The Captain and the Wallflower

by Lyn Stone

  She cut her gaze to his teasing one. “Don’t you think we should wait for darkness to fall?”

  He grinned, swept her off her feet and into the adjacent master’s chamber, kicking the door shut behind him. “I think we’ve waited quite long enough.”

  Grace laughed as he tossed her onto the massive bed and followed her down. His mouth was hot as it found hers, his body insistent as he pressed her into the counterpane. He finally relented, breathless as he rose to his knees and tugged off his coat.

  Grace watched with fascination as he undressed. Nothing meticulous or methodical about it, thank goodness. She reached up and toyed with the buttons on the flap of his trousers, undoing them one by one while he dispensed with his waistcoat. He yanked his shirt over his head as she reached the last button.

  “Now you,” he growled as he flipped her over and unbuttoned her gown. His impatience delighted her, fueled her eagerness as they wrestled her out of her clothes.

  He kissed her again, thoroughly. And unexpectedly released her. Grace watched as he ran a hand through his hair and laughed a little.

  “Better give me a minute to marshal my senses, or this will be too swiftly done,” he advised as he lay down beside her, holding her more gently against him.

  Grace looked into his eyes. She touched the scars that surrounded them with her finger. “I treasure every line of these marks. Without them, I would not have you. You do know that I love you, Caine? That I chose you freely that first night I came to you? It had nothing to do with gratitude.”

  “I hope that’s true,” he murmured, kissing her finger as it traced his lips. “For there’s no going back, ever.”

  “There never was any question of that,” she admitted. “Not since you first asked me to dance.”

  He kissed her again, tenderly, sweetly as his hand slid over her body. “We’ll dance often, then. A ball every week if you want. Fox hunts, house parties, whatever you wish.” He nipped her earlobe.

  “But the time involved in all that, Caine. What of your work, your duties and dealings for the earl? I know your worries about that and I refuse to be an impediment.”

  He pulled her on top of him and framed her face with his palms. “You are no impediment, Grace. You’re a part of me, the very best part. You remind me to live life and take it as it comes, good or ill, instead of driving myself mad trying to impose order on everyone and everything. You keep me sane, even as you drive me mad.”

  She moved sinuously beneath him, sliding her arms around his waist. “Then say you love me when I’m not poised to die, would you please?”

  He leaned to press his lips to hers for just an instant. “I do love you, Grace. I think from the first time I saw those eyes of yours speaking to me from across Cavanaugh’s ballroom.”

  He wore a serious look as he softly repeated words once spoken so loudly for all to hear. “You’ve quite stolen my heart and I cannot live without you. I said it then, Grace. But I know that I mean it now.”

  “And I simply cannot wait to be your wife,” she said, echoing her own words of that fateful night in a slow, suggestive tone. “It’s not a done thing yet, you know.”

  So, in the earl’s enormous bed covered with a deep yellow canopy, they made it so.

  Epilogue

  April 1816, London

  “She’s making up for lost seasons,” Caine remarked, nodding to Grace from across the room as he watched his uncle Hadley lead her sedately in a quadrille. “Danced every dance. I had to call in reinforcements.”

  Trent smiled and pointed with his glass of champagne. “The most beautiful of the lot, as it turned out. Not exactly what you once asked me to find for you.”

  “Not in any respect.” Caine laughed. He did that often these days and with excellent reason.

  “Oh, my, would you look there?” Trent said, keeping his voice low. “Miss Thoren-Snipes herself, pirouetting so grandly under the hand of Lord Logan. What an absolutely off-putting sight!” He made a face and shuddered.

  Caine followed the direction of Trent’s gaze. “Off-putting? That’s ill said of you, man.” He remembered when the very people around them were probably saying the same of him. “The fellow can’t help being old and wrinkled.”

  “Oh, not Logan.” Trent shook his head. “I meant her.” He grinned at Caine. “Watch when she turns around.”

  Caine looked, squinting to focus better. The couple danced closer and Belinda made the turn. “My God, what is that on her bare back? Looks like a terrible boil or something. Two of them, in fact!”

  “Pustules, yes.” Trent sighed sorrowfully. “Too bad they aren’t real.”

  “Look genuine to me,” Caine observed.

