Grace smiled. Jacinda would give her the perfect excuse.
“We have talked enough about me. Jacinda, how are you? I’ve heard the first part of a pregnancy can be difficult.”
Jacinda still shot a side-glance at Isabel, but when their friend didn’t reveal any pain at Grace’s question, she nodded. “I must admit, any romantic notion I had of carrying a child is vanishing with each passing day. There are times when I could eat half the house and others when the smell of even the mildest food has my stomach queasy. And I’m very tired.”
Grace grasped onto the opportunity offered with both hands. “You do look a little pale.”
Isabel stood and turned to examine their friend. “Grace is right. I realize you are loathe to do anything that might let us down, but darling, you must take care of yourself and that sweet baby.”
Grace nodded. “You should go home and rest.”
Jacinda sighed. “Very well, if only so the two of you motherhens won’t drive yourselves mad with worry.”
Grace forced herself to laugh along with Isabel as they walked toward her foyer. Nash appeared with wraps and carriages were brought around. And all the while, Grace was haunted by the note.
If you think you won’t be punished, think again.
“Grace?” Isabel said, dragging Grace from her thoughts.
“Yes?”
Grace could only pray her voice sounded calm and not as shrill as it was in her head, screaming at her that she was unmasked and likely about to be destroyed in one way or another.
“Are you certain you’re all right?” her friend asked.
Jacinda turned back. “Yes. I realize you shifted the attention to me, likely because you don’t want to talk about Mr. Sheridan anymore, but you know that we only love you and want to help, don’t you?”
Grace smiled, and this time it didn’t take effort, despite the circumstances.
“You two are wonderful to worry, but you shouldn’t. I’ll be fine.”
With that, they all said their goodbyes and Isabel and Jacinda departed. But the moment they were gone, Grace sagged against the doorframe and called out to Nash from there.
“Have my carriage brought around,” she said. And as an afterthought, she added, “And will you have a footman join us?”
Nash nodded. “Of course. Pierce is available to you.”
She nodded. “Good. And…and have him bring a pistol.”
Her butler drew back at the surprising statement and moved closer. “Yes, my lady, of course. But…are you quite well?”
Grace drew in a long breath. “Of course,” she lied, yet again. “It’s only a precaution. You never know.”
The servant looked less than convinced, but as he walked away to fulfill her request, she shook her head. She was not quite well and she was no longer certain everything would be fine, no matter what she told those around her to protect them from the truth.
The only thing she knew for certain is that Connor was the only one who could truly help her now. And she feared his reaction to seeing her only slightly less than she did the man who was apparently hunting her.
Connor stared across the room at the empty desk where Adrian had once worked. But it wasn’t his former friend who was on his mind. It wasn’t his work. It wasn’t even the upcoming meeting he was to have with Lyndham and Northfield. A meeting where he feared Grace’s friends might take revenge for the end of their affair by reneging on their offer to financially back his publishing house.
No, he couldn’t stop thinking, as he hadn’t for days, for weeks, perhaps for years, of Grace. She haunted his dreams, she tormented his days and he feared that fact would never change.
After all, he loved her and yet he could never be with her. Wasn’t that what he’d told her?
“Like an ass,” he added to himself as he pushed the papers in front of him away and got to his feet. He paced away from this desk, because it reminded him too much of the day he had taken her here, and stared outside.
There was a knock on his door and he turned. “Yes?”
Higgins stepped in with a strange expression on his face. “Sir, you have a guest.”
Connor sighed. Since he had begun refusing invitations in Society the past few days, he had begun to receive callers to his own home. Some were men claiming to desire to invest now that the Lady would write another volume to her book. Others had been ladies, trying to trade on…well, a great variety of things…in order to get him to change his mind about attending their soirees.
He had turned down every one, of course. As if he could ever consider touching one of them when he could still taste Grace on his tongue.
“I don’t think I’m up for a guest,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Will you tell whoever it is that I am not at home?”
“Of course, sir,” the butler said, his gaze shifting. Yet he didn’t move. In fact, he seemed very uncomfortable. “Only you see, sir, it is the Duchess of Jameswood.”
Connor froze at the mention of her name. At the fact that she was here. At his home.
And also that his servant knew she meant something to him. “What do you think you know, Higgins?” he asked, hoping his tone was severe enough to inspire truthfulness.
“Mr. Smallshaw made some rather unsavory comments on his way out,” Higgins admitted. “And though no one below stairs would ever comment, I thought you should know.”
Connor shook his head. Damn Adrian.
“Thank you, Higgins, for letting me know. And for encouraging discretion in the household on that issue.”
“Of course. Shall I tell the lady you are not in residence after all?” the butler asked. “Or shall I show her in?”
Connor shot another glance at the desk and shook his head. He wasn’t certain he could maintain any semblance of calm or control if memories of their encounter there haunted him.
“Don’t send her away, but leave her in the parlor. I’ll join her there momentarily.”
