Intimate Deception (14 page)

She gasped for air, her whole body shuddering. As if he realized the turmoil raging inside her, he turned her in his arms and brought her close to him.

His arms wrapped around her comforted her, while his hand moved up and down her back. She felt his soothing heat radiate through her and leaned closer to him as if he alone could support her.

“How touching. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, Your Grace.”

Grace stiffened and Raeborn’s hands stopped, holding her so she wouldn’t lose her balance when he separated
himself from her. He turned around to face the intruder, yet positioned himself so Grace would be shielded.

She recognized the voice, and shards of alarm shot through her. Sharp needle pricks stabbed at her flesh as her panic increased, recognizing the voice as belonging to someone she feared.

“I’d heard the rumors that you were in pursuit of another wife, Raeborn, but could hardly believe it when I heard whom you had chosen. I had to ascertain for myself that the rumors were true. I must say I’m surprised.”

“And why is that, Lord Fentington?”

Grace lifted her gaze and looked at Baron Fentington. Seeing him caused a gasp of fear she couldn’t stifle.

Raeborn moved closer to her, pulling her protectively to his side. A look of confusion appeared on his face. Then a slow, comprehending look of understanding.

He knew. Raeborn knew Fentington was the reason she’d given him her virginity.

The expression on his face turned deadly, his eyes black with anger. His arm tightened around her, holding her in a viselike grip. She could feel the fury building close beneath the surface. A fury she feared would erupt with deadly consequence. She was suddenly more afraid than she’d been the day she faced Fentington in her father’s study.

She was terrified of what Raeborn might do to protect her honor.

She knew Fentington was capable of anything, that he’d gloat in telling the
ton
Grace wasn’t a virgin, and use what he knew to embarrass Raeborn. And Raeborn would be left with no choice but to defend her honor.

Fentington took a step toward them. “Let us just say that I have privileged information concerning Lady Grace.”

Raeborn lifted his shoulders. “I’m sure that anything you may have heard can only be compliments of the highest degree.”

Grace swayed on her feet. Raeborn looked down at her and smiled.

“And if they are not?”

Raeborn slowly shifted his gaze to Fentington. When he spoke, his voice was low, the lazy drawl rife with warning. “Then I would be very careful if I were you, my lord. I have developed a special fondness for the lady and would hate to have to call you out for making any disparaging remarks about her.”

“I assure you, Your Grace, anything I said would of course be nothing but the truth and said expressly for your benefit. To save yourself from—how can I delicately put this?—a future embarrassment.”

Raeborn held out an arm to push her behind him. Grace felt the first true warning sign. The second was the low, deadly hiss in Raeborn’s voice when he spoke.

“Be careful, Fentington.”

With a great show of piety, Fentington lowered his head in reverence. “Believe me, Raeborn, when I tell you I take no great pleasure in telling you what I must. But it is my Christian duty.”

Grace felt her knees buckle when Fentington lifted his head and focused a sneering glare directly at her. She could feel Raeborn’s anger building. Knew he would not hesitate to call out the baron.

This was all her fault. She was the cause of everything. If she didn’t do something soon, she had no doubt Raeborn would put himself in danger to defend her honor.

“Please leave us, Lord Fentington,” Grace said, stepping forward. “I take great exception to your presence—as well as your accusations—and wish you gone.”

Fentington laughed. “I’m sure you do, but I would be remiss if I let His Grace’s fondness for you develop further without telling him what I know.”

“No.”

“Oh, yes, my lady.” He turned his attention back to Raeborn. “There are perhaps a few details of Lady Grace’s—let’s see…” Fentington placed a long, narrow finger to the side of his face as if deciding on the perfect word to use, “…
character
that you may want to investigate before you develop a more serious fondness for her.”

Raeborn pulled her back beside him. “I’m warning you, Fentington.”

Fentington smiled. “Believe me, Your Grace, when I tell you that no one was more shocked than I to learn the truth about Lady Grace.”

“Enough,” Raeborn growled. “Unless your purpose in telling me this is for tonight to be your last night on this earth. If you want to live to see tomorrow, I suggest you remove yourself from my sight. Otherwise you leave me no choice but to issue a challenge to meet at dawn in Cravenshaw’s meadow.”

Grace felt the earth move beneath her feet. “Your Grace, no.” She started to say more but was stifled to silence when the Duke of Raeborn looked down on her with the blackest glare she’d ever seen.

Fentington looked even more shocked at the turn of events. “But surely Your Grace would—”

Before Fentington could react, Raeborn grabbed the baron’s cravat, lifting the impeccably dressed man nearly off the ground. “I suggest you do not say another word. There has never been one hint of scandal associated with the lady, and it is only your perverse mind that seeks to destroy her. And everyone knows your reason for doing so. It is because she wisely rejected your offer of marriage and you are not man enough to accept her rejection without retaliation.”

“That’s not true.”

“And one can hardly blame her. There is not one member of society who is not aware of your cruelty and immoral tendencies. Unfortunately, they have all chosen to look the other way rather than acknowledge such abhorrent behavior. But no longer. If so much as one word concerning the lady comes out of your foul mouth to besmirch her good character, I will not hesitate to expose every skeleton in your lecherous past to all of England. Is that understood?”

Raeborn released Fentington, who staggered to gather his balance. His hands were fisted tightly at his sides, and even in the moonlight Grace could see the veins that stuck out on his neck. She’d never seen such blatant hatred, such evil intent.

“You’ll regret this,” Fentington said, his voice a low growl that only hinted at a deeper violence. He took a step closer and pointed an accusing finger at Grace. “I won’t forget.”

