“Miss Holcomb,” Lord Prescott said, stepping toward her and preventing her escape. “If you will allow—”
“Miss Holcomb?”
She had been saved!Grace instantly turned from Lord Prescott to see who was her benefactor, and felt her heart jump a bit at the sight of the dashing Mr. Adlaine before her. “Mr. Adlaine!” she exclaimed buoyantly.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said with a warm smile as he shifted his gaze to Lord Prescott, “but I fear if I do not request a spot on your dance card now, I shall miss the opportunity.” He glanced at Grace. “May I have the pleasure of the next dance, Miss Holcomb?”
“I would bedelighted, sir,” she said, and glanced at Lord Prescott.
Lord Prescott pressed his lips together and bowed. “Please excuse me,” he muttered, and with another look at Mr. Adlaine, he walked on.
Grace closed her eyes and sighed softly. When she opened them again, Mr. Adlaine was smiling at her, his blue eyes full of amusement.
“You have done me an enormous service, sir,” she said, putting her hand in the palm he presented to her.
“Have I indeed?”
“Yes,”she said as he began to lead her to the dance floor. “You cannot imagine what trials I must endure!”
“I confess I cannot. You must enlighten me.”
“Well,” she said airily as she curtsied and he bowed, “there is first the trial of having to smile and pretend to enjoy the attention of any man in search of a wife.”
“I assure you, Miss Holcomb, I am not in search of a wife,” he said as he slipped his hand around to her back. “Unless, of course, you are suggesting—”
“Oh no, I hardly meantthat, ” she said quickly as he led her into the dance, but instantly realized howthat sounded. “It’s just that I am expected to marry well.”Oh, dear God, she was doing it again!She certainly hadn’t meant to saythat either! What was it about Mr. Adlaine that kept her all at sixes and sevens?
But Mr. Adlaine appeared to take no offense. “As we all are,” he said, smiling down at her with such lovely blue eyes that she felt she could almost swim in them.
Of course they wereall expected to marry as well as possible, but he was not subjected to a father who was determined to see him marriedexceedingly well. “I daresay no one is expected to marry quite as well as me,” she said with a sardonic laugh.
“Yes, of course, for the king of England is already married, and infamously so.”
Now he was laughing at her. “Imean, sir—to put it rather bluntly—that my father has spent quite a lot of money to present me in London. His expectations are higher than most.”
“Ah,” Mr. Adlaine said, his gaze drifting languidly to her bosom. “And does your father expect anything else from you, other than to bring him a prize stag?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Mr. Adlaine smiled. “It all sounds rather mercenary, Miss Holcomb. You make it sound as if you are being sent into the upper echelons of society to bring home the prized stag.”
She hadn’t quite thought of it like that, but it was a rather apt description. At the moment, however, she preferred to think of how lovely it was to dance with him…so strong and graceful, wasn’t he…only he was looking at her as if he expected a response.
“Would you argue that my father should not send me to London?” she asked pertly. “For if he didn’t send me there, he would surely be combing Leeds for a suitable offer, and that, I believe, is the same thing, is it not?”
“Not at all,” he said amicably. “For I don’t think you’d have much hope of cornering a stag in Leeds. Perhaps a sheep—but not a stag.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “But you don’t sound the least inclined to consider the sheep, which, I might add, is rather ironic given your own humble beginnings.”
“Really, Mr. Adlaine, you are willfully misunderstanding me,” Grace said, affronted. “I am merely saying that my father would like me to marry to the best of my ability.”
“Then I suppose the only question is whether or not you believe marrying well means marrying for an improved situation? Or for love?”
He looked at her pointedly, and Grace could feel herself color. “One might aspire to marry for an improved situationand love.”
“Hmm,”he said, and suddenly and effortlessly twirled her to the right. “It is possible, but not probable if the size of a man’s purse is first and foremost in one’s mind.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed. She did not like what he was implying. “You mistake my family’s intentions,” she insisted as he twirled her around again, but he merely chuckled at her displeasure. “Ours is not the consideration of a man’s purse, sir, but his position in society.”
