Authors: Penny Richards
“Yes, my lord, you did. I suppose I did not understand you then. I did not understand what it would look like.” The rest came out in almost a whisper. “Or how hard it would be.”
His laughter was harsh and it startled her. “
You
did not realize what it meant or how hard it would be? What do you suppose that little scene during our waltz cost me?
That
was not of my doing!” He turned to face her and saw her acceptance of that rebuke. She closed her eyes. “Please just answer my original question, Grace. How many times have we kissed?”
“I do not remember exactly. I suppose three or four,” she said after some thought. “Why?”
“Because if you had asked me how many times we have kissed, I would have said none.”
He watched her tilt her head to the side, perplexed. She was so trusting, so calm. He no longer wanted to be angry at her.
“How could you say none, when you just kissed me in the middle of a ballroom?”
He leaned back against the tree. He stretched out his hand and she automatically put hers in it. He pulled her toward him and said softly, “Because
this,
Grace, is a kiss.”
* * *
He had leaned back against the tree, and when he pulled her to him, the distance between them disappeared. With one hand on the back of her waist, he slowly touched his lips to hers, and she involuntarily closed her eyes.
It was nothing like she had ever felt before. It seemed as if her stomach became filled with butterflies. As he increased the pressure, she decided to stop trying to find something to compare this to. He deepened the kiss with a hand on the back of her head, but when she sighed, quite unintentionally, he moved it to join the other at her waist. It felt completely natural to put her arms around his neck.
The kiss felt more comfortable as it went on, and she never wanted it to stop.
She knew it must feel this way for
her
because she loved him so much. But what was it like for
him?
He was not in love with her. Why did he wish to continue?
He finally stopped the kiss ever so slowly. “You see, my lovely green-eyed enchantress,
that
is a kiss. And for a man like me, it is only the beginning.” He looked at her with such intensity that she tried to understand. “The chaste kisses we have shared up to now and the childish hand holding are torture for me.”
She lowered her head and pulled away from him, staring unseeing at the lake so he would not witness her tears. When women fell into his arms they did not grumble at his kisses, or go stiff. They gave him whatever he wanted because they, too, never wanted the kiss to stop. Of course, he did not know what to do with someone who actually stopped them!
She
did not want them, because they were not real. But, oh, how she wanted them to be. She could not tell him that her actions when they danced were directed totally by her heart. It had nothing to do with fooling Society.
Now it was clear. She no longer dreaded ending their engagement. God was showing her that Brandon would never be the man for her. It was not because of his past; he was assured of God's grace and forgiveness when the time came that he wanted it. It was because they were too different. He would never be satisfied with a green girl from Essex who wanted his love, and she would never be satisfied with a man who did not love her.
She wiped her tears quickly and turned back to him.
“Do not worry, Grace. I would never go further with you, because I respect you too much to take advantage of this betrothal.”
What was he saying? He was still trying to explain why her kisses only frustrated him.
He took her hand and put it in the crook of his arm as he began to walk back to the ballroom. They were silent until he apologized. “I am sorry, Grace. I have insulted you and I never meant to. You do not deserve such treatment. Perhaps my nerves were nearer the surface than I supposed.”
Yes, he was under the same public scrutiny she was, only certain things were expected of him.
“Please say something, Grace.”
“I am sorry, Brandon. I am afraid I have made a mull of this, as I knew I would. I should never have agreed to this betrothal. Regardless, I did not realize how difficult it would be for you, either.”
They reached the house and both stopped. “Will you be able to remain for the rest of the evening with me?” he asked.
She nodded, and they continued into the house as if they had been out for a moonlit stroll on the veranda. But Grace knew nothing would ever be the same again, and despite her nod to his question, it was time to end it.
* * *
They left the ball about 3:30 a.m., most of them tired and happy. Brandon was just glad it was over. The others had fallen asleep by the time they reached Berkeley Square, but he knew that Grace had not. He wished he could read her mind.
He had gone too far with her tonight. Though she was six and twenty, she was an innocent, and she did not need to be chastised for it. But he had wanted to truly kiss her for some time. It began as a desire to show her what it could be like, but ever since the day at the orphanage, he'd wanted to be closer to her. He didn't understand the feelings; he had liked her from the start, but lately it had been more of a
need
to share things with her.
All she wanted to talk about, however, was how soon they could break their betrothal and how they should go about it. He was running out of excuses for more time. For now, he did not want her to leave. What he had to determine was whether this was a fleeting feeling because she was so different than anyone else he had ever met, or whether it was more.
