The four of them ate and sipped for a few minutes, talking of mostly inconsequential subjects.
At length, the dowager set her cup aside, while her youngest daughter drifted back across the room. “So which ones have you answered?”
“Which ones—? Oh, of the invitations.”
Ava cast an idle glance toward the little stack of cards on the side table, her gaze pausing for a long moment on a cream-colored vellum card with several lines of the spidery black handwriting scratched across its surface. “Hmm.”
Grace noted the sound. “Your pardon, is there something wrong with that one?”
The dowager gave a little shake of her head. “No, of course not, child. These matters are up to you to decide as Jack’s wife. I don’t wish to interfere.”
For a moment, Grace worried a fingernail between her teeth, then plunged ahead. “Actually, I’d really rather that you did interfere,” she said, sending a hopeful look toward the dowager and Mallory. “These have been arriving for days now, and I haven’t the faintest clue how to respond.”
Ava looked momentarily surprised, then her face relaxed. “I would be delighted to aid you, but only if you’re sure.”
“I’m very sure,” Grace sighed, relief sweeping through her. “Here, let me get the rest.”
The dowager and Mallory laughed when they saw the stack she retrieved. “Good heavens, all those? You poor dear, no wonder you’re overwhelmed. Here, lay them all down and we’ll be through them in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
And so the sorting began, Ava dividing the cards into “yes’s,” “no’s” and “probably no’s.”
The dowager was down to the last of two invitations when she stiffened, her fingers tightening briefly against a card written in an elegant, flowing and obviously feminine hand. “Of all the nerve,” she muttered under her breath. Firmly and without hesitation, she transferred the card into the “no” pile.
Curious now, Grace couldn’t help but glance at the name, reading it upside down.
Philipa, Lady Stockton
“Why does Lady Stockton go in the ‘no’ pile?” she asked.
Her mother-in-law met her gaze for a long moment before looking away. “Because that is where she belongs. Now, don’t concern yourself over her further. Although should you happen to encounter her over the course of the Season, I suggest you avoid her—politely, of course.”
“I see.” But Grace didn’t see, not at all. “Is she so very dreadful then?”
The dowager paused. “No, not in the way you mean. She is good Ton. A very beautiful widow, who’s received in all the best houses. It’s just that…well, I’ve said more than enough.”
But she hasn’t said enough at all.
“Perhaps it would help if I knew
why
I should avoid her,” Grace suggested.
Ava paused again and said nothing.
Mallory met Grace’s gaze, knowledge alive in her eyes. With a quick glance toward her little sister, who was occupied sketching across the room, she leaned forward. “It’s because she and Jack used to be involved,” she whispered.
“Mallory!” her mother scolded.
“Well, you’ve gotten her all curious now,” Mallory replied, turning toward the dowager. “Besides, someone is bound to tell her. Better she hear it from us rather than letting some mean-spirited tattlemonger take delight.”
Her mother scowled. “You, young lady, aren’t even supposed to know about such matters.”
“There are a great many things I am not supposed to know. Even so, I have ears and a brain, do I not?”
“Obviously too many of both,” remarked her aggrieved mother.
“So when you say involved,” Grace interrupted, “you mean she is his—”
“
Mistress,
yes,” Mallory whispered. “Oh, but she’s not anymore. Jack ended it with her before he began courting you. So you mustn’t be angry with him.”
Mustn’t?
she thought.
Still, she had so many things to be angry with Jack over these days, what was one more? Actually, the fact that he’d had a beautiful widow for his mistress didn’t surprise her. Grace was well aware that she was far from the first woman to be his lover. Why, knowing Jack, the city was probably littered with his former bedmates.
Her stomach rolled suddenly, making her wish she hadn’t eaten that last biscuit with her tea. The reaction had nothing to do with what she’d just discovered, though, she assured herself. It’s not that she minded his having former mistresses, it’s just that she didn’t particularly want to know about them. Certainly not by name!
Mallory and Ava sent her suddenly concerned looks.
She forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I shan’t be angry. With either of you or Jack.”
Both women visibly relaxed.
