Grace clenched her teeth in the darkness. That would not happen to her, she vowed. She would, at all costs, avoid marriage to anyone until society considered her safely on the shelf, quite beyond hope, and, most important of all, quite beyond interest. Once she reached official spinster status, she would travel, she decided with a deep yawn, finally ready to succumb to slumber. She rolled over, pulled the covers up over her head, and fell into a troubled sleep haunted by dreams of laughing eyes the many shifting colors of the forest.
Chapter Five
By force of habit Grace awakened early, opening her eyes when the first golden sunbeams moved lazily across the polished hardwood floor of her bedchamber. Feeling somewhat groggier than usual, she stretched her arms above her head, flexed her leg muscles, and sat up, inexplicably bothered by a sense of foreboding. She kicked off the covers, stood, and stretched again, then padded softly over to the window. She opened it and looked out pensively at what promised to blossom into a beautiful spring day.
Unable to shake the troubling feelings with which she had awakened, Grace turned away from the window and furrowed her brow in thought. She began to dress for the morning ride she and Mercy had lately made a ritual. As she stepped into the breeches she normally wore instead of a cumbersome habit, the events of the previous evening came flooding back, explaining the niggling warning at the back of her mind. She sat down heavily on the end of her bed and slipped an arm into her shirt.
Mercy would not join her today, she remembered, buttoning up the oversize cast-off garment of her father’s. Worse, if she did not manage to get an early start, she ran the distinct risk of running into Lord Caldwell at breakfast. He, she absolutely knew, would undoubtedly decide to accompany her. Just the thought of the chaotic effect that particular man had on her senses made her hurriedly pull on her old scuffed boots and tie back her burnished hair with a length of wide ivory ribbon snatched from the top of her dressing table.
She left her room and peeked in on Mercy, who slept peacefully, then tiptoed down the dark back stairs to the homey warmth of the kitchen. “Good morning, Mary, dear,” she said cheerfully, giving the plump older lady an affectionate squeeze.
Mary had come to cook for the Ackerly family shortly after the birth of Patience. A crotchety, sour-faced old darling, she constantly scolded, pecked at, and unashamedly ordered about the girls, who all good-naturedly ignored her, quite secure in the knowledge that Mary loved them all with as fierce a devotion as she would have her own children, had she borne any. Straight to the kitchen they had always gone in times of need, happily enduring her muttered admonitions as she taped up skinned knees, dried tears from grubby cheeks, or soothed someone’s wounded pride with hot milk and pudding.
Mary looked sternly at Grace’s attire. She shook her head and clicked her tongue disapprovingly, as she did every morning when Grace and Mercy appeared clad in their tattered but beloved male garments. “Lookin’ a perfect disgrace, you are again, Miss Grace—an’ with quality in the house, sleepin’ above stairs just like we was someone.” She gestured at the ceiling with the wooden spoon that never left her hand. “I been sayin’ for years that nothin’ good would come of you girls runnin’ around in boys’ clothes, and now look at Miss Mercy, all tucked up in her bed with a lump the size of a goose egg over her wee eye. Will she be joinin’ you this mornin’, or is her little head painin’ her too much?”
Grace shook her head. “She was still sleeping when I checked in on her, the poor darling. She’ll likely sleep for hours yet.”
Mary gave Grace a doubtful look. “Yer sisters will be hard put to keep her in the house and off the back of a horse, especially when she finds you’ve gone on without her.” She turned back to the simmering pot of soup on the stove, dipping the wide spoon into the steaming liquid and stirring vigorously in unspoken dismissal. She looked over her shoulder and scowled when Grace did not move. “There’s yer meat pie, missy, right there on the counter for you to take for yer breakfast. Now get on out of here and let me do my work.” She frowned into the large black kettle, darkly muttering something about little girls running wild in boys’ breeches.
Grace grinned good-naturedly at the woman’s back, grabbed her wrapped meat pie, and left. She would take a long, leisurely ride through the countryside. With any luck, their noble visitors would have long since departed by the time she returned.
