When the music ended, she found the entire room watching them. But instead of disapproval, she discovered indulgent smiles and twinkling eyes. As he led her from the dance floor, she overheard someone whisper their astonishment over the fact that Lord Jack’s marriage was clearly a love match, after all.
How foolish they would surely feel if only they knew the truth.
Jack escorted her to a quiet spot on the far side of the room. Grateful for the respite, she opened her fan and applied it to her still burning cheeks.
She was about to suggest that Jack go do something useful—like procure her a glass of punch, or perhaps soak his head in a bucket—when her father strolled into view.
“Well, aren’t you two a sight!” Ezra Danvers declared with a toothy smile. “A right pair ’o lovebirds, if ever I did see.”
Her fingers tightened against the delicate staves of her fan, but she mustered a smile nonetheless. “Papa.”
Inviting her father to tonight’s ball had been Ava’s idea, a suggestion Grace had naturally had to support in spite of the resentment that still brewed inside her over his underhanded bargain with Jack.
Since returning to London, she’d seen little of her father, and not once had she visited the house on St. Martin’s Lane. She’d used the excuse of being too busy in her new life to make the trip across Town. But in truth, she’d been afraid to go, fearing the welter of emotions that might rise up and spill over once she was surrounded again by old memories and familiar surroundings. She worried too that her unhappiness would show. Or that her simmering temper might cause her to reveal that she knew the whole of his and Jack’s scheme.
Perhaps such revelations wouldn’t matter at this point, but pride was a strange thing. Pride and the fact that she refused to give her father the opportunity to ever again interfere in her life.
To maintain the appearance of family harmony, she’d twice invited Papa to dinner at the town house, where he’d been one of a larger group of family and a few intimate friends. But he never stayed long, too “uncomfortable” around the Quality to be at his ease. So her real feelings and the truth about her marriage remained easy to conceal from him.
Actually, she was surprised he was even here tonight, considering his discomfort around members of the Ton. But apparently his puffed-up conceit at seeing her so well-placed in Society had overcome his reluctance to be in their exalted midst.
Striving to push aside such unkind musings, she waved her fan in languid arcs before her face, using it to distract both her father’s attention and her own.
As though sensing her agitation, Jack laid a hand against her waist. Rather than pull away, she leaned into his touch, strangely glad of his support.
“If you aren’t careful, yer going to get my girl talked about in the papers, my lord,” her father admonished in a cheerful tone. “But it does my heart good to see the both of you so wild for each other. Why even now, you can hardly keep your hands off my Gracie. As for that spectacle on the dance floor…well, I suppose there’s no harm done, seeing yer married and all.”
She continued waving her fan, by no means trusting herself to speak.
Luckily, Jack stepped into the breach. “You are most understanding, Mr. Danvers, since Grace is simply too sweet to resist. No man could wish for a better wife.”
She lowered her gaze, an ache forming beneath her ribs to hear him utter such charming lies.
“Moment I laid eyes on you, Byron, I knew you were the one for my girl,” her father continued. “It’s good to be proven right. Now, I just need a few grandchildren.”
Jack eased her even closer and smiled. “Not to worry. We are applying ourselves to the matter with great diligence.”
Her father let out a booming laugh. “From what I’ve witnessed tonight, I can be assured of that.”
Jack gave a reciprocating laugh. But even knowing she should, Grace couldn’t bring herself to join them.
A couple of moments later, a tall, older gentleman joined them. If Grace remembered right, the man was one of Jack’s paternal uncles. They all conversed for a brief time before his uncle asked if he could “steal” Jack away for a minute or two, leaving Grace alone with her father.
Waving her fan a little faster, she wondered how much longer it would be until dinner—not that she was hungry, but at least the meal would give her an excuse for new company. Something of her displeasure must have shown as her father met her gaze.
“Come now, don’t poker up so,” he said. “We were just teasing before. Never knew you to be so sensitive.”
At first, she wasn’t sure what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about his and Jack’s recent conversation. Grabbing onto the topic, she used it as cover for her uncertain mood.
“I am not sensitive. I just don’t think a ball is the place to discuss the subject of making grandchildren.”
“Don’t see why not,” he chortled. “But if it discomposes you, then I won’t say another word.”
She gave him what she hoped was an appreciative smile.
Music filled the room as a new set began, couples moving with elegant form to the melody. She and her father watched in silence for a short time.
