Seduced by His Touch (16 page)

He drank in the words, needing them for reasons he couldn’t fathom, yet requiring the warmth they left behind. “Again. Tell me again.”

“I love you.” Her arms wound around his neck. “I’ve never loved a man the way I love you, and I never will. Kiss me, Jack. There’s nothing better in the world.”

And he did, taking her mouth in a fervid joining that left them both shaking. Hunger roared inside him like a beast, tearing apart the restraints he’d placed upon himself.

Without really even knowing what he was doing, he danced her backward toward the wall. When they reached it, he pressed her gently against the smooth painted plaster, her hair a fiery slash of color against the pale cream surface. She looked beautiful, her skin flushed, her eyes a pure, vibrant blue.

Reaching out, he began gathering the material of her skirt into his hands.

“Jack?”

“Shh,” he hushed, kissing her again with deep, drugging need.

She made another throaty hum—a sound that shot straight to his groin this time. Yielding to the persuasion of his kiss, she leaned her head against the wall, pliant as his hands curved around the bare skin of her thighs just above her ribboned garters. He touched her there for a few long moments before gliding higher.

Up he went, bunching the silk of her gown so that it collected around her waist and over his forearms. Coaxing open her thighs, he slid a pair of fingers inside her, the action drawing a convulsive shiver from her more than willing body. Moisture gathered against his hand, easing his way as he pleasured her further, her moans muffled against his open mouth.

Curving his other hand around her naked buttocks, he lifted her a couple inches higher so that she was balanced on the very tips of her toes. Clinging, she wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders and held on as he worked his fingers in and out of her hot, moist folds.

He knew when she was on the edge, knew by the subtle tightening of her inner muscles against his hand that she was nearing her peak. Wanting her throbbing and desperate for his possession, he stopped just short of letting her claim her bliss.

Her eyes popped open at his withdrawal, her fingernails curling like talons into the material of his coat. “W-why are you stopping?”

“I’m not,” he assured her as he yanked open the buttons on his falls. “Just finding another method of satisfying you.”

“B-but surely you don’t mean to…to…”

“Take you here against the wall, even though the estate agent is waiting for us downstairs? I most certainly do.”

She stiffened at the reminder that they weren’t alone in the house. But he didn’t give her time for further consideration, as he spread her thighs wide and stepped between, lifting her as he did so that her toes were no longer touching the floor.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he ordered.

She complied, trembling against him in a clear combination of astonishment over their unusual position and her own raging need. He met her gaze, liking the fact that their faces were on the same level. Because of her height, he’d only had to raise her a few inches to find the proper angle. A perfect fit. Using their complementary heights to his advantage, he positioned himself again and thrust inside.

A moan puffed from her lips at his powerful penetration, her flesh clasping around his own like a hot, velvety glove. Since she was no longer a virgin, there was no pain this time. Still, her passage was narrow, her body taking a few long moments to accommodate his substantial size.

He swelled even more, lengthening, as his shaft set up a fierce, throbbing ache that demanded appeasement. Kissing her with rapacious hunger, he pumped inside, driving himself deep, then deeper still. Fast, then even faster.

Her eyes closed, and he felt her tighten her hold, clinging to him with complete trust as she gave him total control over her body. Adjusting her again for maximum pleasure, he thrust harder, finding exactly the right angle to bring her to peak.

She didn’t last long, quaking violently in his grasp as the crisis came upon her. He swallowed her cries in his mouth, her inner muscles squeezing him with a sleek, milking pressure that drove him wild.

Beyond control, he plunged inside her, thrusting several times with a force that made him want to shout. Instead, he bit his lip as he reached his own peak, quaking as he poured himself violently inside her.

Resting his face against her own, he kissed her. Slowly, he let her legs slide downward, holding her steady while she once again found her feet. Curving an arm against the wall above her head, he kept her nestled in the lee of his body.

“I can’t say I quite intended to do that, but neither am I sorry,” he murmured. “Are you all right?”

“F-fine. Wonderful, in fact.” She gave him a tremulous smile.

He smiled back, bending to kiss her again. “Good.”

Reaching out, he helped her straighten her dress. “You know something, Grace?”

“What?”

“I almost wish we hadn’t already settled on this house.”

“Why? Don’t you like it? Have you changed your mind?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I like house hunting with you. I’ll be sorry not to do it again.”

A becoming shade of pink spread into her cheeks.

He laughed. “Maybe we can come back again, though, to measure another room for drapes.”