“Aha. So you seek atitled man,” he cheerfully surmised.
Blast it all, he had a way of twisting her words around to make her sound positively awful, and really, dancing with him, feeling his arm around her waist, the firm grip of his big hand around hers, his leg against hers when they twirled about, made her head even foggier. He had a way of making her feel light as a feather in his arms.
“No, ofcourse not,” she said, remembering their conversation. “In fact, I do notseek anyone. Myfather seeks.”
“Andyou are merely burdened by the attention of too many gentlemen. I must set your mind at ease, then, Miss Holcomb. You have my vow that I will not burden you with my attention.”
“Oh,”she exclaimed, frustrated that she could feel her cheeks coloring again. “Mr. Adlaine, you misunderstand me completely! It’s just that I was dancing with Lord Prescott, with whom my father made a point of pairing me, and that…that is really all I meant by it.”
Mr. Adlaine twirled her to the left, then squinted at the crowd on the side of the dance floor. Grace followed his gaze, saw that he was peering at Lord Prescott, who was, regrettably, watching her. “I see your dilemma,” he said, frowning a little. “I wonder if I should save you from him? Perhaps lead you off onto the terrace? Hide you behind a potted plant?” He looked at her thoughtfully, as if he was debating it.
She looked at him hopefully, silently willing him to do precisely that.
“I don’t know if I should,” he said. “Lord Prescott seems to fit the criteria you have laid out.”
“No!” she exclaimed.
“No?” He smiled down at her. “He is a lord and a wealthy one at that. By all accounts he was quite fond of his wife, may she rest in peace—”
“He is tooold, ” she whispered hotly.
“Ah, you require a youthful suitor,” Mr. Adlaine said, nodding. “We must add that to your very long list.”
“Mr. Adlaine!”
He laughed. “Do not fear, Miss Holcomb. You will have both your wishes tonight. I shall rescue you, but I will not, under any circumstance,burden you with my attention.”
Oh, but he was making this difficult! “Splendid!” she said pertly. “You are indeed a gentleman.”
He laughed again. “That is very high praise indeed, from a woman so ardently admired.”
Grace glared at him for good measure, but in the end, he proved to be a gentleman. As the dance drew to a close, he did indeed maneuver them to one of four sets of French doors leading onto the terrace, and put his hand on her arm and led her out.
On the terrace, he gave her a playful nudge toward the stairs that led down into the gardens, which were lit with rush torches. “Your escape, Miss Holcomb,” he said, and bowed low.
“Thankyou,” she said, and hurried down the steps to the rose garden and an arbor she knew very well, her face flaming. Their exchange while dancing was precisely the sort of conversation for which she had no talent.
Grace sat on the wrought-iron bench. She suddenly remembered her feet, which, interestingly, she had quite forgotten while she was dancing with Mr. Adlaine. From her vantage point, she could just make out the bottom steps leading up to the terrace. No one could see her here. She wouldn’t remain here for long—frankly, she was afraid to be away fortoo long, for if she did not pre
sent herself well tonight, her father would resort to measures too drastic to even contemplate.
She’d rest only a moment, just long enough to avoid Lord Prescott and to relieve her poor feet from bondage. She kicked off her slippers and sighed with relief.
In truth, she did not care for such large balls. She’d been to so many in London and never once had she felt as if she truly belonged—she was forever “the shepherd’s daughter,” an oddity, someone who was remembered for her common roots rather than her accomplishments. It was bad enough, apparently, to be a merchant’s daughter…but sheep seemed to be particularly offensive to thehaute ton. At so many events she attended, she felt as if she were on display, much like a roasted pig was displayed on the Christmas dinner table before her father started carving bits of meat off of it.
The sound of footsteps on the stone steps startled her, and she made a move to grab her shoes just as Mr. Adlaine ducked his head and stepped beneath the arbor. He glanced around. “I don’t suspect you’ll find any stags here.”
