Intimate Deception (25 page)

For a long time after their lovemaking, neither of them moved away from the other, but lay in the shadowed moonlight, their arms and legs entwined, their bodies still joined. She moved her hands over his flesh, over the pulsing muscles at his shoulders and arms.

“Are you all right?” he asked, propping himself on his elbows and looking down at her.

Tiny worry lines etched his face and she smiled as she brushed back a lock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow.

“I’m perfect. You were perfect.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She cradled his wondrous weight, stroking his damp flesh and marveling at the sensations she’d just experienced. Tears streamed from her eyes, tears of emotion. Tears of love.

“You’re going to force me to risk it all, aren’t you?” he said, turning to his side and taking her with him. He nestled her close to him and pulled a cover over them.

“What kind of life would we have if I didn’t?”

Grace lay against him with her head tucked beneath his chin. He kissed the top of her head, then stroked her flesh with light, gentle movements, running his fingers up and down her arms, then over her back. Her body warmed at his touch and she knew there was little she wouldn’t give up for it to be like this forever.

“I’m not sure I have the courage, Grace. I’ve…”

He hesitated and Grace knew how difficult it was for him to find the words. How difficult it was to admit how frightened he was.

“I know what you’ve lost. But I have enough courage for both of us.” She placed her palm against his cheek and held him steady so he was forced to look at her. “Promise that you will never doubt me. That you will know I will never leave you.”

There was a sadness in his eyes, a hint of regret. A depth of emotion that tore at her insides. She could see
it. His struggle to protect his heart. Yes, it would take all her courage. And her patience. And her love.

Grace twined her fingers around his neck and brought his lips down to hers. The feel of him against her sent fiery pokers spiraling through her, warming her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, then circling and spinning until all the roiling sensations collided.

He kissed her with a tenderness that filled her with emotion, then deepened his kiss when she opened her mouth to take him in. “Love me, Vincent.”

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her mouth as his hands moved over her body.

She smiled. “Trust me.”

He kissed her once more. “You’ve left me little choice, wife.”

V
incent had been right. The
ton
gave them exactly two weeks privacy before intruding on the newlyweds. Not one soul bothered them for a full fourteen days. And they were the most glorious two weeks of her life. She’d never been happier.

Vincent was the most considerate of lovers. As well as the most amazing. She’d always known the love shared between husband and wife was special, but until Vincent, she had no idea just how wonderful life could be.

She was loath for their time together to come to an end. They spent their days and evenings getting to know each other. They walked in the beautiful gardens behind Raeborn’s massive town house and even spent an occasional afternoon making love.

Often Grace would sit and read while Vincent worked on the ledgers his steward, Henry James, brought to him. He was continually searching for ways to make improvements to what had been passed down to him, and to better the life of the tenants for whom he was responsible. He questioned his steward for hours about the condition of the land and the animals, about the health of his tenants and which homes needed improvements.

Then, in the evenings, Grace would play for him. Each evening she would pick out something special she thought he’d like, depending on his state of mind. Either serious or contemplative or lively and teasing. Sometimes it would be one of Beethoven’s more aggressive works. Those she thought he liked best.

When she finished, she’d sit with him in front of the glowing fire, his arm wrapped around her, her cheek resting against his chest, his heart beating contentedly beneath her ear.

When the fire went out and the room turned dark, he would kiss her gently and they would go upstairs to bed.

Not since that first night had he left her at her door. He always came to her bed. Or he would take her to his.

Sometimes they would talk first. He would hold her in his arms and tell her what it was like growing up an only child. And she would tell him what it was like growing up in a crowd of siblings. He would laugh at her stories, and she realized how fortunate she’d been, because Vincent couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t solitary.

Then, with a tender sigh, he would pull her beneath him and they would make love.

His lovemaking was always pure magic. Sometimes slow and languorous, sometimes swift and passionate with a desperation she knew stemmed from his fears. Though he constantly fought to hide his demons from her, Grace knew the battle still raged inside him.

She did everything in her power to help ease his fears. But even afterward, when they were both sated and content, shadows darkened his features. She knew it would take more time. She knew it would take the safe birth of their babe.

But she never gave up trying. Never stopped sharing her joy and her elation. Never gave him cause to be anything but happy his babe was growing inside her. Because each morning when she opened her eyes, Vincent’s ruggedly masculine face was her first sight. Then his arms held her and his mouth covered hers, and she was happier than she’d ever thought possible.

Unfortunately, happy and healthy were not the same. She was still sick each morning after she arose. This morning had been worse than usual, and she wasn’t well enough to join Vincent for breakfast.

If the little maid, Alice, thought anything about her mistress already suffering from a morning malady, she didn’t indicate it. But Grace knew her condition was probably a regular topic of conversation among Raeborn’s staff. And from the way they doted over her, not one of them was unhappy about it.

They all smiled most warmly when they saw her. Mrs. Cribbage, who worked in the kitchen, was especially considerate. Yesterday morning Alice had brought up a tray with a hot, sweet-smelling drink and some small, wafer-thin toasts on it. Mrs. Cribbage had sent it up because she said it would help with what ailed the mistress.

Grace made a note to thank Mrs. Cribbage for her thoughtfulness. She drank a little more of the hot liquid she’d sent up again this morning and thought perhaps it
had
helped a little.

Grace knew such illness was normal and prayed it would halt soon. She was nearing the end of her third month, and most of her sisters hadn’t been ill much longer than that.