A light frost coated the windows of the Danverses’ drawing room on St. Martin’s Lane. During the six weeks that had passed since Grace and Jack’s memorable house hunting expedition, fall had ceded dominion to winter and the advent of cold December days.

Cozy inside near the cheerfully burning fireplace, Grace reached for the Meissen shepherdess on the mantel. Taking particular care, she turned to wrap the delicate piece in tissue paper. Over the last several days, the servants had been busy packing her belongings for the move to Upper Brook Street, but there were a few special items she wanted to handle herself. This figurine was one of them, greatly cherished because it had once belonged to her mother.

She’d been surprised and deeply touched when Papa had suggested she take it with her, especially since she knew how much her mother’s remaining possessions meant to him.

“She’d want you to have it,” he’d told her in a hoarse tone. “To bring you peace and happiness in your new home. You’re to take her best silver service too. What use does an old widower like me have for such fancy bits and pieces?”

She smiled as she thought of his words, bending to lay the securely wrapped figurine into a small packing crate. Catching sight of a few books on a nearby shelf, she moved to retrieve them, knowing they would get far more use by her than by her father. She was placing them into the crate when a brief tap came at the door.

“Hallo, Grace,” said a voice she hadn’t heard in weeks.

Glancing up, she discovered Terrence Cooke standing in the doorway, a large folio in his hands. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a way she’d never seen him before. Then again, considering what had transpired between them the last time they’d been in the same room, his reticence was understandable.

His brows furrowed at her silence. “I can see you’re busy. I ought to have sent ’round a note. Forgive me.” Looking away, he began to turn.

“No. Oh, please don’t go,” she called out.

He stopped and met her gaze.

“I was only surprised to see you, that’s all.” She motioned toward a chair. “Come in and tell me how you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. Sit and I’ll have Martha bring us some tea and cream biscuits. You were always partial to Martha’s cream biscuits, as I recall.”

“Thank you, but no biscuits or tea,” he said, stopping her before she could cross to the bell pull. “I don’t intend to stay long. I only wanted to bring you these.”

Opening the folio, he drew out a thin leather sheath. “It’s your original watercolor drawings for the bird volume, or rather your bird volume, I should say. Production is underway and I wanted to return these to you now, so they don’t get lost.”

She clasped her hands at her waist, sadly aware of the tension that stood between them like a wall. “That is very kind of you to bring them yourself. Thank you.”

He nodded, directing his gaze off to one side. “I-I’ll just leave them here then, shall I?” Striding over to her writing desk, he placed the sheath on top. “Well, I…um…suppose I ought to go. Lots of work, you know.”

Was he really going to leave, just like that, with nothing more to be said between them?

“I intend to finish the flower folio,” she blurted. “Assuming you haven’t decided to cancel the contract and give the job to someone else.”

His sandy brows rose as he shook his head. “Of course I haven’t cancelled the contract.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had. I’ve been quite remiss about my painting lately. What with the wedding arrangements and the packing and the plans to go to Braebourne soon, there simply hasn’t been time. I ought to have written to let you know my intentions. My apologies, but I just wasn’t sure…”

“Wasn’t sure of what?”

“If you would want to hear from me again.”

Something shattered on his face. “But you’re the one who shouldn’t want to hear from
me
. After…well, after what happened in Bath I assumed I was the last person you would wish to see again. I’m sorry, Grace. Truly.”

“No, I’m the one who is sorry. I had no right to intrude on your privacy that day. I’ve felt dreadful ever since.”

One side of his mouth turned up in a rueful smile. “Believe me, I’ve felt worse. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of coming here, of talking to you, or at least sending you a letter. I tried, but I always ended up tossing my attempts into the fire. I’ve missed you.”

She smiled. “I’ve missed you too. We were always such good friends.”

“We were,” he said with a nod. “I should like to be friends again. But I suppose that’s impossible now, what with your upcoming marriage.” His gaze dropped to his shoes. “Only think, you’ll be a lady soon. Lady John Byron. The papers are buzzing with news about your exclusive Society wedding to be held at the Duke of Clybourne’s principal estate.”

“You should come.”

He looked shocked. “To your wedding? No, I couldn’t come to your wedding.”

“Why not?” she countered, warming suddenly to the idea. “I haven’t seen Braebourne yet, but Jack tells me the house is nearly as large as a royal palace. There’s plenty of room, and you would be most welcome. I was told to invite anyone I like, so I shall advise the dowager duchess to add you to the guest list.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“But—”

“I wouldn’t fit in, not in a room full of nobs.”

