She rubbed her arms absentmindedly.
“Grace? A date?” Samantha asked.
“No, we haven’t discussed anything.”
“Then we can only do so much planning. We need to know how much time we have to put everything in motion. First, we must have the banns read this Sunday—”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
The viscount strode into the sunny parlor. After giving a warm smile to Grace, he walked over to place a solid kiss on Samantha’s head while he gave her shoulders a little squeeze.
“Oh? And why is that?” Samantha asked, looking up at him with affection.
“Because if I know Ramsey, and I do know him, he’s planning a trip to Doctor’s Commons.”
“Oh.” Samantha frowned. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“Unless the bully of a guardian refuses the idea of a special license.”
At this, Samantha batted his arm playfully, not once believing his bluff. “Sure, I’ll believe that when I see it!”
“A special license?” Grace asked. She had heard of them, but never actually seen or known anyone to use one. Such a document came at a high cost, but precluded the interested parties from having to follow any normal protocol for a wedding.
With a special license, they could get married in a few days, rather than a few months.
“Well, that does change things,” Grace remarked, tipping her head.
“We don’t know for sure,” Samantha replied. “But it is a good idea to have some contingency plans.”
“When did Ramsey say he was arriving today?” the viscount asked, his gaze shifting to the door.
“I’m not entirely certain. He said morning,” Grace replied, worrying her lip slightly.
“I wouldn’t be concerned about it, Grace. I’m certain he has a full schedule this morning.” The viscount clapped once, startling Grace. “Which leads me to my next question.”
Grace smoothed her skirt and glanced up at him, her brow furrowed as she awaited the question.
“When did this all happen? I thought you were after Lord Westhouse’s good opinion, and next thing I know, Lucas and I are breaking up fisticuffs and you wind up betrothed to my friend. It’s been a rather busy day, I’d say.”
“And this coming from a man who oversees a gambling hell,” Samantha added dryly.
The viscount cut her an unamused glare.
She lifted her hands in surrender, her lips grinning.
“Be that as it may, I find that you have completely unsettled my preconceived notions, not that I object, I was just rather surprised.”
“I take that as a compliment, that I can break convention and create a bit of havoc for you, in a good way of course,” Grace amended
“In the best way. I say, at first I had teased Ramsey about offering for you. He had immediately refused such an idea, but I am rather delighted to have the opportunity to remind him of his earlier words,” the viscount chuckled.
Grace hid a grin behind her hand as she giggled at the idea. She could quite imagine it. The viscount good naturedly teasing his friend, Ramsey taking it seriously and becoming offended; she could nearly see his expression in her mind’s eye.
Just when had she grown to know him so well. How had it happened? It was a good and worthy question the viscount asked, regarding how it all came to be. And she was hard pressed to give a credible answer. The truth was, it just . . . did. It wasn’t a slow feeling that crept over her, nor was it lightning that struck her heart. No, it was an awakening of sorts, only to find out she was in the middle of it before she realized she had begun.
It led to the question, how had Ramsey known? If he was so set against her earlier, as the viscount had said, when had that changed for him? A million questions swirled around in her mind, all demanding answers, yet she delighted in the fact that she would be able to answer them, rather than ask and uncover the answers like treasures.
Her lips were spreading into a grin before she even gave them permission.
“Ah, look who finally dragged himself in,” the viscount commented as the door opened, revealing a very roguish-looking Ramsey.
“That expression terrifies me.”
“It’s about time I make you as terrified as you have made me so often over the years,” the viscount countered, offering his friend a firm handshake as he rose to meet him.
Ramsey snorted at the viscount’s statement, but shook his hand firmly, a warm smile on his face.
Then he turned and his gaze shifted into an intimate embrace as his eyes fixed on Grace. Her body tingled with the force of his gaze, and wherever his eyes roamed, her skin warmed like it had been touched. “Good morning,” he said simply, but the words were much more than just a mere greeting; they were a promise.
A promise of many more mornings.
