Confessions of Lady Grace
Rachel Ann Smith
Confessions of Lady Grace is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals are entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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First Edition August 2020
Developmental Edit by Gray Plume Editing
Edited by Victory Editing
Proofread by Jennie Ladd and Magnolia Author Services
Cover design by Impluvium Studios
Copyright © 2020 by Rachel Ann Smith
ISBN 978-1-951112-07-3
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Also by Rachel Ann Smith
Agents of the Home Office
Prologue
London 1815—Lord Harrington’s private study…
The rules of the game were simple. It was her opponent who posed the challenge.
Lady Grace Oldridge picked up the stack of cards from the table and split the deck in two. “What are we to play for this time?” She bent the well-worn cards at their center, then fanned and intermingled them with seemingly effortless skill. Grace continued to shuffle over and over, her gaze trained on the man seated opposite her. Matthew Stanford, Marquess of Harrington, returned her stare with one eyebrow raised, leaving Grace with no doubt what the stakes would involve—her future.
The man was relentless.
She should have ordered one of the Foreign Office agents under her command to inform Matthew of a potential threat to his best friend, the Earl of Devonton. Instead, she had entered his London townhouse in the dead of night, via a secret entrance. And after her mission was complete, rather than returning to her own bed, she had found herself blissfully tangled in his sheets. Throughout the early-morning hours, Matthew had employed various inventive methods to tempt her into marrying him. She had nearly succumbed, but in the end, Grace denied his pleas.
As the first rays of sunlight peeked through the drapes, Matthew had charmed Grace into staying to break her fast with him and then a game of brag.
Grace admired Matthew’s elegant, straight nose, warm blue-gray eyes, and his full lips that had wickedly kissed her senseless. She set the deck on the table an equal distance between them. “I won’t marry you until Lucy has chosen a husband.”
“While it is my greatest wish to make you mine, my sister has no desire to marry.”
“Very well,” Grace gave in. Matthew had already captured her heart, and she had willingly given him her body, but the man wanted more. He wanted a family—and so did she, just not now. “If you win, I shall marry you as soon as the banns have been read.”
Matthew’s head slanted and his lips slowly curved into a lopsided grin as his eyes raked over her, sending shivers along her inner thighs. She crossed her ankles beneath her skirts and banished images of his head between her legs.
“And if you win?” Matthew asked.
Unless one was skilled at reading their opponent, brag was a game of chance. Her lips curved into a smile. Understanding a person’s body language came as naturally to Grace as learning a foreign tongue. And in this case, she knew her opponent exceptionally well.
The stakes were high, but she would not relent. “My terms remain the same. We shall be married after Lucy is happily wed.”
Matthew picked up the cards and grumbled, “Lord, help me.”
The first round revealed who would have luck on their side. It required absolutely no skill—the highest card won.
Matthew deftly dealt two cards facedown to each of them. She held her breath as he flipped the third card in front of her—a nine of hearts. A midrange card, no need to panic, and it was one that might work in her favor for the second and third rounds.
Revealing his next card, Matthew smiled. “Knave of spades. I win the round.” Matthew collected his winnings.
They had each wagered two wooden coins. With the first round lost, Grace’s heartbeat sped up in anticipation of the next round.
Grace lifted the bottom left corner of each card. Ace of clubs. Queen of hearts. Years of practice controlling her facial expressions in front of a looking glass meant Grace was able to mask her reactions with confidence, except in the presence of the man opposite her. Careful not to reveal any clue as to what cards she held, Grace scrutinized her opponent. Matthew flipped the corners of his own cards up. His jaw muscles clenched. A tell that gave her a hint that neither card was a royal. If she had read him correctly, then it was more than likely she had him beat—unless he held a pair. Statistics and mathematical calculations were his twin sister, Lucy’s, strengths. Neither Grace nor Matthew would claim to share such skill. However, both were quite capable of determining the overall odds of winning based on the cards dealt. The key to winning was deducing with accuracy what cards the other person held in their hand.
Before she decided upon whether to brag or not, she ran the pearl pendant he had gifted her back and forth along its silver chain. Matthew’s gaze fell to her décolletage, and he shifted in his seat. He was easily distracted, which meant he didn’t hold a pair.
She pushed one-third of her coin pile to the center of the table, a sizable wager but not too large to make Matthew believe she had him beat.
Without hesitation, Matthew said, “I shall match your bet.” He flipped his cards over to reveal the king and seven of spades.
She had him beat with the ace. But Matthew had bamboozled her with his tells. She had concluded the man didn’t hold a royal card in his hand. Heat flooded her cheeks. She hated being wrong. Perhaps she didn’t know the man as well as she thought.
