Finally, that particular misery ended and she was on to the next.
With her hand on Jack’s arm, he escorted her into the formal dining room, where an elaborate wedding breakfast had been arranged. Taking a seat in the place of honour designated for her and Jack, she let him prepare her a plate heaped with an array of mouth-watering delicacies.
She might have been able to find some contentment in the delicious food. Unfortunately, she had no appetite. Unable to do more than pick at the meal, she slid little bits around here and there, so no one would suspect she was barely touching her food.
Jack noticed, however, his mouth disapproving as he glanced over at her plate. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He shared a smile with one of his cousins, who raised his glass in a silent cheer. Then he bent his head toward her. “I find that hard to believe. Particularly since I understand you didn’t take so much as a cup of tea this morning before the ceremony.”
“I wasn’t hungry then either.”
“Have a few bites anyway. You’re pale enough already. We don’t need you fainting as well.”
She sent him an insincere smile. “Not to worry, my lord. I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”
“This has nothing to do with embarrassing me. I don’t want you ill.”
“I’m quite well,” she lied.
He ate a forkful of kipper. She couldn’t help but grimace as he chewed the delicate fish. Washing it down with a draught of wine, he patted his mouth dry on his napkin. “You aren’t with child, are you?” he asked in an offhand tone, low enough that no one else could hear.
“No!” she shot back, her startled gaze flashing to his. “Most certainly not.”
How dare he ask me something like that, here in front of all our friends and family!
He studied her with probing azure eyes. “You’re sure? It’s only been a few days since—”
“Quite sure.” Blood pumped swiftly in her veins. Smiling sweetly for anyone who might be watching, she reached for her own glass of wine, then drank, hoping the spirits would ease some of her irritation. Steadier, she set down the glass.
“At least that put some colour in your cheeks,” Jack remarked. “I think you could use a little more, though.”
Without giving her time to consider what he meant, Jack leaned across and kissed her, taking her lips with a familiar, sultry demand that sent sparks of pleasure whizzing through her system.
At first, she sat motionless, too stunned to react. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of his skin, her eyelids fluttered downward, and for a few brief moments, she kissed him back. But suddenly memories of the divide between them came rushing back. Eyes popping wide, she broke their kiss.
Reaching up, he smoothed the edge of his finger over one burning cheek. “That’s better,” he murmured softly. “Healthy and pink. Now, why don’t you eat a few bites of your meal and prove to me that you don’t have morning sickness after all?”
Only the knowledge that everyone in the room must be sending them looks kept her from giving him a good hard box to his ears.
Apparently aware of the violent direction of her thoughts, he arched a warning eyebrow. Forced to restrain herself, she curved her fingers into a fist on the arm of her chair.
Leaning back in his seat, he lifted his wineglass again and drank. Some of the male guests tossed out a few ribald comments. Nodding, Jack sent them a good-natured grin.
Her throat tight, she stared at her plate, wishing she could toss her napkin onto the table and storm out of the room. But that option was denied her today. Only a few hours more, she reminded herself, and she would be able to stop this playacting. Until then, there was no choice but to keep pretending she was a blissfully happy new bride. Tipping her head at an intimate angle, she leaned toward him. “You are detestable,” she whispered.
“Eat your breakfast, Grace.”
“Or what?”
He gave her a long look that dared her to find out.
Lowering her lashes to conceal a glare, she stabbed a small piece of ham, put it in her mouth and chewed.
“Have another,” he suggested, when she was done.
Her fingers clenched against her fork, but at length, she obeyed.
“The almond biscuit with the cream on top is quite good,” he remarked in a gentle tone. “I’d try it next, if I were you.”
She was about to refuse when her stomach gave a very distinct, yet luckily inaudible, growl. To her consternation, she realized she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.
Nonetheless, the idea of giving in to his tyranny went against every instinct inside her. Better to go hungry, she thought, than to give him even an iota’s worth of satisfaction.
And yet, by refusing to eat, whom was she really hurting?
A full minute passed while a battle raged inside her. Staring down at the suddenly appetizing fare on her plate, she abruptly decided that hunger trumped pride. Let him gloat if he wished. What did it matter?
Still, she started with a tiny orange cake instead of the almond, the pastry melting like ambrosia against her tongue.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.
“I hate you, you know,” she whispered.
His smile faded. “Enjoy your meal. It’s going to be a long day yet before we can depart.”
Knowing he was right, she dug into her food.
Hours later, cheers and congratulations rang out from the crowd of well-wishers gathered to see Jack and Grace off on their journey.
After assisting his new wife into the coach, he climbed in and took a seat next to her. A footman put up the coach steps and closed the door. Less than a minute later, they were on their way, both he and Grace leaning forward to call out a last good-bye. Through the window, he watched his mother wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before she waved her handkerchief, her face wreathed in smiles.
The house disappeared swiftly from view. The instant it was out of sight, Grace stood and moved to the seat opposite. Settling herself as far away from him as possible, she turned her head and gazed out the window.
