Seduced by His Touch (28 page)

Each night he stubbornly forced himself to lie down on the mattress in the bedroom. But every time he closed his eyes, Grace was there. And once he started thinking about her, he couldn’t stop, until finally he would come here to the library and sleep in the armchair.

Another man might have drowned his misery in the bottom of a brandy decanter. But after a brief infatuation with that particular poison, he’d given it up, realizing he felt worse rather than better. The only thing the alcohol did was give him a sore head, a churning gut and no real comfort at all.

Reaching into his pocket, he searched for his watch to see just how late the hour really was. Instead of the timepiece, however, his fingers brushed against a now familiar piece of jewelry that he’d taken to carrying.

He’d discovered it among some of his things before leaving London, and had slipped it into his pocket. Why he’d done it, he still didn’t know. Maybe he’d hoped to give it to her when they parted. Maybe he’d needed to carry a piece of her with him after she was gone.

Drawing it out, he gazed at the heart-shaped amethyst pendant, running his thumb over the tiny miniature garden in the center.

He wondered if she liked her garden at her new house in Kent. He wondered if she liked living there. Did she miss her old life? Did she miss him?

Christ, what a pitiful idiot I’ve become.

If he had any sense, he’d leave this room, ride to the nearest tavern, find a willing woman and tup her until he couldn’t think straight. Tup her, and as many more nameless females as it took to drive one long-legged redhead out of his mind.

And what about his heart?

Eventually, he would cut her out of that as well, he assured himself. He just needed time and the right sharp implement to do the job.

He was considering taking another one of his long, rambling walks through the nearby woods and fields when a rap sounded at the door.

His first instinct was to ignore it. Frankly, he was surprised that any of the servants had the nerve to disturb him. His humor was so foul most of the time that he’d scared off all the maids; none of them would come near any more. Only the housekeeper remained to see to his meals and tend to the necessary cleaning. And the one remaining footman wasn’t too keen on him either—not after he’d thrown a plate of fried eggs at the fellow’s head one particularly bad morning.

The knock came again.

He grumbled under his breath, tucking the pendant back into his pocket before he called out. “Yes. What is it?”

The door opened, but the man who entered wasn’t the footman, as Jack expected. In fact, he didn’t even recognize the stranger at first. But then, as the slender, sandy-haired man moved farther into the room, his identity came clear.

It was Terrence Cooke, Grace’s friend and publisher.

“What the deuce are you doing here?” Jack said, making no effort to rise from his chair.

Cooke straightened his shoulders and walked all the way inside. “Well, hallo to you too, your lordship. Not that I’d call that remark much of a greeting, particularly given the trouble I’ve endured traveling here from London.” He doffed his hat and placed it on a small table. “You’re a hard man to locate, did you know that?”

“Obviously not hard enough, since you found me.”

“A friend of mine who knows your solicitor put me in touch,” Cooke continued in a conversational tone, clearly not put off by Jack’s less than warm reception. “He thought you might be here in Oxfordshire.”

“Next time I’m in Town, I’ll have to remember to get a new solicitor. What do you want?”

“Not
what
actually, but
who
. I’ve come to see Grace. Is she here?”

Jack’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “Does it look like she’s here?”

Cooke paused, his brows furrowing slightly. “No. If it weren’t for your redoubtable housekeeper, I’d wonder if anyone were here, the place is so unrelentingly grim. Reminds me a bit of a hermit’s den.”

Jack sent him a fresh glare.

Cooke glanced around the room, wrinkling his nose, no doubt in offense over the acrid scent of the cheroots Jack had been smoking by the dozen. That and the stale remains of last night’s mostly untouched supper, which had yet to be cleared away.

“If Grace isn’t here, then where is she?” Cooke persisted.

Jack sent the other man a deliberately menacing look. “Worried I’ve done away with her?”

Cooke studied him for a long moment. “If anything I’d say she’s done away with you. What’s happened? You look like the very devil, Byron.”

Jack clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. “Get out.”

“Rumor in Town has it that the pair of you are like cooing lovebirds. Apparently, that’s not the case.”

“I said
get out,”
Jack ordered in a low growl.

“As you choose. I suppose I’ll have to find another method of getting this book to Grace.”

Jack stilled. “Book? What book?”

Only then did he notice the rectangular volume the other man had set on the table beneath his hat when he’d first come in.

