The Temptation of Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  And she was rather frustrated with Lord Sterling as well! Who kissed a woman like that and then didn’t call on her? Or at least request a dance? It was irritating to say the least, and at first opportunity she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

  Thankfully her mind was working quite well now that the fog of confusion, and—dare she say it?—pleasure, had finally dissipated. Now, all that remained was anger.

  And if she were honest, a little bit of a wound to her pride.

  Had she not kissed well? Was she somehow wanting in some area? No doubt he had scads more experience than she, but . . . well, she wanted a kiss to mean something! Was that too much to ask? Her first kiss, no less!

  Her opportunity to give that piece of her mind to Lord Sterling came about far quicker than she was expecting.

  When they returned to their party, Lord Westhouse had departed and as the first bars of the waltz music were played, Lord Sterling offered his hand. “Would you honor me with the pleasure?”

  She almost said no.

  Then remembered all that she had to say.

  Perhaps she needed more than one dance to speak it all. So, she accepted and bit back a satisfied grin when she stepped on his toe the very first turn.

  Served him right.

  “Could you have been more condescending?” she asked from the gate, earning a startled and then mutinous expression from her dance partner.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your expressions are clear as day, Lord Sterling. You think yourself above Lord Westhouse—”

  “I am, in rank and in every other possible way,” he interrupted in an irritated manner.

  She sighed, “Be that as it may, regarding rank that is, but there is no need to parade about and look down upon the rest of humanity as if they were below you.”

  His expression was offended, his lips drawn into a thin line. “How so?”

  She bit her lip as the fleeting picture of a peacock flitted through her mind again. “You were—honestly, you both were strutting about like peacocks. It was amusing as much as it was irritating. Tell me, what color are your feathers if you’re so interested in displaying them?” she teased, unable to keep her anger in full force. She was far too amused by the bewildered and stunned expression on his face.

  “Peacocks?” he repeated.

  “Yes.” She nodded once and he turned her.

  His brows drew together and he looked as if he wished to say something but still hadn’t pulled together an appropriate reply to such an odd statement.

  “I do believe I have rendered you speechless.” She turned the tables, remembering when he had mentioned the same to her. It didn’t matter that such a bold statement alluded directly to their kiss; she had much to say on that topic as well!

  He narrowed his eyes as his lips pursed as if trying to suppress a twinge of a smile. Grace had to wonder, how often did he actually release his tension and grin without constraint? All at once she wanted to provoke that type of grin, to draw it from him. It was a challenge, with a worthy prize.

  When he didn’t reply readily, she continued. “Although I must say it’s less of a challenge for me since you are less disposed to conversation than I. In that way, I must forfeit that your ability to render me speechless is a greater feat.”

  “Yes, since you rarely give me the opportunity to get a word in edgewise,” he interrupted. “But I must defend myself.”

  “Oh? From what have I accused you that wasn’t founded in some truth?”

  He grinned, adding a mischievous light to his expression and rendering her with a fast heartbeat in response. She had the satisfaction of achieving the goal of provoking a smile, and it was a worthy endeavor, one she decided needed to be repeated as often as possible.

  “A great many things, but for the sake of time, I’ll merely address one.”

  “It seems I have many sins to atone for,” she added.

  “And a great many more I’m sure you’ll commit,” he replied, with a slight exasperation to his tone. “But I digress. You accused me of putting on airs to appear as if I’m of higher importance than those around me, specifically Lord Westhouse.” He said the name with a venom in his tone before continuing. “To add insult, you compared me with a useless bird.”

  “A peacock, specifically,” she couldn’t stop herself from adding.

  “Yes.” He arched a brow. “I have no use for the man, and I know my admittance of this truth will not shock you as you are already fully aware. He’s a wastrel and has abused far too many women to be called a gentleman, even in the loosest terms. I don’t make a habit of disparaging a peer of the realm, but my acquaintance with him is far too long lasting and his character is deeply rooted in neglect of the most basic principles of morality.”

  “And you’re such a paragon of morality yourself? That makes you a proper judge?” she asked, raising a brow.