“Ready to lose?” Matthew taunted as he shoved the remaining coins in his pile to the center. The man had bet his entire pile—typical Matthew, all in.
Grace counted their scores. Matthew had twenty-seven, and she had twenty-nine. Closest to thirty-one, she’d need a two.
Matching his pile of coin, Grace said, “Let’s see who the winner is, shall we?”
Chuckling, Matthew slid a card off the top of the deck.
A scratch at the door halted his movements and he called out, “One moment.”
Grace raced to curl up in one of the wingback chairs facing the fire. Skirts tucked tightly under her feet and teetering on the edge of the seat, she rolled her shoulders and rested her head on her knees, making herself as small as possible.
The door creaked open.
“Sorry to bother you, Matthew, but Lucy is visiting Ms. Lennox, a
nd Mama… Well, Mama is in her rooms.” Matthew’s little brother’s tentative voice tore at Grace’s heart.
“What is it you need?”
“I was wondering if you might have time to take me to the park today. I made the most extraordinary kite with…”
The excitement in Edward’s voice was infectious. Grace found herself smiling and then her heart burst with joy when Matthew interrupted to say, “Perhaps I could make time.” But the bubble of happiness was short-lived. Matthew continued, “After I’m done with the estate ledgers.” Grace’s ire rose as the image of a dejected Edward floated in her mind.
“I shall wait for you in the library. But if Lucy returns before you are ready, it will be you who will miss the experiment.”
Why had Edward’s reply not been laced with held disappointment? Not having any siblings of her own, she found the dynamic between Matthew and his brother and sister at times confusing.
The click of the door latch falling into place spurred Grace into action. Standing before Matthew, she said, “You should take Edward to the park.”
“I did not lie.” Matthew pointed to the stacks of books and papers that lay scattered upon his desk. “I do have estate matters to attend to.”
“I know you are not a liar. But family should come first.”
Matthew ran a hand through his hair. A hint to his agitated state. “Would it please you if I took my brother to the park and then attended to the pile of paperwork that awaits me?”
“It would.” Grace placed her hands upon his sturdy shoulders and leaned in to kiss him.
He kissed her back with a fierceness that demonstrated his desire to marry her. “Very well. I did promise to always see to your happiness.”
Matthew’s openmouthed kisses heightened Grace’s pulse and sent pleasure coursing through her body all the way to her toes. Crushing herself to him, she came into contact with Matthew’s hard form. Every curve of her body melted into his. His groans of pleasure left no doubt as to the effect their kisses had upon the man she intended to marry—one day.
Breathlessly Grace said, “You need to leave, or I might change my mind.” With a playful shove, she hurled him toward the door.
Before he crossed the threshold, Matthew said, “I shall expect you to save a waltz for me tonight.” Not waiting for a response, he left, closing the door behind him.
With no social engagements or meetings arranged for the afternoon, Grace lingered a moment longer. The card table by the window caught her attention. Meandering to stand next to their unfinished game, she turned over the next card from the top of the pile—eight of diamonds. She would have had a score of thirty-seven. Unable to resist knowing if she would have won or lost, Grace flipped the next card—six of diamonds.
Grace gasped. Had they continued to play; Matthew would have won.
Was the tightness in her chest due to disappointment—or relief that their game had been interrupted? Grace turned to leave through the secret passageway, her hands trembling as she tried to ensure the concealed entrance was closed correctly.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love Matthew.
No, she would happily marry him if another man didn’t stand between them.
There was the unresolved matter of the traitorous Lord Burke and—most importantly—the threat that his schemes would ruin certain members of Grace’s family.
Chapter One
Broken promises and two years later…
A sliver of white parchment peeked out from behind a jagged rock in the garden wall. Grace froze mid-stride, blinking twice. For one hundred and eighty-one days in a row, she had walked along the same path without any indication that the rock had been moved, giving up hope that Matthew would once again return to their secret spot.
She stared at the note as blood rushed from her head. Dizzy and in disbelief, she inhaled until her lungs were about to burst with the cool night air before exhaling. Time was supposed to ease pain and heartache. But as each day passed, the ache in her heart continued to grow. The reality that she must marry Tobias Bixley, the Earl of Ellingsworth, heir to the Marquess of Burke, caused the knots in her stomach to tighten.
Her pulse returned to a steady beat, yet here she stood, paralyzed.
