by Jessica Bird
"Sit down, Grace."
She carefully lowered herself into the chair next to her mother's desk. The sunlight coming through an east-facing window streamed into her eyes, making it hard to see. She blinked.
"I'm surprised you're wearing your hair like that. It's a bit unruly, don't you think?"
There was a long silence.
"Mother, what did you want to talk about?"
Carolina crossed her legs at the ankles and smoothed down her perfectly flat skirt with a scrupulous hand. "I'm afraid you have put me in a rather awkward position."
"How so?"
"I saw you this morning. With that man."
Grace felt herself tightening up all over. "Which man? "
"You know exactly to whom I am referring."
"And?"
"You were arguing with him. On the lawn. I saw you from my bedroom window.”
Her tone suggested she would rather have woken up to a rotting Winnebago on the grass.
Grace fought the urge to look down at her fingers, which was what she'd done when she was young and facing the same refined condemnation. Reminding herself that she was a grown-up, she tried to stare back at her mother. With the sun making her eyes hurt and her back rigid in the uncomfortable chair, she had a clear vision of herself at the age of fifty still playing the apologetic daughter. Her stomach lurched.
"So?" she said in a low voice.
"Grace, ladies do not argue in that manner. And most certainly not out in public," there was a meaningful pause, "with a man other than their husband."
Grace shifted in the chair, felt it wobble underneath her and realized she was fed up. For the first time in her life, it occurred to her that she didn't have take her mother's prim displeasure.
It was a powerful epiphany.
She just wasn't sure how to act on it.
"Well?" Carolina demanded. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
How about just leaving, she thought.
Grace rose from the chair, stepped out of the sunlight and looked across the room at the closed doors.
"Where do you think you're going?" Her mother's voice was brittle.
Anywhere, she thought. Anywhere away from you.
"I want an answer," Carolina said sharply. "Why were you fighting with that man?"
"I don't have an answer for you, Mother," Grace murmured, walking away.
Her hand was reaching for the knob when her mother said, "Tell me he is not your lover."
Grace glanced over her shoulder and saw that, behind the iron voice, her mother was looking pale.
Grace breathed in, long and slow, and spoke clearly. "Even if he was, that would be none of your business."
Carolina rose from her chair. "You are a married woman. How can you disgrace yourself by—by carousing with that..."
"With what, Mother?"
"That ruffian!"
Grace fought the urge to giggle inappropriately at the antiquated word.
"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered.
"He wore jeans to the breakfast table."
"For Chrissakes, Mother," Grace snapped, "this is a private residence, not a consulate. He can wear anything he wants."
"He is unsuitable as a guest and I don't understand why you insisted on bringing him here. May I remind you that you are married to a man of royal descent—"
"Spare me the ad copy, okay? Ranulf doesn't live up to any of it. If he were half the man Smith is—"
Carolina gasped. "Don't say that!"
"It's true."
"You—you..." And then, as if a switch had been pulled Carolina snapped her mouth shut. After a deep breath, she said, "I don't believe I have anything more to say to you at the moment."
"Which is good, because I was just leaving."
As Grace shut the doors behind her, she wasn't sure whether she had won or lost the argument and realized it didn't matter. At least she had held her own.
An hour later, while Grace was outside playing croquet with Blair, her mother came and announced that the evening's party had been canceled and she would be dining elsewhere. With no more explanation than that, she returned to the house, without once looking at her daughter.
She did make a point, however, of sparing a withering glance for John.
The afternoon was spent at Mr. Blankenbaker's looking over the portrait. Grace was thrilled by the masterpiece, although disappointed that Jack had missed the preview. Mr. Blankenbaker agreed to draw up papers making the gift official and to ship the painting to the Hall Museum in time for the Gala.
They returned to Willings when the sun was hanging low behind the house and the ocean was quieting down for the night. As she walked into the foyer, Grace decided a good long soak in some very hot water was just what she needed to relax.
Either that or a brain transplant.
"Where are you headed?" John asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him. He'd been silent for much of the day but never far from her side. After everything that had been said in her bedroom, being so close to him was a bittersweet torment.
Abruptly, she was struck by an idea. When she and John had talked, he'd been using his head. His reasoning. His logic.
Perhaps she just needed him to stop thinking so much.
Grace offered him a slow smile. "I'm going to have a bath."
He nodded and followed her up the stairs.
She'd never seduced a man before, she thought as she hit the second floor landing. And it was time to give it a try.
He'd said he wanted her. Maybe his body could override that mind of his.
* * *
Smith paused outside of her room, telling himself that he was going to use the time she was in the tub to do some push-ups and sit-ups. He had a hell of lot of energy he needed to burn off.
"I'll be across the hall," he said. "Take the panic button in with you."
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
"I think it's broken."
He frowned. "I tested it before I gave it to you."
