Seduced by His Touch (10 page)

Her lips parted on a silent gasp.
“Married?
How can you even think—”

“Because I love you,” he said, his gaze beseeching as he reached for her hand. “Honestly, I do. Just because I was with some fellow doesn’t mean my feelings have changed toward you.”

“Some fellow’?
You sound as if you don’t even know him.”

Ruddy smudges formed across his cheekbones. “We only met recently, but that isn’t important. I know you’re upset now, and I don’t blame you. But everything can be as it was before. Just say you forgive me and we’ll start again.”

She stared at him, her chest tight with emotion and grief. “Oh, Terrence, can’t you see that nothing will ever be the same again? How can it after today?”

An expression of panic darkened his eyes. “But—”

“You deceived me and would have kept on deceiving me. If I agreed to marry you, our union would be based on a falsehood.”

“I told you, I’ll give it up. I’ll never do it again.”

“I know you mean that now, but what of later? What if you can’t stop? What if deep down this ‘compulsion,’ as you call it, is simply part of who you are?” She shook her head and cast off his touch, curling her hand against her skirt. “It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I can’t live a lie, and I care about you too much to let you live one either.”

“Please,” he begged, reaching for her again. “We share so much in common. We’re such good friends. Don’t let this be the end.”

Evading him, she hurried to the door. This time she succeeded in opening it.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.”

“I have to,” she said, feeling suddenly as if her world was crumbling around her. Knowing she was on the verge of tears, she fled down the hallway, Terrence still calling after her as she ran.

J
ack flicked the reins, controlling his roan gelding as he maneuvered his curricle through the late-afternoon traffic. Compared to London, the thoroughfare was barely crowded. Nonetheless, with Bath’s more relaxed pace, there was no driving fast—since anything above a moderate walk was considered recklessly inconsiderate.

Taking his time, he drove toward his town house, directing an occasional glance over the passersby ambling up and down the sidewalks. He was passing a wagon that had stopped to unload its cargo when a flash of red hair caught his eye.

A flash of red hair that reminded him of Grace.

The woman was walking straight ahead, her head bowed, her attention apparently too fixed upon her own thoughts to pay much heed to her surroundings. He drew closer, and as he did, he realized the woman didn’t just remind him of Grace—she was Grace.

He pulled his curricle toward the curb. “Grace!” he called.

She kept walking, in no way acknowledging that she heard his greeting.

“Hello, Grace!” he called again, louder this time as he walked his horse and carriage along the street at her side. “Miss Danvers!”

She made no response.

Stopping his curricle along the curb, he tied off the reins with a quick twist, then jumped to the ground. Striding toward her, he soon caught up and reached for her arm.

She startled visibly at his touch, glancing up in alarm to see who was accosting her. “Jack?” she said, clearly relieved to find a familiar face.

“Did you not hear me? I called out several times.”

She shook her head. “No, I…I’m sorry.”

“No matter. When did you arrive back?”

“Back?” Lines puckered the smooth skin of her forehead.

“Yes, when did you return from your trip? From Bristol?”

“Oh, Bristol. I came back today. Earlier today. This afternoon.”

His brows drew together.
Something is amiss,
he realized, noticing the distracted expression in her eyes—eyes turned a deep, troubled shade of grey.

“What’s wrong? I can see something has overset you.”

Her lower lip trembled, her face turning vivid pink. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Yes, it is. What has occurred?”

She shook her head, her lips sealed tight.

He captured her hand and tucked it over his arm, wishing he could pull her into his embrace instead. But such intimacy was impossible given their very public location. “I can see you are distressed. Did your aunt come out with you? Is she in one of the shops? Let me find her for you.”

“She isn’t here. She stayed in Bristol.”

“You mean you’re alone? Do you even have your maid with you?”

He could see by her reaction that she did not.

“What has happened?” he asked. “And don’t bother to deny that something of note has occurred, since I know it would be an untruth.”

She trembled but would not say.

Briefly, he considered his options. “Come, I shall drive you home.”

After another agitated look, she nodded, then let him assist her into his carriage.

She spoke not so much as a word as he set his horse in motion, but merely folded her hands in her lap and cast her gaze low. Only when he drew the curricle to a halt did she glance up again.

“This isn’t my aunt’s house,” she said with surprise.

“No, it’s mine. I thought it might be easier for us to talk here.”

He also thought it might give him some advantage. With her on his territory, she would be far less likely to slough off his questions. Nor would she tell him to “go away” and let her aunt’s butler show him out.

