Redeeming the Deception of Grace
by Kristin Vayden
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
REDEEMING THE DECEPTION OF GRACE
Copyright © 2012 KRISTIN VAYDEN
ISBN 978-1-62135-098-9
Cover Art Designed by For the Muse Designs
For my husband, who wins my heart each day by teasing me, joking with me and loving me with each breath. I love you more.
Prologue
The magic of Christmas captivated Grace Hashiver each year. Yet as each year passed, she gave into the call of sleep and failed to wake in time to see Father Christmas. Tonight she was not making that same mistake. She softly tiptoed down the hardwood stairs without making a sound. This year she was a year older, a year wiser — she was eight. Her lace nightgown whispered against the wooden floor as she made it down the stairs and through the hall undetected.
The light was dim but brighter than usual from the extra candles her father always requested to stay lit all night on Christmas Eve. She took a deep breath and exhaled before tiptoeing to the parlor where the Christmas tree beckoned. After a quick glance behind her, she walked into the room, richly scented from the cedar boughs placed over the hearth. The tree had no presents, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't missed the magic. The fire crackled as she sat in the chair facing the tree and struggled to stay awake as time ticked forward.
Something poked at Grace. The incessant prodding pulled her from a blissful dream. A moment later she had the brief sensation of weightlessness until the floor broke her fall.
"What…" She began to pull her foggy mind into gear but paused, hearing a snicker. Ewan.
"What're you doin' on the floor, Gracie?"
"I wasn't on the floor 'til you poked me!" Grace whispered back in a voice that betrayed her intense fury.
"Were too. I saw you. Curled up like your mum's poodle."
"If anyone looks like a poodle, it's you, Ewan!" she said as she fumbled trying to pick herself up off the cold floor.
"I do not. Besides, boys can have curls just as easily as girls," he said with all the confidence his eleven years afforded him.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Grace asked, standing up and pushing her braids over her shoulder. "You've no manners, wandering around in the middle of the night." She shook a finger at him.
"Oh, and I guess you're better? You're here too, ya know." He crossed his arms and waited for her response in his usual arrogant fashion, tapping his toe.
"Yes, but I live here. You. Do. Not," she enunciated, crossing her arms as well as she leaned forward, squinting.
"True, but that means I'm your guest. You've gotta serve me." Ewan's chin tilted upward as he smiled at his own brilliance.
Grace widened her eyes. "Serve you? I'm not your maid. I doubt there's a maid that would willingly serve you — you… arrogant worm." Her anger increased as Ewan refused to be properly insulted — worse, he laughed at her efforts.
"Yep, that's the rules; you've gotta serve me. I'm your guest, so, I'd like you to move over so I can have this seat by the tree." He moved to sit down.
"No!" Grace shouted as she lunged for the chair.
He lunged at the same time, pushing her away. Grace tried to move him, but he was too strong, too big. The fury built inside Grace, causing her to look for a weapon or something to help her remove the miserable boy from the chair. She noticed her father's brandy. She rushed over to the side table, grabbed the decanter, and poured it on Ewan. Though not enough to get the chair wet, it was enough to soak his nightshirt. Ewan froze, giving Grace a glare that chilled her insides.
"What is going on here!" came a voice that made both Grace and Ewan gasp.
Ewan's eyes widened. Grace turned slowly and saw her father's bewildered expression. He took in the sight of Grace still holding his now empty brandy decanter, and Ewan soaked with its contents.
"He — he — he…" Grace tried to think fast, but all she could think about was how she simply just wanted Ewan gone. He had been a thorn in her side all week, teasing, pulling her hair, calling her awful names — and as of yet, she hadn't once bested him. So, Grace lied. "Papa, I told Ewan you wouldn't approve of him drinking your brandy, but well, he insisted and when I tried to take it away…"
She began to cry out of fear, knowing if she were caught in her lie, she'd be punished severely.
"Ewan!" Grace's father scolded.
"Sir, I never — I didn't — She—" Ewan sputtered as he stood pointing at Grace, trying to explain the truth.
"Ewan, you march to your room and change."
Ewan began to protest again, but Grace's father held up his hand to silence his efforts. "No. Not another word. We'll speak more about this in the morning. Your parents will surely have something to say about sneaking around a host's home and pilfering brandy."
Grace's father crossed his arms as he waited for Ewan to obey.
Ewan stood up and shot daggers at Grace before marching out of the room, leaving the smell of brandy in his wake.
"Sweetling, why don't you put down the decanter and head to bed? Why were you up, anyway?" her father asked gently as he took the decanter from her trembling hand.
"I… I wanted to see Father Christmas," Grace replied, still terrified he'd see through her falsehood and punish her.
"Ahh, I see." Winding his arms around her small frame he carried her off to bed.
"We'll see the magic in the morning," he replied as he tucked her in, kissing the end of her nose.
"All right, Papa." She watched him as he left, but couldn't sleep. Oh, Ewan was going to be so angry with her! Fear crept in her heart as she wondered how he'd retaliate. For if there was one thing she knew about Ewan, the future Duke of Greys, it was that he would get even someday.
