by Lyn Stone
He knew he’d never felt quite that out of control during a mere kiss. Huh. There was nothing remotely mere about it. He was aroused, breathing rapidly. He saw that she was, too.
“One week,” he said finally, and added, “Please.”
She sighed and nodded, looking rather helpless.
He kissed her again, keeping this one quick and perfunctory with no body contact. He could not afford to linger or there would be no waiting, even for a week. Perhaps distance would help solidify his thoughts on the marriage. Right now they were rather liquid. And hot. “Keep well,” he whispered as he released her lips.
He left before she could recover and speak. Heaven only knew what she would say or how he would respond.
Trent was waiting in the vestibule with his coat and hat. “Let’s go then,” he said. “Unless you’d like me to stay.”
Caine didn’t even bother to reply to that idiotic suggestion.
Trent insisted they take the carriage and Caine didn’t protest. He knew he was not up to an all-day ride, and it did look as though it might rain.
Once on the road, Trent began his inevitable questions. “So is the wedding still on? I warn you, if you cast her off, I plan to—”
“Stop there. I have no intention of casting Grace off. She insists we carry through and, as you well know, I am honor bound. Only she can end this farce and is apparently unwilling to do so.” Thank God. He leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes. “Though I cannot for the life of me, think why she wouldn’t. I promised her protection and couldn’t even protect myself.”
“She loves you,” Trent said with a grin.
“You’re a bigger fool than I thought if that’s what you think. She’s only grateful and feels obliged.”
“So you no longer want her?” Trent prodded.
“I want her, all right. What man wouldn’t want her? It’s just that she’s not the same she was before.”
“Ah, I see, not what you bargained for,” Trent said, nodding sagely. “Now she’s become the very sort you wanted to avoid, another Belinda.”
“She’s not a whit like that little she-devil, and you know it. But now she’ll require a great deal of attention. Managing. Entertaining,” he added. “She admitted as much when I was here before. She loves parties, balls and such. How can I be dancing attendance on a woman and fulfilling all my duties at once? Damn it, I have to figure a way.”
“Oh, I’ll gladly dance with her,” Trent offered. “And I daresay, there’ll be a crowd of admirers willing to do the same.”
“Just so,” Caine agreed with a sad shake of his head. “How long do you suppose it would take her to realize her mistake in tying herself to me? How could I compete with men who haven’t a care in the world past what color waistcoat to wear?”
“You have a rather low opinion of her, Caine. She’s not so shallow as that. Grace cares about you a great deal. Looks like love to me, or at least, the promise of it.”
“No, it’s only gratitude. Not an auspicious emotion on which to base a marriage.”
“Neither is convenience, your motive for choosing her in the first place,” Trent reminded him. He had gone serious now, all teasing aside. “Were I you, I would look again and see if I could find better reason. You might possibly love her, too.”
Caine was afraid to look any deeper. He already knew he wanted Grace. He might find that he did love her.
Losing Belinda had nearly destroyed him, but at least that had been swiftly over and put behind him. He shuddered to think what it would be like to be married to a woman, truly loving her, and suffering constant rejection once she realized her mistake.
Chapter Thirteen
No matter what she did, Grace kept thinking about that kiss. That and the heat of his body pressed to hers had awakened a hunger she had not known was sleeping within her. She thought she had experienced desire before, but that chaste touch of lips and slight tingle she felt with Barkley had been nothing, a mere hint of the raging storm that Caine Morleigh’s kiss could unleash.
Now she wished to heaven she had never read all those medical texts in Father’s library when she was a girl. How had she ever thought herself worldly beyond her years merely because she knew how a man and woman fit together? Words on a page told nothing of the feelings that must accompany all of that. And she had only a brief taste of those feelings. All too brief.
Grace tried to dismiss the thoughts until they would be appropriate. It was all she could do, so she had to stay busy every minute with other things.
She was sick to death of sewing. The house was in order, menus all planned and there was nothing to do now but wait for the wedding. She hated waiting. So what next to do to keep Caine off her mind?
Maybe this was an ideal time to see for herself how the earl was progressing. He kept to his chamber, taking his meals there and she had hardly seen him since his arrival. All she had was Dr. Ackers’s word that he was taking the concoction she had suggested and was much better. She wanted to see for herself.
Yesterday, they had spoken at length about her father, who had attended university the same years as Ackers, though they had known one another only in passing.
He assured her he had begun treating the earl, using Withering’s writings as a guide. They discussed trusting apothecaries who furnished the substance and Grace convinced him that she could provide better quality from the plants growing wild in the wood. They talked of preparation and dosage.
He reminded her of her father in attitude if not appearance. He had the same intelligent eyes, but Ackers was a slight man with effeminate features, thickly pomaded hair and an overlarge mustache. Grace quite liked the doctor.
