“Are you too tired for another go, Grace?”
She looked up into Rupert’s smiling face. All the simmering tension with Julian wavered and vanished, like it had never been at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was all in her imagination. That was a comforting thought.
“Of course, Rupert. I’d be delighted.”
Chapter Twelve
Grace didn’t cross paths with Julian often in the course of the next several weeks. She suspected it was intentional, but she couldn’t be sure. Once they were at the same opera, but he sat with Honor’s family and made no move to come greet her. Twice she and Rupert ran into him during their morning riding lessons in the park, which she found curious, as the park was deserted by the upper class at such an early hour. Both times, he exchanged a few friendly words with Rupert and said no more to her than required by basic good manners.
The weeks of avoidance would end tonight. Rupert and Honor’s work on his house was far enough along in the public rooms to allow Rupert to entertain a small party for dinner. With only Rupert, Lady Honor and her parents, Julian and his mother, and Lady Grantham and herself in attendance, there would be no avoiding him.
“It’s quite a nice house,” Genevieve said as they slipped out of capes and gloves in the entry hall. “And a very desirable neighborhood.”
It was a lovely house. And closely situated to the London homes of everyone she cared about. Genevieve, Amelia and Nate, and Victoria and Andrew all had homes within a quarter mile. She couldn’t hope for a more ideal circumstance. She repeated it to herself as she and Gen followed the butler to the parlor to greet the rest of the guests.
“Lady Grantham! Miss Godwyn!” Honor swept down on them the moment they entered the room. “Isn’t this exciting? I’m so eager to hear what you think of everything we’ve done, especially you, Miss Godwyn.”
Julian was here. She didn’t look directly at him, but she glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye, standing across the room. More important, she felt him, the tingling awareness she always felt when he was near, the way one could feel the sunlight without ascertaining precisely where the sun was in the sky.
“I’m sure everything is perfect, Lady Honor. Your taste is exquisite. How could it be anything but?”
“You flatter me. Still, I do so want you to see everything, and we have a moment before dinner. Shall we look at a few rooms now?”
“I would love it.” And it would keep her out of the parlor with Julian.
Honor chattered away at a lively clip about painters and plasterers and drapery-makers as she led Genevieve and Grace from one room to another. She was so sweet and ebullient. Grace had a hard time imagining Julian’s acerbic dryness paired with such vivacity, but then again, he’d known her all her life. History counted for a lot.
And there she went, thinking about Julian when she should be paying attention to everything else. Anything else.
“You’ve worked so hard, Lady Honor.”
Honor looked around the library, her face glowing with satisfaction. “It hardly felt like work. Rupert and I had so much fun. The days just flew by.”
“I’m sure he’s grateful to you.”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, don’t fear. He expressed his gratitude nearly hourly. I don’t mind helping when it’s no real effort for me and it makes such a tremendous difference to him.”
“And now he has this wonderful home, all thanks to you.”
Honor gave the beautifully appointed library one, slightly longing, glance before steering them back towards the door. “It was as much for me as him. I expect...that is, when I marry, the gentleman will likely already have a house established. I won’t get to do it all from scratch. Rupert was good to indulge me.”
Of course. Julian had a home already, and Honor would live there once they married. She had one chance to create a home and she’d done it for Rupert...and Grace.
At dinner, Rupert, as host, took the head of the table, with Honor’s parents, the Earl and Countess of Dorney, flanking him. Grace was near the end of the table, next to Lady Knighton and across from Julian and Honor. She decided to speak first and hopefully steer the conversation towards innocuous subjects.
“Lady Honor showed me a few of the new rooms as we came in. They were quite spectacular.”
She didn’t mean to look at Julian, but it was impossible to avoid when he was right across the table. He raised his eyes to hers and looked steadily at her as he spoke. “So the house meets with your approval?”
All right, it seemed he’d come prepared to needle her once again. “Lady Honor has exceptional taste.”
At her side, Lady Knighton smiled indulgently at Honor, who she must already look on as a daughter. “Lady Honor is indeed talented.”
“Stop, all of you.” Honor protested. “You’ll make me blush.”
If Julian could challenge Grace in the course of polite conversation, then perhaps she could do the same. She met his gaze across the table and smiled serenely. “You must be so proud of Lady Honor.”
His eyes stayed locked on hers even as the muscles in his jaw clenched and he gritted his teeth. “Honor has always excelled at everything she attempts.”
“Of course she has.” Grace only just managed to keep the bitterness out of her voice with her reply. She genuinely liked Honor. It was impossible not to. But she could hardly help but be aware of all the other woman’s advantages. A good family, money, education, talent, and beauty...and she had him. Julian had been picked out for her before she could even walk. While Grace sat there in her borrowed finery, praying the conversation didn’t take a turn to a subject she couldn’t keep up with, doing everything in her power to secure the affections of a man she didn’t love, all to save herself from slipping into a life of servitude.
Lady Knighton, oblivious to the ripple of tension between her son and Grace, jumped into the conversation. “Do you remember the little screen you painted for me several years ago, Honor?”
