Seduced by His Touch (30 page)

T
he next ten days passed in much the same way as the ten before them—with a few very important differences.

Each morning when Jack greeted her, he now also said those three important words.

I love you.

And every night at her bedroom door, he told her again. Often giving her a sweet, soft kiss that lingered on her lips long after he’d sought his own solitary bed.

He spoiled and cosseted her, bringing her interesting little gifts that ran the gamut from a new set of sable-tipped paintbrushes to a trio of smooth stones he said would be perfect for skipping on the little pond not too far from the house.

Every day brought a new delight and a new experience as her body continued to change. When she complained about putting on weight, he told her the extra pounds only made her more beautiful. Expectant women were supposed to glow, he informed her, and she was more radiant now than the sun itself.

After a few days, she realized that it was almost as if he were courting her, seducing her all over again, as he had during those halcyon days in Bath.

Only this time was he courting her for real? she found herself wondering more and more often. Or was she only imagining what she wanted to believe?

She was no closer to knowing the answer, as October moved into its second week. So far the temperatures had been unusually warm for fall, allowing the plants and flowers to bloom long past their usual growing season, as if nature had given them all a reprieve.

Deciding to take advantage of the clement weather, Grace gathered her art supplies, and with the help of a footman, set up a table and chair so she could paint in the garden. If Mother Nature changed her mind and brought cold temperatures tonight, this might well be her last chance until next spring to capture the colorful blossoms. And with Jack away in the village for a few hours, painting seemed an excellent occupation.

Actually she’d been doing a great deal more painting lately, resuming her work on the flower folio at Jack’s urging—and Terrence’s, as well.

She’d had a lovely letter from Terrence about three weeks ago, in which he’d expressed his delight at learning of her pregnancy. He shared the latest goings-on in London. Then he went on to tell her about his efforts to expand the business with his new partner and how much happier he was of late. In closing, he assured her that her artwork would always be welcome at Cooke and Jones Publishers and to send word when her next set of paintings was complete.

Later, when she’d mentioned Terrence’s comment to Jack, he instantly agreed.

“Of course you must paint!” he stated with an emphatic tilt of his chin. “It would be nothing short of a crime if you did not.”

And so with lighter spirits and a renewed enthusiasm for her creative endeavors, she’d pulled out the partially completed folio and set to work.

Seated now in the garden, she swished her brush clean before twirling the soft bristles over a small block of yellow paint. Humming under her breath, she mixed it with a little blue and watched a compelling, muted shade of green spring to life. She smiled and feathered the new shade in light strokes over the watercolor paper.

Pausing, she took a moment to study the results.

“’Tis a right fine ’un, that picture, if you don’t mind me sayin’ so,” declared a wizened voice from somewhere over her right shoulder.

Glancing around, she saw the gardener standing a few feet distant, his squat body and nearly bald pate always putting her in mind of a monk. But the old man, with his twelve children and twenty-two grandchildren, was far from a somber or celibate holy man. Although, as she’d long ago noted, he did seem to have an almost miraculous ability with plants. Everything he touched seemed to thrive.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potsley. Come to tend the grounds?”

“Right y’are, missus…I mean your ladyship. Although I’d have likely been here sooner if I’d known ye were going to be outside. Prettiest flower in the garden, ye are,” he said, giving her a friendly wink.

She laughed, not the least offended, since Mr. Potsley was not only married but had just celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday last month. Despite the impropriety of a servant addressing his employer in such a casual manner, she didn’t mind his harmless banter. Lighthearted conversation was simply part of who he was, in the same sort of way that charm was an intrinsic part of Jack. Neither could help who they were.

Nor would I want them to,
she realized.

Pushing aside the thought, she swished her paintbrush clean again. “Well, I shan’t keep you from your work. I’m sure you’re anxious to take advantage of this beautiful day.”

He nodded. “Exactly so. And ye as well. These blossoms won’t keep past the first frost. I see ye’re paintin’ them pinks.”

“The dianthus, yes.”

“I just know ’em as pinks,” he said with a shrug. “Same as I know the marigolds, the honeysuckle, and the hollyhocks. Now, that’ll be the last of those ’til next year, since they’re not so hardy as the others. ’Tis a wonder they’ve lasted as long as they have. Mebbe ye ought te paint them first.”

