She moaned, wet heat throbbing in her core. Afraid of overbalancing, she gripped his shoulders. But she needn’t have worried; Jack’s hold was strong and steady. And then without further hesitation, he brought her down, impaling her fully on his rampant shaft.
“Don’t say you weren’t warned,” he told her on a harsh rasp, as he began thrusting deeply inside her.
She groaned and matched his pace. “Don’t s-say you w-weren’t either.”
And then she plundered his lips with long, torrid kisses, riding him with abandon until they both claimed their bliss.
She came awake slowly with her head pillowed on Jack’s chest, their naked limbs tangled together. He was soundly asleep in the bed, one arm draped over her back, while the other lay bent above his head.
After the last few months together, she knew it was his preferred posture. That and spooned in behind her so he could take her in the morning before either of them was completely awake. He seemed to enjoy that position the best—as well as their early morning couplings. She did too, if only because she didn’t have to think or try to raise her emotional armour against him. They were simply two people, drawn together by mutual need.
Opening her eyes, she gazed into the darkness, not immediately recognizing the room. Then her memory snapped back into place.
The inn. Of course.
Somehow, after their impetuous lovemaking in the private parlour, they managed to rearrange their clothing and smooth their hair long enough for Jack to request a room for the night. Once inside, they’d said little, stripping to the skin before falling into the bed to pleasure each other again. This time, however, the loving had been slow, easy, almost poignant. Jack kissing and caressing her with a tenderness that had left her shaken. When it was over, she’d lain in his arms, wondering again what she should do, no closer to an answer than before.
At length, she’d fallen asleep.
So now here she was again, undecided and unsure.
He wanted them to have a real marriage, he claimed. To end their estrangement and have her stay permanently as his wife. Yet, despite his declaration, there had still been no mention of love.
Only want. Only need. And a desire to try again.
Is it enough?
She just didn’t know.
Part of her longed to say yes, to give up her struggles and worries, and accept her life at his side. But by doing so, she would be leaving herself vulnerable to him once again. And still more terrifying was the risk she took of falling in love with him all over again.
As suddenly as the thought occurred, though, she knew that it was already too late.
Oh, God, I do love him. Did I ever really stop?
In spite of admitting the truth to herself, she wasn’t sure she was ready to commit. She didn’t know if she could ever again give herself to him in the same unreservedly trusting way she once had. What if she opened her heart again and he betrayed her? What if she gave him everything only to awaken one morning to see regret in his eyes? Or, worse, disinterest and boredom?
The very idea made her shrivel inside. If she let him in and he hurt her again, she didn’t know if she could recover.
And yet, he wanted an answer.
Yes or no?
Lying in the dark with her head pillowed on the warm plane of his chest, she listened to the quiet, even susurration of his breathing. She took comfort in the sound and the faint movement as her thoughts tumbled in endless circles.
Still considering, she fell asleep.
* * *
CHAPTER 23
The next morning Grace was no closer to making a decision than she had been the night before.
To her relief, Jack didn’t bring up the issue, and neither did she. Talking about practically everything else, they shared a companionable breakfast at the inn, then returned to London.
The instant they walked through the town house’s front door, the Season and all its attendant obligations came rushing back upon them. Wading straight into the thick of things, she changed her gown, then hurried off to a promised garden party, while Jack drove to Tattersalls to meet friends and inspect the newest horses arrived for sale.
That night, she and Jack attended a ball, dancing twice before sharing a midnight supper at an intimate table for two. After arriving home, they went to bed, where he made exquisite love to her. She fell into a dreamless sleep, locked again inside the comfort of his arms.
The following morning, she expected him to once again press her for an answer. Especially when he joined her for breakfast at the little table in her bedroom. But in spite of sharing a cheerful meal, nothing more was said on the subject.
And nothing would be, she began to realize, as one day flowed smoothly into another. The next move was up to her, and clearly he was letting her choose when and how to make it.
Secure in that knowledge, she relaxed, deciding not to decide for the present and to let their time together during the last weeks of the Season help her make the right choice.
On the surface, their lives were very much as they’d been before their night at the inn, with endless rounds of parties and social obligations that frequently took them out of each other’s company. And yet underneath, nothing was the same, a subtle connection forming between them that she couldn’t entirely describe. He’d always been attentive in the past, but now he was especially gentle with her. He anticipated her needs in small ways without her ever having to say a word, whether it was making sure she’d remembered to bring her fan to a rout or suggesting they depart early if she seemed tired.
He touched her more too, and not just in bed. While chatting with others at a party, he might lay his hand against her waist. Or when visiting with his family, she often found his fingers playing absently over the warm gold of her wedding band and across the centre of her palm. Many times, she didn’t think he was even aware he was doing it, his actions seeming unconscious and automatic. And because they were, she began to wonder. Began to nurse the fragile hope that he was actually falling in love with her.
But as much as she longed to ask him, she could not. She would not. She had to have the words from him, freely given and honestly expressed.
