Seduced by His Touch (9 page)

She nodded. “For now. I am trying to decide.”

Leaping to his feet, Terrence took a few pacing steps. “Decide what? Whether or not to accept? Don’t be insane. You will say no, of course. My God, how could you even consider anything else?”

Knowing he might not appreciate her answer, she held her tongue.

“He’s bewitched you.”

“He has not.”

“He’s seducing you, urging you to go against your nature.”

“And what is my nature?”

Is it to be five and twenty and alone? A perennial spinster who will never know real passion or the full measure of a man’s touch?

Striding back, he dropped down on the sofa at her side. “It isn’t to be used and cast aside. It isn’t to be dishonored. And that is what he’ll do. He’ll take you and enjoy you, and when he grows tired, he’ll abandon you and forget you ever met. He’s had dozens of women. It’s what he does. You’ll be just one more. And when it’s over, what then? What will become of you, since I am sure your family will not approve.”

She closed her eyes, having had those very thoughts herself. Was Terrence right? Was she being a fool to cast aside her virtue and her pride for a fleeting love affair with Jack Byron?

“He’s an aristocrat, Grace. You deserve the world, but facts are facts. Men of his class don’t marry women from yours.”

No,
she conceded.
They don’t.

“I’m aware this isn’t the best time to ask, but I will again regardless.”

“No, Terrence—,” she said, suspecting what he was about to say.

“Marry me, Grace. Marry me and let me make you happy. I’ll shower you with love, enough that you’ll forget all about him. Say yes and let me show you how grand our life can be together.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, prepared to let him down gently, just as she had all the times before. But suddenly, the words did not come. Suddenly she was unsure—not only of her answer but of herself as well.

“I…,” she began, studying his earnest-eyed face. “I…” Her heart beat in a slow, heavy cadence. “I will think about it.”

“But Grace…,” he said, starting to argue out of habit. Abruptly he stopped. “What? What did you say?”

“I said I shall consider your proposal.”

His features lit with happy surprise. “You will?”

“Yes. In the meantime, why do we not talk of other matters? The latest goings-on in Town, for instance. Here, I’ll pour us more tea while you regale me.”

Several hours later, Jack leaned back in his chair and listened to the actors on the stage. But the play wasn’t what held his real interest—that belonged to the woman at his side.

Entrancing in a gown of vibrant green silk, Grace radiated femininity, but not the frail, tepid sort borne by so many of her sex. She was bold and colorful—her lush red hair providing a perfect foil for the crisp apple green of her dress. Looking over at her, his mouth watered at the thought of taking a big juicy bite.

But sadly, even he knew a crowded theater was no place for the kind of things running through his mind. He would have to content himself with a far more innocent touch instead, particularly since her aunt was seated in the row ahead of them. The deep shadows inside the box worked to his advantage, though, providing concealment as he reached for Grace’s hand. Lifting it gently, he settled her palm against his thigh.

She sent him a sideways look, her hand lying lax beneath his own. When a line in the play drew applause, she eased her palm away and softly joined in.

His brows drew fractionally closer before he tipped his head near. “Is anything the matter?” he whispered.

“No, of course not.” Giving him a quick smile, she redirected her eyes toward the stage.

Leaning back again, he watched the actor portraying Petruchio hoist his Kate onto his shoulders. The audience laughed at the ribald, fast-paced dialogue delivered with unerring skill by the performers.

Gazing at Grace’s profile, he skimmed his fingertips along the side of her neck.

She shivered and gave a small shrug to discourage his touch.

With a smile, he paused before moving to toy with a curl at her nape.

“Jack, stop,” she said on a hushed undertone.

“Why?” he teased.

“You know why. Now stop.”

His lips twitched. Reaching higher, he traced the shell-like edge of her ear, drawing a quiver from her this time.

“Please.”

He smiled, slow and intimate. “Please what?”

“We’re in a theater.”

“Yes, but in this dark corner no one can see.”

“What about Aunt Jane?”

“She is busy watching the play.” Angling his head, he caught her earlobe between his teeth and gave a light, playful nip.

Her eyelashes fluttered and she bit her own lip to hold back a sigh.

