Escaping His Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  Lady Liliah was smoothing her skirt as she stood to welcome him.

  Satisfied that all was in order, he turned to Lucas as he crossed the threshold of the library. “How kind of you to invite me into my own library.”

  “Lord knows it’s about bloody time I turn the tables on you. How many times have I found you in my office, sipping my French brandy?”

  “A few.” Heathcliff shrugged, thinking that brandy sounded quite wonderful just then.

  “More than a few, I’d wager,” Lucas muttered.

  “I wasn’t exactly behaving badly in your study, however.” He shot Lucas a pointed stare.

  A delicate gasp came from Lady Liliah, and he flashed her an apologetic grin. For what he was apologizing, he wasn’t sure. After all, they were the ones who had been behaving in a rather scandalous manner. However, he found himself in such a jolly mood that he was inclined to be more than gracious to the object of his affection’s sister.

  “Did you have some other reason for your presence other than to irritate and interrupt me?” Lucas asked with an unapologetic grin.

  Heathcliff turned back to him. “Do I need another reason?”

  Lucas paused. “No, but it would be nice. You were the one who disappeared a short while ago . . . Care to explain that?” he asked with a wicked grin.

  “I do believe I’ll go find my sister.” Lady Liliah stood, then strode past her husband. Lucas reached out and grasped her arm gently, halting her progress. When she turned to him, an inquiring expression on her face, he lowered his head and kissed her sweetly on the forehead. Heathcliff noted the quick flush of color on Lady Liliah’s cheeks before she gave her husband a warm smile, then, as he released her, she quit the room. She gave one longing look behind her, then disappeared into the hall, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Lucas stared at the door for a moment, as if willing it to reopen and have his wife reenter. When that didn’t occur, he turned to his friend. “You were saying?”

  Heathcliff paused, reflecting on what exactly he had been saying.

  Lucas must have noted his confusion. “Why you abandoned us.”

  “Ah.” Heathcliff nodded, then walked to the window, which overlooked the back gardens. “It was a private matter.”

  “Of that I’m absolutely certain. But because there seems to be no privacy to be had this morning . . .” Lucas said meaningfully.

  Heathcliff chuckled.

  “You will forgive me if I press you for further details.”

  “If I must,” Heathcliff answered. “I was affirming some of the details of my engagement to Lady Samantha,” he answered vaguely.

  Lucas didn’t have a ready reply, but he moved to stand beside his friend. “Oh? And was your conversation fruitful?”

  Heathcliff couldn’t restrain the grin that broke out over his face at the reflection of the earlier conversation. “It was indeed.”

  When Lucas didn’t offer any comment, Heathcliff turned to him, giving a questioning arch to his brow.

  “It’s bloody wonderful to see you in such a state. I swear, you’re about to start spouting sonnets. I believe the sentiment you offered me, when I was in a similar state of mind, was of the more Oh, how the mighty have fallen variety,” Lucas remarked significantly.

  Heathcliff gave a frustrated groan. “How that has come back to roost.”

  “Indeed. And it is glorious. Never did I think I’d see the day when you’d fall,” Lucas remarked.

  “I do believe I said something of the same to you, not long ago.”

  “Yes, yes, you did. And I am taking no small pleasure in returning your words. It’s quite vindicating,” he answered with a smug smile.

  “Bastard,” Heathcliff said without heat.

  Lucas chuckled. “I do believe I called you something of the same.”

  “We could do this all day.”

  “Yes, that happens when you have long-established friendship such as ours,” Lucas offered, as if it were a helpful statement.

  “And bloody annoying.”

  “That too,” Lucas agreed. “But that aspect is lost on me at the moment. I’m having a jolly good time.”

  “At least one of us is.”

  “And I do believe Ramsey will have his say in this as well.” Lucas strode away from the window and walked to the bellpull, ringing it. “I need more tea.”

  “Ramsey will certainly have words to say,” Heathcliff agreed, his mind already spinning with what his friend would think and then say in response.

  “Do you think you’ll write to him and let him know?” Lucas asked, leaning against the wall in a rather relaxed pose.

