Scandalously Wed to the Captain

by Joanna Johnson

  He trailed his lips from her mouth to her ear, dropping kisses as he went, the sensation of his breath on her lobe robbing her of all rational thought. She thought she felt him whisper something against her skin; something sweet, no doubt, but the singing in Grace’s blood and the taste of him on her tongue rendered her insensible—until he drew back to turn his head quickly in the direction of the study door.

  The creak of footsteps on floorboards came from the other side, accompanied by rapid whispers that sent Spencer rolling on to his back to exhale deeply through his nose.

  ‘Damn. There won’t be a moment’s peace now the whole household’s awake.’

  Grace swallowed hard, blinking as the blood that had rushed to flood her cheeks made its way back to her brain and her senses began to return. Of course they shouldn’t still be lying on the study floor, for heaven’s sake—even if they hadn’t been so embarrassingly discovered it was still most improper and a little of the blush remained as Grace clutched the scant cover to her with a shaking hand. Desire still raged inside her like a forest fire, wanting to consume everything in its path, but some rationality managed to force its way back in and it was with no little shyness she sat up, careful to maintain her precarious dignity.

  ‘You’re right. It isn’t fair of us to disrupt the servants, either.’

  Spencer’s eyes followed her hungrily as she stretched to catch up their nightclothes, showing no intention of looking away when she held hers to her chest and peered down at him expectantly.

  ‘Aren’t you going to avert your gaze while I put this on?’

  ‘No.’

  One corner of his mouth twitched up as she flicked a sleeve at him and he sighed, shifting to face away from her with a roll of dark eyes.

  ‘Is it not a little late for us to suddenly be so coy with each other?’

  Grace didn’t reply as she pulled the gown over her head with wary haste and primly tied the ribbons at the neck. There was precious little she could do to tame the interesting arrangement of her hair, she supposed, and even less point; by now all of the servants would know of the under-maid’s shocking discovery, but Grace would be damned if she left the study looking like a—like a... She hardly knew what, although she did know she wasn’t going to look like one.

  A swish of material at her back suggested Spencer was likewise now decent and Grace turned to him with new hesitation pooling in her gut.

  What happens now? Do I say something? Will we spend the day together now—and then the night?

  It was uncanny how accurately Spencer sometimes seemed able to read her mind. Getting to his feet, he reached down to help her off the floor, taking the blanket and draping it around her shoulders like a fine cloak.

  ‘There. Perfectly respectable once again.’ He flashed her a glimpse of that heart-stopping smile, so long hidden and now more dear to Grace than she could ever explain. ‘Although I fear you’ll still need to change before we go into town today. You wouldn’t want to give the bookseller a shock.’

  ‘The bookseller?’ A flicker of concern skittered through her before Grace could stop it, the memory of the last time she’d set foot in that shop unpleasantly vivid. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I still owe you a copy of Evelina, do I not? Besides, a trip out will mean you can avoid having to look the maids in the eye for a few hours more and I imagine that at least might tempt you.’

  Quick heat rose in Grace’s cheeks at the suggestion, although she would have to admit he had a point. She might be the undisputed mistress of Nevin Place, but being happened upon in such an undignified state was still more embarrassing than she would have liked... The recollection of her dismay on her previous visit to town returned to nip at her again, however, and some echo of her thoughts evidently showed in her face as Spencer raised a serious brow.

  ‘I won’t make a scene, but nobody will be allowed to make you feel as you did before. Please trust me, Grace.’

  She looked up at him, unsmiling now with his jaw set so firmly it might have been made from stone. The dim sunlight struggling through the curtains lit one side of his face to illuminate the appealing irregularity of his broken nose that only enhanced his other features, his gaze direct and honest in a perfect mirror of his open words.

  Do you know, I think I do. Surely this time I can’t be wrong.

  * * *

  The gentle pressure of Grace’s fingers on his arm was nowhere near enough to satisfy the ache in Spencer’s chest that longed to snatch her to him, but there was nothing he could do as they walked the short distance into town.

  Anybody looking at us would hardly believe it possible. I can scarce believe it myself.

  Waking to find Grace lying beneath the same covers as himself was nothing new, but to realise she did so without her nightgown was a development he would never forget. With her eyes closed and blonde curls loose around her she had looked like a fallen angel and even now, restored to prim normality, the image caused Spencer’s innards to flare with ready heat. He longed to slide a hand to her waist and cup the hidden swell of her hip as he had before the cold study fire, to hear Grace’s breathy sigh and feel her warmth as she surrendered to his hold—

  He bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from that dangerous train of thought. Lingering on their night together was best left until he wasn’t required to maintain a respectable public façade. There was enough to unpick already in Grace’s reaction to his confession, making her bolder than he had thought her capable of, and now he would have to come to terms with the fact he had betrayed the secret he had vowed to take to his grave.

