“Don’t worry, love. I don’t think it will. He’s hardly taken his eyes off you. Now, go and get that horse saddled up. Tell the rest of them to pull their fingers out. The quicker you get out there, the quicker you get your weekend back.”
She wanted her weekend back. She wanted to lock the front door and make up for all the worry, heartache and lost time. She headed for the stable block and watched her father greet Christopher with obvious warmth.
“What a difference a day makes.” Billy smirked over the top of the stable door. “It’s nice to see that smile back on your face, Gracey.”
Grace adjusted the girth, earning a snort from her horse. “It’s great to feel it.” She looked at him. “Please tell me you weren’t giving him a lecture.”
“Tempting as it was, no, I wasn’t. I thought I’d leave that to your dad.” He opened the door for her as she led the colt out. “Besides which, I don’t think that lecture will be needed. He’s dotty about you, Gracey. Even I can see that.” He gave her a leg up and patted her knee. “I’m glad you both saw sense.”
She settled into the saddle and gathered up the reins as the colt reached out to nip at Billy. “So am I.” She wheeled the horse around and shouted, “Fingers out you lot, some of us have weekends to look forward to.”
* * * *
“Bloody hell.” Christopher glided his hands beneath her T-shirt and lifted it, gently, over her head. “I didn’t know you could ride like that.”
“Like what?” Grace kissed his shoulder.
“Like a proper jockey.”
She gasped when he unfastened her jeans and pushed them away. She stepped out of them and reached for his fly buttons. “Oh, yes. I’ve even ridden in proper races.”
“What? With jodhpurs, silks, the whole lot?”
Grace felt him grow hard when she slipped her hand into his shorts. “Oh, yes.”
He groaned softly. “Did you win?”
“No. I don’t have a race temperament. I just wanted to reach the finish line in one piece.”
“A sensible notion.” He eased her back onto the bed. “I’m glad you have such a strong sense of self-preservation.”
She shivered when he sought her breasts and she curled her fingers into his hair. “So am I. One broken collarbone was enough, thank you very much.”
“You broke your collarbone.” He lifted his head. “Where?”
“Here.” She guided his hand to a small lump of bone.
“Poor darling.” His lips lingered on the spot. “I’m sorry.”
Waves of warmth spread through her. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I’m better now.”
“Really?” He slid his arm beneath her.
“Much, much better.” Grace reached for him, his skin warmed by the late morning sunlight. She glided her fingers along the curve of his shoulder and traced idle circles around a small mole on his back until he trembled and covered her mouth with his.
“I’ll make you feel even better,” he whispered against her lips.
Grace wondered how that could be possible but, when he shifted above her, she began to understand. Music drifted in from the living room. Christopher had brought some of his own CDs—older stuff that she had heard of and forgotten. He’d made copies for her and written down the tracks in a neat hand. She sighed when Christopher entered her, finding his way to the heart of her in a way no one ever had before.
* * * *
“Is there any chance you can get away for a few days?” he asked, afterwards.
“I should think so. I’ve covered other people’s shifts often enough.” She wondered what he had in mind.
“An old friend of mine from Sandhurst is getting married. I’m one of the groomsmen, for my sins. I want you to come with me.”
“You do?”
“I obviously can’t get through a weekend without you. I’m damned if I’m going to spend three days in a big, posh house without you.”
“Big, posh house?”
“Big, posh wedding, it’s at the bride’s family pile. It’s one of those occasions where the wedding party turn up on Friday night for dinner and drinks. Then the wedding is the next day.”
“That should be interesting.” Grace let her lips trail across Christopher’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin. “I’m not very good with big party-type things.”
“You’ll be fine. If you can ride one of those big, brown, smelly things at a flat-out gallop on a racecourse, you can hold your own anywhere.”
Grace laughed. “Big, brown, smelly things? Are you talking about my horses?”
“Yes, those things.”
Chapter Five
Grace climbed out of the car and stared up at the house. ‘Big family pile’ didn’t seem an appropriate description for the four-story Georgian house, swathed in a neatly trimmed veil of ivy. It rose out of acres of rich, green parkland, glowing softly in the dusk.
“Are you all right?” Christopher’s hand curled around hers.
“Fine.” The broad sweep of gravel in front of the house was already filled with BMWs, Mercedes and Porsches. Christopher’s Peugeot was low-rent in comparison. Grace wanted to jump back in the car and head for Newmarket.
She was glad of the way Christopher’s shoulder brushed hers when they walked toward the house, the way he wound his fingers through hers. They tightened slightly when they paused before the door. Grace wondered if there would be a butler.
“Chris!” A tall girl, red-haired and smiling, opened the door. “It’s lovely to see you. Paddy will be so pleased.” She stood on her tiptoes and hugged him.
Grace watched the reunion and waited.
The red-haired girl finally let Christopher go and smiled at Grace. “And you must be Grace. We’ve heard so much about you.” She kissed her cheek—a swift, cool air kiss. “I’m so glad you could come. I’m Emma, I’m the bride.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Come on. Everyone else is here. I’ll show you your room. We’re meeting in the drawing room for drinks at seven so you’ve got a chance to catch your breath.” Emma turned and ushered them into the house, toward a broad staircase. “How was your drive? I hope it wasn’t too dreadful. I know how it can be on Fridays.”