As for their marriage—she was starting to believe there might be hope for it too. They’d been…dare she say it?…happy of late. Perhaps she should give them—give him—the second chance he wanted and find out if they could have a life together, after all.
She was pondering that precise question five weeks later, during a quiet moment at the Pettigrews’ ball, when Meg unexpectedly appeared at her side.
“Here you are,” her sister-in-law stated, slipping into an empty seat next to her. “I never thought you’d stop dancing. You’ve had a partner for every set this evening.”
“All but this one, and I’m glad for the respite.”
Smiling, Meg nodded her lovely blond head with understanding. Since joining the ranks of the Ton last year, she’d become a favourite among Society’s elegantly dressed men and women—half of whom seemed to be crowded at present into the overly warm ballroom.
“Where is Jack, by the way?” Meg asked. “I was sure he’d be at your side the moment he noticed you were alone.”
“He mentioned something about port and political talk with several of the men, then told me to enjoy myself until the supper dance. I am forbidden to entertain invitations for it from anyone else.”
“Jack is so possessive these days. I’m surprised he left you alone at all.”
“It’s not possessiveness. He just doesn’t want to have to make small talk with some other lady over supper,” she said with humorous dismissal. “He knows with me he can eat in complete silence and I won’t take offence.”
Meg waved a hand. “As though he would. You two are always talking, even when you think yourselves alone.”
“I could say the same of you and Cade. I’ve never seen a happier couple.”
Meg gave her an almost shy smile, an interesting glow rushing to her cheeks.
“I was going to wait a bit longer, but I’m just bursting to tell someone. Besides Cade, of course. He’s the only one who knows.”
“Knows what?”
Glancing around to make sure no one else was listening, Meg leaned forward. “I’m with child! The doctor was by just yesterday and confirmed what I already suspected. There’s going to be a new Byron in the family come the New Year.”
Giving a small shout, Grace flung her arms around her friend. “Oh, Meg, I’m so happy for you! No wonder you’re bursting to tell. If it were me, I’d be telling everyone I met.”
Meg laughed and returned her hug. “You’ll have your chance soon, I’ve no doubt. By next year, we’ll both be mothers. Mark my words.”
In that moment Grace realized that she wanted her sister-in-law to be right. She longed for a baby—a son who looked exactly like Jack. Thinking of Jack, she knew she had to share Meg’s secret with him. Assuming she could gain her approval first.
“Oh, I must go find Jack and tell him the good news,” she said. “If you’ll let me, that is?”
Meg paused briefly. “I suppose it’s fine. Cade won’t be able to keep his mouth shut for long either. We were going to wait and tell his mother tomorrow, then announce it to everyone else afterwards. But since you already know, I can’t see the harm if Jack does too.”
“Oh, he’ll be so excited to hear he’s going to be an uncle!” Giving the other woman a second hug, Grace sprang to her feet and left the ballroom.
“…excellent chap for finance. If you’re looking for some sound investment advice, you can’t go wrong with him.”
“Rafe Pendragon, you say,” Jack remarked, taking Lord Pettigrew’s calling card with the other man’s name pencilled on the back. “My thanks. I’ll consider the suggestion.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll do more than consider. I’m telling you everything that fellow touches turns to gold. If you don’t believe me, talk to Wyvern. The duke’s known him for years. Went to Harrow together, if rumours are to be believed. Don’t know if I do, considering Pendragon’s street-hardened reputation. Then again, I hear he’s some lord’s by-blow, so who knows for sure. Anyway, next time you see Tony Wyvern, mention that name. He’ll tell you what’s what.”
Jack gazed at the card once more, then slipped it into his coat pocket. With a nod, he watched as Pettigrew left the study.
Glancing around, Jack noticed he was alone, the rest of the gentlemen who’d gathered earlier for drinks and discussion having left already to return to the party. He would have done the same himself a good twenty minutes ago if Lord Pettigrew hadn’t kept him talking so long.
Tossing back the last of his brandy, he set down the snifter and turned to go in search of Grace. Hopefully she wouldn’t be dancing with some popinjay who was eager for a chance to become her cicisbeo. If so, he’d just have to cut in and send the scoundrel on his way. Smiling to himself, he started toward the door.
He stopped short seconds later, eyebrows arching upward as a woman glided into the room, the diaphanous red skirts of her gown swirling around her legs. “Philipa,” he said in surprise.
Her mouth curved into a sensuous smile, her beautiful green eyes gleaming like a cat’s. “Jack. I thought I heard you in here.”
“Did you now?” he drawled in amused disbelief. “Odd, but I wasn’t talking, being that I’m alone as you can see.”
“Yes, I can see.” On a graceful step, she sauntered deeper into the room. “But up until a minute ago, Lord Pettigrew was bombarding you with one pontification after another. I never did think he’d cease his endless prattle.”
He decided not to counter the remark. “So, you’ve been waiting for me, then?”
“Well, not waiting exactly. And certainly not in the hallway, if that’s what you’re implying. The little anteroom next door has amazingly good acoustics. A cozy seat next to the grate and voices carry like bells. Besides, I brought a friend along for company. He kept me…entertained, shall we say.”
