Seduced By His Touch

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Yet it wasn’t the admiring crowd he was surveying. Instead, his gaze was focused on her, his vivid blue eyes locked upon her as though she were the only woman in the room worth noticing.

  Her lips parted on a soundless inhalation, and she was unable to look away as he sauntered toward her with a sinuous, tigerlike stride.

  Grace.

  Her name whispered through Jack’s mind like the silken stroke of a hand.

  He’d never seen her look as pretty as she did tonight, the vibrant bronze hue of her gown lending her skin a creamy luminosity, her hair gleaming a rich, fiery red that reminded him of living flame.

  And passion.

  He wondered if that same intense fire lay hidden inside her, and he relished the idea of finding out. This evening, however, he would have to restrain himself, exactly as he’d been doing these many long days.

  What an excellent stroke of luck to have happened upon Grace at the perfume shop. He’d been waiting for the right moment to meet her again, when there she’d been, visible through the store window. In need of a small gift for his sisters, he’d known the task would give him the perfect excuse to further their acquaintance. And when her aunt had issued her invitation for tonight, he’d nearly kissed her, delighted to gain such easy entree into Grace’s inner circle.

  Now, here the both of them stood with barely half a room between them. He was starting toward her, when his hostess stepped into his path.

  “Oh, your lordship, you have arrived,” Grace’s aunt gushed, her aging features alive with pleasure. “Welcome to my home. I am honoured.”

  “The honour is mine, ma’am,” he said, turning his attention to Mrs Grant.

  “So gallant, just as I have been telling everyone.”

  He gave an indulgent smile. “And what else have you been telling them?”

  “Why, everything, of course,” she confided with a laugh before taking hold of his arm. “Come, you must let me introduce you.”

  Having no other recourse, he allowed himself to be drawn forward.

  Nearly an hour passed before the niceties were satisfied and he had an opportunity to seek out Grace. To his consternation, he discovered her already at play—one of four partnered for whist. He supposed he could have joined another game, but it wasn’t the game that interested him. Rather, it was one particular player.

  Smiling inwardly, he strolled her way.

  Grace sensed, rather than saw, Lord Jack appear at her elbow, his presence disrupting her decision about whether to lay down a diamond or a spade. Her partner groaned when she played the wrong card, allowing the other couple to win the trick.

  “I believe a diamond would have been the better choice,” Lord Jack murmured in a voice meant for her ears alone.

  She tossed him a fulminating glance. “Thank you for that sage bit of wisdom, my lord,” she retorted in an equally quiet tone.

  Rather than take umbrage, he laughed.

  Drawing up a chair, he sat down, positioning himself just slightly behind and to her right. “I trust no one objects if I stay to watch the game,” he asked the group.

  The others—two older women and a slender, rather mousy-looking man—readily gave their ascent. Grace said nothing and the game quickly resumed. As a result of her prior distraction over Lord Jack’s arrival and her resulting misplay, she and her partner lost nearly every hand as they finished out the round. Finally, the slaughter was over and the cards gathered for a fresh shuffle.

  “My apologies for not greeting you properly before,” Lord Jack told her, while the others shared their own conversational asides. “Your aunt kept me rather busy.”

  “My aunt is good at such things,” she replied in a low voice. “And we spoke. I distinctly recall saying hello as you made your rounds.”

  And they had, exchanging how-do-you-do’s and a few innocuous remarks about the weather before Aunt Jane dragged him on to the next group of guests eager to make his acquaintance.

  “But we had no time for more personal conversation.”

  “Nor do we now,” she retorted, taking up her cards, “since the play is ready to resume.”

  Grinning, he leaned back in his chair.

  Despite his casual stance, however, she felt as though she were seated next to a great jungle cat. He might appear relaxed, his eyelids lowered in an inattentive, almost sleepy way, but she sensed the exact opposite was true. Underneath his seemingly bored façade, he was alert, watchful and ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

  Arranging the cards in her hand by suit and number, she did her best to keep them hidden. However, his superior height and the angle at which he sat gave him easy means to peek.

  Well, no matter, she thought. It’s not as though he’s playing.

  But as the round got underway, she realized that Lord Jack was playing, shifting subtly in his chair or rubbing the edge of his nose each time she was about to make a wrong move. She tried holding her cards closer to her chest, but it did no good. He knew each correct play before it was made, leaving her to wonder if he possessed some sort of extrasensory sight that allowed him to see through everyone’s cards. As a result of his silent assistance, she and her partner won the round, as well as the small pile of winnings that came with it.

  Soon, the others stood to stretch their legs and get a refreshment. Grace remained seated, however, waiting until she and Lord Jack were alone before she turned to him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said on a hiss.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his expression all innocence.

  “You know exactly what I mean. You were helping me, feeding me little signals throughout the game. I’m surprised none of the others said anything, particularly after you rubbed your nose for the fifth time.”

  He flashed a white-toothed grin. “None of the others had any idea what I was doing. As for my signals, you looked like you could use the help.”

  “I would have done just fine on my own.”

  He raised a clearly sceptical brow.

  “I feel like a cheat,” she bemoaned.

