The Devil's Necklace (17 page)

“I only need one,” Grace said. “A gown for the ball Lord and Lady Brant are holding in honor of our marriage.”

Madam Osgood frowned. “That is ridiculous. You are now the marchioness of Belford. You must be gowned in proper fashion.” She cast a look Ethan’s way. “Surely you agree, my lord.”

What could he say? That Grace would be spending most of her time miles from the city? That she would have little use for the gowns? “You’re right, of course. My wife should have whatever clothes she needs. Just send the bill to me.”

“I can see that you are as wise as you are handsome.” The woman smiled. “Why don’t we get started?” Disappearing behind a set of curtains, Madam Osgood returned a few minutes later with two young seamstresses, each of them carrying half a dozen bolts of cloth.

“Right this way.” Madam Osgood led them behind an other set of curtains into an elegant private salon. She showed him to a sofa set in front of a raised dais, asked what beverage he cared to drink, then led Grace away, her helpers falling in behind her.

For the next few hours, Madam Osgood paraded his
wife in front of him in an array of bewitching lengths of fabric, silks and satins, muslins and lace. It didn’t take long before he began to get a sense of which colors were best for her, which fabrics brought out the ivory hue of her skin or the golden highlights in her fiery hair.

“How about this one?” Grace asked as she had a dozen times, turning round so that he might get a better look, giving him a glimpse of bare shoulders, bare back, and naked arms.

He shifted on the sofa, trying to get more comfort able. “The blue is too pale. You look better in more radiant colors.”

She smiled, apparently in accord. As she stepped off the platform, the material parted and he got a glimpse of stockinged feet and slender calves, a single lacy blue garter.

His body tightened. He’d been hard off and on for hours. Now his shaft filled again, lengthened and began to throb. Silently he cursed. If he didn’t know this was often the way selections were made, he would have wondered if Grace might not be torturing him on purpose.

She had seduced him on the ship, he recalled, instantly wishing he hadn’t as the ache in his groin grew worse.

“Madam likes this one,” Grace said, the fabric draped over her shoulders snaking enticingly down around her hips. He could see the deep cleavage between her breasts, almost see the dusky edge of a nipple.

“The fabric is lovely, but it clashes a bit with the color of your hair.”

She frowned. “That is what I thought.” He watched her walk away, hips swaying, a hint of long legs flashing, praying they would find the right gown soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit there without breaking out in a sweat.

“What do you think of this?” Dark emerald silk swathed her body head to foot. Her eyes looked brighter, enhanced by the deeper color of the fabric. Madam Osgood hurried out with a bolt of rich gold brocade and draped a piece over Grace’s shoulder.

“I think you have found it,” he said with a silent prayer of thanks.

“Is it not perfect?” the older woman said. “Your marchioness will be the talk of the ball.”

He didn’t doubt that. Half the London
ton
was speculating about his hasty marriage. Perhaps Cord and Victoria were right in giving the ball. At least the men, once they saw his bride, would believe his motivations were purely carnal.

At one time they had been. Now his motivations were mired in emotions he couldn’t understand. He wasn’t sure anymore where desire left off and something deeper began.

And he didn’t want to find out.

Rising from the sofa, grateful his coat covered the bulge in his breeches, Ethan strode toward Madam Osgood. “Just send word when the gowns are ready for a fitting and I will see that my wife is returned.”

“I shall have the ball gown and at least two others ready by the end of the week.”

He didn’t ask how many others there were. He knew as the baby grew inside her, Grace would need clothes to accommodate the changes in her body. An image arose, months from now, when Grace was round and ungainly with child. Some men might have found the notion repugnant. Ethan found it strangely intriguing.

He turned as he saw her walking toward him, her tall, elegant figure only slightly changed from when they had last made love.

His arousal throbbed. Cursing, Ethan forced the memory away. “You must be tiring. I’ll take you home.”

“There is a shop just down the block. Madam Osgood says they’ll have the perfect accessories for the gown. I promise it won’t take long.”

It won’t take long.
A hint of amusement trickled through him. He had been hearing those words all day. Still, he offered his arm, guided her out the door and along the row of shops lining the paving stones at the edge of the street. They passed Lynch’s, the draper; the Mayfair Clockmaker; a dealer in spirituous liquors; and Wedgwood’s china shop.

