“Would you like to see the note? I brought it out for you.” Faith held the envelope toward Grace, who took it and glanced at her name written in the familiar bold, flowing hand. She tossed her head and gave it back to her sister, unopened and unread.
“You read it,” she said in a deliberately offhand voice. “I don’t know why he even bothered. He must know I will not appreciate them.”
Faith gave Grace an amused look. She pulled the card out of the small blue envelope and smiled at her sister’s unconvincingly blasé attitude. She began reading aloud:“ ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re ill. I shall miss seeing you this evening. Please allow me to call upon you tomorrow morning in the hope that I might find you feeling better. With deepest regard, Huntwick.’ ”
Grace shot up from the bench with a muffled curse. “That insufferable man! ‘With deepest regard’!” She snorted with derision, her momentary guilt forgotten. “Why can he not just leave me alone?”
“Have you asked him to?” Faith inquired.
Grace stopped blustering for a moment and looked blank.
“Have you asked him to leave you alone?” Faith repeated.
“I shouldn’t have to,” Grace muttered obstinately. Faith said nothing, just looked steadily at her sister. Grace stared back for a moment, then gave up because she knew Faith had a perfectly good point. She threw up her hands and stalked back to the house, muttering angrily to herself all the way, looking like a thundercloud as she swept through the hall on her way upstairs.
When she reached her chamber, the first thing she noticed was the tasteful bouquet of pink tea roses and white daisies arranged in a beautiful porcelain vase on her dressing table. Although they were pretty, the sight of them only reminded her that she allowed him to make her feel unsettled enough to behave in ways she normally would not. Her original determination to get rid of the Earl of Huntwick hardened to a steely resolve.
The shadowy figure lounging in the darkened doorway across the street from the Egerton town house surreptitiously tugged the brim of his hat lower to hide his face as the Earl of Huntwick’s coach rolled past. He looked up at the small round window on the second floor. She had appeared there the day before, sticking her head out and calling a happy farewell to her sister, who had set off on an outing with one of her many callers. He had spent hours in this deserted doorway since, hoping for yet another glimpse. He settled back down against the steps to continue his vigil. He would wait as long as necessary.
Chapter Eleven
Trevor scowled as the door to the Egerton town house thudded to a purposeful close behind him again. For three consecutive days now, he had come to pay a morning call on Grace. Each morning she had sent her maid with a prettily worded note thanking him for the flowers and concern, but begging him to excuse her for yet one more day of recovery. A note that Becky had, all three times, fearfully handed to him, while the increasingly impertinent Greaves stood by with an annoying smirk of satisfaction.
This time Trevor quickly recovered his good humor. He grinned at the door despite his third dismissal. Not for one moment did he believe Grace was really ill. Further, he questioned whether she had ever been sick to begin with. Doubtless she had begun to feel like a caged animal by now, he thought. Cheerfully he waved his carriage away and sauntered around the corner to the side of the house.
Upstairs, Grace held her breath as she lay in her bed, the beautifully embroidered satin bedclothes pulled all the way up to her chin. She listened for the heavy thud of male footsteps as she closely watched the door, perfectly certain the infuriating and persistent earl would eventually come upstairs to properly assess the situation for himself. She tensed as the door opened, then relaxed when the round, cheerful face of Becky appeared in the opening.
“He’s gone again, miss,” she said, bustling into the room with her plump arms full of Trevor’s latest floral offering.
Grace wrinkled her nose in aggravation at the exquisite arrangement of roses and daisies, then briskly threw back the covers and hopped out of bed, landing lightly on the polished hardwood floor. She wore a lovely morning gown of peach linen trimmed with ivory lace that perfectly complimented her coloring, set off her burnished hair, and made her pure complexion appear impossibly creamy. She shook out her wrinkled skirts and went to the small, high window that opened out onto the street. She climbed up onto a smoothly polished oak chest and pushed the window open, looking out just in time to see Trevor’s shining carriage pull away and disappear from view.
