The Temptation of Grace

by Kristin Vayden

“Will we be seeing any more of Lord Westhouse this season?” Samantha asked cautiously.

  “No,” the viscount answered. “His . . . estate needed some tending.”

  Ramsey snickered softly.

  Grace raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  “I see.” Samantha nodded.

  The viscount continued, “I imagine him to be much like your father, my dear. Once the waters have settled, he sees no need to rock the boat. After all, the one that would sustain damage would be him, and both your father and Lord Westhouse love their reputations far too much to put them in jeopardy when there is not a certain victory.”

  “Well said,” Ramsey remarked.

  Samantha tipped her head. “When did you get so astute?”

  “Ach, I always have been. I just hide it well.”

  “Very well,” Ramsey added, earning a glare from his friend.

  Grace was still considering Ramsey’s words from earlier, one part not quite adding up. “But . . . if he was acting in jealousy, why ever did he take me from the ballroom? What part do I play in any of this? It doesn’t make sense.” She furrowed her brows, as she tried to think through all the plausible answers.

  The viscount shifted in her peripheral vision, and she turned to see him give a rather meaningful look to Ramsey.

  She turned to Ramsey to see his response.

  “That is a very good question,” Ramsey replied.

  Grace waited for the answer to the “very good question,” and when none seemed forthcoming, she turned to the viscount, who had just finished whispering to his wife.

  “We’re going to give Ramsey a moment to speak to you, Grace.” The viscount and Samantha stood. Samantha gave a surprised and somewhat concerned smile to Grace, then followed her husband from the room, making a slight show of opening the door full wide and arching a brow before stepping into the hall.

  “Curious.” Grace mumbled, then turned to Ramsey. “I’m expectantly awaiting your response, especially since it apparently needed the evacuation of the room to be heard.”

  Ramsey chuckled softly, then turned in his chair to face her fully. “It seems Westhouse was far more astute than I gave him credit for.”

  Grace nodded, her brow still furrowed.

  “And was rather determined to continue to be a thorn in my side, and the only way to get to me was through my friends. He understood this, as it had been that way since our days at Eton. There is a strength in numbers, and I have quite loyal friends.”

  “Indeed,” Grace agreed.

  “He’d been waiting for an opportunity, and when Heathcliff presented you to society, it was like an open door. If Westhouse could get to you, then he knew I’d not stand by idly, but I’d help Heathcliff in anyway necessary.”

  “That makes sense.” Grace twisted her lips. So, Westhouse’s interest in her was merely a tool to be used somehow to get to Ramsey. That had to be some deep-rooted resentment to go to such lengths. She said as much to him.

  “It is indeed deeply rooted, and this is why.” Ramsey took a tight breath, and his expressive eyes held her captive in their gaze. “My mother died giving birth to me, so as I grew up all I had was my father. But he was a harsh, difficult, and exacting man. Perfection was the only acceptable way to live and I fell short time and time again. But the one thing my father hated most of all was scandal.”

  Grace nodded, her heartbeat pounding fiercely, her intuition telling her that a deep truth was about to be revealed.

  “So, growing up, I avoided scandal like the black plague, only to fail in an epic, Greek-tragedy-type of way with my first marriage. The scandal was monumental, and my father never forgave me for it. He simply reminded me that I’d always been a failure. You can imagine how that affected me.” He fell silent for a moment, as if reliving the blow.

  “But what I didn’t realize, or at least piece together, was why my father hated scandal so much. Why he expected such perfection from me.”

  Grace waited expectantly.

  “Because I was to be his redemption.”

  Grace frowned. How did a person become another’s redemption? It wasn’t possible.

  “I can tell by your expression that you see the absurdity of it.”

  “Yes,” Grace replied, watching his face, the way his slight smile illuminated his gaze.

  “It is absurd, but since when has humanity been utterly rational? Regardless, what I discovered was that my father had created quite the scandal of his own. I’m writing to my housekeeper to confirm the details, but I’m quite certain that it’s well known that Westhouse’s heir—the current Lord Westhouse—is simply a by-blow of my father’s. The scandal at the time would have been monumental. When you factor in my birth, effectively putting an end to the need for my father to have an heir, you can see the tension.”

  “But, Lord Westhouse would never have been in line for your father’s title,” Grace argued. “So why have any attachment to it?”

  “Because my father had quite the protégé in Westhouse, and cultivated it. Apparently, he lamented my incapability as a son, and it only fed the animosity. When my father died, Westhouse felt the need to pick up the torch, so to speak.”

  “Good Lord,” Grace replied. “What a waste.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And so, in the end, it was always about you,” Grace replied after a moment’s reflection.

  “Yes.”

  She nodded, feeling a cheap pawn. “I see. Forgive me if I sound a petulant child.” She shook her head. “What you’ve endured is much more than can ever be atoned.”

  “Oddly enough, while I was to be my father’s redemption, the true heir, the one born rightly into the title—I was also the one he resented most. So rather than live in a way that was atoning for his sins, I rather re-created them in many ways.”

  “No,” Grace replied fiercely.

  He tipped his head.

