Confessions of Lady Grace

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Tobias popped the forkful of food into his mouth and chewed loudly. Making a show of swallowing, he asked, “Wishing I was another?”

  God, she hated his disguise. While Tobias acted the fool, his words were cutting. Her fiancé had an uncanny ability to read her thoughts, or perhaps she was failing rather miserably at masking them.

  As he leaned back into his chair, he muttered, “The irises of your eyes dilate, and you tilt your head slightly to the right every time you think of him.” His astute observations had Grace shifting food about her plate.

  “Jealous?”

  Tobias chuckled. “I’ll admit, a little.” His admission was the last thing Grace expected him to say. Why would he be jealous?

  Confident he wouldn’t care for her next thought, she speared a piece of fish, the least likely item before her to make her choke upon his reply. “If you wish for me to aid you, I will require the particulars of your plan.” She glanced over her shoulder as she chewed.

  With a toothy smile, he said, “I’ve already informed you of my scheme.”

  Telling her to pretend to be madly in love with him until the royal surgeon declared Burke dead and that he intended to be aboard the Quarter Moon well on his way to America by the time word had spread of his sire’s death was hardly enough information.

  Narrowing her eyes, Grace said, “Vaguely—I need the details.”

  Tobias leaned forward and shuffled his seat a tad closer to her. “I’ve already told you. For the safety of everyone, it’s best you are unaware of the finer points.”

  She wanted to frown and growl at the man who now sat inappropriately close. Instead, Grace plastered a smile on her face. Glancing about the table, it appeared their farce was working. No one paid them any attention. Not willing to give up, she said, “Very well. Tell me what is in America that beckons you, and I won’t press further.”

  Tobias’s glass of wine precariously tilted as he reached for it. It would have spilled if he hadn’t deftly caught it without the notice of others. But Grace had witnessed his swift reflexes. It was the first time his clumsy actions had not been intentional.

  Recalling Theo’s reference to love, Grace pressed on and said, “Or perhaps I should ask, who.” His spine stiffened. “What is this beauty’s name who has caught your attention?”

  Raising his glass to his lips, Tobias answered, “Come now, Grace, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It is why you do not find me handsome. The reason why your pulse remains steady when we are close, yet your skin prickles, and your heart aches to be close to him as soon as Matthew enters the same room as you. Appearances alone have nothing to do with whether you are attracted to a person.” As if to punctuate his statement, he licked the corner of his lips, capturing an errant trickle of wine. Had Matthew performed the same motions, her cheeks would be flooded with heat, but Grace’s face remained aloof, and frustration roared through her at the thought, Tobias is sticking his tongue out at me again. Her fiancé was right. He did not evoke the sensual fantasies Matthew could.

  “You must love her.” Grace wasn’t certain, but she suspected he hid a smile behind his napkin as he dabbed his mouth.

  Looking down as he replaced his napkin to his lap, he said, “She is to me as Harrington is to you. The one person who makes the rest of the world disappear as soon as they appear.”

  How poetic and not at all idiotic. The man was clearly in love with another. Yet here he sat next to Grace, playing the role of a besotted fool, exhibiting none of the strains she was experiencing.

  Tobias raised his eyes to meet hers. They were filled with sadness. “I feel empty without her.” His gaze shifted away from Grace. “But she, like Archbroke and your dear friend Theo beside you—who, by the way, is throwing daggers at me at this very moment—places duty before her own desires.”

  Grace swiveled to see Theo was indeed glaring at Tobias. Turning back, Grace declared, “You know nothing of Theo or Archbroke.”

  Tobias’s indolent smirk returned. “I believe you are the one mistaken. It is you who is unaware of the true bond they share. And unfortunate as it may be, a connection that I too share alongside them.”

  The man was always talking in riddles. He leaned forward and nodded at Theo.

  In a harsh whisper, Theo said, “You know better than to refer to such matters.”