She shrugged and went through her door. "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong."
And then she shut the door in his face.
He pounded on it. "Grace? I've got to check the damn thing."
There was only silence.
"Oh, for Chrissakes. Grace?"
He threw the door open and froze.
She was stepping out of her pants. Had taken off her sweater. All he saw was a lot of creamy skin and a few strips of silk.
Smith blinked like he'd been sucker punched.
Sweet heaven, he thought.
Moving deliberately, and without bothering to hide herself, she folded her pants and put them in the bureau.
As the sight of her flooded his brain, he tried like hell to hold on to reality.
Which was goddamn close to impossible with his fantasy three feet away in her bra and panties.
"Where's the panic button?" he growled.
She shrugged. "I don't know. It was somewhere in my bed."
"Jesus Chri—"
Grace reached behind her back and unclipped her bra. Slowly, she peeled off one satin strap and then the other. When the lacy cups fell to the floor, and he saw her breasts in the sunlight, he felt his knees get weak.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"I'm getting ready for my bath."
She turned around, flashing her picture perfect butt at him, and walked into the bathroom. He watched as she bent over and worked the faucets.
It was the kind of sight that could blind a man, he thought numbly.
Smith fell back against the door. He tried to think about his options, which were limited as he couldn't seem to make his body leave the room. The only thing that came to him was a vision of picking her up and carrying her over to the bed.
Grace spent an inordinate amount of time making sure the water was the right temperature and then turned around to face him. Even though she was behaving provocatively, her eyes reveal
ed a nervousness that was totally endearing.
She had no idea what she was doing, he thought, wanting to smile.
But then she locked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties.
And Smith got deadly serious.
She moved the silk down her hips and her thighs and then kicked it off with one foot. Standing in the bathroom with steam from the hot water billowing up around her, it was clear she was waiting for him.
Get the hell out of this room, right now, he thought. Before you can't go back.
It took every ounce of willpower he had to turn around and leave.
Going out onto the terrace, he walked around until he could see into her bathroom. By the time she was back in his sight, she was in the tub, covered by the water.
He cursed out loud as he felt the lust pound through his body.
Taking out a cheroot, he lit it and assiduously ignored the fact that his hands trembled slightly.
It was a while before he could string any coherent thoughts together.
As he leaned against the railing and smoked, he thought about her declaration of love. Could it be true? Could a woman like her actually love him?
And what would he be willing to sacrifice to have her in his life? He thought about Black Watch, his work, his clients. Images flashed through his mind of a thousand hotel rooms, of airplanes and private jets, of people looking up at him with fear in their eyes and hopeful faith in their hearts.
Grace had challenged him on something he had begun to wonder about himself. How long could he go on? His rootless existence had sustained him for so many years, had been the only way he could conceive of getting through life. But what if there was another way?
And what if it involved Grace?
His eyes narrowed as she leaned back against the porcelain rim of the tub and closed her eyes. Her hair was coiled up on her head and a few tendrils were curling around her face from the heat and humidity. Her profile was a perfect composition of planes and angles that added up to great beauty, but that wasn't what held his attention. He realized he'd started looking past her physical perfection. He was a hell of a lot more interested in the jumble of strengths and weaknesses that was inside of her.
He watched as her hand came out of the water and brushed over her cheek. When she did it again, he realized she was crying.
"Oh, Grace," he said, softly.
She was right. They were tearing each other up.
Smith watched her until she started to get up from the tub. Before she stepped free of the water, he went back inside and was waiting next to her door when she emerged twenty minutes later, dressed for dinner. She was silent as they went down the hall.
Before they hit the stairs, he reached out and took her arm.
He put his lips close to her ear. "You are the most sensual woman I've ever seen. I'm going to take the image of you standing in front of that tub to my grave."
Her steps faltered and she let out a sad, self-deprecating laugh. "Somehow, I doubt that. I've been known for a lot of things but sexy isn't one of them."
He stopped her. "What the hell are you talking about, woman?"
She shrugged and her expression showed a kind of defeat he didn't associate with her.
"You didn't get in that tub with me, did you? Which was my sole motivation for behaving... Anyway, I should have known better. Ranulf always told me I was beautiful but not enticing. It was probably the only thing he got right about me."
"What did he tell you?"
When her eyes refused to meet his, Smith thought back to the night she'd tried to pull away from him and had panicked when he hadn't let her go. Maybe there was more to it than her not wanting to have casual sex.
"Grace? What did he do to you?"
She hesitated. "Let's just say he was less than satisfied with me as a lover. And he let me know it."
Black rage hit Smith. As he tried to calm down, he wondered what the hell was wrong with the man and how he could get his hands on the aristocratic asshole.
"Let me tell you something," Smith said darkly. "Ranulf was full of shit. You're incredibly erotic."
She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to say that."
He moved close to her, took her hand, and placed it on his arousal. She gasped.