“It’s the new edition of Grace’s latest book. Rather than entrust it to the vagaries of the post, I thought I would give it to her personally.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Jack said, without taking the time to consider his response.

“Pardon?”

“I said you are to leave it with me. I’ll make certain she receives it.”

What am I saying?
he wondered.
I have no plans to see Grace, so why take on the burden of delivering this book to her?
Yet he realized that’s exactly what he wanted. An excuse, anything that gave him the chance to see her again.

After a moment, Cooke picked up his hat—and only his hat. “Thank you, my lord. It’ll save me a trip into Kent.”

“What? Then you already knew?”

Cooke shrugged. “More rumors. I wanted the truth.”

“About her location?”

“No, about you and whether or not you love her. I can see that you do. She loves you too, so why are the two of you living apart?”

Jack’s chest tightened with a familiar ache. “Grace doesn’t love me.”

Cooke gave a humorless laugh. “In that, you are wrong. I’ve known her a lot longer than you. Years, in fact, while I tried to win her affection. Never once did she look at me—or any other man for that matter—the way she looks at you. I saw it that day in Bath when we met. Why else do you think I tried so hard to prize her away?”

“Her money perhaps, since I understand you have different…interests, shall we say?”

“Whatever other
interests
I have doesn’t mean I don’t love her. And I never cared about her money. But in the last few months, I’ve realized that Grace was right. I’m being true to myself now and I’m happier for it. Tell her I’ve met someone. A new business partner with whom I hope to share my life as well. Grace has my thanks for that. In appreciation, I want her to be happy too, and for that she needs you.”

“You can see how much she
needs
me. She wants her independence. That’s why she’s living in Kent.”

“Take that book to her and see if she’s really content. Unless you’re happier without her? If so, then send it by messenger.”

But Jack knew he would take the volume to her himself. As for Cooke’s assertions about Grace’s feelings, well, he couldn’t afford to let himself hope on that front. But he would visit. Suddenly, he knew he could do nothing else.

Dear Jack,

Dear Lord Jack,

My Lord,

Husband,

“A
ghh!” Grace cried as she grabbed up the piece of stationery and crumpled it into a ball.

If I can’t even write something as simple as a salutation,
she berated herself,
how am I ever going to find the right way to tell Jack that I’m expecting his child?

Cursing under her breath, she tossed the wadded paper onto the pile along with all her other unsuccessful attempts. So far, she wasn’t having much luck drafting a letter, despite the fact that she’d had nearly a week to contemplate the best way to break the news.

After the revelation she’d had concerning her health that morning in the garden, she’d decided to confirm her suspicions and consult a physician.

Less than an hour after his arrival, the doctor told her what she already knew. She was with child. About nine weeks was his best guess given the information she’d provided and the physical examination he’d performed.

After thanking him and sending him on his way, she’d sat on the chaise in her bedroom for a very long time, faintly stunned despite her prior knowledge.

I’m going to be a mother,
she’d thought, a smile spreading over her face.

But in the next second, her smile disappeared, as she realized she would have to tell Jack.

But how?

And when?

More importantly, what would his reaction be to the news? Would he greet it with happiness—or not?

Doubt weighed on her over the next several days, leaving her no closer to a decision than before. Finally this morning, she’d forced herself to act, reasoning that a letter would be the easiest and most straightforward way of telling him. But so far the missive was proving much more problematic than she’d anticipated.

Sighing, she drew out a fresh sheet of writing paper and picked up her pen, determined to begin anew. She hadn’t put so much as a mark on the page when she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from outside.

Had visitors arrived? she wondered. She certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. Curious, she crossed to the window and gazed out at the front drive. Her lips parted on a sudden inhalation when she saw a familiar black phaeton—and the man standing beside it, conversing with her footman.

Jack!

Stars above, what’s he doing here?

Then he strolled toward the house and disappeared from view. Seconds later, she heard the front door being opened and closed.

A quiver traced over her skin at the sound of his strong, silvery voice, as he exchanged greetings with her housekeeper. His words were indistinct, but not the rhythm or the tone. He sounded…serious.

Brushing a hand over her skirt, she prepared herself for his entrance. As she did, she caught sight of the wadded-up balls of discarded stationery lying all over the top of her writing desk. Rushing forward, she gathered them up and hurried over to stuff them inside the first convenient hiding place she could find—a brass ash pail on the fireplace hearth. She set the lid on the pail and raced back to her desk.