  A little of the shame he had felt when Grace wiped his eyes returned to settle behind his breastbone. She had been so understanding, spoken to him so gently as though she truly believed her own soothing words—it was tempting to grasp hold of the assurances she had given him and allow himself to begin to let go of the guilt and fear he had run from for so long. Part of him still wished Grace hadn’t seen his weakness—he would never forgive himself for letting her, or anybody, see him cry—or known the horrors that stalked him, but another fragment felt differently. That shard of his soul was curiously relieved to be deprived of its heavy burden, for the first time in years not pinned beneath the weight of regret that had made him turn to a bottle again and again. It was like a window had been opened, allowing fresh air and light into a dark room left shuttered for too long...

  I feel clean. For the first time since Will died, I feel clean.

  The realisation reverberated inside Spencer’s mind, so sudden and surprising and yet the absolute truth. The pain of his brother’s death still remained as permanent as the scars on Spencer’s body, but the feeling of blame for what had happened across the stormy sea was receding, forced back by the powerful compassion of his determined wife.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’

  Spencer started at the voice at his side and looked down to see Grace peeping up at him from below the brim of her solemn bonnet, a trace of hesitation making him want to stroke her pale cheek.

  ‘Nothing of any importance.’

  That was a lie, he had to admit to himself as he took in the unconvinced flicker of one female eyebrow, but Grace didn’t press him any further. Perhaps she’d learned it was more profitable to allow him to spill his secrets in his own time—which was fortunate, given there was one final truth he would need to gather all his courage before he revealed.

  You may as well tell her your feelings now. It’s likely she’s guessed them already.

  Grace was an intelligent woman, one of the reasons he could no longer deny she had made a home for herself in his heart. Surely she’d realised his growing vulnerability to her kindness, or seen how his lips now curved into a smile shown only to her. If nothing else had given her an inkling of the tenderness for her Spencer felt in his very bones, how reverently he had touched her skin and wondered at its s
moothness, the night before should have told her all she needed to know. It had been nothing like the laughing tumbles beneath blankets he had experienced with women in the past—somewhere in the darkness before dawn Grace had shattered the last brick in the wall built around Spencer’s soul and pulled him from the rubble, her rapt face and sweetly questing lips innocent of the power they wielded. They hadn’t just joined physically; Spencer’s pulse skipped faster as he recalled what he had whispered in her ear, lost in the scent of her hair and buried beneath the sigh Grace had uttered at the feel of his breath on the delicate shell.

  I love you.

  Those three little words had dropped from his tongue before he could stop them and as Spencer guided Grace towards the bookseller’s shop he swallowed down the desire to repeat them. They might have escaped him as he held Grace close and at last made real the longing that had robbed him of sleep, but she had been too deep in sensation to hear them. The next time he told his unwitting wife he loved her would be planned, private and hopefully reciprocated—and if not, he would have to find a way to bear the rejection that would surely tear his newly whole spirit in two.

  ‘Mrs Dauntsey?’

  Spencer glanced down at the woman hovering close by them, a stout figure more than able to hold her own against the jostling of passers-by. Her face struck him as vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until Grace held out her hand that he remembered her name.

  ‘Mrs Lake! How pleasant to see you.’

  The older woman pressed her fingers and returned Grace’s smile, casting a quick flicker in Spencer’s direction. What she was looking for in his face he didn’t know, but the sudden crackle of pain in his gut was one he understood only too well.

  She was one of the midwives who laid out my mother. I think I’d rather not be reminded of that night.

  No doubt she was a perfectly pleasant woman, but the sight of her brought to mind memories Spencer didn’t want to relive. That strange night seemed like a dream now, or perhaps more like a nightmare with its bizarre twists and turns, and the shard of grief that wedged itself into his chest was something he could have done without.

  ‘I’ll be inside.’

  He gestured towards the bookshop and caught Grace’s answering nod, keen understanding mingled with a touch of shared sorrow plain in her expression before she turned back to her acquaintance.

  The little bell above the door pinged cheerfully as Spencer entered, its greeting joined by the heady smell of leather and ink he remembered from his previous visit. This time, however, there were no unpleasant interruptions as the owner went in search of Spencer’s prey, returning from his fusty storeroom with Evelina held triumphantly aloft. Expecting Grace to join them at any moment, Spencer was surprised when she didn’t appear and a glance through the fogged windows showed the spot he had last seen her conspicuously empty and his wife now nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Have you lost her?’ The elderly gentleman wheezed his odd laugh that even Spencer couldn’t help but like.

  ‘It appears I have. Thank you for the book—I ought to go and find its eager new owner.’

  The bookseller beamed benevolently from behind thick spectacles like an ancient, good-natured tortoise. ‘Of course, of course. I do hope your wife will enjoy it.’

  Reaching the street again, Spencer scanned the crowds that thronged it, looking this way and that for his elusive wife. How pleased she would be to have a new book to lose herself in, he thought as he craned his neck past a pair of horses pulling a swaying coach. The thought of Grace curled in her favourite chair, her face intent as she turned the pages brought a smile to Spencer’s lips—which vanished abruptly as he finally caught sight of her across the busy street, her hand gripped firmly in the crook of Henry Earls’s arm and her eyes never leaving his face.