  “No, you are nothing like the selfish man you’ve mentioned. You’re fiercely loyal to your friends, you give of yourself far more than necessary, and you defend those who cannot defend themselves. You saved me.”

  “I’m not nearly the paragon you describe, but I am thankful that you see me as such,” he replied.

  “It’s the truth,” Grace asserted. “But your agreement on it or not doesn’t affect my convictions.”

  At this, Ramsey chuckled. “I don’t think I will ever grow tired of your wit, Grace. And I don’t think it’s fair to say I saved you. You did a rather brilliant job of saving yourself. And with that, I have another confession.”

  Grace was about to make another remark, but stilled and waited for him to continue.

  “Westhouse saw me arrive at the ball. Your back was turned to me, and I dare not think how fierce my expression appeared when he took your hand to lead you to the dance floor. I committed the biggest crime of gambling, I gave away my tell. In that moment, he knew he had me. And you were the bait.”

  Grace breathed in the words. “I waited for you,” she whispered, her tone hesitant.

  “I was rather unforgivably late,” he remarked. “There was an issue with my carriage so I’m not without some excuse, but . . . you still should not have been so long expectant of me, not when there was much that needed to be said, to be . . . discussed.” He moved from his chair and stood. Taking the few steps to close the distance between them, he offered his hand to her to help her to stand.

  Grace grasped his hand, the warmth going through her, and it was as if a crashing wave of emotion soaked her and she realized how desperately she had needed to touch him, to know he was well, to just be in his arms. Her body ached with the need for it.

  He tipped her chin up slightly, and before he continued, he bent down and placed a kind, warm, reassuring kiss on her waiting lips. Then, as if one would never be enough, he kissed her again, equally as soft, and then once more before leaning away, a soft and satisfied smile on his face, reflecting in his eyes.

  “How could I miss you so much when I was o
nly apart from you for a few hours?”

  Grace gave her head a slight shake. “I know not, but I do know it’s entirely accurate.”

  He grinned and allowed his gaze to roam her features. “I was furious when I saw you take Westhouse’s hand. But not furious with you—with myself. Do you have any idea how long I have fought my affection for you?” he mused.

  She smiled, glancing down for a moment. “Truly?”

  He didn’t answer readily, but placed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I shall never forget how you asked what height of footstool you’d need to equal me in height.” He chuckled against her skin, the warmth sending goose bumps across her flesh as the words seeped into her head.

  “Dear me, my mouth often runs without my mind’s permission.”

  “It’s one of my favorite traits.”

  At this, she giggled. “Amongst my ability to constantly give you frustration.”

  “You provoke me in every way, Grace,” he whispered meaningfully. “Every, single, way.” He trailed gentle kisses down her temple, along the line of her jaw and then lingered at her lips.

  “You make it sound like a good thing,” she whispered, her voice catching as she took in a gulp of air. Her heart pounded, her body tingled, she wanted him closer.

  “I rather think it is,” he murmured against her lips.

  “You are exceedingly easy to tease.” She collected her thoughts and spoke them, leaning back to meet his warm gaze. “And I rather delight in frustrating you. It is one of my greatest faults.”

  “You keep me from remaining as I am, but push me to be better, to think differently, to . . . love.” He spoke the word with reverence, as if it were a litany in church.

  Her heart leapt at the word, daring to hope for what it could imply.

  “I am rather loveable,” she whispered breathlessly, but without the twist of humor she intended.

  “Indeed you are.” He then took her lips, coaxing them to open to his attentions. His hands grasped her fingers, tugging her in closer to his body, his heat melting through her with delightful power. Once he released her fingers, she reached up, winding her hands through his hair and pulling him more securely against her lips, nipping gently before kissing him fully.

  He leaned back, even as she tried to pull him closer.

  “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his gaze alight with desire.

  Her breath was hot and fast as she nodded, not caring that she basically admitted to a physical desire for him.

  “As tempting as you are, I wish to live longer than this night. I do believe I’ve had enough bodily harm for the day, and I’d rather not have more at the hand of my friend, who will soundly thrash me, and rightly, if I compromise you in his parlor.”

  A heated blush seared her cheeks and she glanced away, then back to his lip. Carefully she reached up and touched the corner where she could see a cut. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not nearly enough to tempt me to stop kissing you,” he answered frankly.

  At this, Grace smiled. Noticing the rather purple shade of skin along his eye, she refrained from touching it, knowing it had to hurt.

  “Stop worrying about me. This is not the worst I’ve had, love. And I dare say it won’t be the last black eye I’ll have either.”

  At this, Grace rolled her eyes. “Men.”

  “You’re quite fond of me, is that it?” Ramsey asked, his gaze taking on a dancing lilt.

  “Yes. I rather am. I hope you don’t think me willing to hand out my kisses to just anyone,” she added with a bit of cheek.

  “If you have, don’t tell me. I’d be honor bound to thrash them all and I would rather spend my time doing other things. . . .” He met her lips meaningfully.

  She giggled, shaking her head. “Good thing I’ve only kissed one person.”

  His expression sobered, then grew fierce. “Me.”

  She nodded.

  He kissed her then, deep and searchingly, as if making sure he had staked his claim.