Swaying, she gripped the back of her desk chair and hung on, hoping she didn’t disgrace herself by fainting at his feet. Heart pounding hard, she arranged her features into what she prayed would seem a serene expression. Only then did she glance across to watch him stride into the room.

Her knees weakened at the sight, her hand tightening painfully against the wood of the chair. He was so handsome that it hurt to look at him—his mahogany hair attractively tousled from his journey, his eyes the same pure, clear azure blue that still had the power to make her melt. Tall and powerfully male, his presence instantly filled the room. Even so, as he walked closer, she couldn’t help but notice that the bones in his face seemed slightly more prominent, as if he’d lost weight.

Then she had no more time to consider the matter as he stopped and made her an elegant bow. “Hello, madam,” he said. “How do you do?”

Responding in kind, she curtseyed, careful not to release her grip on the chair. “My lord.” Not trusting her knees to continue holding her up, she let go of the chair long enough to sink onto its seat.

Crossing to a nearby side chair, he took a seat as well. As he did, she saw him set a paper-wrapped parcel onto a small nearby table.

“Forgive the unexpected nature of my call,” he began. “I was…traveling and thought I would stop to see how you are faring. How are you finding the house?”

Traveling?
Yes, she supposed he’d had occasion to travel recently.
Probably departing one house party and making his way to the next.

“T-the house?” she answered. “The house is everything to be desired, extremely comfortable and pleasant.”

“Good.” He paused, a quiet descending that was both awkward and pronounced. “And the servants?” he continued. “They’re to your liking, as well?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “They take excellent care of me. I have only to make a comment, however offhand, and my wishes are seen to in an instant.”

“They were hired for their efficiency. I would expect no less.”

“You chose well, my lord.”

Assuming he’d chosen at all.
More likely, his estate agent had made all the arrangements.

But what did it matter? What did any of it matter now? she thought, ruefully aware how stiff and formal everything was between her and Jack. It was as though they were little more than passing acquaintances. But perhaps that was all they were to each other now. What did she expect though, since they were separated? What is it she wanted?

“So, you’re happy here then?” he ventured.

“Yes, I’m very happy with the residence.”

His brows drew together a fraction of an inch, and he cleared his throat. “And what of you? Are
you
happy?”

Her pulse thudded in her throat and wrists as she lowered her gaze.

Happy?

Happy wasn’t a word she used anymore, at least not in relation to herself.

Comfortable?
Yes.

Surviving?
Obviously.

But happy?
No, she couldn’t say she was happy.

Except when she thought of the baby. The promise of the child, and all the love she would shower on him or her, brought her immeasurable joy. Even so, she wasn’t sure whether that was the sort of happiness Jack meant.

Clearly, he wanted to make sure she was well-settled. That way, he wouldn’t have to concern himself over her any further. He could continue on to his party and not spare her another thought.

Forcing her lips upward, she put on a falsely cheerful smile. “Of course, I’m happy.”

His face grew very calm and even, almost devoid of expression. And she knew she’d been right in her assumptions about his motivation for this visit. In a few minutes, he would leave and who knows how much time would pass before she saw him again.
If
she saw him again.

A fluttering erupted in her chest, a sensation not unlike panic. Tamping it down, she thought again of the baby, and let the knowledge bring her comfort. But with it came a reminder that she needed to share the news with Jack. All she had to do was open her mouth and say the words, and her duty would be absolved.

My lord, you’re going to be a father.

How easy and simple the statement. And yet, how impossible the words seemed given the distance between them.

As though the baby agreed, her stomach lurched, churning with a queasy dip that had grown almost familiar over the past few weeks. Ignoring it, she gathered her nerve.

Before she could speak though, he did.

“I brought you something.” Reaching over, he picked up the parcel from the table and held it out. “Or rather I should say Terrence Cooke brought you something. He asked me to deliver this.”

She let him press the package into her hands. “You saw Terrence? When?”

“A couple days ago. That’s your book, the latest one. He wanted you to have it.”

She smoothed a hand over the paper. “My book?” she said blankly. “Oh, of the birds. Of course.”

She’d almost forgotten about the publication in the whirlwind of the last several months. How amazing to think that nearly a year had passed since that long ago day when she’d first met Jack in Hatchard’s. How had everything that had once seemed so right, gone so very wrong?

