Candice Hern (26 page)

Dear God, he meant for them to stay together, overnight, in Newmarket. To share a bed. To make love.

She had expected something like this, had been prepared for it. But now that she was actually faced with it, with the possibility of doing with Rochdale in life what she had done with him in her dreams, the enormity of what that meant to her was quite simply overwhelming. She felt the blood drain from her face and a twinge of dizziness made her lift a hand to her head.

Rochdale was at her side in an instant, hand on her elbow, leading her to a chair.

"I'm sorry," he said after she was seated. He pulled a chair close to hers and sat down, taking her hand in his. "It was wicked of me to trick you like that."

"Trick me?" She felt dazed and stupid.

"Into spending the night with me. I had hoped you wanted it as much as I do. And I thought it might be easier for you if we were away from London. I'm sorry if I misjudged your interest in me, Grace. If I have made a horrible blunder, tell me so, and we shall return to London at once."

"But ... but your race is in the morning. Unless that was also a ruse?"

"No, there really is a race tomorrow."

"And you must be there."

"I am willing to miss it if you wish to return to London."

Grace turned away from him, unable to look any longer into those seductive blue eyes while she decided what to do. In truth, she had already accepted the idea that they would become lovers eventually. She had been half ready to take him to her bed the night before, and he knew it. That was why he'd felt bold enough to take her on this absurd journey, because he knew she
wanted
him to make love to her. If she backed down now, not only would she feel cowardly in the extreme, but she would force him to miss the race in which his favorite horse was running. He would resent her on both counts. And she would feel like a fool.

But she did not want to back down. She wanted to share his bed. She wanted to be a Merry Widow like her friends, to experience all the intimacies they talked about. She wanted to
live
.

Wanting it was one thing; doing it was more difficult that she'd expected. The significance of what she was about to do weighed heavily upon her. She had convinced herself, with Marianne's help, that physical passion was not always sinful, but those doubts still lingered along the edges of her mind. To take this next step with Rochdale would be a defining moment. A life-changing moment. She would no longer be the prudish, naïve widow. She would be ... a woman fulfilled.

Grace felt as though she were about to leap from a bell tower, to dive headlong into ... what? Deliverance? Renewal? Destiny? Sin? With so many questions and doubts still swirling in her head, she was not certain she was ready to take that leap, but by God she was going to try.

She turned back to face Rochdale, looked him squarely in the eye, and said, "I will go to Newmarket with you, John."

He did not smile triumphantly, as she expected. His only reaction was to blink. His brow still wore a troubled frown as he gazed at her for a long, silent moment. Finally, he said, "Are you sure? I do not want you to feel forced into doing something you don't feel right about. If you have any doubts at all, we will return to London."

"I am consumed with doubt," she said, offering a shy smile. "But it is what I want. With you and no one else. I trust you, John."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, Grace noted a glint of something that might have been gratitude. Perhaps he was thankful not to have to miss the horse race tomorrow after all. He lifted the hand he still held and kissed it. "You honor me, Grace. I am not worthy."

His expression all at once transformed into one of absolute delight. He gave her one of those magnificent smiles she'd come to anticipate, teeth flashing, eyes crinkling with merriment. Not one of his slow, seductive smiles, but a full-out smile of pure joy. It transformed him utterly — from hard-edged, slightly dissipated cynic into a carefree, handsome, and thoroughly engaging man. It was a smile that shot straight through to her heart.

"Even so," he said, "I am truly and completely thrilled that you are willing to go to Newmarket with me." He pulled her to her feet and took her in his arms. "Grace, my dear girl, you never fail to surprise and enchant me. We will be so good together, I promise. I will show you pleasures you never dreamed existed."

She had no doubt of it as he kissed her with such passion that her toes curled up inside her slippers. His mouth had traveled down her jaw and throat when the parlor door opened and the landlord's wife entered, followed by a young man bearing a tray laden with covered dishes. Rochdale and Grace leapt apart, laughing sheepishly as the woman glared at them with disapproval.