  Letting out a loud laugh, Tobias brought the entire dinner party’s attention upon himself. “My dear, Lady Theo, you two are the most astonishingly intelligent women of my acquaintance. I know not what you speak of, but no matter, you are both highly entertaining.” His gaze landed squarely on Grace’s décolletage.

  Hereford, their host, was the first to recover from the shock. “Lord Ellingsworth, perhaps you will join the other gentlemen and me in my study for a drink.”

  “Hereford, I don’t suppose you managed to smuggle any whiskey or cigars from the Continent upon your return?”

  Tobias rose, and the rest of the gentlemen followed suit. Grace’s gaze fell upon Hereford. She was responsible for sending him there to ensure Matthew returned safely. It was her orders that resulted in Hereford being held captive and tortured for many months. Grace cringed as Hereford’s eyes darkened.

  How rude and uncaring of Tobias to purposefully bring up the matter. Tobias eyed his papa. Lord Burke shifted uncomfortably. The comment wasn’t intended to offend Hereford. It was to send a message of sorts to Lord Burke. A warning. It was the first indication that Tobias had the mettle to see to Lord Burke’s demise.

  Theo’s sweet voice interrupted Grace’s reflections. “Your betrothed is rather crafty, but do not let him underestimate you. You are a brilliant strategist and let no one convince you otherwise.” Theo squeezed Grace’s hand that lay fisted upon the table.

  Grace glanced about the room. The tension between Tobias and Lord Burke escalated. All the gentlemen remained standing, ready to leave. Hereford shifted his weight uncomfortably. It was Lord Hadfield who broke the strained silence. “Gentlemen, let’s adjourn.”

  How peculiar that it was Lord Hadfield who assumed the lead in Archbroke’s absence.

  Theo leaned closer and whispered, “Now, tell me of your plans.”

  Grace hadn’t sorted through the myriad of ideas that she had formulated throughout the day. She shook her head and replied, “I’ve not yet decided on the best course of action.”

  Theo nodded and stood to move to the seat next to Mary. Grace should follow, but she remained in her chair, stealing a moment for herself. Theo was an excellent mediator, but Grace wanted a partner. She needed Matthew.

  Squeezing her eyes tight, Grace moaned as the pounding in her head resumed. She’d returned home from Hereford’s dinner party intending to wait for Matthew at the gazebo, but the intense shooting pain in her brain had her seeking out her bed. She rolled her head forward, then from side to side, attempting to alleviate the tension in her neck and the knots in her shoulders.

  Doubts and concerns regarding her scheme and Tobias’s motives plagued her. She threw the coverlet back and wrapped her favorite thick wool tartan about her. Fresh air and the comfort of the gazebo might ease her mind.

  She tiptoed her way down the hall but hesitated as voices wafted up from below. Pushing against the side panel, the click of the lock sliding open revealed the secret passageway her papa had installed. Grace slipped into the narrow space and sidestepped a few feet before it opened up wide enough for her to walk comfortably. She made her way through the dark, hand pressed against the familiar fake wood walls. Her mama’s laughter halted Grace in her tracks. Peeking through the spy hole into the family drawing room, she saw her mama cradled in her papa’s lap.

  With love-filled eyes, her papa looked down at his wife. “You are the love of my heart.”

  Her mama chuckled. “That may be the case now—but love, it was not always that way. If Gracie marries Ellingsworth, I only hope he too comes to love her as you grew to love me.”

  “I was a fool. I apologize, my dear. I s
hould never have treated you so.”

  Her mama placed her hand upon his cheek. “Hush, that is all in the past. Alex has settled nicely among us and is back safe and sound.”

  Grace placed a hand over her mouth—silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Who was Alex?

  “Yes, I’m exceedingly proud of my son.”

  His son! She had a half-brother.

  “My dear, he had a rough year held in captivity with Harrington. You should visit soon.”

  Fustian. There was no one named Alex imprisoned with Matthew. Lord Addington’s given name was Benedict, and Lord Hereford’s was Sebastian. The only other person rescued was Archbroke’s Home Office messenger, Mr. Jones. Grace pressed her aching head against the faux door. Mr. Jones was her brother.

