Seduced by His Touch (6 page)

He ate another spoonful of soup, then patted his mouth with his napkin. Leaning near, he lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I agree.”

“You do?” Astonished warmth spread through her.

He nodded. “Shameful, is it not? A duke’s son who wants to give the commoners their say. As for women, well, they have more intelligence than men like to admit. That’s why so many of my sex want to keep their females ignorant and pregnant. Just imagine the competition if we gave them equal footing.”

She smiled, marveling at his sentiments. “Yes, just think.”

Their conversation continued on throughout the meal, roving from one subject to the next—some topics serious, some fanciful, even funny. By the time dessert was served, Grace realized she had no real idea what she had eaten, having been too enraptured by Jack Byron to pay attention to anything else.

Never one to stand on ceremony, Aunt Jane didn’t ask the women to withdraw in order to allow the men to enjoy their port and cigars in solitary splendor. Instead, everyone rose from the dining table to make their way back to the card room together. To Grace’s secret delight, Lord Jack took her arm, neither of them in a hurry as they strolled toward the parlor.

Rather than join one of the games, however, the two of them settled onto a padded window seat. While she sipped tea and he nursed a brandy, they continued their discussion, delving for a time into the subjects of art, music and favorite plays and playwrights.

Then, without quite realizing where the time had gone, the evening was over.

“Until next we meet, Miss Danvers,” he said in his rumbling baritone as he bowed over her hand. “I had a most enjoyable evening.”

“As did I, your lordship.”

And she had, she realized. So enjoyable she couldn’t remember a pleasanter time. She’d relaxed and been at ease in his company in a way she rarely was with anyone—man or woman.

Curtseying, she bid him
adieu,
then stood watching from the doorway as he climbed into his carriage and drove away.

Once the last guest had gone and the door was closed and locked for the night, she and her aunt turned toward the stairs.

“A fine time, was it not?” Aunt Jane said with a sleepy smile.

“Yes. Very fine,” Grace agreed.

“I should imagine so, considering the way a certain handsome lord could not be torn from your side. You’ve made a conquest there, my girl.”

She stopped. “Conquest? Oh no, you mistake the matter.”

Her aunt gave a disbelieving snort. “I mistake nothing. Men have a look about them when they’re pursuing a particular woman, and when it comes to you, Lord Jack has that look written all over him. He’s certainly a bold one, singling you out the way he did, then keeping you all to himself for the whole of the evening.”

“It wasn’t the
whole
of the evening,” Grace defended. “And he did not single me out. We were merely talking and the time got away.”

“Talking, hmm?” Aunt Jane patted her shoulder as they reached the upstairs landing. “Call it what you like, but that man wants you.”

Wants me? No,
she thought,
he doesn’t want me, at least not in the way Aunt Jane thinks
. He’d come tonight out of gentlemanly politeness, then spent time with her because she was the youngest woman in the room. His attentions were nothing special, nothing she should take seriously. Likely he was bored and she amused him for some unfathomable reason. Once his personal business here in Bath was concluded, he would leave, forgetting he had ever known a young woman named Grace Danvers.

“We are merely friendly acquaintances, who share a few interests in common,” she stated. “He has no deeper regard for me, I assure you.”

“Time will tell,” her aunt said, a smug expression in her eyes. “For now, I am off to bed. Good-night, dear, and sweet dreams. If Lord Jack is in yours, I know you’ll sleep well.” With a little laugh, she walked down the hallway to her room.

A moment later, Grace went to her own bedchamber, certain that on that last score her aunt was right.

O
ver the next two weeks, Lord Jack Byron gave Grace’s aunt plenty of ammunition to bolster her argument that he was courting Grace.

Everywhere she and her aunt went, there was Lord Jack.

He happened upon them while they were taking the air strolling along The Circus, and another time while they were shopping on Bond Street.

They crossed paths on the Royal Crescent, where Lord Jack had taken a lease on one of the area’s luxurious town houses.

Grace encountered him at public assemblies and at one or two private parties, as well.

She even met him at the Pump Room, agreeing to walk along the room’s perimeter to share the latest news from London and abroad, while her aunt sat with friends and took the waters.

Yet despite Aunt Jane’s certainty that she was being pursued, Grace saw nothing particularly lover-like in his attentions to her. He flirted, yes, but she discounted that as a case of Jack Byron simply being Jack Byron. As for his seeking her out when they were in company, well, they talked easily and had developed a rapport of sorts—one that led them both to gravitate toward each other for a measure of easy talk and undemanding companionship.

She was certain he viewed her only as a friend. For in spite of his roguish promises, he never made any effort to lead her down temptation’s path. Nor did he try to hold her hand or draw her away for a private stroll or a stolen kiss.

Not that I want him to,
she assured herself. She was content with his friendship. Quite content. She needed and expected nothing more. Still, the platonic nature of his attentions proved that Aunt Jane was mistaken about his interest in her. Clearly, he saw her as a sister, which meant she had no reason to guard her emotions against him.

