Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  Grace nodded her head, watching Lord Grayson hurry down the street with the manservant. Slowly she turned back and faced Lord Radcliffe. He held open the door to his gleaming black lacquered carriage and extended one hand to her.

  Taking a deep breath, she took his hand and allowed him to help her into the luxurious carriage and settled on the seat facing forward. He followed quickly behind her, and his entire being seemed to fill the small space. She had expected him to sit across from her on the opposite seat, but he sat right beside her. She inched herself as far from him as she could, but still his thigh pressed against her leg. An unexpected heat flooded through her.

  Grace took a deep breath, filled with the wonderfully clean and oddly spicy scent of him. He rapped on the roof and the driver set the carriage in motion. Easing back into his seat, he turned and smiled at her, revealing his straight white teeth. A sudden thought occurred to her.

  “Did you plan this?” she asked with mounting suspicion and a sense of panic.

  “How else could I get you alone with me, Grace?” He held up his hands in mock helplessness.

  The confirmation of her suspicions did little to allay her nervousness. “What was this emergency Reginald had to attend to? Nothing serious, then?”

  “It depends if you consider his son in a drunken stupor and losing his shirt at a card game serious or not.”

  Grace pursed her lips. Somehow Lord Radcliffe had arranged for Reginald to learn of his son’s exploits. Reginald would be quite angry with his son but at least the boy was not permanently injured in any way. Perhaps it was better she did not know the details of Lord Radcliffe’s ruse. “Why did you do this?” she questioned with a shaky voice.

  “You know why.” He placed his hand under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Besides, I can hardly continue to skulk around your bedroom window before dawn, now can I?”

  Her heart turned over in her chest as she gazed up at him, his dark eyes mesmerizing her. He had been outside her window this morning. She had not imagined it. She had not dreamt it. He was real and here with her now. He had her alone with him in a darkened carriage. She did not know what to think.

  She whispered, “You are not taking me home, are you?”

  “Do you want me to take you home?” His voice melted her.

  In all honesty she did not want to go home. A part of her longed for this man to take her wherever he wanted and to do with her whatever he wished. Lost in his eyes, a heated desire washed through her, making her slightly dizzy. “I . . . I do not know what to do,” she murmured.

  His voice was hoarse. “I do.”

  Before she knew what was happening, he lowered his head, his mouth slanting over hers in a possessive and searing kiss. He continued to kiss her passionately, his tongue searing her own with its heat. Grace clung to him in a breathtaking frenzy. This was a dangerous kiss, a kiss that would lead to much more, and she was powerless to stop it. Never had Grace experienced a kiss such as this. At least not while she was awake.

  He consumed her with his passion and she let him. His mouth moved over hers expertly, and she savored the exquisite taste of his lips, his tongue, his breath. The intoxicating scent of him enveloped her. His tongue plundered and ravaged her. His hands gripped her so tightly she thought she would faint. She didn’t want him to let go and held on to him desperately, for it was familiar and new and frightening and exciting all at once. And, oh so much better than her dreams, for this kiss was real! This kiss was happening now. To her. She was kissing him back just as passionately.

  Suddenly he released her and Grace opened her eyes wide in surprise. His smile sent shivers to the tips of her toes. She should be outraged. She ought to slap him for kissing her in such a way. Instead, she felt ridiculously happy.

  “Who are you?” she whispered through her kiss-swollen lips.

  “I am Stuart Phillips, the Earl of Radcliffe.”

  “Stuart Phillips?” The name jarred her senses. It was more than a coincidence. Phillip Stuart was his name, the man in her dreams.

  “Yes.” Again he spoke in that calm, seductive voice.

  “Who are you? How do you know me? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  “Why so many questions, Grace”—his eyes flickered over her—“when you already know the answers?”

  “I . . . I have had . . . I have had dreams. About you.” The words came out before she could stop them.

  “Have you now?”

  She nodded. He seemed almost amused by her confession and she felt inordinately foolish. How could she possibly explain this to anyone, let alone the man about whom she dreamed? And after she had just allowed him to kiss her!

  “Why are you here?” Her voice trembled.

  “Ah, my love, have you not guessed?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to guess. She wanted answers.

  He took her hand in his. Very slowly, he began to remove her glove. With great care he inched the fabric away from each finger, until her fingers were bare. She shivered at the contact of her bare skin against his. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. He turned her hand over and kissed each finger. He continued to place soft, sensuous kisses all over her hand. The desire that pooled within her intensified with every kiss until she thought she would expire from the anticipation of what he would do next.

  “I could not stay away from you any longer, Grace.”

  “You barely even know me . . . ,” she breathed. He still held her hand in his, his thumb stroking her palm. She could not focus on anything but the feel of him caressing her hand.

  “Ah, but you see, my love, I do know you.”

  She held her breath. “How?”

  “We have met before.”

  “When? Where?” she whimpered, while her heart raced in her chest. Yet she knew what he would say.

  “Ireland.”

  “I have never been to Ireland. In fact, I have never set foot outside of England in my life.”

  He looked at her intently and squeezed her hand. “Grace.”

