He hurried them away before Miranda could call her response after them.
Grace felt her chest fill to the brim with giggles and clapped a hand over her mouth to restrain them. Aubrey collected Rufus from a waiting footman, who did not look at either of them as they took the lead and headed for the garden.
“Oh,” Grace exhaled, laughing now out in the afternoon air, “is everyone trying to throw us together?”
Aubrey nudged her side with his arm. “Consider me thrown.”
She looked up at him, beaming without shame and rubbing his arm. “Me, too.”
He glanced up at the window briefly, then leaned down to give her a quick kiss, which only made her smile more.
“How long do you think Miranda has known?” Grace murmured with a tilt of her head towards the window.
Aubrey pursed his lips in thought. “Likely since the day she wrote to your father. Don’t you remember what she said when we approached her at the ball?”
Grace did remember, and she looked away, focusing her gaze on the flowers of the garden. “Should it have been so obvious?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think so then, but now…” Aubrey trailed off, and Grace held her breath, willing him to finish the thought.
“Now?” she prodded, reaching out to touch the flowers of a nearby bush, though hardly paying attention to it.
He stopped, and so did she, keeping her attention on the white petals of the flower. Then Aubrey’s hand was at her chin, turning her face towards him with all the gentleness she had used for the petals.
One finger stroked the underside of her chin, and she shivered. “Now,” he murmured, his eyes dark, “I’m beginning to wonder what took me so long.”
Grace exhaled in a faint pant, her lips parting as though he had drawn them apart. Her legs shook with the desire to arch up and kiss him, to pour out her love and her passion, her need and her hunger, but she stiffened them, willing the impulse to pass. The windows were tall and wide, and there was no telling how closely anyone was looking.
“We should let Rufus off the lead,” she whispered weakly, a stroke of his finger raising bumps on her skin. “Perhaps… let him run?”
Aubrey chuckled at the feeble attempt at a distraction, but he dropped his hand from her chin anyway.
“I suppose you’re right.” He crouched before Rufus and took his face in his hands, turning his voice into a sad sort of cooing. “The poor man has been inside that stuffy house all day with nothing to do and no one to amuse him.”
Grace snorted a laugh. “It’s not stuffy!”
Aubrey turned his and Rufus’s face towards her with matching dour looks. “You have no idea what feels stuffy to a canine, madam. It is practically suffocating.” He made Rufus look at him again, pouting. “You want to run free and wild, don’t you, boy?”
Rufus licked his jowls with a groan.
“Indeed.” Aubrey unhooked the lead, then grinned at the dog. “Hah!” he shouted suddenly, startling Grace as he bolted, Rufus charging after him in a sudden burst of speed.
She watched as Aubrey ran, Rufus galloping after him, cutting and turning as the small garden required. Aubrey dodged the dog here and there, practically dancing out of his reach, spinning and darting off in the opposite direction. Rufus came alive, barking and howling, his great tongue dangling out of his mouth in the imitation of a grin of delight.
Aubrey was taunting the dog now, his words lost on Grace, but he pretended to start running once, twice, three times, then took off again, Rufus racing alongside him. Grace laughed as they headed in her direction, and, not to be outdone, she turned and began to run with them. Rufus looked up at her as he reached her, and she laughed louder, increasing her speed.
He barked and chased after her as she rounded a bush, pausing only when Grace picked up a large stick from the ground, holding it out with one hand, inviting him to take it. “Come on,” she panted, still laughing. “Come on, boy. You want it? Do you want the stick?”
Rufus hesitated, started towards it a few times, testing her.
Grace tossed her head back and held it out one more time. “Come on, boy. Come on.”
This time Rufus listened, biting the stick and tugging it, but Grace held firm, both hands gripping it. “Ah ha!” she crowed, pulling against him. “Come on. Come on. Oh, you’re a strong one, eh?”
Rufus growled against the stick, tugging harder.
“Careful,” Aubrey warned as he watched, leaning against a nearby tree, still breathing heavily from his run.
