“I?” he pressed, leaning closer even as a servant swept away the dishes from the third course and brought in a dessert of poached pear with a rich sauce.
Normally Grace loved the dish, but tonight she didn’t even look at it.
“You…” She searched for something to say, a different way to complete the sentence she had left hanging. “You must have come there very early in your life,” she finally managed.
His lips pursed and a dark shadow crossed his face. He turned back toward his food.
“No, I didn’t come to England until I was fourteen.”
“Really?” Isabel said, expressing the same surprise Grace felt herself, but covered by taking a few bites of her dessert. “I never would have guessed. Your accent is so light.”
Connor smiled at Isabel, but Grace saw the tension in the corners of his mouth. “Only after years of having the accent taught out of me, my lady. This was as British as they could make me, I fear.” He laughed. “But they couldna kill all the Scot in me.”
He said the last with a very strong accent and the table laughed together. All but Grace. She tensed, for even though he was teasing, that heavy brogue seemed to hit her right in the gut, sending a warm heaviness through her that settled between her legs. She clenched her sex, but that only made the heat worse.
What was wrong with her?
“What inspired the move from Scotland?” Seth asked.
Once again, Grace was shocked how easily she was able to spot the tightness around Connor’s mouth at Seth’s question. Normally her friends didn’t pry, but they didn’t seem to realize the discomfort their questions caused.
“It’s a long story,” he said after a pause that seemed to drip with tension.
Grace sucked in a breath. He didn’t want to talk about this. And for some reason, though she wished to know more about his past, she couldn’t allow him to stagger through the uneasiness the subject seemed to cause.
“And then you went into publishing,” she interjected.
He glanced over at her and met her gaze. In his brief smile, she saw his gratitude for her change of subjects. Her stomach twisted with the simple expression and she fought to retain even the barest hint of concentration on what he was saying and not how his lips moved.
“I did. I apprenticed from a young age under…well, a man I had known for a long time.” Once again the shadow crossed his face and then vanished. “I struck out on my own five years ago and started my own company with a friend.” Connor turned toward her. “Lady Northfield told me you enjoyed the little book by George Swan that my company produced a few years ago.”
Grace tried very hard not to glare at Jacinda for revealing that tidbit. “When did Lady Northfield tell you that?” she asked.
“After you left us at Lady Harldrum’s party a few nights ago,” he said, his tone carefully neutral, so she couldn’t tell what he’d thought of how she all but stormed out after their first encounter.
Grace sighed. It seemed there were no secrets amongst friends. Why did Jacinda have to remember every off-hand comment made over the course of a near decade of friendship? Of course, what Jacinda didn’t know was that the book Connor spoke of was exactly why she had sent her own manuscript to Connor’s publishing house on a whim, never believing they…he would take the project on.
“I did enjoy Swan’s book,” she admitted. “I thought it a beautiful story and also a magnificent metaphor about love being somewhat like a rebirth after a death.”
Connor arched a brow at her observation. “I felt the same way, which is why we published it. Only you must be one of less than a hundred people who purchased the work.”
“I have impeccable taste,” she replied.
His smile broadened and she tensed at the appearance of a dimple in just one cheek that she hadn’t made note of before. It made his grin delightfully lopsided.
“I will say I agree, though I think I might be biased.”
“I think you both have wonderful taste,” Jacinda interjected and Grace jolted. She had actually lost track of the fact that other people were at the table with them. “After all, Mr. Sheridan, you did publish The Ladies Book of Pleasures. That must have been a great risk to you, it being such a daring book.”
He shrugged, though the observation was a true one. Grace had always been shocked anyone would take a gamble on the things she had to say, let alone dedicate the time Connor had to honing them, helping her clarify them.
“I have always thought that a book should challenge its audience,” Connor said. “The Lady certainly did that.”
Grace found herself blushing at what she took as a great compliment and hoped no one else noticed.
Isabel smiled. “And now we must come to the true reason you’ve been invited here, Mr. Sheridan.”
He laughed. “I can only guess.”
“I feel as though we’re friends now,” Jacinda added, her own smile broad. “And certainly one can be honest amongst friends.”
Seth and Jason exchanged a look and shook their heads, but their smiles were indulgent.
“Come, Grace, try to persuade him,” Isabel pushed.
Grace blinked. “Persuade him of what?”
“To tell us who the Lady is, of course,” Jacinda burst out, leaning in. “You must be dying to know as much as we are.”
Grace nearly snorted out a very unladylike laugh at that, but managed to rein her reaction in. She looked at Connor, trying to read his reaction to the prying. His expression was not irritated, but rather it seemed he actually liked this exchange. Her lips pursed at that. He was enjoying this! Enjoying the attention he got because of her.
She folded her arms. “I might encourage Mr. Sheridan to be truthful with the identity of the Lady…” she said.
“Except?” Jason prodded.
“Except I don’t think he knows.” She leaned back and met Connor’s eyes, seeing the surprise in them. “His face tells you that he does, but would never tell. And he’ll encourage you in your questions because it looks as though he relishes the notice he receives over the book. But in fact, I would wager my fortune that he doesn’t have any better idea about who the Lady is than any of you do.”