When he was left alone, Connor drew in a harsh breath. He had no idea why Grace would come here after their last conversation when she had ended their affair—hell, ended their very friendship. But he ached to find out, ached to see her, to touch her, to smell her skin and be with her.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he walked down the hallway to the parlor. He stood outside the closed door for far too long before he finally got up the nerve to open it.
She was standing by the window as he entered and afternoon sunlight filtered across her face, highlighting her high cheekbones, brightening her full lips, turning her hair to honey gold that he wanted to take down and bury himself in.
She wore a perfectly fitted blue gown that made her bright eyes snap with fire. It cascaded over the firm curves of her breasts and the swell of her hips and swished as she took a step toward him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sheridan,” she said.
His heart sank. Her voice was icy cold, utterly proper from the tone to the way she addressed him. Once he had brought down all her walls, now she put up even more with him than she did with everyone else.
He cleared his throat. “Your Grace,” he replied, just as formal, though certainly less distant. He could hear the searing need in his own voice.
She didn’t react to it. “I’m sorry I didn’t send word ahead.”
He shrugged. “You know you never have a need.”
She turned her face and there was the briefest flash of emotion, which she immediately suppressed. “There is always a need for courtesy,” she replied swiftly.
He took a long step toward her, though it wasn’t nearly close enough. No, close enough would be inside of her, somehow destroying the barrier between them.
“Why did you come, Grace?”
She bent to retrieve a reticule from the chair close to her and dug inside. She handed over a folded note to him, her face lined with grim determination.
“This was delivered to my home today,” she said softly. “When I questioned my staff about it while waiting for my carriag
e, I was told it was hand-delivered by a person unknown to my household.”
Connor wrinkled his brow and looked at the letter. “What is it?”
She pursed her lips. “Read it and see.”
He opened the pages and recoiled at the three ugly lines written within. “Another threat,” he murmured.
“But delivered to my house, Connor,” she said, accentuating the words.
His eyes went wide, and he read it again. “Good God,” he said. He’d been so surprised by her sudden appearance that what she said hadn’t fully sunk in until now. “He knows who you are.”
She nodded. “Apparently so.”
The words were said softly and evenly, but Connor heard the fear in her voice. He reached for her and she didn’t back away when he caught her hand and drew her closer.
“Grace,” he breathed. “My God. I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “Why are you sorry? I assume you are not the author of the note.”
He shook his head. “No, but my statement…my lie about a second volume of your book obviously inspired this madman to seek you out, to find out your identity.”
Her lips thinned and he waited for her censure. The censure he so richly deserved. Instead she let out a long sigh. “This is not the first hateful note addressed to The Lady, Connor. You cannot blame yourself for what someone is driven to do by anger and hatred.”
He wanted to thank her for the gentle acceptance she offered him. The lack of malice that he didn’t deserve. But he couldn’t. Too much separated them, as was evidenced when she shook her head and extracted herself from his grip. “I wondered if we might compare this note to the ones delivered here recently.”
“To see if they are the same hand?” he asked. “Of course. Will you come with me?”
She shifted and pink flooded her cheeks. “Here would be best, don’t you think?”
He stared at her, realizing she was thinking about their tryst in his office as much as he had been earlier.
“As you wish,” he finally managed on a rough voice. “Wait here a moment.”
Then he rushed from the room to retrieve the evidence that couldn’t protect the woman he loved.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Never underestimate a desperate man.”—The Ladies Book of Pleasures
Grace had only just regained the ability to breathe, but lost it again the moment Connor returned to the parlor with a stack of vile, threatening letters in his hands. Of course, she feared what those messages contained. She certainly feared what the one that had been delivered to her home contained.
But it was Connor who sucked the air from the room, from her lungs, and left her weak in ways she couldn’t deny. She stared at him as he pushed a few items off of a table and laid her letter side by side with a line of others to compare the handwriting.
Why did he have to be so…beautiful? It was almost desperately unfair.
“Here,” he said, pointing to one of the messages that had been sent to him over the months. “This one looks very similar.”
She forced herself to walk over beside him, to lean in and have his smoky, warm scent fill her nostrils. It was all she could do not to wrap her arms around him.
Instead, she tried her best to focus on the very important matters at hand. “Yes, the swirl of the G is correct, and the way he writes his K is very unique. This could be the same man who sent my letter.”
“Do you think he’s the same person who delivered it to your home?” Connor asked. He straightened up and turned and suddenly they were practically chest to chest.
She staggered backward to escape the proximity.
“My servants said a boy delivered it, so unlikely, unless my work is now despised by urchin children as well.”
He didn’t smile at her quip, not that she had expected him to do so. It wasn’t very funny, only a nervous habit to establish distance.
“You must be protected,” he said.
She nodded. “I suppose I can now admit that is likely true. It couldn’t have been easy to determine my true identity, not after I’ve guarded it so carefully. That he would go to such lengths says to me that he isn’t idle.”
