Still admiring their creation, Spencer didn’t turn around—so it was something of a surprise when a missile of powdery snow exploded gently against the back of his head, making him wheel about in disbelief to see Grace’s mischievous smile, all traces of sadness gone.
‘Why—a snowball fight, of course.’
* * *
For one heart-stopping moment Grace feared she had finally done it, finally pushed her serious, solitary husband past the point of his endurance.
What can you have been thinking of? What possessed you?
He stared down at her and she stared up at him, her smile slipping in dawning dread; but nothing could match the amazement that shocked Grace to the core as for the first time in all the long weeks of their renewed acquaintance Spencer’s mouth opened, his lips curved up—and he laughed.
He actually laughed, a deep thing that echoed through the snowy garden and stole all the breath from Grace’s body. It was a sound so unexpected and yet so utterly wonderful there was nothing she could do but stand transfixed, gazing at the man in front of her with half-melted snow slipping from his hair on to his shoulders and the most breathtaking smile she had ever seen lighting the sharp angles of his face.
Every last trace of the gravity usually so ingrained on his features was wiped away by the upward curve of his mouth, lines appearing at his eyes so suddenly alive in a way Grace had almost forgotten was possible.
He looks like he did when we were younger, she realised, still unable to tear herself away from this new creature’s face. He looks happier, so full of life...just as he did all those years ago.
Spencer looked nearly as surprised as she was by his reaction, although his face was swiftly hidden by the sweep of his hair as he bent to scoop up a handful of snow.
‘I think it might be prudent for you to run now, Mrs Dauntsey.’
Grace didn’t need telling twice.
She turned and fled, ducking as a flurry of snow sailed past her ear to spatter softly against the peacock’s outstretched wing. Behind her came the sound of boots crunching closer, but she didn’t stop to peer over her shoulder as she waded through the deep drifts as quickly as she could, snow grabbing at her ankles to soak through her stockings. Another projectile narrowly missed her other ear, and this time she allowed herself the fleetest of glances backwards to taunt her hunter.
‘Your aim is far worse than I would have expected!’
‘Is that so? Then allow me to practise!’
Bareheaded and rosy-cheeked, Spencer looked the very image of the lad she had once known as he advanced ominously towards her, another snowball cupped in his hand. Grace backed away, feeling behind her with numb fingertips until, with a thrill of delicious horror, she felt the spiky sensation of a hedge block her path of escape and there was nowhere to run from the handsome man who sauntered closer with something almost a smirk playing about his lips.
‘How unfortunate. You appear to be at a disadvantage.’
He watched as Grace’s wide eyes tracked from side to side, searching for an escape, and then fixed on the missile he flicked up and caught again with repeated casual menace.
‘I’m not sure this is fair!’
‘No? You didn’t seem particularly bothered about fairness when you attacked me, without warning, from behind. Am I to understand it’s one rule for you and another for me?’
‘You would not throw that at a defenceless woman!’ She held up her empty hands. ‘See? I am unarmed!’
‘Of course not. That would be most ungentlemanly.’
The snowball fell to the ground, released from Spencer’s hand as he instead reached up and with a grin of heart-stoppingly handsome triumph pinged the snow-laden branches of a tree overhanging Grace’s hedge, sending a sparkling avalanche squarely down on to her head.
‘Oh!’ Grace squeaked as the snow cascaded over her, invading the collar of her cloak to slip horridly down her chest and back in freezing streams. ‘You cheat!’
Icy water trickling down her neck captured most of her attention, although there was still some to spare for the fresh laugh that met her accusation—shorter than before, but filled with the same unfamiliar vitality that set her spirits soaring.
Spencer offered a mock bow, a wicked glint in his brown eyes just playful enough to make Grace’s breath catch at the sight. ‘So gracious in defeat. May I in turn be a magnanimous victor and escort you inside, if you’ve finished your adventures for the morning? All that cold water you’re swimming in can’t be pleasant.’
He extended an elbow and Grace took it, grateful for a crutch as they retraced their precarious footsteps back to the house. Before pulling open the kitchen door Spencer turned to her with a rough snort of amusement.
‘You’re still absolutely covered. Here. Allow me.’
She stood obligingly still while he brushed off her powdered shoulders, staring fixedly ahead as he picked a stray cluster from the mound of curls pinned to the crown of her head. A few of them had come loose to wave softly in the March air and Grace felt every sinew in her body stand to sudden attention as Spencer smoothed one behind her ear, his fingertips grazing the cold skin of her face so gently it made her shudder.
Her heart had already quickened from their race through the snow, but it skipped faster still as she waited breathlessly to see if those fingers would again skim over her sensitive cheek, flushed now with both activity and anticipation.
Something deep down inside her had broken free at the sound of his unrestrained laughter—it spoke to her, offering undeniable proof that a carefree young man still lived within Spencer’s troubled soul, and a sense of tentative hope rose to meet it. Perhaps there might be some way to find happiness together as Dorothea had wished. And perhaps...
I might be the one to help him see it?