Together.
“Good morning,” Grace returned, feeling the blood rush to her face in a blush.
A small sigh stole her attention and Grace turned to see Samantha’s affectionate gaze on her, a slightly dreamy look in her eyes. “It’s so delightful to see you in such a way, dear,” she murmured, appearing abashed at being caught.
Grace wasn’t exactly sure how to reply, so she nodded and then turned back to Ramsey.
“Have you considered a date? My wife has been pestering your betrothed for details so we can make plans.” The viscount started the conversation.
Ramsey gave a nod, but before answering further, he walked over to Grace and offered his hand. She took it eagerly, and as he lifted her fingers to his mouth to place a warm kiss there, she let out a small sigh of her own.
“Careful, Ramsey, she’ll swoon in the parlor and then where would we be?” the viscount teased.
Ramsey grinned wickedly.
Grace arched a brow and then cut a glare to her good-natured guardian.
“Did you go to Doctor’s Commons?” Samantha asked, clearly not willing to wait patiently for the news.
Ramsey frowned and turned to face her. “Pardon?”
Then he turned to the viscount. “Have you had John trailing me?” he asked with a slightly accusing tone.
“Heavens, no. Why, do I need to?” the viscount countered, taking a seat and chuckling at Ramsey’s irritated grin.
“No. But it is odd that you’d know my whereabouts so quickly.”
“You’re not a difficult man to read, Ramsey. I’d wager I know you better than you know yourself. Which leads me to another topic of discourse.” The viscount leaned forward, pausing a moment for effect.
Grace knew what was coming, and held her grin in check as she watched for Ramsey’s reaction when the viscount reminded him that he’d once stated he had no interest in her.
Ramsey had the good grace to appear slightly abashed. “Let’s just say I amended my ways and opened my eyes.”
“What a diplomatic answer. Marriage will not be a hardship for you.”
The viscount chuckled.
Samantha shot her husband a glare. “As if marriage is difficult for you.”
“No. I’d never imagine thinking such a falsehood.”
Ramsey gave him a curt nod of approval. “Very diplomatic.”
Heathcliff raised a hand as if to say, See? I know!
“Are you quite done?” Samantha asked.
“No,” both gentlemen replied in unison.
“Dear Lord, Grace, are you sure you want to put up with this?” Samantha asked.
“Mostly,” Grace teased, earning a disbelieving glare from her future husband.
“I shall enjoy persuading you further,” Ramsey remarked meaningfully.
“Not before you’re married right and tight, mind you. Then it’s none of my affair.” The viscount held up his hands in surrender, as if hoping soon to wash his hands of the whole business.
“Of course.” Ramsey replied, his tone a bit too innocent.
The viscount glared, but pushed on to the pressing inquiry. “So, by what type of license will
you marry?”
“It was to be a surprise, but since that is no longer an option, I did in fact, acquire a special license today, and so the date now depends on your leisure.”
Heathcliff grinned. “I like that, being in control. There is something delightfully sweet about being in control of a control mongrel.”
“Tread carefully,” Ramsey warned.
The viscount gave a wag of his brows. “A week? More? You know, since I am her guardian, you have yet to ask me if you can marry her without all the usual pomp and declaration—”
“Good lord, Heathcliff,” Ramsey remarked. “Please,” he asked, but it was less a request and more of a demand.
“Is there a reason?” the viscount asked.
Grace had been growing slightly uncomfortable during the conversation, but when her guardian asked that particular question, the blood flew to her face and she blushed painfully. Dear Lord, was he implying that they needed to marry? Could the moment grow more embarrassing?
“No,” Ramsey replied quickly, putting an end to her embarrassment.
“Good.”
“If I say yes will it speed things up?” Ramsey asked, his tone badgering.
“It might provoke me to give you another bruised eye,” the viscount replied.
Grace studied Ramsey. His eye looked better than last night, but there was still a ring of purple around the outer edge. The cut on his lip looked better, but only just.