“Yes, well, luckily I have already finished a rendering of that particular variety.”

He grinned and shook his head again. “Ye sound jest like his lordship. He’s always puffing on with them fancy names and fancy words.”

Was he? How curious.
But doubtless Jack was discussing something other than plants with Mr. Potsley. Though what else she couldn’t easily imagine.

“Still,” the old man stated in a proud tone, “I get things to grow whether I know their fancy name or not.”

“That you do,” she agreed with a smile. “And very ably, too, I might add.”

“Thank ye, milady,” he said, glancing away, as though he were embarrassed by the compliment. “I do my best.”

“You’ve obviously put a great deal of care into this garden. I’ve rarely seen one so lovely and with such a thorough range of plantings. Sitting among so many gorgeous flowers always lifts my spirits, no matter what they might be. I expect the former owners of the house used to feel the same.”

His grey brows drew tight. “No, ma’am. Least I don’t suppose they did. But then I didn’t tend to the property when the Chesters lived here.”

This time her brows furrowed. “Oh, but I assumed you’d worked here for years.”

He shook his head. “Just started a few months ago, right after his lordship bought the property. Until then, weren’t all that much call for a gardener.”

“Why not?”

“Cause there was hardly a garden to tend. Least not one worth mentioning. The trees were here and some of the shrubs, but the flower beds were thin and sad. The Chesters said nature should see to itself and whatever grew, nor didn’t, was fine with them.”

“So you cleaned up what was here?”

“Ripped out most of it, more like. His lordship told me he wanted this garden to be a showplace and that whatever I couldn’t seed by summer, I was to find and transplant. Wanted it to look established-like with color for every one of the seasons. When I said it would cost him plenty, he told me he didn’t care. No expense to be spared, he says.”

She laid her paintbrush aside, hardly able to grasp what she was being told. “You designed the garden then?”

“Oh no, ’twasn’t meself at all. His lordship did all the work. Had drawings and lists of every plant to be used and knew exactly where he wanted ’em put. Knew all the Latin names of ’em too. Saw that first plan meself with all his notes and jots before he gave me another copy with the common ones writ out so I could tell what they were. He asked me what I thought and if a lady would like it. Says as I thought the Queen herself would approve.”

Breath grew thin in her lungs, her pulse speeding faster in confusion. Jack had done all this? Had arranged for the planting of this garden months ago before she’d even known about the house?

“Yup, even a Queen would like it, I says,” she heard the gardener continue. “An’ do ye know what he says back?”

“No,” she whispered in a faint voice. “W-what did he say?”

He gave her a smile. “He says it don’t matter if a Queen likes it, cause the only woman who matters is his wife. ‘If this garden makes her smile,’ he told me, ‘then my efforts will have all been worthwhile.’”

Her hand shook as she realized that Jack had designed the garden.

For her!

“I said you must be a special woman,” Mr. Potsley went on. “He said there was none finer. And he was right. Yer a sweet ’un, milady, and no mistake. I can see why his lordship is so smitten with ye. Fact is, ne’er seen a fellow so in love as that man o’ yers. But then you must know that, way he dotes on you and that babe yer carrying.”

And suddenly she knew the truth, knew the answer she’d been seeking. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do know.”

After a long minute, as if sensing her need to be alone, the old man turned away, ambling deeper into the garden.

As he did, a knot formed in her throat, tears shimmering in her eyes.

Then she smiled.

It’s not working,
Jack thought as he rode his horse up the lane to Grace’s house.

I’ve been here in Kent for weeks and I’m no closer to winning back her trust and love than I was at the start.

But those were two emotions that couldn’t be forced; they had to be freely given and honestly earned. And considering his past actions, he’d given her good cause to do neither.

Even so, as he’d told her, he would do whatever it took, for however long it took, to win her back.

What if that day never comes?
whispered a terrible voice in his head, bleakness stealing over him like a shadowy specter.

It will,
he assured himself.
It must.

What other choice was there, when he loved her so much he literally ached with it sometimes?

At least she’d given him some reason to hope, since she hadn’t asked him to leave. He took comfort in the fact that they were living together again—even if it was in the most innocent and platonic of ways.

Lord only knew how many nights he’d lain awake, wanting her, knowing she was just in the next room. But until she invited him into her bed again, he would continue to sleep alone. Of course too, there was the baby to consider, so he might be in for many, many long months of doing without.