  Spencer’s heart gave a sickening lurch and he stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear himself away from the sight of his wife gazing up at the man who had caused her so much pain. It had to be him: the similarity to George was striking, fair hair and a handsome face working hard to conceal the unpleasantness lurking beneath that charming surface.

  Even from a distance Spencer could see how Henry commanded Grace’s attention, her little hand resting snugly on the sleeve of his jacket drawing Spencer’s eye like a magnet, but his muscles had frozen in cold disbelief and his legs refused to obey his order to cross the street and knock the simpering idiot into the middle of next week. He could only watch as Henry dropped his head a little to murmur into Grace’s ear...the same ear Spencer had kissed mere hours before...and his fingers tightened around the book he held as a wave of incredulous anger crashed over him.

  Is the man insane? Trying to speak to Grace after how he humiliated her?

  Any second now she would pull away, Spencer thought with vicious certainty. She wouldn’t want to give her former fiancé more than a moment of her time and there was no way she would tolerate him imposing on her for much longer. Grace would wrench her hand out from under his elbow and move away, not sparing a single look back as she crossed the street to her rightful place at Spencer’s side—

  But she didn’t.

  Instead she stood silent as Henry spoke to her, the rattle of passing carriages and the beat of hooves against cobbles ringing in Spencer’s ears with no choice but to endure Grace’s passive acceptance and the tide of anguish that swirled through his body. He willed her to break away, to treat the man with the contempt he deserved, but a cold stab lanced through him to turn his innards to ice.

  She still cares for him, exactly as I always feared. What other explanation could there be for her to remain so close?

  The question hit him hard, more painful than the punishing blow that had broken his nose many years before. That pain had been purely physical, but the raw agony that now swept over him was worse by far. It seized his heart in a fiery vice and wouldn’t let go, wretched unhappiness squeezing until each beat was an ordeal.

  The words she had spoken on the day he’d rescued her from George Earls’s scorn, her eyes averted as she had walked by his side, rang in his ears again, burning themselves into his consciousness like a flaming brand.

  I don’t know if any woman would forget her first love, especially when her notoriety makes it so unlikely she will ever have another.

  That had been her confession, the one he had envied for so long, and now it returned to taunt Spencer with cruelty he felt in his soul.

  Could it be that she had been telling a half-truth? Perhaps she’d never expected to love again—but not because of her shame. Henry had been the first one to rouse her feelings, the first to make his mark on her gentle heart—for a woman as loyal and true as Grace, wasn’t it possible she had no desire for another to take her former fiancé’s place?

  All the bustle and noise of the street fell away as Spencer watched Grace’s beloved face flush with that ready pink he had come to know so well. He had been the last one to bring colour to her cheeks, marvelling at their softness with his lips, but now Henry’s words were having the same effect and with a fresh drag of cruel claws through his insides Spencer couldn’t stand it.

  Why else wouldn’t she pull away? There was no other explanation that made sense and above all things Grace could be relied on to be sensible. His worst fears must be correct—and terrible enough to bring Spencer to his knees.

  Grace hadn’t seen him yet. Her attention was too focused on whatever wheedling nonsense the other man was pouring into her ear—Spencer could just turn and walk away without her ever knowing he had seen the truth of where her affections lay, saving himself the humiliation of letting her see his pain. If he’d previously hoped she had guessed at his feelings, he now wished the exact opposite: that she was oblivious to his cursed weakness and would have no reason for guilt or pity at knowing she had crushed his dreams into dust. Her heart was far too kind to take any pleasure in such a thing, but the outcome would be t
he same nevertheless, so there was no other option but to blindly wrench himself away from the sight that had scorched itself into his brain, aware of nothing but the need to conceal his new suffering before anybody could see. If there was a tavern open, so much the better—a large glass of something strong might help him to forget that all his plans for the future now lay in ruins and that the heart of the woman he loved still clearly belonged to another so entirely unworthy of it. Grace might be his lawfully wedded wife, but what was the good of that if her feelings lay in the keeping of another? It was the entirety of her Spencer wanted, not the outer shell while her soul longed for escape.

  A hand on his arm made him turn sharply, halting his mindless stride in a direction he was hardly aware of.

  ‘Captain. I’ve some news you’ll want to hear.’

  Through the fog of his emotion Spencer took in the auburn hair and sly features of the man before him, who held out a grubby piece of paper and continuously glanced about himself as though expecting a nasty surprise.

  ‘Harwell? What is it?’

  Some of Spencer’s misery was driven back by a surge of interest, bright against the grim backdrop of his distress. If his shady acquaintance had sought him out so boldly rather than wait for their usual secretive rendezvous he must have something important to impart—something Spencer realised with a startling upswing of optimism might be very important indeed.

  ‘I found what you were looking for. Through my contacts in the less salubrious taverns I got a hint and now I have two addresses written on this very sheet.’