“You know, I rather suspect Philipa Stockton is only curious about you,” Ava stated in a soothing tone, “despite her astonishing audacity in issuing the invitation in the first place.”
“Well, she can stay curious.” Leaning over, Grace picked up the card. With an efficient movement, she ripped the fancy paper neatly in two. “This one is most definitely a ‘no.’ Now, are we back to the ‘probably no’s?’ How shall we decide?”
“M
y apologies, gentlemen, but I’m afraid I cannot stay.” Jack set down his half-filled whiskey glass and prepared to rise from the eminently comfortable chair in which he’d been relaxing for the past two hours. Arranged around him in various other chairs inside the male-only environs of Brooks’s Club sat a few of his friends.
A roar of complaint issued from their ranks at his pronouncement.
“Come now, Jack,” Niall Faversham said. “Surely you can spare a bit more time. It’s barely evening.”
“Exactly. It
is
evening and I need to get home.”
“What he means,” quipped Lord Howland as he slung a leisurely arm over the back of his chair, “is that he’s
expected
home. Scarcely two months married and already he’s been trained to obey the cat’s paw.”
Scowling, Jack rose to his feet. “Don’t be stupid. I have a hot dinner and a warm fire waiting for me. I plan to enjoy them both in the comfort of my own residence.”
“You can enjoy a hot dinner and a warm fire right here,” drawled Tony Black, Duke of Wyvern. “You don’t need to go home for either of those.”
Adam, Lord Gresham, broke his silence. “Ah, but Brooks’s Club doesn’t offer the companionship of a lovely wife, now, does it? Nor the opportunity to take her upstairs after that hot supper is done. If I had what Byron does, I’d be going home now too.”
Since none of the men could disagree, they gave up their attempts at further persuasion.
Jack accepted the easy escape and said his good-byes.
Leaving the club, he climbed into his coach and told the driver to take him home. As Gresham had pointed out, he did have a lovely wife at home. What he didn’t know is whether she would be joining him for dinner or not.
Since arriving in Town, a new distance had arisen between them. At first he’d made an effort to escort her out for a few amusements. But she’d lived her entire life in London, so the customary diversions seemed largely to fall flat. They still took the occasional meal together, but during the day she was usually busy establishing the domestic routine of the house, while he occupied himself much as he had always done, with one important exception. He’d stopped playing cards for profit.
The money from Grace’s father had given him the kind of financial stability he’d never known before. True, he hadn’t lacked for the necessities, even without his gaming money, but now he no longer had to worry over every gold guinea that came and went from his pocket.
Even better, he was able to invest. If he listened to the sound advice of men like his father-in-law, and applied a measure of prudent management, his income should remain steady—or even increase—in the years to come.
And so ended the necessity of gaming for extra funds. Now when he played cards, it was strictly for fun, and never for anything but modest stakes. If the rumor was spreading that marriage was turning “Bad Jack Byron” dull, well, he could tolerate the remarks.
Of course there would be far more negative rumors and remarks if Grace went through with her plan to leave him at the end of the Season. Determined, however, to honor their agreement, he’d taken action to fulfill the terms of their secret addendum to the settlement not long after reaching Town.
Tucked safely now into a separate account at the Bank of England was Grace’s promised sixty thousand pounds—structured so that only she would have control of the funds. And tomorrow he had an appointment to meet with a land agent who would search for a comfortable house in the country that he hoped would meet all of Grace’s requirements.
As for her decision to separate permanently? Well, he would see how she felt a few months from now. He supposed he would see how he felt as well.
Arriving at the town house, he strode up the front steps, then inside.
“Good evening, your lordship,” Appleton greeted, accepting Jack’s coat and hat. “Raw night outside, if I may say.”
“It is indeed,” Jack agreed, thinking not only of the cold, damp night air but of the atmosphere inside the house as well. Depending on what Appleton revealed, he would see exactly how chilly it was bound to be.
“Is her ladyship about?” he asked.
“Milady is abovestairs. I believe she called for a tray in her room about an hour since. Shall I send word to her of your arrival?”