Two hours later Grace lazed on her back in the dappled shade of a leafy pin oak, trying to think of another original excuse to use for avoiding Sir Harry the next time she was unfortunate enough to come into contact with him. Her horse, Firefly, a beautiful and spirited chestnut mare, stood securely tethered across the glade near an old tree stump Grace would find convenient to use when remounting. She chewed on a long stem of grass with her eyes half-closed, one foot encased in its scuffed boot and crossed over her threadbare knee. An unexpected shadow fell across her face.
Certain the newcomer was Mercy directly disobeying the orders of both the physician and her sisters, Grace sat up and turned around, ready to scold the irrepressible young girl for getting out of bed. With a start of surprise, she saw one of the very people she least wanted to see, calmly settling down and leaning back against her oak tree. Without bothering to hide her annoyance, Grace plopped back down, refusing to acknowledge his presence.
“Good morning, Grace,” he said in a pleasant tone.
Grace said nothing.
“You’re out and about early,” he commented.
Still no response.
Amused by her stubborn silence, Trevor tried one more time. “Have I done something to offend you?”
“No,” came her terse reply.
Trevor fell silent for a moment. He regarded the top of her curly head with a thoughtful look while contemplating his next move. He cleared his throat in the stillness, then frowned when he saw Grace start in surprise at the noise. She was tense, strung as tightly as a bowstring, he thought, and wondered why. “Would you care to know why I’ve come to find you?” he asked. He stretched out on his side behind her, his dark head propped on one hand.
“To say good-bye?” Grace asked hopefully, without looking around.
Trevor chuckled. “No,” he said, close to her ear, his warm breath tickling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. Abruptly she scrambled up and stood over him, her hands firmly planted on her hips, her eyes spitting defiant blue sparks at him.
Trevor remained prone, lying on his side beneath her. He was able, from this angle, to properly appreciate every luscious curve revealed by the breeches that clung provocatively to her hips, thighs, and trim backside. He looked up farther, past the oversize shirt that hid any other attributes she might possess, to her small, set face.
“Perhaps we began badly, Miss Ackerly—”
“All the more reason to end well, my lord,” she interrupted ruthlessly.
“Ah, Grace, but if we end our acquaintance prematurely, there will always be unanswered questions between us.” He looked down and picked up the long blade of grass she had chewed upon, then deliberately caressed the toe of her boot with it.
She snatched her foot away. “I’ve no questions for you, Lord Caldwell. Ask yours so you may leave Pelthamshire with a free mind.”
His eyes traveled back up her body to lock suggestively with hers. With satisfaction, he watched her expression go from defiance to wariness, then to sudden alarm.
Afraid she would take flight, he got to his feet in one fluid motion. He found her enormous blue eyes looking directly into his, silently beseeching, almost begging: ‘Please don’t ask me that!’
I will, his eyes promised in return as he took a step closer, his intentions clearly written on his face.
Instinctively Grace began to retreat, more consciously aware of his nearness than she had ever been with any other person; then she bravely decided to stand her ground. She glared at him, her head held high in proud rebellion. A second later she knew she had made a tactical error.
Trevor re
ached out and grasped her upper arms, hauled her suddenly against the rock-hard length of his body, and brought his mouth down on hers. Despite the abrupt embrace, the lips that found hers were soft, cajoling. The more Grace struggled, the more closely Trevor held her, not wanting to hurt her, only seeking to calm her with his hands and his mouth as she fought more and more feebly to get away. Tenderly he coaxed her tightly compressed lips to part with his tongue, only to encounter the stubborn barrier of her clenched teeth. “Please kiss me, Grace,” he said in a husky voice, willing her to stop resisting him, to give back with equal ardor the passion he so wanted to make her feel. “I’ve been dreaming all night long of kissing you.”
