Marcello & Grace (Royals of Valleria #2) (7 page)

“I think we can still have everyone over,” Marcello said. “I can make that happen, if that’s what you want,” he said to Grace.

She felt herself being closed in again, and hated the feeling. She hated the Picfords with their squat, pinched faces, and she was not fond of Marcello for going against her wishes and suggesting she host the ball.

“No,” she said, proud that her voice was firm and not shaky as her hands were.

Marcello held up his hands. “Please, just hear me out. We don’t have to do a ball. We can just do an elegant dinner. You only need a few rooms in the house for that, right?” Grace reluctantly nodded. 

“We’ll have it tonight, before the ball. Would that be too soon?”

“No, I suppose we could make that work. I’ll have to talk to the chef about it. I don’t know that they’ll come, though.”

“Oh, they will,” Marcello said. “And so will everyone else you invite.”

“Who else am I inviting?” she asked warily, wondering how everything had gotten away from her again.

“The neighbors. You need them on your side, right? Invite a few of them over. Use us,” he said, pointing to himself and Cat. “Say it’s a royal feast and would they be so honored to attend.”

“I won’t use you,” she said quickly, glancing between them. “I’m not that person.”

“Of course you’re not,” Marcello agreed, and she could tell he meant it.

Grace sat still, her hands wringing the napkin in her lap again, her face scrunched with worry, fear, tension, and more.

“Grace,” Marcello said softly and she lifted her eyes to his. “This is your decision. We’ll both do whatever you think is best.”

Grace sighed. “I hate politics,” she said and broke the tension in the room as Marcello and Cat laughed.

“I can’t stand them myself,” Cat said. “Thank God Alex was born before me, otherwise we’d all be in trouble.”

“If I didn’t need Lord Picford’s support, I would just decline and never have to see him again.”

“You really dislike him, don’t you?” Cat asked.

“He’s just not a very nice man, that’s all.” As she pushed back from the table, she missed the narrowed look on Marcello’s face. “If I’m going to host a dinner tonight, I’ve got a million things to do.”

Cat jumped up from the table. “I’ll help you.”

“So will I,” Marcello said, whose face had evened out again. “Just let us know what you need help with.”

Grace was staggered. It had been so long since anyone had sincerely offered to help her. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice, and swallowed. “Thank you,” she said with a stronger voice. “Cat, why don’t you come with me? Perhaps we can all regroup in an hour?”

“Of course,” Marcello said. “I hope we haven’t made your life difficult. Neither of us intended that when we came here.”

“No, not at all,” Cat said. “Would it be easier for you if we left altogether?”

“Catharine,” Marcello said in a firm voice. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Of course not. You can’t leave,” Grace said, surprising herself. She did not want either of them to go. “Neither of you.”

“Then we’ll stay,” Marcello said, and Grace thought he may have wanted to hold her hand again. She suddenly realized she would not have minded if he did.

“Good,” Grace said nodding. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

As Grace called for the butler and housekeeper and left the room, she put thoughts of Marcello aside.

***

While Grace and Cat had begun dealing with the arrangements, Marcello had escaped to his room. He pulled out his laptop, which contained a secure connection wherever he went, and began to do some digging on the Picfords.

Grace’s comment about Lord Picford had the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. Marcello had done a cursory sweep of Grace’s neighbors before he and Cat arrived, but clearly a more in-depth study was needed.

After thirty minutes, he had gotten enough information to realize that Lord Picford had been close to Grace’s husband. If their mindsets were the same, well, Marcello could easily see why Grace wanted to avoid him. He would have to watch over Grace that evening, and ensure they were never left alone. A word with the butler could also help, he decided, and left his room in search of him.

As Marcello walked past Grace’s room towards the stairs, a light smile lit his face. He had very much enjoyed the look on Grace’s face that morning when she had realized they were in adjacent rooms. He had even heard her lock the door that joined their rooms together, as if that would keep a man of his background out. Marcello had spent a great deal of time in the past picking locks and safes, but Grace didn't need to know that.

At the bottom of the stairs, Marcello found the butler directing the servants and, with just a few minutes of conversation, had ensured his help in keeping Grace safe. If it was one thing Marcello had learned, it was always good to have some backup.

As he rounded a corner and made his way back into the dining room, he saw that the room had been cleared of breakfast and replaced with a tea service that both Grace and Cat were absently enjoying.

“Ladies,” he said as he entered and saw Grace jump slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Grace said, but Marcello noticed her hands were now loosening a tight grip on a piece of paper. She cleared her throat. “We’re just finalizing the guest list and invitations.”

Marcello walked over and stood behind Grace as he took a look at the list of titled and untitled names. Her scent wafted over him, distracting him, but his photographic memory easily picked up the names and tucked them away for later; he would do another round of digging before they arrived.

“Quite a few Lords attending tonight,” Marcello said as Grace fidgeted in her seat; was she uncomfortable around him or just men in general?