Chapter Three
“You may hide behind anger, but high emotion is almost always linked to high passion.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures
Connor stared at Lady Jameswood, uncertain whether to be annoyed by her accusation or impressed by her observant nature. She had uncovered the truth, after all, though she seemed to take an extraordinary pleasure in needling him about it. The woman was impossible to read. One moment she seemed truly interested in his past and his work, the next she was putting a brittle little wall between them with the smirk on her utterly lovely face.
“Grace!” Lady Northfield burst out, her eyes wide.
Grace. Lady Lyndham had called her friend that as well, and Connor was beginning to realize that it wasn’t just the title she was referred to, but her name.
Grace.
It fit her, despite her coldness toward him. Every move she had was filled with grace, from the tilt of her hand to the way she gripped a wine glass or held her fork. Even when she looked at him like she wanted to slap him, she still did it with a natural elegance most women strove to obtain.
“Am I wrong, Mr. Sheridan?” she asked. “Should I apologize for my assumption?”
He frowned. She was challenging him. Openly. What in the world had he done to her in this life or another to inspire such a reaction?
And why did her attitude intrigue him rather than put him off?
He turned to Lady Northfield and Lady Lyndham and shrugged. “I fear I will disappoint you, for Her Grace is correct. I do not know the identity of the Lady.”
Grace smiled, almost in triumph, and a wickedness filled Connor that he didn’t often experience.
He smiled and leaned in. “Of course, even if I did know her identity, I would have to tell you I didn’t. After all, as I said at the ball, there are thos
e who might harm her if her name were to be revealed.”
Instead of a pithy response, Grace turned her face away, her breathing sharp and short, lifting her breasts on every inhale and making him notice her figure all the more.
The tension in the room was high and suddenly Lady Lyndham rose to her feet. “Well, I think this is the perfect time to adjourn for drinks. Gentlemen, I suppose you will take your port in the billiards room?”
The marchioness met her husband’s eyes and Connor could see she was trying to tell him to separate the parties, perhaps to allow Grace to cool down since he had apparently upset her. How, he wasn’t quite certain, but he was beginning to realize he was fascinated by her reactions. And driven, quite wickedly, to evoke them as often as possible.
“Yes,” Lord Lyndham said, standing. “Gentlemen, will you accompany me? We’ll return to the ladies in due time.”
“Thank you,” his wife whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he motioned the men toward the door.
To Connor’s surprise, Lord and Lady Northfield also exchanged a brief caress before Northfield came around the table to exit the room. And here he had always been told that ton marriages were arranged and cold. It seemed not in this circle.
Grace had not yet risen, but kept her stare focused on her plate as the others began to leave the room. As Connor departed, he heard Lady Lyndham whisper, “What is wrong with you?”
And though he desperately wanted to hear Grace’s answer, he was kept from it as the men turned a corner toward the billiards room and the women’s voices became muted by distance.
Grace gave her friends a look that she hoped was utterly innocent. One neither Jacinda nor Isabel seemed to accept.
“Grace,” Isabel said, her tone filled with warning. “What has gotten into you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Grace said as she got to her feet. “I thought we were adjourning to the parlor where we could sip sherry and discuss the weather like good ladies.”
She turned on her heel and left the room, walking up the hallway with Isabel and Jacinda on her heels like hounds to a fox. Certainly, she felt a bit hunted at the moment.
“Grace,” Jacinda said as she closed the parlor door behind them. Her tone was softer than Isabel’s had been. As always, she would take the gentler route. “You cannot pretend that your behavior toward Mr. Sheridan isn’t most out of character.”
Grace stifled a laugh as she poured a large portion of sherry into a tumbler and downed half of it in one gulp. “I’m sorry, dear, are you saying I am behaving out of character or I’m not?”
In the past, Jacinda might have bent her head at the directness of Grace’s response. But not now. Love had changed their friend. Now she lifted her chin and gave Grace a look the Queen herself would have been intimidated by.
“Don’t argue semantics, Grace,” she said softly. “You have been strange to say the least since Mr. Sheridan arrived in our circles. What in the world is going on?”
Grace settled into a chair and sighed. “I admit I have been…out of sorts.”
Isabel snorted at that description, but Jacinda’s hand on her arm silenced her. With a glare, Grace continued. “Perhaps it isn’t Mr. Sheridan at all.”
Now Isabel went far softer and took a place in the chair closest to Grace. “Then what is it?”
Grace stared at the fire rather than her friends. “I want you both to be happy. I do, I hope you know that. I just…I’m simply…well, I don’t really fit anymore, do I?”
Jacinda sucked in a breath, the sound pained in the quiet room. “Grace,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You’ll never be anything but a perfect fit in our lives, no matter what happens.”
Grace smiled at Jacinda, but when her gaze fell to Isabel, she could see that the marchioness understood her meaning more than their sweet friend.
“I’m sorry if we’ve left you feeling on the outside,” Isabel said softly. “I can see how we’ve been wrapped up in our own joy, our new lives, that it could isolate you.”
Grace reached out to take her hand. “But you should be lost in your happiness.”