“I do, Lady Knighton, but I can’t believe you do. Such a silly thing and I was just a girl when I made it.”
“Nonsense! I still have it in my private rooms.” Lady Knighton turned to Grace. “Honor is quite an accomplished artist as well.”
“How wonderful,” Grace murmured before taking a sip of her wine. Of course she was.
“I don’t believe I’m acquainted with your family, Miss Godwyn.” Lady Knighton went on, examining Grace closely. “Are they in London?”
Grace groaned inwardly. Perfect. Now she’d be forced to discuss her father in front of this group. “My father was Viscount Haddon, Your Ladyship. He passed away when I was fifteen.”
“Viscount Haddon...” Grace could see in Lady Knighton’s eyes the moment she placed her father. The notorious Viscount Haddon, a drunk and a gambler. Everybody knew of Viscount Haddon’s disgrace.
“Of course, Viscount Haddon.” Lady Knighton said at last, eyes dropping to her plate to hide her discomfort. “I remember him.”
“Everybody remembers him,” Lady Dorney put in from Julian’s other side. She didn’t seem to have heard the first part of Lady Knighton’s exchange, when Grace confessed to being the man’s daughter. “He was quite the disgrace for many years.”
Grace froze and tried to keep her smile fixed in place. Surely they’d refrain from bandying about her father’s worst offenses here? The last thing Rupert needed was to be reminded of just how wanting she was. And Julian...she couldn’t bear for him to hear a litany of her father’s failings. It would only confirm everything about her he already believed. She was unworthy, not good enough for Rupert or any man of stature.
“Never spent a moment in the House of Lords working for his country,” Lord Dorney put in from Lady Knighton’s other side.
“Not all men are suited to governing,” Julian said evenly. Of course, his
own father had left his seat empty as well. Except Julian looked set to reverse the Knighton legacy in the span of a generation. All she could do was keep running, and hope, in time, she ran far enough and fast enough to leave her father’s miserable memory behind her.
Lord Dorney smiled at Julian across the table. “Not like you, Knighton. You’ll do the title proud next year, no doubt.” Dorney seemed to already look on Julian as a son, just as Lady Knighton doted on Honor.
“I mean to.”
“Haddon, though, that was a very bad situation,” Dorney said, with a mournful shake of his head. “Cards, you know. Some men can’t walk away.”
Panic welled up in Grace’s throat. She must put a stop to the conversation before it went any further, but she couldn’t do so without announcing to the entire table that the unfortunate creature they discussed was her father. Perhaps, if she could send Gen a signal, she would step in and redirect the conversation. She was frightfully good at managing those sorts of things. She raised her head to catch Gen’s eye.
“Yes, it’s always unfortunate when a man behaves in a way which brings misery down on his family,” Julian said, just loud enough and with a finality to his tone to bring the subject to a dead stop.
Lady Knighton met her son’s eyes across the table and flushed. Next to him, Lady Dorney coughed softly. “Of course,” she said, remembering herself. “It’s terribly unfortunate for everyone involved.”
“Mother,” Julian went on. “Didn’t you just receive some new sheet music for the piano? I was trying to tell Honor about them, but I’ve forgotten all the titles.”
Successfully diverted, Lady Knighton turned to Honor. Grace slowly let out her breath and chanced a look at Julian. He was already looking at her, his steady gaze setting fire to something deep inside her chest. Why had he intervened on her behalf? Reminding the entire table of her sorry origins would have only helped him achieve his goal. For all his rigid principals, sometimes his actions confounded her. Looking into his eyes, she suspected they confounded him, too.
* * *
After dinner, owing to the intimate nature of their party, they abandoned the customary separation of gentlemen and ladies in favor of a tour of the rooms. Honor explained the painstaking work which had gone into every doily and andiron as the whole party expressed their admiration.
“You’d scarcely believe it, but this room is flooded with sunlight in the mornings,” she explained to her mother, Lady Knighton, and Genevieve, who clustered around her.
“Honor,” Rupert called from the doorway. “I’m going to show your father the billiard room.”
“Oh, yes! Papa, you’ll love it.”
Lord Dorney left with Rupert as Honor continued. “This had been a music room, but I made it over into a ladies’ parlor. I thought it would make a nice place to return one’s correspondence in the mornings.”
Try as she might, Grace couldn’t picture herself doing anything in this room. Yes, this was a comfortable home, but it didn’t feel like her home. But it had to, didn’t it? She’d invested so much energy in achieving this. If she could bring things to a head with Rupert at last, all this could be hers. After so many years, being so close to such a perfect resolution was supposed to make her happier.
“I was hoping you’d approve, Miss Godwyn.”
She started when Honor said her name. “Pardon?”
“The little writing desk. How I placed it near the windows. I said I’d hoped you’d approve of my choice.”
She forced a smile. “I do. It’s divine. Everything is. Would you excuse me for a moment?”
Gen took one step towards her. “Are you well, darling?”
