Seduced by His Touch (29 page)

To her surprise, he smoothed a hand over her hair, brushing a few loose strands away from her forehead the way he might do for a child. “I’ll go send for that quack now,” he told her in a gruff voice.

Reaching up, she caught hold of his wrist. “No, truly, there’s no need. He’s already been here to see me.”

Jack’s brows drew together in a sharp arch. “What do you mean? Already been here? Have you been ill like this before?”

A bit of color seemed to drain from his cheeks, as though he were quite alarmed, but she supposed it must be her imagination. “It’s nothing,” she told him, lowering her gaze. “At least nothing unusual for a woman in my condition.”

His fingers tipped her chin upward, forcing her to look him in the eye. “What condition, Grace? Why are you sick?”

She drew a quick breath. “I was going to tell you, but—”

“But?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel.” Drawing a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “I’m with child, Jack. I’m going to have a baby.”

For the space of several heartbeats, Jack just stared, not certain if he’d heard her right.

Did she say she was expecting a baby? My baby!

Without thinking, he sat down on the bed next to her. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” she assured him. “I had my suspicions, and the doctor confirmed them a few days ago.”

“When?”

“When what? When is the baby due, you mean?”

He gave a clipped nod.

“This spring. March, the doctor estimates, since I’m only a couple months along. It’s still early yet in the pregnancy.”

And it is,
he thought, realizing that she must have conceived only a few weeks before she’d left him. Before that dreadful night at the Pettigrews’ ball when everything between them had changed. To think she’d been pregnant then. If only he’d known, could he have found a way to stop her? Could he find a way to stop her from sending him away again now?

A small frown settled above her nose. “What are you thinking, my lord?” she murmured. “You aren’t…you aren’t sorry, are you?”

“No,” he declared in a firm tone. “I’m not sorry at all.” He paused. “I’m glad. Very, very glad.”

She sent him a tremulous smile. “I am too. So very happy.”

And abruptly the anger he’d been nursing these past weeks fell away, along with the misery that had left him numb and only half-alive. Warmth seeped slowly into his veins, the faintest sliver of hope stealing in behind it. He had no right to hope, he knew, but he couldn’t seem to prevent the impulse, or the desire, however futile it might seem.

Reaching out, he drew her up and enfolded her in his arms to press her gently to his chest. She stiffened at first but then gave a weary little sigh and leaned her head against his shoulder, relaxing.

They sat that way without speaking, time passing with no real awareness. She relaxed even more in his embrace, and, to his surprise, he realized she was falling asleep. Tenderly, he lay her back against the pillows.

“Forgive me,” she murmured. “I get so…sleepy these days. It’s because of…the baby. Sometimes I can…barely…keep my eyes…open.”

“Then don’t.” Standing, he picked up the light cotton blanket folded at the foot of the bed and spread it over her.

She sighed and snuggled into the warmth, her eyes closed, her breath becoming slow and even.

Using the lightest of touches, he brushed his fingertips across her cheek, then bent to press his lips to her forehead. “I love you, Grace,” he whispered, too softly for her to possibly hear.

Straightening, he gazed at her for another long moment, then turned toward the door.

“Are you…leaving?” she mumbled in a drowsy voice.

“You need to sleep.”

“Don’t go, Jack,” she said, clearly caught in a state halfway between consciousness and dreams. “Don’t go away.”

The warmth and the hope curled inside him again. “Not to worry. I’ll be here when you wake.”

And I will be,
he vowed.

This time he was staying, whether she wanted him to or not.

She came awake in slow stages, stretching as sleep fell gradually away. Turning her head, she gazed into the waning light and realized that she must have slept nearly the whole of the afternoon. At least her nausea was gone, along with her tiredness. Obviously, she’d needed the rest.

Jack.

Had he really come for a visit, or had it all just been a dream?

She remembered bits, like puzzle pieces falling into place. They’d talked for a while. Their conversation had been awkward and uncomfortable. Then he’d given her a book…from Terrence…
her
book with the birds she’d painted.

He’d been about to depart when she’d taken ill.

How kind he’d been afterward, carrying her up the stairs and here to her room.

She knew she’d told him about the baby, remembering how her heart had pounded while she waited for his reaction, and the rush of relief and happiness when he’d told her he was glad.