As they shared a meal of cold veal pie, sliced ham, excellent cheese, and grainy brown bread, they talked of everything except what was surely on both their minds. Finally, Grace interrupted a discourse on the history of horse racing at Newmarket to say: "Oh dear, I feel so stupid. How do we do this, John? Do we take a room pretending to be a married couple? Do we use false names? And I have no maid with me. Will that seem odd? And, oh my goodness, what about my people at home? Spurling will worry himself to death when I do not return home tonight. What should I —"

"Hush, my dear." He grinned as he covered her hand with his. "Leave everything to me. I will send a messenger to your home telling them you were the victim of a carriage accident, that you suffered a bad sprain of the ankle and are resting at an inn for a day in order to recuperate."

"Oh. That sounds reasonable. Perhaps I should write the note myself to be delivered to Spurling."

"An excellent idea. As for Newmarket, the rooms are already reserved in my name. Two bedchambers. Just in case you change your mind."

She felt color rise in her cheeks. "I won't change my mind." In for a penny, in for a pound.

* * *

It was high summer, when the days were long and the twilight seemed to go on forever. There were several hours of light left when they arrived in Newmarket.

There had been less conversation between them since leaving Hockerill. Once his intentions had been laid bare, and she had accepted them, the tension between them fairly crackled in the small carriage. He kept to his side of the bench, afraid to touch her for fear he'd lay her down and ravish her on the spot.

The long silences gave him time to consider his actions — never a healthy thing to do. His conscience, which had grown overactive of late, was plaguing him with guilt over what he was about to do to this women. He wanted to make love to her — he wanted it badly, desperately — but he felt damnably guilty for bringing her to the point of wanting it, too. He was pleased to have coaxed the passionate woman from deep inside the prim and proper widow. It would have been a bloody shame and a waste for such a magnificent woman to allow her passions to dry up, which is precisely what he believed would have happened to Grace if she had continued down her self-imposed path of tenacious virtue and propriety.

And yet, she
was
virtuous and good and decent. That very goodness defined her. She'd probably never done an unkind thing in her life, never spoken a cruel word, never behaved in a hurtful manner toward anyone. She was a woman of honor and compassion and dignity. She deserved better than him. She certainly deserved better treatment than to be the means of winning a bet.

Never in all his life had Rochdale felt so torn up inside over a woman — pulled in one direction by a deep and potent desire, pulled in the other direction by an almost overwhelming guilt.

I trust you, John
.

Her words rang loudly in his head like a punishment. He thought of all the women in his life who'd manipulated him, or tried to, in one way or another, and how he despised them for it. Yet he had just as despicably manipulated this good woman into trusting him. What a monstrous irony. All for the sake of a wager.

But he would take Grace to bed tonight, and he would likely find intense pleasure in it. Afterward, though, he suspected he might crumble into a thousand pieces of guilt and shame. For he would have sacrificed the virtue of the only good woman he'd ever known, just to win a horse. Surely he was the worst cad that ever walked the earth.

To delay the inevitable, he took advantage of the light to visit the stable where Serenity was being kept. Before leaving the carriage, he asked Grace to lower her veil. He didn't expect to see anyone she might know in the stables, but he was determined to protect her reputation. It was the least he could do. She pulled the thin blue silk down over the brim of her bonnet, tucked it under her chin, and tied it at the back of her neck. It was an effective disguise. Her features were blurred behind the blue veil, and not a hint of blond hair was visible. No one would recognize her.

He took her arm and led her into the stable yard. Rochdale allowed the sights and smells he loved so much to wash over him, taking him away, for the moment, from guilt and shame. The air was pungent with the odors of alfalfa and hay and horse. They walked down the long aisles strewn with straw and lined with stalls. One horse whinnied. Another struck his hoof against the stall wall. They found Serenity in the second aisle. Samuel Trask, one of Rochdale's senior grooms, sat on a low stool outside the stall, polishing a harness. When he saw them approach, he jumped to his feet.

