Seduced By His Touch Read online

  He was riding her—and it was sheer heaven.

  Opening herself fully to him, she surrendered everything that she was, giving him her body and her mind. As for her heart, he possessed that already, love swelling within her as she clasped him tight and waited for all the pleasures yet to come.

  She wasn’t prepared when the crisis claimed her not long after, ecstasy rippling through her bones and blood and flesh until all that remained was a sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss. She glowed—beyond rapture, beyond speech. Then, she was spinning once again, with Jack her only lifeline.

  Barely coherent, she continued to float as he thrust inside her—pumping harder and deeper and faster. Abruptly he grew rigid, his body quaking violently as he claimed his release with an echoing groan of satisfaction.

  For long moments, they lay locked in each other’s arms, neither seemingly capable of movement. With breath and sanity finally returning, he shifted, rolling onto his back before drawing her once more into his arms.

  Snuggling against him, she let her eyes drift closed. “It’s still early yet, is it not?” she mumbled. “We never had our dinner.”

  “Dinner will wait,” he said, soothing her with a hand. “For now, you should sleep.”

  With her eyelids like leaden weights, she took his advice and let herself sink into oblivion.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 11

  Grace squinted against the light and raised a hand to shield her eyes as she burrowed deeper into the pillows.

  “Oww,” she groaned, before grimacing in pain, even that slight amount of sound too much for her already aching head.

  Lie still, she warned herself in a silent whisper. Don’t move and maybe the agony will go away.

  But even thinking seemed to hurt, her head throbbing in violent beats between her ears.

  “Here. Drink this,” said a quiet voice.

  Drink what? Is that Jack speaking? What is Jack doing in my bedroom?

  “Do you think you can sit up?” he asked.

  No! Absolutely not. Couldn’t he tell how miserable she was, unable to even lift her head off the pillow, much less sit up and drink something. Besides, she’d already drunk far too much last night. Her stomach lurched at the notion. The tom-toms in her head beat harder.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Here, let me help you.”

  He set something down on the night table with a clink that reverberated as loudly as a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil. She held back a groan, knowing she dare not react for fear of jarring loose some vital organ—her brain, for instance. Before she could prevent him, Jack slipped an arm around her recumbent form and levered her upright.

  “Aaagh!” she cried, gripping her head with both hands to keep it from rolling off her neck.

  “Shh,” he crooned. “You’ll feel better once you get this in you.”

  Squinting, she peered at the glass that had appeared again inside his hand. The concoction looked revolting, with a colour somewhere between yellow and grey. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Hair of the dog.”

  “Dog!” Fresh pain jarred the inside of her skull.

  He laughed.

  “Oooh, don’t.” She waved a hand to hush him.

  “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice again.

  “None for me,” she whispered. “I’ll just lie down again.”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he admonished, holding her against him. “First, you have to drink.”

  “Not if it has dog hair in it.” Her stomach did a somersault.

  “It’s only an expression. Drink.”

  “That’s what you said last night, and look where it’s gotten me.” The drums beat harder again.

  “So now I’m here with the cure.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “The sooner you get it down, the sooner you’ll be better.”

  Better? How can that disgusting concoction possibly make me feel better? Though at the moment, she felt so dreadful she supposed anything would be an improvement.

  Letting him press the cool glass into her hand, she gave the beverage another skeptical look. Losing her courage, she tried to pass it back. “I can’t.”

  He pressed it toward her again. “Down fast. Drink and don’t think.”

  “Did you make that up?”

  “Friend of mine. Go on.”

  Grimacing, she drew a steadying breath and took a swallow. “Ugh,” she said, breaking off on a near gag. “That’s vile.”

  “All of it.”

  “No.”

  “Do it, Grace. Drink and don’t think.”

  She sent him a nasty look. “I hate you.”

  He smiled and stroked her hair. “Last night you said you loved me.”

  And so she had, she realized, bits of the evening flashing in her mind. Pushing the memories aside for now, she raised the glass again. Drink and don’t think.

  She gulped the brew as quickly as possible, her stomach bucking and lurching with each and every swallow. When she was done, she shoved the glass at him and gasped for breath. “Oh, my God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Give it a minute.”

  Leaning back against the mound of pillows he’d somehow found time to stack behind her when she wasn’t looking, she closed her eyes and prayed for death. Her stomach churned again, her head throbbing as if an orchestra were playing a symphony inside.

  Jack left but quickly returned, his weight depressing the feather mattress as he sat down next to her.

  Opening her eyes a sliver, she saw he had an empty porcelain washbasin in his lap. “Just in case,” he said.

  Groaning once more, she turned her head away and waited to see how long it would be before she disgraced herself by being violently ill in front of him.

  But one minute lapsed into two, then two more passed, as her stomach began to settle from a series of fearsome dips and flips into a gentle, gradually ebbing tide. The hammering receded in her brain as well, diminishing to a mildly uncomfortable pang. She relaxed with a sigh, a delicate belch escaping her lips before she could prevent it.