Chapter One
"How's my pretty little liar tonight? Hmm?" Ewan Emmett, Duke of Greys asked.
"Delightful, now that I'm dancing with you, your grace." The false sweetness dripped from Lady Grace Hashiver's lips with practiced execution. Her wide mouth pulled into a sarcastic smile that was all too familiar.
He still loved to taunt and provoke her. Satisfaction settled in his chest at her reaction. "Ah, Grace, sarcasm does not become you."
Her eyes narrowed. "It's Lady Grace to you." She spoke with a defiant tilt of her chin.
"Most people are too intimidated to correct me. Tell me, where did I go wrong with you? A little humility, any semblance of respect from your lips would be manna from heaven. But I'm sure Hades would have to freeze over first?" he asked with a wicked grin, arching his eyebrow as he spoke the last words, knowing their truth.
"Ah, you're smarter than you let on, your grace," she mocked, beaming at him.
Unaffected, he continued with their banter. "Our little secret. After all, I wouldn't want to spoil the fun for all the blushing debutantes who only want me for my physique." Ewan waited for her prickly response. He knew how much she despised his teasing.
"Yes, well, some value looks over anything else, including manners," Grace shot back while she offered him a dismissive look and focused her attention on the other dancers.
"Ah, yes, the old 'manners' debate, but, we have digressed. Tell me, Grace dear, where did I go wrong with you? Haven't you the slightest tremble when I hold you in my arms, press myself close to you, lean down to whisper in your ear?" With a suppressed chuckle, he leaned down and pressed himself closer to her, teasing her with his legendary rakish charm, yet she never seemed the least bit affected.
Perhaps that was why he was able to remain such close friends with Grace over the years. She never took his advances seriously, and he was able to tease, torment, and play to his heart's content.
Yes, Grace never took him seriously, although a small part of his mind wondered what would happen if she did. In fact, a small part dared to hope for it, regardless of how he continued to silence the wild notion.
****
Indeed Grace was not as unaffected as she seemed. Ewan was a constant reminder of everything she wanted but could never have. Ever since her little lie — rather, a large lie, which had caused him unforgivable punishment — she had written him off as a possible suitor. But that didn't stop her heart from fluttering when he asked for a waltz at each gathering they both attended.
He had grown from the gangly eleven-year-old with too much confidence into a rake of the first order. If he even had the slightest idea that Grace dreamt of his wavy ebony hair, eyes the color of sapphire, and heart-stopping smile, he'd use it to his advantage, and she'd walk away ruined… in one way or another. So, to protect her heart and virtue, she reverted back into her eight-year-old attitudes, with the added benefit of an eighteen-year-old vocabulary.
Taking a silent breath and resisting the urge to lean closer as his head dropped down, she focused on the question and tried to come up with a witty reply. Her quick tongue had been her salvation in dealing with the notorious charm of the Duke of Greys.
"Ever since the summer you arrived to dinner clothed in a loincloth and a smile, I can't seem to be afraid." She looked at him in the eye, raising an eyebrow, and then allowed herself to be distracted from his handsome features by watching the swirling dancers. "I keep picturing that small boy with the scrawny legs whenever you smile at me, and I'm afraid, the mental image has stuck."
She tossed her head back to look at Ewan full in the face. "It is exceedingly difficult to be afraid of you when that is what I remember." She allowed her gaze to sweep him from head to foot and waited with a defiant glare.
****
Ewan grinned down at Grace, unaffected by her attempt at humbling him.
"I looked quite dashing," he stated.
"Dashing is exactly what you did. Too bad your attempted escape from your irate mother left you naked," she quipped back.
"A delightful sight, if I do say so myself. You should consider yourself blessed. Many a woman would be eager for such an intimate view," he remarked, impervious to her attempt at injuring his considerable ego.
"Odd. I don't remember being impressed." Her eyebrow rose in sarcasm as she dismissed him once again with her eyes.
"I'm sure you would be now." His head dipped lower as he spoke the words, and though Ewan knew he was imagining things, he thought he could feel her heart pound wildly in response to his words.
"I'm sure I wouldn't be." She spoke in low tones as she captured him with a direct gaze that eliminated the suspicions he had entertained only moments before.
Ewan paused, gazing down at Grace. Her cinnamon and gold hair was twisted into some sort of fashionable confection, but he never stopped seeing the girl with the braids whenever he looked at her. Oh yes, he had been irate when she bested him that Christmas, lying to her father and effectively sentencing him to the harshest punishment he'd had in years. But that she had even done it and bested him, the Duke of Greys! That he'd never forget.
Of all the women who simpered and cooed over him, fawning and throwing themselves, she never once had batted an eyelash or given him the 'come hither' stare. It annoyed him. She had bested him and she didn't give him the time of day.
The only reason she even danced with him was because polite society demanded it. The first time he'd asked, he was sure she would turn him down. Oh, her eyes, the same color as her emerald earrings, had flashed fire. He had held his breath, half-hoping she'd give him a set down in the middle of the crowded room, and half-hoping she'd say yes and apply that passion to more worthy endeavors.
