Seduced by His Touch (19 page)

G
race walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, so numb she was barely aware of the exquisite beauty of the chapel around her. Neither did she pay heed to the multitude of family and friends seated in the rows of glossy mahogany pews, focusing her concentration almost entirely on the simple act of moving her feet across the gleaming white marble floor.

On the domed ceiling above lay a masterpiece of angels, their seraphic faces gazing downward from a heaven of brilliant cerulean blue skies and peerless pale clouds. But the ceiling might as well have been blank for all the impression it made on her. Neither did she see the profusion of lush pink roses gathered in several tall, elegant urns, nor smell their scent, which turned the air perfume sweet.

All she knew was the reality of that moment, and the fact that today was her wedding day—the most miserable day of her life. How ironic, since not long ago she had dreamed of it being the happiest.

Arriving at the altar, her father drew them to a halt. She swayed and took a moment to steady herself.

“You all right, Gracie?” he asked in a hushed tone, his brows puckered with concern.

“Fine,” she whispered.

Then, as she had at least a hundred other times over the past five days, she forced a smile. Her lips felt false and waxen, but her response seemed to satisfy him. Exactly as all her responses had appeared to convince everyone of her supposed happiness in this charade that lately had become her life.

Suddenly, Jack was there to take her father’s place. Gently, he reached out and laid her palm on top of his dark blue sleeve.

“Your hands are like ice,” he said in a low undertone.

When she made no reply, he sighed and signaled the bishop to proceed.

She trembled despite the warmth of her white satin gown, with its matching, long-sleeved spencer trimmed at the collar and cuffs with soft, snowy ermine. When she’d selected the simple, yet elegant, dress, she’d been brimming with excitement over the prospect of wearing it. Now, she no longer cared, chilled through to her toes.

Somehow she managed to say the right words at the appropriate times, remaining calm and steady when Jack slid a wide gold band onto her finger next to the diamond engagement ring already there. For a long moment, she stared at the rings and everything they represented. Or rather everything they were supposed to represent—and did not.

Amid cheers and congratulations, they walked from the chapel. But instead of finding relief at the end of the ceremony, she realized the ordeal had only just begun.

Inside the ballroom at Braebourne, she and the wedding party formed a receiving line. The tradition quickly devolved into an act of endurance, where she was forced to talk and laugh and behave as if she were the happiest woman in the world. Pasting a smile on her face, she did her best, even though her heart beat with the slow pace of someone dying inside.

Finally, that particular misery ended and she was on to the next.

With her hand on Jack’s arm, he escorted her into the formal dining room, where an elaborate wedding breakfast had been arranged. Taking a seat in the place of honor designated for her and Jack, she let him prepare her a plate heaped with an array of mouthwatering delicacies.

She might have been able to find some contentment in the delicious food. Unfortunately, she had no appetite. Unable to do more than pick at the meal, she slid little bits around here and there, so no one would suspect she was barely touching her food.

Jack noticed, however, his mouth disapproving as he glanced over at her plate. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He shared a smile with one of his cousins, who raised his glass in a silent cheer. Then he bent his head toward her. “I find that hard to believe. Particularly since I understand you didn’t take so much as a cup of tea this morning before the ceremony.”

“I wasn’t hungry then either.”

“Have a few bites anyway. You’re pale enough already. We don’t need you fainting as well.”

She sent him an insincere smile. “Not to worry, my lord. I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”

“This has nothing to do with embarrassing me. I don’t want you ill.”

“I’m quite well,” she lied.

He ate a forkful of kipper. She couldn’t help but grimace as he chewed the delicate fish. Washing it down with a draught of wine, he patted his mouth dry on his napkin. “You aren’t with child, are you?” he asked in an offhand tone, low enough that no one else could hear.

“No!” she shot back, her startled gaze flashing to his. “Most certainly not.”

How dare he ask me something like that, here in front of all our friends and family!

