Swan's Grace (24 page)

Lucas was quiet for a moment. "I'm not so sure she ever loved him."

Grayson glanced at Lucas, wondering what he meant, before turning back to the crowd. "Love certainly is not an issue between Sophie and myself." He said the words with more force than necessary, and Lucas looked at him with a raised brow. But he wasn't about to admit the need he felt for his betrothed, the weakness. He had been raised to be strong. Hawthornes weren't weak.

Finally Lucas shrugged before he turned as well to gaze out across the crowded room. "You know," Lucas said, clasping his hands behind his back, "it seems as though I heard something about her a while back."

The brothers stood side by side.

"You probably heard about the article that ran in
The Century
magazine."

"Perhaps, though I'm not sure that's what it was. But it will come to me. Nothing escapes my attention."

Grayson hated those bits and pieces of proof that Lucas was tied up in things he shouldn't be. But Lucas was a grown man, and didn't listen to brotherly advice.

As to Sophie, no doubt what Lucas had really heard was that she could bring a grown man to his knees, Grayson thought dismally. But he didn't say that. "No telling what you heard."

"Hmmm," Lucas said in contemplation. "But enough of that for now. Join me for a game of cards."

"No, thanks. If there is no emergency, I'll be going."

But when he started to veer in the opposite direction, Lucas caught his arm.

"This way, big brother. There's someone I want you to see."

Grayson looked at Lucas oddly, but when he started to pull away, he noticed a woman at a gaming table. A dazzling woman of startling seduction.

Four men and the one woman circled the dealer. The men acknowledged his approach first. The woman was the last to turn. When Grayson's gaze met hers, each of them froze.

Grayson could tell little about her face, which was covered by a demimask and shadowed beneath her hood. But her body was another matter altogether. With her cape flipped back over her shoulders, her form was fully revealed—and even more alluring than from afar. His heated gaze raked over her.

He thought she gasped at his bold appraisal, but when he looked closer, he could make out little more than the glittering eyes beneath her mask. Golden brown and daring.

White-hot desire stabbed through him, and he cursed when he remembered the invitation had been on the entry hall table while he had gone upstairs to retrieve his clothes. She really was a maddening little baggage.

Once Sophie's heart restarted in her chest, she knew immediately that Grayson recognized her.

Damn.

He stood a few feet away, just looking at her. He was dashing in dark evening attire, a crisp white shirt and collar, a flowing cape, and a black silk mask. She felt acutely aware of herself, of her low-cut dress, the tight bodice—the kind of gown she wore to perform. Her skin tingled with a mix of panic and excitement.

But on the heels of that awareness came something else. What was Grayson Hawthorne doing in a place like this? Did this man who demanded respectability from those around him not actually demand as much from himself?

She could hardly give the thought credence.

But there he stood in a house of ill repute, looking as though he belonged. She thought of the invitation and realized that it must have been sent to him. Not to her.

Suddenly the evening was more interesting than she had anticipated.

Awareness shimmered through her veins with an intensity and boldness that made her heart trip, and she stood.

"Where are you going?" one of the men at her table called out. "We're not finished with the hand."

"I fold," she replied without looking back.

Grayson watched her as she approached, and she felt the intensity of his touch without even being near him. Despite everything, she wanted him to touch her again.

The mask made her bold, since she knew the crowds around her didn't know who she was. It freed her of Sophie the awkward prodigy. Of Sophie the famous concert cellist. Allowing her to step out of herself, the past slipping away.

Their gazes never broke as she drew closer, her heart pounding so wildly that she could hardly hear.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Hello."

One word, simply spoken, but a deep gruffness told her he was not immune.

"What brings you to a place like this?" she asked.

"I was sent for."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "Why?"

"Because you were here."

Her eyes narrowed. "Who told you?"

"My brother."

"Matthew? Matthew's here?"

"No, Lucas."

He gestured across the room to the devil man, who raised his glass in salute.