Her relief had turned to surprise, though, when he’d taken her in his arms—and then to profound pleasure as he’d cradled her against him with a tenderness that had proven her complete undoing.

After that, everything grew hazy, drowsiness claiming her with a strength she’d been unable to resist. She thought she remembered him promising to be there when she awakened.

Was he? Or had that been nothing more than some somnolent fantasy? Her hopes manifesting themselves in the world of dreams? She supposed she would find out the answer soon enough.

Sighing, she sat up and pushed the blanket off her lap.

Walking quickly to the washstand, she bathed her face and brushed her teeth, then hastily tidied the strands of hair that had come loose from her coiffure while she’d slept. She could have rung for her maid, but she didn’t want to wait. She had to know.

Is Jack still here?

She beat a hand against a wrinkle in her skirt, then drew a steadying breath and went out into the hallway. By the time she reached the ground floor, she’d convinced herself he was gone.

Very likely, she would find a note informing her that he’d been unable to stay, after all. His missive would go on to say that she should keep him apprised of her needs regarding the baby and her health, and to let him know when she was brought to childbed.

Spirits dashed, she walked into the drawing room, expecting to find it empty. Instead, she discovered Jack, settled into a comfortable corner of the sofa with a book on his lap.

The sight of him brought her to an abrupt halt. “You’re here.”

Glancing up from his reading, he gave her a smile. “Of course. I told you I would stay. So, how are you feeling? Are you sure you should be up?”

“I…I am much better, thank you.”

“Still queasy?”

“No, not a bit. Luckily, the nausea seems to disappear nearly as quickly as it comes upon me.”

“Here now,” he said, jumping to his feet. “You shouldn’t be standing there like that.”

In seconds, she found herself ferried with a few gentle steps to the nearest armchair. A laugh escaped her as she sank down onto the comfortable cushions. “I’m perfectly capable of standing, you know. I’m enceinte, not an invalid.”

“Perhaps so,” he said as he released his hold on her elbow, “but I’d feel better if you rested a while more, just in case.”

“Just in case of what?”

“I don’t want you fainting. Your housekeeper’s been telling me you have bouts of vertigo in addition to your nausea and tiredness.”

Her lips pursed. “I hadn’t realized what a very big mouth Mrs. Mackie has.”

“Don’t worry. She hasn’t been unduly forthcoming. Just sharing a few interesting details here and there.”

Yes, she thought—knowing Jack, she was sure he’d had no trouble wheedling information out of the servant. Mrs. Mackie might be middle-aged, but she was still female. And as Grace knew all too well, females of any age were susceptible to Jack Byron’s charming ways.

Sobered by the thought, her smile fell away.

Jack, however, seemed to take no notice as he slipped a pillow behind her back. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes, most comfortable.”

Ranunculus chose that moment to saunter inside, the big orange cat going straight across to Jack to rub against his trouser legs. Clearly unconcerned about any hair the feline might be leaving behind, Jack bent to stroke the cat’s striped head and back.

“I see the two of you have already met,” she remarked, observing the friendly byplay.

Soft purrs issued from the cat, his eyes closing with contentment as Jack scratched him under the chin. “Indeed,” Jack said. “This big fellow introduced himself to me while you were sleeping. He’s quite expert at hogging the sofa.” His gaze moved to the cat. “Aren’t you…Ranunculus, is it not?

“That’s right,” she confirmed. Obviously Jack had gleaned additional “interesting details” from the servants.

He stroked the cat’s head, his voice lowering. “At least she didn’t call you Buttercup, old man.”

“You know what ranunculus means?” she said, surprised.

His gaze swung up to meet hers. “I know a great deal more on that subject than you might imagine. Let’s just say you…inspired me to learn.”

Before she had time to respond, he returned to his seat on the couch. “So, what shall we do?”

“Do?” she repeated as the cat jumped into her lap. Automatically, she began to pet him.

“Tonight. It’s still a little early for dinner, assuming you’re up to eating dinner. Until then, I thought we could play a game perhaps. Or I could read a story or some poetry aloud so that all you need do is relax and listen. Which would you prefer?”

Either,
she thought,
or both,
realizing that his suggestions sounded delightful. But she couldn’t afford to delight in them, or in his company. She couldn’t get used to having him around, couldn’t risk everything that meant.

As though aware of her mercurial mood, the cat gave a meow and leapt to the ground. Padding on quick feet, he left the room.

