Seduced by His Touch (15 page)

W
ith the date and location of the wedding decided, Grace found herself thrust into an immediate flurry of preparations.

Beginning the very next day, the dowager duchess and Mallory whisked her away for the first of a multitude of shopping expeditions. They took her to the most fashionable stores in London, arranging for everything from engraved, hot-pressed stationery to exotic foodstuffs and a set of special crystal wine goblets that would be used exclusively for the wedding toast.

Then there were the clothes, whose vast excess seemed to know no limits. From hats, shoes and gloves to pelisses, petticoats and gowns, she ordered so many new garments that she didn’t see how she could possibly ever wear them all. But Jack’s mother and sister assured her that she would need each and every one in the months to come, including the dozen silk nightgowns that were so sheer they made her blush.

She ordered such a large wardrobe, in fact, that she feared incurring a sharp scold from her father for her overindulgence. But he said not a word, apparently happy to pay the continual stream of bills that arrived in the post and by messenger each morning.

When she wasn’t shopping, she stayed busy with invitations to Clybourne House and visits to and from friends. She even had a pair of her old schoolmates drop by—surprising, since neither lady had been particularly friendly toward her during those long-ago years, much less since then.

Peppering their conversation with frequent smiles and fawning flattery, they made several poorly disguised attempts at soliciting an invitation to the wedding. Yet with a skill that surprised even her, she managed to elude their ploys, seeing the visit through to its polite conclusion before escorting them to the door—all without granting them their much hoped-for prize.

The visit was noteworthy enough that she decided to share the highlights with Aunt Jane. Despite her promise to write often, she’d been a lamentably poor correspondent, so busy she’d only managed to pen a single letter during the past month.

Determined now to resolve her lapse, she sat down at her writing desk in the drawing room, selected a piece of paper, took up her quill pen and opened the silver filigreed jar of black ink to begin.

Half an hour later, she was adding a few last lines to the missive when she heard the deep rumble of Jack’s voice in the front hall. Her father’s servants didn’t hold to the custom of announcing visitors, so she wasn’t surprised when Jack strode into the room alone. Supremely handsome in a close-fitting jacket and pantaloons made of tan superfine wool, he brought an instant energy with him, together with a lingering touch of the brisk, late October air outside.

“Get your things,” he told her without preamble. “You and I are going house hunting.”

She laid down her pen. “We are? Your mother didn’t say anything about it.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know.”

“Really? What of Mallory. Will she be joining us?”

He shook his head. “As much as I adore my family and enjoy their company, I thought we could tackle this particular project on our own. After all, this will be our new home, so it only makes sense that we should be the ones doing the choosing.”

She mulled over his statement, a smile coming to her lips. “So, we’re going alone, then?”

Jack sent her a wink. “Exactly. Except for the estate agent, it will be just us two.”

Her pulse leapt at the notion. Since arriving in London, she and Jack were hardly ever alone, and then only for the occasional carriage ride or stroll through the park. She supposed they wouldn’t be completely alone today either—not with the estate agent there to escort them in and out of prospective town houses. But still, it would be the closest thing to privacy she and Jack were likely to enjoy before their wedding in January.

“Just let me tell Papa I’m going out and we’ll be on our way.” Taking a moment to blot the undried ink on her letter, she tucked it into her desk drawer, then leapt to her feet and hurried from the room.

Five minutes later, she returned clad in a soft, pearl grey kerseymere pelisse that complemented the pale blue of her gown. “I’m ready,” she declared in happy tones.

Taking Jack’s arm, she let him lead her outside to his carriage.

They were met at the first house by the estate agent, a short, barrel-chested man with an obvious taste for flamboyant waistcoats. The one he wore today was a rich, purplish puce with silver buttons fashioned in the shape of owls. Yet in spite of his dramatic appearance, he soon proved himself knowledgeable and attentive, with a manner that was neither too insistent nor too obsequious.

