Highland Hunger Bundle with Yours for Eternity & Highland Beast

by Hannah Howell

  With eyes like a hawk, Mary spied the journal and snatched it up. “What is this?”

  Grace’s cheeks flushed red and a sense of panic welled within her. She was always very careful to keep the journal well hidden. She would surely die of mortification if Mary read her journal now, knowing she would never be able to explain to Mary’s satisfaction any of what was written within its pages. A tall, wide-girthed woman with steelgray hair and permanent frown lines around her thin lips, Mary Sutton carried herself as a queen and expected others to treat her as such.

  “It’s nothing important. Just some thoughts.” Grace held out her hand. “Sometimes it helps me to sleep if I write down the thoughts in my head first.”

  “Your thoughts!” Mary ignored Grace’s obvious request for the return of the book. With a disapproving frown, she thumbed through the handwritten pages. “Of course you can’t sleep. How could anybody sleep when they are awake composing such drivel instead of in bed where they are supposed to be? Dream journal indeed!” She scoffed and flung the book back at Grace, who fumbled to catch it.

  Grace breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that Mary could not read without her spectacles, so she could not see what Grace had written. She held the book close to her chest.

  “God will be judging you on what you do, and I don’t believe anything you’ve written in that book would be deemed as godly.”

  Grace remained silent. No, she doubted anything she had written was godly, but it was heavenly. She would not argue that point with her mother-in-law. She and Mary had always had differing views on God, and Mary’s overzealous religious leanings had only become more intense since her son, Henry, had died.

  “Honestly, Grace, I pray for your soul every day, but I worry that not even that is helping you,” Mary admonished sharply, pulling the ties that secured her robe tighter over the girth of her stomach. She gave her a pointed look. “Well, have you decided to accept Lord Grayson’s offer?”

  Lord Grayson’s offer! Grace’s stomach clenched and she stared mutely at Mary.

  She had completely forgotten Reginald Marks’s proposal to her last night! She’d been so consumed with her dream she had not given it another thought. After years of proper mourning and wearing black for Henry, Grace was finally socializing again. In the past months she had begun to attend balls, supper parties, and musicales. Last night Reginald Marks, Earl of Grayson, had made an offer of marriage to her. He was a wealthy widower with a grown son, and was a nice enough man. She had thanked Lord Grayson for his honor, declared herself overwhelmed, and begged for some time to think it over. Lord Grayson had not been discouraged by her hesitation and readily agreed to give her as much time as she needed to consider his offer of marriage.

  Because Mary had been so instrumental in bringing this prospect to her, Grace could not summarily dismiss the man, as was her first impulse. She did not love Lord Grayson nor did she wish to marry him, but then again, she did not wish to marry anyone. After her husband’s tragic death she did not believe she could love anyone again.

  But then, love was not necessary for marriage. That she already knew.

  But could she marry the Earl of Grayson? He was kind and gentle with her. He would take good care of her. Perhaps she would have a child this time. That would be lovely and was the main source of her regrets with Henry Sutton. She had always longed for a baby of her own.

  She could do worse than the Earl of Grayson. Reginald Marks owned a great deal of property and was well respected in society. Although he was older than Grace by at least twenty years, judging from the amount of white taking over his brown hair, he was not unappealing. The promise of leaving Mary Sutton’s home was also something to consider. Living with her mother-in-law had become more intolerable each year, as she had grown more intrusive and domineering in her ways.

  With a mixture of fear and loathing, Grace stared at the large woman looming in front of her. Mary’s blatant look of scorn and condescension was the usual expression she wore. Grace’s relationship with Mary had been one of mutual dislike from the start, because Mary had not wanted her only son to marry Grace. When Henry died five years before, the only buffer between them had been removed and each year the friction between the two women only increased.

  “Don’t be a little idiot, Grace. I’ve worked tirelessly to cultivate this relationship for you with Lord Grayson, in spite of your efforts to deter him. You might not get another offer this good. You’re thirty years old now and you are beginning to show your age. You’ve turned down every other offer you’ve received, but you would be a fool to refuse Lord Grayson.”

