“Nonsense!” said Catriona. “I was raised in the country, as well—in Scotland.”
“And I was raised on board a ship among nothing but sailors,” broke in Augusta. “So much more interesting than strapped to a backboard, pouring tea at a finishing school. So tell us, how did you come to know Christian?”
“I didn’t really know him.” Grace chewed her lower lip. “In fact, I didn’t know him at all. Our marriage was arranged by our families.”
The two women looked at one another and then together they nodded.
“You don’t care for him?” asked Augusta.
“Oh, no—I mean yes, I do care for Christian very much.” Grace hesitated, chewing her lip some more. “I just don’t think he cares very much for me.”
“Impossible!” said Catriona. “Why on earth wouldn’t he? You are obviously sweet and charming and intelligent. He should be proud to have such a lovely wife.”
“He rarely talks to me; whenever he does, he just seems angry with me.” Grace immediately regretted her loose tongue. She had only just made the acquaintance of these ladies, and here she was telling them the most awful truth of her marriage.
But they didn’t seem offended by her candor. Instead they seemed concerned.
Augusta said, tapping a finger to her chin, “Odd. That doesn’t sound at all like Christian.”
“Indeed, he has always struck me as a most polite and attentive man.” Catriona looked at Grace, lowering her voice. “Forgive me, dear, if I intrude in matters of which I have no right to ask. Understand that I am Scottish and we are quite open about such matters.”
Grace nodded for her to continue.
“I presume, from your comments earlier, that you and Christian do not share a bedchamber … or, for that matter, a bed.”
Grace felt instantly awash with shame, her face growing heated. She nodded slowly.
Augusta shook her head. “Most odd indeed.”
“One can only guess that because your marriage was arranged, perhaps Christian is resistant to admitting defeat.”
“Defeat?”
“Oh yes,” answered Augusta. “He is, after all, a man.”
“Indeed. They can be so pigheaded about things, can’t they?” Catriona shook her head. “I would assume, knowing what I do of Christian’s family history, that his grandfather the duke arranged your marriage.”
Grace nodded.
“There is much hostility between the old duke and Christian. I would guess it is simply because you were chosen by his grandfather that Christian is behaving the way he is toward you. Were he to show that he were pleased with you, to his thinking, that would be allowing his grandfather to win.”
Grace wrinkled her brow in confusion. “It would?”
“I know it makes no sense to a woman, dear, because we are sensible and clear headed and we see things as they truly are. Men, poor dears, can only see things in two respects: winning and losing. If Christian were thinking rationally, he would be instead giving his grandfather the impression that he is blissfully happy with his choice of you, which of course he could only be with you as his wife.”
“Yes,” Augusta added, “obviously with so much hostility between them, it would only rankle the duke more to think that he had given Christian such a gift when he had intended to give him misery. Mind you, not that you are a misery, dear. You clearly are not.” She nodded, sitting up with both hands on Grace’s knees. “As I see it, we must enlighten Christian.”
Grace was only growing further confused. “Enlighten him?”
“Oh, yes, dear. It is your only hope of bringing this situation to its necessary conclusion.” Catriona sat taller in her seat and looked across the room, studying the crowd. “We must find a way to make our dear Lord Knighton open his clouded eyes and see what he has right before him. Either that or we shall have to conk him on the head with Augusta’s telescope to knock some sense into him.”
The two of them laughed, and then Catriona straightened more in her seat, peering past Grace to the doorway. “We must proceed most carefully… it is a decision of the utmost delicacy…” She smiled then. “And I think I have found just the person to assist us in our endeavor.”
Augusta looked to where Catriona was staring, a wide smile breaking across her face. “Oh, Catriona, I know what you are thinking and I must say, dear, it is a perfect solution. Indeed, almost too perfect.”
Grace turned in her seat to see what it was that had so captured the ladies’ attention. But she could see nothing at all because the doorway was blocked by the figure of a man. She turned her attention back to the two ladies. “I’m afraid I do not see what you are talking about.”
“Look again, dear. I understand he waltzes divinely.”
Grace turned a second time and it was then she realized that they intended her to notice the man standing in the doorway. Furthermore, they intended her to…
Grace looked back to them. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”
“Oh, but you could, dear. You want to draw Christian’s notice, do you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“This will do much better than a conking on his head. And it will serve him right for having neglected you as he has. Trust us, my dear. We know well what we are doing.”
“But would it be considered proper? I do not wish to do anything that might cause Christian embarrassment. Shouldn’t I dance my first dance as a marchioness with my husband?”
“You would have, had he asked you.” Catriona grinned. “Besides, I am the hostess this evening. It is perfectly within propriety—in fact, it is my duty—to find partners for the ladies who aren’t already dancing.”
Grace remained uncertain. Still she had no better option before her and these ladies seemed so sure of themselves.
Catriona looked to Augusta with a devilish smile. “Shall I do the honors, dear sister?”
“Oh, by all means.” She looked at Grace as Catriona stood. “Watch and learn, dear.”
Catriona straightened her skirts and glided elegantly across the room. In seconds, she had caught the attention of the man at the doorway and they were soon engaged in conversation, smiling and nodding. Moments later Catriona had taken his hand and was bringing him over to where Augusta and Grace were still sitting.
