A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (59 page)

Devil take it, she was right on all
counts. Alex had behaved in a most ungentlemanly manner in Gil’s
gardens, and he had behaved far worse than Maxwell this
evening.

Yet he knew he
had
to protect her. If
only he knew how.

Chapter Nine

The morning after the Wellesley
soiree, Grace sat in the parlor of New Hill Cottage and worked on
her embroidery with Aunt Dorothea who, for once, worked in silence.
Grace was glad. The quiet provided her ample time to think about
last night’s events in peace, without interruption from her
aunt.

Grace hadn’t enjoyed the company of
Mr. Maxwell—not at all, in fact. He was barbaric and churlish, and
entirely too forward. She had no desire for any of the attentions
he had continued to lavish on her, despite her negative response.
Nor was she happy with him virtually forcing her to participate in
charades.

But none of that gave Lord Alexander
any right to interfere in her affairs.

The insufferable man would be better
served avoiding her. Grace didn’t know how much more clear she
could make herself on the point, short of thumping him over the
head with a parasol. But hadn’t she already done so, at least in
essence? She’d have to be more explicit with the man.

Lord Alexander was entirely too
handsome and masculine, and in general too desirable for Grace’s
comfort. The air between them felt alive. She would much prefer
that not to happen.

She shivered, remembering
the feel of his arms about her while they had waltzed and the way
his scent had hung so close she could taste it—taste
him
. He elicited
responses in her she had no right to own, sensations she should
avoid.

Grace was to live the life of a
spinster. Maybe with her aunt and uncle, or perhaps alone. But she
would forever be an outcast, a social pariah. She mustn’t
forget.

But in his arms, she felt
like all was right with the world, instead of like the world was
closing in on her. The feeling was entirely unfamiliar, but not
necessarily unwelcome. Except that she shouldn’t welcome it.
She
couldn’t
welcome it.

The butler cleared his throat and
interrupted their work, breaking into her daydreams. “Pardon me,
Lady Kensington. Lord Rotheby and Lord Alexander are below stairs.
Shall I show them in?”

Lord Alexander? Oh, dear. Panic and
delight warred for control of Grace’s emotions.

“
Oh, wonderful, Mason.
Please bring them up.” Aunt Dorothea set her quilting aside and
straightened her afternoon gown about her legs. With a raised
eyebrow and a wave of her hand, she indicated Grace should do the
same.

Grace sighed in joint frustration and
curiosity while she complied with the silent order. Moments later,
the two gentlemen joined them in the parlor and inclined their
heads in greeting.

“
Thank you, Mason,” Aunt
Dorothea said. “Please order some tea for our guests. And let Sir
Laurence know Lord Rotheby has arrived, if you have not already
done so. He shall very much like to visit with the earl, I would
wager.”

The butler left with a quick
nod.

“
Gentlemen, do have a seat.
It’s so good of you to join us. I must say, Gracie, I’m quite glad
of their company.” Aunt Dorothea gave her a pointed look. “Would
you not agree that the morning has been dreadfully quiet after the
excitement of last evening?”

Lord Alexander helped the
earl into a chair near the fire before seating himself opposite
Grace. She most certainly would
not
agree, however she answered in the affirmative, as
clearly expected. “Indeed, Aunt.”

All eyes turned to her when she spoke,
and heat raced up her neck and over her cheeks to match the heat in
Lord Alexander’s gaze. His expression—one of pure desire,
plainly—was sheer and utter impropriety. The warmth spread from
Grace’s face through the rest of her body and all the way to her
most intimate, private places. How could any man such as he feel
desire for her? If he knew, he would run to the hills to escape the
stigma permanently attached to her.

She turned away from him, facing the
earl instead. He was safer to look upon. “Lord Rotheby, I trust you
have rested well after such a late evening. I would hate for you to
become ill.”

“
Oh yes, my dear. I am
doing very well—” he broke off to cough, “—very well, indeed. You
are such a dear to ask after me. Alex told me you enquired after my
health last night while you danced, as well.” He smiled then, and
it reached all the way to his eyes. “I daresay I was quite pleased
to hear you danced with Alex. He’s spent far too much of his visit
following after me and checking on my health. It’s good for young
people to spend time with other young people.”

A mischievous look passed
between Lord Rotheby and Grace’s aunt.
They were conspiring
! How could Aunt
Dorothea continue with such behavior, knowing how unfit and
ineligible Grace would be for any respectable gentleman?

Mason returned with the tea service
just as Uncle Laurence joined them. “Gil, you are looking well this
morning,” Grace’s uncle said. “Playing cards must agree with you,
then.”

Lord Alexander stood to greet Uncle
Laurence, who commandeered the armchair the younger man had left
vacant. Grace’s heart sank when she realized the only seating
option left open was to join her on the loveseat. He sat next to
her, and she did her best to disguise her discomfort.

Grace had given him enough of her
opinion of his character at the Wellesley revelries last night.
Delving further into such a line of conversation would be
pointless, particularly when surrounded by company; nor did she
intend to allow Lord Alexander the satisfaction he could glean from
her discomfiture at his proximity.

She did everything in her
power to avoid thoughts of his nearness. Grace soon found the task
quite impossible. Lord Alexander’s large frame caused his legs to
brush against hers in a most inappropriate manner, and she was
altogether too aware of his presence—his heat!—at her side. Before
his arrival, she had smelled the fire burning in the hearth and the
scent of baking bread wafting from the kitchens. Now she smelled
only
him
.

He spoke with his hands. As his
animation grew, his hands drew circles in the air next to her and
pushed the earthy, masculine scent of him closer to her
nostrils.