But the problem did not lie with him alone. She must not feel the same, if she could welcome their parting so easily. He knew it was not distaste for him personally that had her seeking an end to the engagementâin truth, he was sure that she was as good a friend as he had ever had. The
ton
would never understand that. Great guns! He would never have understood it if he was not experiencing it. But friendship was not the same as love, and he knew that she would never marry a man she did not cherish with all her heart. And that could never be him, especially not after tonight. If everything about him went against all she believed in, he had nailed the coffin shut this evening.
The carriage pulled up to the door and he handed them all out, lastly shaking hands with her father. Brandon wanted just one moment alone with Grace, but with the handing off of cloaks and calling for servants, he could only kiss her hand and hope she could see in his eyes that more had happened that night than just a physical connection.
It
was
more for him. But how much more?
* * *
Grace did not go upstairs with the others. Though they were more than likely going straight to bed, she did not want to risk that Lydia might wish to talk over the excitement of the evening. So she picked up a book she had brought downstairs earlier, and told everyone she would follow momentarily after she returned the book to the library. She dismissed the servants and promised to be sure all the candles were out.
When she was finally alone, she sat on the bottom step in the foyer and put her chin in her hands. She should be ready to fall into bed and sleep for a week, but she knew she would not. She was so confused. She spied Max out of the corner of her eye, standing steadfast, never changing, and guarding their home without faltering.
“Max, he is right about me. I
am
stupid and naive when it comes to men. He is like you, Max, and I have loved you for ages. He is hard and cold on the outside, but on the inside, I know there is a warm, caring, funny knight. He would laugh to hear me say that, probably just as you would if you could. But I do not know how to make him believe me.
“I had no idea that love was so complicated. I must stop hoping he will one day tell me that he is not pretending anymore.” And in her heart she knew that even if he said it, she could not marry him. He did not believe in God. He would soon tire of a wife who did, while she could never be truly happy in a marriage that lacked a foundation in faith.
She took her bed candle and went to stand before the regal suit of armor. “It is all dreams, Max, like the ones I always had of you.” One lone tear ran down her cheek as she turned from him and began the ascent to her room. She would talk to Brandon on the morrow about her plan, and then put this part of her life behind her.
Chapter Fourteen
A
t first light, after she had tossed and turned to the limit of her patience, Grace rose, dressed quickly and decided a ride in the park might clear her head of the dreams and nightmares from the night before. She tiptoed down the stairs, apologized to Max for bothering him last night, and went to saddle her horse. She found herself virtually alone in the park except for a few vendors setting up their wares.
After a wonderful gallop, she walked her horse to cool him down. One good thing to come out of her tossing and turning was that she had hit upon the plan to break with Brandon. It would more than likely be a week before they could actually part, but they could argue immediately and continue to pretend animosity for a specified number of days.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not notice the man in the black coat until he had hold of the bridle of her horse. She jerked the reins in surprise. “What you are doing? Let go of my horse.” She tried to speak calmly, sure there was some mistake, but she was uncomfortably aware that she was alone. And Brandon had warned her.
“Unfortunately, I cannot do that, Lady Grace. If you would slowly dismount and begin to walk beside me, I will do my best not to hurt you.” He was not very tall, but his voice was menacing enough to make her compliant. That and the fact that she had left her reticule, with her gun in it, at home. She chastised herself for the oversight.
She dismounted, but held tightly to the reins. She wondered if she could somehow use her mount to dislodge the man, even if only for a moment. Should her horse arrive home without her, her groom would soon send up a cry. But the cloaked man seemed prepared for that eventuality and spoke ominously.
“Lady Grace, I would advise you not to do anything that will make me hurt you or your horse. I can arrange things to make it look like you had a terrible accident while out riding alone.” The realization that this was a life-threatening matter caused her to forget any plans for escape, and listen to what he would say. Brandon had predicted that she might have angered the caretaker of the Baxter orphanage. Was this man Mr. Brownlow, or perhaps his emissary?
“Now we will have a friendly chat, my lady. If you give any other indication in outward appearance, you will be sorry. Do you understand?”
She looked at him and nodded. She knew she should be doing something to help herself, but she was so scared she couldn't seem to think.
Remember what he looks like, Grace,
she thought, trying to get a look at his face. But he was well covered in a black greatcoat and a hat pulled low over his features.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. She kept trying to think rationally. If he truly wanted to hurt her, he had had ample opportunity in the previous hour, when she was alone.
