Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  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.<
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  The dreams were becoming more intense, more passionate and fraught with an impending sense of loss. There was some secret, some sort 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.

  She could not go.

  They continued to gaze wordlessly at each other until the pale glow of an overcast sunrise began to illuminate the sky. By taking a step backward, he suddenly broke the odd spell between them. He raised his hand and tipped his hat to her before he fled silently into the shadows.

  As if he had disappeared before her very eyes, Grace gasped and pressed her fingers against the cool windowpane. If she pushed any harder she could shatter the glass. She stood motionless, staring at the place she had last seen him, hoping he would return to her.

  It was all too much. The dream. His appearance just as she woke. Their wordless exchange. Finally she turned from the window, not knowing what she feared more. That she had imagined his presence outside her window. Or that she hadn’t.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the chill that crept through her bones and sank to her knees on the wooden floor.

  Chapter Four

  The young lady at the piano played beautifully, the haunting strains of Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-Flat Major” filling the room. Grateful not to be subjected to an off-key recital, Grace enjoyed the evening’s musicale at the Forsythes’ home more than she had enjoyed one in quite some time. This piano piece in particular affected her strangely. Lord Grayson sat to her right; however, Mary Sutton had remained at home, nursing one of her terrible headaches. Happy to be free of her mother-in-law’s negativity for the evening, Grace smiled warmly at Lord Grayson. He placed a possessive hand on her arm.

  Comforted by his touch, Grace relaxed. She was glad to be with people. Glad to have real, living beings talk to her and touch her. These were not figments of her imagination. And she did not want the evening to end. She did not want to go to sleep and drown in another life in her dreams. It was all becoming too real, too frightening. She had almost jumped out of her bedroom window this morning. To what end?

  No. It was good to be in the company of others, without Mary hovering over her, listening to the lovely strains of music and having Lord Grayson beside her. She gave him a shy glance and he grinned sweetly at her. It took so little to please him. All she had to do was give him a smile. Marriage to him would not be such a bad compromise after all.

  When young Elizabeth Rutan finished playing her piece, everyone removed to the salon for refreshments. Grace allowed Lord Grayson to lead her to a small table, where he promised to bring her some cake. Grace sat with Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, a couple she had been friendly with for a number of years, for she and Henry had married only a month after the Whitakers. The two couples had spent a great deal of time together before Henry died.

  “It’s wonderful news that you and Lord Grayson are to be married,” Lucy Whitaker commented brightly. She was a pert blonde with an easy smile and an upturned nose. “Have you set a date yet?”

  “Well, it is not definite, but we think we shall marry in a quiet ceremony before Christmas,” Grace explained. Lucy and her husband, Daniel, had been very supportive of her after Henry died. But not even they knew the true circumstances surrounding Henry’s death. Mary had made quite sure no one knew.

  “We’re so happy for you, Grace,” Daniel said. “Reginald Marks is a good man.”

  “Yes, I know,” she agreed. He was a good man who would take good care of her.

  “Oh, Grace, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Here he comes now,” Daniel began.

  The hair on Grace’s neck stood on end and her stomach lurched. Even before she turned around she knew. He was here.

  “Hello, Radcliffe! You remember my wife, Lucy, but I would like you to meet a very dear friend of ours,” Daniel said with warm enthusiasm. “Grace, this is Lord Radcliffe. Lord Radcliffe, may I present Mrs. Grace Sutton.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Sutton,” a rich and achingly familiar voice said as she lifted her gaze to lose herself in the dark pools of his eyes. The urge to reach out and touch him caused her to tremble. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he continued.

  “Good evening,” Grace managed to whisper. Her pulse quickened and her cheeks flamed.

  For years she had thought of him as a fantasy, as an unattainable vision or apparition in her life. Last night he had held her in his strong arms. Then he had made love to her in her dreams while she begged him to marry her. This morning he had appeared below her bedroom window, inviting her to leave with him. Now here he stood before her, as real as day. And familiar with her closest friends on top of it all!

  “Lord Radcliffe just arrived from Ireland,” Daniel Whitaker went on. “He has an estate there near my cousin’s and he’s in town for the month.”

  Grace’s heartbeat increased at the mention of Ireland, but she was not surprised. Not truly. Of course, he was from Ireland! In her dreams she and Phillip were in Ireland, riding horses along the misty seashore, rocky cliffs above them. She could see quite clearly the endless green fields dotted with limestone walls and the quaint little cottage where they met in secret, even though Grace had never been there. She’d never been more than a few hours from London in her life. But how could her dreams be so vivid and lifelike? And how could she have dreamed up someone like Lord Radcliffe? Something strange was happening to her.

  Lord Grayson returned with dessert and Grace forced herself to look away from Lord Radcliffe’s mesmerizing gaze and focused on her lemon cake instead. But she could not swallow a single bite. Not with Lord Radcliffe’s possessive eyes on her. Nor could she follow the conversation going on around her. Words were spoken. Laughter ensued. Heads nodded. Yet Grace had no idea what anyone said and if they had spoken to her, there was no way she could answer. She kept her eyes down, for she dared not meet his wit
h Lord Grayson beside her.

  At some point, Lord Grayson put his hand on her shoulder and announced it was time that they took their leave. Grace finally glanced up from her untouched plate. As she expected, Radcliffe’s eyes were on her. She willed herself to look away.

  “It’s time for me to go as well,” Lord Radcliffe said casually to Lord Grayson. “I shall walk out with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Lord Grayson said before saying goodnight to the Whitakers and leading Grace over to their hostess. They thanked Lady Forsythe for a lovely evening and made their way outside to await their carriage. Nervously, Grace pulled her merino wool wrap tighter around her shoulders at the cool air.

  Lord Radcliffe stood waiting for his carriage to be brought around as well. His eyes never left Grace. She could feel his stare.

  “Lord Grayson! Lord Grayson!” A young manservant wearing the Grayson livery came racing over to them. “May I speak to you a moment please, my lord?”

  Surprised, Lord Grayson excused himself to step away to speak privately with the young man. Grace was left standing alone with Lord Radcliffe. She dared a glance at him. He smiled knowingly at her. A moment later his carriage pulled up.

  “Lord Radcliffe,” Lord Grayson said in an urgent voice, “it seems there is a bit of a family emergency that I must attend to personally. Would you mind seeing Mrs. Sutton home safely for me?”

  Radcliffe’s eyes flickered briefly to Grace. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Reginald, what is the matter? Can I be of any help?” Grace asked, filled with worry, and not just for her fiancé but for the idea of being alone in a carriage with the man of her dreams. Literally.

  “I’m afraid not, my dear. I shall explain everything to you later,” he whispered in a tense voice. He patted her arm. “Please let Lord Radcliffe escort you home now. It would ease my mind greatly.”