Then he spun on his heels and walked away, his angry retreat forcing a half-dozen onlookers off the narrow pathway.

For a long moment no one moved, then, with only a look, Raeborn commanded the small gathering to go back into the ballroom. They left, their heads huddled as they shared muted whispers.

Grace worried her lower lip. The thought of what had just happened caused her stomach to churn unmercifully. She had narrowly missed having a duel fought over her. Being the cause of a man’s injury or death. She had no doubt that Raeborn would have issued Fentington a challenge. Fentington had backed down this once. But that did not mean he wouldn’t find some other way to retaliate. Some other way to get back at her for what she’d done. And Raeborn too. He’d caused him the greatest blow by publicly humiliating him.

Grace wrapped her arms around her middle and hugged herself. She couldn’t stop shaking. Could hardly find the strength to stand on her feet. She was never so thankful in all her life as when Raeborn stepped close and wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s over now, Grace,” he whispered, one hand moving slowly over her back while the other cradled her head against his chest. “Don’t worry about Fentington. He’ll never bother you again.”

Grace wrapped her arms around his waist and listened to the steady thrumming of his heart in her ear. For the first time in her life, she felt safe. Felt there was someone she could lean on. Someone who could take care of her instead of the other way around. The feeling was wonderful. It was also frightening. It wasn’t safe to rely on him the way she wanted to. It would make facing the members of society that much more difficult once they knew.

She had no doubt that before the ball was over, the scene between Fentington and Raeborn would be replayed a dozen different ways. And there was one fact of which Grace was certain. Everyone would know she’d been the cause. The
ton
would know the argument had been over her.

More questions would be raised as to why the Duke of Raeborn was interested in someone with a questionable past.

A
nother week passed and she had yet to tell him she was not increasing. Raeborn knew now it was news he would not be hearing. It had been nearly a full month since he’d lain with her.

He took a deep breath. There were some aspects of a man’s life over which he had no control. Vincent knew this was one of them. He told himself if the choice had been his, he would have kept the promise he’d made after Angeline’s death to never marry again. He’d have lived with the regret of knowing the next Raeborn heir would not come from his loins, but he would have done it. Because he refused to put another woman at risk.

But God saw fit to take such a decision out of his hands. Vincent didn’t know whether to shout for joy or weep with despair.

He reached for a glass off a tray from a passing footman and looked to the top of the stairway, anticipating her arrival at Baron Covington’s ball. He knew the look on her face when she appeared would be the same as it had been last night at Lady Plumbdale’s soiree, or the night before at the Countess of Mentery’s musicale. Or the day before when he’d escorted her on a ride through the park, or the night before that when they’d attended the opera—an
anxious look brimming with nervous anticipation. Of guilt. And a hint of terror.

He yearned for the day when this anxiety would be in the past.

He was laying the groundwork as best he could and had, so far, been successful. Every member of society took note of the attention he paid her, and her name was linked with his more every day. It was as he intended it to be. The way it must be.

He wanted to laugh out loud when he recalled their last conversation. The subtle hints she’d made telling him that she was convinced she had not conceived. With her cheeks brimming red from embarrassment, she told him she was positive her courses would resume. But he knew differently.

He knew she was deluding herself, pretending it was impossible for the actions of one night to have such permanent consequences. Knew she had conceived as surely as he knew his own name. Knew that giving her more time would only cause her needless worry and perhaps even harm the babe.

He had no intention of taking such a risk. The babe would come early the way it was. There was no need to give society any more grist for their gossip mill than they would have when the babe was born and they counted backward to the day of their wedding. A babe born a month early was bound to cause a certain amount of speculation. A babe born more than two months early resulted in blatant proof.

He already had a special license in his possession. He would give her one more week. If the situation wasn’t
resolved by then, they would marry, whether she wanted to or not.

He looked to the top of the stairway and saw her. She wore an emerald-green dress tonight with a lower décolletage than she usually wore. Her neck was long and graceful, adorned simply with a single strand of pearls. She made a stunning picture, with her head held high and a slight smile lifting her lips.

A strange warmth spread through him, swirling in the pit of his stomach and moving to his loins. He couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips when her gaze scanned the room and stopped when it reached his.

She had the most fascinating eyes he’d ever seen. Huge and dark with the sparkle of intelligence and life. Her golden hair was pulled loosely to the top of her head, then allowed to cascade in rich, loose curls down the back. A few shimmering tendrils framed her face, the rosy glow from her cheeks making her the most appealing woman in the room.

He smiled. He knew even if he told her what he thought of her appearance she’d deny it was so. That quality made her even more beautiful. She truly did not see herself for the beauty she was.

Vincent walked across the room to meet her when she reached the foot of the stairs. He knew the whole room was focused on his action—focused on her reaction. The thought did not displease him. It was all part of the act. The charade the two of them were playing to convince all of society they were enamored of each other. The charade they were playing to convince each other.

He bowed low when he reached her and kissed her hand. “Lady Grace.”

“Your Grace.”

“Lady Wedgewood. Wedgewood,” he said, greeting Grace’s sister and brother-in-law.

He turned his attention back to Grace and she avoided his gaze for just a moment. But it was long enough for him to realize she still had no news for him. She still could not tell him she was not carrying his child.

“Your Grace,” the Marchioness of Wedgewood said, drawing Vincent’s gaze away from the shadows beneath Grace’s eyes. “I’m planning a small dinner party a week from tonight to celebrate the return of my youngest sister, Lady Anne, from her honeymoon. Would you do us the honor of attending?”