He showed them three town houses before they found one they liked—a lovely residence on a quiet section of Upper Brook Street not far from Grosvenor Square. Jack pronounced it near enough to Clybourne House for convenience without being so close as to invite a constant round of impromptu, unannounced morning calls.

After touring the spacious rooms, with their high ceilings, wide windows, crown molding and cheerfully painted walls, Grace knew it was the one. Both beautiful and elegant, there was a delicacy to the place far beyond anything she’d ever known—excepting Clybourne House itself, of course. Still, she hesitated, wondering if it might be a touch too grand.

In spite of her father’s immense wealth, they’d never lived in high style, as many of the newly rich were eager to do. Rather than build an ostentatious mansion designed to display his success, Ezra Danvers had been content to live in the same modest house he’d bought for her and her mother when Grace was only a toddler. The house was tidy and comfortable, located in a pleasant, if not terribly fashionable, part of London.

Like her father, she’d never minded, happy to live where she’d always lived without any real wish for more. Yet here she now stood, contemplating a property the likes of which she’d only ever read about in the Society column of the
Morning Post.

Of course I’m engaged to a man the likes of whom I’d only ever read about in the Society columns as well, so why am I worrying over a mere house?

“Well?” Jack asked in a quiet tone. “Do you like it?”

She strove to keep her features calm, even as qualms rose inside her again. “How can I not? It’s absolutely lovely.”
And truly, it is,
she mused. “Still, do you think it might be a bit too large?” she ventured. “Maybe something of a more moderate size would suit us better for now?”

Jack studied the dimensions of the morning room with obvious consideration. “Really? The house seems a most agreeable size to me. Plenty of space to relax and not feel crowded when we have visitors.”

Visitors?
Does he mean guests?
she thought in sudden dismay.
As in party guests?

She hadn’t considered it before, but she supposed it was only natural that he’d expect her to entertain once they were wed. She was used to arranging dinners for her father’s business partners, so small gatherings presented no difficulty. But hosting large Society fêtes for the Ton—well, she had about as much experience with that as she did shooting lead balls out of a cannon, and nearly as much trepidation too. Hopefully, the dowager duchess and Lady Mallory would help her when the time arrived; otherwise, she feared the potential results.

Deciding to shelve that particular worry for later, she returned her attention to the topic at hand. “It would hold a great many people, I suppose.”

“More than that, it will give us room to grow. Once we start our family and the nursery’s bursting at the seams with babies, I imagine you’ll be glad of the extra room.”

She lost her breath at the idea. “Bursting at the seams! Just how many children are you expecting us to have?”

His blue eyes twinkled. “As many as we can manage, and as soon as may be,” he said, lowering his voice so she was the only one able to hear. “I look forward to keeping you very busy making them.”

“Jack!” she hushed. “In case you’ve forgotten, we aren’t alone.”

And she was right. The estate agent was still in the room, loitering on the far side with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stared out a window, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“So, other than the house being too big, have you any objection to it?” Jack asked quietly.

“No. It’s one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen.” And truly it was. In spite of her reservations, she loved the house and knew she would be happy living in it.

Something about the tenor of her thoughts must have shown, since moments later Jack turned toward the other man. “We’ll take it,” he declared.

A big smile appeared on the estate agent’s face. “Excellent, my lord. This is as fine a town house as I’ve ever seen. I knew from the start that it would please you and your bride-to-be.”

Jack nodded, a sudden impatience radiating from him. “Why don’t you go downstairs and draw up the necessary papers. Miss Danvers and I wish to look around a little bit more. We’ll find you when we’re ready.”

The agent raised a pair of brows at the request, but he was clearly too excited at the prospect of a sale to offer any sort of protest. “Of course, my lord. Take all the time you need.” With a bow, the little man hurried away.

As soon as he’d gone, Jack strode across the room and pulled the door closed. Turning back, he crossed to her and pulled her into his arms.

She gave a surprised laugh.

“Now, what was I saying?” he mused aloud. “Something about babies and the delightful ways they’re made.”