It was a dangerous thought and one that flickered just out of Grace’s reach, although whether she would have fanned its flames or doused them with a shower of ice she hardly knew. All she could do was stand and stare up at her husband as the possibility of a real connection, something based on more than mere convenience, filled her with hope and terror she well understood. To give in to these stirrings for Spencer that only grew in strength with each day that passed was achingly tempting, but terrifying in equal measure. Hadn’t Henry shown her the consequences of entrusting one’s heart to another? Hadn’t Spencer likewise shown her his desire to withdraw from the world, despite the growing accord she could swear blossomed between them unless she had gravely misjudged their tentative friendship?
But that laugh...
As if carried along by some otherworldly force Grace felt herself rise on to her tiptoes and press a kiss to Spencer’s cold cheek, the urge grasping hold of her without warning to bend her to its will. It was all too much: the wonder of Spencer’s rediscovered smile; the concentration on his face as he had collected the snow; how carefully he had brushed off her hair. There were just so many moments that delighted her, the desire to allow herself to treasure them so strong surely no woman could have resisted. He was the most confusing, dangerous, enthralling man in the world to her at that moment as he stood among the frosted trees, strange and somehow so other—a threat and a promise all at the same time.
Almost as soon as her lips brushed the dark bristles of his cheek she felt his hand at her waist, anchoring her against him with gentle insistence that made her shiver, but she dropped back again with her eyes averted and cheeks burning hot enough to melt the snow around her. That ungovernable urge to feel him beneath her lips once more argued to be able to continue, to escalate the kiss by finding Spencer’s curving mouth, but Grace steeled herself against its siren call. The last time they had tasted each other had been so bewildering, stirring up such confusion between them; a soft press of her lips on his cheek was as far as she should allow her desires to go, the morning already throwing up more questions than answers as to how their relationship
had flourished.
‘Thank you for humouring me this morning. I think perhaps now I’d like to go inside.’
* * *
The fire in his study’s grate crackled merrily, casting Grace’s shadow across the floor as she knelt before it and patted water from her hair with a warm towel. Spencer watched in comfortable silence, enjoying the way the damp ringlets shone in the firelight as they dried from dark to burnished gold. A small damp patch at the back of Grace’s gown drew his eye, framing that tender nape he so often caught himself thinking of... It would be a fine thing to be able to touch it, to reach out and stroke its pale length and see if the skin there was as soft as it looked—
‘For the life of me I can’t get my hands warm.’
Grace held her fingers towards the blaze, wincing a little as they no doubt tingled painfully at the tips. ‘The rest of me is defrosting nicely, but for some reason my hands always take an age to thaw.’
Spencer inspected his own palms, their usual healthy pink in sharp contrast to Grace’s blue-white. ‘Perhaps next time you ought to borrow a pair of my gloves instead of your flimsy things when we venture out.’
‘Next time? Are you suggesting there might be a repeat of this morning’s activities?’ There was an impish gleam in Grace’s smile that tempted Spencer to return it. ‘I knew you enjoyed yourself after all!’
He hid the matching upturn of his own lips behind his coffee cup. ‘I’ll admit your childish pursuits weren’t entirely tedious.’ It was the stoutest of understatements, but it somehow seemed unwise to let Grace know exactly how much he had liked their snowy games. He would have to admit to being surprised at how easily she had drawn him in—and at how good it had felt to abandon, for an hour at least, the usual darkness that tried to swallow him whole.
How was it she had managed it so effortlessly? One bold request, one unhappy look and he had run to do her bidding like a puppy with no other thought but to please its mistress.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so obliging to anybody in my life.
There was something about Grace that managed, time and again, to pull him down from the tower he had built around himself, to force him back out into the world and to face all the feelings he had never wanted to acknowledge ever again. Happiness, confusion, even laughter—Grace had inspired them all with the witchcraft Spencer knew he was powerless to guard against. Certainly the feel of her soft lips against his rough cheek had unmanned him, unexpected and yet a greater reward for his folly than he ever could have dreamed.
It was only when the unwitting sorceress in question gave another shudder that he was roused from his complicated thoughts.
‘Your hands can’t still be cold, surely?’
‘I swear they are. I’ll have to put them actually into the fire at this rate, or my fingers might very well fall off!’
Spencer cocked an eyebrow. ‘You have an impressive flair for the dramatic. Let me see.’
Leaning forward in his chair, he motioned Grace closer and ran an eye over her mottled skin. ‘Hmm. They do still look a little blue.’
Before he’d truly thought what he was doing he took her freezing fingers within both of his hands and chafed them, too intent on his task to notice the wondering look on her face—although the tiny gasp that escaped her when he brought them up to his lips and gently breathed on them, covering them with the secret warmth from his own body, could not be ignored.
She was close enough for him to kiss her—properly this time, not just the lightest brush across a cold cheek. That was the only thought that repeated itself over and over as Spencer looked into her upturned face, her eyes wide and her pretty lips slightly parted. It would be so easy to bend his head to touch them with his own, just as Grace had brushed his in the jolting comfort of his carriage mere days before, sending a wave of yearning through him so powerful it had robbed him of all speech. She’d done it of her own volition, he remembered, just as she had only that morning—out of gratitude, certainly, but possibly...also out of desire? Could it be that some of the spark that glittered beneath his skin also crackled inside Grace, mirroring the feelings that taunted him whenever she was near? It was the most shamefully exciting thought that Grace might feel the same secret flicker of heat she inspired in him, the notion of such a thing disturbing her quiet soul too rousing to even consider.