"I'm totally serious." He lowered his head so his mouth was an inch from hers. "All I have to do is think of you."
Grace swayed against him.
"I wanted you to stay," she whispered.
Christ, so had he.
"Know this," he said roughly. "The reason I left had nothing to do with how badly I want you. I'm trying to do the right thing by you. I really am."
He kissed her hard and quick and then held out his arm.
Together, they descended the grand staircase.
* * *
Smith leaned back as Marta cleared his plate. When a dessert tray was wheeled next to him, he shook his head at whatever sweet, sauce-covered thing was on it.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared through the candlelight at Grace, who was twirling her wineglass on the table. Her eyes were on the faceted crystal as she laughed at something Walker was saying.
"Of course I turned you down today," she said. "Blair needed company more than you and Alex need a mate on that sailboat."
"Come on, you just said no out of habit. You started turning me down in kindergarten and haven't let up. Fortunately, my ego can take it." Walker smiled urbanely as he poured himself some more wine. "If only because I've gotten used to it."
The man pushed his chair back from the table, kicked his legs out in front of him and crossed one loafer on top of another. The wineglass dangled from one of his hands as he reclined.
"At least you love me," he said to Blair.
The woman leaned over and kissed his check. "Yes, I do."
"How long's it been now?"
"Five years or so."
"You know, I've been thinking about us lately."
Blair rolled her eyes as she smiled at him. "What have you dreamed up this time?" She glanced over at Grace. " Last winter, he scooped me up in a plane, told me to take a little nap, and I woke up over the Atlantic Ocean. We were heading for Portofino. It was lovely but a bit disorienting."
Walker laughed and put the glass back on the table.
"Well, this one doesn't involve plane travel and I hope you won't sleep through it." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a small velvet box. "I'd like you to be my wife. You want to get married?"
Smith's eyes snapped to Grace's face. Her expression was joyous as she clasped her hands together.
Walker cracked open the box and pushed it over to Blair. He was sporting a half smile as she stared down at the sizable diamond, speechless.
"You know, I really enjoy surprising you, Blair."
The woman's eyes rose from the engagement ring. "Are you serious?"
There was an imperceptible pause.
"It's time for us to settle down." He smiled. "And I did it in front of witnesses so you'd know I have no intention of backing out."
Blair took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. She took a deep breath, but then smiled. "Okay. Let's do it."
Walker leaned over and kissed the woman. While the two whispered to each other, Smith studied Grace. She was staring into the flame of a candle, a soft smile on her face.
A little while later, the small party broke up and everyone headed to their rooms. Smith was walking behind Grace when she got to her door.
"May I come in," he said.
"Of course."
As he followed her inside, she went over to the bureau and started taking off her earrings.
"I really jumped to the wrong conclusion about you and Walker, didn't I?"
She turned around, fingers twisting the back of a diamond solitaire. Her voice was tired. "What made you finally believe me?"
"The way you looked at him tonight. You would have to have ice in your veins to be so genuinely ha
ppy at his engagement. Especially considering it happened in front of you."
Grace nodded and went to work on the other ear. In the dim light, her skin was translucent. He wanted to touch her.
After she put the other earring down, she sat on the edge of the bed and began to take off her shoes. "Well, thank you for saying something."
He nodded, watching her kick off a high heel and start to unbuckle the ankle strap of the other one. He lingered on the graceful curve of her calf and the arch of her foot.
"And you're right," she murmured. "I am thrilled for Jack. I hope everything works out for them. Marriage, even under the best of circumstances, is a challenge. Except for my parents, of course. Who were perfect together."
"You sure about that?" he said quietly. "Perfection's pretty damn hard to find in this world."
"True," she said, "but my parents came close. He was the business and philanthropy star. She was his social publicist. Real 1950s stuff but they were so right for each other."
"Is that what you thought you were getting with the count?"
Her eyes registered surprise but then she shook her head. "No. I never wanted to be a cheerleader for someone. I wanted to be on the field. I thought Ranulf understood that and to some degree he did. He was happy enough to spend both the money I had as well as the money I made."
He had a vision of her at her office, working those long hours, being a rock to so many people.
"You deserve better." Smith's words were low and intense.
She looked up at him and nodded. "I'm just starting to figure that out."
Even though he knew he shouldn't, he went over to her.
Reaching out, he ran a finger down the silky skin of her cheek.
"Good for you," he said softly. "See you in the morning, Grace."
chapter
18
After John left, Grace changed out of her dress and went over to a window. As she stared out at the ocean, she was sorry she'd just let him walk out of her room. When he'd touched her face, she should have taken his hand and pulled him down to her.
As a matter of fact, she should just walk across the hall and kiss him.
After all, the striptease had worked better than she'd originally assumed, Grace thought. Maybe she had some vamp in her, after all.