Her heart beat so hard that she felt it in her shoes. “Jack! I thought you said you wanted to look around some more.”

He shook his head. “All I want to look at is you. Now, give me a kiss.”

“Here?” she gasped.

“Yes, here. In case you hadn’t realized, it’s been thirty-three days, twelve hours and forty-one minutes since I last had you in my bed.”

“You know how many hours it’s been?” she said, awed by the knowledge that he’d been keeping count.

“Close enough to make a fair guess,” he admitted. “Now, let’s stop talking. We’re wasting precious time.” Capturing her mouth, he gave her a kiss that sent hot rivulets of need surging through her veins.

Fighting her own desire, she soon broke away. “W-we can’t. Not with the estate agent waiting downstairs. What if he comes to check on us?”

“He won’t.” His lips moved in a silky glide over her neck. “But should he be so foolish, he’ll no doubt get an eyeful.”

Her own eyes widened, enough to draw a laugh from him.

“Don’t worry. I’m only teasing,” he said. “He won’t see a thing. Not with the door locked.”

He’d locked the door? She didn’t remember seeing a key. But if Jack said he’d locked it, then he must have done exactly that.

Relaxing, she leaned farther into the circle of his arms. “Well, maybe we could stay in here for a couple of minutes. If he asks, we’ll tell him we were measuring for drapes.”

Jack’s eyes were the ones to widen this time. He barked out a laugh before sliding his hands down to cup her bottom. “Come closer, minx, and let me measure
you.”

Then his lips were on hers again, stealing her breath and making her mind grow hazy with a rush of staggering delight.

Jack kissed her long and deep, with a driving need that radiated all the way to his bones. Pausing, he took an extra moment to breathe in the honeyed fragrance of her skin, to taste the sweet flavor of her tongue as it slid like hot, damp silk against his own.

He shuddered from the pleasure, relishing the sensations as though they were manna from heaven. After more than a month of sexual deprivation, his need was sharp—his recitation of precisely how many days had passed since their last coupling, and of his intense desire for her, no exaggeration.

Another man would likely have taken his ease elsewhere by now; there were certainly plenty of willing women to be had here in the city. But the act would have felt wrong, serving as yet another betrayal of Grace’s trust. Even more significant was his personal reluctance to avail himself of another woman. He didn’t want anyone else. He wanted Grace.

Unfortunately, with her residing in her father’s house, and with members of his own family in almost constant attendance, there weren’t many opportunities to be alone. Actually, until today, there’d been absolutely none, since the only time they’d been together unchaperoned was for carriage rides and walks in the park.

But she was in his arms now and he meant to make the most of it. He knew he couldn’t take matters to their ultimate conclusion, but he could certainly indulge himself. Indulge her, as well.

Sliding his hands more fully over the supple curves of her delicious derriere, he fit her closer, settling his erection against the V of her thighs as he claimed her mouth for an even deeper kiss. Her hands came up to clutch his shoulders, her breasts pressing in soft mounds against his chest.

Lifting his hand, he cupped one, savoring the shape and fullness of her feminine form. Even through the barrier of her shift and stays, he felt her body’s response, her nipple drawing into a hard bud that begged to be lavished with attention and praise.

He obliged as much as he could, given his limitations, strumming her flesh with firm strokes of his fingers. Little whimpers hummed in her throat, sounds he’d come to crave the way he did food or water. And yet there was something he wanted even more. Something he knew he had no right to covet or demand. Still, even as he tried to shunt aside the desire, it came upon him again.

Leaving her mouth, he traced a path across her cheek to her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth for a half-playful, half-savage nip. “Tell me, Grace,” he demanded, his voice husky and a bit raw.

“Tell you what?” she repeated, dreamy and low.

“Tell me how you feel. Do you love me?”

“Yes. You know I do,” she said without hesitation.

His lips glided over hers, making quick, plucking forays. “Then say it. Tell me what I want to hear.”

She met his gaze, eyelids heavy with passion, her mouth swollen and red from his kisses. “I love you,” she whispered.