Intimate Deception (19 page)

“No, why
here
?”

“Caroline offered me the use of her home for a few days. I knew it was not occupied, and it was not all that far from London.”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

Vincent turned his head to watch her fidget with the ribbons on her robe. “Do you know what I heard the night before I came here while I was at one of my clubs?”

She shook her head.

“I heard your father remarried.”

He did not get the reaction he thought. She remained passive, almost as if the news didn’t affect her. “Did you know he was going to?”

“He mentioned he might.”

“When?”

“Before I left to go to Linny’s.”

“Don’t you think it strange a father would marry without any of his children in attendance?”

She smiled, but the smile rang far from true. “You don’t know my father, do you?”

Vincent shook his head.

“You are fortunate.”

“You don’t have a home to go to. Do you, Grace?”

She flinched, then faced him with her hands clenched at her sides. “I have six homes to go to, Your Grace. And this one too, if I so wish to stay here.”

“But they would not be a home of your own.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you need to face your situation without blinders. You need to admit it is more than possible you are carrying my child. And I will not allow it to be born outside the bonds of marriage. You need to face the fact that you have no place else to go. You have no home to go to without being a burden on your family. This marriage may not be what you want, but you don’t have a choice.”

“And what choice do you have? To take another wife you do not want? One you do not love?”

“I don’t see where that matters now. It is the only choice you have left me.”

Vincent watched the color drain from her face and wished he could take back his words. But it was too late.

She clutched her hands in the gathers of her robe. “Perhaps it is not too late. Perhaps there isn’t a child and I am just…”

Her face was completely devoid of color now and he watched as she swallowed fast, then reached out to steady
herself against the chair. Vincent tried to sit, tried to reach for her, but the stitch in his side stopped him. He had no choice but to lie there and watch while she clamped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

Grace rushed across the room and anchored her hands around Vincent’s middle, making sure to avoid his side where the stitches were. A sheen of perspiration glistened across his forehead as he stood with his hands propped against the wall to hold himself upright. He was dressed in pants and a shirt. His boots were on the floor, ready to be put on his feet.

“It’s only been two days since you were injured. You shouldn’t be up yet.”

“How long have you been ill in the mornings?”

The air caught in her throat.

“How long?”

She lowered him to the edge of the bed and reached over to pour him a cup of tea. “Three days.”

“It’s early yet, then.”

Grace handed him the tea, then walked over to the window and looked out at nothing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t
ever
be sorry.”

She dropped her head back on her shoulders and blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Can I say the same to you?”

When he didn’t answer, she asked the question that had been bothering her since he arrived. “How did you find me?”

“Lady Wedgewood told me.”

Grace shook her head. “No. I asked her not to. She wouldn’t have told you unless—” Grace’s gaze darted to where he sat. “You didn’t!”

“Tell your sister you are with child? Yes. It’s not as if any of them will not realize it the moment we return with the special license in my hands.”

“You already have the license?”

“We will marry Friday afternoon. Lady Wedgewood has agreed to let us hold the ceremony in her home and has promised to inform all your sisters so they are there. I didn’t think you would want your father to attend.”

She couldn’t keep from trembling. “No,” she whispered, holding on to the nearest stable object. “Just my sisters.”

“Grace?”

“Yes.”

“Come here.” He reached out his hand and pointed to the place beside him on the bed. “Sit here.”

She hesitated, then sat next to him. He turned toward her.

“Give me your hands.”

She held out her trembling hands and he took them in his. “I know this is not easy for you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a look. “No, it is not easy for me either,” he hurried to add. “But we will both make the best of it. We will come to know each other and what we want from the other. There is nothing you will lack for your comfort. I am a man of means and everything I possess will be yours for the asking.”

“And in return? What is there for me to give? I don’t come with a dowry. Nor am I the beauty society expects
you to choose. I am rather plain and nondescript, and everyone will know when I am delivered early of the child that I trapped you into marrying me.”

He smiled. “No. They will assume, and rightly so, that I was so captivated by your charm I could not control my passion. They will expect me to marry quietly. This is, after all, my third marriage.”

She hesitated a moment, then added, “I would not have done anything differently.” She looked deep into his eyes, hoping to see at least a small sign that said he understood. Praying she would see a glimmer that told her he was glad she hadn’t. She didn’t. There was only a sadness there, a haunting resignation that told her he would accept the lot that was forced on him because she’d given him no other choice. A fleeting look of fear and despair. “I could not have married Fentington.”

“No. You could not have.”

“But I regret what I have done to you.”

“You have done nothing to me. You are the one who will be left to pay the price.”

“Or reap the rewards.”

He smiled. It was a sad smile, yet he put on a noble front. She knew she should not be affected by him, knew it put her heart in greater danger, but her body warmed at his nearness. Her flesh burned where his leg brushed against her thigh. Her arm, from her shoulders to the tips of her fingers, tingled from the warmth of his hands holding hers.