  Her papa’s sleepy voice floated through the wall. “You are correct. I should like to visit with him. Would you arrange for Alex to come at an opportune time, my love?”

  Why had her parents kept the existence of Alex a secret from her? Her papa should have integrated her brother into the Foreign Office’s network, not allowed him to be under the supervision of Archbroke. Did Alex know she was his sister and had refused to work under a woman?

  Her mama’s soft voice brought Grace’s head back up to peek at the loving couple. “For you love, anything.”

  Her mama placed a kiss on her husband’s forehead. Grace had believed her parents to be one of the few couples who had married for love when, in fact, they had not been in love. The truth of her father impregnating another sent Grace’s mind into a thousand different directions.

  She had always wanted a sibling. If Alex was her brother, she would claim him as such. But first, she needed more information. Summoning Alex was not an option, for he did not report to her, and she was loath to seek out Archbroke’s assistance in this matter.

  There was only one man she trusted to help her muddle through everything—Matthew.

  If Archbroke had already assigned Alex to monitor the docks, her brother could be in grave danger. Abandoning the idea to retreat to her gazebo, Grace swiftly made her way to the study. Seated at her papa’s well-worn wooden desk with her quill poised midair, Grace mentally composed several reiterations of the message she needed Matthew to respond to. Ultimately, Grace settled upon:

  M,

  Friends in peril. I’ll be waiting.

  G.

  With a drop of wax, she sealed the missive. Silverman, the crafty butler, appeared flanked by two footmen.

  Silverman said, “I shall see to it that it is delivered. But I must insist you not leave the house unaccompanied again.”

  She handed him her missive. Silverman’s eyebrows shot up as he read to whom it was addressed. How uncharacteristic of the old man to reveal any reaction.

  Grace said, “I’m perfectly safe here.”

  “I’ll have young Jamison posted here until Lord Harrington arrives.” Silverman didn’t wait for a response. He simply left as quietly and swiftly as he had arrived.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Peeking from behind the hundred-year-old oak tree, Matthew spied Grace sitting with a tartan about her shoulders. His heart stopped. The deep crease between her furrowed eyebrows, her downcast gaze, and her stiff posture all meant one thing—her thoughts were dire. Matthew pulled out Grace’s note from the pocket of his greatcoat.

  It was no love letter, yet his heart soared at her uniquely lovely script. Grace wasn’t one for dramatics—when he read that their friends were in danger, he had immediately set off to meet her. It had nothing to do with his desire to speak with her or to be close enough to smell the scent of lilacs once more. Satisfied he convinced himself of the lie, he tucked the correspondence back into his pocket. Matthew stepped out from behind the massive tree trunk and nodded to the young footman standing guard.

  Relieved of his duty, the footman trotted down the path, breathing into his hands. How long had Grace been waiting in the gazebo? It was an extremely cool night. The wool wrap would hardly suffice to keep her warm. Whatever preoccupied her mind, had her oblivious to the cold and her surroundings. He used to seize these rare moments when he could catch the woman unaware with a kiss to the sliver of skin on the back of her neck just below her hairline. Grace would sigh and lean back, allowing him to wrap her up in his warmth. She had claimed the only place she ever wanted to be day and night was in his arms. Reluctant to reveal himself, he stood staring, wondering how to broach the subject of her betrothal, to thank her for going to such lengths to see to his safe return home, and to tell her he still loved her.

  Grace stiffened, her tartan falling from her shoulders to her waist as she swiveled to meet his gaze. “How long have you been standing there?”

  She was a few feet away from him. “I came as soon as I received your note.” He hated the prospect of discussing Crown matters here. This was her retreat. Previously, their oasis—a place for forbidden kisses. “Should we adjourn inside?”

  Tugging the tartan back to her shoulders, Grace turned away from him and shook her head. “I’ve become accustomed to working out matters here.” She sank to the bench and arranged her skirts.

  “Since when and why?”

  Grace let out a defeated sigh. “Two years.”