He sighed.
This is going to be a delightful honeymoon. One month of newly wedded hell.
Deciding there was no point trying to coax her out of her sulks for now, he gazed out his own window. Good thing he’d packed a few books. Based on present circumstances, he would be enjoying lots of quiet time alone.
He knew she had a right to be angry, and he would give her some latitude in venting her disappointment and distress. But angry or not, they were married now, and they would have to find a way to deal with each other.
In the meantime, perhaps he should catch up on his sleep. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes.
How dare he sleep, Grace thought ten minutes later. Shooting him a fulminating glare, she considered scooting close enough to kick him, but decided the act was unworthy.
Everything about this situation is unworthy. Of both him and me.
She knew her anger was doing neither of them any good, but she couldn’t let it go. Not now. Not yet. Because deep inside she knew that if she stopped hating him for what he’d done, there would be nothing left between them at all.
Wiping away a tear, she gazed out the window at the passing landscape, the late-afternoon sun winking off the snow-covered fields like hidden diamonds. She stared at them until her eyes hurt. Squeezing her eyelids tight, she tucked her face against the luxurious upholstery and wished for oblivion.
A few minutes later, the rhythmic movement of the coach did its work and sent her to sleep.
Burying her face against his shoulder, she snuggled closer. Warm and relaxed, she was content in a way she hadn’t been in days.
“Jack,” she sighed, still caught inside her dreams.
“Hmm hmm,” he murmured in the low, rich tone she loved. “Keep sleeping. I’ll carry you inside.”
How nice. But why was Jack carrying her? Scowling, she ca
me partially awake.
What had he said about going inside? Inside where?
Just as his arms began to slide beneath her knees, she roused, jerking against him. “What are you doing? Where are we?”
“We’re at the cottage. I’m helping you out of the coach.”
Remembering everything, she smacked at his hands. “I don’t need your help. Let me go.”
He sighed. “Grace. Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?” Awake now, as if he’d dumped a bucket of snow over her head, she stiffened and struggled against him. “I told you not to touch me. What part of that do you not understand?”
His gaze met hers for a long moment, his jaw rigid. Abruptly, he set her back down on the seat and climbed out of the coach.
She took a minute to collect herself before following, allowing the footman to help her down, since Jack was no longer in sight. Standing cold and stiff with residual sleepiness, she gazed at the night-shrouded cottage. Even in the darkness, she was able to make out its quaint shape and size. Ordinarily, she would have found it charming. Tonight, it only made her sad. Sighing, she walked inside.
The house was warm, courtesy of the cozy fire burning in a large stone fireplace in the main room. On the opposite side of the central hallway stood a small study, with a dining room and kitchen taking up the rear.
It was from the kitchen that the housekeeper emerged. After greeting Grace with a voluble smile, she led the way upstairs, her ample hips swaying beneath the plain brown cloth of her skirts.
“Here ye are,” she declared, as she showed her into one of the two large rooms upstairs. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. There’s hot water and towels on the stand, and your supper will be on the table as soon as ye and his lordship are ready.”
“Actually,” Grace said, stopping the woman as she turned to leave. “I’m rather tired after the journey. Would it be possible to have a tray sent up?”
The housekeeper stared for a moment but recovered quickly. “Of course, milady. Whatever ye wish.”
Milady.
For a moment Grace didn’t realize that the housekeeper was referring to her. But then the remembrance sank in that she was married now, with a new name and a title that would likely feel strange for some time to come. Except she didn’t feel married. Instead, she felt lost and very much alone—bound to a man who didn’t love her and never would.
After asking the housekeeper to send up her maid, she went to the washstand and poured water into the pretty china basin so she could rinse her face and hands.
The rest of the evening passed slowly, her nerves stretched thin, while she waited to see if Jack would appear and demand she join him downstairs. But he didn’t. Not as she ate dinner alone in her room, nor later when she drew the pins from her hair and chatted about inconsequential matters with her maid as she prepared for bed.
Actually, if not for the occasional sound of his deep voice carrying through the house as he spoke to one of the servants, she wouldn’t have even known he was there.
Dressed now in one of the utilitarian, white wool nightgowns she’d insisted on having packed, she carried a lighted candle to her end table, set it down, and climbed beneath the sheets. Tucking the covers under her chin, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.
He won’t be in, she told herself. He has what he wants now—and it isn’t me. Not that she had any desire for him to join her in bed, since she didn’t. Not now. Not knowing the truth as she did.
Even so, a wistful sigh slid past her lips, a tear rolling over her cheek before plopping onto the cool linen pillowcase beneath. Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, she forced aside her maudlin thoughts and set herself to the task of falling asleep.
She was dreaming many minutes later when the bed sank on the empty side, the mattress bouncing slightly as someone sat down.
Her dream stopped abruptly, her eyes popping wide. “Jack?”