Shaking his head he stopped the thought before it grew into more than it was worth. Grace would never consider a dalliance, not even a flirtation. No, he'd best think of her in the braids. Things would be much better that way.
"I knew your vocabulary wasn't large, but I never thought you'd run out of intelligent conversation so quickly," Grace remarked, arching her eyebrow.
Ewan pulled himself from his musings concerning Grace to offer her the reply he knew she was anticipating. "Ah, well, sadly, as we've discussed, I'm not usually sought out for my intelligent conversation, but for my… other… talents."
He caressed her waist with his thumb and watched her narrow her eyes at his advances, trying to ignore the odd sensation in his chest as he tightened his hold on her.
"Ah, I'll let you keep those talents to yourself," Grace said coolly.
"Hmm, a waste on the likes of you."
"I know I should be insulted, but I find that I'm not." Grace spoke dryly.
"I could say the same," Ewan challenged, expecting Grace's offense to override her better judgment.
She replied simply, "You probably should."
He was disappointed that she hadn't taken the bait. "Touché."
The waltz came to a close, and Ewan escorted Grace to the edge of the room and back to her mother's side. He tried not to smile because her arm was stiff, radiating the hostility he'd come to expect and somehow appreciate.
He bowed to Grace's mother with practiced elegance. "Lady Jarvais, a pleasure. You grow more beautiful each time I have the delight of seeing you." Ewan leaned over to kiss the air above her hand.
"Well, Ewan, you are quite the flatterer, but please, continue." Lady Jarvais leaned forward and playfully tapped Ewan with her fan.
Grace's expression took on an exasperated grimace. It was no secret that Lady Jarvais adored him, much to Grace's chagrin. He continued to banter with her mother, leaving Grace out of the conversation simply to irritate her. How he enjoyed it, when her green eyes would narrow and the hostility rolled off her! Though he knew he was far too old for such childish impulses, he found he couldn't help himself. He doubted Grace was truly resentful of his friendship with her family; he simply assumed it was because he'd often used it as a lad to worm his way out of trouble.
"Alas, your daughter doesn't find my company nearly as charming as you do. I'm afraid I'll never recover from her sharp tongue." He tilted his head slightly and winked at Grace, causing her to narrow her eyes.
"Grace! Where are your manners? Why would you speak harshly to Ewan? Why, he's one of your oldest friends." Lady Jarvais gently scolded Grace, just as Ewan had hoped. The carefully contained fury on Grace's face was worth the tongue-lashing he'd surely receive later.
****
"Mother," Grace started and then closed her eyes, collecting herself before she spoke without thinking. As she opened her eyes to reply, she turned her head and stopped, noticing the gentleman that had just entered the growing crowd.
Light blond hair and dark brown eyes focused on her, and he smiled, revealing straight white teeth. Tilting her head, Grace gave herself the luxury of taking in his dress, the sculpting breeches, high-collared crisp white shirt and honey-colored cravat. The gentleman gave her a small nod and started in her direction. A minor blush warmed her face at being caught at brazenly staring at a man. She tried to recover her dignity and offer up a smile at the grinning man.
****
Ewan was shocked when Grace stopped her much anticipated reply. Resisting the temptation of waving his hand in front of her face, he turned slightly to see what she was gawking at. Spencer Raleigh, Earl of Shiply. Anyone but Shiply! But
of course Grace would find his angelic looks enticing. Hadn't scores of other debutantes believed the same? Eyeing Grace, he intended to set her straight but paused, noticing how she observed the gentleman from head to toe in a seductive fashion. Ewan doubted she even realized it.
I want her to look at me like that, he thought, feeling the fire of jealousy burn in his gut as he realized that it wasn't that Grace was immune to charm in general, she was simply immune to him. Disregarding the offensive thought, he focused on Shiply's advance. He had to think fast, Shiply had targeted her and was sauntering over in an effort to secure an introduction.
"Greys! I thought I saw you," Shiply said enthusiastically as he reached out to shake Ewan's hand.
Trying to think of a way to keep him away from Grace, he paused, stalling for time. "Shiply, didn't expect to see you here. In fact, I know of a gentleman who wanted to speak with you, if you'll just…" He hoped Shiply would take the hint and leave, but Shiply waved him off and began another thread of conversation, one that led to Grace.
"Why would I miss this crush? And who may I ask is this English flower?" he asked, turning toward Grace, offering her a seductive smile that made Ewan cringe.
****
His eyes held her captive, and Grace felt as though she had stopped breathing, she was so lightheaded. She marveled at how gentle he was when he reached out and grasped her hand before kissing the air above it. Thought many gentleman had done the same, his administration had warmed her insides.
"Ah, yes, this is Lady Jarvais and her daughter, Lady Grace." Ewan made the introductions, mumbling slightly. With a questioning glance, she waited for Ewan to offer up the stranger's name.
When Ewan stared back stubbornly, challenging her with the slight squint of his eyes, she turned back to her new acquaintance. "You'll have to excuse Greys, he tends to mumble and forget his manners when he's foxed."
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