The third week in September dawned warm and sunny, the sky a clear, pristine blue after two nights of heavy rain. Deciding the weather was just right for an excursion to Sydney Gardens to do some drawing, Grace collected her paper and pencils and prepared to set off with her maid in tow. Aunt Jane told Grace to have a good time, informing her that she planned to spend the day with several friends—scouring the shops for bargains—before adjourning to Mollands for tea and sweets.

After a pleasant walk to the gardens, Grace located a bench near some likely blossoms and took a seat. Reading the wistful expression on her maid’s face, she let the girl go off to visit a footman who worked at the nearby hotel, making her promise not to be away too long.

Content, Grace settled into her drawing, losing herself as she began sketching a colorful patch of late-blooming hollyhocks. She was only vaguely aware of the crunch of footfalls approaching on the shell path.

“You look a picture, perched there on that bench,” remarked a deep, familiar voice. “Every bit as lovely as one of the flowers.”

Glancing up, she met Jack Byron’s rich blue gaze. “My lord,” she said, sending him a warm smile. Her pencil fell still while she studied him, his handsome features never failing to steal a bit of her breath. Impeccable as ever, he wore a tobacco brown coat and fawn pantaloons, the gold watch fob on his waistcoat winking in the sunlight.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, her fingers curling reflexively against her pencil.

“Along the main path,” he said in a wry drawl. “You really ought to pay more attention to your surroundings, you know.”

“I am drawing.”

“Yes, so I see.” Crossing, he sank down onto the stone seat next to her. “I met your aunt on the high street. She told me you were here.”

“Was that before or after she finished raiding all the stores?”

“
After,
I would say, based on the armload of packages her footman was carrying. Although I might be wrong, considering the militant gleam in her eye. As I recall, there was some mention of ribbon at a ten percent discount just as I was departing.”

Grace grinned, then returned to her drawing.

Silence descended, comfortable and undemanding, as Lord Jack lounged on the bench at her side.

“What are you drawing? Those stalky, puffy-headed flowers over there?” he asked.

Pausing, she tossed him a curious glance. With his knowledge of botany, he had to know a hollyhock when he saw one, since it was a common enough variety.
He’s teasing me
, she realized. “Yes, the hollyhocks, of course. You’re very amusing, you know. Stalky, puffy-headed flowers indeed.” She chuckled.

For a brief moment, an odd, almost alarmed expression passed over his face. Then, just as abruptly, it vanished. “No point in always being precisely accurate, is there? Sometimes a description says it best.”

Smiling, she shook her head at his antics.

“May I see?” he queried.

She hesitated for an instant, then turned the drawing his way.

He contemplated her work, long enough that the faintest flutter of nerves jiggled over her skin. “It’s only a preliminary study,” she defended. “I’ll do a far more refined sketch later, then another in color.”

“It’s wonderful,” he stated, his tone clearly sincere. “When you said you do some drawing, I assumed you dabbled like most young women. But this is a far cry from dabbling. You have true talent.”

Pleasure spread through her, radiant as the sun shining overhead.
When did his opinion come to mean so much to me?
she wondered.
Why do I care that he approves?
But she did, she realized, wanting him to like her work, even admire it. Admire her.

Tiny lines formed on his brow. “There is an artist who does similar watercolor renderings of natural subjects. I have one of his folios in my own book collection. Danvers is the name…G. L. Danvers.” His eyes widened. “Good Lord, it’s you, isn’t it? Grace L. Danvers.”

“Lilah,” she murmured, her pleasure increasing. “The
L
is for Lilah. And yes, I’ve done a few little books.”

“There’s nothing
little
about those books, either in size or content. Grace, you are an extraordinary artist. Why does no one know the truth of your identity?”

He has one of my books.
The thought made her a little giddy.

“I
know,” she told him. “And that is enough. I would have no use for fame anyway. It’s better that people believe I am a man, that way my work is taken seriously. Otherwise, many would say my watercolors are good—for a young woman who dabbles.”

For a moment, he looked as if he might argue the point. “Sadly, I suppose you’re right. I’m glad, though, that I have uncovered your secret.”

“As am I, your lordship.”

His gaze met hers. “I shall demand a private showing of anything you have in process, you know.”

Her heart beat with excitement. “That might be permissible.”

“And your autograph as well.”

She smiled. “I would be honored.” Although she didn’t know when she would have such an occasion.

“I suppose I should go and leave you to your work.”

She shook her head. “Actually, I would rather you didn’t. My drawing will keep for a bit.”

His mouth turned up in a slow smile. “Good. If that is the case, then perhaps I might persuade you to take a stroll.”

“Here in the gardens, you mean?”

“Of course in the gardens. Maybe you will see some new plant that inspires your muse.”

A small voice whispered that she should remain where she was and keep drawing. A far louder one urged her to accept.

“Yes. All right,” she agreed. Rising to her feet, she secured her sketchbook and pencils inside a small satchel.

“Allow me,” he said, reaching out a hand to take the cloth bag.

Passing it to him, she took his arm and they began to walk.

