by Gayle Callen
Beverly came toward her, smiling. “You’ll play with me, of course, Grace.”
If Beverly didn’t understand that she had never played cards, how would Grace convince Lady Fogge and the rest without looking like a fool?
“She’s a terrible cardplayer,” Daniel said, coming from behind to stand at her side. “Why else would she bring me, except to win as much as possible for those poor babies?”
Grace felt something come unfrozen inside her. Daniel understood without her even explaining.
Beverly looked between them, and Grace thought her friend’s face reddened in belated understanding.
“Of course, what a marvelous idea,” Beverly quickly said. “Mr. Throckmorten, come sit at my table. Grace, you can encourage us.”
Grace ended up standing behind Daniel, and rather than behave like his usual cool, enigmatic self, he charmed the ladies and made the men forget that he was beating them. At times she stood to the side so that she could watch his face, but never once did his expression reveal anything but joviality. But of course, she knew he was a master at keeping his emotions under control. It had obviously made him a successful gambler; she could not imagine him as a man who went past his limits.
Yet on the way there, when she’d confronted him about testing Edward, she had seen far too much in his face, from resignation to surprise to confusion. It was as if he could no longer hide what he was feeling from her. Was she more than a conquest to him? Was Beverly right—should she consider pursuing marriage to him?
At luncheon, Lady Putnam, a friend of Beverly’s, looked at Daniel over the centerpiece. “And how is your mother, Mr. Throckmorten?”
Grace listened with interest, for she’d never heard anyone mention his mother to him.
“She is well, ma’am. I was able to visit her recently, and hear all about the charities she’s sponsoring in Cambridge.”
“It’s a shame she does not visit London.” The old woman leaned forward and spoke in what she must have thought a whisper, but was heard at the end of the table. “Surely everyone has forgotten the scandal.”
There was an expectant hush, and Grace wished she could somehow rescue Daniel from this awkwardness, as he’d rescued her today.
“Thank you, Lady Putnam. I am sure she knows that.”
Did he know how much he’d truly changed himself after what happened to his father? If only she could help him regain his music, return to a time when its pursuit soothed him, but she didn’t have the first idea how to go about it.
She was getting too involved, falling deeper and deeper into Daniel’s problems, Daniel’s life.
And she couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop. His feelings mattered to her. The way he cared about her seemed more important than anything else.
Oh God, she really had fallen in love with him. And it might be the biggest mistake of her life.
That evening, as Grace listened to the next well-meaning young lady attempt to play the piano at her doting mother’s musicale, she thought of how Edward had whistled as he’d left the house to join Daniel at the Southern Railway ball. His optimism had returned, and she could only be grateful to Daniel for that. Daniel hadn’t had to help her brother, but he had done so. She kept telling herself that it was only a means to woo her, but she couldn’t believe that of him. He was a good man. He’d spent his life helping people in trouble though he would not think that.
When the music portion of the evening was over, Grace went to help herself to iced cakes in the refreshment area set up in a small drawing room. She smiled at a man who came in behind her. He was of average height and build, and his black hair was beginning to thin on top.
He stopped in front of her and cleared his throat. “Miss Banbury?”
“Yes?” It was strange of him to speak to her when they hadn’t been introduced, but perhaps he was new to Society. And suddenly she realized that she hadn’t seen him at dinner.
“My name is Mr. Horace Jenkins.”
When he paused awkwardly, she smiled. “I hope your evening has been pleasant, sir.”
He smiled back, and for a moment she thought he was nervous, but he only took a deep breath.
“It has, now that I’ve met you. You see, I’ve wanted to be introduced for a long time.”
She blinked in surprise. “I’m…flattered, Mr. Jenkins. I have not been in London long, but—”
“I know. In fact, I know all about you. I, too, live in Hertfordshire.”
“Oh.” She felt the first hint of uneasiness. “I am surprised we have not met.”
“I have seen you, of course, but I was not sure how a visit from me might be accepted.”
What could she say to that? “I am a friendly person, Mr. Jenkins.”
“You’re kind and sweet, and I know you’d understand why I—” He broke off.
Kind and sweet? How could he know that? “You what, Mr. Jenkins?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide the nervous edge in her voice.
“Why I played in a card game to win your hand in marriage.”
Grace inhaled swiftly, and all her focus sharpened on this one man. Thank heavens, there was no one else in the drawing room but the two of them. “I—so you were one of them.”
“I was the one most eager to win your hand, Miss Banbury,” he said sincerely. “The others wanted the property, or even the violin, like that fool Throckmorten. I would have done anything simply for you. But I lost.”
“What would you have me say, Mr. Jenkins?” she asked softly. “I wish that card game had never taken place.”
“That’s because Throckmorten won,” he said coldly.
Grace felt a jolt of awareness and certainty. Jenkins had to be the man who’d been watching her house.
“You didn’t marry him,” Mr. Jenkins said, when she didn’t reply.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Good. He’s a bounder with no morals. You should have rejected him outright, but instead I see you with him at every event.”
