Grace (16 page)

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded deep and reassuring to Grace as she lay with one ear pressed to his chest. “If you’ll just give me a month . . . ,” he began, his voice still hoarse with passion.

“A week,” she interrupted in a quavering voice.

Heady triumph soared through Trevor as he realized she would finally give in. “A month,” he insisted, smiling up at the clouds scudding by in the clear sky.

Grace adjusted her bodice and pushed herself away from his chest, self-consciously sitting up and smoothing her hair. She raked her fingers through the tangled strands in a vain search for her ribbon. “Well, two weeks, then,” she averred, then immediately felt peevish when he swiftly nodded, making her sure that he had hoped for a fortnight to begin with. “I have some conditions,” she stated, holding up a warning hand before he could speak.

Trevor closed his mouth and looked at her in inquiry.

“First of all, there will be no more kisses,” she emphatically
declared. “I mean it,” she added sternly when he looked as though he would protest. She blushed a bit. “I can’t think when you kiss me.”

Her inadvertent admission so pleased him that he agreeably nodded his assent to her first condition.

“Second, if you cannot prove to me that we belong together within the space of two weeks, you must promise to leave me alone.”

“Completely?” he teased.

Grace refused to rise to the bait. “I want your promise,” she said firmly, looking around on the ground for the scrap of fabric that had held back her curls.

Trevor thought guiltily of the betrothal contract in his desk at Upper Brook Street. He carefully worded his answer. “I promise you things will be just as they were the day I arrived in London.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Before you came to Almack’s?”

Trevor laughed at her skepticism, then reached out and fondly ruffled her hair. “Before I came to Almack’s,” he agreed, then quirked an eyebrow and handed her the missing hair ribbon.

She blushed again.

“Shall we begin this evening, when I arrive to escort you to the Tildens’ ball?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood, helped her up, then walked over to the garden wall. He easily scaled the structure, then dropped down and disappeared on the other side.

Grace took pity on her trembling legs and sank down on the bench, her book lying forgotten on the ground. She stared for a moment at the area of crushed grass where she had lain with Trevor, then dropped her hot face into her hands. What had she allowed him to do to her? Worse still, what had she agreed to? The thought of how she had again
responded to his every caress horrified her nearly as much as the fact that she had not wanted him to stop.

Resolutely, she pushed the images that flooded her senses to the back of her mind. Every time she found herself alone with Trevor, she somehow ended up in his arms. Well, no more, she told herself firmly. She picked up the bouquet of slightly crushed flowers and smiled ruefully as she remembered what he had said about the daisies. Funny, but she had always adored daisies. She wondered if he had somehow guessed that. After a moment’s reflection, she was sure he had. He instinctively seemed to know things about her that she usually would not admit even to herself, not the least of which was this: never, in her entire life, had she allowed herself to back down from a challenge.

G
race’s head was high, her mood light as she gracefully descended the staircase at Lord and Lady Tilden’s ball a few steps behind her aunt and sister. Determined to forget that she entered on the arm of the Earl of Huntwick, she winced only slightly when the haughty butler stationed at the top of the steps bellowed out their names, and six hundred pairs of eyes swiveled with open curiosity toward them.

As they neared the foot of the stairs, Trevor covered her small hand with his own large, warm one, lightly rubbing his thumb along her wrist. Resolutely ignoring the caress, Grace looked out across the sea of upturned faces to see if Amanda had arrived. She picked out the people here and there whom she knew and smiled a greeting at them. She deliberately pretended she did not see the incredulous looks dawning on their faces as they recognized the man who escorted her.

She had no idea of the real reasons for their surprise: although Trevor had accompanied many beautiful women to ton functions, seldom had he appeared with someone so new to town, and never had he focused his attention on a debutante. Of all this Grace remained blissfully unaware, never knowing that nearly any woman in the room would have happily traded places with her, never knowing that
attending any function with the Earl of Huntwick was an event considered a chore only by herself. She was simply abiding by her agreement with Trevor to allow him to escort her to functions, and she was determined to enjoy herself.

Glancing down at the beautiful girl on his arm who had thus far thwarted his every attempt to forge a relationship, Trevor easily picked up on Grace’s good mood. His lips unconsciously curved into an appreciative smile at her appearance—a smile marked with glee by the other young eligibles present, and with increasing dismay by the many aspiring countesses in the room, for that smile held more than a hint of fond, possessive pride.

Grace was positively radiant. She wore a gown of deep sapphire silk that wrapped sumptuously around her upper body, the neckline square and low, the puffed sleeves practically nonexistent. The skirt fell in a straight line to the floor, elegantly simple, giving only a hint of the flawless figure hidden beneath the yards of rustling silk. Her burnished curls shone, piled in artful disarray at the top of her head, a strand of glittering sapphires the exact shade of her eyes woven through the gleaming mass. Her face was flushed with happiness and excitement as she turned and spoke with a young man her aunt had just introduced to her.

Trevor found it difficult to take his eyes off her. As he watched her friends, both male and female, come eagerly to greet her, he realized that, although he considered the endless round of parties and balls that typified the London Season simply a chance to conduct business, Grace embraced it with pure delight. She belonged here, he thought, among the most beautiful people in England, and knew, with great pride, that she would make a wonderful countess.

As though she could read Trevor’s thoughts, Grace turned away from Lord Grenelle, the young man with whom she
conversed, and briefly allowed her eyes to meet his. Something about the way that he gazed at her, a poignant look of aching tenderness that came from deep within his fathomless jade eyes, reached out to her heart. She softened toward him long enough to give him a winsome smile before she remembered the reason she stood here with him. Her smile faded, and she turned her attention back to the viscount.

