Seduced by His Touch (8 page)

And how can I kill him?

“He is no one,” she said. “And it happened long ago. I was eighteen, too young to know better than to put my trust in a scoundrel. He wanted my money, you see, and I was too foolish to realize what he was really after.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “And you think I’m the same?”

Christ,
he realized,
I am the same.

Reaching up, she laid a hand on his shoulder and hastened to assure him. “No, not at all. You are nothing alike.”

“So, what happened between you and this man?” he asked, a raw flare of emotion blazing in his chest.

She shrugged. “He courted me for a few weeks. We shared some dances, a carriage ride or two. It was nothing serious, not really.”

But he could tell it had been serious—at least for her.

“My father found out,” she continued, “and that was the end of that. He left one day without so much as a word. No note. No good-bye.”

“Have you ever seen him again?”

“No. Once my dowry was out of reach, so was he.”

“And you think I will go away too?”

“I don’t believe you will pack your valise and disappear one morning. It is only that I know you are here temporarily and I just wondered how much time we have…rather, how much longer you mean to stay in Bath. Don’t be angry, my lord. I know you don’t need nor want my money.”

No, I just need your father to forgive my gaming debt,
he thought, his stomach rolling in a slick wave.

“Are you certain?” he challenged in a quiet tone. “Maybe I do just want your dowry.”

She shook her head. “If you did, you’d never be so foolish as to mention that fact. Please, forget I ever said a word about such matters and walk me home.”

I should tell her now. End this charade, these lies.
But he couldn’t take the chance of admitting the truth and losing her—and no longer just because of the money. She wasn’t some means to an end for him anymore. He knew her now. Wanted her now. And the only way to have her was by way of holy matrimony.

Strangely, the idea no longer repelled him as it once had. He would still prefer not to get married, but he was sure when they were wed that he and Grace would rub along well together through the years.

He would ask her to marry him now—except for one thing. She didn’t love him. Not yet.

But she was close. And once she said the words, once he knew for certain that he’d won her heart, then she would be his—to have and to hold forever.

Leaning close, he took her lips again—a full, leisurely kiss that was as much about possession as it was pleasure. “If I ever decide to leave,” he whispered, “I shall make sure you’re the first to know.”

O
ver the next several days, Grace discovered that she need not have worried about seeing less of Jack Byron. Quite the contrary—beginning the very next afternoon, when he called on her at her aunt’s town house.

To Aunt Jane’s clear delight, he stayed to take tea and biscuits before asking Grace to accompany him on a walk to Sion Hill. Forty minutes later, she found herself concealed within the shelter of a great mulberry tree being kissed senseless.

The following evening, they met at a dance. After standing up together for a set, he suggested they adjourn for refreshments. But she quickly realized he wasn’t referring to drinking glasses of punch. Instead he led her to a secluded alcove, where he proceeded to take all manner of knee-weakening liberties—his roving hands and passionate kisses leaving her so dazed that she was nearly incapable of returning to the entertainment afterward.

And then there was the carriage drive to the Avon Valley. Stopping his curricle in a sheltered vale, he kissed her until she feared she might explode with pent-up longing. Jack seemed even more affected, releasing a harsh, pained groan as he forced himself to set her aside. If not for their out-of-doors location, she suspected she might have lost her virginity then and there.

In spite of his obvious desire for her, though, he always ended their embraces before they went too far, careful to bring her pleasure without taking her innocence.

Aunt Jane was certain he meant to propose and kept dropping not-too-subtle hints about the best linen-drapers for wedding clothes and where the most fashionable newlyweds were spending their honeymoons.

Yet Grace wasn’t so sure he had marriage in mind.

Jack Byron, third in line to a dukedom, moved in the highest circles of English Society. Ordinary Miss Grace Danvers, on the other hand, did not.
Why then,
she found herself wondering,
would he have any interest in marrying me?
True, she had a sizeable dowry, but he quite obviously lived well and had no need of her wealth. As for love…he never said a word on the subject, telling her instead how much he admired her, desired her. Which led to a rather discomfiting conclusion—that what he really wanted was to make her his mistress.

She knew she ought to be appalled, even angry, at the idea that Jack might be intending to offer her a carte blanche. Instead, she found herself curiously intrigued by the idea, and more tempted than a young woman raised to be a virtuous lady had any right to be.

What would it be like to belong to him?
she mused now as she lay in bed with the dawn light rising in the sky. How would it feel to sleep at his side and let him claim her body? To experience the culmination of the passion that raged like white-hot embers between them?