What the blazes was wrong with her? She was the head of the Foreign Office, for goodness’ sake. Granted, she didn’t hold the official title on paper; her papa, Lord Flarinton, held the position. But Grace had acted as the department leader for years—renowned for being fearless in her actions. Then why was she behaving like a lovesick debutante? Grace released a groan. Damnation! After all these blasted months, she still pinned for Matthew.
Drawing upon her reserves, she squared her shoulders and moved to stand next to the wall. A quick glance behind her, she spotted her guards. They were positioned a fair distance away, far enough to grant her privacy yet close enough should danger present itself. Her hand shook as she shimmied the rock loose. Her heartbeat thudded so loudly she glanced about once more. She reached for the note and hastily slid the stone back into place. Matthew’s bold script flowed across the paper, setting her pulse racing. Curse her heart for still caring for the man.
Grace tilted the note toward the moonlight.
I resign.
Best wishes.
The words blurred before her. Her suspicions Matthew no longer cared for her were confirmed. She squeezed her eyes shut. Anger replaced the hurt.
Two measly lines!
She had sacrificed her future and her happiness to save the wretched man’s life, and all he could manage to write was four blasted words. Poised to rip the missive in half, Grace froze. Now was not the time to act rashly. She balled the parchment in her fist and shoved it into her skirt pocket. She would keep the miserable note, even if the words crushed her heart and soul.
Ready to return to the sanctuary of her room, Grace turned and came face to chest with the two footmen prepared to escort her back to the house. They must have sensed her change in mood. Grace momentarily regretted her decision to heed the Home Secretary, Lord Archbroke, and his wife, Lady Theo’s, advice and order her men to provide twenty-four-hour protection. Then Theo’s sweet but firm voice rang clear in Grace’s mind: Your future father-in-law intends for you to come to an untimely death as soon as you are wed to his ninny of a son. Nonetheless, it was challenging to adjust to having bodyguards around the clock. With the official announcement of her engagement mere days away, Grace’s shoulders sagged as the risk of losing control of the Foreign Office settled in her heart. Head bowed, she walked back along the garden path that led straight to the servants’ entrance of her papa’s townhouse.
Crossing the threshold into the kitchens, Grace waved off her men. She needed a moment alone. The jagged edge of the parchment poked through the material of her pocket and against her thigh. Matthew. Urgh. She wanted to shake the man until he provided an explanation for the shameful excuse of a note. No. What she really wanted was to rail and scream at Matthew for blatantly dismissing her and her orders to remain on home soil twenty-two months ago. If he had listened to her wishes and not broken his promise to always see to her happiness, she wouldn’t be in this predicament—betrothed to the son of her sworn enemy.
“Where have you been?” Lord Flarinton, her papa, stood a few feet away from her.
Grace jumped. “Papa!” She eyed the man leaning against the kitchen prep table with a shiny green apple raised halfway up to his mouth. The old man’s eyes were clear and focused. Blast.
“Gracie, I’m waiting.”
Her mind scrambled for a plausible excuse to be out well past the midnight hour. “I needed a bit of fresh air.”
Grace smiled as her papa bit into the tart apple Cook used for pies. He chewed with one eye closed and the other squinting. Grace stifled her giggles.
Her papa finally swallowed and asked, “Air, you say, at this hour?”
“I was… I was reviewing the seating arrangements for tomorrow’s dinner party.” A task she would have to
undertake after reading Matthew’s paltry four-word message. Her original plan had Matthew seated close to her. Now she wanted the man as far away from her as possible. No. That was a lie. Her heart still longed to have him close.
“Is that so? Has Harrington provided you with a full report?” Her papa asked her the same question daily. Sadly, her answer remained the same.
Grace shook her head. “No.”
“That is unlike Harrington to ignore an order. He must have a sound reason.”
Drat. Grace’s papa chose the most inconvenient times to be fully alert and cognizant of events. “He sent word that he wishes to resign.”
The green blur of the apple being waved about ceased. “Resign? Why would he do that? You must pay him a visit. I’m certain he has an explanation.” Apple midway to his mouth, her papa stood, staring at the fruit. His eyes became unfocused, and his brow creased in confusion.
Grace eased the apple from his grasp and tossed it onto the marred kitchen table. “Come along, Papa. Up to bed.”
Flustered, Lord Flarinton asked, “Gracie girl, what are we doing in the kitchen?”
“Partaking in a nice late-night chat.” Grace patted his arm and smiled.
He cocked head to one side. “Is that so?” He looked about as Grace took his hand in hers and guided him up to his chambers.
As they entered the master’s bedchamber, her papa’s long-standing valet jumped to his feet and placed a book on the small table next to the fire.
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