Grace (32 page)

He caught her hand in his. “No,” he said quietly, “it’s not all right. We’ve hurt each other. The only way to go on from here is to face it and put it behind us.”

Grace looked up at Trevor, and he caught his breath. The love she felt for him glowed in her eyes, shining brightly, deeply, and without shame.

“I already have,” she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers.

T
he next three weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity for Grace, although they dragged endlessly for Trevor. He had at first insisted upon getting married immediately, before, as he put it, anything else could possibly happen to keep them apart. However, Grace, who was rather inclined to agree, had had second thoughts when Faith, as logical and prudent as ever, pointed out that it would hardly be fair of them to get married without the rest of the family present.

Trevor, who had no immediate family, had scowled. He’d opened his mouth to protest, then saw Grace’s guilt-stricken face and remembered how much the six motherless girls meant to one another. His face softening, he’d asked, “Would you like for your family to be here, darling?” He’d looked at Grace tenderly, willing to bear anything, even postponing their wedding night, in order to make her happy. She’d nodded gratefully and given his hand a little squeeze. Quite pleased with himself, Trevor had promptly decided the happy look was ample reward for waiting. He’d magnanimously announced that since they had to wait anyway, they might as well do the thing right with a formal church wedding.

Now, weeks later, Trevor felt a bit less generous. The plans for the impulsively offered church wedding, which
Trevor now privately considered a circus, had all but taken Grace away from him. During the few secluded moments Trevor managed to steal with her, Grace was distracted, crossly complaining about lists.

“What lists?” Trevor asked, laughing when Grace muttered darkly about making somebody eat the bloody things.

“Faith!” Grace threw her hands up in exasperation as she walked beside him through the garden. “She has made me a list for everything! So far she has given me a guest list, a list of thank-you notes that I must write, a list of menu items for the wedding breakfast, and a list of errands that must be run.
That
list has a sublist specifying the order in which I must run the errands.”

The corners of Trevor’s mouth began to twitch. Grace glared at him. “Don’t you
dare
laugh, my lord.” With visible effort, Trevor composed his face, and Grace continued: “This morning, though, was the last straw. Would you believe Faith actually gave me a list that detailed which list I must attend to first?”

Trevor turned, but his shoulders began to shake suspiciously. Grace stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and gave him a severe look. “I think you should know, my lord, that on none of my lists will you find an entry that reads, ‘Waste time strolling in the garden with Lord Caldwell.’ ” She elevated her nose and turned to go back into the house.

Finally unable to contain his mirth, Trevor gave a shout of laughter. In two long strides he reached Grace, snatched her up in his arms, and whirled her about until she laughed, too. When he set her down, her eyes were glowing with love and the pure pleasure she felt from simply spending time in his company. Instantly Trevor’s mood shifted from gaiety to desire.

Sensing the change, Grace put her hands up as he stepped forward to close the small distance that separated them. “Trevor,” she said, her voice turning breathless. “What are
you doing?” He bent his head to hers, his lips lightly brushing her cheek en route to the sensitive skin behind her ear.

“I’m making a list,” he murmured.

“What kind of list?” Grace whispered back shakily as he lightly nipped her earlobe, sending a surge of desire through her. She felt her knees weaken.

His lips moved down along her jawbone. “A list,” he said in a melting voice, “of all the places I am going to kiss you.” He took her lips in a sweet exchange that made Grace forget everything: the lists, the plans, even the wedding. She lifted her arms to pull him closer, opening her mouth at the insistent caress of his tongue, returning his kiss with equal ardor. She groaned as his lips left hers, then arched her neck and tilted her head back as she felt his moist mouth move down the column of her throat to the shadowy hollow between her breasts. She gasped and pushed her fingers into his dark hair as she felt his tongue lightly probe there.

“Good heavens!”

Grace and Trevor jumped apart and looked down the path toward the last turn they had taken. There stood Mercy, grinning impudently at them, garbed in, of all things, a dress. “It’s a good thing, I think, that the two of you are already planning on getting married. If Papa saw you kissing like that, he’d have had you in front of Reverend Teesbury faster than you could blink.”

Her face bright red, Grace glanced at Trevor. He was openly glaring at her little sister. Hastily she smoothed her hair and dress, laid a restraining hand on Trevor’s arm, and went to give Mercy a hug. “My goodness, look at you,” she exclaimed, taking Mercy’s hands and spreading her arms wide to get a good look at the dress. She laughed and fingered a puffy silk sleeve. “It’s pink!”

Mercy scowled. “Patience promised I could come visit you and Lord Caldwell in London after the wedding, so
long as I behave like a young lady.” She wrinkled her little nose in distaste.

“You’re off to a bit of a rocky start, aren’t you?” Trevor walked up behind Grace and placed his hands on her shoulders. He glowered at Mercy dampeningly.

She shrugged with an impudent grin. “What Patience doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” She turned to walk out of the maze, then looked back as a sudden thought struck her. “You won’t tell her, will you, my lord?”

Trevor simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Well, since it would be
my
house you invade on your intended visit, I suppose I would have to weigh the relative value of my silence, wouldn’t I?”

Mercy gave him an assessing look for a moment, then, amazingly, stuck her tongue out and flounced away. Grace watched her leave, then looked back at her glowering fiancé. “You wouldn’t tell on her, would you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you still look so put out?”