"That's Lucas?" she demanded.

But then she smiled and signaled a masked waiter, who supplied her with another crystal glass of champagne. "I should have known. The traitor. Though a dashing traitor. Good God, I haven't seen him in years. How is it possible that only one of you turned out to be a bit of fun?"

Instantly she felt the tension that snaked through him at the words. He didn't speak for several moments, some kind of battle going on within him. Until she touched his arm.

He looked at her again, his gaze forbidding.

"Let's not fight," she whispered. "A truce. Just for tonight. We can resume the battle again tomorrow."

Annoyance flashed in his dark eyes beneath the mask.

The dance floor was crowded with couples holding close, too close, kissing in the dim, golden light of candles. Gray-son turned to look out over the room.

"No one will know who we are," she persisted, hoping she was right, ignoring the feeling that suddenly someone was watching too closely. Instead her mouth opened on a silent gasp when she noticed a man's hand running down a woman's back, cupping her hip before curling between her legs.

Another couple stood in the center of the floor, locked tightly together, no longer pretending to dance. The pulse of the dark melody drummed through the air, somehow primal. Sophie felt it, and she could tell Grayson felt it, too.

He turned back and looked at her, his dark eyes like liquid smoke, searching. The music's beat surrounded her, seeping into her.

"Dance with me, Grayson."

She didn't recognize her voice. She felt like she was dissolving with desire, the distinct, determined lines she had drawn around herself long ago fading in this high-ceilinged room filled with strangers and masks.

His gaze drifted to her lips, then back, forcefully. "We have other obligations," he answered.

"Please," she whispered.

He hesitated and bit out a curse. Then with practiced ease he pulled her onto the dance floor, pulling her close as they stepped into an intimate waltz.

They made a turn around the floor, and she felt it the moment he began to relax, that way he had about him when he seemed to give in to the battle, and the stiffness slipped away.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said, his hand secure against her back, twirling her in perfect cadence to the beat.

Her answering smile tilted on her lips. "Are you trying to soften me up with sweet words?"

"I'm not trying to do anything. I'm simply enjoying seeing you happy—with your defenses down."

She laughed. "My defenses are never down."

"Why?"

She tried to take a step back, but his strong hand curled gently around her waist.

"I was joking."

"I don't think you were." He executed a perfect turn, his strong thigh coming between her own as they moved. "I've said before that I think your joking is all a pretense." He looked down, his hand pressing her closer than propriety allowed. "I also believe you want me."

Her heart seemed to stop, and it was difficult to find her voice. She forced a laugh. "Big words for a man who's been told point-blank I won't marry him."

But he wasn't goaded this time. "It won't work anymore, Sophie."

If possible, he pulled her even closer, until she didn't know where she ended and he began. Blood rushed through her veins, making her weak. She felt cornered, her defenses faltering.

"You can't stand there and deny that you want me," he added. "Not anymore. I see the way you look at me when I enter a room. That means something, Sophie."

"It means I need to have my head examined."

"It means we have a past together. You know things about me that no one else does. And there are things about you that only I know. We belong together, Sophie."

His voice was a caress of sound, and she wanted to believe him. The look in his eyes sent her heart skittering madly. She was mesmerized by his intense, unreadable gaze as he slowly leaned forward until his lips captured hers, despite the crowd.

He kissed her as he drew a breath, seeming to breathe her in, out of herself, until she was lost.

His earlier kisses had filled her body with an aching desire beyond what she understood. But this was different. This filled her dreams. No demands. Just a gentle coaxing. Just enough to make her want to lose herself forever. And for that moment she did. She lost herself to the feeling as he brushed his lips gently over hers, side to side, slowly, making her want more.

She felt the key to her heart click, felt it trying to open just a little more. She realized with a start that she wanted to give in. She wanted to be his wife, wanted a normal life, fame and houses be damned.