  He paused. “No. I’m not in any position to point a moral finger in one direction that doesn’t also point in mine; however, you would be wise to listen to my words.”

  “But, my lord.” She released a tight breath, weary of the tide of conversation. Yet she was far more willing to give such accusations merit coming from Lord Sterling. With his aversion to scandal and his proper behavior, he would be overly sensitive to weaknesses in moral fabric, not that the viscount would not, but somehow the words coming from Lord Sterling affected her differently. She shoved the thoughts aside to address the current thought that must be voiced. “My lord, you are addressing the character of a man no longer present. You’ve yet to answer for yourself in defense of the original reason you found offense.”

  He frowned. “Not so easily deterred, are you?”

  “I’ve been called worse than persistent.”

  At this he chuckled, and the dance came to an end. “So have I, Miss Grace. A peacock being one,” he added as he led her back to the viscount. After a quick bow he took his leave.

  Her gaze lingered on his back, and an anticipation welled within her.

  It was one thing to be attracted to a man.

  But to find a worthy opponent in dialogue? It was priceless.

  And she was quite certain that Lord Sterling was such a treasure.

  But she was equally certain he hadn’t a clue.

  It would be fun to enlighten him . . . and hopefully she’d earn another shocked expression.

  As the evening ended, and she finally found herself in bed, her thoughts lingered not on Lord Westhouse, but on Lord Sterling.

  And if she had the energy, she would have asked herself why. But exhausted, all she could do was willingly fall asleep thinking of the next time she’d be able to test his wit.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You’ve lost your bloody mind,” Ramsey remarked, again, for Heathcliff’s benefit.

  “A promise is a promise,” Heathcliff replied, his tone impatient and beleaguered. “It won’t take long, but I just wanted you to know in case you saw her about.”

  “I won’t be seeing her because you have no business bringing her here! Do you know what she’ll do? She’ll find it fascinating, devour each scandalous idea and then sneak here just like Lucas’s wife and we’ll have a bloody mess all over again!” Ramsey threw up his hands as he paced about Heathcliff’s office at Temptations.

  Ramsey paused his pacing to cast a glare at his friend, who didn’t remotely look as concerned as he should. “You mark my words.”

  “They are marked.” Heathcliff sighed. “Would you rather her spend more of her time with Lord Westhouse? Is this truly such an ill trade?” Heathcliff asked, arching a brow as he watched his friend.

  Ramsey didn’t have a proper response to such a logical question. He was feeling rather illogical at the moment. Everything about Miss Grace had him in knots, all rationality was tossed out the window, and he simply reacted.

  It all had been a domino effect from that first kiss.

  And it had been tumbling down around his ears ever since.

&n
bsp; Especially since he kept restarting the whole damned effect by thinking, dwelling, and reliving the bloody kiss.

  He cast a glance to Heathcliff, thankful that he couldn’t read minds. That would be a holy disaster on top of another. “I still think it’s a terrible idea,” Ramsey added, just because it bore saying again.

  “You’ve mentioned that,” Heathcliff reminded him.

  “When are you bringing her?” Ramsey asked the question but it came out more of a growl than an actual query. He ran his fingers through his hair and tensed as he listened to the answer.

  “This afternoon. It will be deserted and she can answer a little of her curiosity and move on,” Heathcliff answered, his expression clearly indicating that he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

  Ramsey studied him. How was it that he was so dense? It truly was a mystery. The moment that Miss Grace stepped into Temptations her curiosity would not be satisfied, but would be roused to a whole new level of irritating and insatiable. She wouldn’t stop after seeing it for a few moments in broad daylight. No. She’d simply create more questions, which would lead to deeper questions, which would mean she would not get the answers she sought, because while Heathcliff was inexcusably dense, he wasn’t a fool, and so she’d simply decide to find a way to uncover the answers herself. It was a bloody mess and it hadn’t even happened yet! How did Heathcliff not see the ruin that waited? The disaster?

  “You look quite deranged,” Heathcliff remarked as if commenting on the color of his coat.