“You’d like them if you met them. They’re very nice nobs.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure they are. But it’s impossible, for too many reasons to count.” The smile fell from his face. “I thank you for the invitation, but I don’t want to sit and watch you get married. You may not believe it, but I do love you, even if it’s not in the conventional sense. I would have taken good care of you.”

“I know.” She glanced away, unable to stand the regret shimmering in his eyes.

“Are you happy, Grace? Is he really what you want?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice growing soft with emotion. “I’ve never been so happy. Some days I wonder if it’s all a dream, and then I see him again and I know it’s not.”

“Then I’m glad,” he said. “For your sake, I’m glad.”

She met his gaze, knowing this was another ending between them. A silent acknowledgement that they were both moving on to a new phase of their lives.

“Well, I really ought to go,” he told her. “I have a business to run, you know.”

“Of course you do. Write to me, Terrence. I should like to hear what you’re doing.”

He gave her a genuine smile. “You may count upon it. And you are to take all the time you require with your painting. The flower folio will be waiting whenever you are ready to return to it.”

“You are too kind.”

“Not at all.” He strode to the doorway. When he reached the threshold, he paused and turned back. “Grace?”

“Yes?” She arched a brow.

“I meant it about being your friend. If there is ever anything you need, you have only to say.”

“You as well.” Going to him, she kissed his cheek. “I wish you every happiness.”

“I wish you more. Godspeed, dear Grace.”

W
hen Aunt Jane had long ago described Braebourne as one of the most elegant homes in all of England, with grounds and gardens beautiful enough to rival those held by the royal family itself, she hadn’t exaggerated in the least.

From Grace’s first glimpse of the estate, she’d been alternately enchanted and intimidated.
Lord have mercy, what have I gotten myself into?
she’d thought, as the house had come into view at the end of a magnificent, two-mile-long, tree-lined drive.

Nestled in the northern part of the Cotswold hills, the Byrons’ majestic ancestral home was perched atop a gently sloping rise. Fashioned from the rich, honey-colored limestone so plentiful in the area, the grand edifice rose like a gleaming jewel set amid a vast forest of ancient trees, whose branches were now bared for winter.

Before the trip, she’d fleetingly wondered if there would be enough room for all the guests the dowager duchess was inviting. But now she saw her error. Braebourne wasn’t merely grand; it was, for all intents and purposes, a palace.

Nerves were jumping in her stomach when the coach-and-four rolled to a stop. But then Jack climbed out, reaching back to lift her down. The moment his arms closed around her, she knew everything would be all right.

And so it continued to be, the ten days before Christmas passing by in a flurry of merrymaking and excitement. Each day brought a fresh influx of family and friends, the big house filling with so many aunts, uncles and cousins that they soon reached the proportions of a horde—just as the duke had once predicted.

But they were a happy horde, everyone full of good spirits and holiday cheer. She met the rest of Jack’s siblings—brainy mathematician and inventor Drake; war hero Cade; irrepressible twins Leo and Lawrence; and precociously artistic ten-year-old Esme, for whom she had once suggested the purchase of watercolor paper and paints.

Lord Cade’s new bride, Meg, was a welcoming presence, her face aglow with happiness from what she reported to have been a most satisfactory honeymoon sojourn. Grace took an immediate liking to her soon-to-be sister-in-law—bonding with her not only because of their similar ages but even more so because of their shared backgrounds. As commoners, they both knew what it was like being drawn into the glittering, whirlwind existence of the Byrons’ aristocratic fold.

As for her own family, Papa and Aunt Jane arrived two days before Christmas, her aunt pausing to whisper her thanks in Grace’s ear for giving her “the most spectacular adventure of my life.”

During the day, Grace helped the dowager duchess with the last of the wedding preparations. In the evenings everyone relaxed, gathering to dance and sing songs, or play charades and raucous games of hoodman’s bluff.

But the best treat by far was her Christmas Eve sleigh ride with Jack. A slick coating of snow had fallen the night before, turning everything shimmering and white—perfect for a cold-weather outing. With twilight upon them, she’d ridden snuggled close against his side, his hands steady on the reins as he’d urged their horse to run as fast as it could manage.

Seated now on the drawing room sofa, she smiled at the memory, the room abuzz with Christmas morning noise and laughter as everyone opened their presents. She’d already received a pair of lavender leather driving gloves from Mallory, a book of poetry from her aunt and the softest green cashmere shawl she’d ever touched from the dowager duchess—or Mama, as she kept gently reminding Grace to call her.

Placing the wrap around her shoulders, she reached for another present.