If his kisses and caresses were any indication, she knew she would find exquisite pleasure in his arms. And joyous delight in his company as well. But what of her heart? Could she give herself to him knowing that someday their affair would end? That he would turn his back and desert her, leaving her even more alone than she was now? And worse—brokenhearted with love? For him.

The last thought stopped her, forcing her to shake off any further contemplation of an idea she should find alarming at best. Instead she put it all from her mind as she tossed back the covers and climbed from bed to bathe and dress for the day. She would make no decisions for now, she decided. Rather she would let the hours pass as they pleased, without plan or expectation.

“My brown cambric,” she told her maid. “Lord Jack and I are going watercoloring this morning, and I don’t want to risk getting paint stains on my skirt.” As to whether or not there would be a repeat of their kisses inside the labyrinth, she did not know.

Tingling with anticipation, she let the servant help her into her gown.

Later that afternoon, they turned onto the street that led to Grace’s residence, her hand cradled securely over his arm.

“Behave yourself, my lord,” she murmured in response to a remark he’d just made, “or I shall be forced to administer a punishment.”

Leaning closer, he brushed his lips against her ear. “Is that a promise, my dear Grace? If so, I’ll be sure to be even naughtier than before. I suspect I might like being punished by you.”

Warmth stole into her cheeks, an unrepentant laugh bursting from his lips at her bemused expression. Taking pity, he schooled his features into a more serious mien, repressing the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her. But they’d done enough of that for one afternoon. Touching her without the promise of consummating the act was like playing with fire, and he didn’t think he could take more right now—not without suffering a serious burn.

Not too much longer, though, he told himself. Winning her love was part of the bargain he’d made with her father, and he was confident he would make good on that pledge. Soon, she would admit she loved him, and once that happened, he would ask her to be his wife.

Then he would wait no more.

Smiling, he escorted her up the front steps and into the house. A footman came forward to take Grace’s painting supplies, while she removed her bonnet and gloves.

She gazed at Jack. “Will you stay for tea?”

“Actually, I have some business I should attend to this afternoon. But I thought I would return tonight to escort you and your aunt to the theater, if that would be agreeable.”

“Most agreeable,” she murmured. “Then I shall see you in a few hours?”

“You may count upon it.”

“Pardon the interruption,” said the butler. “But I thought I should let you know there is a visitor waiting in the parlor.”

“Someone to see my aunt?” she asked.

“No, miss. The caller asked most specifically for you. He said his name is Cooke.”

A wide smile lit her face. “Terrence is here? Oh, why did you not say so sooner?”

Who the devil is Terrence,
Jack thought,
and what has he to do with Grace?

Without preamble, she hurried across the foyer and disappeared through the painted parlor doors. Seconds later, voluble exclamations of delight issued from the room. Jack followed, his brows drawn tight. He walked inside just in time to see her taken inside a man’s embrace as she accepted a pair of enthusiastic kisses on her cheeks.

Willpower alone kept him from striding across the room and dragging her bodily out of the other man’s embrace. Instead he stopped inside the entrance and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well, this is a wonderful surprise. What are you doing here?” she asked the man, one of her hands still caught in his. “You made no mention of coming to Bath.”

“I had business in the area and thought I’d stop by,” the interloper replied.

“Well, I’m glad you are here,” she said. “I had your last letter, but that was over two weeks ago at least.”

Letter? She writes him letters!

Jack was still contemplating that bit of information when Grace and her companion turned around. The instant they did, recognition kicked in. It was the sandy-haired fellow from Hatchard’s! The one who had escorted Grace from the bookshop that day.

Obviously becoming aware of his regard, she moved forward. “Jack…my lord, please forgive me for not introducing you right away. Lord John Byron, pray meet Mr. Terrence Cooke. Terrence is my publisher from London.”

Her publisher? Well, at least that answers a few questions.

“My lord, a pleasure,” Cooke said, offering his hand.

For a moment, Jack stared at the square palm, with its blunt nails and calloused fingers. “Cooke,” he said. They exchanged handshakes, his own confidently firm, while the other man’s was surprisingly weak and indecisive.

“So you print Grace’s artwork?” Jack stated after drawing away. “She is extremely talented.”

“She is indeed,” Cooke agreed.

“You’re lucky to have her. I hope you’re paying her well.”

Grace’s eyes widened, while Cooke let out a laugh that sounded just a bit nervous. “Well enough, I trust.”

“His lordship’s sentiments are flattering, but as you know, I don’t paint for the money,” she said. “Lord Jack has one of my folios, Terrence.”

“A fan of the natural world, are you?” Cooke commented.

“At times. However, in this instance, I am more a fan of Grace’s.”

Cooke met his gaze straight on in a kind of silent challenge. “As are we all.”