  Heathcliff considered Lucas’s question. It was a valid one, and both aspects had promising points. “Hmm. Part of me takes a sadistic pleasure in waiting to tell him face-to-face . . .” Heathcliff paused, then continued. “But it is in the best interest of circulating the news of my marriage in letting him know. He will be able to artfully navigate the rumor mill on that end, helping our cause quite a bit.”

  “That’s an outstanding point,” Lucas agreed.

  A maid walked into the room at that moment, giving a small curtsey. “How may I assist you, my lords?”

  Lucas nodded to Heathcliff. He was somewhat surprised that his friend had actually deferred to him. They had always been on equal footing, but, now that he thought about it, it was his house after all. “Tea, Maye, if you please. And sandwiches as well. You may also check on the ladies to see if they would like refreshment as well.”

  “Of course, my lord.” She bobbed another curtsey and left the room.

  “Sandwiches, a capital idea,” Lucas agreed. “It’s nearly noon, is it not? Not quite teatime, but when you’ve been up at the ungodly hour I was, one can’t be too particular about abiding by normal times for sustenance.”

  Heathcliff agreed, but couldn’t help but add, “And when one hasn’t slept at all, then certainly all times are a fluid thing.”

  Lucas nodded, then tilted his head, as if remembering an errant thought. “I’ve been meaning to ask, have you had any reports from Ramsey? Usually he is most thorough in his correspondence, and I haven’t received any word from him. Of course, that may be his way of allowing me a honeymoon with Liliah.”

  Heathcliff shook his head. “No, I haven’t, but when I left London, everything was quite sewn up. There shouldn’t be any loose ends, and all seemed in order. I can’t imagine he finds the need to notify us that all is well.”

  “Quite true,” Lucas agreed.

  “But if you’re concerned, there is paper and ink over there on the desk. Feel free to send him an inquiry.” Heathcliff shrugged.

  Lucas’s gaze darted to the desk and then back to Heathcliff. “Perhaps later. I do believe the most important order of business is telling him about your upcoming nuptials. It’s bloody lucky you’re in Scotland. Saves you all the trouble of blackmailing some sod at Doctors’ Commons for a special license,” Lucas said with a touch of resentment, maybe a little wistfulness in his tone.

  “Ah, that’s right. Who did you threaten who would dare risk the wrath of a duke, no less?”

  “Trenton Hassel.” Lucas flicked some lint from his sleeve.

  Heathcliff nodded. “What did you offer to keep secret?”

  “I forgave a substantial bet he’d foolishly placed. It was due the next week, but we both knew he had no way of paying it. Turns out, when money is involved, people fear debtors’ prison more than the wrath of a duke.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I rather thought so, and quite effective as well. It was a quick way to procure the special license.”

  “But the vicar?”

  “It took a few pounds, but again, money can do much.”

  “Truly, I would have expected it to be harder,” Heathcliff remarked.

  “One would think.” Lucas shrugged.

  The food arrived, and Lucas took a seat beside the small table in the center of the library. The maid carefully uncover
ed several dishes, revealing a tray of cold meat sandwiches, a plate of biscuits, and not one but two pots of tea with the steam swirling around them in a most inviting manner.

  “Would you care for me to fix you a plate?” the maid asked.

  Lucas waved her off. “No, I’m quite self-sufficient.”

  When she turned to Heathcliff, he declined as well, preferring to serve himself. No longer needed, she bobbed a curtsey and left.

  “Damn, I’m hungry,” Lucas muttered, then took a large bite of a sandwich.

  “Clearly.” Heathcliff chuckled but understood the sentiment. His stomach had been rumbling as well. Breakfast seemed so long ago.

  Heathcliff poured himself a cup of tea, then lifted the pot slightly higher, in a question aimed at his friend. He arched a brow as he waited for Lucas’s answer.

  “Yes, please. Thank you.” Lucas held out his cup, and after Heathcliff poured Lucas’s cup full, he set down the pot and selected a sandwich. The ham was cold and salty, the perfect match for the soft and slightly sweet bread. He savored the bite, then turned to his friend. “What did you speak of once we left?”