  It suddenly occurred to Grace that Mary was as eager to be rid of her as she was to be rid of Mary. She grinned at the irony. Yes, Grace would accept Reginald Marks’s offer of marriage, if only to escape this woman.

  Mary eyed her suspiciously. “You look like the cat that ate the canary, Grace. I don’t like that smirk on your face. It’s quite rude and disrespectful to me. Stop it this instant.”

  Grace ceased smiling, her eyes downcast.

  “Did that smile mean you’ve finally come to your senses and have decided to be thankful for this opportunity the good Lord has generously bestowed upon you, however undeserving you may be?”

  Grace merely nodded.

  “Speak up, girl!” Mary commanded. “You will accept his offer this evening, will you not?”

  She glared at Mary, thinking how wonderful it would be to finally be free of this woman’s daily presence. “Yes, Mother, I shall accept Lord Grayson’s offer.”

  Mary sniffed. “It’s about time. Not since you married my Henry have I seen you make a good decision.”

  Grace said nothing. Henry was a sensitive subject between them, for she knew Mary blamed her for his death. And for the fact that she did not have a grandchild.

  “Now that you are awake, you might as well get dressed and we shall begin prayers. Then you may help me sort through the linens to see which must be mended and pressed. Dolly made a terrible mess of that. But what did I expect, asking her to do something that required some actual thought?” Mary said, not waiting for Grace to respond. “Oh, we must call on Lady Dennis later today, so make sure you wear your dark blue dress. We shall leave for the Rutherfords’ ball at eight o’clock sharp, for Lord Grayson will accompany us. You can tell him when he arrives that you have agreed to be his wife. Now you had better get dressed.”

  With that proclamation, Mary left the room. Grace stared at the door and released a breath, relieved to be free of her mother-in-law.

  You have agreed to be Lord Grayson’s wife. Grace hadn’t told him yet. But she supposed she would.

  A pang of regret filled her as again she thought of him. The man in her dreams. Phillip. Oh, if only she could feel a love like that in her real life.

  It seemed, however, that a love like that was not in her destiny. For if it was, surely it would have happened by now.

  Chapter Two

  “Congratulations on your engagement, Mrs. Sutton!”

  It was all Grace heard that evening while she stood in the crowded and overheated ballroom of Lady Rutherford’s London townhouse. Grace wished she could simply slip away from it all. She had smiled falsely at everyone and was exhausted from the strain of pretending to be happy as well as spending the entire afternoon in Mary’s company.

  “Thank you very much,” she managed to utter in wooden response.

  She had danced and waltzed obligingly with her new fiancé, who beamed at her with delight and pride at her acceptance.

  “We are going to be very happy together,” Lord Grayson said as he escorted her from the dance floor, his hand possessively on her arm.

  Grace stared at the whiteness of his hair, the lines around his blue eyes, and the tightness of his mouth. Somehow she did not think she would be happy with him, but she was quite certain that he would not make her as miserable as Mary Sutton did. She would bet money on that if she could. Her life would definitely be easier with Reginald M
arks. He was a nice enough gentleman and she even liked him.

  “Would you please excuse me?” she whispered softly, indicating subtly that she needed to visit the ladies’ retiring rooms.

  Lord Grayson nodded in understanding. “Of course. I shall eagerly await your return.”

  Grace made her way through the festive crowd and managed to step outside for a much-needed breath of air. The cool fall evening revived her sagging spirits and she stood outside until the chill finally forced her to rejoin the party. She made a quick visit to the retiring room so she could honestly say she had been there. She studied herself in the looking glass, smoothing her auburn hair and adjusting her bottle-green silk gown. Her cheeks looked flushed and her blue eyes seemed overly bright, but she could not bring herself to smile.