Yet, despite his desire, simply being with her was enough. Loving her, privilege enough.

The thought reminded him of his passionate declaration that morning in his bedroom. The way he’d poured out his heart to her as he’d never done before. Because he’d never been in love before.

Not truly. Not for always.

Which is why he would continue to wait—and pray—that someday she would do more than let him into her home: she would let him into her heart again, as well.

Arriving at the house, he dismounted, exchanging a brief good-evening with the groom before allowing the man to lead his bay gelding to the stable.

He entered through the front door, working to shake off the last of his blue devils as he handed his coat to the footman. He was about to go upstairs to change his clothes when one of the housemaids approached.

She gave him a timid smile as she curtseyed. “Her ladyship would 1-like you t-to join her in the garden, my lord.”

“The garden?” He paused for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll join her now.”

“Oh no, not now!” the girl stated. “At six. I-I was to tell you most expressly not to be there until six.”

He frowned, a puzzled smile hovering over his lips. “Six, is it? What’s this about, then?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know, milord. She just told me to give you the message and naught more. Beg pardon, but I’ve duties to attend, and Mrs. Mackie gets right peevish if I’m late.”

“Heaven forfend you turn Mrs. Mackie peevish.”

The servant stared, clearly not understanding his teasing.

“Go on,” he said, taking pity.

Visibly relieved, she dropped another curtsey, then scurried off.

Crossing his arms, he stood still for a moment, wondering at this latest development. It was slightly past five o’clock now and the sun would be setting in the next hour, so what possible reason could Grace have for wanting to meet him in the garden at six?

His arms fell to his sides, though, as a sudden thought occurred, a memory forming of another meeting they’d had in another garden. The morning at Braebourne when she’d told him she would marry him, but only if he gave her this house and, later, a separation.

A lump formed in his throat. Had she finally made up her mind about them? And if so, had she decided to choose her freedom over making a life with him?

T
he garden shimmered with candlelight from dozens of sweetly scented beeswax tapers set around to illuminate the space. In the center stood her painting table, now neatly draped in a crisp, white linen tablecloth and laid with her best china, crystal and silver.

More lighted candles were arranged on the table, a small vase of flowers set in the middle, tender petals of red, pink and ivory adding a pleasing burst of color. More color glowed in the sky, sunset turning the horizon a glorious golden apricot.

The clock inside the house chimed six. She hoped Jack wasn’t late or he would miss the glorious show nature was performing.

Briefly, she considered sending one of the servants to find him, but the staff already thought she was acting oddly enough today with all her unusual requests. She didn’t need to give them more grist for their mill. Tugging her shawl more closely around her shoulders, she waited.

Soon, she heard footsteps and knew he’d arrived. Turning, she gave him a wide smile, excitement bubbling inside her like champagne.

“What’s all this?” he demanded, his dark brows knitted together.

She paused at his tone but recovered quickly, too happy to let his less-than-enthusiastic greeting dim her giddy spirits. “Dinner,” she announced with a wave of her arm. “I thought it might be fun to eat al fresco tonight with the sunset providing a beautiful tableau.”

He studied the sky, painted now with brushstrokes of amber and pink. “The sun will be down soon, and then it’ll be dark.”

Her smile faltered slightly, but she recovered again. “The stars will take its place. Candlelight and stars are a heavenly combination.”

“Not in October.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s too cold to eat outside this time of year.”

“I don’t think so,” she defended. “Not with the temperature as warm as it’s been lately. Why, my guess is, we’ll scarcely notice a little nip in the air.”

He didn’t reply, staring at the sunset as if it were an offense to his eyes.

What is wrong with him?
she wondered.
Why is he being so cross and disagreeable? Maybe he’s simply hungry,
she told herself.
Perhaps all he needs is a good meal and his humor will improve.

“Why do we not go ahead and start dinner?” she suggested, with an encouraging smile. “I thought soup would be the best way to begin.”

He continued to stand with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. For a moment she thought he was going to return inside the house, but then he walked forward. Or rather
stalked
forward.

Stopping, he pulled out one of the chairs and waited for her to take a seat. Moving to the one opposite, he took his place across from her.

