The Temptation of Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  “Well?” The viscount’s voice pulled her from her musings and she turned to face him. He was grinning, clearly amused by her immediate exploration.

  She glanced at Lord Sterling, who seemed ready to haul her out by force if she didn’t hurry up and get her interest satisfied.

  Little did he know that was an impossible feat. Her inquisitiveness could never be satisfied once she learned the truth. When her guardian had, in very polite terms, let her know what his night escapades included, along with the location and names of his associates, her curiously grew to mammoth proportions and it was still expanding.

  But the viscount was awaiting her response, so she addressed him. “It’s far different than I had in mind.”

  “Because you had some sort of frame of reference?” Lord Sterling replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  She gave him an arch look before continuing. “I’ve never been in one, mind you, but there were quite a few gambling establishments in India. They were mad about cricket, so I’m certain that there wasn’t a game played that didn’t have an unholy number of bets placed.” She gave a shake of her head. “It was quite obsessive. My mother was set against it, but my father bet once. He lost, of course, but it was only a trivial amount of money so my mother never found out. It was a lovely little secret we kept between us,” Grace mused, a wave of mourning dampening her excitement.

  “Cricket.” The viscount nodded. “Good sport.”

  “You’d certainly think so,” Lord Sterling replied.

  The viscount turned to his friend, a grin spreading across his face. “Just because you could never play well.”

  Grace glanced to Lord Sterling, eager for his reply. “I nearly have to fold myself in half just to use the bloody bat.”

  The viscount rolled his eyes. “You’re not much taller than I.”

  “Apparently even small amounts matter in the game of cricket,” he muttered.

  Grace grinned.

  He glared at her, as if just realizing that they had gotten far off subject. “I suppose you have questions?”

  The viscount turned to her as well, awaiting her leisure.

  “What is your most popular game?” she asked.

  “Whist.” They both answered in conjunction, then glanced at each other. Lord Sterling continued, “The next is Hazard and Faro.”

  “I see. And how many people do you have attend each evening that you’re open?” She glanced to the tables, counting them mentally while she waited.

  “That is not information that we can share,” the viscount replied kindly.

  Grace calculated the math quickly in her head. There were twelve tables, all seating around eight to ten men. That would equal from ninety-six to one hundred twenty men just at the tables, assuming they were all full. That didn’t include men dancing or milling about.. . . It was indeed a large club. She was fascinated.

  “I can see the wheels turning in your mind, Miss Grace. What else do you wish to know?” Lord Sterling asked. But his tone implied the rest of the statement: what else do you wish to know so we can move on and get you out of here.

  She held back a glare. Why was he so impatient? She frowned as she considered the possible answers. Then it struck her, and she couldn’t restrain her grin. “There’s a party tonight, isn’t there?”

  Lord Sterling turned to the viscount, his expression mutinous.

  The viscount simply shrugged. “I cannot answer that question either.”

  “Can I stay?” she asked, stepping forward.

  “No!” Lord Sterling practically roared while the viscount said, “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why ever not? I’ll stay out of the way. Oh! I can dress up and—”

  This time both gentlemen roared. “No!” The viscount was holding back a grin of amusement, while Lord Sterling had an expression of panic on his face.

  “You cannot dress up! Dear Lord, I told you this would be Lady Heightfield all over again!” Ramsey practically growled, and in the vacant room the sound vibrated all over the walls.

  Grace watched with interest as the two men argued.

  “She’s not going to dress up as a courtesan—”

  “Bloody hell, man! Don’t give her ideas!”

  “I would never—” she started to interrupt, but was given dubious looks by both gentleman that clearly indicated that they didn’t believe her.

  “I wouldn’t! I have morals,” Grace felt the need to affirm.

  “You would simply dress as a servant girl, but with your fiery hair and temper to match we’d have more than a few men interested and problems aplenty with the lot of you. Don’t even think of it,” Lord Sterling remarked.

  “She does remind me ever so much of Liliah,” Heathcliff mused, chuckling.

  “Damn both of you,” Lord Sterling swore but without heat.

  Grace was immediately aware of the name, and then connected the previous mention of Lady Heightfield. “Are you saying that Samantha’s sister—”

  “I don’t think that is something we should discuss here,” the viscount interrupted. “You can ask Samantha later . . . it’s quite a story and we do not have time to do it sufficient justice here.”

  “Nor do I wish to relive it,” Lord Sterling added.

  “You’re quite uptight,” Grace remarked, tipping her head as she studied him.

  He glared at her.

  The viscount laughed.

  Lord Sterling glared at them both.

  “Why?” Grace asked. “I’m fully aware you wish my swift departure, but you’re being unpardonably rude.”

  “You’re being unpardonably impertinent.”

  The viscount chuckled. “You sound like her grandfather, Ramsey.”

  “You do,” Grace felt the need to add.