  She exited the retiring room and wandered along the hallway of the Rutherfords’ townhouse. Lingering, she strolled along another empty corridor and admired the gilt-framed paintings illuminated by beeswax candles in wrought-iron sconces.

  She did not wish to return to Lord Grayson’s and Mary Sutton’s side just yet. Something drew her to this secluded area. A need to be alone? Perhaps, but she could not shake the feeling she was searching for something. Longing for something. She felt restless and out of sorts and not at all like her usual calm self. Last night’s dream would not leave her in peace. It had haunted her all day. The sensual nature of it, the wild passion, filled her with an overwhelming desire for something she could not have. Her legs trembled as she moved slowly along the hallway.

  Stopping before a portrait of some medieval-looking Rutherford ancestor, she sighed, pressing her hands together tightly. She wished . . . She wished she could live the life in her dreams.

  “Good evening,” a deep male voice stated from behind her.

  The candles flickered and the hair on the back of Grace’s neck stood on end. Her entire body began to tingle as the strangest sensation crept over her skin. Her mouth went dry. Slowly she turned around to see who had spoken to her, even though she knew instinctively who it would be. Her heart stopped at the sight of an extremely handsome man, dressed in black. His eyes. His intense eyes looked as if they could see right through her, see into her very soul. She suddenly felt as if she were stark naked in front of him.

  It was him. Him. The man from her dreams. Phillip. The man she loved in the dreams that haunted her. The man she had kissed with a fierce passion in her dreams only last night. The image was still so vivid in her mind; she was mortified to face him.

  For a long moment Grace could not breathe. She could not move. She could only stare at him in helpless fascination.

  “Hello, Grace.” He stood before her, his dark eyes penetrating hers. “Gráinne.”

  How did he know her name? And the name he called her in her dreams?

  Her eyes fluttered with rapid movements. The world began to tilt and spin violently around her and then in an instant went completely black.

  When Grace opened her eyes again, the man of her dreams was cradling her in his strong arms, while one hand gently caressed her cheek. Her heart pounded wildly as she glanced up at him. She still could not catch her breath. However, she could breathe well enough to notice how nice he smelled. Clean and spicy, but a spice she was unfamiliar with.

  “I didn’t anticipate that you might faint when you saw me, but I should have.” He gave her a smile, warm and slightly suggestive. He had the straightest and whitest teeth she had ever seen. They were perfect. “It was lucky I caught you in time,” he said, “or you might have hit your head on the marble floor. And we couldn’t have that happen now, could we?”

  She may as well have hit her head on the floor, for nothing made sense to her at all. She blinked helplessly at him, feeling as if she were wrapped in thick layers of cotton wool.

  “Who are you?” she murmured low, noting how naturally he held her. As if she belonged in his arms. As if he were quite familiar with her. A surge of hot desire shot through her veins, surprising her with its intensity.

  He stroked her arms with long, soothing motions. “You know who I am.” His words were clear and calm.

  The touch of his warm hands on her bare skin caused her to tremble. What did he mean? How could she know who he was when he was just a figment of her imagination? The man in her dreams was not real. Not a real person at all. And even if he were, how could he possibly know about her dreams?

  She shook her head with a slow deliberateness. She wanted to say she had never seen him before, but that was not true. “I do not know you.”

  He smiled again and there was a hint of laughter in his dark eyes. “Yes, you do. I am Radcliffe.”

  The name meant nothing to her. Yet she could not deny the familiarity about him, how comfortable and at home she felt in his muscular arms. The soothing and rich timbre of his voice. The firm, possessive feel of his hands upon her. The look of warmth in his eyes. It was all eerily familiar. As if he had held her this way only last night.

  And he had. In her dreams.

  It was impossible. Impossible.

  Suddenly a rush of panic welled within her and she had to get away. “Please . . . Please, let go of me,” she pleaded as she struggled to release herself from his magnetic hold.

  Without hesitation he set her free, a look of understanding on his handsome face. “Ah, my lovely Grace, do not be afraid of me.”

