He turned his gaze to Grace. She glanced up, smiling, her eyes warm. There was no one he would rather be beside, he realised, but that insight terrified him. He could never expose himself to rejection again. Those past memories were too strong; they still held the power to hurt. As, no doubt, Grace’s memories of her lonely, unloved childhood could still hurt her.
Had Rendell’s betrothal to Miss Dunn revived those childhood insecurities? Could that be why she had returned his kiss under the mistletoe? Had she been seeking comfort? Did she crave assurance that she belonged and was capable of being loved? Was that why she had fallen so readily for Clara’s father’s sweet words?
Well, he could offer comfort, he could provide a home. He could offer no more and, sooner or later, a woman such as Grace would want more. He had seen her pleasure as she interacted with the Dunns and the rest of the villagers and, although the danger posed by Rendell had passed, there would be other men.
She needed people around her, and happiness and laughter, and that he could not offer.
The singing ended.
‘My lord. Miss Bertram. Would you care to join us for a bite of supper?’ The Reverend Dunn stood before them. ‘It will not be very grand, but I know Elizabeth and Ralph would welcome the opportunity to celebrate with their friends.’
‘I am not sure,’ Nathaniel said. ‘It will be dark soon...’
From the corner of his eye, he saw Grace’s smile fade and he was helpless to resist.
‘...but...on the other hand, the sky is clear and, although not a full moon, there should be enough light to see us home.’
Ralph Rendell joined them. ‘It would mean a lot to us if you can stay a while.’
‘Very well. We shall accept. Thank you.’
Grace looked thrilled. And he was happy to make her happy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was late by the time they arrived home. Ned drove the carriage away from the front of the Hall with a rattle and a clatter of hooves, and then there was silence. The landscape was frosted, sparkling like a hundred thousand diamonds in the moonlight. The night air was still, scented with wood smoke, and Grace—pleasantly light-headed from the combined effects of the mulled wine, the infectious joy of the newly betrothed couple and the intimacy of that slow carriage ride in the dark, with Nathaniel and Clara, like a proper family—was convinced there was magic in the air.
It was a night when anything seemed possible. Nathaniel had visited the village and met his neighbours for the first time in nine years. He had helped decorate the church and he had accepted the vicar’s invitation to supper at the rectory. He had already begun to change, thanks to her. How much further might he change, with her help?
Her future suddenly seemed full of promise and boundless possibilities and, for the first time, settled.
She had found a place to call home: a place where she belonged and a home where she was not only wanted, but where she was valued and valuable.
Clara was already asleep, cradled in Nathaniel’s arms, and Grace opened the front door to allow him to carry her through. Brack, tail whipping back and forth, was there to greet them, as was Sharp. Grace put her finger to her lips and pointed to Clara.
Sharp nodded, sliding the bolts home quietly as he secured the front door.
‘Will you be needing me for anything else tonight, milord?’
‘No. You may go to bed, Sharp. Thank you.’
Sharp disappeared towards the back of the house. Nathaniel turned to Grace and her stomach flipped. Surely she was not imagining the heat in his gaze.
‘I will carry Clara to bed,’ he whispered.
Clara barely stirred as Grace undressed her and put her in her nightgown, then tucked her into her ready-warmed bed, after removing the warming pan with its load of hot coals. She kissed her little girl’s forehead, smoothing her unruly curls, and then Nathaniel, too, kissed her goodnight. They left the room, Nathaniel holding the door for Grace and then closing it softly behind her.
Nathaniel hesitated. ‘Shall you retire immediately?’
She shook her head, mute. She wanted to be with him. She longed to surround him with her love and to heal him and to help him return to the life he should be living.
If only he would take me in his arms.
She felt emboldened—by the night, by the hush of the house around them, by the wine—but not so emboldened that she could take the first step towards the intimacy she craved. She was sure the desire that smouldered deep in his eyes every time he looked at her was not mere wishful thinking on her part, but still she could not risk making the first move.
She played a little game in her head: If he does not care for me, he will send me to my room. But...if he does care...
‘I am not tired,’ she said, ‘but if you do not wish for company, I shall retire to my sitting room.’
He half-bowed. ‘I shall enjoy your company.’
They walked downstairs side by side, Grace’s stomach dancing with butterflies. Was she wilfully allowing her imagination to lead her into the wrong decisions? Was it just because she longed for him that she imagined he felt the same? She, of all people, knew what the outcome of this night might be. She had Clara to prove it. And yet, her heart was so full of love for Nathaniel, so full of the yearning to take him in her arms and soothe away the years of hurt and loneliness, that she would face that risk with her eyes wide open and no regrets.
In the drawing room, the fire was still alight. Grace sat on the sofa whilst Nathaniel poured two glasses of wine from a decanter. He sat on a chair. Grace stared at the crystal wine glass in her hand, fiercely concentrating on the play of firelight through the ruby red of the wine, quelling her disappointment. She had been so sure he would sit by her side. Doubts now dominated, where only moments before she had been so full of hope. She sipped the wine, the spicy, fruity tang teasing tongue and throat, and cautioned herself not to get this wrong...not to make a fool of herself.