“Very well.”
The viscount nodded. “Three days. Will that suffice?”
“Miss Grace?” Ramsey turned to her, not answering the viscount but directing the question to her.
He didn’t have to, but he chose to include her in the timeline. Her heart grew more tender toward him, and she gave a decisive nod. “If I must wait that long, I suppose I shall endure it.” She grinned.
Ramsey’s answering smile was all the confirmation she needed that her words were well chosen.
“Dear Lord, you two are already driving me crazy,” the viscount said. “Very well. Three days. There is much to do, so I suggest you get to it. In the meantime, I’ll visit my solicitor and draft the documents,” Heathcliff replied, then giving his wife one lingering kiss on her head, he quit the room.
“Now then, since we have a date, let us get down to business,” Samantha told them, her eyes alight with enthusiasm.
All the details seemed unimportant, save one.
The groom.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ramsey once again found sleep elusive. Since he’d returned from Glenwood Manor, he’d been able to sleep quite well, up until he’d begun fighting the internal war over his affection for Grace. Then it all went to hell. Add in that he was getting married on the morrow, and he was quite certain that he was going to watch both the sunset and the sunrise.
Everything, all the many details had come together beautifully; it wasn’t the stress of it, but something more. A missing piece, something he couldn’t name but knew was not in place.
Westhouse had made good on his word and vacated his London home to spend several months tending to “estate business,” and the club was moving along without so much as a single brawl in the past few evenings.
Then it hit him what was wrong.
Nothing.
Not a bloody thing.
Rather, he was expecting something to happen, something to point to how it all was doomed from the beginning, something to fall apart at his feet, making him bend over backward to pick up the pieces.
But that was the strangest thing. Nothing was broken, or even breaking. It was . . . good.
Feelings of unworthiness flooded him, and as before when he was planning his visit back to Glenwood Manor, he felt the need to punish himself for being happy, or at least he felt guilt for being happy.
And not just happy—deliriously happy.
Overjoyed, really.
Old habits die hard, and this one was not willing to fade into the darkness yet.
He rolled over on his bed, thinking over the past few days. He’d been a complete and utter gentleman, and as much as it had cost him in self-control, he’d kept his hands from Grace’s tempting body, and only allowed himself a few chaste kisses.
The planning had taken up most of her time, and it was a welcome distraction for him as well, anything to make the time go by faster so that he would no longer have to exercise such strenuous self-discipline. But tomorrow, all that control would be allowed to snap, and he’d freely enjoy the glorious pleasure of Grace as his wife.
Never in a hundred years would he have guessed he’d marry again after Rebecca’s betrayal, but it went to prove the point that the right person can change everything.
And Grace had changed him.
But it started with him deciding to let go of the past, to grow from it. It started with going back to Glenwood Manor, and the truth that Mrs. White had infused into his life like tea into hot water. And that seed of truth had grown and flourished, allowing his heart to heal.
To learn to love.
And as if fate had one cruel final joke, the past had risen up to haunt him once more through Westhouse. He still couldn’t quite believe the pain in the ass was his half-brother, but it had brought so much clarity to his childhood. It was like the shackles of his past were constantly fighting for control of him.
But no more.
No. He finally had a future ahead of him that was hopeful, glorious, and full of wonderful expectation.
He just couldn’t wait for it to start.
Which only added to why, again, he couldn’t sleep.
He closed his eyes, but every time he did, he saw her face, her smile, the way her lips quirked when she was about to say something with a dry wit.
The hours ticked by, and soon, but not nearly soon enough, it was an acceptable time to start preparing for the wedding.
His wedding.
The wedding breakfast would take place at Heathcliff’s house, and the wedding . . . that was his surprise for Grace.
She thought it was at a small chapel.
He grinned wildly at the way he knew she would be utterly surprised. Lady Kilpatrick had whispered that Grace had mentioned something in passing, and Ramsey was only overly thrilled to try and make it happen for her.
