Seduced by His Touch (22 page)

F
or Grace, the next three weeks passed by with an odd sense of duality.

Much as they had during their first week of residence at the honeymoon cottage, she and Jack shared formal meals in the dining room. Their conversation improved in frequency, but it remained confined to innocuous small talk and a range of impersonal topics that never seemed to delve much below the surface.

During the day, the two of them separated to engage in a variety of solitary pastimes—Jack often riding out on a swift-footed roan gelding he’d received as a wedding gift from Edward, while she painted, read, or sewed. Occasionally, they shared a long walk around the grounds or drove into the nearby village to do a bit of sightseeing and visit the shops. But the weather was frequently dreary and cold, encouraging them to spend a great deal of their time tucked warm and snug inside.

Otherwise when they weren’t sleeping, they had sex—and lots of it.

After that first coupling, they’d wiled away the next day separately. But when bedtime arrived, so did Jack, yanking off the nightgown her maid had just helped her into before tumbling her down onto the mattress. Near dawn, he awakened her again for another energetic bout that left her exhausted and sleeping until almost noon.

And thus began a pattern of sorts, since she could count on him to take her each morning and at least once every night.

He wasn’t always content with just those encounters, however, surprising her at unusual times to sweep her off her feet and into bed.

And then there were the occasions when he didn’t even bother with a bed, instead finding inventive ways to try out various pieces of furniture around the house.

He took her in a chair in the study one afternoon, and another time on the chaise. Once he came upon her in the main room and bent her over the sofa, tossing her skirts up around her shoulders so that he could thrust himself into her from behind.

But the occasion that remained most vivid in her memory was the morning after breakfast when he locked the door and laid her atop the dining table. There, among the uncleared pots of tea and jam, he proceeded to enjoy a “second repast,” as he dubbed it. Stripping her bare, he’d anointed her skin with dollops of honey and preserves before eating them off her quivering flesh with agonizing slowness. In the end, he’d left her lax and glowing, her body sticky but thoroughly satisfied.

No matter how often he came to her though, she never denied him. Nor did she wish to, thrilling to his every kiss and caress, grateful that he never left her anything but completely fulfilled.

Still, she never sought him out of her own volition, nor initiated any of their couplings, even though she had no doubt he would have welcomed her advances. And although she gave him free access to her body, she refused to let him back into her heart, closing off that part of herself with an implacable firmness.

But their honeymoon was nearly done now, and her maid was busy packing the last of her belongings for the journey home to London.

Dressed this morning in a soft, dark blue woolen traveling gown, Grace stood at the bedchamber window and gazed out at fields turned white from an overnight dusting of snow.

Not far in the distance, a small flock of brown sparrows had landed and were hopping to and fro in search of hidden seed. With only partial attention, she noted their efforts, until some noise startled them and off they flew in a rush.

“That’s the rest of it, milady,” her maid announced as she closed the fastenings on Grace’s valise. “Will there be anything else yer needing?”

Needing? Yes, a great many things,
Grace thought, but nothing this girl could possibly provide.

“No, thank you,” Grace said with a quick glance. “Carry that below, please, and I shall be down in a minute.”

Bobbing a curtsey, the servant gathered the case and left.

Not long after, Grace heard a set of footfalls in the hallway and thought perhaps her maid had returned.

Instead, a glance showed her that it was Jack who stood in the doorway, looking tall and resplendent in his dark, many-caped greatcoat. Moving with the lean stride of a cat, he walked into the room, his booted feet making barely a sound on the wooden floors. “I came to see if you’re set to leave?” he stated. “The coach is in the drive with the horses standing at the ready.”

She took a few last moments to gaze out the window before turning around. Crossing to the dresser, she picked up her gloves and drew them on. “We can depart whenever you choose. Just let me don my pelisse and we’ll go.”

He waited quietly while she retrieved the garment. Before she could put it on, though, he stepped close and took it from her.