“And more than one Lady,” Cat said as she finished addressing a letter with a flourish.

“Yes, I know,” Grace said with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m going to make sure Cat talks to all the single Lords in attendance.”

“Grace!” Cat said. “I don’t need your help finding someone.”

Marcello quirked a brow and asked Cat, “You told her?”

“Yes, because I needed a sympathetic ear. What I do not need, however, is a matchmaker.”

Grace chuckled lightly and sound sent a shimmer of heat through him. “I’m no matchmaker, believe me. I just think you shouldn’t waste an opportunity when you’re on such a tight timeframe.”

Cat scowled but ignored Grace’s comment, choosing instead to focus on addressing another letter. “There will be plenty of married Lords, too, won’t there, with their Lady wives in attendance? Won’t you be glad to see them?”

“Yes, well, maybe some of them,” Grace said as a frown marred her brow. Before Marcello could think about it, he had lifted his hand to smooth it away. She gasped and he pulled back; a quick glance at Cat let him know that his move had gone unnoticed.

“Why does that upset you, Grace?” Marcello asked.

“It’s nothing. I’ve never been a very a competent ‘Lady’, that’s all,” she said with a sigh. Before Marcello could protest her self-deprecation, though he had a feeling it was much more, she spoke again.

“We’ve almost got everything sorted. I’ve asked my staff at Raynott Hall to come over and help. That should take care of the cleaning, cooking, and landscaping,” she said, counting off tasks with her fingers. “I’ve got some footmen hand-delivering the invites as soon as we’re finished with them. Oh!” she said spinning around.

“What is it?” Marcello asked, ready to slay dragons for her based on the wild look on her face.

“Do you both have eveningwear? I didn’t think to ask sooner. I’m always forgetting things like that,” she said and her hands twisted around each other.

This time, Marcello didn’t care that Cat was watching. He took her hands in his and held them softly, gently rubbing his thumb over her soft skin and slim fingers. He had to resist kissing them, as he wanted to do.

“Relax, Grace. We’ll be perfectly fine,” he said, his gaze locked with hers.

“Of course we are,” Cat said, giving them both a curious gaze. “I’m a princess; I never leave home without an evening gown.”

Grace blinked twice then, finally taking in what Cat had said. She smiled and started laughing; Marcello couldn’t help but smile back at her. “You laugh,” Marcello said. “But it’s true.”

“And you have a suit you can wear?” Grace asked, fixing her gaze on him again; he could lose himself in those eyes if he wasn’t careful. Being careful, however, had never held less appeal to him than it did now.

“I do,” he said and had a flash of himself, holding hands with Grace at an altar saying those same words. The thought had him letting go of her hands and stepping back. “I’ve got a suit. I’ll, uh, just go make sure it’s pressed for tonight if you don’t need my help with anything.”

Grace looked confused and a little hurt, but he didn’t approach her again. “I think we’ve got everything handled,” she said. “Thank you. The guests should arrive at seven, if they all accept.”

Marcello, a man who had faced death on the battlefield, now slowly slinked backward towards the exit and away from the slim, waif-like creature in front of him. “Good. Good,” he said absently. “I’ll see you for lunch, then,” he said and slipped out.

As he made his way back to his room, he wondered why wedding bells were pealing loudly in his mind all of a sudden, the sound a deafening clanging he could not control.

He wanted Grace; that much was true. He wanted her on a personal and a sexual level. He wanted to feel her hot body close around him and watch her eyes lost in ecstasy.

But was he looking for a wife?

Marcello shook his head as he entered his guest room. He had never thought of marriage before, had never really needed to as the fourth child of a king. He had only been in love once before, and that had ended in betrayal. He wasn’t sure he could love again, even if he did have the strength to try it.

Suddenly exhausted, he sat down on the bed, then fell backwards.

As he tried to unravel his feelings, his phone rang breaking him out of his reverie. When he saw the number, he sighed again.

“Gregory,” Marcello said. “How goes it?”

“We’ve agreed to your terms,” he said in his squeaky voice.

“You mean
you’ve
agreed. I haven’t heard from the others,” Marcello said as he sat up. He knew better than to assume anything where intelligence matters were concerned.

“I am speaking for everyone.”

“You’re speaking for no one but yourself. When I have confirmation from the others, we can proceed. I’ll just give them a call myself.”

“No,” Gregory said quickly. “They are unavailable to speak.”

“Convenient.”

“Believe what you like. I speak the truth.”

Your truth
, Marcello thought. “Then it will still be the truth when the others become ‘available’ and can speak to me.” Frustrated with both work and his personal life for the first time in years, Marcello became impatient with diplomacy. “Look, I haven’t got time for this. Figure out your story and get back to me,” he said and hung up.

He tossed the phone on the bed and began pacing around the room. He didn’t doubt the others wanted the mission, but he wouldn’t proceed until he received the assurances he needed. He decided it was time to start planning for the mission in earnest.