Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  “We are going to be very happy together,” Lord Grayson said as he escorted her from the dance floor, his hand possessively on her arm.

  Grace stared at the whiteness of his hair, the lines around his blue eyes, and the tightness of his mouth. Somehow she did not think she would be happy with him, but she was quite certain that he would not make her as miserable as Mary Sutton did. She would bet money on that if she could. Her life would definitely be easier with Reginald Marks. He was a nice enough gentleman and she even liked him.

  “Would you please excuse me?” she whispered softly, indicating subtly that she needed to visit the ladies’ retiring rooms.

  Lord Grayson nodded in understanding. “Of course. I shall eagerly await your return.”

  Grace made her way through the festive crowd and managed to step outside for a much-needed breath of air. The cool fall evening revived her sagging spirits and she stood outside until the chill finally forced her to rejoin the party. She made a quick visit to the retiring room so she could honestly say she had been there. She studied herself in the looking glass, smoothing her auburn hair and adjusting her bottle-green silk gown. Her cheeks looked flushed and her blue eyes seemed overly bright, but she could not bring herself to smile.

  She exited the retiring room and wandered along the hallway of the Rutherfords’ townhouse. Lingering, she strolled along another empty corridor and admired the gilt-framed paintings illuminated by beeswax candles in wrought-iron sconces.

  She did not wish to return to Lord Grayson’s and Mary Sutton’s side just yet. Something drew her to this secluded area. A need to be alone? Perhaps, but she could not shake the feeling she was searching for something. Longing for something. She felt restless and out of sorts and not at all like her usual calm self. Last night’s dream would not leave her in peace. It had haunted her all day. The sensual nature of it, the wild passion, filled her with an overwhelming desire for something she could not have. Her legs trembled as she moved slowly along the hallway.

  Stopping before a portrait of some medieval-looking Rutherford ancestor, she sighed, pressing her hands together tightly. She wished . . . She wished she could live the life in her dreams.

  “Good evening,” a deep male voice stated from behind her.

  The candles flickered and the hair on the back of Grace’s neck stood on end. Her entire body began to tingle as the strangest sensation crept over her skin. Her mouth went dry. Slowly she turned around to see who had spoken to her, even though she knew instinctively who it would be. Her heart stopped at the sight of an extremely handsome man, dressed in black. His eyes. His intense eyes looked as if they could see right through her, see into her very soul. She suddenly felt as if she were stark naked in front of him.

  It was him. Him. The man from her dreams. Phillip. The man she loved in the dreams that haunted her. The man she had kissed with a fierce passion in her dreams only last night. The image was still so vivid in her mind; she was mortified to face him.

  For a long moment Grace could not breathe. She could not move. She could only stare at him in helpless fascination.

  “Hello, Grace.” He stood before her, his dark eyes penetrating hers. “Gráinne.”

  How did he know her name? And the name he called her in her dreams?

  Her eyes fluttered with rapid movements. The world began to tilt and spin violently around her and then in an instant went completely black.

  When Grace opened her eyes again, the man of her dreams was cradling her in his strong arms, while one hand gently caressed her cheek. Her heart pounded wildly as she glanced up at him. She still could not catch her breath. However, she could breathe well enough to notice how nice he smelled. Clean and spicy, but a spice she was unfamiliar with.

  “I didn’t anticipate that you might faint when you saw me, but I should have.” He gave her a smile, warm and slightly suggestive. He had the straightest and whitest teeth she had ever seen. They were perfect. “It was lucky I caught you in time,” he said, “or you might have hit your head on the marble floor. And we couldn’t have that happen now, could we?”

  She may as well have hit her head on the floor, for nothing made sense to her at all. She blinked helplessly at him, feeling as if she were wrapped in thick layers of cotton wool.

  “Who are you?” she murmured low, noting how naturally he held her. As if she belonged in his arms. As if he were quite familiar with her. A surge of hot desire shot through her veins, surprising her with its intensity.

  He stroked her arms with long, soothing motions. “You know who I am.” His words were clear and calm.

  The touch of his warm hands on her bare skin caused her to tremble. What did he mean? How could she know who he was when he was just a figment of her imagination? The man in her dreams was not real. Not a real person at all. And even if he were, how could he possibly know about her dreams?

  She shook her head with a slow deliberateness. She wanted to say she had never seen him before, but that was not true. “I do not know you.”

  He smiled again and there was a hint of laughter in his dark eyes. “Yes, you do. I am Radcliffe.”