“Yer happy, aren’t ye, Gracie?” he asked, thumbs tucked into his waistcoat as he rocked back and forth on his heels.
Her gaze shot to his. “Yes. Of course I’m happy.”
He studied her for a moment before he relaxed. “Good, good. Because you know, I’ve never wanted anything but the best for you.”
“Yes, Papa. I know.”
“And I’ve never done anything that I didn’t think would lead to your happiness.”
Why is he saying this? Is he feeling guilty?
she wondered.
“But I’m glad you’re so happy. And I know ye are. Doesn’t take a genius to see how much you love Byron. And he’s clearly besotted with you. I’m just pleased it’s all worked out so well.”
And she realized that in his own opinionated, overbearing, high-handed way, he meant what he said. As wrong as his methods might be, in his mind what he’d done had been for her benefit. She would never be able to condone his actions, but she understood them. Perhaps she could even forgive them in time.
Suddenly, her anger fell away.
This time when she smiled, it wasn’t forced. “You’re right. It’s all worked out as planned. Frightening as it may seem at times, this is my world now, the world to which you’ve always wanted me to belong. And now I do because of you and Jack. How could I possibly be anything but ecstatic?”
Yes,
she thought sadly.
How indeed?
G
race had thought herself busy in the weeks leading up to Easter, but as she rapidly discovered, those days had been a leisurely rehearsal compared to the whirlwind that was
The London Season.
From morning to night, her schedule was full, whether she was promised to attend a breakfast fête, an afternoon picnic, or an elegant evening soirée. In between, there were social calls and shopping expeditions, carriage rides and promenades in the park, and an occasional night at the theater or opera.
Having been taken beneath the collective wing of Ava, Meg and Mallory, Grace was content to abdicate the responsibility of deciding which invitations she would accept, while she learned to navigate the sometimes treacherous shoals of the Haut Ton.
To her great surprise, she found herself warmly received by Society—although with the Byrons standing guard over her, most people would have been hard-pressed to attempt a cut, especially with Jack being her husband.
As for Jack himself, there were days when she saw a great deal of him, others when she saw almost nothing.
An excellent escort, he was always available to accompany her to whatever entertainment she chose. At balls, they would frequently share a dance before taking a walk around the room to converse with various acquaintances and friends. Afterward, they parted as expected, since even couples who’d supposedly married for love were frowned upon if they spent too much time “in each other’s pockets,” as the saying went.
As for her own obligation to play hostess and entertain at home, she was relieved when Jack made no such demands on her time. And given her newness to Society, as well as her status as a newlywed, no one seemed to mind the lapse. Next year, they all agreed, would be soon enough for such polite duties—except there would be no next year, she knew, only the remains of the one presently at hand.
With June now upon them and the Season entering its final weeks, she realized she’d grown almost used to the constant rush. And as she often told herself, the frantic pace kept her mind off her troubles and her body weary enough for sleep.
Awake and attired in a light silk dressing gown, she smothered a yawn as she took a seat at the small table in her sitting room. Breakfast was spread there courtesy of her very efficient lady’s maid.
Reaching first for her tea, she took a sip, pleased to find the brew hot and strong, exactly the way she liked it. Across on the fireplace mantel, the flower-covered porcelain Meissen clock pinged out the hour in dulcet, high-pitched strokes.
Noon.
Late even for her.
But then she had good reason to have overslept, considering the fact that it had been nearly three in the morning when she’d taken to her bed. And not much past five when Jack had joined her beneath the sheets to take her in another way entirely.
Her skin warmed at the memory, remembered pleasure curling like an opiate through her veins. And he was rather like a drug, she decided, addictive and dangerous. She only hoped that when the time came, she would be capable of weaning herself away. Frowning over the thought, she picked up a buttered toast square and bit in with savage purpose.
She was finishing off a small dish of fresh strawberries when a brief knock sounded on the door that connected her bedchamber to Jack’s. Before she could answer, the door opened and he walked inside.
Striding across, he dropped into the chair opposite and poured himself some tea. Her maid always provided an extra cup for just such an occurrence, even if he’d never before put one of them to use. But there was a first time for everything, she supposed. “Please, help yourself,” she invited with a tinge of sarcasm.
His lips curved as he reached for a slice of toast. “I wasn’t sure if I’d find you awake. I thought perhaps you might sleep longer.”