“Quite,” she replied. “Only, I seem to have lost my bracelet. It must have fallen off under the table during dinner.” She was so very adept at telling lies. It seemed it was all she ever did.
Gen was mollified and turned back to the conversation. Grace didn’t return to the dining room, because of course she hadn’t worn a bracelet tonight. She slipped into the library Honor had shown them earlier. It was an attractive room, wood paneled and properly somber, but with comfortable little touches, like the sofa in sage green velvet, inviting one to curl up with a book and read for hours. She sat down on it with an ungraceful whump and buried her face in her hands.
“You found it, then?” Julian asked quietly from the doorway.
Of course he would follow behind her to check on her story. Wearily, she raised her head to look at him. “You know I didn’t. So why don’t you denounce me in front of everyone and have done with it? ‘Miss Godwyn claimed she lost a bracelet when she really just wanted to sit quietly for a moment.’ I am wicked indeed.”
Julian let out a harsh breath and dropped his head back. “I told you, I don’t think you’re wicked.”
“No, only undeserving.”
His eyes narrowed and he took several steps further into the room, frustration and anger radiating from every inch of him. Grace rose to her feet on instinct, the better to square off against an adversary.
“Not that, either. You’re more than worthy, Grace. You’re just not right for Rupert. Watching your face as Honor showed you around what you intend to be your future home tells me you know it, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He advanced again and reached for her, his hand curling around her upper arm. After weeks spent avoiding him, exchanging only a few impersonal words of greeting, suddenly so closely confronted with Julian—not the polite, controlled face he presented to the world, but this fiery, intense man who seemed to appear only in her presence—shook her self-possession to dust. Every fingertip pressing into the soft flesh of her arm burned into her skin. This close, she could smell him, the delicious tang of whatever he used to shave. Why did it have to be him who elicited this reaction from her? Of all the men in all the world, why him and why now?
“You can put on a good face for the world, Grace, but I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want this. It’s not right and deep down, you know it.”
No matter what he did to her physically, he was still her adversary on this matter. She’d almost forgotten it, she was so caught up in his eyes and his touch. But she didn’t have the luxury of forgetting. This was too important. With a reinforcing breath, she wrenched her arm free of his grip and took a step back.
“What I know is that Rupert is a good man with honorable intentions.”
“And you mean to accept him, even though you don’t love him and don’t want this life?”
“What I want is not an issue and it never has been!” she snapped. “You don’t seem to understand. This isn’t some lark for me. I haven’t pursued Rupert as a project the way Honor has taken on his house, as something fun to pass the time. I don’t have Honor’s advantages, or yours. You’ve never had to flee your rented rooms in the middle of the night because you couldn’t scrape together all of two shillings to pay the rent. You’ve never had to steal from your own parent to buy yourself something to eat. You have no idea what it’s like to live with that kind of fear.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But why Rupert? Why now? Just wait—”
“I’m twenty-two. This is my fourth Season. And how am I to live between now and next year? The Season is nearly over, and I’ve spent it all in Rupert’s company. My charms are not so great that gentlemen have been lining up at my door. This will likely be my last chance, and I don’t mean to let it slip through my fingers, no matter how much you disapprove.”
“I understand, but—”
“No, you don’t.” Grace pressed her palm to her chest, against her thundering heart. “I have to do whatever I can with whatever I’ve got. My future, my whole life is at stake here. Perhaps, never knowing true want, you’ve never understood true desperation, Lord Knighton, but I assure you, mine is real.”
&n
bsp; “Never known want? Never known desperation?” He shook his head in frustration. “Grace, you have no idea.”
And then he reached for her. His hands closed around her upper arms and he dragged her roughly against his chest. Before she could draw a breath, his mouth was on hers, a hard, angry kiss... Yes, it tasted of want and desperation, so strong she drowned in it. The force of it nearly bent her back, and she clutched instinctively at his lapels to steady herself. But then his tongue found hers and she was clutching at him for a different reason. His fingers curled into her arms so tight, it was nearly painful. But as she leaned into him, and began to kiss him back, he moved to wrap his arms around her waist, leaving her hands free to touch him, too. Her palms slid up over his shoulders, around to the back of his neck, and then up to his hair, sliding it through her fingers.
The moment for stopping, for stepping back and returning to reality, passed by them without notice. Grace was lost, burned away by this kiss and every wild emotion behind it. With one arm, he pulled her in tight against him. His hand slid up her back to grip her neck, holding her steady as he greedily took what he wanted from her mouth.
There was nothing sweet and courtly about this. It was all need. He dragged his tongue against hers, and drew back just enough to sink his teeth into her bottom lip. When she gasped, he swallowed it down, covering her mouth with his again. He seemed to be everywhere, his arm locking her against him, his fingers digging into her nape, his chest pressed against her breasts, his thighs against hers. All the clothes between them seemed inconsequential. He might as well have stripped her bare. Her skin tingled and flushed as if she stood naked in his arms. Heat pooled in her belly, and lower, settling into a need that had her pressing her thighs together.
A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 14