Her stomach lurched again, more insistently this time.

Please God,
she prayed,
not now!

Laying the book aside without unwrapping it, she drew a few shallow breaths in hopes that it would stave off the need to be sick. “Well, thank you for bringing the g-gift to me. I shall have to write and thank Terrence as well.”

“Yes, do that,” Jack said in a low voice. “I’m sure he would appreciate hearing from you.”

She nodded and concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and steady, hoping he didn’t notice the perspiration beginning to dampen her skin.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he said.

“If you must, I won’t keep you. It was good of you to call.”

She thought she saw his jaw tense, but she wasn’t sure, too consumed with her own inner turmoil to pay careful attention.

Perhaps she was being idiotic, but she couldn’t bear the idea of being ill in front of him. She hated the notion of letting him see her at her worst—weak and vulnerable and stripped of her control. But what of her obligation to tell him about the baby?

She would do it later, she decided. She’d write him a letter, after all. Besides, given the awkwardness between them, he would probably prefer it if she shared the news in writing.

Her stomach lurched again.
He really does need to leave now.

Relief poured through her when he stood.

But instead of moving away, he hesitated. “You will let me know if there is anything you require?”

She nodded and clamped her lips tight.

“I may be going north for a while,” he said, gazing toward the window. “I’m not sure of my plans. As I told you before, you may reach me through my solicitor. Or Edward. My brother will always know where I may be found.”

“T-thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “You are most solicitous.”

“Being solicitous has nothing to do with it,” he said in a rough tone. “No matter our situation, you are, and shall always be, my wife.”

Her gaze went to his, lingering for a long moment.

Then her stomach rebelled again and scattered every thought in her brain. Blood drained from her cheeks, as she shot to her feet.

“Grace?” he asked. “You don’t look well. Are you all right?”

But she didn’t have time to answer, her feet already moving as fast as they could carry her toward a stand on the far side of the room.

Thank heavens for her housekeeper, who’d quietly seen to it that a plentiful array of bowls and basins were set throughout the house for just such a circumstance. Otherwise, Grace knew she would have thoroughly shamed herself by being ill in the most inappropriate of ways and places.

As it was, she managed to grab the bowl just in time, sinking to her knees as she emptied her stomach in great, aching heaves. She sensed Jack standing somewhere behind her in the room. But he didn’t come near. He was probably too disgusted.

Finally, the worst was over—her stomach calmed, her face streaked with tears. She huddled there, trying to find the strength to struggle to her feet, when a hand reached down to help her.

With efficient ease, he set the bowl away, then knelt beside her. Tipping up her chin, he stroked a dampened handkerchief against her hot, perspiring cheeks and across her trembling lips. She closed her eyes in gratitude, the refreshing coolness wafting over her like a benediction. Refolding the handkerchief, he slid the linen over her neck as well, then drew it away to offer her a glass of water.

Gratefully, she drank.

“Slowly now,” he admonished, as she swallowed too fast. “Just a few sips.”

Nodding, she took the glass again, careful to sip this time.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?” he asked in a thick voice.

“It…it just came on me. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? It’s not your fault you’re sick.” He stood, then reached down to help her do the same.

She’d barely gotten to her feet when she found herself off them once more, as Jack swung her up into his arms. “Put me down,” she said. “I’m too heavy.”

He made a dismissive noise and strode with her toward the door. “I’m going to put you to bed, then call for the doctor. You’ve obviously taken ill with a stomach flux of some kind.”

“It’s not a flux and I don’t need the doctor.”

“Of course you do. If you’re worried about him bleeding you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s…”

“You, there,” he said to her footman, who was standing wide-eyed in the hall, watching them. “Send for the physician immediately.”

“No, don’t,” she countered, glancing over Jack’s shoulder at the other man. “You are to ignore that order.”

“You’re too stubborn by half, do you know that?” Jack said to her through his teeth. “Well, it shall make no difference in the end.”

Taking the stairs, he carried her up them with an ease that left her feeling as small and dainty as the tiniest of females. Leaning her head against his coat, she closed her eyes for a moment and let herself relish his familiar warmth and clean, male scent.

Without asking for directions, he took her straight to her bedchamber, then strode across the sun-filled room to lay her gently against the mattress. She nearly reached for him as he drew away, but she forced herself to allow him to let her go.