  “Yes?”

  “Let’s talk about the dreams you have.”

  Her mouth went dry. It was so foolish. How could she possibly describe her dreams to him? Such passionate and intimate dreams. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of last night. She said nothing.

  “I am in your dreams, am I not?”

  Grace nodded, unable to speak.

  “You call me Phillip in your dreams,” he stated as if it were quite ordinary.

  Again she nodded her head. She held her breath.

  “And in these dreams you and I are in Ireland, are we not?”

  She stared at him with fear and wonder. How could he know such things?

  “And I call you Gráinne.”

  She gasped at the sound of her name. It was impossible. It was completely impossible for him to know that. Had he somehow gotten ahold of her dream journal? Had he paid a servant to read it and report to him? But for what reason? Nothing made sense.

  She choked out the words. “You called me Gráinne last night in the hallway, didn’t you? I thought I imagined it.”

  “I could not help but call you that. Do you know that in Irish the name Gráinne means Grace?”

  No, she did not know that. It still did not explain how he knew about her dreams.

  “We kiss in your dreams, don’t we, Grace? We do more than kiss.” His silky voice whispered in her ear. “It’s why you allowed me to kiss you just now.”

  For a moment Grace thought she would faint, as she had when they first met in the hallway. Suddenly she found the words she needed. “How . . . How do you know such things?” she practically begged him. “How can you know my dreams?”

  He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him once again. “Because I have the same dreams, Grace.”

  If he had suddenly sprouted wings and begun to fly she couldn’t have been more surprised. “No!” she cried. “Is such a thing even possible?
” She reached up and touched his face, running her fingers along his strong jaw, his perfect aquiline nose.

  “I have dreamed about you for more years than I care to give a number to, Grace. When I saw you at the ball, I could not believe my eyes.”

  “But what does it mean? Why do we share the same dreams?”

  “Because we have loved each other once before.”

  She certainly loved this man in her dreams. And he loved her. She could not deny that fact. What he said made sense. “A long time ago?”

  He nodded. “Another life.”

  Nervous laughter bubbled within her, but she suppressed it. “Another life?” she questioned.

  “Yes.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if people discussed their past lives at the supper table on an ordinary basis. “You see the truth of what I am saying?”

  No, she did not quite see and at this point she was not sure she wanted to see.

  She whispered, “It cannot be.”

  “Then how do I know about your dreams? How we hid from your parents by running off to the cottage? How do I know I made love to you, wanted to make you my wife?”

  He knew! It defied all logic and sense of reason but he knew all her dreams.

  With a sure movement, he leaned in and kissed her again. Grace thought she would explode from the fire he stoked within her. Good heavens! She could not help but kiss him back again. He felt too good, tasted too good. And she wanted him too much. She had been alone for five years. It had been five years since she had experienced a man’s touch on her body and she relished his hands on her now. Craved his hands on her naked skin.

  They kissed and kissed and kissed, as the heat grew between them. Their tongues swirled together. His arms circled her waist and pulled her tighter against him. She did not protest but pressed herself against his broad chest, filled with a wanting too strong to resist. His hat fell from his head as she ran her fingers through his thick black hair. His hand followed the curve of her hip, up to her breast. He removed her wool wrap and began to undo the buttons of her gown.

  Grace suddenly froze. She was kissing a stranger in his carriage when she was engaged to another man. It was wrong. Everything about this situation was wrong. In fact, it was terrifying. She pulled away from him, panting heavily. He still had his arms around her.

  “Please . . . Take me home,” she murmured mindlessly.

  “Gráinne.” His voice was filled with anguish. “Grace.”

  “Please,” she begged. “Take me home now.”

  “You belong to me.”

  She stared at him, not knowing what to say. “I . . . I need to go home.”

  “If that is what you wish.” He released her and opened the small window to give instructions to the driver. He turned back to her. “But we are far from finished, Grace.”

  No, she did not doubt that. But at the moment it was all she could do to hold herself together. She needed to be alone. She needed to make sense of all of this.

  “Where were you planning to take me tonight?” she suddenly asked.

  “To my house.” He inclined his head. “You belong with me. In my bed.”

  In spite of the blatant intent of his words, her body quivered at the prospect he presented. She had dreamed of being in this man’s bed in such intimate detail for so long, she almost felt he had the right to say such things to her now. To do such things to her. The temptation to allow him to do so was powerful. But rampant fear overwhelmed her. She busied herself by righting her appearance.

  They rode in silence, while a thousand questions raced through her mind. All of which went unspoken and unanswered.

  When the carriage came to a halt in front of her house, Lord Radcliffe opened the door and leapt to the ground. He turned and extended his arm to her. She allowed him to help her down. He followed her up the steps of the townhouse and stopped at the front door.

  “Grace,” he whispered to her, taking both her hands in his, “I know you are overwhelmed by this and I will give you time. We have much more to say, more than I can explain to you in this short carriage ride. We will see each other again.”

  His words brooked no argument. He clearly meant what he said. Part of her longed to jump back into the carriage with him right then and there. Part of her wanted to run inside and lock the door. “Yes, I know,” she murmured, accepting the inevitable.