Grace was glad when Christopher slipped his arm around her waist as they followed Emma up the stairs. “It wasn’t too bad. We’ve only come from Newmarket.”
“That’s good. I’d hate for you both to be too shagged out for drinks and dinner.” She led them along a wide hallway, illuminated only by dim sconces, which cast splashes of amber light onto dark green wallpaper.
“Here you are.” Emma flung a door back, revealing a room washed with soft, evening sunshine. “You’ve got the last en suite room. I thought you’d like the privacy.”
“It’s lovely.” Grace stared at the room—all antiques and silk wallpaper. The last time she’d seen a room like that she’d had to stand behind a velvet rope and listen to a tour guide. Emma shut the door behind her, leaving them in silence. Grace set her bag down and watched Christopher while he hung a clothes bag in the wardrobe.
“My mess uniform,” he told her. “I hope you like a man in uniform.”
“I’d like you if you were wearing rags.” Grace hung her dresses next to his hidden uniform.
“I like you best when you’re wearing nothing.”
“How very shallow.” Grace kissed his forefinger when he trailed it across her lip.
“I wish we weren’t here.” He kissed her. “I wish we didn’t have to go downstairs and have drinks and dinner and socialize.”
“It’s only one night.” His closeness made her weak, made her wish they were in Newmarket, in the silence of her humble bedroom with its lemon-yellow duvet.
“At least I don’t have to go back until Monday. I don’t intend to let you out of bed once we get back to your place, if that’s all right with you.” Another kiss, slow, sweet, full of heat and promise.
“That’s just fine.” He robbed he
r of words, of any thoughts beyond wanting him.
He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “I suppose we’d better get tidied up before this blasted dinner.”
Grace curled her hand around the back of his neck and closed her eyes. “Will it be awful?”
“No. I’ll look after you. You’ll be fine, just be you. Just be Gracey Webb.”
“I can do that.”
“Yes, you can.”
* * * *
Grace was thankful the drawing room was already full of people. It meant they could slip in unnoticed. She was happy that Christopher kept her close.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. “You’re the most beautiful woman in this room.”
The words were enough. The seductive way he delivered them even better. Grace told herself this was no different from walking into a yard full of owners on the yard’s open day.
“Ah, there you are, Chris.” A fair-haired man eased out of the knot of people surrounding the drinks cabinet and strode across the expanse of faded oriental rug. “Glad you could make it.” He grinned at Grace. “You must be Grace.” He extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Christopher’s arm tightened around her waist. “This is the Terrible Paddy McCain, my roommate from Sandhurst and the blushing groom.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Grace hated that the Terrible Paddy McCain was crushing her hand.
“We’ve heard a lot about you.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s all good. He wouldn’t have brought you here if it wasn’t.” He turned and waved to a girl who carried a tray laden with champagne. “Two here, please, Rosie.”
The chilled glass cooled Grace’s hand. She sipped the champagne and listened to the Terrible Paddy McCain tell Christopher what his duties as one of the groomsmen would be. She glanced around the room, at the other people, all absorbed in conversations of their own, murmurs punctuated by occasional laughs. Her borrowed pearls and off-the-peg dress from Monsoon suddenly didn’t seem all that special.
“Come and meet some friends.” Paddy’s voice cut across her reverie. “You’ll find that word’s got around about the two of you and everyone’s being terribly polite at the moment and trying desperately hard not to be nosy.”
Grace let Christopher lead her across the room, to the scattered clusters of guests. She tried to remember names. All of the men seemed to be officers from the same regiment. The women were easier to remember. She simply matched the names with the colors of their dresses, it seemed easier that way. Red dress with straps was Molly, she was Paddy’s sister. Georgina wore a floaty number of sea green, and the tall, disdainful woman in blue was Pippa.
“Chris, darling.” Disdainful Woman in Blue swept past Grace and kissed Christopher all too warmly on the cheek. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Pippa.”
Grace was relieved to hear the chill in Christopher’s voice. She was even more relieved when he leaned against her. “You haven’t met Grace.”
“Ah, oh, hullo.” A cold, clammy hand curled around hers, giving it a desultory shake. “I’m Pippa. It’s nice to meet you.”
Grace squeezed Pippa’s hand with more venom than she’d intended. She was rewarded with an icy stare.
“I hear you work with horses.” Pippa made it sound like collecting rubbish or gutting fish.
“I train them.” Grace wished she had more champagne. “Racehorses.”
“Ah, I see. That must be terribly interesting.”
“It is.” It was too much effort to explain her job to someone who was making polite conversation while eyeing up Christopher with ill-concealed longing. Grace wished she could take him into a quiet corner and talk history, specifically, the history of Pippa.
“Come on, you lot,” Paddy called from the doorway. “Grub’s up.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Pippa offered Grace a thin smile. “I’m famished. It was nice to meet you, Faith.”
“Grace, my name’s Grace.”