“I could do more,” he promised in a low, suggestive tone.

Her eyes turned to his, heavy-lidded and beseeching. “Don’t.”

“Are you sure?”

She stared, the play forgotten. “Yes.”

He met her gaze for a long moment before taking pity and easing away. As he did, he reached for her hand again, causing her to tense. “Just relax,” he told her softly. “It’s only your hand.”

With a slight nod, she relented, allowing him to cradle her palm inside his.

They sat just so for the next two minutes, watching the performance with their hands clasped.

Unable to resist another foray, he eased open one of the pearl buttons on her glove, then a second. Ever so gently, he stroked the warm, translucent skin on the inner curve of her wrist, moving his fingers in a seductive, circular glide.

Her hand trembled, quickened breath soughing from between her lips. Suddenly he was glad for the noisy action of the play.

For some little while, he continued touching her in that way, learning the feel of her delicate veins and sinew. Then, needing more, he opened another button.

Her breath caught as he inserted his forefinger, sliding it in a silky caress over the sensitive length of her palm.

She shuddered, her eyes falling closed.

Forward and back he went, then forward and back again. And again.

The symbolic imagery worked its spell on him as well, his groin stiffening painfully beneath his evening breeches. Hard and throbbing with need, he knew he had reached his limit. With one last wandering caress, he withdrew, taking time to patiently rebutton her glove.

Glancing over at her, he saw the flags of color in her cheeks and the bright glaze of desire visible in her eyes. It took every ounce of his control not to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth for a hot, wet kiss. Fighting the urge to draw her to him rather than away, he carefully returned her hand to her lap.

Gulping down an unsteady breath, Grace curled the fingers he’d freed into a fist and strove to calm the sensations whizzing like fireworks through her system.

All evening she’d been trying to place some much needed distance between herself and Jack—emotionally, anyway, considering the fact that she’d had no choice but to accompany him and Aunt Jane to the theater tonight as promised. Because ever since Terrence had taken his leave, their conversation had been replaying itself in her mind with distressing frequency.

Clearly, Terrence was right about Jack’s affinity for women—he had only to snap his fingers and a multitude would come running. Nor did she doubt he was the gamester Terrence claimed, given his remarkable talent with cards. And as for his intentions toward her…if his ardent kisses were anything to judge by, he wasn’t planning to lead her down the paths of virtue and self-restraint anytime soon.

He was a rake doing what rakes did best.

Sadly, her meager efforts to erect some mental barriers against him were proving worthless. One touch and she’d turned as malleable as clay. A single caress and she’d been his willing supplicant—longing for more.

And he didn’t even have to kiss me!

What she needed, she realized, was time to think. Time that did not include Jack Byron’s company.

To her relief, he made no further romantic overtures for the remainder of the play, conducting himself like a perfect gentleman rather than the rogue he truly was.

When the performance ended, her aunt excused herself for a few moments to go speak with a friend—leaving Grace and Jack alone.

“I thought I would stop by tomorrow afternoon,” he said as both of them rose from their seats. “What do you say to ices at Ford’s, then a walk to Beechen Cliff? I hear there are no finer views of the city than from that location.”

“It sounds delightful.”

And truly it did, she thought. But she needed an opportunity to consider her choices—and some distance from him while she did so. What better solution than a journey out of the city?

“I am afraid, however,” she continued, “that we shall have to postpone the outing. I haven’t had an opportunity to tell you, but Aunt Jane is traveling to Bristol tomorrow. I am to go with her.”

Originally she had planned to remain at the town house, one of her aunt’s female acquaintances happily agreeing to keep her company for a couple of nights. But Grace knew her aunt would be thrilled by her change of plans, as well as with her companionship on the journey west.

“Bristol.”
His dark brows shot straight. “How long are you going to be in Bristol?”

“Only a couple of days. Likely little more than the weekend. Aunt Jane is visiting an old school friend who just moved north. I am certain we shall not remain long.” But long enough, she hoped, to enable her to make some decisions.

Jack looked completely nonplussed, as though news of her departure had thrown him off balance. Moments later, however, he recovered his usual affability. “Well, I wish you a good journey and shall count on seeing you upon your return.”