  “I’m feeling it,” Ramsey told him. “No thanks to you.”

  Heathcliff tipped his chin to the side, evaluating Ramsey. “Need I remind you that she is my ward? Not yours.”

  “Thank God,” he replied with more feeling than necessary for such a statement.

  Heathcliff rolled his eyes.

  Ramsey released a breath. So far he had dodged suspicion.

  But he knew his luck would last only so long.

  Just another thing to cause him to be frustratingly tense.

  All for a woman.

  But wasn’t it always about a woman? Empires could rise and fall over one woman. Mighty men would fight wars. As much as mankind had become more civilized, much had remained the same.

  Women created mayhem.

  In mind, body, and country.

  “Anything else to add before I go and collect her?” Heathcliff asked as he headed toward the door.

  Ramsey was tempted to say a great many things, but in the end, he knew nothing would matter or change his friend’s mind. Might as well just be done with the whole sordid mess and then he would have the satisfaction of telling his friend that he had warned him, just before all hell broke loose. It wasn’t a soothing idea, but it did validate Ramsey enough to simply shake his head and watch his friend depart.

  After about a quarter hour, Ramsey had the miserable feeling of indecision overtake him. Should he go? Should he stay? He wasn’t quite certain since every option had different negative potential. If he left, then he wouldn’t be tempted by Miss Grace, and he would simply avoid the whole mess altogether. But . . . if he left and she got into some scrape, or dodged Heathcliff—he wouldn’t put it past her to evade her guardian in efforts to explore—then his presence would be necessary to avoid greater peril. Heathcliff was to bring her in the afternoon and it was creeping dangerously closer every moment. But afternoon was only a few hours away from evening, and that was when all the . . . activity . . . began. Heaven help them if Heathcliff couldn’t get her off the premises before preparations for the evening began in earnest.

  There would be no end to the questions or curiosity.

  Not that he could blame her.

  Gently bred ladies were not accustomed to such a situation. And with their luck—rather, his luck—Miss Grace wouldn’t be scandalized, but simply intrigued and insist on remaining.

  It was decided then. He would stay.

  He would watch the carriage wreck about to happen and hold his ground. It was the right thing to do, to support his friend in his time of great need—and chaperoning an inquiring lady in a gamble hell certainly qualified as a time of need.

  So it was with great trepidation that he watched the hours tick by as he finished calculating the ledgers in his office. By three in the afternoon Ramsey had already taken tea, paced about the floor a while, and contemplated sending a servant after Heathcliff. He’d asked for a servant to notify him the moment the Viscount Kilpatrick arrived, but he was sorely tempted simply to be on the lookout himself. It was growing dangerously close to evening, and if Miss Grace didn’t arrive and depart within an hour’s time, it would be dangerous.

  For his nerves.

  In the end, the servant wasn’t necessary. Thank the lord.

  A knock sounded at the door and he strode to answer it, expecting the servant, but instead was face to face with the minx in question.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Sterling.” Miss Grace curtsied prettily while her guardian stood beside her.

  “Afternoon,” Ramsey replied, casting a glance at Heathcliff.

  “I told her that you were reluctant about her paying a visit, and suggested that we inform you when we arrive. No doubt you had servants watching.” Heathcliff tsked his tongue while shaking his head.

  “How gracious of you,” Ramsey replied through almost clenched teeth. He didn’t want to simply underline Heathcliff’s accusation with his reaction, but he did so regardless, unwillingly.

  “Is this your office?” Miss Grace asked, leaning forward slightly to peek inside. The movement brought her close enough that the now familiar scent of lavender surrounded him, teasing his senses. He swallowed against the desire that welled within him so uninvited and he nodded. “Yes.”

  “May I come in?” she asked, turning to him, then as if realizing how close they were, her cheeks flushed pink and she stepped back.

  “I’m sure there are more important venues you wish to see,” he said, casting a dubious glance at Heathcliff. They truly must be on with the tour if they were to get her off the premises in time.

  “Oh.” Her brow puckered slightly in disappointment. “I suppose. Will you be joining us?”