Grace threw him a disbelieving look. “Seriously?” She looked down at Rufus with wide eyes. “He thinks I’m a dainty flower you might crush, Rufus. How insulting is that?”
Rufus dropped the stick and barked three times.
Grace held the stick before her like a baton. “Shall we show the idiot how fragile we are? I think we shall!” She threw the stick across the garden, and Rufus darted after it, Grace chasing right behind him, egging him on.
Then Aubrey was running beside her, following the same path around the bushes and flowers, laughing as much as she was, shifting suddenly as Rufus turned back towards them. He grabbed Grace’s arm with a sudden bark of laughter, and they stumbled as Rufus turned back to find his stick, Grace’s slippers unable to find a grip on the soft grass.
Down they went in a tumble, and Grace landed on her side with a grunt of surprise, echoed by Aubrey as he fell beside her. She rolled to her back and laughed again, hilarity rising within her at the antics she’d engaged in, something she hadn’t done since she was a child. Her sides ached with the laughter, and she grabbed at them, her arms crossing over her midsection.
Aubrey raised up on his elbow beside her, grinning wildly, his hair in disarray. “I take it from your current state of delirium that you are unhurt from your fall?”
Grace nodded, still giggling breathlessly. “It was your fault!” she insisted through tears of mirth. “You grabbed me, and I lost my footing!”
“I was saving you,” he corrected magnanimously. “Clearly you would have fallen harder without me.”
She shook her head, panting laugh after laugh, unable to stop. “You are such an idiot.”
He reached out and brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers tracing against her brow as he moved various strands of her no doubt mangled hair. “I believe we’ve established that once or twice before.”
Her laughter began to evaporate under his touch, her skin tingling where he touched it. She watched him as the lingering traces of laughter still tickled her breath, wondering what his eyes saw as they followed his fingers, now combing through the tendrils she had shaken loose with her exertion.
“It bears repeating,” she murmured as one of her hands slid over to begin fiddling with the buttons of his coat. “You are constantly needing reminders.”
Aubrey smiled as he looked down at her, his fingers moving down to brush against her cheek. “I am, aren’t I? Damned fortunate thing, reminders. I love reminders. I love…”
Grace felt her heart skip as his thumb brushed her bottom lip, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Aubrey leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, tentative as though it was for the first time. They passed over again, and she lifted her chin to bring her lips closer to his, catching them before the contact ended. There was a moment of stillness, lips touching, waiting.
Then he leaned down further and sealed his mouth over hers, and she sighed as her lips parted beneath his, softening under the swirling onslaught. Her hand slid up his chest, fastening itself behind his neck, keeping him close to her. He tilted his head, changing his angle for a kiss that seemed to reach for her very soul, and she gave it, willingly and with enthusiasm, arching up for more of the same. More of this feeling. More of this bliss.
More of him.
More.
Her fingers shifted on his neck, reaching for his hair and digging in against his scalp. Aubrey growled his response agains
t her lips, and she curled closer to him, her free hand fisting in the material of his shirt and waistcoat. His arm slid beneath her, pulling her up against him as the kiss intensified, drawing her closer still, closer than she thought possible, closer…
A very different sort of growl followed by a snuffle of sorts came from beside them, and a cold, wet, insistent nose nuzzled at Grace’s arm. Then a snout and head worked its way under that arm, and a lolling tongue swept up the side of Aubrey’s face.
Grace shook with laughter even as the rest of her body shook with something else entirely. Aubrey dropped his head, muttered something that sounded like a series of very dark curses, then looked at Grace with a rueful grin.
She shrugged where she lay on the ground and sighed heavily.
Aubrey looked at Rufus, still tucked under Grace’s arm, his tail wagging eagerly. “You really are Miranda’s dog, aren’t you?”
Rufus swallowed, then opened his mouth, tongue lolling once more.
Aubrey exhaled, returned his attention to Grace, then kissed her very briefly. “Come along, goddess. We have a desperate need for adult supervision, you and I.”