Jack restrained a sigh. “No. Have a meal brought to my study, along with a bottle of burgundy. The ’92, I believe.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Jack strode away, releasing the sigh still trapped in his chest the moment the servant was too far away to hear. Entering his study, he took care not to slam the door.
Grace awakened to the sensation of the mattress dipping at her back. Only partially conscious, she knew Jack had joined her, his warmth and the wonderful scent of his skin enveloping her only seconds before his arms did the same.
Lying on her side, too drowsy to speak, she didn’t bother to open her eyes. Used now to the frequency of his possessions, she let him touch her as he pleased, his broad hands sliding beneath her nightgown to caress her with long, sweeping strokes that soon pulled a moan from her lips.
No matter how often he took her, she never got used to the sheer beauty of his touch—each time a new first, every encounter better than the one that had come before.
She tried to turn then, wanting his mouth on hers. Instead he held her in place with an arm draped across her stomach, one of her breasts cradled in his palm. Finessing the tip until it drew up into a tight, aching peak, he moved on to her other breast to play there with tantalizing purpose.
Restless and abruptly needy, her breath quickened, her skin sizzling as he scattered hot kisses over her throat and cheek and ear. Closing his lips around her earlobe, he gave her a shiver-inducing bite before soothing her throbbing flesh with a warm, wet lick.
Shoving her nightgown higher, he inserted a heavy, masculine thigh between her legs. Then, holding her steady with his arm still cradled against her belly, he penetrated her in a long, deep thrust.
She groaned, their position making her exquisitely sensitive, as he rocked them together with increasingly harder, deeper strokes. Nudging her knee slightly upward, he thrust again and gained total possession, the move taking him as far as he could possibly go. He took her with a relentless rhythm, building the ache until she thought she might go mad.
Without warning, the fever broke, rapture claiming her in a sweeping torrent of delight. She clung, aware of him still thrusting fast and deep within her until he found his pleasure as well.
Skin damp beneath her tangled nightgown, she lay quivering and waited for her sanity to return.
He held her for a long while, until their flesh cooled and their breathing returned to normal. Sliding from her, he rolled away, turning onto his back so he could go to sleep.
Relaxed and drowsy again, she waited for sleep to embrace her too. It was only as she was drifting off that she realized neither of them had said a word through the whole of their coupling. Maybe in this one place, though, it was because no words were needed.
“Don’t be nervous,” Mallory whispered to Grace nearly seven weeks later, as they stood together in the marble-tiled entrance to the Clybourne House ballroom. “You’re going to be brilliant.”
“If you say so,” Grace replied in an equally restrained tone.
The guests were due to arrive any minute now, the family gathered in preparation of their welcome. Grace only hoped her tongue didn’t seize up when it came time to make the actual greetings.
Hosted by Edward and her mother-in-law, tonight’s ball was being held in her honor as a dual celebration of the start of the new Season and her introduction to the Ton. As Jack’s wife, she was expected to take a place beside him in the receiving line.
Glancing across the room, she found him talking with Edward and Cade. The three Byron men were all handsome, but to her, Jack far outshone his siblings. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, standing tall, dark, and dynamic in his stark black and white evening attire, his neatly combed hair already showing a charmingly rebellious bit of wave.
Her chest grew uncomfortably tight and she looked away.
“Of course I say so,” Mallory reassured her, returning Grace’s attention to the conversation at hand. “You look absolutely gorgeous in that gown. I only wish I were allowed to wear such a strikingly deep shade of green. But until Michael and I are wed, I shall have to content myself with the same old maidenly whites and pale pastels.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Mallory’s smile faded, a wistful expression clouding her lovely aquamarine eyes.
Fully aware of the source of her discontent, Grace reached out and squeezed her gloved hand. “He’ll be back soon, and you’ll hear from him often. I’m sure he’ll try to write you every day while he’s gone.”
“Exactly,” Meg Byron stated, entering the conversation. “The military is generally very good about delivering the mail. No matter where Papa used to be assigned, his letters never failed to reach us. Often more reliably than the domestic post.”