For a moment, she looked as though she was going to protest and insist he drive her home, after all. Instead, she gave a small shrug of acceptance, then waited while he helped her alight from the carriage.

Inside, he exchanged a murmured greeting with his own butler—one of the handful of servants he’d brought with him from London. He trusted his staff implicitly—both for their excellent service, as well as their unassailable discretion. He knew without question that no mention of Grace’s presence would ever pass any of their lips.

Turning, he directed her across the white marble entry hall toward the stairs. She followed but stopped at the base.

“The family drawing room is upstairs,” he explained. “It’s far more comfortable than the one on this level, though we can use it if you prefer.”

She hesitated only a few seconds more. “No, the one above is fine.”

Leading the way, he ascended the stairs, almost viscerally aware of her as she followed—pleasure coiling in satisfying tendrils at the knowledge that she was here in his house.

Her thin muslin skirts whispered around her ankles as she crossed after him into the drawing room, then again when she settled onto the long, comfortably upholstered sofa.

With a few quick movements, he poured drinks, balancing the snifters as he returned to her side. “Here,” he said, holding out the glass with its inch of amber liquid inside. “Drink this.”

She sent him an inquiring glance. “What is it?”

“Brandy.” Taking a seat next to her, he set his own glass onto a nearby side table before turning to press the second snifter into her palms. “Drink.”

“No, I can’t.” She shook her head and tried to refuse the libation.

“Yes, you can. It’s obvious you’ve suffered some kind of shock. This will take the edge off. Now, no more arguing. Drink.”

“But Jack—”

“Drink.”
Cupping a hand around the base of her glass, he urged it upward. Finally giving in, she raised the snifter to her lips and took a tentative sip.

“Ugh!”
She gasped, sputtering and coughing against the strong taste.

“Have another,” he told her as soon as her paroxysm died down.

“No. One was bad enough.”

“The next will be easier. Go on.”

Shooting him a skeptical look, she obeyed, cradling the glass in both hands as she swallowed another small mouthful. This time she didn’t cough.

“One more.”

“You’ll get me drunk.”

“Exactly.” He flashed his teeth in a devilish smile.

She laughed and drank more.

Beneath his watchful gaze, tension drained visibly from her shoulders. Reaching over, he picked up his own glass and took a swallow. “So, tell me what has happened to distress you?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Nothing.”

Slowly, he turned the snifter in his hand. “Let’s try again. Where were you before we met on the street?”

She cast him a glance before raising her glass to quaff another sip of brandy. Her eyelids lowered as the alcohol slid down her throat. On an inhale, she opened them once more. “I went to see Terrence.”

A small frown pinched between his brows as he worked to place the name. “Cooke, you mean?”

She nodded. “There were things I wanted to talk to him about.”

His frown increased. “What sort of
things?”

“Personal matters. The details are of no import.”

“If that is true,” he said in a smooth tone, “then you won’t mind sharing.”

Her gaze darted to his again, then shifted away.

As it did, a fresh thought dawned on him. “Was it about me?”

“No. Well, not specifically,” she hastily amended. “Not today anyway.”

“But earlier. So what did Cooke have to say? I assume it wasn’t flattering.”

“My lord, it isn’t—”

“Of any import,” he interrupted. “Yes, I know. Indulge me regardless. I assure you my feelings will in no way be hurt.”

She hesitated. “For one, he says you’re a gamester.”

Does he now?
Jack mused, realizing the man must have been inquiring after him. But so long as Cooke knew nothing about his arrangement with Grace’s father—and Jack didn’t see how he could—everything would be fine.

“He’s right,” Jack admitted. “I do enjoy games, including ones that have nothing at all to do with cards. Go on, what else?”

“He…um…he may have mentioned that you have a keen admiration for women.”

“‘
Admiration
’?” Jack smiled. “Is that how he put it? I confess he’s correct again. I do hold the feminine half of society in great esteem. But then I believe you are already aware that I like women.” Reaching out, he traced his fingertips along the sleek line of her jaw, eliciting a delicate quiver. “Some women more than others.”

He caught her earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and gently rubbed the nub of flesh. “I suppose he suggested you and I part company?”

Breath sighed from between her lips. “He did say he thought you weren’t a good influence.”

And yet here she sits, alone in my house.
The knowledge warmed him yet again.

“I’ve never claimed to be a saint,” he agreed again. “So is that all?”

She shook her head, a little tendril of hair coming loose from its moorings. Drawn to it like a hawk to flight, he twined his finger around the strand.

