Grace (24 page)

Grace tried to speak, but found she could not force a sound beyond the unbearable dryness of her mouth. Her hand fluttered to her throat in a mute gesture of need, and she pointed weakly to the pitcher and glass that stood on the bedside table. Faith quickly poured her some water, then helped her to sit up, propping several pillows behind her head and back so that Grace could nestle comfortably into their welcoming softness. Grace gratefully accepted the glass of water as the physician hovering anxiously behind Faith admonished with a warning frown, “Small sips at first, Miss Ackerly.” His kind eyes smiled with encouragement, though, and Grace found it difficult to stop drinking once she started. When she had finished, Faith took the glass from her, setting it on the bedside table. She took both of her sister’s hands again.

“How do you feel, dear?” she asked, peering closely at Grace’s wan face.

Grace closed her eyes and sank thankfully back against
the pillows. “Tired,” she said with a sigh. “How long have I been ill?”

Faith and the doctor exchanged a glance. “Four days,” replied Dr. Wyatt in a gentle voice. Grace’s eyes flew open in stunned disbelief, and the doctor hastily assured her, “You’re quite on the mend now, Miss Ackerly, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t be up and about within the next couple of days.”

Grace suddenly felt exhausted again, and knew sleep would soon overtake her. A ghost of a smile touched her lips as she struggled to keep her eyes open for just a few more minutes. “Huntwick?” she asked Faith in a near whisper, squeezing, with frail urgency, the hand that still held hers.

“He was here every day,” Faith assured her, thinking Grace wished to see the earl. “I’ve already sent word to let him know you’ve awakened.”

Grace weakly shook her head.“Tell him,” she whispered, then stopped for a moment to catch her breath before continuing: “tell him that I said he has only a few days left.” With that, her eyes closed and her breathing became long and regular as sleep claimed her in its welcome, healing embrace.

A scant fifteen minutes after receiving Faith’s note telling him Grace had awakened, Trevor knocked urgently on the door of the house on Curzon Street. “Good evening, Greaves.” He greeted his nemesis with a good-natured grin, so happy with the news that Grace would recover that he felt moved to treat even the infuriating Egerton butler with kindness. As he handed over his hat and coat, he noticed the old man’s rheumy eyes also had a happier glow, and that the oppressive, tense air that had permeated the house during the past few days had disappeared. He marveled at the loyalty and love Grace inspired in those who knew her. Even in himself, he thought. He shook his head as he recalled
the way she had fought him tooth and nail before he could claim even a small victory in his battle to win her hand. Yet each conquest felt the sweeter for the battle, and he savored each heady triumph as a small step toward his goal of her inevitable surrender.

Courtesy dictated he call upon her aunt first, although Trevor would have liked nothing better than to go straight up to her room and gently kiss her awake. Quelling his impatience, he turned to Greaves and politely asked after Lady Egerton, then followed the shuffling elderly butler to the sunny parlor that overlooked Grace’s favorite haunt, the garden to the west of the house.

“The Earl of Huntwick, my lady.”

At the sound of Greaves’s gravelly voice, Cleo and Faith looked toward the open doors. Faith came to her feet with a welcoming smile, while Cleo remained seated at the small desk where she sat writing a letter, although she, too, smiled with pleasure at the sight of the earl.

Faith came quickly forward to greet Trevor, giving him a proper and very pretty curtsy, as befitted his rank. How did it happen, Trevor wondered wryly as he looked down at Faith, that two sisters raised together could grow up to have such very different temperaments and personalities? He mentally shook his head, chuckling to himself as he tried to imagine a circumstance in which Grace would curtsy to him willingly and sincerely. Not surprisingly, such an occasion did not come to mind. As Faith straightened and smiled, Trevor reflected momentarily that she would likely have proven much easier for him to woo. He quickly dismissed the thought. He would not have found the effort nearly so enjoyable.

“My lord?”

With a start, Trevor realized that Faith had spoken to him while he had gotten lost in his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Miss Faith. You were saying?”