  “Hmm. Amazing what a half-baked sculptor can fashion with globs of soft rosin, a bit of paint and rabbit-skin glue, isn’t it?”

  “I daresay you have missed your calling.” Caine drew his mouth to one side and considered. “Must have been damned hard to apply.”

  “Had to dance with her twice,” Trent admitted. “Ruined my left glove.” He polished off his champagne and reached for another as a servant passed by with a tray. “But I do love the waltz.”

  Trent would never grow up, Caine thought with a chuckle, just as the music dwindled and Uncle Hadley brought Grace back to him. Trent made his bow and reached for her hand. “May I?”

  Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and she was a bit breathless, cooling herself with the new silk fan that perfectly matched her dress of azure blue. Her eyes sparkled like the sapphires she wore and the beautifully tortured curls danced as she shook her head. “That has to be my last turn for a while! Sorry, Trent.”

  “She’s danced quite enough for tonight. In fact, we should be leaving soon,” Caine declared, laying down the law with a look directed at Trent, his uncle and Grace.

  “Will you let this bounder order you about that way?” Trent demanded of her. “What a bully he’s become!”

  “Well, we must forgive and indulge him, you see. After all, the man is…” she said, pausing for a second before whispering the rest, “in an interesting way.”

  Trent’s mouth dropped open as his gaze shot from her to Caine, to Hadley and back again to Grace. “You don’t say!”

  Caine grinned ear to ear as she leaned forward, fan open to shield her next whisper as she confided to them, “He’s to become a father.”

  Trent and his uncle whooped, disturbing the crowd around them as they slapped him on the back and kissed Grace’s hands.

  Caine decided he rather enjoyed these social events again, but would be even happier when they could return to Wildenhurst.

  Fortunately, he would not need to worry about taking up the mantle of lord anytime soon. The earl seemed hale enough to last a good while.

  Grace had been a godsend, putting in order the Hadley finances and numerous other tasks Caine had thought so overwhelming when faced with them alone. How could he ever have thought she would be a hindrance?

  Each day when he looked into his mirror to shave, his scars were still there, unchanged. But he saw a new man who bore them, thanks to her, a very happy man full of hopes, dreams and plans. Ironically, Grace’s appearance was so different, no one recognized her as the sad wallflower of almost a year ago. And yet, she was the same inside herself, a force to be reckoned with and a joy to all who knew her.

  He wished with all his might that she now carried a tiny Grace within her, because the world, and especially he, would be exceedingly glad to have two such marvels. However, an heir would be perfectly acceptable this time around.

  They said their good-nights at twelve, left the ball and st
rolled the short distance to Hadley House, arm in arm. “Uncle and Aunt Hadley won’t be home until the wee hours,” he said. “What shall we do with ourselves?” He had ideas.

  She squeezed his arm with both hands and peered up at him, her expression very serious. “You have a mad craving for strawberries, don’t you, my darling?”

  “Strawberries.” He nodded. “Mmm-hmm. And perhaps some cream?”

  “I knew it. I could sense it,” she said, nodding emphatically, hurrying him along. “I’ll order a tray sent up for us the moment we get there. For the life of me, I don’t know how we shall get you through these next six months with all these unusual cravings of yours.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head.

  Caine smiled, loving her so dearly he ached with it, an ache she sensed and soothed quite often. She was the one with a taste for the strawberries, of course. And the oranges out of season. And cucumber slices with jam. He winced and wondered if he could hide his portion under the pillows next time they were required.

  All he ever really craved was Grace.

  *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of My Fair Concubine by Jeannie Lin!

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  Chapter One

  China, Tang Dynasty—AD 824

  Fei Long faced the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, unsheathed his sword and kicked the door open.

  A feminine shriek pierced the air along with the frantic shuffle of feet as he strode through the entrance. The boarding room was a small one set above the teahouse below. The inhabitants, a man and a woman, flung themselves into the corner with nowhere to hide.

  His gaze fixed on to the woman first. His sister’s hair was unbound and her eyes wide with fear. Pearl had their mother’s thoughtful features: the high forehead and the sharp angles that had softened since the last time he’d seen her. She was dressed only in pale linen underclothes. The man who was with her had enough daring to step in between them.