  He sent her a sternly mocking look. “Of the most vile sort, to be sure. You ought to be banned from card play forever for ‘stealing’ all eight pence in that pot.”

  “The amount is not the point.”

  “No, and neither were our actions a crime. At worst, we played as a team. I mean it’s not as if I could see their cards.”

  Despite the uncanny accuracy of his hints, he was right about that. From his vantage point, she knew he couldn’t have seen anyone’s cards but her own.

  She studied him for a thoughtful moment. “How did you know which cards to play?”

  He shrugged and stretched his legs out before him. “It’s simply a matter of watching what is being played and taking care not to forget. Once a few opening cards are established, the rest becomes easy.”

  She paused, digesting the information. “Remind me never to play cards against you.”

  He chuckled. “I shall look forward to the occasion and the opportunity to change your mind. Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe your aunt is about to announce supper. Pray agree to dine with me.”

  “I am not sure I can, since the place cards may require otherwise.”

  “Then we shall simply have to switch them so they’re arranged to our liking,” he said, adding a naughty wink that sent tingles whirling through her system like maddened fireflies.

  He stood and offered his arm.

  “You wouldn’t really switch them, would you?” she asked as she gained her feet.

  “What do you think?”

  She studied him, his azure eyes unreadable. “I think,” she said, “that you are the wickedest man I’ve ever met.”

  He choked out a laugh, then leaned over so that his lips were a mere inch from her ear. “You had best take care to avoid me, then, else I cease being a gentleman and decide to lead you astray.”

  Which was precisely what made him so dangerous—because unlike other men, she just might let him
tempt her if ever he should ask. But he was only teasing, she was sure.

  With that dismal reassurance in mind, she laid her palm atop his sleeve and let him lead her in to supper.

  As she’d suspected, her aunt had arranged the table so that specific guests were—and were not—seated next to each other. To her surprise, however, she found herself placed next to Lord Jack.

  “Once more, I find myself indebted to your aunt,” he said as he read the names inked on the cards.

  To her left sat an elderly man, who needed a brass ear trumpet to hear. After an exchange of greetings that had to be repeated more than once, he nodded and smiled, then applied himself to his soup, apparently content to eat in silence.

  With the woman to Lord Jack’s right happily conversing with the man on her other side, Grace found herself the sole focus of his attention. She expected him to continue his earlier flirtatious teasing. However, what he said next surprised her.

  “So, Miss Danvers,” he began as he dipped a spoon into his bowl of mushroom bisque. “What is your opinion of Descartes?”

  Her own spoon wavered over her bowl. “Excuse me?”

  “Descartes. You know, ‘I think, therefore, I am.’ Surely you are familiar with his writings.”

  Descartes? He wants to talk about Descartes? A frown settled over her brows. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because we both know you like to read, and since you are familiar with Swift and Johnson, it follows you might have an interest in other men of thought, even a few French ones.”

  “But Swift and Johnson were essayists, not philosophers.”

  “So you do know Descartes.” He smiled and ate a mouthful of soup.

  “My father says I should not. Our society believes a woman ought to plead ignorance about any matter more mentally taxing than stitchery, housekeeping and childrearing. Politics and philosophy should be left to men.”

  “But you do not agree?” he prompted in a measured tone.

  “Apparently not, since you are correct that I have read Descartes. I told Papa that he, Voltaire and Rousseau were part of my French language lessons when I was in school.”

  Lord Jack laughed.

  They each ate a spoonful of soup before continuing.

  “Voltaire and Rousseau, hmm?” he mused. “Do not tell me you believe in the rights of the common man, the will of the people, and other such radical notions?”

  She paused, gauging him. “I’m not in favour of abolishing the monarchy, if that is what you are alluding to. But neither do I think it wrong to allow ordinary people more of a say in their existence. The right to vote, for instance.”

  “Ah, so you would give the vote to everyone regardless of education or income, then. Even women, I suppose?”

  She fell silent, struggling to decide whether or not to answer him. “Yes. Even women.”

  He ate another spoonful of soup, then patted his mouth with his napkin. Leaning near, he lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I agree.”

  “You do?” Astonished warmth spread through her.

  He nodded. “Shameful, is it not? A duke’s son who wants to give the commoners their say. As for women, well, they have more intelligence than men like to admit. That’s why so many of my sex want to keep their females ignorant and pregnant. Just imagine the competition if we gave them equal footing.”

  She smiled, marvelling at his sentiments. “Yes, just think.”

  Their conversation continued on throughout the meal, roving from one subject to the next—some topics serious, some fanciful, even funny. By the time dessert was served, Grace realized she had no real idea what she had eaten, having been too enraptured by Jack Byron to pay attention to anything else.

  Never one to stand on ceremony, Aunt Jane didn’t ask the women to withdraw in order to allow the men to enjoy their port and cigars in solitary splendour. Instead, everyone rose from the dining table to make their way back to the card room together. To Grace’s secret delight, Lord Jack took her arm, neither of them in a hurry as they strolled toward the parlour.

  Rather than join one of the games, however, the two of them settled onto a padded window seat. While she sipped tea and he nursed a brandy, they continued their discussion, delving for a time into the subjects of art, music and favourite plays and playwrights.