She turned with a smile and clapped her hands, hopping off the chest and glancing with naked longing toward the warm sunbeams streaming in the larger windows that opened out onto the side gardens. She snatched up her book and a length of ivory lace from the box on her dressing table. Handing the book to Becky, she haphazardly gathered her bright curls into the ribbon, tying it in a smart bow at the nape of her neck. “I am going to go out into the sunshine,” she announced firmly. “I’ve been cooped up in here for three of the longest days of my life, and I’m positively dying for some fresh air.” She dropped a kiss on the pink cheek of her plump abigail, retrieved her book, and swept through the door, her spirits high at the thought of having outwitted the earl once again.
Becky watched her go, then sighed and turned to make the bed for the second time that day.
Grace took a long, deep breath as soon as she stepped outside, tipped her face up to the sunlight, and held her arms wide, glad of the chance to enjoy the beauty of the day after confining herself for so long to her self-imposed prison. She found the utter lack of access to nature the most difficult thing about living in the city. She missed the opportunity to simply mount her horse and gallop for miles through the open countryside. Sitting in the garden during the quiet, cool hours of the morning came closest to satisfying her yearnings for her daily rides in Pelthamshire. Although they could not possibly compare for excitement and exercise, the peace and beauty she found here at least equaled that which she found at any of her favorite quiet spots in the country.
She walked across the garden with a jaunty step, stopping here and there to notice some of the flowers that had opened during the past few days, before finally rounding the hedge she had hidden behind when Trevor had first come to call three days ago. Cheerful at the recollection of how she had outsmarted him that day, she whistled the lighthearted opening bars of a colorful ditty she knew, then came to an abrupt halt. Her whistling trailed off and she narrowed her eyes.
Lounging on the marble bench—her marble bench!—and looking for all the world as though he belonged nowhere else, sat the maddening, smug Earl of Huntwick, his long legs stretched before him, his booted feet crossed at the ankles, a small bouquet of flowers on the seat beside him.
Picking up the bouquet, Trevor stood and walked toward her, his wide, satisfied smile betraying the pleasure he took in outmaneuvering her. Grace took an involuntary step backward as he drew near, then stopped, inwardly cursing herself for once again allowing him to see how he managed to affect her. She raised her chin, hoping he could not hear how loudly her heart was beating.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, my dear,” Trevor drawled, one lofty brow arching in sardonic accusation. He sketched her a mocking bow, then held out the flowers. “These are for you,” he said, looking down at her with a smile. “I hope you like daisies. The glade where we first began to know each other was strewn with them, you know.” His voice deepened imperceptibly. “I think they’ll always remind me of you.”
Grace looked at the flowers with thinly veiled contempt, unable to believe he continued to allude to that particular incident. “Have I not made myself plain?” she asked, irritation evident in her scathing tone. “When have I ever encouraged you to continue this bizarre . . .” She fumbled for the right word, as flustered as always around him.
“Courtship?” he offered.
Her eyes widened as he uttered that word, and she shook her head in vigorous denial. “Is that what this farce has been to you?
A courtship?” She scoffed at him, then added in a taunting voice, “Most suitors would have given up the first time their advances were rebuffed.”
“Ah, but my dear, you haven’t rebuffed my advances.” Grace skeptically raised delicately winged russet brows as he continued in a silken voice, “You have responded to me in ways that vehemently deny your words.”
Grace gasped in shocked surprise at the images conjured up by that statement. “You cannot mean the way you assaulted me that day in the glade?” she choked out.
He looked amused. “Do you really consider what we shared that day an assault?” His amused smirk softened to a fond, gentle smile.
Grace blushed as she recalled the way she’d reacted to him. She pushed past him, her chest heaving with emotions she did not care to identify—part arousal, part fear, intensified by the fact that she could never keep a thought straight in her head around Trevor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, standing stiffly, her back to him, her hands clenched into small, tense fists at her sides.