He was no longer bothering to hide the thread of angry jealousy. Another man came into the room and perused the refreshment table. Mr. Jenkins looked at Grace in a knowing manner, as if daring her to say something.
And what could she say that wouldn’t reveal the whole sordid scandal?
And then what would Daniel’s family think of her?
Oh God, she was worried about marriage with him more than the harm to her own reputation and family. How had this happened to her?
When they were alone again, Grace tried conciliation. “Mr. Jenkins, due to that card game, Mr. Throckmorten feels he has certain…rights toward me. I resist him at every turn, but I cannot show that in public.”
“Is he going to marry you?”
“No.” What else could she say? It was probably the truth. And she thought even the possibility would make Jenkins angrier.
Instead he began to fidget, and perspiration broke out on his forehead. She’d made a mistake.
In a low, heated voice, he said, “Then why are you consorting with him? If he is not going to hold to the terms of the bet, then you should be with me.”
She eyed the door, but he was between her and it. “Mr. Jenkins, he won the bet, and I don’t know what the future holds in regards to marriage with him.”
“I would marry you, Miss Banbury. Say you will.”
“I—I cannot, in good conscience, Mr. Jenkins. Please understand that I—”
“I don’t understand anything! It is not fair! And I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’ve probably already given yourself to him!”
She gasped. “Mr. Jenkins! Such crudity doesn’t even deserve the decency of a reply!”
“I would overlook your faults, Miss Banbury.”
Angry and too reckless, she drew herself up. “If you had hoped to sway me, insults will not help.”
“I am always willing to overlook a woman’s faults,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I told that just last year to Miss Wadsworth, but she still ref
used me. And Miss Sutton the year before that.”
Grace simply gaped at him as he rambled.
“I am done waiting, Miss Banbury. I need a wife, and this time I shall have the woman I’ve chosen.”
Coldly, she said, “Good day, Mr. Jenkins.”
His eyes glittered as he looked down her body. “This isn’t over.”
He stalked out of the room, and Grace felt a heavy weakness come over her. She clutched the table, wondering for a moment if her legs would carry her.
But no, she was not going to let that man—or any man—defeat her. She didn’t know what she was going to do about Mr. Jenkins, but she would think of something. Surely if he wanted to marry her, he wouldn’t besmirch her name in public. That would only make him look worse.
Yet how many more near disasters would she have before the ton finally heard of her many hidden scandals? There was Baxter Wells’s intimate knowledge of her, Daniel’s seduction, and now the threat of her mother’s terrible bet coming to light. Grace had spent so much of her life trying to be above reproach, to rise above her mother’s uncontrollable behavior. And now it was all falling down around her.
She left the musicale with Beverly, and then asked to borrow her carriage. Though Beverly looked worried, she did not protest. After Grace let her off, she proceeded to Daniel’s town house. He was the one in whom she’d been confiding; he was part of this whole mess. He should be the one to help her out of it.
As they neared his home, she suddenly realized how it would look for an unmarried lady to travel alone through the London night to a bachelor’s home.
She rapped on the roof and waited as the carriage stopped. When the driver opened the door, she said, “Let me out at the corner and then wait for me.”
He looked at her uncertainly, and she knew what he was seeing. A woman dressed in evening finery, wrapped in a cloak, alone at night.
“Miss, are ye sure ’bout this?”
“Yes, I am,” she said briskly, barely hiding the anger that burned through her. “I just need to walk, to think. Wait here for me.”
She turned away from him and headed down the street. Daniel’s house was only two doors down, and she was able to sneak down the stairs and slip around back.
As she stood on the back step of the servants’ entrance and knocked once, she had a moment of clarity. What was she doing? Daniel could not solve this for her. If he discovered she felt threatened, he might do worse than punch Mr. Jenkins, like he’d done to Baxter. He couldn’t keep attacking her suitors. Then there would be even more scandal for him, this time brought on because of her, and his family would think her the worst sort of female.
She turned to leave, hoping everyone was in bed and had not heard the knock.
But the door opened behind her, and she wilted.
An older man wrapped in a dressing robe stood there, his cap askew on his balding head.
She looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, this is the wrong house.”
“Grace?”
She froze at the sound of Daniel’s voice. He came out of the gloom from behind his servant and into the light of the candle. He was dressed in his evening clothes, all black but for his shirt and cravat. The servant looked curiously between them but backed away when Daniel reached for her arm. She didn’t resist as he pulled her inside.
To the servant, Daniel said quietly, “You can return to your bed.”
Not letting go of Grace, he pulled her through the dark house, down a corridor, and into a paneled library where lamps lit the night. It had the faint smell of smoke and leather, a thoroughly masculine place.
Daniel released her and put his hands on his hips as he loomed over her, his expression tight with anger. “Would you care to explain why you are wandering London alone at night? There’s been a man watching your house!”
“I didn’t go home,” she said, feeling belligerent.