“I should like to speak with Lord Hadley,” she told him as they met by chance at midmorning in the downstairs corridor. “Is he awake this time of day?”
“Always, unless he’s very ill. Lady Hadley rises late, so he will probably be alone. Shall I accompany you?”
“That’s not necessary. I won’t be long and I promise not to tire him.”
He agreed, so Grace went upstairs to the earl’s chambers, knocked softly and entered without waiting for a reply. “Milord, I’ve come to see how you’re feeling today.”
“Eh? Well, come in, come in, gel. What is it, then?” He pushed up against the pillows and frowned at her. “Bad news?”
“No, sir, not at all! I thought I would keep you company for a little while, if you don’t mind.”
He squinted at her. “Looking pert today. Nice frock, that.”
Grace curtsied, holding out the skirts of her new rose morning gown. “Thank you, milord! I see where Morleigh gets his way with the ladies.” She put on her best smile and approached his bedside.
The earl chuckled. “Cozening his old uncle won’t get you any more blunt, gel. He’ll be getting it all soon anyway.”
“I hadn’t a single thought in that direction,” she assured him, eager to get to the point of her visit. “Could we speak about your condition, sir?”
He appeared amused. “Heart’s giving out. Shouldn’t take long. You can wait, can’t you?”
“It’s nothing to do with me, or with your nephew inheriting. Dr. Ackers says that he told you my father was a physician and treated quite a few gentlemen with heart afflictions.”
The earl nodded. “Gave ’em that stuff Ackers gives me.”
“Yes, sir, what do you think of it? Do you feel any stronger?”
“I do.” He cocked his head. “But it won’t last, y’see.”
She reached for his hand. “May I study your pulse for a moment?” When he shrugged and indicated he would let h
er, she pressed her fingertips to his wrist. After feeling the uneven pattern, she risked a further presumption. “Could I listen to your heartbeat?” He nodded and Grace leaned forward, laying her ear against his chest.
“Still fluttery,” she remarked as she straightened again. “But I suppose you know that even better than I. We could make it steadier and stronger, but, as I’m certain the doctor told you, increasing the dosage carries risk.”
He laughed, a rusty grunt of sound that ended in a cough. “Ackers is an old woman, more scared than I ever was that I’ll die. I am his only patient, y’see, so he’s overcautious.”
“Not without cause, sir. There’s a chance that increasing what he’s given you might make you sicker than you are.” She let out a sigh. “Or worse.”
“Too much could kill me,” he said, nodding. “Why should you prolong my old life when I’m worth more to you and Caine dead than alive?”
“Caine loves you, sir, and your living longer will make him happy. If he is happy, then surely I shall be.”
She saw a sheen of tears in the weak old eyes. “Loves me, does he? Ha. Well, then calm Ackers’s fears if you can and let’s see what happens.”
Grace conversed with him a few minutes longer, turning the subject to country life and happier things. Then she bade him good morning and left, eager to find the doctor again, glad to have a purpose that would occupy her mind.
*
The next few days crawled by for Grace. The nights were worse.
The only unusual occurrence was the arrival of a letter addressed to her. Mr. Judd had brought it to her that morning, along with several invitations to various events nearby. She had thought little of it at first, except to wonder who might be writing to her now that Dr. Ackers was here. Then she read it and wondered whether she should send for Caine immediately. But she was safe as could be here, wasn’t she? Caine would be back soon anyway and there was nothing he could do about it even if he were here.
So upset she could not sleep, she had donned a robe in the middle of the night and come down to the library to fetch something boring to read.
Certainly not that letter, she thought with a grimace as she glared at it. The horrible thing had arrived in the post and still lay open on the desk. She was unable to touch it, even to throw it away. In spite of her resolve, it drew her to it yet again. Perhaps she had overlooked some clue as to who had posted it.
This time, she tried to suppress her outrage and examine it objectively, as one who was uninvolved in the message.
It was addressed without title, simply to Grace Renfair. There was no greeting inside, only the one paragraph and, of course, no signature.
Ask yourself why he would propose marriage to someone of your sort. It was because you looked fit to die and he hoped you would. He has to wed, yet wants no wife. Cry off and run if you wish to live. Beware his tricks. Beware his friends. Save yourself.
Her first thought was that Belinda Thoren-Snipes had sent it. But Grace had made it quite clear to the woman that her warning held no credence. Why would Belinda bother with a second of the same nature? Surely the woman’s pride would hardly allow that.
Grace tapped a finger against her lips as she studied the hand. The graceful penmanship indicated someone with much practice at it, one who had perhaps studied calligraphy.
Wardfelton’s handwriting was spidery and backslanted. She had seen it on his outgoing correspondence that first year when he had treated her with civility. Trent’s writing was entirely different, too, for she had a sample of that. Caine’s was a bold hand with few curves and no flourishes.
Judging by the comparison of this to the writing of her uncle, Trent and Caine, Grace felt fairly certain none of them had written it.