“Because,” he predicted grimly, “with a house full of Ackerlys, and only a week until the ceremony, I seriously doubt I’ll have another chance to be alone with you until our wedding night.”

As it turned out, Trevor was right. He seldom, if ever, saw Grace alone. When he called at the Egerton town house, he invariably had to wait long moments, or had to swallow his ire as Greaves reported, with obvious satisfaction, that Grace was “otherwise occupied.” If Trevor did manage to see her, he often received only a hurried kiss before one of the many female Ackerlys whisked her away.

More often than not, Mercy appeared in the parlor when she knew Trevor was waiting. She said it was so she could keep him company, although she admittedly had another, more selfish purpose: she shamelessly pumped him for details
about her hero, the Duke of Blackthorne, whom she still insisted she would someday marry. Trevor, who could already glimpse a great deal of Grace’s stubborn spirit in her younger sister, simply shook his head with amusement. He hardly knew what he looked forward to more: watching his enigmatic friend deal with the adoration of this elfin girl with hair too short and eyes too large, or the prospect of leading his young sister-to-be a merry chase in her quest for Sebastian’s hand. Either way, the entire situation promised to be entertaining, for he did not see Mercy giving up her crush any more than he saw Blackthorne falling prey to it. So he usually patted her atop her curly head, asked her to take Grace a message from him, and left, finally giving up waiting for his fiancée to appear.

A few days before the wedding, after spending the afternoon in the gardens with Mercy, Trevor went to White’s for a drink and a hand of cards. He had not been back since the incident with the betting book, so he steeled himself for the inevitable jokes and snide remarks he knew he would receive about being apparently “brought to heel,” as Gareth had predicted. Strangely, though, nobody even mentioned the notorious entry as he made his way to the table customarily occupied by himself and his friends. Sebastian had already arrived and sat enjoying a cheroot and a glass of brandy.

Trevor nodded a greeting to him and pulled up a chair. “Don’t tell me everyone has forgotten about that infamous bet,” he said, indicating the room’s other occupants with a tilt of his head. “When the wedding announcement hit the papers, I assumed tongues would be wagging for weeks about how Grace really
had
brought me to heel.”

Sebastian shrugged. “Gareth neatly took care of that situation.”

Trevor accepted with a nod of thanks the glass of brandy a footman brought to the table. “How do you mean?”

“He publicly declared he’d lost the bet.”

The thought of his devil-may-care friend announcing to all of London that he had made a mistake momentarily stunned Trevor. “He did what?”

“He simply said that the two of you seemed to have brought
each other
to heel, then paid his note and left the building.”

Trevor rubbed his chin. He looked at Sebastian with raised brows. “That,” he said, “was well-done of young Lloyd.”

Sebastian nodded. “I rather thought so, myself.” He motioned for a footman to bring them a deck of cards. “So, do you still intend to go through with this wedding?”

Trevor grinned. “You look positively grim when you say the word. Don’t be surprised if you find the bonds of matrimony written in
your
future. Grace’s little sister is of the idea that she will marry you someday.”

“So I’ve heard. Quite young, don’t you think, to be already so active in the title hunt?” Sebastian’s lip curled in sublime displeasure.

“I think the child means what she says. Perhaps you should take this a bit more seriously,” Trevor advised.

“I’m hardly in danger of being forced to marry a thirteen-year-old child.”

“Ah,” said Trevor, “but there is one very good reason I think you should heed my warning.”

Sebastian merely looked bored.“And what might that be?”

“Mercy,” said Trevor, “reminds me a great deal of Grace.”

Sebastian did not answer, but Trevor noticed that his face grew just a touch grimmer as he shuffled the cards.

Trevor smiled.

May 15, 1813

T
revor shrugged into the black velvet jacket his valet held up for him, then stood patiently while the man brushed nonexistent specks of dust from his shoulders and back. After pulling and tweaking at his master a bit more, Avery stood back in satisfaction, then handed Trevor a pair of immaculate white gloves. “There you are, my lord.” He bowed stiffly.“May I take this moment to offer my sincerest congratulations?”

Trevor looked at the man who had dressed him from babyhood, then grinned and hugged him, clapping him soundly on the back. Avery stiffened further. “My lord!” He extricated himself from the uncharacteristic show of affection and busied himself again with Trevor’s attire. “You’ll wrinkle your jacket.”

“Never mind the jacket, Avery,” he said, stepping away from the red-faced valet. “I intend to get a good many of that sort of wrinkles in this jacket today.” He turned back to the mirror one last time to inspect the closeness of his shave and the intricate folds of his cravat. Finding no imperfections, he dismissed Avery with a nod, then smoothed
on the gloves, flicking a glance at the chair where the Duke of Blackthorne lounged patiently.

Sebastian spoke. “You’re nervous.” He did not state it as a question, merely as an observation to which Trevor chose not to reply. The duke raised sardonic brows. “Well, I certainly hope you don’t intend to hug
me
today.”

“My lord, the Earl of Seth and Lord Lloyd have arrived.” Wilson stood stiffly in the doorway, but his lined face glowed, wreathed in a smile that stretched from ear to ear.

Shaking his head at the informal way Hunt allowed his servants to behave, the Duke of Blackthorne stood; then the two men went downstairs to leave for the church.