  Flushing, she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Jack chuckled and set the washbowl aside. “Better?”

  Meeting his twinkling blue eyes, she nodded. “Yes, much better. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful. Now we can proceed on to breakfast.”

  “Breakfast!” She shook her head, a lingering twinge of pain shooting between her eyes. “No food, please.”

  “But food is precisely what you need, especially since you didn’t eat dinner last night.”

  Heat washed over her cheeks again. He was right. After tumbling into bed together, they never had managed to get out again, too busy slaking their mutual passion to even think about food. Her memories were slightly hazy, but she recalled Jack making love to her again after that first time, rousing her from a heavy sleep in order to satiate his needs and hers once more.

  Now, it was morning and she had spent the night in his house. In his bed. Oh my, I still am in his bed.

  Clutching the sheet, she drew it higher, becoming excruciatingly aware that she was naked. She never slept naked. Then again, she’d never slept with a man before either.

  “What time is it?” she ventured, half-afraid to hear the answer.

  “A little after ten, I believe.” Crossing to a table set beneath one of the room’s many windows, he picked up a red-and-gold patterned Sevres coffeepot.

  “Ten! Oh, good Lord. They’ll have missed me for sure. What if the servants have already sent word to Aunt Jane? What if she is even now cutting short her stay in Bristol and returning to the city?”

  “Coffee?” he said, strolling toward her bearing a cup filled with the dark, steaming beverage.

  “No, no coffee.” Ignoring any lingering malaise, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and scanned the room for her clothes. “I need to get home. I need to see who the servants have told, then figure out how I am going t
o explain.”

  “What you need to do is get back in bed and sip some of this. Once it stays down, you can try a few bites of toast and eggs.” Without asking permission, he set the coffee onto the night table, then reached out to swing her legs back onto the mattress.

  “But Jack, you know I can’t stay—”

  “Of course you can. Relax, my sweet. I have already taken care of the matter.”

  She froze. “What do you mean, ‘taken care’ of it?”

  “I awakened earlier and penned a note to your aunt. I also sent a boy around to her house to inform her staff that you are quite unharmed and visiting a friend for the day.”

  “B-but Jack, I—”

  “Spent the night. A few hours more will make little difference now.” Resuming his seat on the side of the bed, he reached for the cup and saucer. “I thought coffee would do best this morning rather than tea. Careful you don’t burn yourself.”

  With numb resignation, she accepted the offering. She even managed to take a sip without scalding her tongue. Feeling her stomach quiet, she sipped some more.

  What had he told her aunt? She wondered. The truth, she suspected, as well as the fact that she was now his mistress. And considering the way she’d given herself to him last night, she couldn’t blame him for drawing that conclusion. Drunk or not, there was no pretending she hadn’t known what she was doing when she’d agreed to make love. She just hadn’t thought all the consequences through, or the enormity of the changes she would be facing in her life from this point forward.

  She drank more coffee, glad he’d left it black, since it was more bracing that way. “I’m rather new to this, so will you be sending for my belongings today?”

  “A change of clothes, you mean? I had one of the maids freshen your gown. It’s ironed and waiting for you over there on the wardrobe.”

  And so it was, she noticed, her gaze shifting to the large walnut armoire on the far side of the room, where the lilac-sprigged muslin dress hung neatly on its half-open door.

  “As for a hairbrush and such,” he continued, “I thought you could use mine.”

  Use his brush? Despite all the intimacies they’d shared in the past several hours, the notion of using his grooming implements seemed almost too personal somehow. Silly, considering she’d let him inside her body last night. What could be too intimate after that?

  “Thank you, that is most kind,” she said. “But what of later?”

  He arched a brow. “Later?”

  “Well, yes. I am simply wondering what you expect.”

  “In what regard?”

  She stared at him for a long moment before lowering her gaze. What is he about with this cat-and-mouse game? Should he not be the one informing me of his intentions, rather than the other way around?

  Resisting the urge to blush and wishing she wasn’t quite so naked under the sheets, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Now that we are…well, closer than before, I suppose I wish to know where I shall be residing? Here in Bath or in some other establishment?”

  Would he be procuring a separate town house for her, she wondered, as many gentlemen did with their light o’ loves?

  “Are you planning to remove from Bath altogether?” she continued in a rush. “Or return to London perhaps and take a town house there?”

  She hoped he didn’t say he wished to live permanently in London. Papa lived in London, and he would not be at all pleased by her descent into the realm of the demimonde. Although she supposed Papa would not be pleased wherever she decided to live, given her new status as Jack Byron’s chere amie.

  He gave her an inquiring look. “At the expense of appearing dull-witted, what exactly is it you are saying?”

  Her brows gathered in an impatient scowl. Surely he doesn’t expect me to spell it out? But it would seem, she realized, that he did. “Since I’m your mistress now, where am I going to live? Is that plain enough for you?”

  “My mistress!”

  “Well, yes. After last night, I assumed…that is, I thought…” She broke off as she realized her error. “So I’m not to be your mistress?”

  “No.”