“No. I have things to do today. Can’t lie abed indefinitely.”
His eyes twinkled, as though he were thinking about disagreeing with the remark, but he let it pass. Silently, he ate his toast. Finished, he reached across and liberated the remaining rasher of bacon from her plate, devouring the fried meat in a few quick bites.
“Would you like me to ring and have another breakfast brought up?” she asked, curious to find him demolishing what was left of hers.
He shook his head. “This will do.” Using his napkin to wipe his hands free of crumbs and bacon grease, he poured more tea, then relaxed back in his chair. “So,” he asked at length, “what’s on your schedule for today?”
Her brows arched. “Afternoon calls, I believe. Followed by the park, then the Putnams’ dinner party tonight.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten about the Putnams. Pleasant people, though a tad on the stuffy side.” He paused, tapping a finger against his lips. “What would you think about sending our regrets and doing something else entirely?”
Her brows arched even higher. “I’d think you’d put something stronger than tea in that cup, that’s what.”
He chuckled. “The day is beautiful, excellent for a drive to Richmond.”
She stared. “For whom?”
“For us.”
“You want me to accompany you to Richmond? Why?”
“Must there be a reason?”
“Yes, I rather think there must.”
Spinning his teacup in a circle against its saucer, he took a long moment before responding. “I just thought it might be nice to lay down the gauntlets for a day. Our truce is rather untruce-like most of the time. I think both of us could use a brief armistice.”
“You make it sound as if we’re at war,” she defended.
His piercing gaze met hers. “Are we not? What do you say, Grace?”
What she should say was a firm and unequivocal no. Instead she found herself longing to throw off the yoke of tension between them, even if it was only for a day. Perhaps that’s how he felt too.
“I ought to refuse. But yes, all right.”
He grinned, his good humor and charm pouring over her like a warm breeze.
I know I’m going to regret this,
she thought.
Shooing him out of the room, she rang for her maid.
Jack honestly didn’t know why he’d dreamed up this excursion, but gazing over at Grace now, where she sat beside him in the phaeton, he was glad he had.
She looked lovely, dressed in a lilac-and-white-striped gown, a chipstraw bonnet perched at a saucy angle on her upswept, fiery locks. She’d always been pretty, but over the last few months, she’d blossomed into a truly irresistible beauty.
Perhaps the credit should be given to her stylish new wardrobe, since, with the assistance of his mother and sisters, she never appeared in less than the latest fashions. There were many days, in fact, that she could have stepped off the pages of
La Belle Assemble
itself.
But he also knew that her increased loveliness stemmed from a newfound source of inner confidence—her outer beauty growing in tandem with an ever-deepening ability to hold her own in Society. No longer did she try to conceal her height as she used to; the days of sitting in the back of the room were gone for good. Now, when she met people, she did so with aplomb, her shoulders square, her chin held high.
Of course, there was also her sensuality—and mayhap therein lay the true wellspring of her beauty. She’d come a long way from the shy young woman who’d once trembled at the thought of a stolen kiss.
Now when he came to her bed, she met him with bold assurance, accepting his caresses and returning them with inventive ones of her own. She’d taken him by surprise the first time she’d initiated their lovemaking—pleasing him more than he could imagine. Since then…well, she never left him any cause for complaint.
Without his quite knowing how or when, Grace had become a mature, sensual, alluring woman—one who would surely tempt any man.
He frowned at the thought, his hands tightening slightly against the reins as the horses gamboled along the turnpike.
For weeks, he’d been waiting to tire of her. Every day he awakened expecting to find some lessening of his interest, to discover the seeds of disillusionment and ennui growing inside him. But then night would arrive and he’d want her all over again. If anything, he desired her more now than when he’d first taken her—although frankly he didn’t know how that was physically possible. And the emotional distance between them was no deterrent. In some ways, it merely encouraged his needs, leaving him craving more than her body but her heart as well.
He’d possessed it once under false pretenses. Was it wrong of him to want it back? Perhaps that was the reason he’d suggested today’s outing, so he could see how she felt when they weren’t in company, or in bed.
Glancing over again, he saw her lift her face to the sun, a slow smile moving over her cherry red lips. His heart took an extra beat, a swell of longing pumping in his chest. Shunting the sensation away, he forced his gaze ahead.
“This
is
nice,” she said.