Exactly as Jack will do.

“I didn’t realize you were staying the night,” she said in a brisk tone. “Your trip north and all. I believe you mentioned you needed to be on your way.”

His brows drew together for a few seconds before relaxing again. “I also said that I wasn’t certain of my plans. I have no pressing engagements, so I can afford to be flexible.”

“I don’t want to be a bother—”

“You aren’t. I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight, shall I?”

She hesitated. Was it wise to let him stay, even in the guest room? On the other hand, it wasn’t as if she could throw him out. They might be estranged, but in the end, he was still her husband.

“I’ll let Mrs. Mackie know to prepare the room,” she said with a nod. “And lay out another place setting for dinner.”

His mouth curved in a faint smile. “Thank you, Grace.”

She didn’t answer, too aware of how fast her heart was suddenly beating.

“Well then,” he prompted. “What’s it to be? Games or a story? I found a Maria Edgeworth novel in the library that you might enjoy.
Ennui
, I believe.”

“Oh, I haven’t read that one,” she said, more tempted than she ought to admit.

“Or we could play chess. There’s a board I can bring in.”

She paused, knowing she shouldn’t choose either option. “The story, please,” she told him in a rush. “If you don’t hate Mrs. Edgeworth, that is?”

A chuckle rumbled from his throat as he rose to retrieve the volume. “I trust I shall survive.”

He’s only here for tonight,
she told herself, settling back in her chair.
Tonight and then he’ll be gone, so enjoy the moment.

Jack returned and took his seat again. Opening the book, he began to read.

The deep cadence of his voice stole over her, the words like music. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the pleasure.

S
ix weeks later, Jack was still there.

Each day, when she came downstairs, she expected to find him packed and ready to depart, anxious to finally be on his way. But then he would smile and ask how her night had been and before she knew it, half the day would be gone. Afternoon would amble past at a lazy pace, then Mrs. Mackie would be at the doorway announcing that dinner was served. By the time Grace glanced at a clock again, she would find the hour far too advanced for him to leave that night.

She supposed she could have asked him to depart, but selfishly—and stupidly—she found herself hoping he would stay just one more day. Equally as foolish was the way she began to depend upon him, especially when it came to her pregnancy.

Instinctively, he seemed to know exactly what she needed—coaxing her to sleep when she was drowsy, making sure she drank enough fluids and got enough to eat, ready with a basin and a comforting hand when the nausea struck and nothing would stay down.

He comforted her when she felt so dreadful she could barely lift her head, and he kept her relaxed and entertained the rest of the time—and all without making a single demand upon her.

As she well knew, Jack was a man of strong appetites—particularly of the passionate variety—so the lack of sex must surely have been wearing on him.

And yet he gave no indication of being displeased. Nor did he appear bored or distracted, as she’d assumed he would be without a constant round of parties and entertainments to keep him amused. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she would almost believe he was…content.

But how could he possibly be satisfied living in a sexless union with his frequently ill, pregnant wife? Surely he must be chafing under the burden, anxious to send for his carriage and drive away with as much speed as he could muster. She was certain it was only a matter of time until he did.

Nonetheless, he remained—for reasons she couldn’t possibly begin to fathom. But rather than make the attempt, she abdicated the responsibility, knowing he would tell her when he’d finally had enough and wanted to leave.

The last days of September drew to a close, and with them came not only cooler temperatures but also an end to the worst of her symptoms. As her pregnancy grew more advanced, her morning sickness disappeared, her energy rebounding as her body began to develop a new roundness.

She wasn’t showing yet—at least not through her clothes—but now, as she lay in bed, she couldn’t help but notice the slight bulge beneath her nightgown where her belly used to be flat. On a whim, she tried to suck in her stomach. It wouldn’t budge.

Definitely the baby.

Running a hand over the new curve, she smiled.

She was woolgathering when the oddest sensation, like the fluttering of faerie’s wings, made the breath catch in her lungs.

Oh, stars, did the baby just move?

Then it happened again, causing a laugh to bubble from her throat.

Abruptly she was overwhelmed with the need to tell someone. To share this small, yet miraculous, occurrence.

Flinging back the sheets, she hurried across to the door that connected her bedchamber with Jack’s—a door neither of them had ever attempted to open before. Without thinking, she pulled it wide and raced inside.