He pushed off of the ground, then pulled Grace to her feet. She brushed at her skirts and peered up at him. “Would that be considered a flaw, my lord?”
He paused, giving her a singularly heated look. “No. No, it would not.”
Grace grinned outright. “But quite inconvenient, I’d expect.”
“Now that I can concede.”
The fire that Grace had stoked within him that afternoon in the grass did not diminish in the slightest when they returned to the house, when Grace had changed for dinner and come down looking like a masterpiece painted by the hand of God himself, when the other guests had come for the official events of the evening, or when he had been surrounded by several people who knew Grace very well, and had come to know him, as well.
He burned with the very flames of hellfire, yet he stood at the gate of heaven itself.
Well, across the room from heaven, at any rate.
What was this madness, anyway?
To see her and not be permitted to touch her, to exist in her sphere and be forced to remain aloof by someone else’s edicts of proposed politeness, to have tasted the sweetness of her lips and act for all the world as though he had not known nectar…
By Jove, he was turning into a raving poet lost in the throes of his own muse.
He downed whatever it was he was drinking and hissed, not at the burn, for there was no burn. Therein lay his disappointment. He needed that burn and craved the oblivion it promised.
“I thought we’d already done this bit,” muttered a low voice near him.
Aubrey glowered at the looming form of Camden Vale, his lip curling in a sneer. “Shove off.”
Cam chuckled and leaned against the wall next to him. “I’d offer to take you to my club, but I doubt I could pry you from your spot without the inducement of a certain someone to convince you.”
“Go to hell.”
“Been there. Not impressed.”
“Why does he look so murderous?”
Aubrey groaned as Henshaw’s voice broke through and shook his head. “Now I know I’m in hell.”
“Really?” Henshaw looked about the room in assessment. “I’d expected more brimstone, but there’s no accounting for taste.”
“If this is hell, who, precisely, is the devil?” Sebastian Morton wondered as he reached them, following Henshaw.
Aubrey glared at Morton darkly. “You, sir, are reputed to be a man of sense and reserve.”
Morton smiled with ease. “So I am, by comparison. You may blame or thank my wife for the improvement, if you are so inclined.”
“Oh, we do, Morton. We very much do,” drawled yet another voice.
Aubrey thumped his head against the wall behind him twice. “Oh, good. Everyone is here with the arrival of Lord Sterling. And I was so concerned I would be left out.” He looked at Francis sharply. “So help me, if you produce Tony out of thin air…”
Francis chuckled and sipped his drink. “At ease, the man is ensconced in the country, though he did ask after you in his last letter.”
“And you came over here to check on me?”
Francis shrugged. “I just happened to see a crowd. What’s the fuss?”
Cam nudged his head towards Aubrey. “Ingram’s upset.”
“Shut up, Vale,” Aubrey warned. He liked each of these men individually, but if anyone decided to reveal certain suspicions, which had not been confirmed to any of them, he would tear each of them apart. He started rehearsing an apology to Miranda in his mind, just in case.
“Perhaps he’s trying to find fault in Miss Morledge again,” Morton suggested as though it were a brilliant notion. “That would make anyone sour.”
Henshaw nodded in thought, his brow furrowed slightly. “True, but how could anyone find fault from this distance? In the evening light, and given the relaxed environment, what fault is there in anyone?” He gestured to the room, and each pair of eyes followed.
The Johnston’s had arranged several tables in the spacious drawing rooms and various card games were being played, the hum of participant voices a constant amid the various locations. A pianoforte in the corner was being played by Edith, seemingly content to avoid conversation, and Kitty Morton sat beside her to assist with pages. There was space enough that dancing could commence if any were so inclined, though none had ventured yet. Other guests milled about, chatting with each other or examining the card games.
Aubrey noted Mr. Andrews speaking with Lord Trenwick, and wished, most fervently, that Andrews would punch the man across the face. Not that Andrews would have cause, and not that fisticuffs in the Johnstons’ home would be a very great thing, but Andrews seemed an athletic enough man to do the job properly. And his reputation was sound enough that most would think he had his reasons and forget the whole matter.