He smiled and darted another glance her way. “As I said, perfect weather.” A light wind teased the ribbons tied under her chin, making him want to give them a tug and set the little hat free. “Shall we go faster?”
“Faster than this? Is that wise?”
A grin creased his face. “Of course not, which is exactly the reason we should.”
With a smart flick of the reins, he urged the team into a run.
Crying out in surprise, she grabbed the side of the phaeton. And then she laughed. High and light and adorably girlish. When their gazes met, he saw that her eyes had turned a vibrant, bluish-grey—a shade he realized he hadn’t seen in ages.
Several hours later, Grace was laughing still, as she and Jack strolled along one of the many paths that led through Richmond Park.
In every direction, nature thrived; the grounds were composed of majestic hills with breathtaking views, serene ponds and woods full of magnificent old trees bedecked in regal cloaks of verdant green. But it was the wildflowers she loved best, their colorful heads dotting the landscape like thousands of tiny jewels.
Obviously, Jack had known she would enjoy the park—which, to her begrudging delight, she had. Just as she’d enjoyed the phaeton ride and a brief exploration of the shops and businesses that lined the Thames-side of Richmond itself. Despite her initial hesitation over the excursion, the day had turned out to be one of the best she’d known in recent memory.
If only we could remain here like this indefinitely,
she thought.
If only this day away could last forever.
Brought back to reality by her foolish, wistful musings, her humor dimmed a bit. She repressed a sigh. “I suppose we ought to be getting back.”
“Oh, surely not,” he said. Slipping his pocket watch from his waistcoat, he opened the gold lid to check the hour. “Why, it’s barely six. Plenty of time left yet to explore. In fact, why don’t we walk around a little more, then have an early dinner here in Richmond? I know just the inn.”
“I suppose we could, but I—”
“—will be absolutely famished if you insist on waiting until we return home,” he interrupted.
“I’m used to dining late. Town hours, remember?”
“Yes, but we usually have nuncheon and we missed ours today. As a result, I fear I’m coming down peaked.”
She gazed into his healthy, youthful face. “You don’t look peaked.”
“I am.
Inside.
You should hear my stomach crying out in agony even as we speak.” A roguish smile spread across his mouth.
She laughed again, her resolve crumbling.
As oddly malleable today as a handful of clay, she soon found herself falling in with his plan. Strolling at a leisurely pace, they spent another half hour in the park before returning to their carriage. In peaceable harmony, he drove them toward the inn.
When they arrived, the innkeeper showered them with a voluble welcome, the round-bellied proprietor with his toothsome smile and tufted grey eyebrows doing everything in his power to make them feel at their ease. Puffing out his massive chest with pride, he showed them to his “best private parlor.” Promising to return soon with a bottle of his finest wine and most delectable hot repast, he withdrew, closing the door at his back.
The moment he departed, Grace became abruptly aware of the fact that she and Jack were alone—a curious sensation, given the fact that they’d been alone together all day. Not to mention the fact that they were married and shared both a house and a bed.
Preposterous.
Still, until now, their day had been spent in public settings, the world’s watchful gaze conferring an unspoken restraint of sorts. Now that restraint was gone.
Suddenly in need of space, she crossed to the window and peered down into the inn yard below. As she watched, nimble-footed hostlers ran to and fro, while off in the distance the mighty Thames curved in a steady, relentless flow.
Determined, unchangeable, unforgiving.
Am I those things as well?
she wondered.
A tremor skipped across her skin as Jack drew to a halt at her side, then again when he curved a palm over her shoulder. Bending, he pressed his mouth against her neck. Her lips parted, eyelids falling closed, while pleasure sang a sweet song in her blood.
Suddenly, a brisk knock came at the door, followed by a click of the lock, as the innkeeper and a pair of maids bustled inside. Immediately, she pulled away from Jack, relieved by the interruption.
He cast her an inquiring glance but made no comment while the table was prepared for their meal. He and the innkeeper carried on a lively conversation, Jack pronouncing the wine an excellent choice, much to the beaming approval of the other man.
And then they were alone once more, the table nearly groaning beneath the plentitude of the offerings before them.
Sliding into a seat opposite, Jack took up a plate and served her first. She couldn’t help but notice that he chose only her favorites, including a large spoonful of cheesy scalloped potatoes that made her mouth water in anticipation.