Intimate Deception

by Laura Landon

  Her face was completely devoid of color now and he watched as she swallowed fast, then reached out to steady herself against the chair. Vincent tried to sit, tried to reach for her, but the stitch in his side stopped him. He had no choice but to lie there and watch while she clamped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Grace rushed across the room and anchored her hands around Vincent’s middle, making sure to avoid his side where the stitches were. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his forehead as he stood with his hands propped against the wall to hold himself upright. He was dressed in pants and a shirt. His boots were on the floor, ready to be put on his feet.

  “It’s only been two days since you were injured. You shouldn’t be up yet.”

  “How long have you been ill in the mornings?”

  The air caught in her throat.

  “How long?”

  She lowered him to the edge of the bed and reached over to pour him a cup of tea. “Three days.”

  “It’s early yet, then.”

  Grace handed him the tea, then walked over to the window and looked out at nothing. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry.”

  She dropped her head back on her shoulders and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Can I say the same to you?”

  When he didn’t answer, she asked the question that had been bothering her since he arrived. “How did you find me?”

  “Lady Wedgewood told me.”

  Grace shook her head. “No. I asked her not to. She wouldn’t have told you unless—” Grace’s gaze darted to where he sat. “You didn’t!”

  “Tell your sister you are with child? Yes. It’s not as if any of them will not realize it the moment we return with the special license in my hands.”

  “You already have the license?”

  “We will marry Friday afternoon. Lady Wedgewood has agreed to let us hold the ceremony in her home and has promised to inform all your sisters so they are there. I didn’t think you would want your father to attend.”

  She couldn’t keep from trembling. “No,” she whispered, holding on to the nearest stable object. “Just my sisters.”

  “Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come here.” He reached out his hand and pointed to the place beside him on the bed. “Sit here.”

  She hesitated, then sat next to him. He turned toward her.

  “Give me your hands.”

  She held out her trembling hands and he took them in his. “I know this is not easy for you.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a look. “No, it is not easy for me either,” he hurried to add. “But we will both make the best of it. We will come to know each other and what we want from the other. There is nothing you will lack for your comfort. I am a man of means and everything I possess will be yours for the asking.”

  “And in return? What is there for me to give? I don’t come with a dowry. Nor am I the beauty society expects you to choose. I am rather plain and nondescript, and everyone will know when I am delivered early of the child that I trapped you into marrying me.”

  He smiled. “No. They will assume, and rightly so, that I was so captivated by your charm I could not control my passion. They will expect me to marry quietly. This is, after all, my third marriage.”

  She hesitated a moment, then added, “I would not have done anything differently.” She looked deep into his eyes, hoping to see at least a small sign that said he understood. Praying she would see a glimmer that told her he was glad she hadn’t. She didn’t. There was only a sadness there, a haunting resignation that told her he would accept the lot that was forced on him because she’d given him no other choice. A fleeting look of fear and despair. “I could not have married Fentington.”

  “No. You could not have.”

  “But I regret what I have done to you.”

  “You have done nothing to me. You are the one who will be left to pay the price.”

  “Or reap the rewards.”

  He smiled. It was a sad smile, yet he put on a noble front. She knew she should not be affected by him, knew it put her heart in greater danger, but her body warmed at his nearness. Her flesh burned where his leg brushed against her thigh. Her arm, from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers, tingled from the warmth of his hands holding hers.

  She studied his face, the soft furrows that indented his forehead, the high cheekbones, and the strong, rugged cut of his jaw. Then she lowered her gaze to his mouth. To the lips that had kissed her. An eruption of fiery heat soared through her insides, plummeting to the pit of her stomach, then moved lower yet, to the very core of her. To the place he’d awakened the night of their lovemaking.

  Her cheeks blazed hot and she turned away from him, praying he couldn’t read her thoughts. But she knew he did. And she suddenly realized how easy it would be to fall in love with him.

  In that moment she made a vow. She vowed that she would never give him cause to regret what she’d forced him to do. She would be the best wife she could be, the best companion, the best listener, the best mother, and the best friend. She would give him a house filled with children and laughter and love. And she would be there when he needed her.

  She did not expect love. Not at first. Perhaps never. But she would not let that matter. He had already done more for her than she could ever repay.

  She looked at his hands lying in her lap, still holding hers. She lifted his fingers to her lips, then held them to her cheek.

  “I will forever be grateful,” she whispered. “And I promise I will spend every day from now on making sure you never regret taking me as your wife.”

  “As I will pray you never regret having me for your husband.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with emotion. She couldn’t find the words to ease the worry she saw on his face.

  “Have you eaten yet?” she asked, releasing his hands and standing in front of him.

  “No. I was attempting to dress and go down to join you.”

  “Would you like me to bring up a tray?”

  “No. But I will need help with my boots. Perhaps Herman—”

  Grace picked up his boots, silencing him when she slipped the first one onto his foot.