“I was starting to think you’d never open that one,” murmured a husky voice near her ear.

Glancing up, she met Jack’s twinkling azure gaze. “I hope it’s not anise seed cookies,” she teased. “You know they make me sneeze.”

He laughed and slipped into a narrow bit of space between the sofa arm and her right hip. “Not to worry. Considering the spectacle you put on a couple nights ago after dinner, I’ve had all the anise seed in the house locked away until after our departure. I want there to be no further mishaps.”

“My thanks for interceding with the kitchen, my lord.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble. I wander down there every once in a while to visit with Cook. She’s been with the family since I was about this high.” He held a hand three feet above the ground.

“I suppose she stuffs you full of cream cakes and biscuits during these visits?”

A grin spread over his face. “Can I help it if she wants new recipes tested? Now, are you going to open that present or not?”

Glancing at the box, she studied its small size and square shape. Without further hesitation, she tugged open the green silk ribbon and pulled off the lid. A sparkling flash of purple and gold winked boldly back.

Nestled into a bed of shiny cream satin lay a heart-shaped pendant on a simple gold chain. The heart itself was created from over a dozen delicate round amethyst stones, while the center held a miniature painted on porcelain. Done in a series of fine, delicate strokes, the artist’s rendering depicted a tiny garden, alive with masses of yellow and white hollyhocks.

Right away, they reminded her of the flowers she’d been drawing that long-ago day in Bath. The day of her and Jack’s very first kiss.

Her gaze went to his, breath stilled in her chest. “Oh, Jack. It’s Sydney Gardens, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, with those stalky, puffy-headed flowers.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“I chose amethyst, since you said it’s your favorite stone. I hope I remembered right?”

“You did. It’s so lovely. Thank you. I’ll wear it each and every day,” she promised. “Your heart tucked against my own.”

A peculiar shadow flickered momentarily across his eyes before he reached for the necklace. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

“Yes. Please,” she said, relieved he’d offered. Her hands were trembling with so much emotion that she doubted she could have managed the task on her own.

Turning slightly, she angled herself so he could place the chain around her neck and fasten the clasp. The slight weight of the gold and stones grew instantly warm against her skin. “There. How does it look?” she asked as she moved to face him again.

“Beautiful,” he said.

But when she glanced up, she realized he wasn’t looking at the pendant. Instead, he was looking at her.

Her lips parted on a silent exhalation, the room and all its guests fading away. His eyelids dipped in a way she’d come to recognize, then his head did the same, his mouth seeking out her own. The quiet majesty of his kiss rocked her down to her toes.

“Here now, none of that, you two,” called her father in a sternly indulgent voice. “There are children present, if you’ll recall, not to mention a few adults who’d rather not be witness to such goings-on. You’ll be married soon enough. Have patience.”

Slowly, Jack broke their kiss and raised his head to address the legion of onlookers. “Patience, as everyone in this room well knows, has never been my strong suit. Has it, Grace?” Then he winked and grinned, utterly unapologetic.

The others laughed, good-natured over a chaste kiss between an engaged couple on Christmas Day. Grace joined in, but she soon stopped, lowering her gaze to her lap in an effort to will away her need to blush.

She was actually winning the battle, when Jack put his lips against her ear. “We’ll continue this tonight. Be sure not to lock your door.”

Hot roses blossomed across her cheeks, while barely repressed anticipation sparked in her blood.

Despite the danger of being caught, tonight’s promised rendezvous wouldn’t be the first time Jack had stolen into her room. Both of them knew they were supposed to wait for their wedding night, but the days still remaining before the ceremony were simply too long for either of them to bear.

Last night, in fact, had been particularly passionate, with Jack bringing her awake sometime well after midnight. She’d roused to find herself naked, Jack having slipped off her nightgown without her even being aware. But she’d barely thought anything of it at the time, desire burning in white-hot pulses through her aching body. Nearing desperate, she’d been thankful to let him put out the flames.

Her cheeks grew hotter now as she shifted on the sofa with a sudden, highly inappropriate discomfort. Thankfully no one was watching them anymore; they were too busy tearing open the last of their presents and indulging in the myriad conversations taking place throughout the room.

“Shall I bring you a hot milk punch?” Jack asked with a gentle, surprisingly knowing smile. “Or would you rather have something cool?”

“Cool. And nonalcoholic, please. You’re causing me enough trouble without my being tipsy.”

Chuckling, he stroked a cool finger over her warm cheek, then rose to obtain her drink.