Dear Lord, protect me. I do not see my way out of this by myself.
“It is very simple. I want the Weston emeralds.”
No! The orphanage caretaker was trying to get his revenge on Brandon through her. He would punish them both at the same time. “They are not mine to give you.” She did not know how far to push him, but he needed to know he could not get them through her.
“I don't care. You are in possession of them, so you will give them to me.”
Think, Grace, think. Buy some time.
“They belong to Lord Weston and are under his protection.” She chose her words carefully. “He merely loaned them to me last night for our ball.” She prayed that she sounded convincing.
“My lady, the sooner you stop taking me for a fool, the better off you will be. I have sources who have reported that Lord Weston
gave
you those emeralds last night as your betrothal gift. I am quite sure the safe in Berkeley Square would provide enough security that you might keep them on the premises.”
She was truly afraid now, but he would be the last person to know it. “I am certainly not carrying the emeralds on my person at this time, and I refuse to go fetch them for you.” She was preparing herself for the worst. He must have some means of making her turn them over to him or he would not have accosted her so brazenly.
“Do you think to outsmart us?” He laughed. “Here is what you will do.”
His use of the word
us
surprised her. Was he connected to the three men who had tried to hurt her and Brandon? No, this man's voice was more cultured. She must now find a way to keep the emeralds safe and to prove Mr. Brownlow was the force behind this plan.
How do I do this alone?
“What makes you think I would hand the jewels over to you? I am not afraid for my life and would give it up before the marquess's heirlooms.”
“Yes, my lady, your reputation precedes you. You were ready to kill for him once before, were you not?” So this man
was
from the orphanage! “You must stop thinking I know nothing about you.” He drew the horse to a halt, but kept staring straight ahead. “I know your betrothal is a fraud.” She involuntarily swung her head toward him and he laughed. “You may have hoaxed the
ton,
but you have not hoaxed us.”
How could Mr. Brownlow know such a thing? Only Lydia knew the truth about their betrothal and she would never tell anyone. Had this man and his cohorts been watching Grace since her visit to the orphanage? Her actions were the cause of this and she must find a way out. She must think.
“If you know the betrothal to be false, I am surprised you would approach me at all. Why would Lord Weston leave his prized family heirlooms with me? He let me wear them to keep up the pretense.”
Her assailant hissed in her ear. “I am not a fool, and curb your tongue. You begin to wear on me. I do not care whether you have the emeralds or not. All I care about is that you get them. I will give you one week. You will tell no one and you have a week.”
What could she do? She wanted to cry. She wanted someone to rescue her from this nightmare. She had promised she would go to Brandon with everything. Could she do that with them watching her?
“You will meet me at the Whitefriars Stairs just below the Black Lion Inn one week from tonight at nine of the clock,” the man ordered her. “I want the entire set and you will bring them alone. I will have you watched, and if you bring reinforcements, I will not answer for their safety.”
“You said you have already had me watched.” As she said it out loud, she felt spine-tingling fear at just exactly what that might mean.
“Yes, my lady. That is how I will keep you from telling anyone else. I think you will not put someone you know at risk. You have been warned.”
So, she could not tell Brandon. She would never put him in harm's way no matter what she'd promised him.
“And if I refuse?” she asked, trying to show a brave face.
He spoke as if addressing a child. “I do not think the
ton
would be too happy to hear of the game you and Lord Weston are playing.”
Did things like this really happen? She had asked herself that when she went to the orphanage. She could not credit so much evil. “I do not care what the
ton
thinks. I will go to my home and be perfectly content if I am shunned by Society. And you must be aware that Lord Weston's reputation would survive anything.”
“You might not particularly care about the ostracism awaiting you. However, your sister, recently betrothed to a young viscount, might. You will not ruin their reputations so easily.”
His mention of Lydia and Lord Hendricks raised the hair on the back of her neck. She could never keep them all safe by herself.
Get more information, Grace. Get as much as you can.
“My sister and her affianced plan to live at his country estate, and both would understand and accept a choice I made to save Lord Weston's emeralds.”
“You are
not
paying attention!” the man in black said, anger making him louder. “You will tell no one of this meeting or what I ask of you, and as you have learned, I will know if you do.” He paused for effect. “You may offer to give up your own life, but if you do not do as I say, then Lord Weston will lose his. Engaged or not, I think you would not wish to be responsible for his death.”
If this was about the orphanage, then likely they wanted Brandon dead regardless, and her choice now would make no difference. But she could not take the risk with Brandon's life on the line. She could no longer even be sure they would not kill them both, anyway. She was defeated; she must do as he said. But she would keep trying to find out who was behind this. She had to keep Brandon safe.
