She could not go.
They continued to gaze wordlessly at each other until the pale glow of an overcast sunrise began to illuminate the sky. By taking a step backward, he suddenly broke the odd spell between them. He raised his hand and tipped his hat to her before he fled silently into the shadows.
As if he had disappeared before her very eyes, Grace gasped and pressed her fingers against the cool windowpane. If she pushed any harder she could shatter the glass. She stood motionless, staring at the place she had last seen him, hoping he would return to her.
It was all too much. The dream. His appearance just as she woke. Their wordless exchange. Finally she turned from the window, not knowing what she feared more. That she had imagined his presence outside her window. Or that she hadn’t.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the chill that crept through her bones and sank to her knees on the wooden floor.
Chapter Four
The young lady at the piano played beautifully, the haunting strains of Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-Flat Major” filling the room. Grateful not to be subjected to an off-key recital, Grace enjoyed the evening’s musicale at the Forsythes’ home more than she had enjoyed one in quite some time. This piano piece in particular affected her strangely. Lord Grayson sat to her right; however, Mary Sutton had remained at home, nursing one of her terrible headaches. Happy to be free of her mother-in-law’s negativity for the evening, Grace smiled warmly at Lord Grayson. He placed a possessive hand on her arm.
Comforted by his touch, Grace relaxed. She was glad to be with people. Glad to have real, living beings talk to her and touch her. These were not figments of her imagination. And she did not want the evening to end. She did not want to go to sleep and drown in another life in her dreams. It was all becoming too real, too frightening. She had almost jumped out of her bedroom window this morning. To what end?
No. It was good to be in the company of others, without Mary hovering over her, listening to the lovely strains of music and having Lord Grayson beside her. She gave him a shy glance and he grinned sweetly at her. It took so little to please him. All she had to do was give him a smile. Marriage to him would not be such a bad compromise after all.
When young Elizabeth Rutan finished playing her piece, everyone removed to the salon for refreshments. Grace allowed Lord Grayson to lead her to a small table, where he promised to bring her some cake. Grace sat with Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker, a couple she had been friendly with for a number of years, for she and Henry had married only a month after the Whitakers. The two couples had spent a great deal of time together before Henry died.
“It’s wonderful news that you and Lord Grayson are to be married,” Lucy Whitaker commented brightly. She was a pert blonde with an easy smile and an upturned nose. “Have you set a date yet?”
“Well, it is not definite, but we think we shall marry in a quiet ceremony before Christmas,” Grace explained. Lucy and her husband, Daniel, had been very supportive of her after Henry died. But not even they knew the true circumstances surrounding Henry’s death. Mary had made quite sure no one knew.
“We’re so happy for you, Grace,” Daniel said. “Reginald Marks is a good man.”
“Yes, I know,” she agreed. He was a good man who would take good care of her.
“Oh, Grace, I would like you to meet a friend of mine. Here he comes now,” Daniel began.
The hair on Grace’s neck stood on end and her stomach lurched. Even before she turned around she knew. He was here.
“Hello, Radcliffe! You remember my wife, Lucy, but I would like you to meet a very dear friend of ours,” Daniel said with warm enthusiasm. “Grace, this is Lord Radcliffe. Lord Radcliffe, may I present Mrs. Grace Sutton.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Sutton,” a rich and achingly familiar voice said as she lifted her gaze to lose herself in the dark pools of his eyes. The urge to reach out and touch him caused her to tremble. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he continued.
“Good evening,” Grace managed to whisper. Her pulse quickened and her cheeks flamed.
For years she had thought of him as a fantasy, as an unattainable vision or apparition in her life. Last night he had held her in his strong arms. Then he had made love to her in her dreams while she begged him to marry her. This morning he had appeared below her bedroom window, inviting her to leave with him. Now here he stood before her, as real as day. And familiar with her closest friends on top of it all!
“Lord Radcliffe just arrived from Ireland,” Daniel Whitaker went on. “He has an estate there near my cousin’s and he’s in town for the month.”
Grace’s heartbeat increased at the mention of Ireland, but she was not surprised. Not truly. Of course, he was from Ireland! In her dreams she and Phillip were in Ireland, riding horses along the misty seashore, rocky cliffs above them. She could see quite clearly the endless green fields dotted with limestone walls and the quaint little cottage where they met in secret, even though Grace had never been there. She’d never been more than a few hours from London in her life. But how could her dreams be so vivid and lifelike? And how could she have dreamed up someone like Lord Radcliffe? Something strange was happening to her.
Lord Grayson returned with dessert and Grace forced herself to look away from Lord Radcliffe’s mesmerizing gaze and focused on her lemon cake instead. But she could not swallow a single bite. Not with Lord Radcliffe’s possessive eyes on her. Nor could she follow the conversation going on around her. Words were spoken. Laughter ensued. Heads nodded. Yet Grace had no idea what anyone said and if they had spoken to her, there was no way she could answer. She kept her eyes down, for she dared not meet his with Lord Grayson beside her.