  Then, without quite realizing where the time had gone, the evening was over.

  “Until next we meet, Miss Danvers,” he said in his rumbling baritone as he bowed over her hand. “I had a most enjoyable evening.”

  “As did I, your lordship.”

  And she had, she realized. So enjoyable she couldn’t remember a pleasanter time. She’d relaxed and been at ease in his company in a way she rarely was with anyone—man or woman.

  Curtseying, she bid him adieu, then stood watching from the doorway as he climbed into his carriage and drove away.

  Once the last guest had gone and the door was closed and locked for the night, she and her aunt turned toward the stairs.

  “A fine time, was it not?” Aunt Jane said with a sleepy smile.

  “Yes. Very fine,” Grace agreed.

  “I should imagine so, considering the way a certain handsome lord could not be torn from your side. You’ve made a conquest there, my girl.”

  She stopped. “Conquest? Oh no, you mistake the matter.”

  Her aunt gave a disbelieving snort. “I mistake nothing. Men have a look about them when they’re pursuing a particular woman, and when it comes to you, Lord Jack has that look written all over him. He’s certainly a bold one, singling you out the way he did, then keeping you all to himself for the whole of the evening.”

  “It wasn’t the whole of the evening,” Grace defended. “And he did not single me out. We were merely talking and the time got away.”

  “Talking, hmm?” Aunt Jane patted her shoulder as they reached the upstairs landing. “Call it what you like, but that man wants you.”

  Wants me? No, she thought, he doesn’t want me, at least not in the way Aunt Jane thinks. He’d come tonight out of gentlemanly politeness, then spent time with her because she was the youngest woman in the room. His attentions were nothing special, nothing she should take seriously. Likely he was bored and she amused him for some unfathomable reason. Once his personal business here in Bath was concluded, he would leave, forgetting he had ever known a young woman named Grace Danvers.

  “We are merely friendly acquaintances, who share a few interests in common,” she stated. “He has no deeper regard for me, I assure you.”

  “Time will tell,” her aunt said, a smug expression in her eyes. “For now, I am off to bed. Good-night, dear, and sweet dreams. If Lord Jack is in yours, I know you’ll sleep well.” With a little laugh, she walked down the hallway to her room.

  A moment later, Grace went to her own bedchamber, certain that on that last score her aunt was right.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Over the next two weeks, Lord Jack Byron gave Grace’s aunt plenty of ammunition to bolster her argument that he was courting Grace.

  Everywhere she and her aunt went, there was Lord Jack.

  He happened upon them while they were taking the air strolling along The Circus, and another time while they were shopping on Bond Street.

  They crossed paths on the Royal Crescent, where Lord Jack had taken a lease on one of the area’s luxurious town houses.

  Grace encountered him at public assemblies and at one or two private parties, as well.

  She even met him at the Pump Room, agreeing to walk along the room’s perimeter to share the latest news from London and abroad, while her aunt sat with friends and took the waters.

  Yet despite Aunt Jane’s certainty that she was being pursued, Grace saw nothing particularly lover-like in his attentions to her. He flirted, yes, but she discounted that as a case of Jack Byron simply being Jack Byron. As for his seeking her out when they were in company, well, they talked easily and had developed a rapport of
sorts—one that led them both to gravitate toward each other for a measure of easy talk and undemanding companionship.

  She was certain he viewed her only as a friend. For in spite of his roguish promises, he never made any effort to lead her down temptation’s path. Nor did he try to hold her hand or draw her away for a private stroll or a stolen kiss.

  Not that I want him to, she assured herself. She was content with his friendship. Quite content. She needed and expected nothing more. Still, the platonic nature of his attentions proved that Aunt Jane was mistaken about his interest in her. Clearly, he saw her as a sister, which meant she had no reason to guard her emotions against him.

  The third week in September dawned warm and sunny, the sky a clear, pristine blue after two nights of heavy rain. Deciding the weather was just right for an excursion to Sydney Gardens to do some drawing, Grace collected her paper and pencils and prepared to set off with her maid in tow. Aunt Jane told Grace to have a good time, informing her that she planned to spend the day with several friends—scouring the shops for bargains—before adjourning to Mollands for tea and sweets.

  After a pleasant walk to the gardens, Grace located a bench near some likely blossoms and took a seat. Reading the wistful expression on her maid’s face, she let the girl go off to visit a footman who worked at the nearby hotel, making her promise not to be away too long.

  Content, Grace settled into her drawing, losing herself as she began sketching a colourful patch of late-blooming hollyhocks. She was only vaguely aware of the crunch of footfalls approaching on the shell path.

  “You look a picture, perched there on that bench,” remarked a deep, familiar voice. “Every bit as lovely as one of the flowers.”

  Glancing up, she met Jack Byron’s rich blue gaze. “My lord,” she said, sending him a warm smile. Her pencil fell still while she studied him, his handsome features never failing to steal a bit of her breath. Impeccable as ever, he wore a tobacco brown coat and fawn pantaloons, the gold watch fob on his waistcoat winking in the sunlight.