Trevor walked up behind her and placed gentle hands on her slender, trembling shoulders. When he spoke, his low, husky voice fell softly very near her ear. “I’m speaking of how well we fit together, Grace, from the very first time we danced, and of how aware we are of each other whenever we’re together. I’m talking about the wonder I feel each time I touch you, and how the mere scent of your hair makes me insane with wanting you.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly turned her to face him. His eyes searched the luminous sapphire depths of hers to see if he had somehow gotten through to her, but her gaze reflected only taut wariness and frightened distrust. That glimmer of fright made him continue speaking, for he instinctively knew it was not a fear of him that put that emotion there, but a fear of herself, or perhaps of how he made her feel. “Don’t you see, Grace?” he asked softly, his voice taking on an earnest huskiness that caught at her heart. “I’m talking about perfection. You and I, we’re perfect for each other, my dear.”
Grace turned her head away, pulling her eyes from his compelling green gaze with more effort than she cared to admit. “I have no wish to be perfect for anyone, least of all you.” Her harsh words lacked conviction, though, for his words and his voice were full of promise, and she very nearly ached to believe him.
Trevor put two fingers under her chin and brought her mutinous blue eyes back to his. “Give me a chance to show you how wonderful perfect can be, won’t you, Grace?” he asked gently, as cajoling as a little boy on Christmas Eve.
She closed her eyes.
“At least let me show you we belong together.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest again, but this time Trevor swiftly brought his lips to hers, effectively silencing whatever comment she might have made. Her own lips parted in a gasp of dismay, and Trevor took immediate advantage, parting his own and using them to mold and shape her mouth to his.
Grace thought her heart would explode as a lightning bolt of pure desire shot through her entire body. She felt her knees weaken and grasped Trevor’s arms in a desperate attempt to keep her balance, even as his tongue began flicking gently at her lips, fanning the longing ache that had begun with his whispered talk of perfection. Heat blossomed low in her stomach. She slowly slid her hands upward to the nape of his neck, where her fingers entwined, despite herself, in the short, dark curls that lay there. Almost unconsciously, she touched her tongue to his. When she did, the kiss went wild.
Trevor felt unbridled lust ignite within his loins the moment she yielded her mouth to him. He tugged her closer, one arm encircling her waist while the other hand plunged deep into her fiery curls, tangling on the ribbon that held them captive. He pulled the ribbon out as he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth; it was met by hers, shyly imitating his actions in a way that drove him out of his mind with need. The last threads of his self-control deserted him, but he did not care. All that mattered was this incredible woman trembling in his arms.
Unable to think, only to feel, Grace eagerly pressed herself closer to the hard length of Trevor’s body, her hands moving restlessly up and down the tightly bunched muscles of his back. “Please,” she whispered when his lips moved across her cheek to a sensitive spot just behind her ear. “Tell me what you want me to do,” she murmured into his neck.
“Just touch me.” He groaned and slid his hand down to cup her bottom as if to show her how.
Grace pushed his jacket open, slipping her arms inside and around his waist to copy his actions. “Like this?” she asked, not really needing an answer.
An unstoppable yearning to touch her more freely rocked through Trevor. Swiftly he bent and scooped her into his arms, then settled her gently on the soft grass beside the bench. He knelt next to her. She leaned up on an elbow to meet his descending lips, reached one hand around his neck, and pulled him down beside her. Quickly he loosened his cravat and undid the studs of his shirt, then came down atop her, sweetly crushing her with his body. Grace let him push her back down into the grass, the fingers of one hand reaching up and trailing across his cheek to where their lips met. He turned his head and caught her smallest finger lightly between his teeth, then deliberately sucked it further into the wet warmth of his mouth. Grace gasped and threw her head back as sensation shot up her arm from that finger, then traveled with lightning speed to that secret place at the juncture of her thighs. She shifted her legs fitfully and dug her fingernails into the tight sinews of his muscled chest, feeling his flesh convulse in response to her touch, secretly delighting in her ability to evoke such a reaction.