Though he had not been the man to threaten her, she was angry at him for being at the beginning of this whole disaster that had enshrouded her life—and angry that he’d been the first one she’d wanted to go to for help.
“He could be following you!”
“He’s not.”
“What are you doing here? It can’t be because of the railway ball. You could have asked your brother about his success with the women.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Was he successful?”
“He was.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly.
He gave a half smile. “That doesn’t sound very grateful.”
Fisting her hands, she advanced on him. “You—oh!”
She whirled away, and then came to a stop when she saw an antique violin mounted on the wall. Her father’s violin, the reason she was in this insane challenge.
Oh, she should leave; she was feeling angry and reckless, an equal mixture of despair and confidence writhing through her.
“That’s going to be mine,” she said in a low voice.
He came up behind her and gripped her shoulders. “I don’t think so.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “So you think I can’t resist you.”
“Not for long.”
His fingers undid the clasp at her throat, and her cloak fell to the floor.
“I have resisted every day since the beginning,” she said.
“And it’s getting harder, isn’t it?”
Her neck and shoulders were bare, and he trailed his fingers along her collarbones.
“You’d like to think that,” she whispered, suppressing a shiver at the pleasure of his touch. “I can stop anytime I want, but I think men are different.”
Oh heavens, what was she doing? She was in his home, baiting him, daring him to make her give in. But her anger and helplessness and desire were all coming together inside her, and she could no longer think about what would be the right thing to do.
“Let’s see who can stop,” he said.
And then he turned her around and pushed her back up against the wall. His mouth came down on hers, holding her trapped.
And she reveled in it. She kissed him back fiercely, letting emotion and passion wipe away all her conflicted thoughts, her worries for the future. In that one moment, all she knew was that she loved him, that she’d come to him for help, though in the end, she could not risk asking him. She had never found a man who excited her more than he did. And if when their two weeks were over, he left her—
She wanted to love him; she wanted to punish him for making her feel this way. So instead of accepting his kisses and caresses, she instigated her own, exploring his mouth with her tongue, letting her eager hands roam over his chest and slide beneath his coat and unbuttoned waistcoat. His muscles were hot and hard, and when she found his nipples through the fabric of his shirt, he moaned into her mouth.
The coat and waistcoat joined her cloak on the floor, and she pulled his shirt out of his trousers and slid it up his body. As he struggled to take it off over his head, she did what she so enjoyed having him do: she took his nipple into her mouth and sucked on it. Beneath her hands, the muscles of his abdomen convulsed.
“Grace.” Her name was a hoarse prayer on his lips.
She suddenly shoved hard, and he fell backward onto the sofa. She came down on top of him, but the sofa was awkward, and in trying to get as close as possible, she ended up straddling him. He stopped breathing on a groan as he arched his hips up against her.
Though his trousers and her drawers still separated them, they moved against each other, rubbing. He grabbed the lower bodice of her dress and tugged until her breasts popped free of the low corset. For just a moment, they hung above his face, and then he greedily took one in his mouth. She cried out and moved even more frantically against him.
He cupped her head in his palms and pulled her down until their lips met. Against her mouth he murmured, “Let me come into you, Grace. Let me love you.”
Those words were like a rain shower of reality. He meant he wanted se
x, but those words—the tenderness of his voice—
She reared back. “No.”
Chapter 20
Daniel came up on his elbows. “No?”
Grace’s hips were still molded to his. He could feel her dampness, and the way her body cradled his erection, so close to the center of her, where he ached to be.
He rubbed his cock against her, moving in a way he knew she would like. And she gasped for him, her face contorted for him, her head thrown back above her naked breasts, but her passion was being overcome by remorse.
She almost fell as she climbed off him. Turning her back, she tugged her bodice back in place while he narrowed his eyes at her. What had he done? How had she been able to stop herself when he had been lost with her in his arms? Never in his life had a woman been able to separate him from his thoughts, from his rationality.
But it had not been the same for her. She’d been able to stop as if he meant nothing to her.
And he finally had to admit that that hurt. And it wasn’t because he wanted to win this crazy challenge.
He wanted her. He wanted her to want him, to need him.
I can’t give in, Daniel,” she said huskily, then bent over to search through his discarded clothing for her cloak. When she straightened, the look in her eyes was bleak and determined, even proud. “Whatever you men do, I can’t give in.”
You men? What the devil did that mean? “Grace, you can’t leave here like this.”
“I have Beverly’s carriage waiting down the street. I’ll be fine.”
“But the man watching you—”
“He’s no longer watching me.”
He didn’t understand her sudden bitterness. “Just because you haven’t seen him—”
But she was already fleeing down the hall, and he hadn’t even had the presence of mind to get dressed so that he could chase her. All he could do was follow her progress through the windows as she ran out the back door and around to the front of the house. He saw the carriage not two doors down, and only when she was safely inside did he feel relief.
But there was no relief for the rest of his body. He yearned for her; but she did not feel the same for him.
