Three Weeks to Wed (9 page)

Phoebe started to rise. “Grace, shall I . . .”

Worthington stopped Phoebe by putting his hand on her shoulder. “I'll go with Lady Grace.”

Oh, no. He can't follow me
. She pushed open the door and darted down the terrace searching for a way back into the house and the front door. She had to escape. Her mind whirled, while her body tightened and tingled.

Traitorous senses. This was not the time. A low light flickered through a French door. Now if only she could make it before he found her.

A strong arm caught her around her waist and pulled her gently against a hard male body. Her heart beat so fast she thought she'd swoon. She couldn't move. A frisson of desire started in her back and spread throughout her body.

“Lady Grace.” Worthington's deep voice caressed her.

She gasped for breath as she leaned back against his firm chest. Sheer longing and desire speared her. Her breasts tingled in anticipation and the place between her legs grew hot and moist with need. His warmth radiated through her. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she nodded. How mortifying to be found out. To have her weakness exposed.

His voice was gentle but stern. “We have some things we need to discuss. Such as the reason you left so early that morning.” He paused. “Will you look at me?”

Unable to put together a coherent answer or even move, Grace closed her eyes.

Worthington bent over her. His lips near her ear. She shivered and shook her head.

His thumb caressed her cheek, and stopped. Concern infused his voice. “Why are you crying?”

She couldn't answer him. What would she say? That she'd been so horribly wanton, making love with him when she knew she couldn't wed? That she loved him and couldn't marry him? That she so desperately needed to feel him inside her, but the obligation to the children took precedence over him? Nothing she did or said would make what she had to do any more palatable. He'd be so angry. What man wouldn't be?

“Come with me.” Not waiting for an answer, he swept her up into his arms and carried her to the empty parlor through which she'd hoped to escape. Worthington set her back on her feet, locked the door, and closed the curtains.

Grace stared down at her shaking hands. All she could see of him was his evening pumps. Drawing her into his arms, he tilted her head and kissed her.

Fire roiled through her as she clung to him, desperately returning his kisses. The last one, she vowed. When he deepened the kiss and his tongue played with hers, Grace wrapped her arms around him, pressing full length against his muscular body.

Trading breaths with him, she pressed closer. A shuddering sigh escaped her. Oh, how she wanted this. To be in his arms, to let him possess her, to possess him.

She needed him in the same way she needed to breathe. Her breasts, her nipples hardened and ached. He groaned. His palms moved down her back, then over her breasts, caressing them. Grace pressed against him.

Her hands moved greedily over his strong back and the ache between her legs intensified. Her dreams and remembrances were nothing compared to being here with him. She pressed her hips into Worthington's body and moved one hand over his hard buttock bringing him closer. Grace tried to focus on the kiss, frantically caressing his tongue with hers, trying to ignore the memory of his hard shaft inside her.

Then she'd explain.

Grace.
Her name fitted her. Matt reveled in their kiss. The feel of her soft body in his arms drove him mad with desire. This lady, Grace, his love, was the only woman he'd ever need, ever want. Why she ran from him or cried and refused to speak to him, he didn't understand. But this need they each had for the other, he did. Since their meeting at the inn, he'd played their lovemaking over and over in his mind. He hadn't even thought of another woman since. He wanted no one but her, and he had to have her. This time, he'd make sure Grace knew she was his. This time, he wouldn't let her go.

When her hand reached his throbbing shaft, he backed her to the chaise next to the fireplace and tenderly laid her down. Without breaking the kiss, he raised her skirts, trying not to crush the silk, and unbuttoned his breeches. Grace's legs parted as he covered her, and she wrapped them around his waist.

Thank God she wanted this as much as he did.

Special license. To-morrow
.

He plunged into her wet heat. Silk, that's what it was like, the softest silk.

Growling with intense possession, he felt like a medieval knight claiming his prize. Pressed against him, she moaned and sighed softly, a symphony to spur him on. Using long, slow strokes to increase her pleasure, he reveled in her frenzied panting and her hands holding him tighter as her sheath convulsed around him, bringing him with her.

Matt pressed soft kisses to her neck, yet Grace was quiet, too quiet. Perhaps they should not have made love here, but she'd seemed to want him as much as he needed her. Rising, he tucked his shirt back in and rebuttoned his fall. He helped Grace to her feet and smoothed her skirts, straightening her bodice. All the while she said nothing. Finally he sat and placed her on his lap. Holding her, he rained soft kisses on her cheeks and lips, and nuzzled her hair, breathing in her scent.

Never, never again would he let her go. “I'll purchase the license to-morrow. We can be married as soon as you like.”

“I cannot.” Grace sobbed and burst into tears.

That wasn't the response he'd expected. Matt stroked her back. What did she have against a special license? Perhaps she wanted a large wedding. “Then we'll have the banns read. As long as we marry, it matters not to me.”