He peered at her through the dim light. “Expecting someone else?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.
Grabbing the covers, she pulled them to her chin. “I wasn’t expecting you! What are you doing here?”
One dark brow arched toward the ceiling. “I should think that must be obvious. I’m going to bed.”
Keeping hold of the sheets, she scooted upright and faced him in a defensive pose. “Oh no, you’re not. You’re not sleeping here.”
Unfastening the buttons at the wrists of his shirt, he drew the garment over his head and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Who said anything about sleeping?”
Air puffed out of her lungs. “You’re not doing that either!”
She assumed he would argue. Instead, he heaved a sigh, then stood to toe off his shoes and remove his trousers. Bare-chested and clad in nothing but his drawers, he turned. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you, so you can stop worrying over your virtue. I’m just going to sleep.”
“If you’re just going to sleep, then do it somewhere else. The other bedroom, for instance.”
“The other bedroom, if you’d taken the time to notice, is an upstairs library. This is the only bed in the house.”
Her fingers quivered on the sheets. “Then sleep on the sofa in the front room. It looked long enough, even for you.”
“I’m not sleeping on the sofa.” Lifting the covers on his side of the bed, he slid inside.
As soon as the mattress depressed again beneath his weight, she tossed back the bedclothes. “Fine. Then I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
Moving more quickly than she could have imagined, he reached over and caught her wrist. “No, you’re not. No one is sleeping on the damned sofa. Now come back here and get in bed.”
Leaning back on her heels, she tugged against his hold. “Let me go.”
“I will. As soon as you stop being ridiculous. It’s not as if we haven’t shared a bed before.”
No, it wasn’t. But her reaction had nothing to do with modesty and everything to do with emotion. When she’d slept with him before, she’d done so out of love, letting him inside both her body and her heart out of the mistaken belief that he returned her affection. But sleeping with him now would be like inviting a stranger into her bed. A stranger who might have the same face and form as the man she’d loved, but not the same spirit.
She was about to refuse him again when he leaned up on his knees and used his other hand to catch her around the waist. Ignoring her struggles, he tumbled her down, settling her beneath him.
For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Jack surrounded her, his body covering hers like a living blanket—warm, strong and so vitally male that she didn’t want to move. Forgetting herself for a moment, she savoured the sensations, relishing his familiar scent and the ripe heat of his skin.
“We can stay like this all night,” he said. “Or you can have one side of the bed and I’ll have the other. It’s your choice.”
Remembering herself again, she bucked against him, only then becoming aware of the arousal riding heavily between his legs.
“Keep that up,” he warned, “and I’ll be sleeping in you, not just on you. Again, it’s entirely your choice.”
But she knew his desire wasn’t for her—not truly. He was a healthy man and would react that way to any woman lying half naked beneath him. He wanted sex. He didn’t want her.
Throat tight with unshed tears, she shoved against his chest with both palms. “Get off me. I’ll sleep here in the bed.”
The slightest hint of disappointment seemed to flicker in his azure gaze, as if he’d hoped she would put up more of a fight and push matters further between them. But then the look was gone, likely nothing more than a trick of the candlelight, she decided.
“You’re going to stay put?” he questioned.
“Yes,” she panted. “I told you to get off me. You weigh a ton.”
The edge of his mouth turned up in an unapologetic grin before he levered himself away.
Rolling onto her
side, she turned her back to him and crossed her arms over her breasts. Closing her eyes, she did her best to ignore the yearning ache between her legs, hating herself for desiring him despite everything between them.
Meanwhile, he straightened the bedclothes, tossing them over both himself and her. Then he settled back, beating a fist into his pillow to get the proper shape.
“Good-night, Grace.”
She said nothing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Biting her lip to keep from crying, she willed herself to sleep.
Damn and blast, how can she sleep? Jack thought half an hour later. Worse, why had he insisted on sharing a bed with her when he was in absolute agony as a result? If he’d had any sense, he would have let her have her way and gone downstairs to sleep on the sofa. No matter how uncomfortable the furniture might be, at least he could have gotten a few minutes’ rest. Instead, he was consigned to spending the night lying beside Grace, hard as a pikestaff and aching for release.
Not exactly the wedding night I’d planned. But then nothing about this marriage has turned out as I planned.
Slinging an arm across his face, he groaned, half hoping the sound would wake her. A look through his lashes confirmed it had not. Lowering his arm again, he gazed at her through the darkness and caught the subtle shimmer of her red hair, visible even in the low light.
Reaching out, he gathered up a waist-length strand and rubbed the silky ends between his fingers in a slow, measuring glide. Without giving himself time to think, he raised the tress to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes as Grace’s sweet rose-and-honey scent flooded his senses. He groaned again, wanting to slide closer and spoon in tight. Once there, he would slowly kiss her awake, listening to her throaty little sounds of pleasure as he roused her passions to a shattering peak.
Seduced By His Touch Page 19