  “You make an excellent valet,” he said when she finished.

  “Thank you.” She held out her hand to help him up. When he was on his feet, she walked beside him, letting him lean against her as they made their way out of the room and down the stairs.

  “You are doing quite well,” she said when they reached the dining room. “But don’t tire yourself.”

  He pulled out a chair for her. “I’m fine, Grace. It was little more than a scratch.”

  She poured them each a cup of tea while Vincent ate the food Maudie had placed on the table. “When we’re finished,” he said, putting more coddled eggs on his plate, “we’ll tour the house so I build my strength.”

  She paused with her cup midway to her mouth and arched her eyebrows.

  “And then,” he said, ignoring her concern, “I will have you play for me. You are wonderful, you know.”

  Grace felt her cheeks warm.

  They ate in companionable silence, then toured the house. Vincent was noticeably tired when they stopped, and he relaxed on the settee while she played a Haydn piece she’d always loved.

  This is how their lives would be. The two of them together, quiet, content, a special sort of love steadily growing between them. Grace smiled as her fingers ran over the keys. All would be well. She was confident it would be.

  Chapter 12

  He paced the hallway outside her bedroom, trying with every ounce of his being to block her muffled moans. Sweat beaded on his forehead, then ran down his face and into his eyes. He wanted to run but there was no place for him to go. No place where her agonizing pleas for help would not follow him.

  He stiffened his sh
oulders and walked to the end of the hall, his carriage every inch a duke’s even though inside he hardly felt like one. He’d known it would be this way. He’d gone through this before. Had always known it would be like the last time. And the time before.

  Great waves of terror washed over him, the panic building inside him nearly bringing him to his knees. He couldn’t go through this again. Couldn’t survive it.

  His legs trembled beneath him. His stomach churned until he feared he’d be ill. A painful weight pressed against his chest, stealing the air from his body. He couldn’t stand by while another woman lost her life trying to give him an heir. Not again.

  He clamped his hands over his ears to stop her cries of agony. The guilt was too much to bear, the regrets too consuming. He sucked in a razor-sharp breath of air. No. Not again. He would not allow her to die too.

  He ran down the hall and threw open the door. His gaze flew to the other side of the room where she lay in bed, her face deathly gray, distorted with pain. Her sweat-drenched hair was plastered to her scalp, and before he could reach her she arched her fragile body as another spasm gripped her.

  With trembling hands, he clasped his fingers around hers, thinking he could hold her to him and protect her. But he knew it was too late.

  Death already had hold of her, was already pulling her from his grasp. The fear ravaging his body was so palpable he couldn’t breathe. She was dying and he couldn’t save her. And he didn’t want to live without her.

  He dropped his head back onto his shoulder and cried to the heavens.

  “Grace!”

  Vincent threw back the covers and bolted from the bed, his sweat-drenched body burning with a fiery heat he doubted would ever cool. He raced to the open window and let the nighttime March air wash over him.

  The moon was full and directly overhead, meaning it was after midnight, perhaps one or two in the morning. Bloody hell, he could swear he’d been living his nightmare for at least ten hours.

  His heart thundered in his chest and his legs felt so weak they buckled beneath him. He braced his hands on either side of the window and hung his head between his outstretched arms and gasped for air.

  Damn! Damn it to hell! Damn her!

  He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t spend every day of the next seven months and more with her, getting to know her, learning to care for her. Coming to love her. Watching her body grow big with his child, with the heir he longed to have. Then have her die in his arms and the babe with her. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong enough to go through it again.

  Cold sweat poured from his body and he jabbed his hands into his hair, struggling against the fear that pummeled him like a tidal wave in a raging storm. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them, praying his nightmare would go away.

  Something moved in the distance. Someone. His heart began a steady drumming, beating faster and faster until he feared it might leap from his chest.

  A man moved below his window. The thin form slouched low and kept to the shadows as he ran from the front of the manor house down the long drive to the lane. He wore a long, dark cloak over white breeches and jacket and a wide hat that covered most of his features. Before he reached the lane, he turned to look back. Then he lifted himself up on his white mount and rode away.

  Vincent felt a greater fear than he thought was possible. He knew only one man with such a penchant for white. One man whose threats could cause harm.

  He raced across the room, pulling on his breeches and boots before he went out the door.

  He ignored the stitch in his side and slipped his loose shirt over his shoulders as he ran down the hallway toward the stairs. He froze halfway down the staircase as the faint whiff of smoke assaulted his nose. He shifted his gaze to the entrance and saw flames licking up the outside of the house from the two windows on either side of the door. He turned and vaulted back up the stairs.

  “Grace!”

  Vincent threw open the door and raced across the room. “Wake up, Grace.”

  Her eyes popped open and she shook her head as she struggled to waken. “Vincent? What is it?”