Barely a minute passed before Mallory appeared, sliding into the spot so recently inhabited by her brother. “So,” Mallory said without preamble. “What did he give you? I saw something sparkle from three seats down.”

Smiling, Grace showed off her pendant.

“Oh, how exquisite. I didn’t know my brother had such good taste. May I?” Mallory lifted her hand, clearly wanting to touch the piece in order to get a better view of the tiny miniature inside. But as she reached out, something shiny glittered on her left hand.

“What is that!” Without stopping to think, Grace grabbed her friend’s hand and yanked it down to eye level. “Is that what I think it is? Mallory, are you engaged?”

Mallory’s eyes brightened, her skin pinking a bit as she gave a little nod. “Yes. He asked last night.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I knew the major wouldn’t make it through the holiday without a proposal.”

“You’re right. He didn’t. But I promised we’d wait until later to say anything, since he has yet to speak to Edward. Drat, I know I shouldn’t have this on, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Shouldn’t have what on?” interrupted Jack’s deep voice, a pair of filled glasses balanced in his hands. “What the devil’s that rock doing on your finger, Pell-Mell?”

Quickly, Mallory buried her palm against her skirt. “Nothing. Mind your own business, Jack Byron.”

“A stone like that on my little sister’s finger sounds exactly like my business. Good Lord, Hargreaves did it, didn’t he?” Jack set down the drinks on a nearby table.

“Who did what?” inquired India Byron.

Lithe and dark, she was one of the many cousins come to visit for the holiday. She held a small wrapped gift in her hand, the attached tag flipped around to display Grace’s name. “Did I hear something about an engagement? Oh, Mallory, are you getting married too?” India, who was only recently engaged herself, let out an excited whoop.

Eyes turned her way from all corners of the room.

The dowager duchess rose to her feet, her interest now obviously piqued. While not far distant stood the Duke of Weybridge—India’s tall, dark, enigmatic fiancé. Unconcealed amusement shown on his compelling face, as though he were well-used to such exuberant outbursts from his new betrothed.

This situation,
Grace realized,
is rapidly getting out of control.

Suddenly Major Hargreaves appeared at Mallory’s side. Reaching down a hand, he helped her to her feet. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep this to yourself,” Grace heard him whisper.

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have worn the ring, but I simply couldn’t resist.”

“Not to worry. I just finished talking to your brother. All is well.”

“You didn’t talk to
this
brother,” Jack said.

Hargreaves met his gaze with a startled one of his own. “I didn’t realize I needed to.”

Jack crossed his arms and stared.

“However, in the interest of maintaining good family relations,” the major continued, “I shall be perfectly happy to oblige. My lord, may I have the honor of your sister’s hand in marriage?”

“Do you love her?”

Hargreaves cast a glance at Mallory. “Yes. Very much.”

“And what if I said no? What would you do then?”

The major’s blond brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “I’d be sorry for it, but I’d marry her regardless.”

Moments passed, the two men locked in a silent battle of wills.

Abruptly, Jack grinned. “If you’d said anything else, I’d have refused and told Edward to take back his consent as well.” He offered a hand. “Welcome to the family. I hope you know what you’re in for.”

Hargreaves grinned back. “I believe I have a reasonable idea.”

As though they’d been friends forever, the major slapped his palm into Jack’s for a hearty, good-natured handshake.

Mallory rolled her eyes. “Men.”

Grace met her gaze and gave a nod of agreement.

Soon after, Ava Byron joined the fray, Edward arriving not long after.

“Now, what is going on over here?” the dowager demanded, clearly determined to be let in on the secret. Once she was, Ava let out a cry of gladness at the news and hugged her daughter. “Well, it’s about time, young man,” she told the major once she eased away from Mallory. “I was beginning to wonder if you were just toying with my girl.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” Hargreaves assured her. “No toying whatsoever.”

Quickly realizing that everyone else in the room was curious as well, silence was called for so that the major and Mallory could publicly announce their happy news. The instant they did, the engaged couple found themselves surrounded by well-wishers.

And Grace found herself squeezed out, forced to abandon her formally cozy seat rather than battle the sudden onslaught. Jack, she realized, had been forced out as well, and was lost somewhere in the mass of family and friends.

From the safety of a less crowded section of the room, she was searching for Jack when she caught sight of Adam Gresham instead. Standing alone near the doorway, Gresham was watching the ongoing tableau. She’d had a chance to speak to him at length the other night at dinner and had found him immensely charming and cheerful. But there was nothing cheerful in his expression now. His face was solemn and a shade too pale, his eyes stark with desolation.