She nearly moaned out loud when he broke the contact. It took a moment for her mind to clear, and she realized he was looking at her and they had stopped dancing. His gaze took her in, as if he were trying to understand something. As if he were trying to answer some question that churned in his mind.

But then his face cleared. "Come on, sweetheart. It's time we went. You've had your dance, and the Tisdales are expecting us." He took her hand and started leading her toward the door.

Just like that, he tried to command her life, not asking her what she wanted, caging her. Taking, whether she wanted to give or not.

Defiance surged, inevitably, the lines returning well before tomorrow, clear and unmistakable. She pulled free. "Damn the Tisdales. And damn you, with your inflexible timetables and boorish behavior. I'm not finished dancing," she stated, thankful her voice was steady.

Perhaps it was the champagne, or maybe it was the night, but she returned to the hardwood floor to dance by herself. The music had changed, the beat low and pounding, sensual. Men and women danced, too close. It was decadent, pulsing. And Sophie began to move.

She swayed to the rhythm, her hips moving provocatively. Her heart beat hard, her gaze locked defiantly with Grayson's. The guests began to watch, the men eyeing her appreciatively.

Others set their drinks down to take in the scene. Bartenders stopped tending bar.

"Sophie," Grayson warned from where he stood, his dark eyes flashing beneath the mask, his hands planted on his hips, his cape spreading over his shoulders and elbows to show a hint of the red silk lining underneath.

Gamblers at gaming tables turned to the dance floor; cards froze in dealers' hands.

"If you don't come with me now," he warned, "I'm going to toss you over my shoulder and carry you out like a sack of grain."

Her eyes glittered beneath her full-lidded gaze. "You wouldn't dare." She twirled around, her skirts lifting to reveal jeweled slippers and a glimpse of stockings.

A murmur of appreciative voices swept through the high-ceilinged room. And a gasp. But Sophie barely noticed.

"You realize, don't you," Grayson stated, "that at this very minute, bets are being placed on who is going to win this little skirmish."

She spun slowly, her arms extended, her head tilted back, and she relished the feel of her cape swinging wide. "Who do you think is going to win?"

He acted so fast that she hardly knew what happened. One minute silken material billowed like clouds around her ankles; the next she was swept up in his arms, the sounds of claps and cheers ringing through the decadently lit surroundings as Grayson boldly carried her from the grand hall. But he didn't head for the front foyer.

He took her down a long, deserted hallway, closed doors lining the length, hard marble tiles making every step too loud and echoing. She wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or curse at his high-handed behavior. Though either option faded from her mind when he lowered her to the floor, but didn't let her go.

Her body pressed against his, his arm holding her secure. She felt consumed by his gaze, hot and trembling. She started to push him away, but with one large hand he captured hers to his chest.

"If you've set out to bewitch me," he said, the words a raw whisper of desire, "you've succeeded. Bewitched and beguiled. Driven me crazy."

Then he kissed her hungrily, his hands sweeping beneath the cape to her shoulders, down her back to her hips, until he pressed her against the hard, unmistakable ridge of his manhood.

"Make no mistake about how much I want you, Sophie."

For a moment she tensed. But then she reminded herself that this was Grayson, not someone else, not some other man from the sea of faceless men who wanted her. She wanted to feel Grayson's touch. At least for tonight. One magical space of time where masks washed the slate clean.

She clung to him, and he kissed her again, his lips trailing back to her ear.

His voice was gruff. "We are meant to be together, Sophie."

"Yes," she answered.
For tonight
, she thought.

She felt his tongue graze her skin, his teeth nipping as he drifted lower. Gently he pressed her back against the wall. She circled her arms around his shoulders, and he pulled her up against him. He cupped her hips, and she felt an intimate throb of heat. She wanted him, felt the desire much as she felt the music deep in her soul.

One touch, one kiss, and she all too easily forgot everything but this man whom she had worshiped since she was a young girl.

Was it possible that the past might not matter?

The thought startled her, then led to another.

Could there be a way to give in to this man and begin a new life?