  Fei Long glanced once to the single wooden bed against one wall, the covers strewn wide, and his vision blurred with anger. He gripped the sword until his knuckles nearly cracked with the strain.

  ‘Bastard,’ he gritted out through his teeth.

  He knew this man he’d come to kill. This boy. At least Han had been a boy when Fei Long had last seen him. And Pearl had been a mere girl. Now she was a grown woman, staring at him as if he were a demon risen from the underworld.

  ‘Fei Long.’ Pearl’s fingers curled tight over her lover’s arm. ‘So now you’ve come.’

  The soft bitterness of the accusation cut through him. Pearl had begged for him to come back a year earlier when her marriage had first been arranged, but he’d dismissed her letters as childish ramblings. If he had listened, she might not have thrown herself into ruin and their father’s spirit wouldn’t be floating restlessly between heaven and earth.

  The young man stretched himself before Fei Long, though he failed to match him in stature. ‘Not in front of Pearl,’ he implored.

  Though he trembled, the boy fought to keep his voice steady as Pearl clung to him, hiding just behind his shoulder. At least the dog managed to summon some courage. If Han had cowered or begged for his life, he would already be dead.

  ‘Step away, Little Sister,’ Fei Long commanded.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pearl.’

  ‘I’d rather die here with Han than go to Khitan.’

  She’d changed in the five years since he’d seen her. The Pearl he remembered had been obedient, sweet-tempered and pleasant in all things. Fei Long had ridden hard from Changan to this remote province, expecting to find the son of a dog who had stolen her away.

  Now that she stood before him with quiet defiance, he knew she hadn’t been seduced or deceived. Zheng Xie Han’s family lived within their ward in the capital city. Though lower in standing, the Zheng family had always maintained a good reputation. His sister had turned to Han because she’d had no one else.

  The tension drained out of Fei Long, stealing away his rage. His throat pulled tight as he forced out the next word. ‘Go.’

  The two of them stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Go,’ he repeated roughly.

  Fei Long lowered his weapon and turned away while they dressed themselves. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he faced the bare wall. He could hear the shuffle of movement behind him as the couple gathered their belongings.

  The bleakness of the last few weeks settled into his gut like a stone. When he’d left for his assignment to the north-western garrison, Fei Long had believed his home to be a harmonious place. Upon news of his father’s sudden death, he’d returned to find his sister gone and debt collectors circling the front gates like vultures.

  His father’s presence had been an elaborate screen, hiding the decay beneath the lacquered surface of their lives. Fei Long now saw Pearl’s arranged marriage for what it was: a desperate ploy to restore the family honour—or rather to prolong the illusion of respectability.

  When he turned again, Pearl and Han stood watching him tentatively. Each of them had a pack slung around their shoulder. Off to face the horizon with all their belongings stowed in two small bags.

  Han bowed once. ‘Elder Brother.’

  The young man risked Fei Long’s temper to deliver the honorific. Fei Long couldn’t bring himself to return the bow. Pearl met his eyes as they started for the door. The heaviness of her expression struck him like a physical blow.

  This was the last time he would ever see his sister.

  Fei Long took his money pouch from his belt and held it out. The handful of coppers rattled inside. ‘Here.’

  Han didn’t look at him as he took it.

  ‘Thank you, Fei Long,’ Pearl whispered.

  They didn’t embrace. The two of them had been apart for so long that they wouldn’t have known how. Fei Long watched their backs as they retreated down the stairway; gone like everything else he had once known to be true.

  *

  ‘Jilted lover,’ the cook guessed.

  Yan Ling’s eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped to his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She’d leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold on to her pot of tea without spilling a drop.

  She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.

  ‘Should someone stop him?’ she asked.

  ‘What? You saw how he was dressed.’ Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. ‘A man like that can do whatever he wants.’

  ‘Get back to work,’ the proprietor barked.

  Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the beaded curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.

  ‘Worthless girl,’ her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.

 
; It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She’d never known any life but the teahouse. The story was she’d been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.

  She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.

  The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.

  When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor’s wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the centre of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look, which she understood immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.

  ‘Is there a lot of blood?’ the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.

  ‘Shush.’

  She poured hot water over a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn’t even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.

  His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by the strength of his features: the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face, which narrowed slightly at the chin.