Seduced By His Touch Page 31

  More lighted candles were arranged on the table, a small vase of flowers set in the middle, tender petals of red, pink and ivory adding a pleasing burst of colour. More colour glowed in the sky, sunset turning the horizon a glorious golden apricot.

  The clock inside the house chimed six. She hoped Jack wasn’t late or he would miss the glorious show nature was performing.

  Briefly, she considered sending one of the servants to find him, but the staff already thought she was acting oddly enough today with all her unusual requests. She didn’t need to give them more grist for their mill. Tugging her shawl more closely around her shoulders, she waited.

  Soon, she heard footsteps and knew he’d arrived. Turning, she gave him a wide smile, excitement bubbling inside her like champagne.

  “What’s all this?” he demanded, his dark brows knitted together.

  She paused at his tone but recovered quickly, too happy to let his less-than-enthusiastic greeting dim her giddy spirits. “Dinner,” she announced with a wave of her arm. “I thought it might be fun to eat al fresco tonight with the sunset providing a beautiful tableau.”

  He studied the sky, painted now with brushstrokes of amber and pink. “The sun will be down soon, and then it’ll be dark.”

  Her smile faltered slightly, but she recovered again. “The stars will take its place. Candlelight and stars are a heavenly combination.”

  “Not in October.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s too cold to eat outside this time of year.”

  “I don’t think so,” she defended. “Not with the temperature as warm as it’s been lately. Why, my guess is, we’ll scarcely notice a little nip in the air.”

  He didn’t reply, staring at the sunset as if it were an offence to his eyes.

  What is wrong with him? She wondered. Why is he being so cross and disagreeable? Maybe he’s simply hungry, she told herself. Perhaps all he needs is a good meal and his humour will improve.

  “Why do we not go ahead and start dinner?” she suggested, with an encouraging smile. “I thought soup would be the best way to begin.”

  He continued to stand with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. For a moment she thought he was going to return inside the house, but then he walked forward. Or rather stalked forward.

  Stopping, he pulled out one of the chairs and waited for her to take a seat. Moving to the one opposite, he took his place across from her.

  At her signal, a pair of footmen emerged, trays in hand. The first man poured beverages—wine for Jack and lemonade for her—while the other served the soup. Then they withdrew.

  Tendrils of steam drifted upward from each bowl, the pale broth gleaming faintly in the waning light. Dipping in her spoon, she took a sip.

  “Hmm, delicious. Cream of potato. One of your favourites, is it not?”

  He gave a soft grunt and ate a mouthful, and then another. His gaze moved to hers. “You’d better eat fast. This will be cold in the next two minutes.”

  Tightness spread through her chest. “Jack, you seem upset. Has something happened?”

  “No. What could have happened?” He dipped his spoon in the soup again and ate another pair of bites, almost shovelling in the food.

  “Your trip to the village. Nothing untoward occurred?”

  “Of course not. The village was fine.”

  “Oh,” she replied, utterly confused.

  She stared at the soup before forcing herself to take another spoonful. After a single bite, she laid her spoon aside.

  “Too cold already?” he asked, laying his own utensil into the empty bowl.

  “No. I…am not in the mood for soup, after all. Shall we have the next course?”

  His shoulders suddenly drooped. “Yes,” he said in a resigned tone. “Let us proceed.”

  And so they did, the next course worse than the first. Not the food, of course. The food was delicious, even if she could barely eat a bite. But Jack…something was terribly amiss with him, only he wouldn’t tell her what.

  She endured another fifteen minutes of his near silence before she’d finally had enough. Folding her napkin, she laid it aside. As she did, a quiver ran over her skin.

  “You’re shivering,” he accused. “It’s dark and chilly and you shouldn’t be out in this weather. Not in your condition.”

  But her shivering had nothing to do with the cold or her pregnancy. “You’re right,” she said, tears rising in her eyes. “I-I’m going inside. I’m going to bed. This was a stupid, stupid idea.”

  “Then why did you do it?” he asked in a strange, dull voice. “Were you just trying to soften the blow?”