“Where is your maid, by the way?” he asked a few moments later. “I assume you didn’t walk here by yourself.”

“No. I let her go visit a friend for a few minutes.”

“A friend? You are too generous by half, since she should not have left you at all. But I am here now, so there is no harm done.”

Actually,
he thought,
leaving me to stand guard is rather like asking a wolf to oversee the sheep.
But why quibble when it gave him a chance to be alone with her?

The past few weeks had been wearing on him, to say the least. As the days crept by, he’d been forced to place strict controls upon himself, trying to act as though he wanted nothing physical from her at all.

But denying himself had only increased his appetite for her—together with his enforced abstinence. He hadn’t had a woman since he’d left London. He supposed he could have sought out a convenient female, but the idea held no appeal. Once he’d met Grace, she was the only one he desired.

From the first, he’d known he would need to get past Grace’s barriers and win her trust. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was earning her friendship as well. Nor had he expected to like her.

But he did. A lot.

Guilt raked through him like a sharp set of claws.
Lord knows, I hate the necessity of lying to her.
But the wheels had already been set in motion, and there was no stopping them from spinning. His fate was fixed now and hers along with it.

He took care to be as honest with her as he could, however, not simply because it made things easier, but also because he wanted there to be as much truthfulness between them as possible. After all, she was going to be his wife.

When he’d discovered she was
the
G. L. Danvers, his surprise and admiration had in no way been feigned. He really did own one of her folios, and his esteem of her artistic talent was genuine. His motives and methods in pursuing her might not be strictly honorable, but that didn’t mean the whole of their dealings were false. Of course, Grace might not see it that way should she ever learn about his bargain with her father, he thought with an inner wince.

But she won’t find out,
he promised himself. He would make certain of it. And so he had nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever.

“I understand there is a labyrinth here,” he said, cutting off his own uncomfortable thoughts. “Do you like mazes?”

She nodded, her eyes appearing more blue than grey today in the brilliant sunlight, her red hair gleaming like fire-colored silk beneath her bonnet. His hands itched suddenly to slip the little hat free of its moorings and send it sailing so he could spear his fingers deep into her tresses. And then he would kiss her, taking her mouth in a zealous joining that would soon have her aching for more. He nearly reached for her, but stayed himself. He’d waited this long; he could wait a while more.

Quietly, he cleared his throat. “Shall we go inside, then?” he asked, directing their footsteps along the path that led to the labyrinth. “I’ll even give you the advantage of going in before me. We can make a game of it and see which one of us reaches the center first.”

“I haven’t been inside a maze since I was a little girl,” she confided.

“Then it would seem a repeat of the experience is long overdue.”

They soon arrived at the maze entrance, the precisely trimmed boxwood hedge rising upward in a seemingly impenetrable wall of thick, leafy green. The warm, ripe scent of vegetation hung in the air, birds chirping in nearby tree branches, while a pair of butterflies danced on the light breeze.

Yet Jack was barely aware of anything except the woman at his side and his anticipation of the mock hunt to come.

“I’ll give you to the count of ten,” he declared, tucking her satchel into a sheltered spot just inside the entrance where he felt certain it would be safe. “Hurry along now, else I catch you.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned his back to the maze opening. “One!”

Grace sprinted away.

“Two!” he called in a carrying voice. “I can still hear you.”

She giggled, bushes rustling as she clearly ran into her first obstacle.

“Three!”

The sound of her passing grew more distant, the accelerating beat of his heart taking its place.

“Four!”

He heard an “oh drat” and smiled, trying to estimate how far into the maze she had likely traveled.

“Five!”

Her footfalls faded into silence, as he fought the urge to turn in search of a lingering view.

“Six!”

I shouldn’t have given her so much time.

“Seven!”

What if she eludes me?

“Eight!”

What if she doesn’t?

“Nine!”

Almost there.

“Ten! Ready or not, here I come!”

Turning sharply on his heel, he headed inside.

Grace bit her lip and forced herself not to giggle, her feet flying as she hurried along a narrow corridor of greenery that towered far above her head.

A few moments later, Lord Jack finished his count of ten and started after her. Soon, a distant rustling sounded, making her wonder if he’d blundered into the same trap in which she’d also been temporarily ensnared. But he was smart and resourceful and would soon find his way free.

Knowing she dare not waste a second, she continued on. Yet each turn looked frustratingly like the one before, every angle leading to a potential trap. Coming to a new break in the foliage, she stopped and looked right, then left, wondering which choice led in the correct direction.

Behind her, she couldn’t hear Jack at all now, his progress silent despite his large physique. He might be tall, but he was agile, quick and stealthy on his feet. She knew how a doe must feel being pursued by an experienced hunter. Her heart thudded beneath her breasts, her breath issuing in soft gusts—though with excitement, she realized, not fear.

Making a random choice, she turned and dashed forward, the pale blue skirt of her India muslin gown floating around her as she ran. The move led her deeper into the labyrinth, drawing her in ever-tightening circles, each one more bewildering than the last.