Stroke of Genius (35 page)

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Once Grace pushed through the thick curtain, she drew a relieved breath. She’d thought Cousin Jasper a sedate, even-tempered fellow. When crossed, he’d shown a quietly vicious side. She wondered how his sister Mary bore living with him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Grace made a mental note to ask her parents if Mary could come for an extended stay in Boston.

Whether Grace returned home with them or not.

She made her way across the long space to put some distance between herself and the alcove where she’d left Jasper brooding. She nodded and smiled a false little cat’s smile to each person she passed, as her mother would want her to do. Crispin still wasn’t in the ballroom.

She pushed back the curtains on another alcove and looked out over the stables and duck pond to the place where the land fell away and Crispin’s cottage was tucked under the hillock. If he didn’t come, she might have to sneak out of the grand house again this night.

“That’s my favorite view, too,” a rumbling voice said from behind her.

She turned, expecting Crispin, and was surprised to find Lord Dorset instead. She hadn’t noticed before how similar their voices were, both pleasantly rumbling. 

“Your home is lovely,” she said politely.

“And usually very quiet.” He eyed Lady Sheppleton with a raised brow expression that reminded Grace of Crispin as well. “Blast! Here she comes again. Do you mind if we step in here and close the curtain?”

Without waiting for Grace’s answer, Dorset did just that.

“My lord—”

“Richard,” he corrected, putting a finger to her lips as Lady Sheppleton passed by on the other side of the curtain, talking loudly so as to be heard over the music. Grace pitied whomever she’d cornered into taking a turn around the room with her.

Richard released a sigh and indicated with a hand gesture that Grace should sit.

“Do you mind if we bide here for a while? I’m not normally the type to declare retreat, but that woman has been plaguing me for that last quarter hour over some grand ‘gift’ she wishes to present to me at the end of the festivities,” Richard said. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, but the best gift Lady Sheppleton could give me would be her swift departure.”

Grace laughed. “Some people do have that effect on others.”

“You certainly don’t,” he said with a smile. “I have a reputation for reclusiveness. I’m not the sort to enjoy company at the best of times, but you’re very . . . restful to be around.”

“Thank you, . . . Richard.” It still felt odd to call a marquess by his Christian name, even though she’d been invited to. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“Not at all.”

They sat together in companionable silence while the dancing and gaiety continued on the other side of the curtain. As the sprightly jig tune ended and the quartet started a more stately gavotte, Richard took her hand.

Oh, no.

“Grace,” he said softly and again she was struck by his voice. If she closed her eyes, he might fool her into thinking he was Crispin.

Or perhaps it was just because she wished he was.

“We do not know each other well, but you have impressed me considerably. I think we share a love of quiet things—fine books, an evenly matched chess game, a ramble in the garden.” He covered her hand with his. It was warm and dry and not at all unpleasant. “You seem happy here.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve enjoyed my brief time at
Clairmont
,” she said politely. If God sent lightning bolts as the penalty for understatements, she’d be burnt to cinders on the spot. The time she spent with Crispin in the little cottage was the most wildly exciting time of her life.

“I believe mutual respect is not an inauspicious beginning for a marriage. One that may ripen into something far deeper, if given time.”

When he looked at her, his deep-set eyes were tinged with sadness. Surely a prospective bridegroom shouldn’t be melancholy. Perhaps she misread his intentions.

Then he plowed ahead with, “Would you do me the honor of becoming my marchioness?”

She closed her eyes. Her mother had schooled her on the proper etiquette of accepting proposals often enough. Why had she not spent a moment on the art of rejecting one?

“Richard, I hold you in great esteem,” she began. “And any woman would be flattered by your proposal, but . . .” She withdrew her hand from his.

“You will not accept me,” he said in a flat tone.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot. It’s nothing to do with you. The fault is mine,” she hurried to explain. “If I should accept your offer, we would both eventually be miserable.” Grace hesitated and then decided she owed this decent man the truth. “My affections are already engaged.”

“Hawke,” he said with a grim nod.

Grace blinked in surprise. “How did you know?”

One corner of his mouth curved up. “A marquess knows everything that happens on his estate.”

“Then you must know I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. “No, I don’t believe you did. Hawke was right though.”

“About what?”

“You wouldn’t wed one man and bed another,” he said softly, not meeting her gaze.

All the air fled from Grace’s lungs in a whoosh. He’d as much as told the marquess they’d been intimate. “Crispin said that?”

“His very words.”

She stood, steeling herself not to tremble. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I believe I need a bit of air.”

“Of course,” he rose as well and offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you for a turn around the garden.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need. I’ll be fine by myself and you wouldn’t want to desert the rest of your guests,” she said with a final curtsey.

Besides, if I should accidentally meet and strangle Crispin Hawke, I’d rather not have a witness.

Chapter 37

Of all betrayals in this life, the one from a lover cuts deepest.

Grace didn’t make it as far as the garden. When she reached the tall double doors leading out into the corridor, Crispin was coming through them.

“Good evening, Miss Makepeace,” he said raising his voice slightly so as to be heard over the musicians who were enthusiastically desecrating a dance suite by Handel. “You’re looking lovely this night.”

But Grace wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. She grasped his arm and started to pull him toward one of the alcoves.

“Patience, dear lady,” Crispin said, slurring his words slightly.

“Be quiet,” she hissed. There was plenty to say to each other, but it wasn’t for public consumption. She wished with all her heart she’d met him on the other side of the ballroom doors. They couldn’t very well leave together now, not without drawing the attention of gossips, so the alcoves were the only available private space.