“Allow me,” he said, holding up the long, emerald green wrap.

After the faintest hesitation, she let him assist her into the pelisse. When he was done, he turned her around to face him, his fingers moving to fasten the buttons.

“I can do it,” she said, trying to brush his hands aside.

But he refused to let her, working the second button through its corresponding buttonhole before she gave up trying to prevent him from doing so.

“You look beautiful this morning,” he said. “These colors become you. They make your cheeks glow.”

Once she would have melted to hear him say such things. Now, they only turned her cold.

“Must you do that?” she said before she could stop herself.

One mahogany brow winged upward. “Do what?”

She paused before continuing. “
That.
Attempt to flatter me. I’d rather you didn’t. If you want something, you have only to ask.”

His brows creased into a scowl. “I don’t
want
anything at the moment. I was merely making an observation.”

“Well, you needn’t bother. As I’ve told you before, I have no use for false praise and am quite familiar with my own shortcomings. Pray don’t feel that you need to cajole me.”

“I am not
cajoling
you. And I resent the implication that I’m trying to manipulate you for some nefarious purpose.” His face turned stiff, his eyes flashing a bright, infuriated blue. “And if I say you’re beautiful, then by God, that’s exactly what you are.”

She locked gazes with him for a long moment before looking away. A sharp quiet fell between them.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he said.

“Whether I do or not, I scarcely see how that matters. Now, we should be going.” Edging around him, she moved toward the door.

He moved faster and shut it before she could pass through, then leaned back against the painted wood. “I thought we’d ceased hostilities on this subject and that you understood I never deceived you—”

Her eyes narrowed.

“—that I never
misled
you about anything other than the situation with your father and the motivation for our marriage.”

“Do not start this again, Jack.”

“And have you imagining that every other word I utter is an untruth? That you can’t even believe me when I give you a simple compliment? What has become of our truce?”

“Our truce remains intact. However, that’s all it is—a truce, not a surrender. You ask too much of me if you think otherwise.”

“And you ask too little of yourself if you assume any praise I might offer you to be false. What reason would I have to lie about such a thing? What could I possibly hope to gain when, by your measure, I already have everything I want?”

His words sank in as she considered them, realizing that he
did
have everything he wanted. He even had her in his bed, as often as he liked, so why would he need to compliment her out of hand?

In the next moment, she acknowledged the underlying problem. She realized that learning of his bargain with her father had destroyed more than her trust in him; it had undermined her faith in herself as well. For a time, when she’d been happy during their engagement, she’d let her old insecurities go. But they’d come back more strongly than ever once she’d discovered the truth. Yet maybe he was right and she was being unkind to herself. Maybe it was time to lay those particular demons to rest once and for all.

“Very well,” she conceded. “In future, I shall attempt not to ascribe ulterior motives to any compliment you may choose to give me. If you say I look pretty in a particular color, then I look pretty.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured gently. “You look beautiful.”

Her skin warmed, finding herself pleased in spite of her best efforts not to be.

“Now, was that so dreadful?” he asked, stepping forward to take her in his arms.

“Only somewhat dreadful,” she replied.

A laugh rumbled from his chest. Still laughing, he bent his head and kissed her.

Sighing with a delight she couldn’t deny, she closed her eyes and let him take her deeper. Before she knew it, he was waltzing her backward toward the bed. They came down on the mattress swathed in a mass of winter wool.

Still plundering her mouth in a way that made her pulse race, he began unfastening the buttons of the pelisse he’d only recently fastened with such dedication.

“Didn’t you say the coach is waiting?” she asked with a breathless catch in her voice.

“Let it wait.”

“What about the horses? Won’t they be awfully restive?”

“Not as restive as I will be if I don’t have you.” The garment now open, he went to work on her skirts, pushing her heavy traveling gown and petticoats to her waist. “Now, you were saying?” he asked, as he stroked a hand up her inner thigh.

