Seduced by His Touch (5 page)

“Of course he does,” she said, waving aside Grace’s objections. “You mentioned cards, my lord, so you must like to play.”

“I enjoy a game every now and again,” he conceded.

“Then you must join us this Friday eve. I am hosting a card party with a bite of supper afterwards. I would be ever so honored if you would come. Do say you will and I shall send ’round a card with all the particulars.”

Inwardly Grace cringed. Bad enough that her aunt had interrogated him over his lineage. But now to invite him to a party that was so clearly beneath him socially—well, it went beyond the bounds of proper decorum.

Grace’s late uncle might have been a well-respected solicitor in his day, and of genteel heritage, but his background was nothing compared to the son of a duke—even a younger one.

As for Grace herself, her father was one of the most brilliant men in England, at least when it came to finance. But he was of humble origins, having clawed his way up from poverty as the child of a village blacksmith. As a young man, he’d run off to London to make his fortune, and he’d succeeded. He’d married her mother, whose own father had been a physician.

But no matter Ezra Danvers’s immense wealth, he would always be the son of a blacksmith, and Grace the granddaughter of one. Her time at the ladies’ academy had taught her that much. Her years since had only reinforced that lesson.

Duke’s sons and tradesmen’s daughters did not mix. Nor did aristocrats come to card parties hosted by audacious middle-class matrons who clearly did not know when to hold their tongues.

Grace waited for Lord Jack to think up an excuse and refuse.

He smiled at her aunt. “You are all kindness, ma’am. Cards on Friday, hmm? I shall be delighted to attend so long as you promise to partner me for at least one hand.”

Grace stared, her lips parting in surprise.

“Oh, your lordship,” Aunt Jane tittered, her smile as wide as the street outside. “I cannot wait for the days to pass between now and then. Not to worry, you will have a fine time and make no mistake. Grace will see to it as well, will you not, dear? You won’t let our dear Lord John grow bored.”

“Dear Lord John” met Grace’s gaze again, one eyebrow sweeping upward like a dark, silky wing. For a second, she thought she saw a spark of pure devilment and delight in his eyes.

Suddenly the clerk arrived behind the counter, the wrapped bottle of perfume in hand.

“Your gift for your sister, my lord,” Grace said, grateful for the interruption. “I hope the scent is to her liking.”

“I am sure it shall be,” he drawled, accepting the parcel. “Until Friday, then.”

“Until Friday.”

H
e won’t come.

That was the phrase Grace had been silently repeating to herself over the past four days, ever since she and Jack Byron had happened upon each other in the perfume shop—and Aunt Jane had invited him to the card party.

Any minute now, a footman would arrive at the front door bearing Lord Jack’s note of regret—some politely worded excuse written in a fine hand on heavy white vellum. Undoubtedly, her aunt would be cast into the boughs over the news, particularly given how she’d been telling the entirety of her acquaintance that the Duke of Clybourne’s brother was promised to attend her party! But Aunt Jane was a resilient sort and would recover apace.

As for herself—well, she would have nothing to recover from, she told herself. No disappointment to assuage, since she’d known all along that he would bow out of the engagement. Ill-founded generosity had prompted him to accept. Clearheaded rationality would lead him to refuse.

It’s not as though I care if he attends tonight’s party,
she assured herself from her seat at her bedchamber dressing table.
The man is nothing but trouble disguised in a pleasing package.
A truly gorgeous, heart-stopping, mouthwateringly delectable package that would send even a blind woman into a swoon—but trouble just the same. The less she saw of him the better off she would be.

She sighed aloud, her shoulders sinking beneath the amber satin of her short-sleeved, empire-waisted evening gown.

“’old still, miss, or I’ll never get these pins set right,” her maid chided from where she stood behind her.

The girl worked to arrange the burnished mass into a pleasing style, combing and recombing a few strands of Grace’s long, thick hair. Grace held steady and forced herself not to fidget, as the last of her willful tresses were tamed into place.

With her coiffure finished, she fastened a simple gold locket around her throat, the piece a favorite that had once belonged to her mother. Next, Grace drew on a pair of long, white gloves, then stood and crossed to the door.

He won’t come,
she thought once again before she moved into the hallway and down the stairs.

An hour later, she was more convinced than ever of the correctness of her assumption, for the house was noisy with guests—everyone save Lord Jack. Still, she couldn’t help but glance toward the parlor doors every few minutes to check for signs of his non-arrival.

She was conversing with a round-faced, former legal associate of her uncle’s when a tingling sense of awareness traveled down her spine. Without quite realizing what she was doing, she stopped talking and turned around.

And there he stood—Jack Byron, in the flesh.