"Evenin', milord." He touched the brim of his cap and dipped his head. He looked at Grace and did the same. Rochdale decided not to introduce her. It would be assumed that she was his doxy, and would therefore be more or less ignored.

"How's our girl, Sam?"

"Sound as a brass bell, milord. She'll be in fine form for tomorrow's run."

Rochdale opened the stall door and stepped inside. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a scrap of linen, unfolded it, and retrieved a slice of apple he had saved from Hockerill. Serenity nipped it from his hand and chewed it. When she was finished, he stroked her elegant neck and whispered soft endearments in her ear. She nuzzled his face, and rested her head on his shoulder while he gently scratched her between the ears.

That sent her into a trance of sheer pleasure — the girl was so easily pleased — and he motioned for Grace to come inside the stall. Continuing to scratch, he spoke to Grace in a very soft, even voice. "You are not afraid of horses, are you?"

"Not at all. I grew up in the country, remember?"

"Good. Come in and meet my favorite girl. Sam, do you have anything to give her?"

"Some alfalfa buds, milord."

Sam retrieved a handful from a small bag and Rochdale indicated that Grace should take them. She did, and approached the horse quietly with her hand extended. Serenity fell out of her blissful state to take the treat. Grace came closer and allowed the horse to sniff her and nuzzle her. When Serenity went for her bonnet, Grace laughed and held it on tight while she stroked the horse's long, glossy neck.

With the lift of an eyebrow, Rochdale sent Sam away, allowing a private moment with his two favorite girls. "Serenity, meet Grace. She is a very nice person and I can tell she likes you already."

"You're a beauty," Grace said as she continued to stroke the mare's neck. "And you know it, don't you?"

"That she does. And she knows she's better than the rest and will win me a great purse tomorrow, won't you, my girl?"

They spent a few more minutes with Serenity, and then returned to the carriage that would take them to the inn.

"I can see why you love her," Grace said. "She is a splendid animal."

So splendid that Rochdale was willing to debauch this fine woman in order to keep her in his stable. "She is my most winning horse. She's won several cups here at Newmarket, as well as the king's plate at Nottingham and several large purses. Tomorrow's race is not one of the eight established races here at Newmarket, but is something of an informal affair with a private purse. I just wanted to give her a practice run before the Goodwood next month."

"I look forward to seeing her run."

She gave him a shy look that hinted there were other things she was looking forward to as well.

They reached the King's Head and left the postilions to look after the chariot and the team. Rochdale retrieved a small case from the boot, which he carried inside the inn. The landlord knew him well and had been paid generously to usher them quickly and discreetly to their rooms: two bedchambers separated by a small private parlor. By prior arrangement, a cold supper awaited them along with a decanter of the landlord's best claret. Another sovereign was slipped into the innkeeper's hand as he left them, further insurance that their privacy would be respected.

They retired to their separate rooms to wash off the dirt from the road. Rochdale did not miss Grace's look of relief that she would have a moment alone before facing what was to come. He flung his hat upon the bed and removed his coat, then used the water and basin to clean up. He took the time to shave, as his beard was rough by this time of night, and he did not want to abrade Grace's delicate skin.

He did his best to push all guilt aside. Seeing Serenity reminded him how important it was that he win the wager. It was more than winning Albion from Sheane; the thought of losing Serenity was too painful to contemplate.

When Grace joined him in the parlor, she had removed her bonnet and pelisse. Her dress was plain white muslin with some sort of fancy work at the hem and along the edge of the bodice. The sleeves were short, leaving her slender, pale arms deliciously bare. Her hair was twisted into a simple chignon at the back of her neck. Rochdale remembered how it had looked at the masquerade ball, hanging loose down her back, and he became aroused at the thought of seeing it again.

With some effort, he held arousal in check while they dined. Grace ate little, and he could see that she was nervous. He encouraged her to drink the wine. When her glass was empty he refilled it. She quickly swallowed down the second glass, hiccupped, and grinned sheepishly.