  He nodded, ignoring the smirk on Heathcliff’s face as he gestured down the hall. “If you’ll follow me this way, I’ll give a tour of the main floor,” Heathcliff announced.

  And Ramsey followed, his nerves tense, and his mind ticking like a clock with the minutes escaping faster than he liked. Each moment ticking past reminded him that they were walking a dangerous line.

  And he was the only one concerned about the danger, while the other two seemed willingly to run headlong into it. Bloody hell, it was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Grace wasn’t sure why her nerves were taut. Perhaps she was simply reacting to the tension radiating from Lord Sterling. She cast a sidelong glance at him, noting the tight frame of his shoulders, the thin line of his lips, and the way his tone was ever so clipped.

  The man was a bundle of nerves, and she was still irritated with him to the point of enjoyment of his discomfort. In fact, she was sorely tempted to compound it if possible.

  Lord Sterling picked up his pace, his body language clearly indicating that he was anxious to be rid of her, so, with a mischievous grin she tried desperately to suppress, she slowed her steps.

  Her guardian slowed as well, and she waited eagerly for Lord Sterling to notice how they lagged behind.

  She cast a glance to the viscount, who had just finished explaining some sort of historical aspect of the room, and he shared a grin with her as he turned his gaze toward Lord Sterling. He arched a brow, indicating that he was fully aware of her mischief, but did nothing to temper it; if anything, she noted that the viscount’s steps slowed even more than hers!

  It was a lovely thing to have an ally.

  She returned her attention to Lord Sterling’s back a moment before he paused, then turned. His brows were knit over his expressi
ve eyes, frustration and impatience stamped in his expression as he released a sigh. “Woolgathering?”

  “Indeed,” Grace answered, halting her progress entirely while she spoke. “The viscount was just relaying some interesting information about the historical relevance of this hall.” She prayed that Lord Sterling wouldn’t ask the particulars, since she hadn’t the slightest clue as to what they were.

  “I see,” Lord Sterling replied tightly. “If you are interested in the historical aspects, then I might suggest we see the ballroom first. It’s rather antique in many aspects.” He gestured to the left.

  Heathcliff chimed in. “An excellent idea.”

  As she resumed following Lord Sterling, he continued the conversation. “Besides, there is not much more to see besides the ballroom. That is the main location of all the events, and then you can still have time to yourself this afternoon. I’m sure a walk through Hyde Park would be just the thing.”

  Grace bit her lip to keep from grinning. Ah, the true motives were revealed. Hurry up, see it, and then leave, quickly.

  “It’s raining, Ramsey. I highly doubt Miss Grace wishes to parade through the park in such a downpour as we had as we arrived.”

  Grace caught a wink from the viscount and she restrained a giggle as she turned her attention to Lord Sterling’s back. There was a slight hitch in his shoulders. “It’s London, it’s always raining. Besides, I’m quite certain that Miss Grace is more than resilient enough to endure a little rain.”

  “It was quite the downpour,” Grace felt the need to add, just to be contrary.

  “Downpours seldom last long,” Lord Sterling replied, glancing over his shoulder to them.

  The viscount took a breath as if to say something, but they had reached a wide double door that was firmly shut. Lord Sterling paused, then opened one of the doors, revealing a dimly lit room. All Grace’s other questions melted as she struggled to see into the semidarkness. The shape of tables littered the room, and she took a step forward, and to her surprise, Lord Sterling stepped out of her way, allowing her passage.

  The room had a distinct odor, not unpleasant, but also not quite like anything she’d ever smelled before. It was an odd mix of old cigar smoke, brandy, and some sort of stale perfume. The room was masculine in its style and tenor. The wood tables were far more substantial than what she had expected, along with the chairs. Each table was labeled with a particular purpose or game, and as she walked further into the room, she noted a long wooden table along the back of the ballroom, with several other doors leading out. There was a smaller area cleared for what she assumed to be dancing, and all around them were polished glassware and silver, all awaiting a footman’s tray and some sort of drink to fill it.