  Lord Sterling didn’t reply, simply sighed. “If the both of you are done casting stones at my character, I’ll leave you to your tour.” He gave a swift bow and then, without waiting for their answer, departed.

  The viscount approached her after he left. “He isn’t angry, just uptight. One day he will learn to release that tension, but today is, apparently, not that day. What else do you wish to see?”

  Grace had a long list of things she had thought she wished to explore, but after the departure of Lord Sterling, they held little interest. It was far more fun with him to pester, and some of the polish of the evening was now gone with him. All she wished to do now was see the interior of his office, since that was where she was certain he had retreated. “Where do you suggest?”

  The viscount suggested the kitchens for a spot of tea, and they left the ballroom.

  As she followed along the hall toward the kitchen, she wondered just how terrible and reprehensible it would be to sneak away and find Lord Sterling. Surely she owed him an apology for pushing him so far, and it really wasn’t well done of her to accuse him of being grandfatherly.

  She glanced backward, making a quick map of the area. Certainly the viscount wouldn’t mind if she explored a little on her own.

  At least not mind too much.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ramsey had been called many things in his life, all of which revolved around either his inability to perform up to the standard of his father, or being too proper and prudish in his own standards and expectations.

  Words never feel good when delivered in such a way, but they hadn’t quite stung like the word spoken over him.

  Grandfatherly.

  Dear lord, she truly knew how to emasculate a man, even if she hadn’t come up with the word herself, she had agreed. It was more than enough.

  It wasn’t that he had anything against an older gentleman, but he didn’t associate them with lovely, vibrant, and ardent young women. Or if he did, it wasn’t in a good way. And after such a passionate exchange as they had experienced only a short time ago, it was a little frustrating and irritating to think she considered him on that level.

  His nerves were still tight from knowing she was somewhere on the premise
, but it was a different tension than he had anticipated. It was a constant push and pull with her, an equal balance of desire and irritation that had his body and mind spinning in opposition. Everything about her tempted him, teased him, yet she was equally talented at provoking him in the most frustrating ways, so that he never really knew if he wished to gag her or kiss her senseless.

  Too bad doing both at the same time wasn’t an option.

  But either option led to her mouth, which, he had admitted, he had an utter fascination with. Her lips were the perfect pink and constantly moving, whether in words or a smile, or some sort of twitch that gave away her thoughts just as much as her expressive eyes. It was bewitching, and he was under the spell.

  And hopeless to explore it.

  Because temptation wasn’t an excuse to act rashly, and compromising his best friend’s ward certainly would be acting rashly.

  And he wasn’t quite certain that his self-control would extend to simply allowing a chaste kiss.

  No.

  He wouldn’t be able to temper his need, and it would consume them both.

  And they would both wind up burned.

  It wasn’t an option. He knew it in his mind, but his body was constantly rejecting the truth.

  Bloody traitorous thing.

  He buried himself in his ledgers, preparing for the betting that was to take place that evening. About a half hour into his work, his body had started to cool and his mind had begun to unwind from the tension. Certainly, by this point she had departed with Heathcliff and they were no longer on the property. It was a heady release as he crossed a “t” in the ledger.

  A knock sounded at the door, and he called for whomever it was to come in, neglecting even to glance up from his book while the door opened.

  When no further communication was made by the person entering, he glanced up, then nearly swallowed his tongue.

  The pen fell from his hand as he blinked, not quite certain if he should believe his eyes or if he had maybe had some brandy that had gone sideways earlier, causing him to see things.

  “It’s larger than I expected,” Miss Grace commented and then closed the bloody door.

  He blinked, unable to formulate any thoughts that could come out as words at the moment.

  “Hmm . . . and brighter too. You have a lovely study. Is that the park?” She strode forward, completely uninvited, and moved aside the heavy drapery that concealed part of the window. “Oh, no. Not the park, but it is a charming view. The rain stopped, I’m glad.” She turned to face him, her expression angelic, utterly unconcerned that she was in an unmarried gentleman’s office, with the door closed, in a gambling hell, with a man who was trying to convince himself that he couldn’t act on his distinct desire for her. No. She was oblivious and commenting on the weather. The bloody weather.

  Good Lord. This was a disaster. It was worse than when Liliah came to the club and tried to seduce Lucas. This was of greater danger because Heathcliff knew Grace was in the club, and there would be no clandestine affair where she could slip away unnoticed . . . no.

  She would be ruined.

  Hell, she was already ruined just being here with him.

  And all he could do was restrain himself from making it a thorough ruining indeed.

  But that wasn’t going to happen.

  She wasn’t interested in him.

  No.

  She had likened him to a grandfather.

  Not that he was old; heavens, he was maybe eight years older than she was.

  But his heart was ancient. Maybe it was because she had a way to see further inside, to the soul, and recognized his was decades older than his body.

  Which somehow made the idea worse.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said, approaching his desk.