“Entertained, was it?”
She shrugged, eyes twinkling slyly. “A girl gets bored, you know. He proved to be a deliciously meaty appetizer, but I shooed him off back to the party before I came to find you.”
A laugh rumbled from his lips. “You are the most unabashedly decadent woman I’ve ever known.”
“And you adore it. Or at least you used to when we were together. Why haven’t you come to see me, darling?” she said, thrusting out her full, lower lip in a sultry pout. “You’ve been in Town for weeks and weeks, and not so much as a word.”
“We’ve spoken a time or two, as I recall. We seem to attend many of the same social functions.”
“Same circles, same balls. Yes, yes, I know,” she said, gliding closer. “But that was just insignificant small talk. I meant that we haven’t talked in private.”
“That’s because I’m married now.”
“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “Your bride is invited everywhere these days, and considering her height and hair colour, she’s rather hard to miss.”
His eyebrows furrowed.
“Not that she isn’t pretty,” she amended quickly. “She’s very striking in an Amazonian kind of way. I was merely pointing out the obvious.”
He crossed his arms over his chest.
“And I’m sure she’s proved amusing,” she continued. “Those legs of hers must wrap around you like sailors’ knots.”
“That’s quite enough, Lady Stockton,” he said, his words low and hard.
“Oh, don’t fly up the boughs. I was only having a bit of fun. Where’s your sense of humour?”
He stayed silent, not trusting what might come out of his mouth.
“I was simply testing you,” she went on. “I had to know if the rumours are really true.”
“What rumours?”
“The ones that claim you’re desperately in love with her.” Her shoulders sank, a measure of her bravado falling away. “I’ve seen the two of you together, but I didn’t want to believe it. I had to find out for myself.”
This time when he scowled, it wasn’t in anger but rather in confusion.
“But I can see now that she’s captured your heart,” she continued. “Remarkable, considering what you told me about how you had to marry her for her money.”
“I never said that,” he shot back.
“Didn’t you? As I recall, you told me you got stuck with her as the result of a bad run of luck at the tables.”
He cringed inside, hating to hear what he’d once said. Had he really been so callous? So thoughtless and cruel? But he hadn’t known Grace then. Not the way he knew her now.
Stepping closer, Philipa laid a hand on his sleeve. “There’s no chance you’ll come back to me, then? No hope you’ll grow tired of her and seek my bed again?”
Gazing down, he met her eyes, acknowledging the magnetism of her personality. Without even trying, Philipa Stockton fairly smouldered sexuality. And yet despite her undeniable physical beauty and admitted talent in all things amorous, he wasn’t tempted.
Not in the least.
He didn’t want her. He wanted Grace.
He didn’t love her. He loved Grace.
And by simply thinking the words, he knew them to be true. Lord, how could I have been so blind for so long? Of course I love Grace. She’s everything I want.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But whatever you and I once were in the past, it’s over. My life, and yes, my heart, belong to my wife.”
She trembled, her hand tightening on his sleeve. “Well then, I see I should wish you happy.” A forced smile came to her lips. Instead of stepping away, however, she pressed nearer, sliding a hand up his chest. “One last kiss? What do you say? One final embrace for old time’s sake?”
He stared down at her. “Philipa, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“What harm is there in a little kiss? It’s nothing we haven’t done before. One short embrace, then never again.”
Instead of waiting t
o see if he was going to refuse her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Just one,” she breathed.
And then, without his consent, her lips were on his, kissing him with everything in her sexual arsenal. He knew he should pull away immediately, put her from him with force, if needed. Instead, he hesitated, curious in spite of his revelation about Grace to see what he would feel.
To his relief, to his joy, he experienced nothing more than an interesting sense of detachment, as though he were observing the kiss rather than being an active participant in it.
She isn’t Grace, he thought. Her lips aren’t as soft. Her flavour isn’t as sweet. She’s not the woman I love and she never will be.
Satisfied with the results of his brief experiment, he prepared to set her aside, sliding his hands upward to unlock her arms from around his neck.
Suddenly, a muffled thump came from the vicinity of the doorway. Breaking the kiss, he turned his head and glanced toward the sound. In an instant, his lungs stopped functioning, his heart missing a necessary beat as he met Grace’s horrified stare.
* * *
CHAPTER 24
Grace stood mute, her gaze fixed on the couple kissing in the centre of the Pettigrews’ study.
At first, the scene made no sense to her. Unmistakably, the dark-haired woman was Philipa Stockton. Grace knew her identity, since she’d long ago made a point of finding out just what her husband’s former mistress looked like.
But the man…no, the man couldn’t be who she thought he was.
Seconds later, he slid his palms up Lady Stockton’s arms and she knew it was Jack. Her Jack. Gooseflesh popped out all over her skin, bile rising into her throat with a burning sting. Taking a pair of steps backward, she stumbled against the door, desperate to look away, yet somehow incapable of the act.
Then, sensing her presence, Jack’s head came up and his gaze locked on hers.
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