At her signal, a pair of footmen emerged, trays in hand. The first man poured beverages—wine for Jack and lemonade for her—while the other served the soup. Then they withdrew.

Tendrils of steam drifted upward from each bowl, the pale broth gleaming faintly in the waning light. Dipping in her spoon, she took a sip.

“Hmm, delicious. Cream of potato. One of your favorites, is it not?”

He gave a soft grunt and ate a mouthful, and then another. His gaze moved to hers. “You’d better eat fast. This will be cold in the next two minutes.”

Tightness spread through her chest. “Jack, you seem upset. Has something happened?”

“No. What could have happened?” He dipped his spoon in the soup again and ate another pair of bites, almost shoveling in the food.

“Your trip to the village. Nothing untoward occurred?”

“Of course not. The village was fine.”

“Oh,” she replied, utterly confused.

She stared at the soup before forcing herself to take another spoonful. After a single bite, she laid her spoon aside.

“Too cold already?” he asked, laying his own utensil into the empty bowl.

“No. I…am not in the mood for soup, after all. Shall we have the next course?”

His shoulders suddenly drooped. “Yes,” he said in a resigned tone. “Let us proceed.”

And so they did, the next course worse than the first. Not the food, of course. The food was delicious, even if she could barely eat a bite. But Jack…something was terribly amiss with him, only he wouldn’t tell her what.

She endured another fifteen minutes of his near silence before she’d finally had enough. Folding her napkin, she laid it aside. As she did, a quiver ran over her skin.

“You’re shivering,” he accused. “It’s dark and chilly and you shouldn’t be out in this weather. Not in your condition.”

But her shivering had nothing to do with the cold or her pregnancy. “You’re right,” she said, tears rising in her eyes. “I-I’m going inside. I’m going to bed. This was a stupid, stupid idea.”

“Then why did you do it?” he asked in a strange, dull voice. “Were you just trying to soften the blow?”

“Blow? What blow? You aren’t making any sense. You haven’t made sense all evening.” She pushed her chair back and got clumsily to her feet. As she did, her control broke, tears raining down her face. “I-I was just t-trying to do s-something s-special, to c-celebrate and you’ve r-ruined it!”

“Ruined
what?
Celebrate
what?
God, Grace, are you crying?”

“No!” she wailed. Then she began to sob.

His arms came around her and pulled her close.

She struggled against him briefly before quieting as she continued to cry.

“Shh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his palm over her back. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. Just don’t be unhappy. Please don’t be sad.”

“Leave?” she sniffed, her head coming up. “Why would I want you to leave?”

He met her gaze, his eyes stark in the candlelight. “Don’t you? Isn’t that what this was about tonight? A memorable last meal before you send me on my way?”

“No, I’m not sending you anywhere. Is that what you thought? Why you’ve been so h-horrible tonight?”

“I’m sorry. I guess I have been moody—”

“Moody! You’ve been abominable, and all for nothing. By God, Jack Byron, for an intelligent man you can be an idiot sometimes.” She stepped back, wiping a palm against her wet face. “I did all of this tonight to tell you I love you! To say that I believe you really love me, that you have loved me. And that I forgive you for everything.”

His lips parted. “You did? You do?”

“Yes. I thought it would be romantic to have dinner here in the garden. The garden you had p-planted just for me! Mr. Potsley told me what you did. He told me how you did all this so I would like it and I knew…I…knew you’d never have done so much if you didn’t really care. If you didn’t really love me! I was going to tell you after d-dinner but—”

“But I spoiled it,” he said, reaching out to draw her back into his arms. “You’re right, sweetheart. I am an idiot. A stupid dolt who jumps to ridiculous conclusions. Can you forgive me? Again?”

She sniffed. “I shouldn’t. Not after tonight! But I will because I love you.”

“Do you?” he murmured, a smile curving his lips. “I was afraid I’d killed off those feelings for good and that you’d never love me again.”

“I’ve never stopped loving you,” she confessed in a whisper. “Not even when I hated you. And for a while, I really
did
hate you!”

He laughed and hugged her tighter, then his expression grew serious. “And I really
do
love you. You are my dearest, most darling wife. My lover. My friend,” he said, punctuating each declaration with a soft, sweet kiss.

She trembled and snuggled closer, drawing in his warmth.