“Yes. I shall send you a note the moment I am in town again.”

His expression eased at her assurance. “Good. And not a moment later, mind, else I too find myself with a sudden need for a trip to Bristol. Four days at most and I shall expect you back.”

“Four days,” she agreed. She only hoped that four days proved to be enough.

“A
re you certain you don’t wish to remain a couple days longer?” her aunt asked as they stood together in the bedchamber where Grace had slept the last three nights.

Grace handed a pair of books to the maidservant, who was helping her pack. “I have had a lovely time here with you and Mrs. Duggin, but I would rather return to Bath today as planned. You stay and visit a while more. Truly, I do not mind in the least.”

Aunt Jane’s lips firmed with clear indecision. “Yes, but you will be all alone at the town house. What will you do, rattling around by yourself?”

“I am sure I shall find ways to occupy my time. And I will hardly be alone, not with eight of your servants in residence,” she countered. “I assure you they shall keep me well-fed and eminently comfortable.”

“Just so. But I fear your father would not approve.”

“Then let us not tell him, and that way he won’t be displeased.”

Her aunt’s eyes glittered with surprised enthusiasm at the suggestion. “I suppose you are right in that.”

“Besides,” Grace continued, “it is not as if I am a girl any longer. At five and twenty I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

A soft smile lightened her aunt’s face. “From my perspective, five and twenty is plenty young. But I am forgetting that you can still send for Mrs. Twine to come visit. She won’t mind in the least. Promise you will send for her the moment you arrive.”

Seeing that her valise was packed, Grace reached for her spencer of lightweight fawn sarcenet. Slipping it on, she fastened the short row of buttons, then turned to dust a kiss over her aunt’s cheek. “I shall be sure to let her know I am returned.”

“I will only be another day or two.”

“Stay as long as you like. I shall be fine.”

Yet an hour later as she sat in the coach traveling back to Bath, Grace wasn’t sure how “fine” she actually was. Despite the time away, she was no closer to making a decision about her situation than she had been when she’d left.

She’d told Terrence she would consider his offer of marriage, but each time she started to do so, her thoughts seemed to shy away and before she knew it, she would find herself occupied by some other activity.

As for Jack, she couldn’t think of him without her pulse picking up speed, her body tingling with heated memories of his touch. She missed him, her dreams and daydreams leaving her with a deep, yearning ache only he could assuage.

Even so, she still didn’t know what to do.

Terrence was a good and loyal friend—safe, steady, and dependable. With him she would enjoy the benefits of companionship and shared interests. As his wife, she would have few worries, her life a pleasant, even easy one. If only she loved him, her choice would be simple. But as much as she might wish it, Terrence ignited no fires inside her. He didn’t make her burn with a passionate intensity she hadn’t even realized she was capable of feeling.

But Jack Byron did.

Like a warrior laying siege, he’d taken her unawares, turning her suppositions about herself and her needs completely on their head. A part of her wanted him desperately. Another part of her was afraid of those very desires. He would bring her pleasure and excitement, making her heart and body soar. But what of the crash to follow? What of the scandal and shame?

Terrence might never excite her heart, but neither would he break it.

Then again, she could refuse them both, return to London, and continue on as she had been doing. Only a few weeks ago, she hadn’t minded the idea of spending her life as a spinster. So why did it no longer seem sufficient? Why did the idea leave her dissatisfied and oddly incomplete?

No more at ease with her thoughts than before, she glanced out of the coach window and watched as Bath came into view. Arriving at her aunt’s town house, she went up to her room to change out of her traveling clothes and bathe.

An hour later, attired now in a fresh gown of sprigged lilac muslin, she sat down to a light meal of cold sliced beef and crisp, late summer vegetables and fruits. Afterward, she went to her writing desk to pen a note to Mrs. Twine.

But as she lifted her quill above the parchment, she hesitated. As amiable a companion as the older woman was, Grace didn’t want or need her company—at least not at present. What she wanted was some resolution to her situation. What she needed was to make up her mind and find some peace.

