Upon Your Return (14 page)

“Didn't your mother advise you never to leave the house without an escort?”

She turned to stare into a pair of gray eyes. Who else but
Capitaine
Hill might follow her? “Of course, but it has been so long, tis' difficult to remember.”

“Or, perhaps you enjoy bending the rules at times?”

She frowned. “Whose rules,
Capitaine
? Yours or mine? Or perhaps it is society we should blame.”

They had not spoken of what had occurred at the ball since he'd escorted her back to Helene and Rosalie that night. She wondered if he was simply disappointed that she had stepped out of the role she was meant to play for an evening. What if he thought her promiscuous, eager to take any man's offer and act on his whim? That wouldn't be good at all. Part of her couldn't see why she should care at all what he thought. The other part, however, felt entirely different. She was attached to him in a way she couldn't explain. He either drove her mad with how he hounded her one moment and the
next; she couldn't help but feel more for him, something like admiration and well, attraction.

He smiled slightly. “You've made your point, but you cannot deny the danger of such negligence. Your antics may encourage me to become your shadow from now on.”

She turned away, aware of a rising and sinking sensation in her stomach. “A disturbing thought,
Monsieur
.”

“Isn't it? Perhaps were you another lady, you might ask that I occupy such a position, but it is your choice now. Enough time has passed, and I can assume from your behavior that
Monsieur
Spencer was lax in his duties.”

“I do not require that service. But…” she glanced at him curiously as he had decided to walk at her side. “If I did request it, what reward might you seek?”

He grinned. “I could pretend you think I am incapable of ulterior motives,
Mademoiselle
. But, of course, the only reward I seek is the pleasure of your company.”

“So smoothly spoken,
Monsieur
, and somehow familiar. Were you not trained to do so?”

“Trained to be charming? No, it is a trait a man acquires on his own.”

“That is not what I meant. In your line of work, you must be considerably adept at…negotiation.” As she observed him, he seemed to become less relaxed. A scowl settled on his face and his fists clenched. She had touched on a sensitive issue, so it seemed. “Grant, I--”

“Of course, one must always be willing to use every means available to gain an acceptable result.”

As quickly as anger and unease had taken him, once more he seemed relaxed. But, she felt he knew his boundaries. She had said the wrong thing, and he had only allowed himself to react for a mere second. Now, his manner was formal and amiable, yet guarded. The man was difficult to decipher like a long forgotten language in some old text. She did not know why he had become sensitive when she spoke of negotiation, and she felt that asking him would gain her nothing. He eyed her now as if even her silence was suspicious. “
Capitaine
,” she said gently, taking his arm, “since I have forgotten the rules, would you mind escorting me back home?”

He nodded easily enough, but he looked neither glad nor dissatisfied. “Of course,
Mademoiselle
.”

As he led her away, she wondered at his resigned response. Perhaps he felt just as utterly obligated as she in most things. Even if she wanted to do something wholeheartedly, she could not do it for long. And she could not truly enjoy it. It wasn't right. And if her presence was requested, she could not always refuse. Only when she had a choice could she refuse something. And she was not given the power of personal decision very often at all. At the same time, Grant seemed to be the only person who understood her need to make those decisions about her life.

Chapter Ten

Grant was checking the locks one afternoon in the house when he saw Fara going through some newspapers on the desk in the library. They were recent and one article caught her attention. A gasp broke through the stillness in the room. “Fara? Is everything all right?”

“There is an opera at the playhouse in town. Would it be too much trouble to attend this evening?”

He weighed the decision. They both knew she was in mourning, but it had been several months since her uncle's passing. Despite the social norms of wearing dark garments, Fara did not conform on a regular basis and she had begun to wear the colorful gowns she'd worn before the funeral. It could not hurt to give her this one event, to allow her to enjoy herself. More than anything, he wanted to see her smile again. It had been so long since he'd seen her look happy. “I see no reason for there to be trouble.”

“Oh, thank you!” She ran to him and embraced him. “You don't know how difficult this has been. I have wanted to do something enjoyable for so long.”

“I know.” He pulled back from her and tried to compose himself. “I will see if I can purchase tickets for the evening show.”

“Oh, my….” Her eyes grew wide with something he couldn't read. “What will I wear?”

He laughed as she ran to search her wardrobe, calling for her nursemaid in a mock panic.

That evening, they arrived for the first time together at a social event. The opera house was decked out in gold and alabaster pillars. The floors were covered with red velvet carpeting and the theater itself was elaborate with scrolled ironwork. But, Grant could not keep his eyes off of Fara. She wore a long velvet gown, plum-colored with ivory trim. The torso of the gown fit close to her body and the material covering her bosom was heart shaped. Her hair was done up, but the locks fell close to her ears and gave a splendid view of her neck. And what was more, he felt as if they arrived as an affianced couple, even though he knew it was otherwise. It felt so right to be with her.