  Wobbling on her feet, she backed away from him, even though she longed to be in his arms once again. She cried, “How do you know my name?”

  “Because, Grace, I know you.” He paused and eyed her carefully. “I have always known you and I have waited a very, very long time for you.”

  She gasped at his words, which were tinged with a surprising sense of sadness. How could he know her? How could he have been waiting for her? She had not told him her name. The man was clearly insane. A sudden chill shuddered through her body. What was he thinking, saying these things to her? He was a complete stranger. And yet, he wasn’t.

  “I must . . . I have to go now. . . .” She turned her back, suppressing a shiver, and began to walk on unsteady legs down the corridor to return to the ballroom.

  He did not follow her, as she feared he would. She risked a glance back to be sure, but he remained standing there, his dark eyes fixed on her. As she hurried away, she heard him say, “You will not marry Grayson. He is not meant for you, Grace.”

  She practically flew to the ballroom, the richness of his voice haunting her. He is not meant for you, Grace. Then who was? She suppressed the urge to scream.

  “Where have you been?” Mary Sutton snapped when Grace finally reached her side at the seating area near the ballroom. “You have been gone entirely too long. And look at you! You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I . . . I went outside for some air,” Grace murmured mindlessly, oddly comforted by the normalcy of her conversation with Mary. “I must have caught a chill.”

  “Well, that was quite foolish of you.”

  Lord Grayson eyed her kindly and, in a most thoughtful gesture, wrapped her black wool shawl around her shoulders. “You forgot to take your wrap with you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, giving him a grateful smile. She eagerly pulled the warm garment tighter around herself. She still shivered.

  “Would you care for some hot tea?” Lord Grayson asked with caring solicitation.

  “Thank you, yes. That would be quite nice,” she said, taking her seat along the wall. As she watched her new fiancé go off in search of her tea, it occurred to Grace that it would be lovely to have a man to watch over her again.

  Mary sat beside her and whispered none too softly, “Lady Rutherford’s daughter, Victoria, has the most deplorable manner. Look at her there, wearing that indecently low-cut gown and dancing with that no-account scoundrel, Lord Mayhew. She will cause her own ruin with her wildness one of these days. Her parents have been too lenient with that girl and now it is inevitable that she will come to a bad end, mark my words.
And Lord Mayhew, well, everyone knows about him. He’s gambled away his country estate! That is what comes of sin and wickedness. Why Lady Rutherford allowed that man into her home is beyond my understanding. . . .”

  Grace ignored Mary’s tirade of verbally attacking each of her friends and their offspring.

  She could think of nothing but the strange meeting she had just had with the enigmatic Lord Radcliffe. Had she simply imagined it? Now, as she sat amidst the light, the noise, and the liveliness of the ballroom, it did seem as if her extraordinary encounter in the dimly lit hallway had not happened.

  How had the man who had dominated her dreams for years suddenly appeared before her in flesh and blood?

  A terrible thought occurred to her. Had she fallen asleep in the ladies’ retiring room and dreamed the entire event? Were her dreams taking over more than her nights? Was that possible?

  Her heart raced at the likelihood. Had she merely been dreaming again? Yet he had seemed so real. He had held her in his arms and she had felt him, right here in this very house. Yet he had always been real in all her dreams throughout the years.

  What was happening to her?

  Confounded by her situation, she pressed her fingernails sharply into her palms, making tight fists. Either she had a problem of dozing off in public places or the object of her dreams had suddenly materialized in front of her. Both explanations were more than a little disturbing.

  “. . . in that tacky dress! She looks like an overripe tomato. Oh, and I heard it directly from Mrs. Fairwood that Lord Granger is thinking of marrying Helen Thatcher! Can you believe that he would stoop to . . .”

  Grace continued to ignore her mother-in-law, a skill she had become quite adept at over the years, focusing instead on the need to find a reasonable explanation.

  How on earth could she account for what had just happened to her?