Grace’s head spun. Her senses were engulfed; his hands, his plundering tongue, his incredible, intoxicating scent, a beguiling combination of soap and leather and something indefinable. Everything about him made her want to ignore all her warning instincts, simply to let go and give herself up to the incredible sensations sweeping through her. She stood rigidly resistant in his arms, desperately fighting the overwhelming urge to give in to him. In helpless alarm she felt his hand move inexorably up her rib cage and stop when it came to the swell of her small breast. His thumb lazily caressed the sensitive underside, testing her reaction. Slowly he moved his hand to let her breast fill his cupped palm. Grace held her breath, unable to believe she was not pulling away from him. She gasped in shocked surprise when he slid his other hand deep into the thick curls at the back of her head and deliberately grazed his thumb across her already hardening nipple. The moment she opened her mouth Trevor deepened the kiss, tilting her head back and pushing his tongue past her teeth to the warm, moist softness within.
Liquid heat unfurled in Grace’s stomach and spread, unrestrained, throughout her body, making her head spin and her knees weak. Slowly the rigid tension left her. She willingly opened her mouth to his, pressing herself with an urgency beyond her own understanding against his hard length. Her breast tingled where his thumb had grazed her nipple, and she felt a growing sense of need for something more, something she could not describe. Without realizing she did so, she reached around his neck and put both hands on the back of his head, instinctively pulling his mouth closer to hers, and then tentatively touching the tip of her tongue to his.
Trevor stiffened and groaned deeply at the light caress of her tongue. He felt the iron control over his rampaging desire suddenly break. He had to feel her against him. Expertly he unfastened the top buttons of her shirt with one hand and deftly slid it inside. The slightly rough skin of his fingers encountered the velvet softness of her breast. Trevor caught his breath, then centered her hardening nipple in the palm of his hand, lifting and kneading her tender flesh with ever-growing need. He slid his other hand from the back of her neck down her spine to cup her shapely buttocks and pull her fully against the rigid evidence of his arousal, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth in ageless, primitive suggestion. He had never tasted anything so sweet, and knew that if they did not stop soon he would take her, here and now, out in the open beneath this shady oak tree. With a strength he did not know he possessed, he dragged his mouth from hers, flinching at her unintentional soft whimper of denial, and stared, sightless, over the top of her head, his mind fighting to command his thundering need.
Grace stood quietly in his embrace, her surging heartbeat slowly returning to normal. She felt drained of all sense. As sanity began to return, she realized with humiliated chagrin that she had acted like a common strumpet, pressing herself against him and returning his ardor with virtually no resistance. She closed her eyes and laid her flushed cheek against his soft linen shirt, the sound of his heart racing as wildly as hers comforting her for a moment, then, with a sudden rush of clarity, making her face a horrifying truth.
God help her, she wanted more!
Trevor gently closed his arms around her trembling body, sensing her frightened reaction to the incredible passion they had just shared in one simple kiss. He smoothed her tumbled hair, untangled the ivory ribbon that had somehow come undone, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, humbled by the amazing tenderness she had awakened in him. He tightened his fist around the small scrap of linen he had removed from her hair. In that moment he made a decision he had never before even considered with any other woman.
He would marry Grace Ackerly.
Already a thread of possessive pride coursed through him. He held her imperceptibly closer, a smile of profound wonder stealing across his face at the passionate way she had responded to him. She was a natural temptress, unconsciously seductive and incredibly alluring. He could only hope she would never discover the power she held over him. Almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, he corrected himself. She should know, he thought, so that she could take pride in the way she made him feel, for he knew in his heart that if she ever loved him, she would never use that power against him.
While Trevor pleasantly contemplated their future, Grace grew more and more uncomfortable in his embrace, deeply unsettled by the way he had made her feel. Somehow this handsome stranger had entered her life and upset the carefully balanced existence that had defined her world, and she found that she did not like it—at all. Every instinct she possessed warned her that this man threatened her precious freedom, that she had to get away from him before she no longer could.
Her ear still pressed against his chest, Grace heard his preparatory intake of breath, and realized with horror that he intended to speak. Suddenly afraid of what he might say, she pushed with all her strength against his torso and stumbled back away from him, tripping on an exposed tree root and landing sprawled on her backside in the grass.
Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she looked up at him and saw that he was preparing to speak. Quickly, she blurted, “I won’t marry you, either!”
Trevor closed his mouth in surprise, looking at the defiant beauty below him, her chest heaving with turbulent emotion, causing her mostly exposed breasts to quiver enticingly. With an effort, he looked away from the fetching sight to find her eyes shooting blue sparks at him. He raised an amused eyebrow as she fumbled with her buttons and extended a hand to help her up. “I don’t remember asking you,” he said calmly. He tilted his head and gave her a thoughtful, assessing look. “Have you had a great many requests?”
Sublime humiliation washed acidly through her, causing her ill humor to once again intensify. “No!” she snapped irritably, then closed her treacherous mouth before it could utter any more embarrassing statements.
“Perhaps, then, it’s the customary thing to do around here after sharing a kiss,” he mused, tapping an index finger on his upper lip. He gave her a reproving look. “If that’s the case, my dear, you really should have informed me of the danger I faced before you returned my kiss.”
“Returned your . . . I did no such thing,” she said indignantly, knowing she lied even as the words left her mouth.
Trevor smirked.
Grace’s hands clenched convulsively into tight little fists as she stared, speechless, at the infuriating man in front of her. Finally finding her voice, she took a calming breath and attempted to explain. “I don’t intend ever to marry, you see, and I just wanted to disabuse you of the notion that our . . . our . . .” She gestured impatiently, searching for the proper word as she scrambled to her feet, pointedly ignoring his proffered hand.
“Our kiss?” Trevor supplied helpfully.
“Our mistake,” she amended with emphasis, “that our mistake did not in any way indicate that I welcomed future . . . ah . . .”
“Mistakes,” he reminded her.
“Future incidents from you,” she finished severely, with an impressive glower. She tossed her head and marched resolutely across the wildflower-strewn glade to Firefly. She gathered the reins, stepped purposefully on the stump to mount, landed in the saddle, and spun away.
Trevor stared thoughtfully after her as she rode off. He recalled her almost desperate need to get away the evening before when Harry
had approached. I don’t intend ever to marry, she had said today. Pondering her strange behavior, he swung onto his own borrowed horse and galloped after her. Already he anticipated with pleasure his next mistake with Miss Ackerly.
Chapter Six
Windblown and breathless, quaking inside from the turbulent feelings Trevor had awakened in her, Grace arrived back at the Ackerly stables still trying to bring her raging emotions under control. She skillfully eased Firefly into a canter, then further slowed her to a walk, transferred the reins to one hand and tentatively touching a trembling fingertip to her still-swollen lips. She felt an odd tension begin to build deep in her stomach as she recalled the way Trevor’s lips had moved insistently over hers. Remembering the wanton way she had responded, how she had practically wrapped herself around him and brazenly returned his kiss, Grace groaned and felt her cheeks grow hot with shame. Hastily, she pulled the mare to a stop in front of the paddock and slid down, closing her eyes against the mortifying realization that she had thoroughly enjoyed what they had done.
She leaned forward and rested her forehead for a moment against the warm, comforting chestnut hide of her mount. No question remained in her mind: she simply could not allow such a thing to happen again. The sooner the Earl of Huntwick left Pelthamshire, the better. In the meantime, she thought grimly, she would have to do her level best to remain well away from him.
Hearing a shuffling footstep on the ground behind her, Grace abruptly straightened and shook her wind-tossed hair over her hot face. “I’ll see to Firefly myself, Willie,” she said without looking back at the young groom who had, she knew, automatically reached for the bridle. She wanted to remain alone for as long as possible, shamefully certain that anybody who looked at her would somehow know precisely where she had been—and worse, exactly what she had done. When the young man did not reply, she clicked her tongue and led the mare into the clean, roomy stall, gave her some water, and began rubbing her down with strong, sure motions, deliberately letting the rhythm of her movements push the disturbing encounter with the Earl of Huntwick to the back of her mind.
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