  “There’s a fire,” he said, shoving her slippers onto her feet. “Here, put this on.” He handed her the robe lying across the foot of the bed then grabbed another blanket and threw it around her shoulders. “Hurry. Come with me.”

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and propelled her to the stairs, keeping a tight grip on her as they made their way to the bottom. Heavy smoke seeped under the door, the acrid smell assaulting his nose. “Go to the back. We can’t get out the front.”

  He pushed her forward. When they reached the rear of the house he yelled to wake Herman and Maudie. Before he and Grace reached the kitchen area, the two servants were rushing from their quarters.

  “There’s a fire in the front of the house,” Vincent said, rushing for the door.

  They had to get out before the smoke got too bad. He reached for the door and pushed. It was locked.

  “Where’s the key, Herman?”

  “There ain’t no key, Your Grace. This door ain’t never been locked.”

  “Keep the women back,” Vincent said, throwing a log from the fireplace through the only window in the room. He pushed a chair near the opening and crawled up. “Hopefully the door has only been wedged shut and I can get it open.”

  Vincent shoved himself through the opening and dropped to the ground. A heavy bench had been lodged under the latch. He pushed it away, then pulled open the door.

  “Are you all right?” he said, rushing Grace from the house and taking her into his arms.

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Sit with Lady Grace on that bench, Maudie,” he ordered, giving Grace a quick kiss on the forehead, “and don’t either of you move. We have to get that fire out before the house burns. Fill some buckets, Herman.”

  He raced around the side of the house with Herman at his side.

  It didn’t take long to extinguish the blaze. Thankfully he’d seen it soon enough. If he hadn’t, they could have burned to death. Especially Grace and he. The fire was set to cut off any escape down the stairs. They would have been trapped up above.

  “Vincent?”

  Vincent spun around to see Grace standing behind him, hugging the blanket he’d wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “It’s over now, Grace. Are you unharmed? Is the baby...?”

  He watched as one of Grace’s hands moved to her stomach.

  “The baby’s fine.”

  Vincent couldn’t believe the relief he felt.

  She took a step toward him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He crossed the rest of the distance to where she stood and pulled her into his arms. She flattened her hands against his chest and pushed away from him.

  “Don’t lie to me. What’s happening? First you are shot, then someone sets fire to the house where you’re sleeping. Do you know who it is?”

  He tried to pull her back against him but she stepped out of his reach. “Did you see something? You must have discovered the fire soon after it started. It hasn’t done too much damage. What did you see?”

  Vincent shook his head, but she held out her hand to stop his denial.

  “What!” she demanded a second time.

  “I saw a man ride away on a white mount just after I was shot. I saw him again tonight.”

  “A white mount? Who do you know who has a white horse? Perhaps it is someone who—”

  Vincent saw the color drain from her face and stepped close to her to hold her. “It’s him,” she whispered, and he felt her sway in his arms.

  “I can’t swear to it, Grace. I didn’t see his face.”

  “It has to be. Fentington’s known for his penchant for white. His white horse, white carriage, white clothes.”

  “Perhaps it’s just coincidence.”

  “You know it’s not. He means to kill you because you embarrassed him at the Pendleton ball. I thought he’d forgotten about it because he didn’
t attend any functions after that.”

  “He wasn’t invited.”

  Grace looked up at him in surprise. “Wasn’t invited?”

  “The ton have finally decided to put their stamp of disapproval on his sexual perversions. Fentington has been removed from everyone’s guest list.”

  “He blames you, Vincent. He blames us both.”

  Vincent wrapped his arms around Grace’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. “We’ll leave for London in the morning.”

  “And then what?”

  “We’ll marry as planned. You’ll have my name to protect you. I’ll take care of Fentington.”

  Vincent ignored the concern on her face and led her back into the house. “Maudie has the windows open down here and the smell isn’t too strong any more. We’ll sit in the study until the house is aired.”

  They walked together to the study, but when they entered the room, Vincent couldn’t let her sit alone on the long, floral settee. She looked so small and frightened. So fragile. Instead, he walked to a brown-leather wing chair.

  “Come here,” he whispered and held out his arms for her. Without hesitation, she walked into his arms. He sat, then pulled her to his lap. She breathed one heavy sigh before she curled up in his lap and turned her face into his chest.

  Vincent tucked the blanket beneath her chin and held her, promising God that if He spared her life and delivered the child from her safely, he’d never put her at risk again.

  He rested his chin on the top of her head and felt a wave of desire. He ran his hands across her shoulders and down her arms. He sifted his fingers through her thick, golden hair and caressed the taut muscles at her neck and back. Then he lowered his gaze and looked into her eyes—into the wealth of emotion he’d fought so valiantly to ignore. And he knew the battle was lost.

  He lowered his head and kissed her with all the desperation he’d struggled against since he’d met her. Since he’d first touched her. Since he’d lain with her.

  He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her again, then deepened his kiss when she wrapped her arms around his neck and turned into him.