Reaching down to help him unbutton his falls, she smiled. “Nothing. I wasn’t saying a thing.”

London was the same, and yet to Grace the city felt completely different, strangely askew and just a bit foreign. During her first month’s residency at the town house on Upper Brook Street, she attributed the sensation to the fact that everything was new.

New house.

New neighborhood.

New servants.

Not to mention a new husband with whom she was trying to find a tolerable balance.

But as she gradually began to adjust, she realized that her discomfort stemmed from more than ordinary change and the tenuous nature of her relationship with Jack. Instead, it came from the fact that her entire life was different now. Her old existence, for good or ill, was gone forever. She was alone in a new world, and striving each day to make it her own.

Huffing out a breath, she gazed at the small cluster of cards Jack’s butler—
her
butler—had carried into the drawing room for her perusal. The cards had started arriving by messenger a few days ago—invitations that she had no real idea how to answer.

Jack was little help, telling her to accept the ones she liked and toss the rest into the fire. But therein lay her dilemma. She didn’t know one from the other, since the invitations were all from strangers. Strangers, at least, to her.

She’d just finished opening the newest arrivals and was preparing to add them to the growing stack of unanswered invitations she kept in a box on her writing desk when she heard someone enter the room.

“I told Appleton not to bother announcing us,” declared Mallory Byron’s lilting voice. “It would be silly, I thought, considering we’re family. Poor man seemed so vastly disappointed, though, that I almost let him do it. But in the end, I just couldn’t bear the formality.”

Grace spun around, a smile spreading instantly over her lips. “Mallory! Your Grace!…I mean Mama! And Esme!” she added, noticing the willowy young girl standing just behind her mother. “What are you doing here? I had no idea you were even in the city.”

“We weren’t, not until last night.” The dowager duchess walked forward, as elegant and lovely as always in an afternoon gown of puce silk. “We’d had enough of the country and decided to come to Town. I hope we’re not intruding on you newlyweds too soon. We don’t want to be a bother.”

Grace shook her head. “Of course you’re not a bother. Any of you.”

“Then come and give me a hug.”

Hurrying forward, Grace let herself be wrapped in the dowager’s maternal arms, gladder to see her than she would have imagined possible. She and Mallory shared an embrace next, then Esme, all of them smiling at each other once they were done.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” Grace said. “Let me ring for tea.”

“That would be lovely, dear,” the dowager said, as she crossed to take a seat on the sofa. Mallory followed to do the same, while Esme ran in a flash of skirts to the far side of the room, where she perched on the window seat in a patch of sun. Grace smiled as she saw her withdraw a piece of paper and a pencil from her pocket and begin to sketch.

“So, is Jack home?” Ava said, drawing Grace’s attention back to her and Mallory.

“Um, no,” Grace replied. “I’m afraid he’s out.”

She decided not to say more, hoping they wouldn’t ask where he was, since she hadn’t the faintest idea. Jack shared little information about his activities outside the house, and she made a point not to ask.

“Ah, well, I’m sure we shall see him soon,” the dowager continued. “Besides, his absence will give us ladies more time to talk. Are those invitations, I see?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’d think they could give you and Jack a little more time alone before importuning you both, especially considering the fact that the Season doesn’t begin for some weeks yet. Still, I’m sure every Society matron worth her salt is dying to make your acquaintance.”

Grace felt tiny lines gather on her forehead. “You mean Jack’s acquaintance.”

Her mother-in-law smiled. “No, I mean
yours,
dear. Everyone already knows Jack.”

Oh, mercy.

Grace gulped, her nerves tightening into a knot in her stomach.

Just then, a housemaid arrived with the tea, momentarily diverting everyone’s attention. The dowager poured, while Grace handed around plates of biscuits. She took a moment to add an extra gingersnap to Esme’s portion, since she knew the girl had a fondness for the spicy treat. Esme’s eyes twinkled, her smile wide as she took the plate.