  He nodded. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Yes, you look quite confused,” she remarked, hitching a shoulder. “I tend to have that effect on people, especially you.”

  “You do indeed,” he answered, watching her like she was a snake about to strike.

  “Well . . . I owe you an apology and I rather thought that you owed me one as well.”

  This surprised him even more than her unchaperoned visit to his office. Why did he owe her an apology? For the kiss? That was all he could think of. And it might be true, but he rather thought she was a willing rather than a reluctant participant.

  “I see,” he replied, waiting for her to continue. She took measured steps around the chairs in front of the desk, her hand grazing the back of one. The trailing of her fingers along the wood was surprisingly erotic, and a faint shiver of need trailed down his back.

  “May I sit?” she asked, arching a brow, again. Apparently, she was of the expectation that she would be here for some time.

  Ramsey motioned to the chair with his hand, making a grand sweeping motion that was a bit dramatic. Hell, everything felt dramatic in this insane situation. He leaned back in his chair, increasing the distance between them, even small as it was. Every little bit helped.

  “As I was saying.” Grace smoothed her skirt as she sat. It was a prim and proper movement, completely at odds with the improper situation she had run headlong into. The irony was delicious and he found himself grinning in spite of it all.

  “What do you find amusing?” She frowned. Damn, she was easily distracted. At this rate he would never find out the rest of her initial statement.

  “Nothing, continue,” he replied quickly, eager to somehow move the process along and get her safely away.

  Yet even as his mind thought it, his body revolted against such an idea. His entire being was at odds once more because of this woman. His mind and morals wanted her absence, while the rest of his body wanted to pull her closer.

  “I apologize for intentionally provoking your irritation and anger earlier.”

  “Just earlier?” he replied before he could give his words a proper thought as to how they would be interpreted.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she glanced away, heaving a delicate sigh. “At least for today, all the other irritations I’ve caused I must inform you that I feel no regret over.”

  “Honesty is not as becoming as many think,” he replied. “But your apology is accepted.” He stood, gesturing to the door, his morals silently applauding his actions.

  “Why the devil are you always trying to get rid of me?” she asked, her tone irritated. A smile tugged his lips at her rather indelicate word usage. It was his turn to arch a brow.

  She turned a slight pink. “You’re just as irritating as I’m accused of being.”

  “The accuser being yourself, in this situation. Because I have never called you irritating to your face,” he remarked.

  “Your actions sure imply it implicitly,” she returned. “And, as they say, actions speak louder than words.”

  That was a truth if he’d ever heard one. And a solid point, one for which he didn’t have a ready reply. “Regardless, your apology is accepted. What more do you need?” he asked, trying to keep his tone from sounding desperate.

  “Usually, one apology encourages another.”

  Ah, yes. The other apology. The one for which he didn’t know what trespass he’d committed. “What am I to apologize for?”

  She frowned. “You truly don’t know?”

  He shook his head, and then, rather reluctantly, took his seat again. Apparently, she wasn’t inclined to leave just yet.

  Her cheeks grew pink once more, and she glanced down to her lap, toying with her gloves as she took a silent breath. “Because, that is, in the garden, you . . .” She didn’t continue.

  And he was delighted to discover that she did have an Achilles heel. She mercilessly toyed with his weakness; it was quite diverting to discover that she had one, which he could easily prey upon as well. The temptation was overwhelming, and even as his more gentlemanly side was persuaded against it, he found himself leaning forward to provoke her further. “In the garden . . .” he
encouraged, his face aching from keeping the grin in check.

  “Yes.” She glanced up, nodding firmly, her lips in a fine line as if forcing composure she didn’t feel. “You kissed me.”

  “I did.” He nodded.

  She waited.

  He waited as well.

  Miss Grace glanced away, her shoulders heaving a rather heavy sigh, and she turned back to him. “You kissed me and then said nothing. Pretended as if it never happened. It’s rather infuriating.”

  Ah, so that was the truth of it. Her pride was wounded, and she wanted retribution for the offense. It made sense now; she would have a streak of pride down the length of her back just as she had the stripe of stubbornness. “I wounded your pride.”

  Her gaze flared to life and she studied him, not speaking. “You did nothing of the sort.”

  “That is what you implied,” he returned.

  “That was not intentional. I was offended because you . . .” She trailed off, and seemed to be unable to finish the sentence. “You can’t kiss a lady like that and expect her to . . .”

  “Not expect something?” he finished, knowing they were wading into very dangerous waters. Certainly she didn’t expect him to offer for her after one kiss?

  She might have the right to expect something, but certainly she knew better than to expect it from him.

  “No!” She rose, moving to stand behind the chair as if it were a barrier between them. “I don’t expect . . . that.” She blushed again. “I just rather thought that you regretted it, and didn’t mean for it to happen, so you’d wish to apologize.” She cast her gaze to the chair below her, her face flaming with a rather fetching blush.