It made no sense that Caine would write anything so self-incriminating anyway. He certainly couldn’t be guilty of attempting to have her murdered. Someone had tried to kill him, too. She had come to trust Trent as a true friend. Despite his constant flirting, she knew he wanted her to wed Caine.
Perhaps part of the message might be true, however. She had looked fit to die, as the letter said. Wait! Whoever wrote that must have been there at the ball to see her the night Caine proposed. How else would the writer know how she had looked? Trent and her uncle had attended, among countless others. Belinda had not, but she had friends who were there.
Grace was eager to have Caine return and see this. She quickly laid a book over it, determined to leave it covered there until he came.
Trent had posted a brief missive to her the day before, stating that Caine was feeling amazingly well and the matter of the solicitor was progressing, whatever that might mean. Had they caught the man or not? Would Caine return as planned or delay the wedding further?
Her greatest fear was that he would postpone it forever. She knew he did not trust that she would make a good wife. The only way she could disabuse him of that notion was to actually become his wife and show him.
It angered her that her confidence in that ability waned with every hour that passed. Suppose he was right, she thought whenever her defenses were low. What if the feelings she had for him were, as he must think, only surface emotions guided merely by the desire to thank him for choosing her? To reward him. And herself, too, she admitted. She really wanted him.
Only when she was with him did she know for certain that the instant infatuation she had experienced that first night they met had deepened into something more lasting and undeniable. At least on her part, she was sure it had.
Suppose he really felt nothing for her? She had felt his desire when they kissed and he’d held her against him, but he might feel that, have that response, for almost any woman who virtually threw herself at him. She had been too forward. Scandalously forward and she should be ashamed.
However, she was not sorry at all and would kiss him again, given half a chance. Given a ring and vows, she would do a great deal more than that.
She hoped that she had at least shown him that he was not horribly disfigured, as Belinda Thoren-Snipes had declared. That stupid little idiot needed her hair yanked out by the roots.
Grace unfisted her hands and folded them sedately against her waist, determined to regain her composure and settle her thoughts enough to go back to bed and to sleep.
*
The arrival of Trent and Neville Morleigh the next morning surprised and disheartened her. Caine was not with them.
“We have news for you!” Trent announced as he entered the morning room, where she received them.
Grace gestured for them to sit down. “Good news, I hope.”
Trent nodded. “The solicitor has been found. He was responsible for everything and is no longer a threat.”
“Where is Morleigh?” Grace asked, more interested now in the absence of her bridegroom than in the apprehension of their suspect.
“Coming along in the morning by carriage. We rode, you see, and he still wasn’t up to jouncing along on a horse for hours,” Neville explained. “We came on early, thinking you would be relieved to know the man who tried to have you done in is dead himself.”
“Dead?” she asked.
“Fished out of the Thames last evening. Been there several days at least. Must have jumped in soon after his boat disembarked. Unfortunately, the account books were nowhere to be found aboard the vessel. Probably at the bottom of the Thames.”
Grace sat down heavily and pressed her fingers to her temples. The relief was so great, she could hardly believe it. “You’re certain he was the one?”
“Must have been,” Trent assured her. “His pockets contained a
waterlogged announcement of your betrothal and the names and directions of three people. One man named was the one who murdered Madame Latrice and would have killed you. The other hired man, the one who shot Caine, will be found soon since we have his name. The woman has already been arrested for entering Hadley House with the intention of poisoning Caine soon after he was shot.”
“What! Why did no one tell me of that?” Grace demanded.
Trent soothed her with a placating gesture. “Because you had enough to deal with tending Caine. The woman was never anywhere near successful in the endeavor.”
Grace groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment, fully realizing the horrid determination of the one who wished them dead. She fought to calm herself. They were saying this man was dead now. Drowned. Surely it was over.
“Well, I suppose those names are proof enough for anyone,” she said, turning to Neville, whom she had quite ignored until now. “And you are innocent, sir. I am so glad of it.”
“You had me taken up so quickly when I arrived here, you nearly convinced me of my guilt,” Neville replied with a grin.
Trent came over to sit beside Grace and took her hand. “Now all you have to worry about is the wedding. Anything we can do to help with preparations? I am, after all, the best man.”
Neville groaned. “Or so he would have you believe. All I’ve heard the entire ride is how lucky Caine is and how he doesn’t deserve you.”
Grace laughed. “He’s a wretch! And I do apologize for my mistake in thinking you were the villain of the piece. I was too overset by Caine’s wound to give you my regrets after you were freed. I suppose I should have listened to what you had to say instead of having you tossed into the root cellar.”
He grimaced. “Not a pleasant place to languish, I admit, but at least I wouldn’t have starved. My wife might take longer to forgive you, though. She was quite upset that you didn’t recognize me as the upstanding fellow she believes me to be.”
