Lordship little good. “If Mrs. Bradshaw has something for a fever, I would be most appreciative. My husband insists it is nothing, but I am a doting wife.” Grace held the door for the man.

  Bradshaw nodded his agreement. “Me wife be an excellent nurse. She tended to Mr. Wright only a few days prior. The man’s gun went off unexpectedly. He be sporting a flesh wound.”

  Grace’s heart raced. “I am sorry to hear it.” She actually wished Lord Godown’s aim had been better. “I am certain Mr. Wright is thankful of Mrs. Bradshaw’s expertise.”

  “That he is, my Lady.” With those words, the innkeeper departed.

  Grace’s knees buckled, and she clutched at the door’s handle. Purposely, she turned the key before wedging a straight-backed chair under the latch. Although she had known of the possibility of Lord Godown’s attacker taking refuge at the inn, somehow Mr. Bradshaw’s news had made the danger real. “Trailed my attacker to this inn,” Lord Godown had disclosed. “If he knows I have taken refuge within these walls, he will come for me. What I am asking of you could be dangerous.”

  “Oh, my!” She swayed in place. Her forehead creased in worry. “What do I do now?” She shot a glance to where Lord Godown rested. “Think,” she chastised herself. “Check His Lordship’s gun,” she said with a shiver of apprehension. Grace hated guns. She associated guns with hunting and her father’s death. It was an irrational connection. Her father never used a gun during a hunt, and Baron Nelson’s death was the result of his horse’s stumble over a hazard. Yet, the fear remained. She knew where Lord Godown’s guns could be found. Grace had placed them in the dresser’s drawer.

  With resignation’s sigh, she opened the drawer and removed the three weapons. Taking the smallest in
her grip, she examined its coolness. She thought she might handle this palm-sized one efficiently. Yet, Grace pointedly placed the other two on the table beside Lord Godown’s shaving instruments and Viscountess Averette’s copy of Pride and Prejudice.

  *

  His condition worsened, and for many hours, Grace had thought she would lose him. During those anxiety-filled hours, Grace held his hand, bathed his fevered brow, pronounced a litany of promises to God if he would grant her prayers and spare Lord Godown, and told him her deepest secrets, but ever once did she speak of her growing need to see to his well-being. If asked, she might have confessed her fascination for the man. But Grace possessed a very practical mind. If Lord Godown survived, he would express his gratitude, would likely be her friend for life, but he would choose another. Her position and her unattractive features would preclude her from His Lordship’s notice.

  “Hard to think romantically about a man one has seen at his worst,” she chastised her foolish heart, but it was a useless effort. Grace Nelson, dreary governess, had lost her heart.

  After that first day, when Lord Godown had insisted she step to the hall while he saw to his personal needs, he had been too weak for such gallantry. For the last several days, she had rolled him to his side and had held the chamber pot for him, and only from her efforts had he managed any dignity. “It is odd,” she thought as she gazed out the room’s window upon the stable, “how such intimacy would have appeared disgusting not a week prior. Since His Lordship and I have shared a bed, I no longer find the thoughts of a man’s body as degrading wantonness. In fact, Lord Godown is quite magnificent.”

  Staring out the window, she spotted a man lurking in the shadows of an overhang. Permitting the drapes to hide her from view, she surreptitiously examined the stranger who took a step forward as a counter to her retreat. Without a hat, the man wore his light brown hair too long–tied in a queue. Likely twelve or thirteen stone. Small paunch. Scraggily appearance. But most importantly, his arm in a sling. Grace could not turn her gaze from where the man stood. Had he seen her? If his was merely a flesh wound, why did he wear a sling? Did he plan to come for Lord Godown? Was that the reason he lingered in the shadows? As theirs was the last room in an “L”-shaped hallway, she did not think it possible another room overlooked the stable yard. Most of the rooms faced the busy inn yard.