He studied her with probing azure eyes. “You’re sure? It’s only been a few days since—”

“Quite sure.” Blood pumped swiftly in her veins. Smiling sweetly for anyone who might be watching, she reached for her own glass of wine, then drank, hoping the spirits would ease some of her irritation. Steadier, she set down the glass.

“At least that put some color in your cheeks,” Jack remarked. “I think you could use a little more, though.”

Without giving her time to consider what he meant, Jack leaned across and kissed her, taking her lips with a familiar, sultry demand that sent sparks of pleasure whizzing through her system.

At first, she sat motionless, too stunned to react. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of his skin, her eyelids fluttered downward, and for a few brief moments, she kissed him back. But suddenly memories of the divide between them came rushing back. Eyes popping wide, she broke their kiss.

Reaching up, he smoothed the edge of his finger over one burning cheek. “That’s better,” he murmured softly. “Healthy and pink. Now, why don’t you eat a few bites of your meal and prove to me that you don’t have morning sickness after all?”

Only the knowledge that everyone in the room must be sending them looks kept her from giving him a good hard box to his ears.

Apparently aware of the violent direction of her thoughts, he arched a warning eyebrow. Forced to restrain herself, she curved her fingers into a fist on the arm of her chair.

Leaning back in his seat, he lifted his wineglass again and drank. Some of the male guests tossed out a few ribald comments. Nodding, Jack sent them a good-natured grin.

Her throat tight, she stared at her plate, wishing she could toss her napkin onto the table and storm out of the room. But that option was denied her today. Only a few hours more, she reminded herself, and she would be able to stop this playacting. Until then, there was no choice but to keep pretending she was a blissfully happy new bride. Tipping her head at an intimate angle, she leaned toward him. “You are detestable,” she whispered.

“Eat your breakfast, Grace.”

“Or what?”

He gave her a long look that dared her to find out.

Lowering her lashes to conceal a glare, she stabbed a small piece of ham, put it in her mouth and chewed.

“Have another,” he suggested, when she was done.

Her fingers clenched against her fork, but at length, she obeyed.

“The almond biscuit with the cream on top is quite good,” he remarked in a gentle tone. “I’d try it next, if I were you.”

She was about to refuse when her stomach gave a very distinct, yet luckily inaudible, growl. To her consternation, she realized she was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.

Nonetheless, the idea of giving in to his tyranny went against every instinct inside her. Better to go hungry, she thought, than to give him even an iota’s worth of satisfaction.

And yet, by refusing to eat, whom was she really hurting?

A full minute passed while a battle raged inside her. Staring down at the suddenly appetizing fare on her plate, she abruptly decided that hunger trumped pride. Let him gloat if he wished. What did it matter?

Still, she started with a tiny orange cake instead of the almond, the pastry melting like ambrosia against her tongue.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile.

“I hate you, you know,” she whispered.

His smile faded. “Enjoy your meal. It’s going to be a long day yet before we can depart.”

Knowing he was right, she dug into her food.

Hours later, cheers and congratulations rang out from the crowd of well-wishers gathered to see Jack and Grace off on their journey.

After assisting his new wife into the coach, he climbed in and took a seat next to her. A footman put up the coach steps and closed the door. Less than a minute later, they were on their way, both he and Grace leaning forward to call out a last good-bye. Through the window, he watched his mother wipe a tear from the corner of her eye before she waved her handkerchief, her face wreathed in smiles.

The house disappeared swiftly from view. The instant it was out of sight, Grace stood and moved to the seat opposite. Settling herself as far away from him as possible, she turned her head and gazed out the window.

He sighed.

This is going to be a delightful honeymoon. One month of newly wedded hell.

Deciding there was no point trying to coax her out of her sulks for now, he gazed out his own window. Good thing he’d packed a few books. Based on present circumstances, he would be enjoying lots of quiet time alone.

He knew she had a right to be angry, and he would give her some latitude in venting her disappointment and distress. But angry or not, they were married now, and they would have to find a way to deal with each other.