She studied his face, the soft furrows that indented his forehead, the high cheekbones, and the strong, rugged cut of his jaw. Then she lowered her gaze to his mouth. To the lips that had kissed her. An eruption of fiery heat soared
through her insides, plummeting to the pit of her stomach, then moved lower yet, to the very core of her. To the place he’d awakened the night of their lovemaking.

Her cheeks blazed hot and she turned away from him, praying he couldn’t read her thoughts. But she knew he did. And she suddenly realized how easy it would be to fall in love with him.

In that moment she made a vow. She vowed that she would never give him cause to regret what she’d forced him to do. She would be the best wife she could be, the best companion, the best listener, the best mother, and the best friend. She would give him a house filled with children and laughter and love. And she would be there when he needed her.

She did not expect love. Not at first. Perhaps never. But she would not let that matter. He had already done more for her than she could ever repay.

She looked at his hands lying in her lap, still holding hers. She lifted his fingers to her lips, then held them to her cheek.

“I will forever be grateful,” she whispered. “And I promise I will spend every day from now on making sure you never regret taking me as your wife.”

“As I will pray you never regret having me for your husband.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with emotion. She couldn’t find the words to ease the worry she saw on his face.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, releasing his hands and standing in front of him.

“No. I was attempting to dress and go down to join you.”

“Would you like me to bring up a tray?”

“No. But I will need help with my boots. Perhaps Herman—”

Grace picked up his boots, silencing him when she slipped the first one onto his foot.

“You make an excellent valet,” he said when she finished.

“Thank you.” She held out her hand to help him up. When he was on his feet, she walked beside him, letting him lean against her as they made their way out of the room and down the stairs.

“You are doing quite well,” she said when they reached the dining room. “But don’t tire yourself.”

He pulled out a chair for her. “I’m fine, Grace. It was little more than a scratch.”

She poured them each a cup of tea while Vincent ate the food Maudie had placed on the table. “When we’re finished,” he said, putting more coddled eggs on his plate, “we’ll tour the house so I build my strength.”

She paused with her cup midway to her mouth and arched her eyebrows.

“And then,” he said, ignoring her concern, “I will have you play for me. You are wonderful, you know.”

Grace felt her cheeks warm.

They ate in companionable silence, then toured the house. Vincent was noticeably tired when they stopped, and he relaxed on the settee while she played a Haydn piece she’d always loved.

This is how their lives would be. The two of them together, quiet, content, a special sort of love steadily growing between them. Grace smiled as her fingers ran over the keys. All would be well. She was confident it would be.

H
e paced the hallway outside her bedroom, trying with every ounce of his being to block her muffled moans. Sweat beaded on his forehead, then ran down his face and into his eyes. He wanted to run but there was no place for him to go. No place where her agonizing pleas for help would not follow him.

He stiffened his shoulders and walked to the end of the hall, his carriage every inch a duke
’
s even though inside he hardly felt like one. He
’
d known it would be this way. He
’
d gone through this before. Had always known it would be like the last time. And the time before.

Great waves of terror washed over him, the panic building inside him nearly bringing him to his knees. He couldn
’
t go through this again. Couldn
’
t survive it.

His legs trembled beneath him. His stomach churned until he feared he
’
d be ill. A painful weight pressed against his chest, stealing the air from his body. He couldn
’
t stand by while another woman lost her life trying to give him an heir. Not again.

He clamped his hands over his ears to stop her cries of agony. The guilt was too much to bear, the regrets too consuming. He sucked in a razor-sharp breath of air. No. Not again. He would not allow her to die too.

He ran down the hall and threw open the door. His gaze flew to the other side of the room where she lay in bed, her face deathly
gray, distorted with pain. Her sweat-drenched hair was plastered to her scalp, and before he could reach her she arched her fragile body as another spasm gripped her.

With trembling hands, he clasped his fingers around hers, thinking he could hold her to him and protect her. But he knew it was too late.

Death already had hold of her, was already pulling her from his grasp. The fear ravaging his body was so palpable he couldn
’
t breathe. She was dying and he couldn
’
t save her. And he didn
’
t want to live without her.

He dropped his head back onto his shoulder and cried to the heavens.

“
Grace!
”

Vincent threw back the covers and bolted from the bed, his sweat-drenched body burning with a fiery heat he doubted would ever cool. He raced to the open window and let the nighttime March air wash over him.

The moon was full and directly overhead, meaning it was after midnight, perhaps one or two in the morning. Bloody hell, he could swear he’d been living his nightmare for at least ten hours.

His heart thundered in his chest and his legs felt so weak they buckled beneath him. He braced his hands on either side of the window and hung his head between his outstretched arms and gasped for air.