Her lips tingled with the effects of the wine. She glanced up as she soothed them, saw his gaze follow the movement of her tongue and her pulse leapt in response.
She had to break the silence—had to say something, no matter how inane, before she blurted out the truth she held in her heart.
‘Thank you for coming with us today.’
He lifted his glass in salute, but said nothing.
‘It must have been hard for you.’
A faint line etched between his brows and then was gone. If she hadn’t been watching so closely, she would have missed it. He placed his glass on the side table and leaned forward, reaching to capture her hands. She stilled, her heart racing as their gazes locked. Her head whirled. She could drown in the brown depths of those beautiful eyes.
‘It was hard, but not as hard as I anticipated.’ His fingers firmed around hers. ‘And I have you to thank for that. You have helped me face my fears.
‘Before today I would have let the stares and the whispers of those strangers bother me and I would have walked away from those that stared. I have allowed my fear to dictate my life, but you have taught me to give others the chance to accept me for myself and not judge me by how I look.
‘You have taught me there are more important things in life, such as Clara’s future.’ He hauled in a breath. His eyes darkened. ‘I owe you so much, Grace.’
Grace turned her hands within his grasp and curved her fingers around his.
‘You owe me nothing. Allowing me to stay here with Clara is reward enough. I am happy here. This is my home, now, for as long as you will allow me to stay.’
‘Then that will be for ever, for I have promised you I will never part you from Clara.’
‘Thank you. I cannot tell you how much that means to me.’
She willed him to kiss her, striving to communicate her love and her desire
by a look alone, but that smouldering heat still did not flare into passion.
Why does he hesitate? Does he fear I will reject him?
Could she, by loving him, banish the pain of the past and show him the way to a brighter future? She could not be mistaken...this lost soul in front of her needed her. She had it in her power to heal his hurts and to restore his pride. She must find the courage to take the first step...
‘Grace...I...’
‘Hush.’ Holding his gaze, Grace slid from the sofa to her knees before Nathaniel. She placed her fingertips to his lips, then slowly, gently, she stroked her hand over his face, caressing his damaged cheek, registering the uneven texture, as though knotted pieces of rope lay beneath the surface of his skin: tangible evidence of the fire that had changed his life for ever.
He stilled, every muscle tense, his eyes haunted.
She could not put into words how proud she was of him, for facing the villagers and for his willingness to change; such words would surely injure his masculine pride. No, she could not tell him, but she could show him all those things, and she could show him, by her actions, that in her eyes he was both beautiful and lovable.
She leaned into him, pressing her body between his muscled thighs as she placed her lips on his.
It was akin to kissing a statue. Hard lips, rigid jaw. She pressed closer still, raising her other hand so she cradled his face, her lips soft as they moved against his mouth. Every muscle appeared to wind a notch tighter, if that was possible, until, with a groan and a gasp, he took her in his arms, moulding her to him, as he angled his head, his lips softening and moving under hers. His mouth opened and their tongues met, igniting a fire deep inside.
She poured her heart and her soul into that kiss, molten fire sizzling through her veins until she could no longer tell where she ended and he began. Her body had melted, sinking into him like honey on warm toast. A strange ache spread through her, rendering arms and legs heavy with need.
She wound her arms around his neck, pulling his head closer, fingers threaded through his hair, losing all sense of place and time. He slid to the rug, holding Grace close to his chest as he lay on his back, hands roaming freely over her back, bottom and thighs, stoking her passion.
She fumbled at the knot in his neckcloth. His hands covered hers in a vice-like grip. Grace raised her head, studying his tight expression.
‘What is wrong?’
‘I...I cannot...’
She covered his lips with hers. ‘Yes, you can,’ she whispered. ‘For me.’
His grip tightened momentarily, and then, with a growl, he released her wrists to tear the cloth from around his neck and cast it aside. Grace had no need to see his neck to understand his sudden doubt. Her fingertips, and then her lips, discovered the same bumpy texture as on his cheek and she feathered the entire surface of his neck and jawline with tiny, butterfly kisses: the soft, lightly stubbled undamaged side as well as the tight, uneven, stubble-free area that bore the scars of the fire.
She pulled away, raising her upper body by bracing her hands on his chest.
‘Can you feel my lips on your neck?’
His hands tightened at her waist. ‘No. Your touch is too gentle.’
He groaned then, as she lowered her body to his once more and pressed her lips more firmly to his neck.
‘Can you feel that?’
‘Yes, but only as pressure. It is like eating food without being able to detect the nuances of taste.’
She arched her upper body away from his again, capturing his gaze. ‘Then tell me what gives you pleasure.’
A wicked light crept into his eyes. Large hands stroked over the globes of her bottom and squeezed as he rocked his hips, pushing the hard ridge of his erection against her.
‘This.’ He rocked again. ‘This gives me pleasure.’ He raised his head from the floor and captured her lips again in a slow, drugging kiss. ‘Infinite pleasure.’