“Don’t you remember what I told you about letting a gentleman lead, Grace?” He leaned down toward her and she caught a distinct whiff of whisky on his breath. Her father imbibed often enough for her recognize it.

“You’ve been drinking,” she accused as she pulled the curtain closed behind them.

“Only for medicinal purposes, love. The leg’s already had quite a work-out this evening.”

“Oh, are you in pain? What a pity. Let me even things out a bit for you.” She stomped as hard as she could on his left foot.

“Ow!” Crispin sank onto the cushions. “What was that for?”

“Why did you discuss what happened between us with his lordship?” She fired back at him, refusing to feel the least contrite when he hooked his left ankle over his right knee to massage the injured foot. “Crispin, how could you?”

“I didn’t.”

“‘Grace wouldn’t wed one man and bed another,’” she parroted his words back to him. “Sound familiar?”

“I didn’t . . . He already knew . . . and anyway he started it,” Crispin said.

Grace made a low growl of disgust in the back of her throat. 

“Besides, we were talking about something else entirely,” Crispin said.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“What I meant when I said it was that you were the sort to remain faithful to the man you marry. Not that you’d already bedded me and therefore wouldn’t wed him.”

“But he felt honor-bound to test that assumption by asking me this night.”

“Did you accept?” He stopped rubbing his foot and went perfectly still.

She shook her head.

He drew a deep breath. “It’s gratifying to be right all the time.”

“You insufferable—”

“Yes, I know, I really am, but being insufferable is part of my charm.”

She bit her tongue to keep from giving him anything else to twist to his advantage.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. When I told Dorset you were the faithful sort, I was just thinking . . . if you married the marquess, I’d have no chance of being with you ever again. And I didn’t think I could bear it.”

His brows drew together and he raked a hand over his head. Then he stood and looked down at her.

“That’s why, against my better judgment,” he said, “I want you to marry me.”

Just like that. With no preamble. No protestations of love.

“Why should I marry you?”

“Because of this.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

At first, she stiffened. Then when he didn’t press her, she relaxed. His mouth covered hers so sweetly. The tip of his tongue brushed along the seam of her lips. It was the same as their very first kiss.

The same gentle pressure. The same deep yearning.

And she scrunched the fabric of her gown between her fingers just as she had before.

But this time she parted her lips and their kiss deepened. He pulled her tight against him, all hard and ready. Her body responded with a low ache she hadn’t realized was waiting to be released.

“Oh, Grace,” he said when he broke away from their kiss. “I want you so.”

Then quietly, desperately, the world went away.

There was only heat and need and feral instinct. All Grace knew was the joy of his hands on her as he cupped her buttocks. Her breasts strained against the silk bodice, aching for his touch. Her finger splayed against his chest, feeling the hard maleness of him beneath the elegant shirtfront and waistcoat.

Then she found the buttons at his waist and reached into his trousers to stroke his cock. He made a low groan, trying to be quiet, but not quite succeeding.

He kissed her hard, pressing her back against the smooth column flanking the half-circle of windows. Before Grace knew what was happening, he’d raised the hem of her gown and lifted her, poised for his erection to enter her through the conveniently open-crotched pantalets.

She hooked one leg over his hip. She was so achingly ready, he slid into her with a single slow thrust. They moved together, their gazes locked.

Crispin bit his lower lip as he came. Grace pulled his head down so she could take that lower lip between hers and suck it as his seed pumped into her. Her own release followed swiftly, throbbing around him. When the last pulse died, her body went limp, but he held her up while she caught her breath.

“So, that’s how a man violates a woman without removing any of her clothing,” she whispered between gasps.

She felt his belly jiggle and knew he was suppressing a chuckle.

“Oh, Grace, you are a wonder,” he said as he withdrew and smoothed down the front of her gown before doing up the front of his trousers. “Back to my proposal. May I take that delightful interlude as a yes?”

Grace started to nod, but then she cocked her head. “The music has stopped.”

Crispin put an ear to the curtains. The crowd noise had dimmed, too.

Grace put a hand to her lips. She might have lost control a time or two and cried out. In the haze of the lust, it was hard to remember what she’d done.

Crispin parted the curtain and peered through the slit.

“Tell me the entire assembly isn’t staring at this alcove,” Grace whispered frantically.

“No, one of the guests seems to have muzzled the musicians and is calling for his lordship to come forward.”

“Which guest?”

“Lady Sheppleton.”

“Then we’d better go join the others. If their attention is diverted, so much the better.” She pushed through the curtains ahead of him and padded across the great ballroom to where the guests were crowding around, craning their necks to get a better view.

It occurred to her that she still hadn’t officially accepted Crispin’s proposal, but he’d made her wait for him earlier. It would serve him right to have to stew for a bit.

“And so without further ado,” Lady Sheppleton was saying when Grace drew near enough to hear her, “I present your lordship with a delightfully life-like composition.”

She pulled the sheeting off the canvas to reveal her gift.

Several of the crowd gasped aloud. A low rumble of frantic voices echoed around the large space.

Grace couldn’t see the image from where she stood, so she pushed around a few of the other guests. To her surprise, they parted for her once they recognized her and gave her a wide berth.

Someone was sobbing softly. It sounded disconcertingly like her mother.

Then finally, Grace got a clear look at the artwork and stumbled back a pace. It was a detailed drawing of her, even down to the little brown mole near her elbow. And naked as the day she arrived in the world.