Grace (4 page)

Sir Harry Thomas stood on the other side of the room, his narrowed eyes impatiently scanning the crowd of couples that moved gaily around the dance floor. He looked for Grace, an irritated scowl marring his usually handsome face. As his eyes swept toward her hiding place, she quickly pressed herself farther back into the alcove. She breathed a momentary sigh of relief, then looked around and frowned. Observing the small space in which she stood, she realized that when Sir Harry got around to checking the alcoves—and he
would
check the alcoves, she knew—she would be immediately discovered. Worse, she would have no avenue of escape.

She leaned back against the wall, chewing on her lower
lip in consternation. It would not take Harry long to begin looking in the alcoves, so she knew she would have to think quickly. Sure enough, when she chanced another look into the crowded assembly room, she saw Harry’s unmistakable blond head, easily three inches taller than those of the room’s other occupants, as he moved decisively along the opposite wall, pulling back curtains and checking the alcoves there. He had obviously realized she was not out on the floor dancing, or off to the side talking in one of the small, gossipy groups clustered around the room.

Ducking back in and flattening herself against the wall, Grace released a sigh and reflected again on how her life had come to this.

At the age of seven, she had lost her mother to complications incurred during the difficult birth of her youngest sister, Mercy. With Bingham Ackerly spending a great deal of his time working to keep his large family out of debt while also trying to deal with the sorrow of losing to an early grave the gentle woman he adored, the daunting task of raising the five younger sisters had fallen squarely on the shoulders of twelve-year-old Patience. Occupied with a new baby, irrepressible three-year-old twins, and a shy, frightened five-year-old still very attached to her late mother, Patience had had little time to tend to Grace.

So, with daily instructions from her harassed older sister to stay out of trouble, Grace had found herself free to wander about the village and the surrounding countryside as she wished. She had taken to visiting the neighbors and inhabitants of Pelthamshire, most of whom readily took her in with their own children, for everyone had loved her mother and wanted to help the now motherless Ackerly girls as much as possible.

Her favorite playmates quickly became the Belden boys, their nearest neighbors’ four rambunctious sons. The youngest, Henry, was four years her elder. At first it had annoyed
the brothers to find themselves followed about by the “carrot-haired pest,” as they had taken to calling Grace, and they had done all they could to avoid her. Always, though, the harder they tried to get away from her, the more determination she poured into seeking them out. If they decided to go fishing, Grace showed up on the banks of the pond with her own pole, stoutly declaring that she would catch a bigger fish than any of them. Once, when the boys had hidden in the hayloft to try to discover what the upstairs maid did in the stables with the head groom every Tuesday afternoon, Grace had come looking for them, loudly calling out to them just as the
most
interesting things had begun to happen.

Gradually they’d grown accustomed to having Grace around, and even to look forward to the time she spent with them, for she was an engaging little thing for all her odd ways. Soon it became a common sight around Pelthamshire to see them all together. Grace so adored the boys she considered her own personal big brothers that she began having lessons with them, and often took meals with their family. For the whole summer following the death of her mother, one seldom saw the boys without her.

Oh, how she now longed for those free, easy days. Grace leaned her head back against the wall in her alcove and sighed again. When the boys, one by one, had left for school, their parents closed up the house and moved to London, no longer wishing to remain so far outside society now that they no longer had children to raise. With the boys had gone the tutor, and Grace missed her lessons so much that she spent hours each day closeted with her father in his study, learning subjects much better suited to a son than a young girl who would someday marry and start a family. The time she did not spend studying, she spent out-of-doors becoming an accomplished horsewoman. Although Patience despaired of Grace ever learning to comport
herself in a ladylike manner, she’d had her hands full with little Mercy—a child unusually prone to sickness—and with Faith, who had convinced herself that if she lost sight of her eldest sister, Patience would disappear just as her beloved mama had. Patience had been relieved and grateful to know that Grace was safely looked after in their father’s study.