“I’ll hire guards to watch you twenty-four hours a day. And you’ll stay here,” Connor said, and it wasn’t a question.
Grace stepped back even further and stared at him. “Here?” she repeated. “No! I won’t stay here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Grace.”
The tone was the warning one, the domineering one he had only ever used with her in bed. Despite the circumstances, it still sent a chill down her spine.
“We aren’t having sex, Connor,” she said, her voice shaky. “You can’t force me to do your bidding just by sending me a stern glance.”
“You won’t do it to protect yourself?”
“Coming here might keep the person who wrote the letter from harming me immediately, but I do not see it as protecting myself,” she said with a shiver. “I would still be in imminent danger, and we both know that.”
He shot her a knowing glance, filled with the heat of passion as well as the frustration he was clearly feeling over her position.
“Because of me,” he said past clenched teeth. “You compare me to the man who wants to kill you?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. But if I’m here, would you not seduce me?”
She could see him struggling with a lie, but finally he shrugged. “If you were in the same place as I was, I would have no choice but to pursue you. Whatever you think of me and my choices, I’ve already admitted that you hold my fascination, my desire and my heart.”
She wavered slightly. Even said in anger, those words were like a dagger to the chest. She wanted so much to launch herself into his arms and allow him to have her however he wanted. Only that would end in a much more bitter heartache than the one she felt so keenly now.
“Despite who I am,” she said, more bitterly than she had intended.
His lips thinned and suddenly he crossed the room to her. Before she could escape his touch, he caught her elbow and tugged her against him. His arms became her beautiful prison as his mouth dropped down to claim hers.
She wanted to resist, put up the good fight, refuse, but she couldn’t do those things. He had already tapped into her core of vulnerability and she couldn’t deny him.
His tongue traced hers, and she groaned as desire merged with her heartache and she was lost in both.
Coming here was a mistake.
The words jolted through her and her eyes flew open. Connor offered her surrender, but that did nothing to solve her current dilemma or to save her from a broken heart. She had to do that for herself.
With a great deal of effort, she placed a hand on each of his shoulders and pressed herself away. He let her go without using his greater physical strength against her. But his green stare followed her—feral, dangerous—as she moved to place a chair between them.
“I can’t do that,” she whispered, as if she needed to make an explanation when her actions spoke volumes.
“You could,” he drawled, his accent thick enough that she clenched her legs together. “But you willna.”
Stifling a humiliating moan, she straightened her spine. “I came here to show you the letter and to compare it with the others. I came here because you needed to know the truth. But I won’t take your offer of protection, as much as I appreciate it. I’ll hire my own men. If you want to help me, make it clear to the ton that you misunderstood the Lady and that she will not be writing another volume in The Ladies Book of Pleasures.”
Connor’s jaw set. “Grace—”
“I’m leaving.”
He moved forward and she scurried toward the door. “Please!” Her voice cracked. “Please. Let me go.”
He seemed to struggle with the request, but as she backed away, he didn’t argue. He didn’t stop her. And she slipped from his parlor without further incident.
His butler, the very stern Higgins, stood the foyer.
When she exited the room, his eyebrows lifted as if in surprise. She felt heat flood her cheeks at the reaction and tried to hide it.
“Higgins, I’ll be going. Can you have my carriage brought around?”
He nodded and snapped to a footman to do the deed. As they stood there together in awkward silence, Higgins said, “I’m surprised you’re leaving so early, my lady.”
Grace kept her eyes on the driveway outside. “Are you? Well, certainly Mr. Sheridan has a great deal to do. Mr. Smallshaw must be waiting for him.”
Higgins drew back a little. “Didn’t Mr. Sheridan tell you? He and Mr. Smallshaw parted ways a few days ago.”
Grace gasped as she looked first at the servant, then back over her shoulder toward the parlor she had evacuated a few moments before. Connor had said nothing about the loss of his long-time friend. A strong, almost irresistible urge to go back, to comfort him, flooded her. She was about to take a step toward the parlor when Higgins spoke again.
“Your vehicle, Your Grace.”
She started and looked at her rig, now parked on the circular drive.
“Unless you’d like to stay,” Higgins offered hopefully in the face of her hesitation.
Grace winced. “No,” she whispered, more to herself than to the servant. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Higgins. Good day.”
She stepped from the house and down toward her vehicle. She hardly saw anything as one of Connor’s servants held the door for her, then shut her in when she was inside.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t fully notice her surroundings. In fact, she didn’t even notice the man who was now in her carriage with her until he reached across and caught her wrist in a vise grip. Her eyes widened as their eyes met and she recognized him.
Adrian Smallshaw. His hair was wild, he had at least two days of beard growth on his cheeks and he was staring at her with such hatred in his eyes that even a blind woman could have recognized its presence there.
She sucked in her breath in a startled yelp, but couldn’t make another sound. As the carriage began to drive, he jumped to a place on the seat next to her and clamped his hand across her mouth, silencing her.
A Measure of Deceit Page 20