Grace gave a brief laugh. “Well, before you two make my head swell to twice its normal size, I suggest we adjourn to the sofa and have some tea.” She paused, turning to Jack. “Oh, except I forgot. You said you were needed elsewhere. Business, I believe.”

At her reminder, Jack recalled that he did indeed have business to conduct. Or rather what constituted business for him, since this afternoon he was promised to play cards at a gentlemen’s club, where there were always men eager to be parted from their cash.

Considering Jack’s present situation and the debt he owed Grace’s father, some might have advised him to refrain from further gaming. However, his ill luck with Danvers had been a fluke. He’d walked away a winner on the pair of occasions when he’d played since. He knew he would do so again, so long as he paid attention to the cards, abided the odds, and held the wagers in reasonable check.

He hesitated, reluctant to leave Grace and her visitor alone. However, given the rent coming due on the elegant town house he’d leased here in Bath, he decided he had better depart as planned.

Were he worried that Grace was in any way attracted to Cooke, he would have stayed regardless of his prior commitment. But despite her obvious friendship with him, he could tell that her affection went no deeper. Oh, Cooke wished it did, Jack realized, sensing again that he had a rival in the man. But if Grace were interested in him that way, she would surely have acted on her emotions long ago.

It certainly hasn’t taken her long to respond to her attraction to me.

“Unfortunately you are right and I cannot remain,” Jack told her, lowering his voice to a confidential tone. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a warm kiss onto her palm. “Have a most excellent afternoon, and I shall see you this evening.”

Pink stole into her cheeks. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

“Jack,” he whispered against her ear.

Straightening, he turned to the other man and exchanged farewells. With a last glance at Grace, he departed.

“So, that was the infamous Lord Jack Byron, was it?” Terrence remarked not long after Jack left.

Grace finished pouring the tea that had arrived and passed Terrence a cup. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He gave a negligent shrug, then took a drink of the gently steaming beverage. “Only that the man has a reputation, and not all to the good.”

“Well, I am sure no man is perfect, and I am not surprised to hear as much about Jack—Lord Jack, that is.”

“So you’re aware he’s a womanizer.”

A plum-sized fist squeezed beneath her ribs. “No, but again, I am not surprised. He is a very handsome man. Women must naturally flock his way.”

Terrence gave a derisive snort. “If you like the type, I suppose.” Leaning over, he reached for a wafer-thin slice of shortbread. After dipping it into his tea, he took a bite and swallowed. “You’ve heard he gambles then, too, have you?”

“All gentlemen gamble. It is practically a social requirement of the breed.”

“Yes, but do most make a habit of using the tables to fatten their incomes? I understand he is quite the sharp.”

Her brows drew together, the heat of the cup warming her suddenly chill fingers. Having sat beside Jack watching him anticipate every card played in an entire game of whist, she could well believe Terrence’s assertions. Jack did have a rare aptitude for games, but that only meant he was clever. Many people liked to play cards. There was no reason to think ill of him for it.

“I suppose next you will say he drinks too much,” she charged.

Terrence frowned. “He drinks, but not to excess. Compared to many aristocratic lords, he’s practically temperate.”

“Well, at least he is spared that criticism.” She set her cup down on the table with a snap. “What is this? Why the interest in Lord Jack? I don’t understand how it is you even come to know of him.”

“Do you not? Perhaps it is because I’ve heard talk all the way to London about the pair of you.”

“What talk?”

“About how you’ve taken up with him. How you’re being squired all over Bath by him.”

“I find it highly unlikely that I am being mentioned in the gossip pages. So where are you getting your information?”

He glanced to one side. “From an acquaintance here in the city, who keeps an eye on such things.”

Her lips tightened as a suspicion rose within her. “On
things
? Or on
me?”

He had the humility to flush. “I care about you, Grace. I want to make sure you are all right. That’s why I came to see you, to intervene before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what? As you can tell, I am perfectly well.”

“You are now, but what of later? What do you think you are doing, consorting with that man?”

“What do you mean,
‘consorting’?
”

“Letting him dance attendance on you, flattering and fawning over you? He wants something from you.”

“Well, it isn’t my money, if that is what you are insinuating.”

“Having met him, I tend to agree. No, what he wants is something worse. He wants
you,
Grace, and he doesn’t mean to offer you a ring in exchange for your favors.”

She stared at her clasped hands. “Yes, I am already aware of that.”

“What?”

Glancing up, she met his gaze. “I know he wants me. He’s told me that himself. And I realize he very likely doesn’t have matrimony in mind.”

“And you are still seeing him?” Terrence said, his voice rising to a near shout.