With a slight shake of his head, Trevor gave the would-be suitor a speaking look over the top of Grace’s head. He watched as Grenelle stammered an implausible excuse and abruptly took himself off, leaving Grace standing alone, perplexed. A scant second later she realized what Trevor had done. She gave him a scathing look and simply walked away, hoping he would not follow.

Trevor watched her leave, appreciating the natural, fluid way she moved, until the crowd of people around the dance floor swallowed her. He did not follow, for he wanted her to enjoy herself. Instead, knowing she would do her best to spar with him at every opportunity if he remained at her side, he had simply scrawled his name across one of the waltzes on her dance card, fully intending to leave her in the company of her aunt and sister while he played cards in one of the rooms Lord Tilden provided for his male guests, adjacent to the ballroom.

He had not realized just how difficult he would find it to leave the ballroom, however, as he caught sight of her again. He watched as the gentlemen began to flock around her like moths to a bright flame. He began to feel the first faint stirrings of jealousy, and was so caught up in watching her that he did not notice when an older, distinguished-looking gentleman approached him. Trevor almost flinched when the hearty gentleman began speaking in a booming baritone.

“It’s good to see you back in London, Hunt. Hoping I
would find you here tonight. Didn’t know you’d taken to escorting the young butterflies. In the market for a wife, I suppose?” Lord Anthony Galesworthy peered nearsightedly across the room in the direction Trevor stared, but could see only a blur of brilliant blue surrounded by the deeper hues of gray, navy, and burgundy.

Galesworthy was among the men Trevor had hoped to see tonight. The well-to-do baron participated as a partner in many of the ventures in which Trevor himself had an interest. Trevor had wanted to discuss with him the same mining investment upon which he had already secured Sebastian’s agreement, but found himself completely unable to concentrate on the ensuing conversation. Twice he had to ask Galesworthy to repeat a question. Then, after giving him an answer that had nothing to do with mines, coal, or even investments, Trevor swore under his breath and rudely walked away. He swooped down on the unsuspecting group surrounding Grace and physically moved a young buck he thought stood a bit too close and stared a bit too eagerly at her low-cut neckline. His mission accomplished, he returned and calmly concluded his conversation with Galesworthy.

For the next few hours, the ton watched in fascinated amazement as he repeated the action several times. After each interruption, Trevor invariably returned to his colleagues, leaving an increasingly frustrated and angry-looking Grace behind. As a result of his intervention, fewer and fewer gentlemen sought Grace out, rightfully afraid of incurring the wrath of the powerful earl.

By the time Trevor appeared again to escort her home, Grace was fuming, prepared to give him a thorough tongue-lashing as soon as they got away from the prying eyes and ears of the ton. Once they were seated inside his coach, however, Aunt Cleo surprised her by entirely monopolizing Trevor’s attention. She prattled on about everything
she could think of, from the current style of men’s coats to the deplorable lack of manners in the younger set. This last comment she directed at Grace, who at that moment was quite rudely glaring across the coach at Trevor.

It was the last straw for Grace. Her lips thinning into a furious line, she sat and stewed in silent anger while the conversation ebbed and flowed around her. As soon as the carriage pulled up in front of the house, she jumped out, ran up the front steps, and disappeared inside.

Trevor watched her go, smiling politely as he helped Aunt Cleo and Faith alight. He climbed back into the carriage, his fixed smile fading quickly. He had absolutely no reason to have behaved the way he had tonight. At the very least, he had managed to push Grace even farther away with his possessive actions, when he had intended only to charm and cajole her. When he had seen her laughing and enjoying the attention of the many gentlemen who admired her, however, something inside him had snapped. He found himself repressing the urge to drag her from their midst, to take her to his home and soundly kiss her until he was utterly certain she could not possibly think of any man except himself.

He slapped his gloves in a steady cadence against his thigh, his fury directed entirely at himself. He would have to regain control of the situation. He had no doubt that Grace would find some way to punish him for his behavior this evening. He would think about it tonight, before he showed up tomorrow to take her for the ride in Green Park he had planned. Surely he would find a way to rein in his jealousy before then.

“Just what did you think you were doing?” she asked, her even, modulated tone at complete odds with the angry glint in her sapphire eyes.

Trevor felt his blood warm as he looked at the tempestuous
beauty who stood several steps above him, glaring down at him with militant ire. He smiled benignly. “Let me see,” he mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I stopped for you at precisely ten o’clock yesterday evening and cooled my heels for approximately fifteen minutes in your aunt’s uncomfortably small and overly warm blue salon before you decided to grace me with your presence. After that, I believe I escorted you to the Tildens’ball, at the conclusion of which I returned you home, quite safe and sound, at not quite two o’clock in the morning.” Having blandly summed up the evening, he looked at her inquiringly. “At some point within that timetable, did I do something that caused offense, my lady? Perhaps you found fault with the comfort of my carriage? If you’ll pardon me a moment, I’ll have the springs on the phaeton checked at once. I would hate to think you might be subjected to a drive in the park in what could possibly be an inferior conveyance.” He turned and headed purposefully for the door.

“My lord!” Grace’s voice rang out, shrill in the high-ceilinged room. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out before speaking again in a more normal tone. “I found no fault with the transportation. It was your company I found lacking.”

He walked back toward her as she descended the last three steps, and offered her his arm, which she took without comment. Neither of them spoke again until she settled comfortably into her seat and Trevor set the well-matched grays in motion. He spoke first. “You would, perhaps, have preferred the theater, Miss Ackerly?”