At some point, Lord Grayson put his hand on her shoulder and announced it was time that they took their leave. Grace finally glanced up from her untouched plate. As she expected, Radcliffe’s eyes were on her. She willed herself to look away.
“It’s time for me to go as well,” Lord Radcliffe said casually to Lord Grayson. “I shall walk out with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Lord Grayson said before saying goodnight to the Whitakers and leading Grace over to their hostess. They thanked Lady Forsythe for a lovely evening and made their way outside to await their carriage. Nervously, Grace pulled her merino wool wrap tighter around her shoulders at the cool air.
Lord Radcliffe stood waiting for his carriage to be brought around as well. His eyes never left Grace. She could feel his stare.
“Lord Grayson! Lord Grayson!” A young manservant wearing the Grayson livery came racing over to them. “May I speak to you a moment please, my lord?”
Surprised, Lord Grayson excused himself to step away to speak privately with the young man. Grace was left standing alone with Lord Radcliffe. She dared a glance at him. He smiled knowingly at her. A moment later his carriage pulled up.
“Lord Radcliffe,” Lord Grayson said in an urgent voice, “it seems there is a bit of a family emergency that I must attend to personally. Would you mind seeing Mrs. Sutton home safely for me?”
Radcliffe’s eyes flickered briefly to Grace. “It would be my pleasure.”
“Reginald, what is the matter? Can I be of any help?” Grace asked, filled with worry, and not just for her fiancé but for the idea of being alone in a carriage with the man of her dreams. Literally.
“I’m afraid not, my dear. I shall explain everything to you later,” he whispered in a tense voice. He patted her arm. “Please let Lord Radcliffe escort you home now. It would ease my mind greatly.”
Grace nodded her head, watching Lord Grayson hurry down the street with the manservant. Slowly she turned back and faced Lord Radcliffe. He held open the door to his gleaming black lacquered carriage and extended one hand to her.
Taking a deep breath, she took his hand and allowed him to help her into the luxurious carriage and settled on the seat facing forward. He followed quickly behind her, and his entire being seemed to fill the small space. She had
expected him to sit across from her on the opposite seat, but he sat right beside her. She inched herself as far from him as she could, but still his thigh pressed against her leg. An unexpected heat flooded through her.
Grace took a deep breath, filled with the wonderfully clean and oddly spicy scent of him. He rapped on the roof and the driver set the carriage in motion. Easing back into his seat, he turned and smiled at her, revealing his straight white teeth. A sudden thought occurred to her.
“Did you plan this?” she asked with mounting suspicion and a sense of panic.
“How else could I get you alone with me, Grace?” He held up his hands in mock helplessness.
The confirmation of her suspicions did little to allay her nervousness. “What was this emergency Reginald had to attend to? Nothing serious, then?”
“It depends if you consider his son in a drunken stupor and losing his shirt at a card game serious or not.”
Grace pursed her lips. Somehow Lord Radcliffe had arranged for Reginald to learn of his son’s exploits. Reginald would be quite angry with his son but at least the boy was not permanently injured in any way. Perhaps it was better she did not know the details of Lord Radcliffe’s ruse. “Why did you do this?” she questioned with a shaky voice.
“You know why.” He placed his hand under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Besides, I can hardly continue to skulk around your bedroom window before dawn, now can I?”
Her heart turned over in her chest as she gazed up at him, his dark eyes mesmerizing her. He had been outside her window this morning. She had not imagined it. She had not dreamt it. He was real and here with her now. He had her alone with him in a darkened carriage. She did not know what to think.
She whispered, “You are not taking me home, are you?”
“Do you want me to take you home?” His voice melted her.
In all honesty she did not want to go home. A part of her longed for this man to take her wherever he wanted and to do with her whatever he wished. Lost in his eyes, a heated desire washed through her, making her slightly dizzy. “I . . . I do not know what to do,” she murmured.
His voice was hoarse. “I do.”
Before she knew what was happening, he lowered his head, his mouth slanting over hers in a possessive and searing kiss. He continued to kiss her passionately, his tongue searing her own with its heat. Grace clung to him in a breathtaking frenzy. This was a dangerous kiss, a kiss that would lead to much more, and she was powerless to stop it. Never had Grace experienced a kiss such as this. At least not while she was awake.
He consumed her with his passion and she let him. His mouth moved over hers expertly, and she savored the exquisite taste of his lips, his tongue, his breath. The intoxicating scent of him enveloped her. His tongue plundered and ravaged her. His hands gripped her so tightly she thought she would faint. She didn’t want him to let go and held on to him desperately, for it was familiar and new and frightening and exciting all at once. And, oh so much better than her dreams, for this kiss was real! This kiss was happening now. To her. She was kissing him back just as passionately.
Suddenly he released her and Grace opened her eyes wide in surprise. His smile sent shivers to the tips of her toes. She should be outraged. She ought to slap him for kissing her in such a way. Instead, she felt ridiculously happy.
“Who are you?” she whispered through her kiss-swollen lips.
“I am Stuart Phillips, the Earl of Radcliffe.”