As they passed a narrow store in the middle of the block, Grace’s footsteps unconsciously slowed. They slowed again as she continued to peer through the window, and as he saw the tiny knit bootees, the small, elegantly embroidered blue and pink blankets and miniature quilts, as he took in the small white, lace-trimmed christening gown, his heart seem to slow, as well.

Grace stopped completely, her gaze fixed yearningly on the pair of blue bootees dangling from a hook at the front of the window.

“It might be a girl, you know,” he said gently, running a finger along her cheek.

She turned and looked up at him and he caught the faint shimmer of tears. They made something squeeze in his chest. Grace managed a smile and the tears disappeared.

“I know,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind having a daughter, but I…I am hoping for a son.”

He had tried not to think about it, that the babe she carried would be born of his blood—and also the blood of a traitor. Unlike Grace, he hoped the child would be a girl. A little girl as lovely as her mother.

“Come,” he said gently, taking her arm as he shoved open the door. “You can’t stand out here forever. We might as well go in.”

She looked up at him as if she couldn’t quite believe she had heard him correctly. It made him question his treatment of her, made him wonder if in marrying her he had done her an even greater disservice than in taking her to bed.

They left the shop sometime later, his arms piled high with packages and boxes. He tried not to think what was in those boxes, the tiny items purchased for a baby he had been forced to give his name but did not truly want. His mood began to darken. He waited outside the accessories shop while Grace finished purchasing the items she needed to complement her ball gown, then took her home.

Declining supper, he changed into his evening clothes and left the house, heading for his club. He hoped neither Cord nor Rafe would be there. He didn’t want to talk about Grace.

He stayed out all night and didn’t get home until nearly dawn. He didn’t want to go home to his empty bed, afraid that if he did, he would be tempted to pay a visit to the woman asleep in the room next to his.

Afraid of the way he would feel if he awakened with her in his arms.

Grace sifted through the stack of delicate baby clothes Ethan had bought her. She still couldn’t believe it. All day he had been solicitous in a way she hadn’t expected.

At the dressmaker’s he had been patient, his choices showing a degree of style and taste she had only suspected. Proceeding with her plan, she had purposely given
him glimpses of her shoulders, legs, the tops of her ever-in creasing breasts.

As the hours slipped past, she had sensed his growing desire for her, his hunger. He wanted her. Badly. That much had not changed.

But something else had. She thought of him in the infant store, standing back from the counter, careful to maintain his distance, but several times she had caught him looking at her when he thought she did not see and his gaze was filled with longing.

There was simply no other word for it. Ethan wanted more from her than her body. If only the hatred he felt for her father weren’t so strong.

Though he had rarely broached the subject of the viscount since they were wed, the need for vengeance remained steadfast in his heart. If he didn’t find a way to ease it, in time it would consume him.

After their return from shopping, Ethan had left the house and hadn’t returned until almost morning, but Grace refused to give up hope. If he didn’t care for her, why was he running away?

The following day, he surprised her by requesting her presence in the study. Her heart was pounding by the time she got there, afraid of what he meant to do. She wasn’t leaving, she told herself, squaring her shoulders, no matter what threats he made.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked as she approached where he stood behind his desk, his back turned toward her, his long legs braced apart, staring out into the garden.

He slowly turned to face her. “I wanted to let you know I’ve invited your parents to supper on Saturday night. The ball is approaching. I don’t want that night to be our first meeting. It is past time they met their son-in-law.”

“That is kind of you,” she said a bit breathlessly, taken completely off guard.

“Hardly. We are married. We cannot pretend otherwise.”

“No, I suppose not.” But she couldn’t help wondering what had brought on his decision. Perhaps, like the ball, he was trying to spare her and her family undo gossip.

“I asked my sister and her husband to join us, Lord and Lady Aimes. You met Sarah and Jonathan at Victoria and Cord’s wedding.”

“Yes. Your sister is a very lovely woman.”

“Unfortunately, they are in the country and one of the children is ill. She was quite upset that I hadn’t told her sooner about the marriage. I suppose I was remiss. I intend to start remedying the situation on Saturday.”