“But even if what you say is true, you really mustn’t take out your frustrations on poor Mr. Sheridan,” Jacinda said, tone filled with a touch of scolding.
Grace laughed despite the untenable situation she could never explain to her friends. “You speak of him like he’s some shy little mouse who will be wounded by my brutal attacks. Trust me, a man like Connor Sheridan does not need a champion.”
Isabel’s brow wrinkled at Grace’s words and Grace shifted under her suddenly close scrutiny.
“You act as though you know him,” Isabel said after a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Grace swallowed. “Only his type, my dear. Only his type.” She shoved to her feet in the hopes of escaping this inquisition. “Now, please, I feel foolish enough. Can’t we discuss sewing or the weather or the latest in bonnet fashion so that I can forget that I’ve made a cake of myself?”
Jacinda tilted her head. “I don’t think we’ve ever discussed any of those things over the years we’ve been friends.”
Grace wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. “Now is as good a time to start.”
As her friends began to talk of other subjects, Grace sighed in relief.
Her behavior was causing them to question her. Her reactions were drawing attention in ways she didn’t want…couldn’t have. And if she had any hope of escaping Connor Sheridan’s intrusion into her life with her sanity—and her secret identity—intact, she had to rein in those reactions immediately.
Connor took the glass of port that had been poured by the Marquis Lyndham and handed to him by the Earl of Northfield. As the men raised their glasses in a silent toast, he took a sip of the rich wine and somehow managed to keep himself from shaking his head in disbelief.
How far he had come from the life he had been born into.
Lyndham settled into a chair by the fire and smiled at Connor. “And how are you enjoying your foray into the Upper Ten Thousand, Mr. Sheridan?”
From some men, that question would have been laced with sarcasm and elitism, but Connor took one look at Lyndham and could see that the man meant neither.
“It is certainly…” He hesitated, trying to find the correct word. “Interesting.”
Northfield bit back a burst of laughter and shot Lyndham a look. “You owe me ten pounds—I told you he thinks we’re all idiotic fops.”
“Not at all,” Connor corrected with his own laughter, since the room’s environment was nothing but jovial. “Only a certain percentage of you.”
Now Lyndham nearly snorted his port across the room. “Well, no one could deny that,” he said through coughing.
“Not you two, of course,” Connor reassured them, inspiring another belly laugh from Northfield.
“I’m sure you say that to all the lords,” he teased.
“It is a bit awkward,” Connor said, more serious, since he believed Lyndham had asked his initial question with a true desire for an answer. “I have been invited to so many events since the release of The Ladies Book of Pleasures and refused for so long.”
Lyndham cocked his head, and his bright blue gaze held on Connor for a long time, appraising him. “Why didn’t you come into Society for the past few years? Why now?”
Connor shrugged. “Anything for the book, you know.”
Lyndham nodded, but Connor could see the man didn’t fully believe his explanation. Connor couldn’t really give another. How could he say to a man, a stranger, that he had lost contact with his Lady and was somewhat desperate to find her? How could he say out loud what he tried to convince himself he didn’t feel?
“Now that I’m here,” he continued, if only to force the thoughts from his mind, “I’m a bit of a carnival act for them.”
“Us,” Northfield said with a wince of guilt.
Connor shook his head. “No, them. You have been nothing but genuinely kind. Either
that or you two should consider a life on the stage.”
Lyndham nodded toward Northfield. “That’s more Jason’s style than my own.”
Connor’s eyes went wide at the use of Northfield’s given name by the marquess. But by the way the two men smiled at each other, he could see they were truly friends. Another shock, for he had always believed that nothing the upper class felt was genuine. Certainly it never had been in his personal experience.
He swallowed past the unexpected reaction and said, “I don’t think they know what to do with me except try to needle details out of me that I either cannot or will not share.”
Lyndham and Northfield exchanged another glance, and then Lyndham sighed. “Then I suppose we should apologize for our wives.”
Northfield shrugged. “I won’t apologize for mine, as Jacinda is pure perfection as far as I’m concerned. However, I do admit she can be persistent. Perfectly persistent.”
Again, all Connor could do was stare. It was one thing to see a casual caress between husband and wife, but now this man, this earl of the realm, seemed to be admitting publicly and proudly that he loved his wife. And the way Lyndham was smiling, his gaze far away, the way he had interacted with his marchioness—was it possible he was in love with his wife, as well?
The entire exchange confused him greatly. Made him question his thoughts on relationships amongst the ton.
Lyndham shook his head. “You will have to forgive both Jason and me. We are newlyweds, so we will never admit a flaw in our lovely wives. But if you were made to feel uncomfortable—”
“Not at all,” Connor said with a wave of his hand. “Although your wives are not the first to ask me about the identity of the woman who wrote The Ladies Book of Pleasures, certainly they seemed the most sincere about their desire to thank her, or me as her proxy, for it.”
Lyndham and Northfield exchanged a meaningful look before Northfield said, “I suppose that is because all of us owe that book and its author our happiness. Both Jacinda and I and Seth and Isabel may not have come to our marriages had the book not been in existence.”
A Measure of Deceit Page 3