  Lucas swallowed the last bit of his sandwich and held up a finger, indicating for his friend to wait. After a moment, he answered. “It was rather difficult to continue to plan a wedding with the bride and groom not present, so we moved on to the masquerade. I gave Mrs. Keyes strict instructions on notifying the servants. She wasn’t too keen on the idea I set forth.”

  “Why?” Heathcliff asked, curious to know why his very accommodating housekeeper was suddenly reluctant.

  “It may have been because I asked her to reveal it in a manner that looked as if she’d slipped up and mentioned something she should have kept a secret.”

  “Ah, that makes perfect sense. She’s rather prideful on her tight-lipped household. She’s been around me for far too long to let gossip flourish here. With so many of the rumors from London following me here, she’s made it quite a career in stomping out whatever does, at least within Kilmarin. I quite appreciate it.”

  “Indeed. Such assistance is invaluable, but I was able to convince her that revealing the news in such a way would benefit you and Samantha. After that, she was quite willing to help.”

  “She’s a godsend.”

  “She’s a saint to have put up with you for so long,” Lucas teased.

  “I could say the same for your servants,” Heathcliff remarked in return.

  “True, true,” Lucas agreed, then sipped his tea. “Regardless, that is the summary of events after your departure.”

  “Thank you. You’re most helpful.” Heathcliff gave a wry grin.

  “You’re still an arse.”

  “Don’t see that changing much.” Heathcliff shrugged.

  “Pity, that,” Lucas replied. “I take it, based on the profitability of your earlier conversation with Samantha, you are more than amenable to the haste of your nuptials.”

  “That’s quite a way to put it.” Heathcliff arched a brow. “So proper,” he teased.

  “One of us has to pretend to be the gentleman.”

  “Better you than I,” Heathcliff answered. “But yes. After I finish my tea, I’ll take my horse and go to speak to the local vicar. It shouldn’t be too difficult to schedule the wedding tomorrow morning.”

  “I think I’ll join you. I’m quite liable to fall asleep if I remain here in your quite comfortable library, and I’d much rather be active.”

  “If you wish,” Heathcliff replied. “I’ll have Mrs. Keyes notify the ladies. I’m sure they are making preparations of their own.”

  “A wedding in a day’s notice? They are probably fluttering about like hummingbirds. It would be best for us to remain out of their way.” Lucas gave a sharp nod.

  “Agreed. Then it’s settled.” Heathcliff stood and went to ring the bell. Shortly, the maid appeared and was bid to fetch Mrs. Keyes. In no less than a quarter hour, the gentlemen were off to Edinburgh.

  As the sunshine warmed Heathcliff’s wool coat, he cast a glance back to Kilmarin, wondering just which room held Samantha. He smiled, because, in looking back, it was a way of looking in to his future. And for the first time in quite a long while, loneliness didn’t follow him.

  Hope, however, did.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The day had been feverish in its activity. The entirety of the afternoon had been spent planning, replanning, and then modifying said plans. Samantha finally understood why weddings took months to take place; the event itself was quite the undertaking and not to be done in a few hours’ time.

  But accomplishing the impossible seemed to be the order of the day, and they approached the dinner hour with not a small measure of success in planning the morning wedding.

  As they gathered in the parlor while they awaited dinner, Heathcliff and Lucas brought the news that a vicar had been procured to officiate the service. Samantha couldn’t help but admire Heathcliff’s wind-teased hair. Her fingers burned with the memory of its texture, and her lips grew warm with desire for his kiss once more. And while, earlier, she had wondered why weddings took months to take place, she now, conversely, wondered how women waited so long to taste the passion of their husbands’ embrace.

  She thanked God that tonight was the last night she’d have to exercise patience and restraint. She’d tried to approach the topic of marital relations with her sister earlier, when they were alone. Her sister hadn’t offered any insight. Rather, she’d given Samantha a secretive smile and told her that her heart would know what her body needed to do. As far as advice was concerned, Samantha found her sister’s sorely lacking; she’d quite expected far more information. So, though she’d given her best effort, she still wasn’t certain what would transpire in the marriage bed. However, she didn’t fear it. Rather, she anticipated it wantonly. She blushed as her scandalous thoughts filtered through her mind and was quite thankful no one could suspect them.