She forcibly pulled the bit from the man's hands and said, “You will have your emeralds,” then mounted her horse.
“I thought you might change your mind,” he said, and turned to walk back the way they had come.
* * *
Grace paced back and forth in her bedroom. It was too much; she could never do this by herself. As she thought it, she knew who she should turn to, and got down on her knees next to her bed.
Father God, I do not even know what to ask of You. My loved ones are in danger and I cannot be in two or three places at one time. Only You can. Please show me how to play my part in Your plan to keep them safe, and give me Your strength and grace to get through it.
She wrote notes canceling all her appointments for that day, even her drive with Brandon. He would not like it, but she had no choice. She claimed a severe headache, which was certainly the truth, and asked that she be left alone.
At one point during the morning, she received a bouquet of yellow roses from Brandon, with a note expressing his hope that she would feel better soon, and that nothing he had said or done the previous evening had caused her to cancel their drive. As she read it, tears welled in her eyes and her mind went back to his tender kiss. He thought she was angry at him, but it was actually a treasured experience she would always remember.
For a moment, she thought about going to Lord Langdon with the entire truth. He loved Brandon as a son. But no sooner did she think about it than she ruled it out. She was being watched and could not put another person at risk. She had gotten herself into this by barging into that orphanage, so she must bear the consequences. There was no Max to come to her rescue.
By noon she had decided what she must do to protect the emeralds, but it would have to be implemented soon and in secret. She would take them to a jeweler and have them replaced with paste copies. She knew women of the
ton
did it often when they needed more pin money or when they outran their quarterly allowances. She did not know exactly how it would work or how long it took to make a copy; she could only pray it wouldn't be too difficult. If the replicas could not be made in time, she did not know what she would do.
She also tried to determine what was best to do about Mr. Brownlow. Brandon had warned her that she could interfere with everything they had already accomplished at the orphanage if he knew she had visited there. How could she make sure that didn't happen, as well? She shivered at the thought of going back to that place alone. And even if she did, that would not protect Brandon's life. No, she must get the fakes to the man in black as promised, and pray she could convince him that it was enough payment to leave her loved ones alone.
Knowing she was being watched was the hardest part. If she went to a jeweler, these spies might realize what she was doing. Without knowing how long it would take to make the copies, she decided it must be the first thing she did. Everything depended on being able to accomplish it, and she knew she could not do it alone; she would be followed for certain.
She called on her maid, Betsy, to help her. Grace told her that she needed to do something for Lord Weston but did not want anyone to know. Betsy, a hopeless romantic, saw an opportunity to help her lady with affairs of the heart, and agreed to her plan.
At noon that day, when Lydia and her aunt were out making morning calls, the maid, dressed in one of Grace's gowns and wearing her pelisse and hat, walked out the front door and directly into a hackney, heading in the direction of Richmond Park. If the man spying on her followed the hackney, it would free hours for Grace to accomplish her mission. She watched through the front window, trying to catch a glimpse of her stalker, but realized he could have been hiding anywhere. She would just have to assume he was following Betsy.
Half an hour later, Grace left by way of the servants' door wearing Betsy's cap, hat and cloak. She walked several blocks from their house to catch a hackney to the jewelers. She could do nothing but pray for the success of this endeavor. It was all she knew to do.
By one o'clock she was in front of a small, lesser known jeweler off Bond Street. She asked the hackney driver to wait, and entered the shop. She looked around, feeling very self-conscious, and asked to speak to the owner.
When the short bald man appeared, Grace played the part of a maid on an errand for her mistress. She explained her need, and offered to pay handsomely for the copies and originals to be returned to her within three days. She even thought to warn him that her ladyship would have another jeweler inspect them both to be sure she received the real pieces.
The shop owner looked up in surprise after he opened the velvet box.
Grace could see from his expression that he recognized the jewels, and knew she needed to come up with a plausible reason for the needed copies even if he charged her a fortune to do it.
“Yes, they are Lord Weston's emeralds. My lady is affianced to his lordship,” she said, and curtsied. At the nod of the shopkeeper's head, she continued. “She's that scared she might lose them or, glory be, they should be stolen. She's convinced she ought to have copies made. She'll feel better wearing the real ones on special occasions, like.” Grace's accent got worse the more she tried to sound like Betsy, and she was afraid the man would think she had stolen them herself.
Dear God, I am in waters too deep for me.