Mallory gave them both a weak smile. “I know you’re right. It’s just that I worry so about him down there in Spain.” For a moment, the girl’s gaze strayed to Cade. Grace and Meg were aware in which direction Mallory’s thoughts had taken her, since her brother had nearly died of his war wounds. His limp served as a permanent reminder of the price he’d paid in service to his nation. It was only natural that she would be afraid for her fiancé.
As for Michael Hargreaves’s departure, the major had received his orders shortly after he and Mallory had announced their engagement. They’d barely had time to celebrate their coming nuptials, when he’d been packing his kit and kissing her good-bye.
“The major is wise and won’t take any unnecessary chances,” Meg counseled. “He’ll come through just fine.”
“Of course he will.” Mallory forced another smile and nodded. “Still, my spirits are going to need buoying until he comes home. Until the last of this dreadful war is over and done.”
“I shall cheer you at every possible opportunity,” Grace pledged. Meg seconded her promise.
Lowering her gaze, Grace took a few seconds to collect her own suddenly scattered emotions, wishing she could ask for the same pledge.
Lord knows, I could use a measure of cheering myself these days.
But since she was supposed to make everyone, including her new family, believe she was happy in her marriage, she had no one in whom she could confide her troubles.
With any luck, the busy pace of the Season would keep her mind occupied and her spirits out of the doldrums. And based on the way the last several weeks had flown by, she had good reason to hope.
A tingle traced over her skin just then, her body recognizing Jack’s presence at her side, even before her mind did. Glancing up, she met her husband’s gaze.
“Apparently, the first guests have arrived,” he said, addressing the remark to them all. “Mama says we are to take our places now.” Offering his arm, he waited.
Grace accepted in silence, while Mallory moved to his opposite side. Cade appeared, bending to kiss his wife with visible affection before the pair started across the room. Seconds later, the rest of them followed.
The next hour went better than she’d imagined it might, her initial nerves quickly dissipating beneath the steady succession of curtseying, smiles, and banal chitchat. The exercise had become so routine by the end that she was almost relaxed.
Then Jack asked her to dance and her muscles drew up tight again.
“It’s the expected thing for me to lead you out for the first set,” he explained on a murmur only she could hear. “Never fear, I’ll be careful not to step on your toes.”
But her toes were the least of her worries. Spending the next half hour with him while the whole room looked on—that’s what worried her.
“Maybe you’re the one who should worry about getting stepped on, my lord,” she said with a sudden spark of defiance.
Jack laughed, his smile so warm that anyone watching would have mistaken the expression for devotion.
Oh, how deceptive looks can be,
she mused.
Allowing herself to be escorted into the ballroom, she and Jack mingled for a few minutes, furthering her acquaintance with several of the people she’d met earlier in the receiving line.
Then the first dance was called, and couples moved onto the dance floor to form a line for a contra dance. Facing Jack, Grace waited for the first notes to be struck.
True to his word, he didn’t come close to stepping on her feet, his movements light and agile. But then she already knew what a superb dancer he was from the times they’d stood up together in Bath.
Memories of Bath curdled in her stomach, making it suddenly hard for her to maintain her happy expression.
“If you’re not careful,” he whispered to her during a turn, “people will think you’re in pain.”
“I’m smiling,” she defended.
“Like a cadaver. Try something a bit less forced.”
Glaring, she showed him her teeth.
He laughed again, then deliberately bobbled his step so that she tripped against him. Her eyes widened only seconds before he clutched her tight and pressed his mouth to hers. Her thoughts scattered in an instant, the music fading to a low hum as the pleasure of his kiss surged through her.
But just as abruptly as he’d drawn her to him, he released her again. “There,” he stated, “that should set them all agog.” Barely missing a beat, he resumed the intricate steps of the dance, while she struggled to do the same.
Heart fluttering, she realized she was rather agog herself. Hot color crept into her cheeks, embarrassment working to mask the other emotions churning inside her.
Recovering enough that she was able to continue dancing without shaming herself, she realized that his ploy had achieved its intended goal. No matter how she might appear to others at present, everyone would attribute her reaction to his audacious kiss. And they would not be far wrong.