“Stuart Phillips?” The name jarred her senses. It was more than a coincidence. Phillip Stuart was his name, the man in her dreams.
“Yes.” Again he spoke in that calm, seductive voice.
“Who are you? How do you know me? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”
“Why so many questions, Grace”—his eyes flickered over her—“when you already know the answers?”
“I . . . I have had . . . I have had dreams. About you.” The words came out before she could stop them.
“Have you now?”
She nodded. He seemed almost amused by her confession and she felt inordinately foolish. How could she possibly explain this to anyone, let alone the man about whom she dreamed? And after she had just allowed him to kiss her!
“Why are you here?” Her voice trembled.
“Ah, my love, have you not guessed?”
She shook her head. She didn’t want to guess. She wanted answers.
He took her hand in his. Very slowly, he began to remove her glove. With great care he inched the fabric away from each finger, until her fingers were bare. She shivered at the contact of her bare skin against his. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. He turned her hand over and kissed each finger. He continued to place soft, sensuous kisses all over her hand. The desire that pooled within her intensified with every kiss until she thought she would expire from the anticipation of what he would do next.
“I could not stay away from you any longer, Grace.”
“You barely even know me . . . ,” she breathed. He still held her hand in his, his thumb stroking her palm. She could not focus on anything but the feel of him caressing her hand.
“Ah, but you see, my love, I do know you.”
She held her breath. “How?”
“We have met before.”
“When? Where?” she whimpered, while her heart raced in her chest. Yet she knew what he would say.
“Ireland.”
“I have never been to Ireland. In fact, I have never set foot outside of England in my life.”
He looked at her intently and squeezed her hand. “Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Let’s talk about the dreams you have.”
Her mouth went dry. It was so foolish. How could she possibly describe her dreams to him? Such passionate and intimate dreams. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of last night. She said nothing.
“I am in your dreams, am I not?”
Grace nodded, unable to speak.
“You call me Phillip in your dreams,” he stated as if it were quite ordinary.
Again she nodded her head. She held her breath.
“And in these dreams you and I are in Ireland, are we not?”
She stared at him with fear and wonder. How could he know such things?
“And I call you Gráinne.”
She gasped at the sound of her name. It was impossible. It was completely impossible for him to know that. Had he somehow gotten ahold of her dream journal? Had he paid a servant to read it and report to him? But for what reason? Nothing made sense.
She choked out the words. “You called me Gráinne last night in the hallway, didn’t you? I thought I imagined it.”
“I could not help but call you that. Do you know that in Irish the name Gráinne means Grace?”
No, she did not know that. It still did not explain how he knew about her dreams.
“We kiss in your dreams, don’t we, Grace? We do more than kiss.” His silky voice whispered in her ear. “It’s why you allowed me to kiss you just now.”
For a moment Grace thought she would faint, as she had when they first met in the hallway. Suddenly she found the words she needed. “How . . . How do you know such things?” she practically begged him. “How can you know my dreams?”
He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him once again. “Because I have the same dreams, Grace.”
If he had suddenly sprouted wings and begun to fly she couldn’t have been more surprised. “No!” she cried. “Is such a thing even possible?” She reached up and touched his face, running her fingers along his strong jaw, his perfect aquiline nose.
“I have dreamed about you for more years than I care to give a number to, Grace. When I saw you at the ball, I could not believe my eyes.”
“But what does it mean? Why do we share the same dreams?”
“Because we have loved each other once before.”
She certainly loved this man in her dreams. And he lov
ed her. She could not deny that fact. What he said made sense. “A long time ago?”
He nodded. “Another life.”
Nervous laughter bubbled within her, but she suppressed it. “Another life?” she questioned.
“Yes.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if people discussed their past lives at the supper table on an ordinary basis. “You see the truth of what I am saying?”
No, she did not quite see and at this point she was not sure she wanted to see.
She whispered, “It cannot be.”
“Then how do I know about your dreams? How we hid from your parents by running off to the cottage? How do I know I made love to you, wanted to make you my wife?”
He knew! It defied all logic and sense of reason but he knew all her dreams.
With a sure movement, he leaned in and kissed her again. Grace thought she would explode from the fire he stoked within her. Good heavens! She could not help but kiss him back again. He felt too good, tasted too good. And she wanted him too much. She had been alone for five years. It had been five years since she had experienced a man’s touch on her body and she relished his hands on her now. Craved his hands on her naked skin.
They kissed and kissed and kissed, as the heat grew between them. Their tongues swirled together. His arms circled her waist and pulled her tighter against him. She did not protest but pressed herself against his broad chest, filled with a wanting too strong to resist. His hat fell from his head as she ran her fingers through his thick black hair. His hand followed the curve of her hip, up to her breast. He removed her wool wrap and began to undo the buttons of her gown.
Grace suddenly froze. She was kissing a stranger in his carriage when she was engaged to another man. It was wrong. Everything about this situation was wrong. In fact, it was terrifying. She pulled away from him, panting heavily. He still had his arms around her.
“Please . . . Take me home,” she murmured mindlessly.
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