* * * *

Fara experienced something unique as she clung to Grant's arm. The opera house was breathtakingly beautiful in its decadence, but she was only aware of him. She felt a kind of electric sensation as her body was close to his. She did not think of society or what would be said tomorrow about the ordeal. She only thought of being with him in public, of finally, in some way announcing how she felt about him. Grant did not look at all bad either; if anything, in his black waistcoat and pants with gold rope accents, he looked better than the other gentlemen.

As they left the opera house in the carriage after the event, Fara could not stop talking about how wonderful the opera was, how the costumes were beautiful, how friendly everyone had been to them. Grant listened and agreed. When they returned to the house, he escorted her to her room. It was so late and all the servants had already gone to bed. She dropped her bag on the vanity and sighed as she turned to face Grant. When he looked at her this time, there was a quality to his eyes she could not place. They were bright and warm. Something was different about him; it was as if he had been changed by the evening. “Grant,” she said, “what is it?”

He shook his head. “It was a good evening. I have not enjoyed myself that much in so long…”

She smiled and approached him. “I'm glad. And I want to thank you for everything.”

“Everything?”

“For tonight, for what you have done for me every day, protecting me even when I didn't always want to be protected. Saving me on that night when I could have lost my reputation. Everything.”

“Your gratitude means a lot, but I do not require it.”

“Then you did it out of obligation.”

“No. I did these things because I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because, I…” He trailed off, as if he lost the ability to finish. He gazed at her for several long moments, their hearts beating in the silence, before he lowered his head to kiss her.

It was so right, she thought as she accepted his kiss, accepting his flavor and his tongue which met hers in some kind of crazed oblivion. His hands moved into her hair, removing her hairpins deftly, but carefully. The wisps of her hair falling back to her shoulders tickled her skin, but she opened her mouth eagerly to him nonetheless. They were not betrothed, however, and that was the one thing she could not ignore. And she did not know how he felt about her either. Pulling away, she tried to speak, “I--”

“You're right. I shouldn't have.” He sighed. “You,
Mademoiselle
, made no promises to me. It was I who promised I would let you live your own life once you were back on your feet...once there were other prospects. I'm not sure that I can keep that promise because I want you so.”

Fara's lashes lowered and she gasped, “Grant...”

Grant closed his eyes briefly. “Truce. Fara, despite how hard it is to say, I'll let you be at last. My company is no longer welcome in your presence. You are a beautiful, fascinating woman and Andrew Spencer is a lucky man. He has won your heart and my attentions are wasted on you.” He tried to smile. “And I would do naught else but drive you to boredom or insanity if I were to stay.” He bowed and turned to go.

Fara knew he deserved so much more; mainly the truth of her feelings, though she wished that she could tell him everything. She wished she could tell him that her reaction to his touch was not one of repulsion, but of instant desire. Fara wished she could admit that Andrew was nothing more than an acquaintance. And she wished she could tell him that his presence incited emotions inside of her, those of which she didn't know she was capable. Her refusal of his attentions would only hurt him. He would take the hint, and perhaps she would never see Grant again. It would be a nightmare because she was truly under his spell; perhaps she was even capable of loving Grant. In a sudden, desperate attempt to stay him, she reached out and briefly touched his shoulder. “Do not go.”

He frowned, his eyebrows drawn together, as if he was confused by her actions. “I do not understand. I thought--”

“No. Your perception of what I'm feeling is not the truth.”

Grant grunted. “Woman, I fear you are speaking in rhymes.”

She smiled gently, but nodded. “I cannot tell you everything. Some things must reveal themselves in due time.”

His eyes, searching on hers, made the breath catch in her throat. “Fara...”

It was the desperation in his gaze that made her say it. “Allow me to say that in no way are your attentions wasted on me. And as for Andrew Spencer...he has not and never will win my heart. I have reserved it for another man.”

“Who?” He closed the distance between them by grasping her shoulders.

She felt the heat of his grasp through the material of her dress. How could she admit her feelings without giving everything away? Resolutely, Fara shook her head. She had no choice but to aim for the truth. “The man who rescued me from those men on that long ago night captured a piece of my heart and took it with him on his voyage at sea. I've waited for the right time to tell him ever since.”

Grant uttered a groan, searching her gaze as if on a quest for the truth. He slid his hands down her back and crushed her body to him. He covered her mouth with his. A tremor overtook Fara's body as she gave in. He ravaged her mouth almost seductively and pulled back to lift her easily into his arms and carry her closer to her bed. He set her on her feet and lifted her chin to meet his following kiss perfectly. He left a trail of kisses along her neck and collarbone and his thumbs grazed her breasts gently. Tight buds of promise began to appear, straining against the thin velvet of her dress. He lifted her once again and set her upon the mattress; then covered her body with his.

“Grant...” she moaned.