  The cup and saucer shook inside her hand at the implications.

  Jack relieved her of her half-finished coffee before she could spill it, then set the china aside.

  “Did it never occur to you that I might want something else?” he asked.

  Her brows scrunched together again. Beyond words, she shook her head.

  “Well, I do,” he stated. “I was planning to ask you later, since you aren’t feeling your best at present, and this is hardly the most romantic of settings. But I suppose it will have to do.”

  She stared at him, puzzled.

  “Then again,” he said, pausing to run his gaze slowly over her, his eyes heating along the way, “maybe this is the perfect time and place. What could be better, after all, than having you alone and naked in my bed?”

  Now she was the one who could be accused of being dim-witted. What was he saying? What did he mean? She was pondering the alternatives—and truly could conceive of none—when he took her hand in his own.

  “Grace Lilah Danvers,” he said in a solemn tone. “Will you marry me?”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Quiet descended over the room.

  “Well,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “this isn’t quite the reaction I hoped for. Either you’re so happy you’ve been stunned into silence, or else you’re trying desperately to think of a good way to refuse.”

  “But you can’t marry me,” she blurted.

  “Can I not? Why, pray tell?”

  “For one thing, because your brother is a duke!”

  “Quite true, although I believe you are the only woman in England who would consider that a drawback.”

  “Be that as it may, you are an aristocrat and I am not. By that measure alone, I am entirely beneath you.”

  A sensuous smile turned up the edges of his mouth. “I must admit,” he drawled, “that I did enjoy having you beneath me last night. Why don’t you scoot down and we can try it again.”

  Ignoring him, she pressed on. “And, of course, there is your family. What will they think of you marrying a girl whose station in life is so decidedly below your own?”

  One of his dark brows arched upward. “I had no idea, my dear, that you were such a snob.”

  She flushed. “I am not a snob, I am a realist, and I know all about such things.”

  “Do you?” he challenged softly. “And where did you learn such lessons? At school, with mean-spirited girls who thought themselves better than you simply by virtue of their birth?”

  She swallowed, memories of those years rising in her head. “Yes. And the teachers and parents as well. I may have been sent to a ladies academy, but I was reminded each day that I was nothing of the sort.”

  “Then they were fools, the lot of them. I assure you, in all the ways that count, you are every inch a lady. In intellect and speech, manner and style, there is no one superior to you.”

  “Jack—”

  “And for the record, my family will adore you. Despite Ned being a proper toff, we Byrons aren’t snobs.”

  “Ned?” she ventured.

  “My brother Edward, the duke. He’ll love you too as his newest sister.”

  She studied him, unable to believe he was saying all these things. Doing his utmost to convince her to be his bride.

  “So?” he asked. “Any other objections?”

  Other objections? No. But she did have one last question.

  “Why?” she murmured, asking the most pressing question on her mind. “Why me?”

  His expression turned serious, an enigmatic glint that she couldn’t entirely read forming in his deep blue eyes. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek inside his palm and met her gaze.

  “Because I’ve come to realize over these past few weeks that I can’t do without you.” He stroked a thumb over her lower lip in a way that made her quiver. �
��I want you too much, need you too desperately, not to have you for my own. Say yes, sweetheart. Say yes and tell me you will be my wife.”

  Leaning forward, he dusted a kiss over her lips, his touch light and sensuous. Her eyes closed, wonder and delight shimmering through her like faerie dust—dreams wrapping her in their silken hold.

  “You love me, Grace.” His mouth brushed against hers. “That’s what you said last night. You meant it, did you not?”

  Her eyes opened, locking on his. “Yes, I meant it,” she said in a hushed tone. “Of course, I love you.”

  “Then don’t let any of these so-called problems stand in our way. They’re insignificant distractions and of no consequence at all. Say yes and let me make you happy. Be my bride and we can spend our lives together for now and always.”

  Grace trembled, knowing she’d never wanted anything so much in her life. A single word and Jack Byron could be hers. He would be her husband—hers to have and to hold for the rest of their days.

  So why was she hesitating? Why was she questioning his sincerity when everything she desired most was right there within her grasp? All she had to do was reach out and take it.

  So do it! Take it! whispered a little voice in her head. Stop thinking so much and for once just let your heart rule your head!

  “Yes!” she exclaimed, a joyous smile breaking over her face. “Yes, I will marry you.”

  Flinging her arms around his shoulders, she kissed him, laughing against his lips as happiness welled up inside her like an overflowing dam. Laughing too, he kissed her harder, plundering her mouth with an intensity that soon made her forget everything but him.

  The clocks in the house struck noon by the time they remembered breakfast. Too happy to mind cold eggs and toast, they feasted in bed, then once again on each other.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 12

  “You have made me the happiest woman in England!” Aunt Jane declared the following morning, as she sat with Grace and Jack in the drawing room of her Bath town house. “It is just as I knew it would be. As soon as I laid eyes on our dear Lord Jack, I knew he was the one for you, Grace.” She clasped her hands and beamed, her gaze going from one to the other and back again.