  Or so she thought. Heathcliff met her gaze, as if he knew what she was thinking, and gave a wicked grin that heated her very bones. Who knew that a look, a mere glance, could feel as intimate as a kiss? But it did, and she felt the power of his regard down to her toes.

  Someone cleared their throat, and Samantha flicked her gaze away toward the noise. Lucas was grinning wildly, watching her with an amused expression. Heat flooded her cheeks once more and she looked down.

  Sother came in then, to announce dinner. Heathcliff strode up beside her and offered his arm. She took it readily, and they proceeded from the parlor to the dining room.

  “How was your afternoon?”

  “Productive,” she answered, collecting her wits. He was so very apt to scatter them with just a touch.

  “Mine as well.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I do believe I mentioned it,” he remarked, smiling down at her.

  As they walked into the dining room, he pulled out her chair and, when she sat down, scooted it into place. He then took the place beside her, at the head of the table.

  The first course was served, and while Samantha took a sip of the beef and barley soup, she felt the slightest pressure on her foot. She paused, the soupspoon partway to her mouth, as the pressure disappeared. After taking the sip, she set her spoon back in her bowl, only to feel the pressure again, only this time it was more of a caress down the length of her slipper. Her gaze shot to Heathcliff, who was watching her with a bemused expression. The touch lingered up by her ankle and pulled the hem of her dress slightly away from it, giving the slightest draft on her lower leg.

  He winked.

  She gasped slightly.

  “Is something the matter?” her sister asked, giving her a curious look.

  “No, nothing. It was just . . . hot,” Samantha answered, making a show of blowing on the soup on her spoon and then tentatively taking a sip.

  A low chuckle rumbled from Heathcliff, just enough for her to hear and understand it.

  Sure enough, a few moments later
, his boot ever so gently brushed against her slipper, but this time she was prepared. Two could certainly play that game, and, she assumed, slippers would be far more agile at it than a boot. She withdrew her foot from his and, concentrating, edged her slipper forward till she came in contact with his boot. To keep up appearances, she took a slow sip of the soup, and then as she put her spoon back in her bowl, traced her slipper up the length of his boot to the hem of his trousers, then caressed higher, feeling the outline of his calf muscle against her toes.

  The sound of metal hitting china startled her, and she jumped in her chair, her foot withdrawing from his person. She glanced in the direction of the noise, seeing Heathcliff muttering something quite ungentlemanly as he wiped his shirt with a napkin. The spoon that had dropped had been his and was sitting quite awkwardly in his bowl. The sudden drop had sprayed him with broth.

  Samantha bit back a grin, then, when that failed, tried to hold her laughter in check, attempting to cover the noise with a delicate cough.

  Heathcliff gave her a teasing glare, arching a brow as if issuing a challenge. She replied in kind, enjoying the dare.

  “What am I missing?” Liliah asked, and Samantha glanced to her sister, seated directly across from her.

  “Don’t ask, love,” Lucas remarked helpfully, suddenly seemingly quite interested in his soup.

  Liliah’s eyes widened, then she gave a broad, knowing smile, and followed the example of her husband and was quite captivated by her bowl of soup.

  Samantha gave a delicate giggle and turned back to Heathcliff. No sooner had their eyes met than she felt the same pressure on her foot from his boot, only this time he immediately slid up her ankle, then calf, pulling away her skirts.

  She pulled away, deciding that part of the game should be evasion.

  He gave her a mock glare.

  She gave a challenging grin.

  His answering grin was predatory.

  The footman interrupted their tête-à-tête, removing their soup bowls and giving them their second course. Samantha glanced at the roasted pheasant, steam swirling up to meet her with its heavenly fragrance. But even with the delicious food before her, her hunger was otherwise engaged in something quite different.