There’s always the chance she still feels the sting of that fool Henry’s rejection, of course, or that a part of her still misses him. I wonder if he knows how enviable such a thing might be to any sensible man.
The unpleasant thought muscled its way to the forefront of his mind, a spark of irrepressible jealousy stemming the tide of his rising hope. Grace had stated quite plainly she had no desire to risk her heart again, a resolution he understood only too well. It was the same worry that nagged at Spencer, muttering to him whenever he caught himself staring at Grace as she sat reading or drew his eye as she walked across a room.
Both of us so damaged and so afraid.
‘Is that better?’
‘Much. Thank you.’ Grace’s reply was little more than a whisper, so quiet it was almost lost in the rustling of her dress as she got to her feet and withdrew her slender hands from his, leaving them suddenly bereft. In the beat of silence that followed she hesitated before gesturing towards the bell by the door. ‘Shall I ring for more coffee?’
‘If you’d like.’
He watched her cross the room, moving noiselessly as any young lady taught from an early age. With her head up and her face impassive anybody else might have thought her mind occupied by nothing but her task, but...
You could have kissed her then.
Spencer cursed himself as he rubbed the shadow on his chin.
She was right there and you lost your nerve, you coward.
She had stared up at him, her stormy gaze locked dreamily on to his, but he had allowed his doubts to overcome him and now she looked...almost disappointed that he had not?
Perhaps he was imagining things. Perhaps she had no such thoughts. But it was always better to err on the side of caution, he resolved, in a vain attempt to brush off the regret that circled in the pit of his stomach at that wasted chance. It would be a long journey to London tomorrow morning, jolting along pitted roads to reach the grim Fleet. The last thing Grace would need on such a day was an increase in the air of confusing tension between them surely she felt, too—that whispered they were not quite just friends, but equally not quite arrived at something more.
Chapter Eleven
Apprehension swooped in Grace’s stomach as she stepped from the coach into the bustle of Farringdon Street to take her first look at her father’s new residence. Fleet prison loomed high above her to stare menacingly back with its windows like flashing eyes, a hulking brick shape set against an ill-tempered winter sky. She’d been so eager for this day to come, so filled with childlike excitement to finally see Papa again, but the long journey to London had given her too much time to second-guess what she might find and now her throat tightened with nerves as she moved towards the arched entrance and felt the prison’s cold shadow envelop her.
‘Stay close at all times, Grace. You’re not to stir a step inside this place without me at your side.’
At any other time Spencer’s wary command might have been met with a raised brow in reply, but Grace only nodded and increased her grip on his arm as he led her up a flight of dingy steps to tap on what a brass plaque named the warden’s rooms.
‘Yes?’
Spencer pushed open the door to reveal the owner of a rather hoarse voice sitting behind a messy desk. Grace’s eye immediately flew to the half-full bottle of something close to the warden’s hand, followed by a swift glance at the multiple days’ worth of stubble coarsening his already heavy features, set in an expression of surly uninterest. He looked for all the world as though he should be in a cell himself rather than in charge of
anybody else’s and Grace’s chest gave a nasty lurch at the thought of her gentle father at the mercy of such an unfriendly looking brute.
If Spencer noticed the unpleasant aroma of alcohol and unopened windows in the room he gave no sign as he stood firm in the doorway, his tone civil enough, but not for one moment relaxing his grasp on Grace’s cold fingers.
‘My name is Captain Dauntsey. I wrote to you some days ago stating my intention to come with my wife to visit her father—Mr Robert Linwood. Can you tell us where we’d find him?’
The warden squinted at them for a moment, one hand rubbing the sparse remnants of his unkempt hair. ‘Linwood, you say? Linwood... Oh. Yes.’ An ugly smile spread across his face and he peered at Grace more closely, sending a crawling sensation of revulsion down her spine. ‘The innocent Robert Linwood. You’ll find your father in the right wing, madam, just up those stairs there—in the Common side, of course. You’re welcome to go up to see him, although do be sure to watch your step.’
His sarcasm made Grace’s lip want to curl, but instead she lifted her chin and looked pointedly at the bottle he hadn’t the good manners to hide, before dropping into the most elegant curtsy she could manage in the small and cluttered room.
‘Thank you. Your kind concern is much appreciated.’
They were almost at the grimy staircase he had gestured to when Grace heard the raspy voice issue again from behind her, making her turn in reluctant enquiry.
‘Beg pardon, sir?’
‘I said—if there’s anything you might be wanting, do let me know. For a small fee most things can be arranged: little comforts, some taste of home perhaps. Lice-free bedding and decent food can make a wondrous difference to a prisoner and at only a modest price.’
Grace narrowed her eyes at the slovenly warden lounging in his chair. ‘Does my father not already have lice-free bedding and decent food? Why should there be a need to pay extra for such basic human dignities?’
Scandalously Wed to the Captain Page 17