In one swift movement that wrung a gasp from her, he rolled her on to her back and settled on top. His weight on her sent delicious swirls of anticipation throughout her body and her thighs parted of their own volition, the sensitive flesh between a yearning, hollow ache. She sighed, closing her eyes, succumbing to pleasure as gentle hands skimmed her neck and body and questing lips followed. She clutched his shoulders with urgent fingers, arching beneath him as he nibbled the exquisitely sensitive bud of her nipple through her muslin gown.
A hand skimmed up her leg, then pushed her stocking and garter down to caress her bare flesh even as he seized her lips in another scorching kiss. In feverish anticipation, Grace reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, then slid her hands inside, stroking his broad back, revelling in the play of honed muscles through the fine linen of his shirt. He was so big, so male...all male...and she wanted him with an urgency she could barely contain. She squirmed beneath him, vaguely aware that she moaned as she did so, and then his weight was no more. Her eyes flew open. He had propped himself up on his arms.
‘Are you sure, Grace? You will not be...my appearance...’ His uncertainty was tangible.
‘Hush.’ She pressed her fingertips to his lips. ‘I am sure.’
She dared not say more. More words might turn into a plea, she wanted him so much.
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion and then gathered her into his arms, carrying her much as he had Clara earlier. He hugged her tight to his chest.
‘I will not take you on the floor,’ he said, before taking her lips again.
He strode for the door and they were up the stairs and in Grace’s bedchamber in a flash. He placed her on the bed and immediately followed her down, pushing the neckline of her dress low to free one breast. He drew her beaded nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling until she was on fire.
Their clothes were gone—she barely noticed how and when—and finally they were flesh to flesh and he was moving over her and inside her, and she was arching to meet him, the urgency building, digging frantic fingers into his back...snatching at the sheet beneath her...clutching his hair as he dipped his head again to her breasts—striving for—reaching for—and then finally...finally...she was there and soaring free, her body pulsing with pleasure as Nathaniel withdrew and, with a heartfelt groan, spilled his seed.
Panting, Nathaniel drew her close to his chest and hooked the blankets up to cover them. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and—happy, contented and replete—Grace sank into a satisfied sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grace opened her eyes to the vague awareness that a new day had dawned and there was a moment when she could not fathom what was different. Her mind felt—not unpleasantly—fuzzy and she lay still, warmly cocooned, fleeting images of the day before darting through her memory, like butterflies flitting in and out of patches of sunlight.
The day before... Christmas Eve...which meant today was—her idle thoughts stuttered to an abrupt halt. Those wavering memories steadied and coalesced as she became conscious of a slight soreness between her thighs and the presence of a large, warm body in her bed, nestled into her back. Panic flowed and then ebbed and her lips relaxed and stretched in a spontaneous smile. Nathaniel. Her dream had come true. Carefully, she wriggled around until she faced him. She watched him sleep in the dim light of the early morning, love flooding her heart.
They could be a proper family now. Her and Nathaniel and Clara. And even, in the future, maybe they could have more children. Brothers and sisters for Clara. And he would no longer feel the need to isolate himself here at Shiverstone Hall. And—
Nathaniel’s eyes opened. He blinked and she leant over and kissed him, tracing the sculpted muscles of his hair-roughened chest. She breathed deeply. He smelled wonderful and she snuggled closer. He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her, a wonderful, slow, drugging kiss. His hand skimmed her br
east, then settled, and the flesh between her legs leapt in response.
‘Good morning, Grace,’ he murmured as he bent his head.
He circled her nipple with his tongue, then drew it deep into his mouth. She gasped and bit his shoulder.
‘Do you like that?’
A wicked smile hovered on his lips and then he trailed his tongue down her body to the apex of her thighs. She sighed her pleasure, opening for him, giving herself up to the wonderful sensations spiralling through her body as Nathaniel loved her.
‘We will be so happy, the three of us as a family,’ she murmured later, as Nathaniel rolled off her and lay on his back.
He stared up at the ceiling, a deep line grooved between his brows. ‘Family?’
‘Why...yes. You and me and Clara...’ Grace propped herself up on one elbow, and traced his lips with her fingertip. ‘Just think how she will benefit as she grows up. You will no longer have to bury yourself here at Shiver—’
He turned his head to stare at her. ‘I like it here at Shiverstone.’
‘Well, yes, of course. I know that. But, with me by your side, it will be different. We could live some of the time at Ravenwell; we could invite friends to stay—’
‘I have no friends.’ He sat up, scrubbing his hands through sleep-tousled hair.
Grace’s spirits floundered for a moment before she rallied. If only she could make him see how much better his life could be. How much happier.
‘Maybe not, at the moment, but you will love Joanna and Isabel when you meet them and I am sure their husbands are—’
‘No!’
He leapt out of bed, keeping his scarred side facing away from her. He snatched his discarded shirt from the floor and tugged it over his head.
‘But... I will help you. You must not fear—’
He stared at her, his eyes cold. ‘I do not need your help. Nor your pity. I must go. Clara must not see me here.’
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