“Mr. Adlaine!” Grace cried. He was impertinent, coming down here uninvited and making note of her bare feet, as he was doing at that moment. “If you don’t mind, sir—”
“Not in the least. I’d take them off too, were I you, and put them safely away,” he said, nodding at the offending shoes next to her on the bench. “There are enough beads on them to string a rather grand necklace.”
Momentarily distracted, Grace glanced at the shoes—but she had no moment to reply, for Mr. Adlaine suddenly squatted down before her and held out his hand. “Let’s have one, then.”
“What?” she asked, looking at the broad palm of his hand. “My shoe?”
“Not your shoe. Yourfoot. ”
Grace blinked at his outstretched hand. “You cannot mean—”
“I can and I do. I happen to be quite renowned for my ability to massage feet.”
“By whom?” she asked suspiciously.
He cocked a brow. “Give me your foot, Miss Holcomb, and I shall count you among my most ardent admirers.” She looked again at his palm, the callus below his ring finger, the blunt cut of his nails, and felt a delicious sensation rifle through her body.
He followed her gaze and smiled charmingly. “They are clean, I assure you.”
“Of course!” she cried, perhaps a little too violently. “I didn’t mean—”
“We are wasting precious time, Miss Holcomb. I swore I’d pay not the slightest bit of attention to you, but the gentleman in me cannot bear to see you hobbled.”
Grace glanced at the steps behind him and instantly shook her head as visions of her father coming down those steps marched across her mind’s eye.
He gestured impatiently for her foot again. “You will not endure the remainder of the ball if you do not allow me to help you…and besides,” he said, his voice dropping low, “they’ve all gone to supper.”
“Oh.”She was, she realized, alarmingly titillated by the prospect of his hands on her feet.
“Come,” he said, slipping his hand around her ankle. “On my honor I will not compromise your virtue. I mean only to give you relief.”
She couldn’t help but look again at the stairs. She couldn’t hear a blessed thing on the terrace above, as they had indeed all gone to supper. With a tentative smile, she allowed him to lift her heel up onto his thigh, which felt as hard as granite. With both hands, he began to massage her foot.
Grace instantly closed her eyes and sagged against the back of the bench. “Dear God, it’sheavenly, ” she murmured.
He chuckled low. “Remarkable for a laborer’s hands if I do say so myself.” He worked on her foot for a few moments before putting it down and taking up the other one.
Grace opened her eyes. “You’re sinful, Mr. Adlaine. I shall not possibly be able to return to dancing now, much less look you in the eye when we next meet.”
He grinned, his blue eyes piercing hers as he worked her toes. “I have no doubt you will manage to do both quite beautifully, and without the slightest hint of having fallen off your pedestal. If I may, Miss Holcomb,” he continued, before she could voice her dudgeon at that remark, “have you ever considered whatyou might like to accomplish, as opposed to what your parents or society wishes you to accomplish?”
It was an odd and a rather weighty question under the circumstances, for his attention to her feet had turned her to mush. “I…I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
He dropped his gaze to her feet again. “Maybe you should think on it.”
“I am not free to choose,” she said lazily, admiring his long dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. “Regardless of what I may want, I may only have a life that is prescribed for me.”
He glanced up again, eyeing her thoughtfully. “Do you truly believe that?”
Of course she did. But Mr. Adlaine did not understand the pressures society put on a family like hers.
“I believe that if you had a vision of what you truly desired to make you happy, you would find a way to accomplish it.” His hand moved to her ankle, and up, to her calf. “And I think if you did, it would bring you immeasurable joy.”
His massage of her leg was giving her immeasurable joy, but nevertheless, she insisted, “There is joy in my life, Mr. Adlaine.”
“Indeed?” he drawled, looking at her skeptically as he moved his hand to her knee. “It’s not entirely evident. In fact, Miss Holcomb, you seem a little…inflexible.”