  Damnation. In essence, since he left.

  He took three quick strides and crouched beside her. A single candle illuminated the interior of the gazebo. Not much had changed. Silk cushions were still strewn about the floor and along the benches guarded against the elements by the very roses he had gifted her. Grace’s skin flushed, tempting him to nuzzle and breathe her in. Inhaling sharply, he took in the dark smudges under her eyes. Evidence of how profoundly he had hurt this woman. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

  Grace closed her eyes. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. Matthew cupped her face and brushed the solitary droplet away. “Can you forgive me for placing you in this terrible predicament?”

  To his relief, she nodded.

  Matthew continued, “You are the reason I remain alive today.”

  Grace pressed her cheek against his palm, but her eyes remained closed. He guided her head down to his until their foreheads touched. A breath away from a kiss, he reigned in his desires and said, “When we were initially freed, my first thought was to make you my marchioness as soon as I set foot upon English soil.” He took a deep breath in. He had to finish confessing to his mistakes. “When Lady Cecilia passed along your note informing me you were betrothed to Ellingsworth, I felt betrayed. I fled to Halestone Hall, not only to recover from my injuries but also in the hopes that my love for you would subside. I ignored your missives and left you alone during a time when you needed me most. I don’t know how to make things right…”

  Grace pulled away, and he let his hand fall to his knee. The loss of contact plunged his thoughts back to the darkest day of his life. With his heart crushed at the news that she was betrothed to his sworn enemy’s son, he had vowed to destroy Burke—the man who had robbed him of freedom and love.

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears, she asked, “Do you still love me?” Grace never let anyone but him see this side of her. Among agents, she was known and referred to as the iron lady. Grace was tough as nails, and many believed her emotionless. But he knew better.

  She didn’t need another injured soul to care for. He wasn’t fully healed and may never return to his former self, the man she had fallen in love with. Regardless, the truth slipped from his mouth in a whisper, “Always.”

  Her cool hands reached out. Before she could touch his cheeks, he engulfed them in his as he rose to take a seat next to her upon the bench. Avoiding her gaze, he focused on warming her hands. “Tell me who is in trouble.”

  “Mr. Jones. My brother—Alex.”

  His hands stilled. When had she discovered Alex was her brother? Perhaps Theo was wrong, and Grace had sacrificed herself for Alex and not him. “Alex is well protected. He’ll not be harmed.” He placed her hands gently back upon her lap and st
ood. Turning away from her, he stuffed his hands in his coat. His fingers grazed against her note. Grace valued family above all else. It was no wonder she had summoned him as soon as she believed Alex in danger.

  “How long have you known Alex was related to me?” Grace’s voice was steady and even, no trace of the upset he’d seen in her eyes before.

  “In Spain, when we all thought we might not survive the ordeal, Alex confessed that he wished he’d thanked your mother for her kindness and generosity in seeing to his care after his own mama died.” It was one of many admissions shared, and Matthew would take the rest of them to the grave.

  “I don’t understand why my parents withheld his existence from me. They knew how desperately I wished for a sibling.” Her voice cracked. Matthew swirled around. Grace stood and lifted her beautiful tear-streaked face and met his gaze. Out of pure habit, he reached for her, and like a million times before, she wrapped her arms about his neck and crushed her body to his.

  With strength he didn’t know he still possessed, Matthew lifted her and carried her to the corner where bolsters and pillows were strewn about. Lowering to one knee, he tried to place her upon the cushioned floor, but she refused to release him. With little energy left, he fell onto his bottom and scooted back to rest against the wooden bench. Soft sobs escaped Grace as he sat cradling her. He wanted to hold her like this forever, be there for her in these times of distress.

  Grace hiccupped. “Why did they not trust me with this information?” She wiped the tartan across her eyes and nose but kept her face down, nested in the crook of his neck.

  He didn’t have an answer. All he wanted was to soothe her hurt. Matthew lightly ran his palm up and down her arm. She fit so naturally against him. He wanted to pull her tighter to him and absorb all her pain.