She smiled, a knowing little smile. “Would you care for a drink, my lord?” Although he wanted no such thing, wanted only to go upstairs and see Grace, he nevertheless nodded, accepting Faith’s offer of a cup of tea. She poured it for him, and he sat sipping the tea and exchanging polite pleasantries with the two women.

At long last he cleared his throat and put his teacup down with a little clink that rang out startlingly loudly in the quiet room. “I understand Miss Grace is somewhat recovered, ma’am.” His jade eyes went to Faith’s gray ones, silently thanking her for notifying him so quickly of her sister’s recovery. She inclined her head slightly and gave him a small smile.

Lady Egerton nodded happily. “She was awake for nearly an hour this afternoon, although she is still weak, of course, and unable to get out of bed.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Trevor stood and smiled charmingly at both ladies. “I’ll just stick my head in and, if she’s awake, say hello before I take my leave.” He gave them a gallant little bow. “Thank you for the tea and the pleasure of your company, ladies.” Just as he turned to leave the room, Lady Egerton’s voice snapped out at him like an uncoiling whip.

“Oh, no, you don’t, young man!”

Trevor stopped in the doorway. He composed his features to conceal his impatience, his eyebrows raised in mute inquiry.

“It was quite one thing to allow you to go up to Grace’s bedchamber when we weren’t . . .” Cleo paused momentarily, and when she continued her voice trembled slightly. “When we were unsure she would recover. Since she has begun to do so, however, I’m afraid that it would be nothing short of the height of impropriety for you to visit there now, my lord.”

Trevor’s jaw tightened as his impatience swelled into annoyance.
He sent a quick glance toward Faith, but she demurely kept her eyes on her embroidery. “I see,” he said shortly, bringing dangerously sparking eyes back to Lady Egerton, who bravely stared back, certain she was helping Grace further her suit with the earl by giving him a bit of a challenge. “When might be a better time for me to visit Miss Grace?” Faith looked up in alarm at the earl’s voice, which was, to her ears, ominous.

Cleo’s quavering voice became firm again. “The doctor has told us that Grace could be up and about in a couple of weeks, perhaps as soon as one week, if we are careful.” Trevor watched as Faith leveled a direct look on her aunt, who raised her chin a defiant notch in a way that distinctly reminded Trevor of Grace. He narrowed his eyes at the older lady, but said only, in an even voice, “Please give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery, ma’am,” and bowed stiffly once more.

“I’ll see you out, my lord.” Putting aside her embroidery, Faith gave her aunt a reproachful look and hastily stood to walk Trevor to the front door. She tried, in vain, to keep up with his long, ground-devouring strides as they went down the corridor to the foyer where Greaves stood. He smugly held out the earl’s hat and coat in a way that left no doubt he had listened to and enjoyed the conversation in the parlor.

Trevor ignored Greaves completely. “Does Grace know I’ve been here to visit her during her illness?” he asked in a clipped voice. His stared at Faith.

She hesitated only a second. “Yes, she does, my lord,” she answered softly.

“And what was her reaction when she was told?”

In a rare show of discomfort, Faith flushed and looked away, knowing how Grace’s words would sound to the angry man at her side.“She said . . .” Faith paused, trying to think of a way to make her sister’s thoughtless words sound kinder.

“Yes?” Trevor prompted impatiently. Greaves shuffled closer and held out the coat and hat more insistently.

Faith sighed in resignation. “She said to tell you that you have only a few days left, my lord.” She winced as Trevor’s jaw clenched and his eyes filled with cold rage, and she added hastily, “I’ll send word to you as soon as she can receive visitors.”

He gave her a look of scathing disbelief. Without answering, he turned his back on her and walked out the front door, leaving the smirking Greaves still holding his garments. Faith looked after him sadly, wishing she could take back the words Grace had said so lightly.