Maybe if I talk to Terrence, I’ll be able to decide once and for all?

It was late afternoon, but not too late for a social call between friends. Surely he would be at his hotel, where they could talk the matter through. If she listened to his counsel, maybe it would give her the strength to do what she knew she ought.

She might not be a lady born, but she had been educated as one. And ladies did not toss their virtue away on handsome aristocrats bent on leading them into a life of sin—however wonderfully pleasurable and decadent that life might promise to be. Clearly, the rational choice was to break things off with Jack.

Perhaps a talk with Terrence would convince her of that wisdom. And then she would be free to decide whether or not to say yes to marrying him.

Setting down her pen, she rose and went downstairs. Without giving herself further time to consider, she gathered her spencer and reticule and made her way from the house.

“You’ve the devil’s own luck, my lord,” complained one of the men across from Jack, as he flung down his hand in grudging defeat. “Never seen anyone have such a deuced smooth way with the cards.”

Jack scraped the stack of winnings off the baize-covered table and fed them into his coin purse, the additional weight making the leather sag. “Comes from careful play, my good sir. Luck, on the other hand, is a fickle mistress, one over which I have no greater advantage than any other man.” Sliding back his chair, he stood. “My thanks for an excellent game.”

“But you can’t leave now!” the man protested. “I haven’t had a chance to recoup my losses.”

Jack gave him a cautionary look. “I rather thought you might appreciate leaving here with a few quid in your pocket. Personally, I’d use it on a nice dinner and a visit to the theater. But if you insist on continuing to play, there’s a game starting just across the way. Now, I have other business. Good day, gentlemen.”

Actually, he had no other business—at least nothing pressing. But he’d already taken plenty of blunt off these three new arrivals to the city, and there was no need to strip them bare. Added to that, he was eager to return to his town house and see if he’d received a message from Grace. Four days and not so much as a word. The silence was driving him mad.

I should never have let her go to Bristol.

Short of chasing after her, though, he’d had no choice in the matter. One minute he’d been planning their next excursion, the next he was listening to her say she was leaving town for a few days.

Well, her few days were over. If he didn’t hear from her by tomorrow, he would go after her regardless of how it might look. Who knows, perhaps she would be touched by his apparent devotion, fling her arms around his neck and confess her love—admitting that she’d been utterly bereft without him.

For his part, he could honestly say that he missed their outings. Even—dare he say it—missed her. He certainly hadn’t expected to, assuming he would think little of her while she was gone. Yet as each new day arrived, his thoughts turned often to Grace. Wondering how she was faring and what she was doing. And most importantly, how soon she would return.

But such musings meant nothing. He was merely anxious to get on with his plans, that’s all. What he wanted most was to be done with this game, put his ring on her finger and be free of the debt teetering like a five-ton boulder over his head.

That and bed her.

Yes, he was definitely looking forward to bedding Grace. Since that first kiss, his hunger for her had only increased, leaving him frustrated and impatient for the day when he would claim her fully. So far he’d been careful not to let their interludes go beyond kissing and a few harmless touches. But his restraint was wearing thin—very thin.

When,
he thought as he strode toward the door,
is she coming back?

Terrence’s hotel was quiet when Grace walked inside, with only a couple of men lounging idly in the lobby. As for the clerk’s desk, it stood deserted, no one available to answer inquiries or to provide assistance. Luckily, Terrence had mentioned his room number in passing, commenting on how comfortable he found the second-floor accommodations.

Number twenty,
she recalled.

Moving swiftly, she ascended the stairs, turning at the top to make her way down a long, narrow hall. Another turn led past number nineteen, then onward to the final room at the end of the corridor. Late-afternoon sunshine poured through a single window, creating a nimbus of light whose reflection would mask from observation anyone standing within its rays.

Giving a gentle rap on the door, she took a step back to wait.

Half a minute passed without an answer.

Maybe he hadn’t heard her knock? Or perhaps he wasn’t there at all? She supposed she could leave him a note, but she disliked the notion of having to wait to speak to him later. For all she knew, he might not return until after midnight, which would be far too late for him to call on her at home.