“Lady Knighton, allow me to introduce a friend of ours—and an acquaintance of your husband. Lord Whitly, please meet our new friend, Lady Knighton.”
He was about as close as any mortal could be to a god on earth—blond hair the color of spun gold, lazy hazel eyes, and a smile that could easily melt an iceberg. He was dressed in a coat of navy superfine with a superbly starched neckcloth worthy of Brummell himself. Even as he stood beside her, Grace could see other ladies nearby stopping their conversations so that they might watch him, fluttering their fans quickly before them.
Yet even while one could not dispute that he was indeed handsome, Grace found she preferred Christian’s darker, more natural looks to the example of overdone perfection that stood before her. Lord Whitly seemed pleasant enough, though, and Catriona and Augusta obviously liked him, so Grace offered him her gloved hand in greeting.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Whitly.”
Lord Whitly took her hand and pressed a kiss softly to it. “It is, indeed, my pleasure as well, Lady Knighton.”
“Now, Whitly,” said Augusta then, “you needn’t waste your charms on Lady Knighton because she is thoroughly smitten with her husband, as any good wife should be. All we require of you is a turn or two about the dance floor. That should serve our purposes quite well.”
Whitly grinned. “Happy to be of service, my ladies.” He motioned toward the ballroom door. “Lady Knighton, shall we?”
Grace looked at Catriona and Augusta one last time even as she rose to her feet. As they headed off for the ballroom, she sent a silent prayer to the Fates that she was doing the right thing.
Chapter Fifteen
Christian took a draught from his port glas
s and spied his sister Eleanor through the parlor doorway. She was standing with his mother and another, smiling radiantly and he paused a moment, watching her. He noticed she was talking with a gentleman—a gentleman whom he recognized in the next moment when the man turned with Eleanor to look out over the dancing area.
Christian nearly choked.
“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,” he said to his friends, handing his glass to Noah before he headed steadfastly across the room to where his sister still stood. He approached them silently from behind.
“Eleanor,” Christian said, his voice cordial, showing no hint of the turmoil that was churning inside of him as he came to stand beside her. He glanced once at the gentleman with her, then immediately looked to his sister again. “It is time for that dance I promised you, isn’t it?”
Lady Frances stood to Eleanor’s other side giving Christian a look that only the two of them could understand.
“Oh, Christian,” Eleanor said on a smile, “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. I was just telling Lord Herrick here of your marriage. You know the earl, do you not?”
Far better than I care to admit. Christian turned, giving the man an affected smile that never quite exceeded a cool politeness. “Herrick,” he said, his voice empty of any emotion, “you are looking well.”
It had been over twenty years since the two men had last faced one another, but it might have only been twenty days. Richard Hartley, Earl of Herrick, still had the same coal-black hair and harsh gray eyes he’d had as a boy. For the moment, it seemed almost as if Christian were standing across from him on the cricket field at Eton with his shirttails hanging out the back of his grass-stained breeches, his cuffs rolled to his elbows.
By the time they had parted on that last occasion, Christian had sported a blackened eye; Herrick had stood with a bloodied and nearly broken nose.
But Herrick simply returned a curt nod that revealed nothing, leaving Christian to wonder what the man’s aim in speaking with Eleanor could be. “Knighton, my congratulations on your recent marriage.”
Eleanor smiled, blissfully oblivious of the tension that had suddenly thickened the air between them. “Oh, so I was correct in thinking you do know one another.”
Christian’s eyes never left Herrick’s. “Yes, Eleanor, Lord Herrick and I have already been acquainted, although it has been some time. We were at Eton together, actually. It is good to see you again, Herrick. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe I owe my sister this dance.”
Christian didn’t wait long enough for Herrick to respond, but instead directed Eleanor toward the dance floor and as far away from the earl as possible. As he threaded them a path through the other people in the room, Christian didn’t realize the tightness with which he was gripping Eleanor’s hand until they had stopped and she pulled away, rubbing her gloved fingers. She stared at him curiously.
“Christian, is something wrong?”
“No,” he lied. “Should there be?”
“You just seem agitated of a sudden.”
They prepared for the waltz that was about to begin and Christian caught sight of Herrick over the top of Eleanor’s head. Lady Frances had vanished and Herrick was standing at the edge of the dance floor, watching them.
Christian frowned. He had hoped the earl would have gone off in search of other company.
“Lord Herrick seems very nice,” Eleanor said, drawing Christian’s attention away from the side of the room.
“You have spoken of so many of your friends from Eton over the years that I thought I knew of them all. Why have you never mentioned him?”
How in God’s name was he supposed to answer her? He had thought he’d been so cautious, safeguarding against every possible situation. Of all the contretemps that could have taken place, he never would have expected this one. “I suppose I never mentioned him because the occasion never called for me to, Nell.”
Eleanor smiled as she always did when he used his childhood nickname for her. The music began. As they moved about the floor with the other couples, Christian sought to change the subject. “Are you enjoying the ball this evening?”
“Oh, yes, very much. It has proven a most pleasant evening indeed.”