He was quite serious. She wanted to argue, but there was something in his gaze that stopped her, and his touch had turned to more of a caress. He gave her a smoldering smile, as if he knew that his touch had heated her blood.
Grace instinctively removed her leg from his grasp. “Thank you. I am much improved.”
She avoided his gaze as she shoved her feet back into her shoes. When she glanced up at him again, he offered his hand to help her stand, his gaze boldly on hers, silently daring her to look away. She could no more look away than she could speak. She put her hand in his and stood. But her feet objected, and she swayed a little. Mr. Adlaine caught her with a steadying hand to her waist and held her there. His eyes were gleaming with an emotion that Grace understood, and she could not seem to move, could scarcely even breathe.
Mr. Adlaine’s hand remained on her waist, and it occurred to her that she seemed to have no defenses against him, not when he was massaging her foot, not when he was touching her, not when he was looking at her with a gaze so deep as this. When he lifted his other hand and caressed her temple, Grace did not move—if anything, she shifted closer, drawn to him, completely mesmerized and titillated by what she thought he intended—what shehoped he intended.
His gaze flicked across her face, down her body, and up to her lips again. “Shall a miller teach you how to enjoy life?” he mused as he leaned toward her, his head dangerously close to hers, his warm breath tickling her cheek and his musky scent wrapping around her. “Or do you enjoy all those entitled men sniffing about your skirts?”
Grace could only watch as his lips descended to hers, could only feel the heat within her erupt into a full conflagration when his lips touched hers. She heard herself sigh faintly, felt herself falling toward him as if in a dream.
His hand snaked around her waist, possessively pulling her closer and pressing her body into his. The fire in Grace was suddenly raging, consuming her body and all rational thought. He cupped her cheek, his fingers splaying across her chin, angling her head, sliding down to her neck and collarbone, his thumb on the cross she always wore around her neck. Her hands gripped his muscular shoulders and she was acutely aware of the heat of his mouth on hers, his tongue probing her lips and caressing them deliciously, the iron-clad feel of his arms around her, and the feeling of lightning that struck through her veins as he kissed her so thoroughly.
She’d never felt anything like it, had never felt her heart beat so rapidly or her skin heat so quickly with only a touch. The realization that she’d never been kissed so seduct
ively jolted her into awareness; her mistake filtered into her brain and she suddenly cried out against Mr. Adlaine’s mouth while at the same time she pushed his shoulders with both hands and stepped back.
He appeared to be not the least bothered by it—he ran a palm over his head and smiled lazily. “Miss Holcomb?”
“I cannot condescend tothis, ” she cried fearfully. “Dear God, what onearth am I doing?”
“Miss Holcomb—”
“I pray you, sir, please, do not speak!” she cried, holding up a hand. “This is…this is wholly and completely insupportable! I have surely lost my foolish mind!”
“Insupportable,” he echoed, placing a hand on his trim waist.
She could not take her eyes from the lips that had turned her to fire. “I beg your pardon, sir, forever having given you even theslightest indication that I…that I—”
“Please do not distress yourself, Miss Holcomb,” he said calmly. “Sometimes, these things just…happen.”
“Things like this do not just happen tome ! Surely you understand that were anyone to see us, were anyone toknow, my chances for a good match would be ruined—utterly and completely ruined!” An image of her father came to mind and she blanched. “Dear God,” she said, and suddenly ran past Mr. Adlaine, forgetting how her feet had pained her, and scurried up the stairs to the terrace, and around to the servants’ entrance, lest anyone see her and Mr. Adlaine appearing from the gardens.
As she hurried through the kitchen, the cook gaped at her wide-eyed. “Miss Holcomb!”
“Do not mention this to anyone, Nettie!” she cried as she hurried by. She raced around to the front of the house, pausing only to collect her wits and make certain she was in order before forcing herself to walk serenely into the dining room. Her father was near the door, of course, and the moment he saw her, he strode forward. “Where have you been?” he hissed.
The School for Heiresses Page 19