Moving close to the door again, she was raising her fist to knock once more when she heard a faint creaking noise from inside the room.

So he is here.

Without thinking, she reached for the handle and opened the door a few silent inches.

“Terrence?” she called in a soft voice before moving into the room. She knew she shouldn’t barge in unannounced, but surely he wouldn’t mind. They were good friends, too comfortable with each other to stand on formality.

Finding herself in a small unoccupied sitting room, she walked forward. A second door stood on the far side—one that led to the bedchamber, she surmised. She hesitated before approaching, noting that the door was half open.

She would just give a quick tap and call out to him, she decided, then wait for him to join her in the parlor. But as she stepped up to the door, she heard noises again. A creaking sound like shifting bed ropes, followed by a low, guttural moan.

Was he asleep and dreaming?

Then she heard something else—a murmured voice that sounded nothing at all like Terrence. She nearly turned around, but it was too late, her gaze having already traveled past the opening into the chamber beyond.

Suddenly she couldn’t move, her limbs locked in place as though she were buried in sand. Her heart hammered, as a strange buzzing started in her head.

Terrence lay naked on the bed. As if that sight weren’t astonishing enough, he was leaning over another man in an equal state of undress. The pair were touching, big hands sliding over each other, their strong male faces locked in rapt concentration as they pleasured one another. Reaching up, the other man slid his fingers into Terrence’s hair and brought him close for a wide, open-mouthed kiss that was as passionate as it was shocking. As he did, Terrence reached down and took hold of the man’s jutting erection, earning a ragged groan as he began to stroke him in a firm, hard clasp.

She must have made a noise, since the stranger suddenly opened his eyes and looked straight at her.

“Who’s that?” he asked, breaking off the kiss. “She here to join us? I thought you understood I only like men.”

“What?” Terrence mumbled, his voice slurred with desire. “Who?”

Slowly, he turned his head and met her gaze. His eyes widened, jaw falling slack as recognition set in.
“Grace?”

As though the sound of her name freed some internal bond, she let out a strangled cry and spun on her heel. Behind her came a series of thumps and an exchange of raised voices, making her flee all the faster.

“Grace!” Terrence called. “Grace, stop!”

Her palm slipped on the knob as she tried to wrench open the door. She tried again, but before she could pull it wide, Terrence’s palm came down on the wood near her head.

“Grace, don’t,” he entreated. “Don’t leave. Please, give me a chance to explain.”

“Let me out!”

“No, not like this.” Slipping between her and the door, he blocked her path.

She stepped back, relieved to note that at least he wasn’t naked anymore. Somehow, despite his quick sprint after her, he’d managed to grab a dressing gown along the way.

With shaking hands, he drew the robe’s edges tighter and tied the belt with a firm tug. “Good Lord, what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk. I guess I didn’t think that you might be…. that you would…that someone else…” She broke off, her cheeks flaming so hot that she was sure her hair looked pale in comparison. “I-I should go.”

“No,” he told her as he walked forward. “Sit.”

But she couldn’t sit. Instead, she curled her arms over her stomach and took another step back.

Just then the other man walked out of the bedroom, fully dressed in trousers, shirt and a coat. “I’ll be at the tavern later if you want to share a pint.” He tossed her a glance. “She’s not your wife, is she?”

“No!” she and Terrence both said together.

The man gave a wry laugh and let himself out the door.

A heavy silence fell between them, the thud of the stranger’s footsteps echoing in the hall before fading away.

Terrence paced a few steps, dragging his fingers through his tousled hair. The gesture reminded her of what she’d seen—of him lying with that man, kissing and touching him as a lover. Of the two of them embracing with an intimacy she’d never imagined two men might share.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning to face her. “You were never meant to know about this—”

“I’m sure I wasn’t. But really, you don’t have to explain—”

“But I do. I must.” He waved a hand toward the bedroom. “This…well, what you saw, it doesn’t mean anything.” He paused as she shot him an incredulous look. “Or at least it doesn’t need to mean anything when it comes to you and me. It’s a compulsion of mine. Something I’m trying to stop. But I swear that once we’re married, I’ll never do it again. You won’t ever have to worry—”