No one would suspect Andrews of carrying secret affection for Grace or speculate as to his intentions. No one would stir gossip regarding him, or Grace, and no one would see his reputation tarnished for doing anything so rash.
Perhaps if he sent a note to Andrews just now…
Grace laughed then, and he somehow caught the sound over the other conversations, music, and aimless tittle-tattle of the men around him. He glanced over at her, his chest seizing as her eyes crinkled adorably with her still-laughing lips curved perfectly. Her skin glowed with a healthy flush of color that bore witness to her enjoyment and pleasure, and her golden hair danced in the candlelight with every motion, the jewels within the tresses winking here and there as the light caught them.
Blast, it was hard to breathe when she looked like this. Or when he felt like this, which was seeming to become his constant of late. Even thinking of her could render him markedly breathless, and his lungs had not learned how to cope as yet.
A new glass was thrust into his hand, and he drank it without thinking. Still no burn, but his throat no longer scratched with the attempt to breathe.
“No flaws, no faults,” Henshaw murmured. “How does a man survive that?”
The whimsical note in Henshaw’s tone sent Aubrey’s ire through the roof, and he half turned to skewer the man with a combination of vitriolic words and venomous gaze, only to find that the man was not looking at Grace at all.
Curious…
“Well, we should ask,” Cam suggested, clearly missing Henshaw’s meaning. “Ingram?”
Aubrey jerked to look at him. “What?”
Cam raised a dark brow, his smile smug. “What are you going to do?”
The rest all looked at Aubrey expectantly.
What was he going to do?
He turned back to survey Grace for a moment, smirking to himself when she laid down a winning hand for herself and her partner. Had she cheated then, as well, or did she play honestly with her friends?
He wasn’t particularly inclined to give her more opportunities either way. It
was his turn to monopolize her for a while, and he intended to.
“I think, gentlemen, that I am going to play chess,” he announced, handing his glass to one of them as he strode forward.
“Is that a metaphor?” he heard Francis ask, and the question made him smile.
Yes, he supposed it was, though it was also particularly true.
He approached the table before another round of cards could begin. “I wonder, Miss Morledge,” he said to the group, “if I might trouble you to indulge me in a game of chess? I have recently learned that you play the game, and I would dearly love to have a worthy opponent.”
Grace lowered her chin in a show of modesty, but he caught the flash of mischief in her eyes. “I would be happy to play the game, my lord, but I cannot say how worthy an opponent I would be.”
“I’m sure you are too modest,” he insisted, offering a hand.
She placed her hand in his, nodding to the others, and let him lead her to a free table where the game was being set.
Clearly, someone had either listened to him or anticipated the need.
Ah, the blessings of allies in the world.
“What are you doing?” Grace whispered with a smile as he helped her to her seat.
“Playing chess,” he whispered back, his mouth near her ear in a show of adjusting her chair.
She shivered, and he bit back a grin at the sight, moving to his own seat.
“I did not know you played chess, Grace,” her father said, suddenly appearing beside them.
Grace stiffened at the formal tone, and Aubrey pressed his ankle against hers beneath the table to steady her. She immediately returned the pressure. “I’ve only recently learned, Father.”
“What a fine accomplishment!” Miranda crowed at once, flanking Lord Trenwick. “Would that all young ladies in Society engage in such a strategic, intelligent game so well thought of in high circles.”
“I’d thought only bluestockings played such,” Trenwick muttered with a sidelong look at Miranda. “Not fashionable ladies.”
Miranda scoffed loudly. “Not so! Why, I’ve had it from no less than three sources that the wife of the ambassador from Italy plays brilliantly, and I don’t believe anyone would accuse her of being anything less than fashionable. Mr. Andrews, were you not recently in Prague? I am sure the ladies there play.”
My Fair Spinster Page 26