Life had continued thus for years in the quiet village. Then, last summer, one Sir Harry Thomas had appeared in Pelthamshire and taken up residence in the old Belden home. Although the newcomer kept the details decidedly vague, he had somehow distinguished himself in the war, earning a knighthood before selling out his commission and moving to the small community. The village made quite a fuss over him, for everyone considered him a hero. Doing nothing to dissuade them, Harry enjoyed himself, basking in the glow of his neighbors’ fawning admiration. The demands on his social time were great, and it was several months before a chance remark alerted him to the fact that his nearest neighbors were a widower with a house full of girls. He decided to ride over and introduce himself, happy for the opportunity to add to his bevy of admirers.

The breathtaking vision of budding womanhood who opened the door that afternoon bore absolutely no resemblance to the scruffy little waif who had run wild with the local boys years before. No longer did the hated freckles mar her countenance. They were replaced by a tawny complexion glowing with health from time spent outdoors. The mop of hair that had always needed a good combing had lengthened into piles of thick, shining curls the incredible, if unlikely, color of dancing firelight. Her eyes, which had always seemed too large for her small face, still dominated. Now, however, they were fringed with long, sooty lashes, and had become a startling color that shifted from a cold
slate when she was angered to a deep sapphire when something amused her.

Harry was smitten. He had immediately begun his pursuit, his inflated ego making him certain Grace would simply fall into his arms, as had most of the other girls in the village. Grace, though initially friendly, quickly came to distrust and dislike the rather foppish knight and had, whenever possible, avoided him.

Now, again, she peeked out into the ballroom. Glancing furtively about while keeping one eye on Harry’s progress, she looked for any possible means of eluding his notice. Her gaze settled on a pair of open French doors that led to the gardens, about a twenty-yard walk across the open floor from her alcove.

Feeling rather like a hunted rabbit, Grace emerged from her hole and began to walk, as sedately as possible, while keeping an eye on Sir Harry. He had turned to look into the last alcove on the far side of the room. If she hurried, she would make it outside and beyond sight before he started across the room to look in the alcoves on this side.

She could almost taste freedom when her progress was suddenly halted. She crashed headlong into a hard, unmoving male chest. Thrown off balance, Grace grabbed wildly at the man’s burgundy coat, missed, and began to fall. She gave a small, quickly stifled cry as his hands closed like manacles around her upper arms. With a low chuckle, he lifted her as though she were a puppet and settled her securely upon her feet again.

Thoroughly embarrassed by her clumsiness, Grace raised apologetic eyes to the stranger’s deep green ones and found herself arrested by their warmth. A face of raw male perfection met her gaze. He had slashing black brows over those incredible eyes, a decidedly firm chin, and a straight, aristocratic nose, all framed by well-groomed dark brown hair that looked as though it might have a tendency to curl
if allowed to grow. As she continued to stare, his well-formed lips swept into a lazy smile, deepening the long dimples on either side of his mouth, transforming his face from chill perfection to warm male beauty. Grace felt her heart clench as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, in a deep, resonant voice that brought to mind the times she had curled up in her father’s lap as a child, her ear pressed to his chest, listening to his rumble as he read her a story from her favorite book. She did not respond, just continued to watch his lips form meaningless words.

“Miss Ackerly?” He spoke a bit louder this time, his brows raised in silent question at her continued lack of response. Shaken from her reverie, Grace suddenly remembered her predicament. She glanced back in Sir Harry’s direction just as he spotted her and began to head determinedly toward them.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said to the man she had run into, belatedly letting go of his coat and pulling away toward the French doors, only to find herself stopped as his grip tightened imperceptibly on her arms.

“Please,” she said a little desperately, looking back toward the approaching knight. She could still make it outside and have time to hide, if only this infernal man would cooperate. “Let go of me, sir.” Another couple of seconds and Harry would be upon them. Her need to escape escalated to something near panic as she tried to pull away once more, then abruptly changed to annoyed displeasure when his hold on her tightened. She stopped struggling and looked up at the unknown man in irritated confusion.

“Why should I let go of you when I’ve only just caught you?” The man chuckled. When she saw her nemesis appear behind him, Grace gave the stranger a look of scathing contempt, then reluctantly composed her features to face Sir Harry.