By nine in the morning, Ramsey was on his way to Lucas’s house down the street in Mayfair. It was his job to procure a vicar to perform the ceremony. Ramsey dearly hoped he had found a different one than the poor soul who had performed Lucas’s wedding. The man looked hostile as he led the vows. Of course, that he was marrying a notorious rake to a duke’s daughter, presumably without the permission of said duke, likely contributed to his sour disposition.
Belatedly, Ramsey wondered what dirt Lucas had over the vicar’s head in order to provoke him to risk the wrath of a peer of the realm. He’d have to ask later, if he remembered.
But he had the suspicion that he wouldn’t be remembering to do anything but lavish his attention over his new wife.
And could anyone fault him?
No.
And if they did, he had no use for them anyway.
As the carriage pulled up to Kilpatrick House, Ramsey felt a rush of anticipation mixed with a slight tinge of fear overwhelm him. A thousand what-ifs flooded his mind, but he pushed them all aside, straightened his coat, and alighted from the carriage.
John was already opening the door, an unusual smile on his normally stoic face. “Good morning, my lord.” John nodded respectfully.
“It is indeed a good morning, John,” Ramsey returned.
John chuckled. “Indeed it is. And I have some final good news for you, my lord. The carriage incident was simply wear and tear. Nothing nefarious as far as I can tell, and I can speak with great authority since I went over every inch of the carriage myself, sir.”
Ramsey nodded. “There is no more thorough man than you, John. Thank you for investigating. It is good news that there was nothing to it.”
“I thought yo
u’d appreciate the information on such a celebratory day,” John returned.
“You were correct.”
“I’ll not detain you longer, my lord. The viscount is awaiting your arrival in his study.”
“Then I shall not keep him waiting,” Ramsey replied, gave a wide grin to John, and started down the hall.
Once he reached the door to Heathcliff’s study, he noted it was already open and so he strode in. “Good morning.”
“Ach, look what the dog dragged in.” Heathcliff grinned, standing from behind his desk.
“You really need to talk with your butler. He will let anyone through that door,” Ramsey returned, grinning widely at the irrationality of the statement. John was the most vigilant and formidable butler in all of London; he’d put money on that bet, and win.
Heathcliff gave a chuckle at Ramsey’s words and then approached him, giving him a firm handshake. “So, today’s the day?”
“Today is the day,” Ramsey returned.
“Never thought I’d see it.” Heathcliff sighed. “It’s a good day, Ramsey.”
Ramsey gave a disbelieving shrug. “Miracles happen.”
“Don’t they, now?” Heathcliff shrugged. “Lucas and his wife will be here shortly. My wife has been in a dither all morning and I lay the blame squarely at your feet.”
Ramsey tipped his head. “Why? What crime have I committed?”
Heathcliff leveled him with a square expression as he took a seat behind his desk. “You agreed to her harebrained idea. Never have I heard of such a wedding.”
“Then perhaps you need to get out more,” Ramsey said, grinning unrepentantly. “And I find I can’t apologize for taking your wife’s excellent advice.”
“When you put it that way, I cannot fault you either. Damn it,” Heathcliff said without heat.
“Does Grace suspect?” Ramsey asked, glancing furtively at the open door.
“No.” Heathcliff gave a decisive shake to his head.
“Good.”
“Indeed. Now, before we can start celebrating, let’s finish the final details. I have all the documents from my solicitor regarding Grace’s inheritance, her dowry, and settlement.”
Ramsey couldn’t care two figs about whatever dowry and such Grace added to the marriage. His coffers were quite full. Yet as he read through the documents, the realization struck him that he was marrying quite the properly dowered, properly English, and properly innocent—ish—lady that his father had always held on such a pedestal. It was ironic, how when he was looking for such a lady, he’d found the opposite. And now, when he couldn’t care less about the “proper” nature of a wife, he’d found the perfect one. And none of those details mattered, because he was in love with who she was, not what defined her on paper.
The Temptation of Grace Page 22