As they danced, Christian noticed Eleanor looking to where Herrick yet lingered at the edge of the dance floor. He noticed the smiles they exchanged and felt his stomach tighten in response. Damnation! This could not be happening. Not her. Not him. Not now. Christian quickly turned his sister so that her back was to the earl.
“It is amazing,” Eleanor said, “the differences in being ‘out’ and participating in the season as compared to being relegated to our mother’s side to watch on in silence.”
Christian looked down at her. She was still searching the fringes of the floor for Herrick. His voice lowered. “You have all the time in the world, you know, Nell. You needn’t set your sights on the first buck you run across.”
Eleanor looked up at her brother, her face coloring at his having seen straight through to her budding attraction for Herrick. “I am not setting my sights on anyone, Christian—not yet, anyway.”
“That is good.” He turned her about again. “You shall have a love match. I promise you. No one will force you into a marriage you do not want.”
The undertone of his words was obvious.
“Are you so very unhappy with Grace, Christian?”
The question was not one he had been prepared for and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I don’t really know. I don’t even know her; we are truly strangers and that is a sorry beginning for any marriage.”
“You certainly don’t seem interested in getting to know her any time soon, either.”
It was more an accusation than anything else and Christian looked at his sister, but her attention was focused elsewhere. He had to maneuver them a bit because it seemed as if the dance floor was becoming more and more crowded. They moved through several more turns of the dance.
“And I would suggest, dear brother, that you concentrate your efforts on your wife a bit more before others see to the job for you. That is, if it is not too late already.”
Eleanor stopped dancing. Most everyone around them had as well. Christian turned to where Eleanor had motioned for him to look near the center of the dance floor. Christian searched for whatever it was she was pointing to, but there were too many blocking his view. Everyone’s attention, it seemed, was focused there. He inched a bit closer and could see that there was a solitary couple dancing in the midst of the crowd. As he made his way around the onlookers, he soon saw why. He wasn’t surprised. Lord Whitly had a talent for drawing attention to himself, as an accomplished dancer, yes, but more so as a notorious rakehell. But in the next moment, Christian felt his breath give way when he noticed the lady with whom Lord Whitly was waltzing so finely.
It was his wife.
Christian fixed his stare on Grace as she glided smoothly through the steps of the dance. The skirts of her gown swept outward with her movements, her gloved hand resting lightly on Whitly’s arm as he held her other hand in his. She moved as if she’d been born to waltz, her curls bouncing gently about her neck, and she was smiling, a smile more brilliant than he had ever seen her wear before. It was the sort of smile that should have been reserved for him, her husband, not this stranger, not this well-known roué.
Christian noticed that several of the other guests around him were watching him for his reaction, whispering conjecture. Conjecture, he knew, often led to scandal. If he didn’t proceed carefully, this could furnish the tea parlors of the whole of London with gossip enough for the next several days. Christian relaxed his jaw, which he just realized he’d been clenching, and stood back until the first recess of the dance. When Whitly bent into a bow before Grace, Christian began to applaud. Everyone around him soon followed suit until the entire ballroom was paying tribute. Whitly turned and executed a second flourishing bow to the crowd while Grace smiled tentatively under the crowd’s overwhelming adm
iration.
Christian seized the first opportunity to step forward and lay claim to his wife.
“That was lovely, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I hope Lord Whitly won’t mind my taking his place through the next movement of the dance?”
Whitly wisely bowed his head. “Of course not, Knighton. She is, after all, your wife—and a treasure at that. Lady Knighton, it was indeed a pleasure. Good evening, Knighton.”
Christian stood, watching Whitly’s prudent retreat with a smile that was more predatory than polite. He turned to Grace. “Shall we, my dear?”
Grace nodded just as the music resumed. Christian swept her closer to him, his hand placed possessively at the small of her back, that same fixed smile on his mouth. They waltzed into the first several turns, a spectacle for all to see before the others around them joined in on the dancing. He waited until he was certain they would not be overheard before speaking.
“I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with Lord Whitly.”
“I wasn’t,” Grace answered. “Catriona and Augusta just now introduced us. He seems a most amiable gentleman.”
“Gentleman, indeed.” Christian took her into a turn, leading them closer to the far end of the dance floor near to the terrace doors. “It is a good idea, Grace, to dance first with one’s husband after being wed. It can avert unnecessary conjecture.”
Grace stared at him. “I would have, my lord, had my husband asked me to.”
Touché.
As he spun her into the next turn, Christian caught a breath of Grace’s fragrance, exotically unique. He immediately felt the palms of his hands grow hot. He said, “That is an intriguing scent you wear, my lady.”
“It is a family recipe, my lord. A secret of sorts.”
“Indeed.” His heart began to pound as if he had just run the length of the ballroom. He looked down at her, a fatal mistake, for in doing so, he was afforded an open view of her glorious cleavage. No doubt it had been the reason for Whitly’s smile. Christian was seized by an overwhelming urge to bury his face against her breasts and fill himself with her essence. His breath caught and he felt his sex begin to swell beneath his breeches. Good God, he was a man of nine-and-twenty, not a randy schoolboy. What the devil was wrong with him?
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