Standing in front of his shaving stand, Jack turned at her entrance, his razor poised less than an inch from his soap-covered, half-shaven face. He was dressed in a pair of fawn trousers and nothing else, his bare, muscular chest and broad shoulders a glorious sight to behold. Even so, she was too exhilarated over her news to pay more than momentary heed.

“Grace, what is it?” he demanded in clear concern, setting down his razor. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No, not at all. I’m…oh, I don’t know how to describe what I am. Just come here and feel.”

His brows rose. “Feel what?”

“You’ll see. Just give me your hand.”

A peculiar expression flashed across his face before he reached for a towel to quickly dry his cheeks. Approaching, he stopped about a foot away from her.

“Closer,” she urged. “You’ll never be able to feel it from there.” Caught up in her excitement, she reached out and took his hand, then placed his palm flat against her belly over the spot where she’d felt the fluttering sensation.

“What are we doing?” he questioned. “What is it I’m supposed to feel?”

“The baby!” she whispered.

Some of her excitement transferred to him. “You mean it moved?”

She nodded. “Yes. At least I think he did. Now, be quiet and let’s see if he’ll do it again.”

Jack edged closer, sliding an arm behind her back while he positioned his palm more fully across her nightgown-clad stomach.

Together, they waited.

And waited.

“I don’t feel anything,” he said in a low voice.

“Give it another minute,” she hushed. “Surely he’ll move again.”

Just as she was on the verge of conceding defeat, when the fluttering came once more, a gossamer quiver that made her inhale with awe.

“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured. “I did feel something. At least I think I did. Will he do it again, do you imagine?”

“I’m not sure. I can barely feel it myself, but it’s there. Our baby is really there.”

She sent him a smile, buoyant and without barriers.

Something in his eyes changed, his pupils dilating inside rings of peerless blue, as he gazed deep into her own.

Her lips parted, her breath coming faster for reasons that had nothing to do with her excitement over their child. He bent nearer, pausing for an instant, as though he were giving her a chance to retreat. When she didn’t, his mouth met hers—warm and slow and astonishingly sweet.

Her eyelids slid closed and she held herself utterly still, as if she were afraid even the smallest movement would shatter the moment. Instead, she let herself float, giving herself permission to indulge—if only for a few precious seconds—in the perfect beauty of his touch. Breathing deeply, she drew in his scent—a delectable combination of shaving soap, warm skin and man that swirled like an elixir in her head.

Then, before she had time to make a clear choice about whether to step out of his hold or move deeper into it, he took the decision out of her hands. Gentle as a sigh, he broke their kiss, easing his lips ever so gradually away.

He left his arm looped in an undemanding circle around her waist, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to release her entirely. “I’ve missed that. I’ve missed
you.”

“What do you mean? I’ve been right here.”

“You’re here, but not always with me. You keep me…separate.”

As she considered, she realized he was right. In spite of all his support and companionship these past few weeks, and in spite of her undeniable pleasure in his company, she did keep him at a distance. To protect herself, she’d put up an emotional shield, an invisible wall that no one—most especially Jack—could possibly penetrate. But during the past few minutes, she’d let that wall drop. She’d let him in.

Breaking eye contact, he glanced away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I ought to have said long ago.”

She froze, unable to believe he would do this here and now. But she’d known from the day he arrived that this moment would come, that he would leave as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Muscles suddenly rigid, she tried to step out of his grasp. When he wouldn’t let her, she forced herself to relax and wait.

It would all be over soon.
He would set her free, then he would leave, finally and for good.

“Grace, I love you.”

Her gaze flew to his, confusion drowning out the fabrication she’d prepared in order to show just how little she supposedly cared. “What did you say?” she whispered in a faint voice.

His eyes locked on hers. “I said, I love you.”

She blinked and gave her head a tiny shake.
No, you don’t,
she thought.

“But I do,” he stated, as though he’d heard her silent denial. “And what’s more, I’m not leaving. I know you’re waiting for me to, I can see it in your eyes. But you’re not getting rid of me so easily this time. I’m staying, whether you like it or not.”

Blood throbbed between her temples, her heart hammering violently in her chest.