She had tried not to be hurt that Ethan had mentioned his marriage to only a few of his closest friends. He needed time to get used to the idea, she had told herself.

“Will you speak to the staff about the menu?” he asked.

“Of course.” She had been introduced to the servants the day of her arrival. They had greeted her with an odd sort of awe, as if she were a brave woman, indeed, to have wed the devil captain. “I’ll be happy to take care of the details.”

“Fine, then I won’t have to worry.” Dismissing her, he sat down at his desk and began to riffle though a stack of papers sitting on the top.

“Ethan?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

His eyes held hers for several long moments and she read the turbulence there. Ethan nodded and Grace walked out of the study. She couldn’t help feeling another faint ray of hope.

S
aturday night arrived and with it, the dinner party Ethan had planned. As she looked back on the evening, she thought that the dinner could have gone worse—but not by much.

Grace had been tired and out of sorts much of the day, her body responding to the changes that were happening inside her. As evening approached and time drew near for her parents’ arrival, she grew more and more nervous, worried about what Ethan would think of her mother and Dr. Chastain. And what her parents might think of her husband.

The evening began fairly well, her mother effusive in her attentions to Ethan, who was, after all, a marquess. Ethan remained polite but distant, conversing pleasantly with both her mother and Dr. Chastain. It wasn’t until after supper, when the ladies retired to the drawing room and the men, after brandy and cigars, rejoined them, that the problems began.

Apparently the doctor had imbibed a bit too much liquor, which perhaps accounted for his increasingly sullen manner where Grace was concerned. Sitting in an over
stuffed gold brocade chair, he glanced round the drawing room, taking in the elegant gold damask draperies and thick Persian carpets, the cinnabar statue on the marble mantel above the hearth.

“Well, you certainly did your mother proud,” he said. “Never thought to see it, myself. But then, I didn’t suspect the lengths you would be willing to go to in order to snare yourself a title.”

Grace’s head came up, her gaze darting to Ethan.

“Now, Geoffrey,” her mother said nervously, “remember your manners.”

“I’m not saying anything everyone here doesn’t already know.” He took a sip of his brandy. “Belford is no fool. Grace has the face and figure to attract a man of his wealth and position. She was smart enough to use her charms to entice him into her bed. She managed to get herself with child and force him to come up to scratch. That is just the way the game is played. Every man knows that.”

The venom in his voice made Grace feel sick to her stomach. He had directed that venom at her a thousand times over the years, but rarely in company with others. Dear God, what would Ethan say? She blinked to hold back tears and her gaze went in search of him, found him striding across the room toward the place where her stepfather sat. Ethan took the brandy glass out of his hand and set it down on the side table.

“I think it is time for you to leave.”

“Wait a minute!” The doctor surged to his feet. “You can’t mean you’re taking her side in this—not after the way she trapped you.”

“Grace has never done anything to me. I am the one who took her innocence. I am the one who got her with child. She never intended that I should even know about
the babe. She is blameless in all of this, as she has been since the day she was born. Get out, Chastain. Your wife is welcome to return at any time. You, sir, are not.”

The doctor stiffened to his full height, not as tall as Ethan but thicker through the chest and shoulders. “So you’ve been taken in by her, just as I was taken in by her mother. Good luck to you, my lord. You are very much going to need it.”

As the man stormed out the door, her mother turned to Ethan. “You must forgive Geoffrey, my lord. Sometimes he says things he later regrets.”

“Let us hope that he does,” Ethan said.

Grace stood ramrod stiff as her mother followed her stepfather out of the drawing room. On the opposite side of the carpet, Ethan stood with his hands at his sides, one of them clenched into a fist. Turning toward Grace, he took a deep breath and forced himself under control. He crossed the carpet and stopped directly in front of her.

“The man is an imbecile.”

She nodded, fought not to cry.

“Has he always treated you so badly?”

She swallowed, felt the embarrassing well of tears. “He resents me. Even before I was born, he knew my mother had been unfaithful. As a child, I never understood why he hated me so much. I tried everything I could think of to make him love me. It wasn’t until I discovered he wasn’t truly my father that I understood.” The tears in her eyes began to roll down her cheeks.

“Christ…” Ethan moved closer, reached out and pulled her into his arms. “It’s all right. He won’t hurt you again.”