He kissed her tears and pulled out his handkerchief to dry her cheeks. “I'll call on you in the morning and do this properly. I love you and want to marry you. But right now, you should go home. Is your carriage here?”

Still unable to speak, Grace nodded. How had she done this? Again? It was only supposed to be a kiss, and she'd let him take her. No, that wasn't fair, she encouraged him and desired him every bit as much as he seemed to desire her. But now everything was so much worse. And he thought it was just a matter of how a wedding was to take place. She'd have to explain it to him to-morrow, when she could think rationally. Grace let him smooth her skirts once more and guide her into the hall.

His arm was around her, as if she was ill. Leaning down, he touched her ear with his lips. “I'll tell the others you're not well and have gone home. Better yet, I'll send for Phoebe.”

By the time her carriage and Phoebe arrived, Grace had herself at least a little bit under control. Well, that might be overstating the case; at least she wasn't weeping any longer.

Phoebe took her arm. “I'll take her home. Worthington, go back and ask Anna to watch Lady Charlotte and bring her home.”

“I'll help you into the coach first. She's very pale.” He started to pick Grace up.

“Worthington, stop,” Phoebe hissed in a harsh whisper. “You cannot simply carry her. It is bad enough that people will have seen you rush out after her.” She walked Grace toward the door and huffed. “She will be fine.”

Apparently, he was not convinced. He remained with them, accompanying them to the carriage and helping her and then Phoebe into the coach before closing the door.

The coach gave a small lurch as it rolled away. Phoebe chaffed Grace's hands as she attempted to understand what came over her this evening. How was she going to explain herself, and what if she got pregnant? Right now she couldn't even remember when she'd last had her courses.

Soon they were at Stanwood House.

Royston opened the door and bowed. “Are you all right, my lady?”

Grace repressed a hysterical giggle, and lied, “Just a little faint. I'll be fine.”

Phoebe stayed with her as she mounted the stairs, then entered her parlor.

Oh God.
Phoebe was going to think Grace had lost her mind, and she'd be right.

“Sherry or hot milk?” Her friend tugged the bell-pull.

Grace sighed. “Sherry. It is on the sideboard. This has gone beyond hot milk.”

Handing her a glass, Phoebe sat down next to her. “Now, what happened? He seemed more concerned than angry. Did you tell him you cannot marry?”

Grace shook her head. Her heart was breaking all over again. “I—I didn't get a chance. We . . . and then I—I tried. But he said he'd get a special license, and I told him I couldn't, but he thought I wanted the banns read . . .”

Phoebe put her arm around Grace's shoulders. “Grace, did it happen again?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Yes, and he's coming in the morning to propose properly.”

Her friend sighed. “And you still plan to tell him you cannot marry him?”

Sobbing again, Grace nodded. “I must. I do not have any other choice.”

A knock sounded on the door. She really couldn't face anyone else now. “Come.”

Royston cracked the door open. “My lady. The Earl of Evesham is waiting for Lady Evesham. He said not to rush.”

Grace sat up and took her friend's hand. Enough was enough. She had to pull herself together. The children would be here to-morrow, and they'd sense something was wrong if she didn't. “I'll be fine. A good night's sleep should do me.”

Drawing her brows together, Phoebe looked at Grace dubiously. “If you are sure?”

She tried to smile, but didn't quite manage it. “Go to your husband. At least one of us can have one.”

She broke down into tears again.

“I'll stay a while longer. Marcus won't mind at all.” Phoebe turned to the door. “We shall need a mug of hot milk with honey and her ladyship's maid. Please tell Lord Evesham I'll be some few minutes yet.”

“Yes, my lady. There is also a Lord Worthington asking after her ladyship.”

Grace gulped air and tried to breathe normally.
Not tonight. I cannot see him now.

Shaking her head, Phoebe glanced at Grace. “Tell him to go home.”

Royston bowed and left only to return a few minutes later. “Lord Worthington says he'll do himself the honor of calling on her ladyship in the morning.”

At least Grace wouldn't have to deal with him tonight. To-morrow, she would tell him.

Phoebe stayed until Grace finished her milk and tucked her into bed. “Phoebe, thank you.”

“You'll feel more the thing in the morning.” Her friend kissed Grace's forehead, then left the room.

Grace slept fitfully between bouts of tears. She'd never thought of herself as a watering pot, but she was doing a fine job of acting like one. She tried and failed to find the words she must say to Worthington.

When she woke, the sun streamed through her windows. What time was it? She never slept much past dawn. That was the reason she had her curtains left open. She rose onto her elbows, then flopped back.
Worthington
. Merely thinking about him made her body hum. What was she going to say to him?

Hushed voices crept past her bedchamber.
The children are here?
She could not have slept through the day. Grace reached over and tugged the bell-pull.