“I know you still don’t trust me,” he continued. “I realize you believe you have good reason not to. Perhaps your doubts were valid in the beginning, but no longer.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Reaching up, he stroked the back of his fingers over her cheek. “You’re the only woman I want, the only woman I will
ever
want. Despite what you think you saw that night with Philipa Stockton, I’ve been faithful and I’ll continue to be. I can’t prove it with words, only in deed. Just as I can’t prove the strength of my love, I can only show you, day by day by day. And I will, even if it takes the rest of my life to make you believe me.”

Taking a breath, she worked to form a response, so conflicted she scarcely knew how to react. But before she could, he moved his fingers to cover her lips.

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know how I felt. How I feel. And that I’m going to fight for you, Grace. You loved me once. I can wait and hope you will again.”

Leaning close, he pressed his mouth to hers—quickly, gently.

“In the meantime,” he said, his tone thick as he pulled away, “I’ll be here for you and the baby. We’ll live wherever you want. The choice will be entirely up to you. Just don’t ask me to go away. I tried that once and it nearly killed me. I’d rather live with your indifference than not live with you at all.”

Stepping back, he went to his bedside table. He returned carrying something. Opening his palm, he revealed the heart-shaped pendant he’d given her so many months ago.

“I’ve kept this,” he explained. “You might say it’s become a talisman of sorts. I…I carry it everywhere. But I’m going to give it to you again, if you’ll take it. Whether you decide ever to wear it or not is up to you.”

“Jack,” she murmured, as she let him press the jewelry into her hand.

Smiling gently, he kissed her forehead. “Now, enough of such syrupy talk. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll finish doing the same. We can have breakfast together. Then I’m off for an appointment with a couple of the local farmers.”

“Farmers?” she repeated, nonplussed at the abrupt change of subject.

“I have an idea for planting an orchard in the fallow field that lies south of the house. You may not realize, but a couple hundred acres are attached to this property. I thought it might provide us with some extra income, while also giving the people around here a new source of employment.”

“You’re right. It would,” she agreed. “It’s an excellent notion.”

He smiled again. “I’m glad you approve. Well, go on now and get dressed, sweetheart. The rest of the day awaits.”

They met in the breakfast room three-quarters of an hour later, sharing a meal and friendly conversation during which neither of them remarked in any way on Jack’s unexpected declaration. Nor did they discuss the fact that she hadn’t said anything in reply.

Once breakfast was finished, he bid her a warm good-bye, then departed for his meeting. Meanwhile, she was left to do as she wished for the remainder of the morning.

Deciding she would enjoy some fresh air, she donned her most comfortable walking boots and a bonnet, then set off along the tree-lined path that led toward the village. She told Mrs. Mackie she wouldn’t go far or be away too long, promising to turn back immediately should she experience the least hint of vertigo or nausea.

But she felt well. Excellent, in fact. The best she had in weeks. Physically, at least.

As for her emotional state…

She listened to her boots slap softly against the packed earthen path and to the random call of birds perched in various tree branches above her.

I love you, Grace.

His words echoed in a dulcet whisper through her mind.

Without realizing, her step slowed, her thoughts turning inward.

I love you, Grace.

Yes, but did he really mean what he said?

And if he did, why had he waited until now to tell her? Why today and not yesterday? Why not last week or last month or last year?

Maybe because he hadn’t realized his true feelings until recently, the emotion coming on him so gradually that he hadn’t seen it for what it was?

Or perhaps he’d known for ages that he loved her but had been hesitant to reveal himself and risk rejection.

Then there was another possibility—one she found the most likely and the least satisfactory. He didn’t really love her but only said he did because of the baby.

Her hand went to her stomach, thinking of the life inside. Was it this little baby he actually loved—and through a sort of benign default, her too?

Lowering her hand again, she walked on.

If she were the same person she’d been a year ago, she would have been dancing on air to hear him speak such words, never questioning his truthfulness. But she wasn’t that woman anymore—that naïve girl—and to her chagrin, she realized she did need more from him than words. He’d hurt her too deeply in the past for her to blithely accept his declaration of love on its face.

But as he’d pointed out himself, what other proof could he provide, if words weren’t enough? What could he do, except show her each and every day that he meant what he said, that he honestly and truly loved her?

Still, that would take time.

Should she give it to him? Dare she take the risk again? Yet how could she not when he was her husband and the father of her child? How could she turn her back on a chance at happiness when she loved him and always would?

Could she trust him, though? Could she ever give her whole heart to him again?

Unsure, but knowing her path led back to the house and to Jack, she stopped and turned around to retrace her steps.