“He also asked me to marry him.”

He jerked, his knuckle inadvertently snagging in her hair.

“Ouch!” she cried.

Immediately he untangled himself. “Sorry. Did you say marriage? You didn’t accept, did you?” He forced down the wave of panic that caught him like a blow to the belly.
My God, if that is the case, then I’ve badly mishandled the situation, as well as underestimated my rival.

“No, I didn’t accept.”

Relief poured through him.

She sipped her brandy. “But that’s why I went to see him at his hotel this afternoon. To talk.”

“His hotel?”
Jack’s hand tightened at his side, wondering what other revelations she was going to tell him next.

Draining her glass, she held it out. “May I have more?”

For a moment, he stared, then tossed back the contents of his snifter in a single gulp. “I could do with a refill myself.”

Taking her glass, he stood and went to the sideboard. Removing the stopper from the crystal decanter, he added a splash to hers and a heartier measure to his own.

Resuming his seat, he placed her glass into her hands. “Go on. What happened at the hotel?”

Her cheeks flashed a brilliant red, a color that had nothing whatsoever to do with the spirits she had imbibed, he realized.

“He didn’t make advances, did he?”

I am the only man allowed to do that,
he thought, his jaw clenching.
So help me, if Cooke touched her, I’ll hunt him down and rip him limb from limb.

A peculiar look crossed her features. “No, he didn’t make advances. Not to me.”

Thank heaven for that!

She drank again.

A new thought struck him. “If not to you, then…Lord, you didn’t walk in on him, did you? Did you catch him with another woman?”

Improbably, her skin flushed an even deeper red, so vivid it looked as if she was standing mere inches from a bonfire.

“Not a woman, no,” she whispered. “He…he…”

“He what?” he asked, a sudden speculation beginning to form.

“He was with…a…a man. And they were naked!” She downed more brandy, coughing when she took too hasty a swallow.

Reaching out, he patted her on the back, leaving his hand there to rub in slow, reassuring circles. “Better?”

Nodding, she drew in a deep breath and released a long exhale.

“I’m sure you were shocked,” he said.

“Never more in my life.”

That I can well believe. Poor girl must have gotten an eyeful.

Still, Jack couldn’t help but be relieved to know his rival wasn’t really a rival. Then again, from what she’d said, the bounder had proposed marriage to her in spite of his sexual preference.

At least in the essentials, I’m not that much of a fraud,
he thought.

Perhaps his motives weren’t wholly pure, but with him she would have a real marriage. In his bed, she would be well pleasured and know the full extent of what it meant to be a woman fulfilled. Her father had told him to keep her happy and pregnant, and he vowed suddenly that he would do his best to make good on that promise.

“Well, I am sorry for your distress,” he told her, continuing to stroke her back in easy circles. “But I cannot say I regret the outcome. If not for your unexpected discovery, you would not be here with me now.” He slid closer. “And I am very glad you are here. I’ve missed you these last few days.”

She met his gaze, her irises looking very blue. “You have?”

“Hmm hmm. What about you?” Lifting his other hand, he traced a finger over one fire-colored eyebrow, then down her cheek and over to her lips. “Did you miss me. Even a little?”

Her eyelids trembled. “Yes. I did miss you. But I-I oughtn’t to have. I should go.”

“Should you? Why?”

Tiny frown lines appeared. “Because…because…” She paused as though she were searching for a reason and having a hard time finding one. “Because it’s getting late and I ought to be returning to the house.”

“It’s scarcely dinnertime.” He skimmed his knuckles over her jaw before roaming lower to the satiny column of her neck, then back up again. “Surely you could stay for dinner? You said yourself your aunt is away. I can’t believe you would prefer eating alone.”

Her frown increased. “No, but—”

“Then stay. My cook sets an excellent table. Delicious fare designed to tempt any palate. Tell me your favorites and I’ll send word to her to make them especially for you.”

Sliding his arm around her back, he bent and pressed his mouth to the base of her throat. “Do you like roast beef?”

“Ahh, I…”

“Too heavy, you’re right,” he stated, dropping kisses against her skin in a leisurely pattern. “What about venison? Unless you are worried it might be gamey. Hmm, I agree.”

Her eyelids fluttered, one hand coming up to catch in the fabric of his coat.

Working his way up, he paused and breathed a gentle gust of warm, brandy-scented air into her ear. She shuddered, a tiny moan escaping her lips.

“Partridge, perhaps? In a sweet vermouth with plump raisins and orange peel. How does that sound?”