  “You must break your engagement with Grayson. The sooner the better.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot keep contriving to speak to you alone by getting rid of him. It only complicates our situation. You don’t belong with him, Grace.”

  “I accepted his proposal only last night. I cannot just—”

  The door opened and Mary Sutton stood before them. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a tight frown. Grace groaned inwardly, as he dropped her hands.

  “What in God’s name is going on out here?” she demanded, her eyes darting suspiciously between Lord Radcliffe and Grace.

  Before Grace could answer, he did it for her. “Good evening, Mrs. Sutton. I don’t believe I have had the honor of meeting you before. I am Stuart Phillips, Lord Radcliffe. It seems there was some unexpected family matter that needed Lord Grayson’s immediate attention, and he asked me to see your daughter-in-law home safely.”

  Mary was completely taken aback by his smooth manner. “I see,” she said through pursed lips. She was clearly not happy with the situation but could do nothing but scowl at the both of them. “Well, thank you, Lord Radcliffe. Now it’s time for Grace to come inside.”

  “Yes, of course. It is rather late,” he said blithely, a charming smile lighting his face. “Good evening.”

  Grace paused and said, “Thank you, Lord Radcliffe.” She tried to avoid his eyes but could not help but seek them out. He gave her a look so full of longing and desire that she almost gasped aloud. Only Mary’s tugging on her arm broke the spell as she stumbled through the entrance of the house. The door slammed shut behind her with a loud thud.

  “Well, I have never witnessed such a spectacle in all my life and never hope to see the likes of that again!” Mary cried, placing her hands on her wide hips in indignation. “And to think I witnessed it with my sainted son’s widow!”

  “I don’t know what you are making such a fuss about,” Grace declared. She turned to head up the stairs to her bedroom, longing to be alone.

  Mary took hold of her arm once again and spun her around. Mary’s fingers dug into the flesh of Grace’s upper arm. “What is going on with you and that man? I demand to know.”

  “Nothing is going on, Mother.” Grace stared at the woman she hated to call “mother.” “Lord Grayson asked him to take me home and Lord Radcliffe was kind enough to do so. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “I am not blind, nor am I stupid, so do not think to pull the wool over my eyes, miss. I saw the way that Radcliffe man was ogling you last night. And here he is taking you alone in his carriage at night and whispering and holding hands with you on my front doorstep. There is a certain look about you now. It all adds up to wickedness and sin in my book.”

  Everything added up to wickedness and sin in Mary’s book, which always left Grace wondering just what book Mary had been reading. But in this instance, she could not deny that Mary’s suspicions were well founded if not completely justified. Lord Radcliffe had been ogling her, had arranged to get her alone, had kissed her in his carriage, and made it clear he would be seeing more of her. The matter was fraught with all kinds of complications when she was engaged to another man. Filled with shame at her behavior, Grace had no defense except for the fact she had no idea what was happening to her and it all seemed quite beyond her control. She had not intended for any of it to happen.

  “I shall ignore your comments and go to my room now,” Grace stated, pulling her arm free of Mary’s grasp. She made it as far as the first step.

  “You had better stay away from that Radcliffe man, if you know what is good for you. He is nothing but troubl
e, mark my words. Lord Grayson has seen fit to make you his wife and does not deserve to be humiliated by the likes of you parading about with that wicked gentleman.”

  Grace did not turn around. She straightened her spine and took another step.

  “You may walk away from me now, but we will continue this discussion in the morning. I am telling you now that I absolutely forbid you to see that man again. Do you understand me, Grace?” Mary demanded, her voice like ice.

  Without looking back at Mary, Grace nodded her head very slowly and continued to walk up the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  Gráinne paced impatiently within the small, cramped cabin of the ship. Where was he? He simply had to get to her before the ship sailed. He had to stop them from taking her away. How long would it take him to figure out where she was when he arrived at the cottage and found her gone? Her parents were determined to get her as far away from Phillip as they could.

  Oh, such a scene they had had last night!

  Somehow they had learned of her secret visits to the cottage with Phillip. Her mother had screamed at her and called her terrible, filthy names. Her father declared that she had shamed the family with her behavior. Gráinne had cried and begged them to simply let her marry Phillip. Her father refused, deciding to send her to a convent in France immediately.

  Phillip had to get to the ship and free her before it sailed. If he did not, then Gráinne would escape at the first opportunity that presented itself in France, for there was nothing she could do now. Her father was taking no chances when he locked her in the windowless cabin.

  A sudden scream escaped her when she felt the lurch and sway of the small ship as it left the dock. She could not even look out the window, for there wasn’t one, but she knew. They were leaving. And Phillip had not reached her in time.

  “Oh, Phillip!” her heart cried. “Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t we marry sooner? They couldn’t send me to a convent if I were married to you! If you made me like you, I would not be in this position!” Great sobs wracked her body. She ached to be with him. He was her life. She needed him and now she did not know when she would see him again. She threw herself on the narrow bed and cried herself to sleep.