He was large and dynamic, and so handsome in stark black and white evening attire that, for a moment, all she could do was stare. Framed in the doorway, he eclipsed every other person in the room. In an earlier era, she was sure they would all have fallen to their knees in obeisance to beseech his indulgence. Instead, guests began to fall silent as his presence was noticed and acknowledged.

Yet it wasn’t the admiring crowd he was surveying. Instead, his gaze was focused on her, his vivid blue eyes locked upon her as though she were the only woman in the room worth noticing.

Her lips parted on a soundless inhalation, and she was unable to look away as he sauntered toward her with a sinuous, tigerlike stride.

Grace.

Her name whispered through Jack’s mind like the silken stroke of a hand.

He’d never seen her look as pretty as she did tonight, the vibrant bronze hue of her gown lending her skin a creamy luminosity, her hair gleaming a rich, fiery red that reminded him of living flame.

And passion.

He wondered if that same intense fire lay hidden inside her, and he relished the idea of finding out. This evening, however, he would have to restrain himself, exactly as he’d been doing these many long days.

What an excellent stroke of luck to have happened upon Grace at the perfume shop. He’d been waiting for the right moment to meet her again, when there she’d been, visible through the store window. In need of a small gift for his sisters, he’d known the task would give him the perfect excuse to further their acquaintance. And when her aunt had issued her invitation for tonight, he’d nearly kissed her, delighted to gain such easy entree into Grace’s inner circle.

Now, here the both of them stood with barely half a room between them. He was starting toward her, when his hostess stepped into his path.

“Oh, your lordship, you have arrived,” Grace’s aunt gushed, her aging features alive with pleasure. “Welcome to my home. I am honored.”

“The honor is mine, ma’am,” he said, turning his attention to Mrs. Grant.

“So gallant, just as I have been telling everyone.”

He gave an indulgent smile. “And what else have you been telling them?”

“Why, everything, of course,” she confided with a laugh before taking hold of his arm. “Come, you must let me introduce you.”

Having no other recourse, he allowed himself to be drawn forward.

Nearly an hour passed before the niceties were satisfied and he had an opportunity to seek out Grace. To his consternation, he discovered her already at play—one of four partnered for whist. He supposed he could have joined another game, but it wasn’t the game that interested him. Rather, it was one particular player.

Smiling inwardly, he strolled her way.

Grace sensed, rather than saw, Lord Jack appear at her elbow, his presence disrupting her decision about whether to lay down a diamond or a spade. Her partner groaned when she played the wrong card, allowing the other couple to win the trick.

“I believe a diamond would have been the better choice,” Lord Jack murmured in a voice meant for her ears alone.

She tossed him a fulminating glance. “Thank you for that sage bit of wisdom, my lord,” she retorted in an equally quiet tone.

Rather than take umbrage, he laughed.

Drawing up a chair, he sat down, positioning himself just slightly behind and to her right. “I trust no one objects if I stay to watch the game,” he asked the group.

The others—two older women and a slender, rather mousy-looking man—readily gave their ascent. Grace said nothing and the game quickly resumed. As a result of her prior distraction over Lord Jack’s arrival and her resulting misplay, she and her partner lost nearly every hand as they finished out the round. Finally, the slaughter was over and the cards gathered for a fresh shuffle.

“My apologies for not greeting you properly before,” Lord Jack told her, while the others shared their own conversational asides. “Your aunt kept me rather busy.”

“My aunt is good at such things,” she replied in a low voice. “And we spoke. I distinctly recall saying hello as you made your rounds.”

And they had, exchanging how-do-you-do’s and a few innocuous remarks about the weather before Aunt Jane dragged him on to the next group of guests eager to make his acquaintance.

“But we had no time for more personal conversation.”

“Nor do we now,” she retorted, taking up her cards, “since the play is ready to resume.”

Grinning, he leaned back in his chair.

Despite his casual stance, however, she felt as though she were seated next to a great jungle cat. He might appear relaxed, his eyelids lowered in an inattentive, almost sleepy way, but she sensed the exact opposite was true. Underneath his seemingly bored façade, he was alert, watchful and ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Arranging the cards in her hand by suit and number, she did her best to keep them hidden. However, his superior height and the angle at which he sat gave him easy means to peek.

Well, no matter,
she thought.
It’s not as though he’s playing.

But as the round got underway, she realized that Lord Jack
was
playing, shifting subtly in his chair or rubbing the edge of his nose each time she was about to make a wrong move. She tried holding her cards closer to her chest, but it did no good. He knew each correct play before it was made, leaving her to wonder if he possessed some sort of extrasensory sight that allowed him to see through everyone’s cards. As a result of his silent assistance, she and her partner won the round, as well as the small pile of winnings that came with it.