“Is there anything amiss?” Harry asked evenly. He raked his eyes over the scene, taking in Grace’s slightly flushed face and the hands of an unknown man closed with unsettling familiarity around her upper arms.

At the sound of Harry’s clipped voice, the hands imprisoning her fell away and Grace took a quick step away from both men.“No, sir, everything’s fine,” she assured him hastily, then rolled her eyes skyward in exasperation as the stranger turned. The two men began to assess each other in the nauseating manner of all males who sensed competition.

“I’m afraid I haven’t met your companion,” Harry said to Grace, looking the stranger up and down rudely.

“Sir Harry Thomas,” Grace began, before she remembered she had no idea of the identity of the newcomer; nor did she know from where he had come. At her questioning look, he smoothly stepped forward and extended a hand to Harry. “Trevor Caldwell,” he said, then smiled at Grace with an air of friendly camaraderie as the two men shook.“There’s no need to put my title in the way of your friends, is there, my dear?”

Feeling a bit dazed by the rapidly changing events of the last few moments, as well as by the lingering effect of the stranger’s incredible smile, Grace automatically shook her head, then realized he had inadvertently given her the perfect opportunity to make her escape. “Why, of course not, Trevor,” she agreed with a charming smile. She took a small sidling step away from the two men. “Now I’ll just leave you two to become better acquainted.” She dropped a haphazard curtsy in the general direction of both men, whirled quickly on one foot, and almost managed to step away. This time Harry’s hand stopped her from leaving.

“I’ve come to claim my dance, Miss Ackerly,” he said irritably, annoyed by both Trevor’s familiar handling of Grace, whom he considered his exclusive property, and the intimate-sounding
my dear
the unknown nobleman had used when he addressed her.

At his statement, a look of revulsion crossed Grace’s face, unnoticed by Harry, who watched Trevor, but noted with great interest by Trevor, who watched her. She kept silent for a moment, her nimble mind spinning frantically as she tried to think of a polite way out of dancing with Harry. When nothing came to mind, she looked at him with thinly disguised resignation and prepared herself to accept his request. Trevor once again stepped in to rescue her.

“I’m quite sorry, Harry, old chap, but Grace has just promised me her next dance,” he lied smoothly, extending an aristocratic hand in her direction. “You understand, of course. Shall we, my dear?”

Glancing into Harry’s scowling face, Grace placed her gloved hand on Trevor’s arm and glided blithely away to the dance floor.

As they began moving together to the lilting strains of a waltz, Grace looked up into Trevor’s eyes, which twinkled with amusement, and was surprised to find herself smiling back at him. “Whatever made you do that?” she asked.

Dazzled by the unexpected glamour of her unrestrained smile, Trevor was nearly unable to answer. Only seconds before he had thought Grace merely beautiful. With nothing more than a simple smile of unaffected warmth, she’d become utterly breathtaking. “Do what?” he managed, feeling like a boy with his first crush. “Ask a beautiful woman to dance?”

“No,” she said, tilting her head to the side and giving him an arch look. “What made you decide to rescue a damsel in distress?”

He looked down at her, captivated. “Are you?” he asked.

She raised delicately winged russet brows. “A damsel?” she quipped.

“I meant,” he asked, “are you in distress?” He grinned
wolfishly at her quick wit, and his green eyes deepened to jade as he realized that, within moments of meeting this girl, he desired her.

“Well, not exactly.” She sighed and looked down. “I’m afraid Harry has rather fancied himself my beau since he arrived in Pelthamshire.”

Trevor lifted his eyes from her entrancing profile and looked across the room at the stony-faced knight who still watched them. “And you’re not.”

“No,” she said shortly, then fell silent.

They danced without speaking for several moments, gliding along smoothly to the music as if they often danced together. Trevor took the quiet moment to glance around the ballroom, noting with interest the openly curious stares of most of the room’s other occupants.“Do your neighbors always take such an interest in your dancing partners?”