He hesitated above her and lightly stroked her cheek. He swallowed, his breathing labored, while his other hand lay possessively on the material covering her bosom.

“Fara,” he replied hoarsely, “I won't take you if that is your wish.”

She couldn't resist the urge to tease him for his hesitance. He was being such a gentleman. “And miss the opportunity to become your mistress?”

A ragged curse broke from his throat and he swung away from her to sit on the side of the bed. “It's not about that,” he muttered.

Fara observed him in silence. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were squeezed shut. God, how she'd hurt him. A frown creased her forehead as she reached to touch his arm. When he shrugged her hand off, she felt helpless and tears instantly sprang to her eyes. She swallowed convulsively. “Grant, I'm sorry. I know it's not about that. I was teasing, I did not mean it.”

“Yes, you did. I think somewhere deep down you meant it.”

“Perhaps...” she trailed off, at a loss. What could she do? How could she fix it? How could she close the wounds she'd inflicted over the past few weeks? “But, I've never done anything like this before. I've never taken a man to my bed. I've never had a lover. You know that.”

Slowly, he raised his head to gaze at her. “No?”

Obviously he thought there might when he was all she thought of? “No. What I've told you is true.”

“What of Andrew Spencer?”

“Nothing happened. He wanted to; he even begged to enter my house as a lover. He was willing to marry me for that. But...”

“You weren't ready.”

“Not at all, and not with him. And now...”

“And now?” he echoed her words, his voice thick with fear.

“I think I am ready. I cannot be certain what will happen, considering it goes against every social expectation I've been taught.”

“I know.” He sighed. “Fara, I hurt you.” When she turned a bewildered look toward him, he chuckled softly. “You were crying.”

“No, Grant. Those tears were for you.
I
hurt you.”

“My masculine pride? It can withstand a lot more than a petty disagreement.”

“No. I've hurt you very much these last weeks. You thought I wanted Andrew. I've pushed you away. I didn't mean to.” Her tears fought their way to the surface again and stifling a sob, she turned her face away to stare at the far wall.

Grant moved nearer, sliding his muscled body over her once again, resting most of his weight on his elbows. “Fara,” he said softly.

His body felt like a protective shield, blocking any possible pain. There was comfort in his nearness. There was also a warmth encompassing her body, as if imaginary arms were wrapped about her to shield her from the cold she felt inside. Her sobs turned into hiccups at his mere touch. She blushed and turned her head to face him.

His gaze on her was assessing, and her body heated beneath it.

“You've bewitched me,” he murmured.

Her lips parted on a note of surprise and gently he kissed her. She felt his hand briefly at her white throat, almost as if he tested her racing pulse. He captured her lips and she sunk into his sweet kiss.

A stray hand traveled down her body, passed the hem of her skirt and he gently eased the fabric up her calf and thigh. With some shock, she realized what was happening. She wanted him; dear God, she wanted him, but she feared her inexperience would turn him away. His mouth smothered her protests. His fingertips danced lightly up her leg, pulling the skirt along, until he reached her hip. He abandoned the skirt and cupped the back of her knee to ease her thigh along the side of his body and pressed into the soft expanse of her pelvis. Her protests stilled then as she went deeper into the inferno he caused.

His masculine need for her seemed overwhelming, but it answered a silent call her body had made. Fara was hot, her blood racing with a growing heat. She felt she would explode or go mad in mere moments if the ache within her was not satisfied. Heedless of anything else, she brought her leg up to hug his other side, following suit as he'd silently instructed her to do. His able hands worked at the buttons of her dress and then eased away the fabric. He loosened the laces of her corset and removed her shift. The cool air was upon her naked body and she almost had second thoughts before he began to touch her again. Fara moaned softly as he brought a thumb roughly across a dusky nipple, and then captured it with his mouth, tugging gently. She arched against the ministrations of his lips and tongue. He pulled away suddenly, and she grasped at his arm, instead getting handfuls of his shirt.

“Darling,” he teased, “unless you want to be a selfish lover, you'll allow me to undress.”

Instantly, she released him and watched as he stepped back from the bed, stripping himself of his shirt to expose a tanned and wide expanse of chest muscle and a flat, toned belly. Entranced, she whispered, “Grant, perhaps you should close the door.”

He chuckled and complied. Returning to her, he unbuttoned his slacks and pulled off his boots, shucking both, and then slid his bare body over hers once more. She swallowed, her eyes wide and searching his searing gaze. His manhood was frighteningly close. “Will it be all right?” she whispered.

Grant laughed softly. “'Twill be glorious. Before it's over, you will beg for more.”

She liked the sound of that and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You are awfully certain of your ability to perform.”

He grinned. “
Mademoiselle
, there is no one else to take my position. I am certain of that now, and I will relinquish it to no man.” He nuzzled her neck and kissed her lips gently. “Any objections?”