Unable to believe the innocent ardor Grace so unabashedly shared, Trevor ran his tongue down the vulnerable column of her throat to the tops of her breasts, where they strained against the scooped neckline of her dress. Impatiently, he tugged one side of her bodice down. The ripe, enticing mound was suddenly exposed to his hungry gaze, her small, rosy nipple jutting proudly up into the midmorning air. Reverently he cupped her soft fullness in his hand, and then bent his head to suckle the offered tidbit.
Grace gasped and clutched convulsively at his head, twining her fingers in his hair, not wanting him to ever stop. “Please,” she moaned as she felt his teeth lightly nip at the sensitive morsel. “Please tell me there’s more.”
Trevor froze at the provocative innocence of her whispered words, suddenly remembering where they were. With heroic effort, he rolled onto his back and pushed her away from him. He heard her gasp in shocked surprise, and quickly pulled her protectively back into his arms. He held her tenderly cradled against his chest, one hand unconsciously smoothing her tumbled red-gold tresses as he felt his thundering heart beat with insistent need. With a level of control he did not know he possessed, he forced himself to lie still for a few moments, allowing his heartbeat and his breathing to return to normal.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded deep and reassuring to Grace as she lay with one ear pressed to his chest. “If you’ll just give me a month . . . ,” he began, his voice still hoarse with passion.
“A week,” she interrupted in a quavering voice.
Heady triumph soared through Trevor as he realized she would finally give in. “A month,” he insisted, smiling up at the clouds scudding by in the clear sky.
Grace adjusted her bodice and pushed herself away from his chest, self-consciously sitting up and smoothing her hair. She raked her fingers through the tangled strands in a vain search for her ribbon. “Well, two weeks, then,” she averred, then immediately felt peevish when he swiftly nodded, making her sure that he had hoped for a fortnight to begin with. “I have some conditions,” she stated, holding up a warning hand before he could speak.
Trevor closed his mouth and looked at her in inquiry.
“First of all, there will be no more kisses,” she emphatically declared. “I mean it,” she added sternly when he looked as though he would protest. She blushed a bit. “I can’t think when you kiss
me.”
Her inadvertent admission so pleased him that he agreeably nodded his assent to her first condition.
“Second, if you cannot prove to me that we belong together within the space of two weeks, you must promise to leave me alone.”
“Completely?” he teased.
Grace refused to rise to the bait. “I want your promise,” she said firmly, looking around on the ground for the scrap of fabric that had held back her curls.
Trevor thought guiltily of the betrothal contract in his desk at Upper Brook Street. He carefully worded his answer. “I promise you things will be just as they were the day I arrived in London.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Before you came to Almack’s?”
Trevor laughed at her skepticism, then reached out and fondly ruffled her hair. “Before I came to Almack’s,” he agreed, then quirked an eyebrow and handed her the missing hair ribbon.
She blushed again.
“Shall we begin this evening, when I arrive to escort you to the Tildens’ ball?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood, helped her up, then walked over to the garden wall. He easily scaled the structure, then dropped down and disappeared on the other side.
Grace took pity on her trembling legs and sank down on the bench, her book lying forgotten on the ground. She stared for a moment at the area of crushed grass where she had lain with Trevor, then dropped her hot face into her hands. What had she allowed him to do to her? Worse still, what had she agreed to? The thought of how she had again responded to his every caress horrified her nearly as much as the fact that she had not wanted him to stop.
Resolutely, she pushed the images that flooded her senses to the back of her mind. Every time she found herself alone with Trevor, she somehow ended up in his arms. Well, no more, she told herself firmly. She picked up the bouquet of slightly crushed flowers and smiled ruefully as she remembered what he had said about the daisies. Funny, but she had always adored daisies. She wondered if he had somehow guessed that. After a moment’s reflection, she was sure he had. He instinctively seemed to know things about her that she usually would not admit even to herself, not the least of which was this: never, in her entire life, had she allowed herself to back down from a challenge.
Grace Page 11