“You
are
cold,” he said, rubbing his hands over her arms. “Why don’t we go inside in front of the fire and have our dessert.”

“Actually, I’d rather postpone dessert and just go upstairs.”

“Oh,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Of course, if you’re tired, then you should rest.”

“Who said anything about being tired?” she asked, sliding her arms around his waist. “I said I wanted to go upstairs. With you.”

He met her gaze, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. So? What are you waiting for? Or have you lost your touch, my lord?” she added with an impish grin.

“Lost my
—I’ll show you all about my touch.”

Claiming her mouth, he kissed her, heat rising to warm her skin from the inside out. By the time he let her come up for air, her pulse was throbbing, her toes curled in blissful delight inside her shoes.

“Now, what is it you were saying about my having lost something?” he drawled.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

After another quick, hard kiss, he took her hand and pulled her into the house. Ignoring the curious glances of the footmen, they hurried up the stairs.

Without asking, he led her into his bedchamber. A small branch of lighted candles stood on a table near the window, a fire crackling pleasantly in the grate. Locking the door behind them, he crossed the room and drew the curtains closed.

“I’ve dreamt of having you here in my bed for weeks,” he said, turning around. “Especially after your visit—your one and only visit. You have no idea all the fantasies I’ve spun about you in this room.”

She smiled and draped her shawl over a chair. “Perhaps a few. You’re not the only one whose bed has been lonely.”

“You won’t ever be lonely again.” Taking her hands, he tugged her near for another long, sultry kiss. “Or alone.”

That’s when she saw his gaze drift downward, alighting on the heart-shaped pendant clasped around her neck.

“You’re wearing it,” he said, his words carrying a wondering tone.

Reaching up, she fingered the amethysts, then smoothed her thumb over the flat piece of porcelain in the center with its tiny painted garden. “Yes. Because I realize now that it was given in love.”

“It was, even if I was too blind to know it at the time. Something else for which I must beg your forgiveness.”

“It’s yours.” She laid her palm on his chest near his heart. “Did you really carry the pendant around with you when we were apart?”

“Constantly. It made me feel closer to you. Strange, I suppose, considering you wore it for such a brief time.”

“Not so strange,” she reassured. “I kept a handkerchief of yours, though I never planned to tell you that.”

Leaning near, he pressed his lips to hers. “Besotted. The pair of us.”

“Definitely.”

“Now,” he said, after another lingering kiss, “what do you say to getting naked?” He waggled his brows, eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation.

Giggling, she nodded, then let him help her undress.

It was only when she stood in her shift—the one thin garment all that separated her body from his gaze—that she felt herself grow shy.

“What’s this now?” he asked, sliding a tender finger beneath her chin to tip up her face. “Are you turning bashful on me?”

“I’ve turned round with child,” she said, confessing her qualms. “My shape is…fuller since the last time you saw me.”

“Yes, and I can’t wait to find out just how much lovelier you’ve become.”

“But what if you…”

“Don’t like the way you look? Impossible.”

We’ll see,
she thought.

But her fears proved groundless, his eyes darkening with clear desire. Gently, reverently, his hands traced the shape of her new curves, careful of her breasts whose larger size he seemed to find particularly appealing.

“Lord above, Grace, you’re magnificent.”

Her muscles relaxed, her confidence returning. “I believe, my lord, that you’re a bit overdressed at the moment.”

He glanced at his fully clothed body. “I believe you’re right.”

While she stretched out across the sheets, she watched him undress, smiling at his haste.

He joined her, settling his long, powerful body against her own. But he was infinitely tender as his mouth took hers again, his hands wandering over her sensitive flesh in ways that literally stole her breath. Trembling, yearning, she waited for his possession, needing him, loving him, finally secure in the knowledge that he loved her too.

“Heavens, Jack, I’ve missed being like this with you.”

“Not half as much as I have, I’ll wager.”

Winding her arms around his neck, she gave him a long, passionate kiss. “Perhaps we should bet on that?” she said. “After all, isn’t that what started all this between us? A bet?”

“Indeed it is. And so long as you’re the prize, my love, then it’s a wager I’ll gladly make over and over and over again. But perhaps you need a demonstration?”

“Hmm, perhaps I do,” she purred.

And to her ecstatic delight, he proceeded to show her that when it came to love, both of them were on the winning side.