“Ah, yes, so sorry. I have a terrible memory for names.” She turned and hurried toward a knot of guests.
“I’m sorry about that.” Christopher kissed her hair. “Ex-girlfriend.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You might’ve warned me.”
“Darling, I had no idea she would be here. Bloody Paddy forgot to tell me.” His hand was warm at the small of her back as they followed the others to the dining room. “I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”
“How long ago?”
“Would you believe five years? It was a mutually agreed thing. I was too boring for her and she was a stuck-up pain in the arse.”
“Her loss.”
“My gain.” He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers when they filed into the dining room. Grace supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised to see a long, polished table glittering with candles, elaborate place settings and plenty of silverware. She sank into a chair, relieved when Christopher settled in beside her and drew his chair closer.
“I’m buggered if I’m letting you out of my sight,” he whispered, his hand caressing her knee.
Grace shivered at his touch. “I’m fine with that.” She watched the other chairs fill up and was not happy to see Pippa sit across the table from Christopher.
“So am I.” He leaned close.
“Should I be worried that what you said sounds a bit stalkerish?” Grace gave Pippa a furtive, sidelong glance.
Christopher laughed. He settled his hand on her thigh.
“If you keep on like that,” Grace murmured, “I may not make it past the sorbet course.”
The chatter around the table masked their conversation. Two maids began placing starters before the diners—small plates of artfully arranged bruschetta. Christopher picked up the menu card.
“We’re going to be here all bloody night.”
Grace skimmed through the menu. “Seven courses?”
“And a different wine with each course. Sod that. If I drank that much you’d have to carry me up those stairs.” He reached across the table and poured water into their glasses. “I’m sticking with water. I don’t want later to go to waste.”
“What are you two whispering about?”
“Oh, Pips, let them be.” This was Paddy. His cheeks were already flushed. He elbowed Pippa in the ribs.
“It’s all right, Paddy.” Christopher squeezed Grace’s thigh. “Grace and I were just catching up. It’s been a couple of weeks. I didn’t think anyone else would be terribly interested in what we had to say to each other.”
Grace covered his hand with her own, curling her fingers through his, and wondered how she would survive seven courses of Pippa and her obvious desire to be a pain in the arse. Luckily, the person sitting next to Christopher had a loud voice and launched into a long, labored story, which no one could ignore because no one else at the table was able to talk in the meantime. He kept the table tied up for the next three courses, shutting up only when the pineapple sorbet was replaced by the main course.
“How long have we been here?” Christopher whispered while he stabbed at a potato.
Grace glanced at her watch. “It’s only been an hour and a bit.”
“It seems longer than that.” His leg shifted against hers. “I’ll make this weekend up to you, Gracey, I promise.”
“It’s all right.” For the moment it was. “It’s enough that we’re in the same place at the same time.”
“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.
“So, Faith, how did the two of you meet?” Pippa picked up her wine.
“Grace and I met at the races. A family friend introduced us.” Christopher’s voice was tight.
“Can’t Grace answer for herself?”
“I can answer perfectly well, thanks, when I’m addressed by my name.” Grace smiled. She tightened her fingers around her fork and fought an urge to stab Pippa’s hand. “Yes, we met at the races. It was a very pleasant evening.”
&nbs
p; Paddy reached across the table for the salt. “Pippa, I swear you’re nosier than Emma.”
“I’m just interested, that’s all.”
“It’s all right.” Grace sipped her water. “Pippa is perfectly entitled to ask questions, since she’s curious. I don’t mind. After all, I’m a stranger here. My father trains horses and I’m his assistant. It’s a good job.”
“Do you have any good horses?”
“All of our horses are good.” Grace speared a piece of carrot.
“Yes, come on, Grace.” Paddy helped himself to more wine. “Got any good tips for us?”
“Not at the moment. When I do, I’ll be sure to ask Chris to pass them on to you.”
“Ugh.” Pippa curled her lip at Paddy. “Don’t tell me you’d actually go into one of those dreadful, seedy little betting shops.”
“Of course I bloody would. If you had mess bills like mine, you’d lower yourself to make a bit of spare cash too.”
She shuddered. “Happily, I don’t have that problem.”
“Ah, yes, of course, you’re a trust-fund baby. You don’t have to worry about earning a crust like the rest of us mere mortals.” Paddy’s voice had an edge to it.
Grace studied her dinner with more interest, grateful when Christopher’s leg rested against hers. She was even more grateful when Emma’s father decided that a few toasts were called for. By the time the toasts and impromptu speeches were finished, they were down to the coffee and port and Pippa was complaining bitterly to the person seated on her other side.
“I sat next to the most dreadful people at a restaurant the other day. I don’t know how they could afford to eat there. She was so common, I mean white stilettos for heaven’s sake. Who wears those outside of Essex? I don’t want to spend a small fortune on a lovely meal and listen to a bunch of dreadful little tarts talk about their chavvy boyfriends. Honestly, I think restaurants need to be a bit more discerning about who they let in…”
“I’m sorry about all of this.” Christopher’s lips were warm on her ear.
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