  When he released her, he leaned back, then bent down on one knee. “Since I’m rather fond of being the first and only, I’d like to make that completely and irrevocably official.” His gaze met hers with a powerful determination as he took a slow breath before continuing.

  Grace could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her limbs were tingling and she couldn’t control the smile that stretched across her face in expectation.

  “Miss Iris Grace Morgan, will you do me the great pleasure of consenting to be my wife?” he asked, quite properly she thought.

  Her eyes prickled with tears, and she was nodding before she could form the word “yes,” though it came through in a garbled mess a moment later.

  Tears burred her eyes so she felt rather than saw Ramsey’s grin as he kissed her soundly, his arms banding around her and holding her firmly against his strong chest.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his lips between kisses, her arms tight around his neck as she leaned into him.

  “That’s a very assuring thing to hear,” he replied, then slowly gentled the kiss, much against her will, before disentangling himself from her grasp.

  “You’ll be happy to know that your guardian has given his consent as well,” Ramsey added, putting space between them.

  Grace took a step toward him, unwilling for any distance to part them.

  “I’m trying to be honorable,” Ramsey replied, grinning wildly as he arched a brow and took another step back.

  Grace arched a brow, then daringly took another step toward him.

  “You’re making it exceedingly difficult.”

  “Good.”

  He put a chair between them, arching a brow and chuckling.

  Grace stepped on top of the seat of the chair.

  He smiled, then chuckled, which turned into a broad laugh as he shook his head. “Well, I believe that solves one question.”

  Grace frowned, looked down, and then back to her fiancé. “What is that?”

  He glanced meaningfully down at the chair cushion she was standing upon, and then back to her, meeting her gaze directly. “You don’t need a footstool to be my height, my love. You need a chair.”

  A smile teased her lips before a giggle bubbled out. Drat the man, he was right. She was finally seeing him eye to eye.

  And it was all thanks to the chair between them.

  Leave it to him to find the one thing that could distract her from her mission. With a twist of her lips, she leaned forward and kissed him. “All the better to kiss you.”

  When she released him, he met her gaze with one of warm affection. “Shall we tell the others?”

  Grace nodded, reluctant to leave the cozy parlor, but knowing she needed especially to tell Samantha.

  “After all, Heathcliff asked me an important question earlier tonight. And I finally have the answer.”

  “Oh? And what was that?” Grace asked as he took her hand and led them from the parlor.

  “When were we having a wedding.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  St. Georges was the most proper and most in-demand place to have a wedding amongst the ton.

  St. Georges was not where Grace wanted her wedding.

  No.

  When she had dreamed of her wedding as a young girl, she dreamed of the outdoor weddings in India, the breeze blowing the canopy across the azure sky, and the colors, oh the beautiful colors.

  And everything in London was in shades of pastel and gray.

  It was her wedding, and she was going to have color, drat it all!

  “Grace, dear, what do you think?” Samantha asked, pulling Grace’s thoughts back to the present.

  “About?” Grace asked, not caring that she was confirming that she wasn’t paying proper attention. After all, she was quite deliriously happy, and as such, she found that she couldn’t find the will to be sorry about anything. She was simply far too happy to feel anything but joy.

  “We were asking about flowers,” Samant
ha said, presumably again.

  Grace twisted her lips, thinking. “I love flowers. Which are in season?”

  Samantha glanced upward in thought. “It’s too late for tulips, but I’m sure we could find roses, and maybe some other bulbs.”

  “Irises.” She spoke the word before she could stop it, not that she would have, but regardless, her mind ran away with her mouth and as soon as the word left her lips, she knew it was the perfect idea.

  And, judging by the smile spreading across Samantha’s face, she agreed entirely. “I don’t think we can do anything but irises, now that you mention it.”

  “And they should be in season.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And they come in a wide array of colors—”

  “Which colors do you fancy most?” Samantha asked, leaning forward, clearly pleased to have some interest from the bride.

  Grace considered the question, her thoughts parading a kaleidoscope of color through her mind’s eye. “Must I choose one?”

  At this Samantha paused, then tipped her head. “You know, it’s normal to pick one or two, but I don’t know why we must stick to convention in this area.”

  “I want as many colors as we can find. A medley, a rainbow of color.” She smiled as she thought of it.

  “Have you spoken regarding a date?” Samantha asked, making notes on her sheet of paper as she spoke.

  Grace shook her head. It had happened quite fast after they’d left the parlor last night to share the news.

  The viscount and Samantha had been waiting for them in the study, and upon Ramsey’s arrival in the room, knowing grins spread across both people’s faces.

  “I was giving you thirty more seconds before I came to check on you. Propriety and all.” The viscount grinned widely, standing to offer his friend a solid handshake.

  “I take it she accepted you?” Samantha asked Ramsey, even as Grace gave her a hug.

  “I used all my powers of persuasion,” Ramsey remarked, turning to wink at Grace.

  The viscount cleared his throat.

  Ramsey sobered and Grace stifled a laugh.

  They had accepted the congratulations and then, with a promise to return in the morning, Ramsey had kissed her hand and departed, his lingering gaze a memory that still made her skin erupt in gooseflesh.