She couldn’t wait for the sickness to stop. Not for herself so much as for Vincent.

Each morning when she came down to join him, his face seemed as white as hers. His worry was obvious. As if he relived the sickness his first two wives had suffered.

Grace placed her hand on her stomach and smiled. Her stomach was not as flat as before. The babe was growing, and it would soon be obvious she was increasing. It would probably be only two months more and she would have to go into confinement.

Grace finished dressing, having chosen a stylish pink-and-white striped morning dress Alice assured her would brighten her cheeks, and walked to the mirror. She took a final look, satisfied that her face was not so terribly pale, and headed down the stairs.

She walked to Vincent’s study, knowing that was where she would find him. She didn’t knock but opened the door, expecting him to be behind his desk, busy working on his ledgers. He wasn’t there, but stood with his back to her, looking out the window.

Grace silently watched him, her heart thrumming forcefully in her breast. His undeniable masculinity never ceased to affect her.

He’d taken off his burgundy jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. He was dressed only in his white linen shirt, tan breeches, and black boots. His white cravat lay over his jacket, and Grace knew when he turned around, the neck of his shirt would gap open to reveal the dark hair on his chest.

Her body warmed at the thought of running her fingers over his chest and skimming over the taut muscles at his middle.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

Vincent turned at her voice. In that briefest of seconds before he could put a smile on his face, she saw the tortured look in his eyes he hadn’t been able to disguise soon enough.

“I was just thinking how absolutely beautiful my wife is and that I’m the luckiest man in all of London.”

Grace walked across the room and into his outstretched arms. “I think that was not exactly what you were thinking, but I will take the compliment regardless.”

He bent down to kiss her, and Grace wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him.

Vincent pulled her away from him on a laugh. “You play most unfairly, my wife.”

She gave him an innocent smile followed by another quick kiss, then looped her arm through his and held him tight. “I can’t imagine what you mean.” Her voice sounded huskier than it should.

“It’s only a little past noon and already all I want to do is carry you back upstairs and have my way with you.”

“That does have a certain appeal,” she said, then looked up at him with an open smile.

He brushed his fingers down the side of her face and shook his head. “I think not. Our two weeks of privacy are up.” He pointed to a stack of cards and invitations on the corner of his desk. “These arrived just this morning. And we are bound to have visitors this afternoon. My guess is
that the dowager Duchess of Biltmore will be the first, and with her Lady Pratts and Lady Franklin. They are all notoriously nosy as well as indefatigable gossips. I would hate to have them arrive while we’re still abed.”

Grace laughed. For the past two weeks she’d felt anything but a serious, thirty-year-old, past-her-prime, on-the-shelf, aging woman. She was unbelievably happy and at times as giddy as a young schoolgirl. Vincent was responsible for this feeling. He was the reason she no longer regretted what she’d done. And she wanted to thank Hannah for matching her with such a perfect man.

“Finding us abed would give them something to talk about.”

“In a few months they will have more than enough to talk about. I’d just as soon they didn’t start now.”

Vincent’s words gave her reason to pause. “Does that embarrass you terribly?”

He draped his arm around her shoulder and sat beside her on the floral settee he’d moved into his study so Grace could sit there comfortably while he worked. When they were seated, he kept his right arm around her shoulder while his left hand reached for hers and held it. “Our babe will not be the first in history to arrive less than nine months after the wedding. By the time the news reaches the fashionable drawing rooms, there will be some other scandal that is more important.”

She couldn’t believe how happy she was. It was as if nothing had ever happened between them to regret. As if the way they’d met had been nothing unusual. As if she could forget that danger wasn’t looming in the shadows.

She hesitated, then asked the question that had bothered her since the night of the fire. “Vincent, what are you going to do about Fentington?”

“I don’t want you to worry about that, Grace. I will handle the matter.”

“But I am worried. There’s something not right with him. He does not see things like other men.”

“That much is obvious. He’s lived with his delusions and self-righteousness so long he’s convinced himself he’s without faults.”

“Why do you think he shot you? And tried to burn the house with us in it?”

“Because I publicly humiliated him. Because his cruelty and perversion are finally out in the open and no one in polite society wants him anywhere near their women or children. He blames me for his ruin. And you were his next victim—until he realized I’d taken your virtue. I ruined you for him.”

“Poor Hannah,” Grace said, pressing herself closer to Vincent’s body as protection. “To have endured living with such a monster. No wonder she hates him like she—”

Grace stopped when she realized what she’d revealed.

Vincent’s body tensed next to her. “Hannah…Madam Genevieve is Fentington’s daughter?”

She couldn’t answer him. She’d promised Hannah. “Vincent, don’t. Leave it be.”

His brows furrowed and he shot to his feet. “Bloody hell. I should have known. Madam Genevieve is Fentington’s daughter Hannah. When she described Fentington with such perfection, I should have realized only someone living under his roof would know so much about him.”

“He did that to her,” Grace said, remembering Hannah’s desperation to escape her home. “Made her what she has become. She nearly died living on the streets, with no one to help her and no place to go. In the end, she had no choice but to become what she is. It was better than living the hell she did every day under his roof. Becoming Madam Genevieve was the only way she could survive.”

Tears ran down Grace’s cheeks as they did each time she thought of what Hannah must have endured. But Hannah wasn’t to blame. He was. The despicable monster Hannah had been unlucky enough to have as her father.