Soon, the others stood to stretch their legs and get a refreshment. Grace remained seated, however, waiting until she and Lord Jack were alone before she turned to him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said on a hiss.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his expression all innocence.

“You know
exactly
what I mean. You were helping me, feeding me little signals throughout the game. I’m surprised none of the others said anything, particularly after you rubbed your nose for the fifth time.”

He flashed a white-toothed grin. “None of the others had any idea what I was doing. As for my signals, you looked like you could use the help.”

“I would have done just fine on my own.”

He raised a clearly skeptical brow.

“I feel like a cheat,” she bemoaned.

He sent her a sternly mocking look. “Of the most vile sort, to be sure. You ought to be banned from card play forever for ‘stealing’ all eight pence in that pot.”

“The amount is not the point.”

“No, and neither were our actions a crime. At worst, we played as a team. I mean it’s not as if I could see their cards.”

Despite the uncanny accuracy of his hints, he was right about that. From his vantage point, she knew he couldn’t have seen anyone’s cards but her own.

She studied him for a thoughtful moment. “How
did
you know which cards to play?”

He shrugged and stretched his legs out before him. “It’s simply a matter of watching what is being played and taking care not to forget. Once a few opening cards are established, the rest becomes easy.”

She paused, digesting the information. “Remind me
never
to play cards against you.”

He chuckled. “I shall look forward to the occasion and the opportunity to change your mind. Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe your aunt is about to announce supper. Pray agree to dine with me.”

“I am not sure I can, since the place cards may require otherwise.”

“Then we shall simply have to switch them so they’re arranged to our liking,” he said, adding a naughty wink that sent tingles whirling through her system like maddened fireflies.

He stood and offered his arm.

“You wouldn’t really switch them, would you?” she asked as she gained her feet.

“What do you think?”

She studied him, his azure eyes unreadable. “I think,” she said, “that you are the wickedest man I’ve ever met.”

He choked out a laugh, then leaned over so that his lips were a mere inch from her ear. “You had best take care to avoid me, then, else I cease being a gentleman and decide to lead you astray.”

Which was precisely what made him so dangerous—because unlike other men, she just might let him tempt her if ever he should ask. But he was only teasing, she was sure.

With that dismal reassurance in mind, she laid her palm atop his sleeve and let him lead her in to supper.

As she’d suspected, her aunt had arranged the table so that specific guests were—and were not—seated next to each other. To her surprise, however, she found herself placed next to Lord Jack.

“Once more, I find myself indebted to your aunt,” he said as he read the names inked on the cards.

To her left sat an elderly man, who needed a brass ear trumpet to hear. After an exchange of greetings that had to be repeated more than once, he nodded and smiled, then applied himself to his soup, apparently content to eat in silence.

With the woman to Lord Jack’s right happily conversing with the man on her other side, Grace found herself the sole focus of his attention. She expected him to continue his earlier flirtatious teasing. However, what he said next surprised her.

“So, Miss Danvers,” he began as he dipped a spoon into his bowl of mushroom bisque. “What is your opinion of Descartes?”

Her own spoon wavered over her bowl.
“Excuse me?”

“Descartes. You know, ‘I think, therefore, I am.’ Surely you are familiar with his writings.”

Descartes? He wants to talk about Descartes?
A frown settled over her brows. “Why would you think that?”

“Because we both know you like to read, and since you are familiar with Swift and Johnson, it follows you might have an interest in other men of thought, even a few French ones.”

“But Swift and Johnson were essayists, not philosophers.”

“So you
do
know Descartes.” He smiled and ate a mouthful of soup.

“My father says I should not. Our society believes a woman ought to plead ignorance about any matter more mentally taxing than stitchery, housekeeping and childrearing. Politics and philosophy should be left to men.”

“But you do not agree?” he prompted in a measured tone.

“Apparently not, since you are correct that I have read Descartes. I told Papa that he, Voltaire and Rousseau were part of my French language lessons when I was in school.”

Lord Jack laughed.

They each ate a spoonful of soup before continuing.

“Voltaire and Rousseau, hmm?” he mused. “Do not tell me you believe in the rights of the common man, the will of the people, and other such radical notions?”

She paused, gauging him. “I’m not in favor of abolishing the monarchy, if that is what you are alluding to. But neither do I think it wrong to allow ordinary people more of a say in their existence. The right to vote, for instance.”

“Ah, so you would give the vote to everyone regardless of education or income, then. Even women, I suppose?”

She fell silent, struggling to decide whether or not to answer him. “Yes. Even women.”