Grace clung to him. Dear God, it felt so good to be back in his arms. She pressed her face into the lapel of
his coat and inhaled his scent. She could have sworn he smelled of the sea.

She eased a little away and looked up at him. “I never meant to trap you, Ethan. I swear it. I didn’t even know a baby could happen if you only made love just once.”

He gently touched her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. I wanted you. I still do.” And then he bent his head and very softly kissed her. It was the sweetest, gentlest, most tender kiss she had ever known and her heart swelled with love for him.

Grace swayed toward him, felt his arms tighten around her. She melted against his tall frame, absorbing his strength, his heat. When she parted her lips to give him better access, Ethan groaned and deepened the kiss. His tongue slid over hers as his fingers drove into her hair. One by one, the pins holding it in place fell onto the carpet and the heavy mass tumbled down around her shoulders.

He kissed her even more deeply, his hands finding her breasts. He cupped them and her nipples went hard, rubbed erotically against the fabric, and desire scorched through her veins. He kissed the side of her neck, claimed her mouth again, and heat tugged low in her belly.

“Ethan…”

The kiss turned hotter, deeper, and she gave herself over to it, desperate for more. A shuffling sound in the hall drew Ethan’s attention and his head came up, both of them remembering at the same instant that the drawing room door stood open. He looked down at her, his blue eyes hot and intense.

Grace reached up and pulled his head back down, captured his lips and kissed him again. For several long seconds, he kissed her back. When he tried to pull away, she leaned toward him, pressing her body into his. She could feel his erection, thick and rigid, demanding to be inside
her. She rubbed herself against it, remembering the pleasure, wanting to feel it again.

Another noise sounded outside the door, one of the servants moving along the corridor. Ethan broke away, and reluctantly she let him go.

Breathing hard, he stared down at her, his eyes full of hunger. A little at a time, regret slowly took its place, and he turned away.

“You must be tired,” he said in that distant manner she had come to despise. “It is time you went to bed.”

“I am far from sleepy.”

His lips took on a sensuous curve and the heat in his eyes went hotter. Then his mask fell into place once more. “I am also far from sleepy. I believe I will spend a few hours at the club. Good night, Grace.”

“Please, Ethan…you’re my husband. Can you not forget the past and give us a chance to make a life together?”

He whirled back to her, a muscle bunching in his cheek. “Don’t you understand, Grace—I don’t want to forget the past! I owe those men my life! They are dead and your father is the man who murdered them! When I look at you, I think of him. How am I supposed to forget?”

She bit back a sob as he turned away and stormed out of the drawing room. She could hear his footfalls in the entry as he collected his greatcoat and ordered his carriage brought around.

Unconsciously, her fingers came up to her lips. They were moist and slightly kiss-swollen. Her pulse was racing with unspent need and she knew his must be, too.

Grace prayed she hadn’t driven him into the arms of an other woman.

Bloody hell!
What in God’s name was he thinking?

But Grace had looked so damned beautiful tonight,
and so uncertain. He had wanted her from the moment she had walked into the dining room with that anxious look on her face. He had never seen her quite that way and he knew her stepfather was the cause. The man had obviously punished Grace all her life for being another man’s child.

Ethan wouldn’t allow it to go on any longer. Grace was his wife and he intended to see her treated with respect. Still, tonight made it clear once more the power she held over him.

He thought of the scene in the drawing room. Grace had asked—no, begged him to forget the past, to give them a chance to make a life together. Now that she was here, living in his house, it was a thought that had begun to plague him, to entice him with its infinite possibilities. In truth, even if he tried to forget, he wasn’t sure he would succeed, wasn’t even certain he wanted to.

Still, Grace was his wife and no matter what she had done, her future was now entwined with his. He would think about it, he decided, see if there was a way he might begin to look forward instead of back. It wouldn’t be easy. Time was what he needed.

And until he could work things out, he had to keep his distance from Grace.

After their passionate encounter in the drawing room, Grace saw little of Ethan. With the nausea she had experienced in the early days of her pregnancy over, she filled her mornings reading or walking in the garden. In the afternoon, she spent time with Freddie. The tutor that Ethan had hired took up most of his day, but the boy always man aged to find time for his lessons with Grace.