Trevor stood for a moment on the steps after the door had closed behind him. That Grace had come up with the idea to put him off for another week he had no doubt. Though he knew she had not planned on her illness, he also knew she would have no qualms about using it as leverage in order to win their wager. She would not balk, either, at enlisting her aunt and sister into helping her to pull off the ploy in the process. She had admitted to him herself that she would cheat if she felt she had to do so in order to win, but after the conversation they had shared in the salon the night of the Corwins’ ball, he found her methods unpalatable. Poor Faith could barely bring herself to speak, the farce in which Grace had compelled her to participate troubled her so.

“Home!” He flung the command at his startled coachman as he boarded the shining carriage and slammed the door almost before the footman had a chance to put up the steps. He stretched his long legs across the limited space between the velvet seats and scowled out the window at the beautiful mansions of the social elite.

He was tired of playing Grace’s games. He had demonstrated endless patience, nauseating charm, and deep accommodation for much too long, he decided. For his
troubles, he had received only blatant disrespect and thankless deception. On top of that, all of London knew he had finally set his cap for someone, and would now also know that she had turned him down flat, although that, admittedly, he could blame only upon himself.

Well, he decided grimly, it would not happen again. There would be no more game playing.

The watcher stared as Trevor stormed out of the house. Something did not feel right. Grace had not left the house in days, and the Earl of Huntwick came and went, looking like a thundercloud. Paranoia flooded through him, settling a knot of fear in the pit of his stomach. Faith Ackerly must have seen him that day in the street, he thought. Suddenly alarmed, he waited for Trevor’s carriage to roll out of sight, then slunk away to his shabby rented rooms. He would have to find another place from which to watch her after dark. This one no longer felt safe.

T
revor walked on silent feet across the dim room from the window through which he had just climbed. He stopped quietly by the bed to look down at Grace where she lay in peaceful slumber. Her beautiful burnished hair glowed as though lit from within wherever the moonlight streaming through the window touched it, the tousled curls scattered across her pillow and about her face. She looked so fragile and angelic in sleep, so utterly without guile. Trevor almost managed to convince himself that she could not possibly be the treacherous liar he had come to know.

Almost.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Trevor automatically tensed. He held his breath as she moved restlessly in her sleep, then let it out slowly when she settled once again on her side, her long legs drawn up to her chest, one hand curled beneath her cheek. Quietly Trevor moved to the window he had left open when he entered the room.

He had found it ridiculously easy to gain access to Grace’s room. For the third time since he had known her, he had simply climbed the garden wall. From there all he had to do was walk up the shallow terrace steps, step on the stone railing, and climb into the lower branches of a
conveniently placed elm. That gave him access to a narrow ledge that ran the length of the house beneath all of the second-floor windows. He found Grace’s room behind the first window on his right and had, to his surprise, discovered it unlocked. The window pushed easily inward at only a light touch.

Now, as he closed that window with a gentle click, Trevor ruefully reflected that, between the garden wall and the tree he had just scaled, he had done more climbing since meeting Grace than he had done as a lad of ten. He turned away from the window and approached the bed again. She looked so beautiful as she slept, her curly lashes splayed in dark fans against her cheeks, her full lips parted slightly. A ghost of a smile played around their corners, indicating that her dreams were pleasant. He remembered the feel of those soft lips on his, and his jaw clenched. This time he directed his anger at himself. Although he now knew of her treacherous and false nature, the passion she had shown in their few stolen kisses had seemed achingly real.

He still wanted her.

Visions paraded through his mind, taunting him as he considered the enormity of what he would do tonight, sweet memories of Grace indelibly stamped in his head. He had thought himself intrigued by her when he had first seen her portrait, but she’d positively captivated him when they met, this blue-eyed spitfire with the face of an angel. What possessed him to want so very badly the one woman immune to his charm, who cared nothing for his money, and even scoffed at the title he could offer? She scorned with such passion the very things most women in England would have sold their souls to acquire. In the end, she had stooped to trickery and deceit simply because she could not abide him long enough to adhere to their bargain, and she was not honorable enough to tell him, face-to-face, that she wanted out.