When he finished speaking, his hands
dropped to his side, where one of them brushed against the muslin
over her thigh.

Grace wanted more of his
touch.

She wanted the feel of him against her
as when they waltzed the night before—or, however brazen the
thought may be, as when he had kissed her in the gardens. How
wanton she’d become!

He turned the fullness of his gaze on
her and asked, “Would you not agree, ma’am?”

She flushed again. Drat! How
embarrassing, to be caught without a thought in her head. Or at the
very least, without a thought she could share.

“
I’m dreadfully sorry. I—I
seem to have been woolgathering. Would I not agree with what?” She
prayed the color in her cheeks would soon return to
normal.

He gave her a gentle smile. “Wouldn’t
you agree the weather is quite lovely for a walk through the
gardens? Your aunt suggested we might enjoy some air while she and
Sir Laurence show Lord Rotheby a painting they recently
acquired.”

A walk. In the gardens.

Alone
with Lord Alexander.

Again
.

Aunt Dorothea feigned innocence when
Grace glanced her way, the wretch. “Gracie, do be a dear. It would
be quite rude if we should leave Lord Alexander alone, you
know.”

And, of course, one must never be rude
to Lord Alexander. She wanted desperately to ask why the man in
question could not simply join them all to stroll through the
gallery and admire the painting, but her blasted manners won out.
“Yes, Aunt.” She turned to Lord Alexander and forced a pained
smile. “Shall we stroll through the roses, or would you prefer to
see the arbors?”

He never broke eye contact. “The
arbors should provide protection from the sun. Why don’t we go
there?” His voice slid across her like satin.

She pulled a light pelisse about her
shoulders and led the way outside. Anything would be better than
spending more time alone with him. Anything. Yet once more, her
aunt had thrust her into just that situation.

She fought her fury down and struggled
to control her emotions.

She wished he’d take her hand. It
tingled in anticipation of his touch that wouldn’t come.

~ * ~

Alex battled the lust building in his
chest.

He was determined to act
the gentleman with Lady Grace today and keep his thoughts where
they belonged. She was a
lady
. She deserved his
respect.

But then she flushed again, and the
urge to pull her under the cover of the trees and perform
unspeakable, utterly delicious acts overwhelmed him.

He was no green youth. He’d had his
share of women and paid them handsomely for their services—or taken
what was freely offered, what that opportunity had been presented.
Why did this minx cause him to lose his tight rein of control? She
was a pixie, hardly more than a girl, yet lust raged a furious
course through his blood.

They walked in silence among the trees
outside New Hill Cottage, through well-worn paths that wound in and
out of daffodils and poppies. The silence came as no surprise. He
found it comforting, even commonplace, for the two of them. With
any other lady, he would force himself to make conversation. But
with Lady Grace, he felt no need to meet society’s
demand.

There was something very different
about her. Why couldn’t he determine what that difference was? For
now, he chose to allow that aspect of their relationship to simply
be. He wouldn’t force her to divulge her secrets.

Still, he wanted very much to know her
secrets, her thoughts. He wanted to know what it was inside her
that created the art he’d witnessed. She tried to portray herself
as cold, unfeeling—passionless, even. But he knew better. It was
all a grand charade.

Passion had poured out from her, as
though her very soul had been spilled onto the canvas. He’d felt
her passion kindle in his arms.

She needed someone to help her past
her inhibitions. Lady Grace knew no shyness or modesty when she
painted. He wanted to incite such passion in her. The realization
struck him unawares, and he stopped mid-stride.

“
My lord, are you quite all
right?” She slowed and turned to face him.

He marveled at her dainty beauty, at
the idea he could be attracted to a woman so staid—her neat,
midnight bun at the nape of her neck, her tiny frame, her figure
that spoke more of a girl than a woman, and those eyes that cried
out to him for something he couldn’t provide.

He resumed his pace and she walked
alongside him. “I apologize. It must be my turn to gather wool.”
Alex winked down at her.

Silence returned. They strolled
through the arbor until they reached a creek that trickled down a
grassy hill through a meadow of bluebells.

He slowed his gait and matched him.
“Before we return, shall we take a rest?” Alex asked. “The willow
here will provide us with ample shade.” He didn’t want to overtire
her, particularly since he knew all too well how late they’d all
been out last night.

Dark circles had formed beneath her
eyes, and her skin bore an unnatural, uncomplimentary shade of
green. She sighed in apparent relief. “Yes, that would be
lovely.”

He removed his outer coat and laid it
on the grass, then helped her to sit on it. She stared at the view
before them, likely taking in the mélange of rock formations and
palette of colors for a later painting, never once looking in his
direction.

His focus remained fully on her. With
each passing minute, her color faded and his alarm grew. “Are you
unwell? Should we return to the cottage?”

She didn’t respond but stumbled to her
feet. “Oh!” she cried and rushed away from his sight. Alex followed
behind her as quickly as he could. She stopped near a tree and
retched, then fainted into his arms.

He lifted her and rushed toward New
Hill, leaving his coat where it still lay on the grass near the
creek. Good God. She needed a doctor. He had to hurry. There was no
time to waste.

Halfway there, she stirred. Her eyes
flickered open and she regained some color. “What…where…Lord
Alexander?” Her befuddlement almost aroused him—almost. He was not
entirely a rogue, thankfully.

He continued toward the cottage.
“You’re ill. I’ll return you to your aunt and uncle in
moments.”

She collected herself a bit more and
struggled in his arms. “Please don’t trouble yourself, sir. I am
capable of walking on my own.” Her squirms increased. “Set me on
the ground, my lord.” Her pert voice was indignity
personified.