  The name meant nothing to her. Yet she could not deny the familiarity about him, how comfortable and at home she felt in his muscular arms. The soothing and rich timbre of his voice. The firm, possessive feel of his hands upon her. The look of warmth in his eyes. It was all eerily familiar. As if he had held her this way only last night.

  And he had. In her dreams.

  It was impossible. Impossible.

  Suddenly a rush of panic welled within her and she had to get away. “Please . . . Please, let go of me,” she pleaded as she struggled to release herself from his magnetic hold.

  Without hesitation he set her free, a look of understanding on his handsome face. “Ah, my lovely Grace, do not be afraid of me.”

  Wobbling on her feet, she backed away from him, even though she longed to be in his arms once again. She cried, “How do you know my name?”

  “Because, Grace, I know you.” He paused and eyed her carefully. “I have always known you and I have waited a very, very long time for you.”

  She gasped at his words, which were tinged with a surprising sense of sadness. How could he know her? How could he have been waiting for her? She had not told him her name. The man was clearly insane. A sudden chill shuddered through her body. What was he thinking, saying these things to her? He was a complete stranger. And yet, he wasn’t.

  “I must . . . I have to go now. . . .” She turned her back, suppressing a shiver, and began to walk on unsteady legs down the corridor to return to the ballroom.

  He did not follow her, as she feared he would. She risked a glance back to be sure, but he remained standing there, his dark eyes fixed on her. As she hurried away, she heard him say, “You will not marry Grayson. He is not meant for you, Grace.”

  She practically flew to the ballroom, the richness of his voice haunting her. He is not meant for you, Grace. Then who was? She suppressed the urge to scream.

  “Where have you been?” Mary Sutton snapped when Grace finally reached her side at the seating area near the ballroom. “You have been gone entirely too long. And look at you! You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I . . . I went outside for some air,” Grace murmured mindlessly, oddly comforted by the normalcy of her conversation with Mary. “I must have caught a chill.”

  “Well, that was quite foolish of you.”

  Lord Grayson eyed her kindly and, in a most thoughtful gesture, wrapped her black wool shawl around her shoulders. “You forgot to take your wrap with you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving him a grateful smile. She eagerly pulled the warm garment tighter around herself. She still shivered.

  “Would you care for some hot tea?” Lord Grayson asked with caring solicitation.

  “Thank you, yes. That would be quite nice,” she said, taking her seat along the wall. As she watched her new fiancé go off in search of her tea, it occurr
ed to Grace that it would be lovely to have a man to watch over her again.

  Mary sat beside her and whispered none too softly, “Lady Rutherford’s daughter, Victoria, has the most deplorable manner. Look at her there, wearing that indecently low-cut gown and dancing with that no-account scoundrel, Lord Mayhew. She will cause her own ruin with her wildness one of these days. Her parents have been too lenient with that girl and now it is inevitable that she will come to a bad end, mark my words. And Lord Mayhew, well, everyone knows about him. He’s gambled away his country estate! That is what comes of sin and wickedness. Why Lady Rutherford allowed that man into her home is beyond my understanding. . . .”

  Grace ignored Mary’s tirade of verbally attacking each of her friends and their offspring.

  She could think of nothing but the strange meeting she had just had with the enigmatic Lord Radcliffe. Had she simply imagined it? Now, as she sat amidst the light, the noise, and the liveliness of the ballroom, it did seem as if her extraordinary encounter in the dimly lit hallway had not happened.

  How had the man who had dominated her dreams for years suddenly appeared before her in flesh and blood?

  A terrible thought occurred to her. Had she fallen asleep in the ladies’ retiring room and dreamed the entire event? Were her dreams taking over more than her nights? Was that possible?

  Her heart raced at the likelihood. Had she merely been dreaming again? Yet he had seemed so real. He had held her in his arms and she had felt him, right here in this very house. Yet he had always been real in all her dreams throughout the years.

  What was happening to her?

  Confounded by her situation, she pressed her fingernails sharply into her palms, making tight fists. Either she had a problem of dozing off in public places or the object of her dreams had suddenly materialized in front of her. Both explanations were more than a little disturbing.

  “. . . in that tacky dress! She looks like an overripe tomato. Oh, and I heard it directly from Mrs. Fairwood that Lord Granger is thinking of marrying Helen Thatcher! Can you believe that he would stoop to . . .”

  Grace continued to ignore her mother-in-law, a skill she had become quite adept at over the years, focusing instead on the need to find a reasonable explanation.

  How on earth could she account for what had just happened to her?

  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 h
ad 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.”