The week slid past and the night of the ball approached. With it, a wave of late-June heat washed over the city. Be
ginning to feel the effects of her pregnancy, Tory was forced to remain at home while her younger sister Claire stepped in to take over the task of helping Grace prepare for the ball.

“Madam Osgood will not fail you,” Claire said, smiling in that sweet way she had. “She will make you a gown so beautiful you will be the envy of every woman in the
ton.
”

Grace’s mother had always insisted Grace dress in the height of fashion. But being a marchioness required even greater attention to style and elegance. Claire Chezwick, blond and fair, with the face of an angel and a figure to match, and married to the son of a marquess, set a perfect example.

After several last-minute fittings, the ball gown arrived, high-waisted and fashioned of dark emerald silk with an overskirt of gold brocade inset with rhinestones. A long split opened from hemline to knee, revealing a glimpse of calf whenever she moved. Grace would wear rhinestones in her hair, nestled among her upswept auburn curls.

“Wait and see,” Claire said excitedly. “Your husband will not be able to resist you.”

Grace hoped Claire was right. Since the night he had kissed her in the drawing room after their disastrous dinner party, he had done a magnificent job of exactly that.

The day of the ball arrived. With Victoria Easton still under the weather, Claire Chezwick had gone to Rafe Saunders for help and in the end the ball was held, not at Lord Brant’s town house, but at the duke of Sheffield’s extravagant town mansion.

“This was a good idea,” Rafe said to Cord, who stood
next to Ethan at the edge of the dance floor. Around them a sea of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen laughed and danced to the music of an eight-piece orchestra clad in the duke’s blue livery.

“I appreciate your stepping in,” Cord said to Rafe. “Your house is far larger, and adding your name to the festivities will help put an end to the gossip.”

Hoping his friends were right, Ethan looked out over the dance floor. The ballroom took up half the third floor of Sheffield House. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with gilded mirrors, and massive crystal chandeliers hung above inlaid parquet floors. For the occasion of Ethan and Grace’s marriage, huge bouquets of white chrysanthemums sat on pedestals along the walls.

“Your wife looks remarkably lovely tonight,” Rafe said, his eyes fixed on Grace, who danced among the couples on the floor. “Every man in the place has been watching her with a covetous eye.”

It was true, and Ethan didn’t particularly like it. Before they had left the house, they had argued about her appearance.

Arriving at the bottom of the staircase, she had turned so that he might inspect the gown, view the back, notice the split in the sides when she moved. The pearl-and-diamond necklace sparkled at her throat, drawing the eye to the deep cleavage the dress revealed, and his body tightened with sexual hunger.

She smiled at him in that womanly way that made his desire for her swell. “So what do you think of Madam Os good’s creation?”

“You look lovely tonight, Grace. Beautiful, in fact. But I would rather you wear something else.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“The dress is magnificent, but it’s practically indecent.”

She settled a hand on her hip. “What are you talking about? This gown is the height of fashion. You were there the day I picked it out. For heaven’s sake, you helped me choose it.”

“True, but I didn’t realize that so much of your bosom would be exposed. I don’t want my wife being ogled by every man in the
ton.
”

“Every man but you—isn’t that right?”

He didn’t answer. He was standing there fully aroused, hard as a stone and she didn’t think he would look at her? God’s breath, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her.

“All right, wear the damn dress if it makes you happy. But the last time I bought you a garment cut that low, you tore it to pieces and tossed it in my face.”

That brought a smile to her lips. “I assure you, my lord, this dress is far more respectable than your former purchases.”

Thinking of the battle they had fought, he felt a tug of amusement. He had lost that argument. It looked as if he was going to lose this one, too. “I suppose the gown will have to do,” he grumbled, offering her his arm. “Besides, it is time for us to leave.”

They had departed the house and the coach had carried them directly to the ball and so far things had gone smoothly.

“Do you see that girl over there?” Rafe’s deep voice drew Ethan’s thoughts from his too-desirable wife. “The little blonde with the band of white roses in her hair?”

“What about her?”

“Now that you and Cord are both leg-shackled, I am thinking of entering the marriage mart.”

“You? I thought after Danielle you had taken a vow never to wed.”