In the meantime, perhaps he should catch up on his sleep. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes.

How dare he sleep,
Grace thought ten minutes later. Shooting him a fulminating glare, she considered scooting close enough to kick him, but decided the act was unworthy.

Everything about this situation is unworthy. Of both him and me.

She knew her anger was doing neither of them any good, but she couldn’t let it go. Not now. Not yet. Because deep inside she knew that if she stopped hating him for what he’d done, there would be nothing left between them at all.

Wiping away a tear, she gazed out the window at the passing landscape, the late-afternoon sun winking off the snow-covered fields like hidden diamonds. She stared at them until her eyes hurt. Squeezing her eyelids tight, she tucked her face against the luxurious upholstery and wished for oblivion.

A few minutes later, the rhythmic movement of the coach did its work and sent her to sleep.

Burying her face against his shoulder, she snuggled closer. Warm and relaxed, she was content in a way she hadn’t been in days.

“Jack,” she sighed, still caught inside her dreams.

“Hmm hmm,” he murmured in the low, rich tone she loved. “Keep sleeping. I’ll carry you inside.”

How nice.
But why was Jack carrying her? Scowling, she came partially awake.

What had he said about going inside? Inside where?

Just as his arms began to slide beneath her knees, she roused, jerking against him. “What are you doing? Where are we?”

“We’re at the cottage. I’m helping you out of the coach.”

Remembering everything, she smacked at his hands. “I don’t need your help. Let me go.”

He sighed. “Grace. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” Awake now, as if he’d dumped a bucket of snow over her head, she stiffened and struggled against him. “I told you not to touch me. What part of that do you not understand?”

His gaze met hers for a long moment, his jaw rigid. Abruptly, he set her back down on the seat and climbed out of the coach.

She took a minute to collect herself before following, allowing the footman to help her down, since Jack was no longer in sight. Standing cold and stiff with residual sleepiness, she gazed at the night-shrouded cottage. Even in the darkness, she was able to make out its quaint shape and size. Ordinarily, she would have found it charming. Tonight, it only made her sad. Sighing, she walked inside.

The house was warm, courtesy of the cozy fire burning in a large stone fireplace in the main room. On the opposite side of the central hallway stood a small study, with a dining room and kitchen taking up the rear.

It was from the kitchen that the housekeeper emerged. After greeting Grace with a voluble smile, she led the way upstairs, her ample hips swaying beneath the plain brown cloth of her skirts.

“Here ye are,” she declared, as she showed her into one of the two large rooms upstairs. “I hope you’ll be comfortable. There’s hot water and towels on the stand, and your supper will be on the table as soon as ye and his lordship are ready.”

“Actually,” Grace said, stopping the woman as she turned to leave. “I’m rather tired after the journey. Would it be possible to have a tray sent up?”

The housekeeper stared for a moment but recovered quickly. “Of course, milady. Whatever ye wish.”

Milady.

For a moment Grace didn’t realize that the housekeeper was referring to her. But then the remembrance sank in that she was married now, with a new name and a title that would likely feel strange for some time to come. Except she didn’t feel married. Instead, she felt lost and very much alone—bound to a man who didn’t love her and never would.

After asking the housekeeper to send up her maid, she went to the washstand and poured water into the pretty china basin so she could rinse her face and hands.

The rest of the evening passed slowly, her nerves stretched thin, while she waited to see if Jack would appear and demand she join him downstairs. But he didn’t. Not as she ate dinner alone in her room, nor later when she drew the pins from her hair and chatted about inconsequential matters with her maid as she prepared for bed.

Actually, if not for the occasional sound of his deep voice carrying through the house as he spoke to one of the servants, she wouldn’t have even known he was there.

Dressed now in one of the utilitarian, white wool nightgowns she’d insisted on having packed, she carried a lighted candle to her end table, set it down, and climbed beneath the sheets. Tucking the covers under her chin, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.