The next moment, Mary opened the door. “Are you all right? Bolton said we must be quiet, a'cause you weren't feeling well.”

Grace held out her arm and Mary crawled in bed. One of the seven reasons Grace could not wed. Her sister hugged her and gave her a wet kiss. Worthington would just have to understand. Mary nestled next to Grace. She stroked her sister's hair, allowing the homely motion to soothe her. “When did you arrive?”

“Last night. We stopped for dinner, and Mr. Winters said he'd be blessed if he'd keep the whole pack of us in an inn overnight.”

Repressing a chuckle, her lips tilted up. “Oh dear. Who was involved?”

“Alice, Eleanor, and Walter. They just wanted to take Daisy for a walk. Then there was a cat that Daisy wanted to see, and some horses attached to a carriage.”

Grace struggled not to laugh. The dog could never understand why cats didn't immediately like her. “I understand. Was there much damage?”

“I don't know. There was a lot of shouting.” Mary concentrated on retying a bow that had come loose on her gown. “I couldn't see very much. Mr. Winters and Miss Tallerton made us get back into the coaches right away, and we left. I didn't even have time to finish my milk.”

“I see. I shall have to commend them for their quick thinking.” Grace sat up. “Time for you to leave. I must wash and break my fast.”

Mary scrambled off the bed as Bolton came in the room. The maid waited until the door shut and grinned. “I ought not to laugh, but such a story Mr. Winters and Miss Tallerton had to tell last night. Luckily, the horses had been changed and were ready to go when Miss Tallerton gave the order. No real damage. Just an angry young man who took off running after them. John Coachman said the man's horses were scared but not hurt.”

“Well, that's a relief. I would not care to shirk my duties if his horses had been injured.”

“No, my lady. They arrived here not long after you'd gone to bed. I didn't want to wake you.”

Smiling, Grace rose from the bed. “I'm happy they are here. It is one less thing to worry about.”

Jane poked her head in the room. “How are you feeling this morning? I heard you were taken ill?”

“Not ill, precisely.” Grace donned her robe, then padded over to the wash-basin. “I'm looking forward to hearing about what happened last night from an adult perspective.”

A broad smile appeared on Jane's face. “It was quite an interesting story.”

Due to the children having broken their fast earlier, Grace took breakfast in her study. There, at least, she could stay busy and try not to think about Worthington. She nibbled her toast and sipped tea while she reviewed the household accounts that had been brought on the baggage coach last night.

An hour later, Grace sat back in her chair and sighed. This wasn't working. She couldn't concentrate on anything. He was going to come here to-day. She briefly considered denying herself, but he deserved to know the truth. Promising herself that she'd remain calm, she glanced back down at the column of figures and resisted the growing urge to throw something.

For the thousandth time, she wished her parents hadn't died. Though this time it was for a completely selfish reason. She wanted to marry Worthington, and she could not.

Royston knocked on the door and poked his head in.

“Yes, Royston, what is it?”

“My lady, Lord Worthington presents his compliments and asks that you speak with him in private.”

There's no avoiding it. Grace bit her lip. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she thought. After she'd told him about her responsibilities, he would be happy she must refuse him. “Very well, I shall be right there.”

* * *

Matt had presented himself at Stanwood House late the following morning and handed his card to the butler. He couldn't believe that this whole time she'd been right across the square from him. “Is her ladyship feeling better?”

The man bowed in that stately way butlers had. “To the best of my knowledge, my lord.”

God knows Matt had never been able to trick his butler into descending to the level of a mere mortal.

“I would like a private interview with her.”

“If you will follow me, my lord.” The butler bowed again and led Matt to a parlor overlooking the street. “I shall inform her ladyship you are waiting.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, stood staring out the window. Sounds reminding him forcibly of a herd of elephants, or more accurately his sisters, came from the corridor. Then he heard an older, sharper voice, and the herd moved in mass up the stairs. He turned as the door opened.

Lady Grace entered, closed the door behind her, and curtseyed. “My lord, how may I help you?”

She was still a little pale, but as beautiful as ever. Grace clasped her hands in front of her. Bowing, he smiled as he approached her. “You can help me by darn well marrying me. I meant to ask you that first morning, but you forgot to tell me you'd planned to leave so early.”

A light blush crept from her slim throat into her cheeks. She refused to meet his gaze. “There is no need for a proposal. It was merely a pleasant rendezvous, my lord. Nothing more.”

He unclenched his jaw and found himself clenching his fist instead. After last night, that was
not
the answer he was expecting. What was going on here? No woman of her obvious quality, not to mention only recently former virginity, would make love with a man and try to pass it off as nothing.

Matt tried to relax his churning stomach and maintain an unruffled countenance. He kept his slow pace and now stood only a few inches from her. “For you,
perhaps,
but not for me.” He raised a brow. “Even if I thought you were telling the truth about the first time, last night was not nothing.”