  “Blow? What blow? You aren’t making any sense. You haven’t made sense all evening.” She pushed her chair back and got clumsily to her feet. As she did, her control broke, tears raining down her face. “I-I was just t-trying to do s-something s-special, to c-celebrate and you’ve r-ruined it!”

  “Ruined what? Celebrate what? God, Grace, are you crying?”

  “No!” she wailed. Then she began to sob.

  His arms came around her and pulled her close.

  She struggled against him briefly before quieting as she continued to cry.

  “Shh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his palm over her back. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want. Just don’t be unhappy. Please don’t be sad.”

  “Leave?” she sniffed, her head coming up. “Why would I want you to leave?”

  He met her gaze, his eyes stark in the candlelight. “Don’t you? Isn’t that what this was about tonight? A memorable last meal before you send me on my way?”

  “No, I’m not sending you anywhere. Is that what you thought? Why you’ve been so h-horrible tonight?”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I have been moody—”

  “Moody! You’ve been abominable, and all for nothing. By God, Jack Byron, for an intelligent man you can be an idiot sometimes.” She stepped back, wiping a palm against her wet face. “I did all of this tonight to tell you I love you! To say that I believe you really love me, that you have loved me. And that I forgive you for everything.”

  His lips parted. “You did? You do?”

  “Yes. I thought it would be romantic to have dinner here in the garden. The garden you had p-planted just for me! Mr Potsley told me what you did. He told me how you did all this so I would like it and I knew…I…knew you’d never have done so much if you didn’t really care. If you didn’t really love me! I was going to tell you after d-dinner but—”

  “But I spoiled it,” he said, reaching out to draw her back into his arms. “You’re right, sweetheart. I am an idiot. A stupid dolt who jumps to ridiculous conclusions. Can you forgive me? Again?”

  She sniffed. “I shouldn’t. Not after tonight! But I will because I love you.”

  “Do you?” he murmured, a smile curving his lips. “I was afraid I’d killed off those feelings for good and that you’d never love me again.”

  “I’ve never stopped loving you,” she confessed in a whisper. “Not even when I hated you. And for a while, I really did hate you!”

  He laughed and hugged her tighter, then his expression grew serious. “And I really do love you. You are my dearest, most darling wife. My lover. My friend,” he said, punctuating each declaration with a soft, sweet kiss.

  She trembled and snuggled closer, drawing in his warmth.

  “You are cold,” he said, rubbing his hands over her arms. “Why don’t we go inside in front of the fire and have our dessert.”

  “Actually, I’d rather postpone dessert and just go upstairs.”

  “Oh,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Of course, if you’re tired, then you should rest.”

  “Who said anything about being tired?” she asked, sliding her arms around his waist. “I said I wanted to go upstairs. With you.”

  He met her gaze, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. So? What are you waiting for? Or have
you lost your touch, my lord?” she added with an impish grin.

  “Lost my—I’ll show you all about my touch.”

  Claiming her mouth, he kissed her, heat rising to warm her skin from the inside out. By the time he let her come up for air, her pulse was throbbing, her toes curled in blissful delight inside her shoes.

  “Now, what is it you were saying about my having lost something?” he drawled.

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “Absolutely nothing at all.”

  After another quick, hard kiss, he took her hand and pulled her into the house. Ignoring the curious glances of the footmen, they hurried up the stairs.

  Without asking, he led her into his bedchamber. A small branch of lighted candles stood on a table near the window, a fire crackling pleasantly in the grate. Locking the door behind them, he crossed the room and drew the curtains closed.

  “I’ve dreamt of having you here in my bed for weeks,” he said, turning around. “Especially after your visit—your one and only visit. You have no idea all the fantasies I’ve spun about you in this room.”

  She smiled and draped her shawl over a chair. “Perhaps a few. You’re not the only one whose bed has been lonely.”

  “You won’t ever be lonely again.” Taking her hands, he tugged her near for another long, sultry kiss. “Or alone.”

  That’s when she saw his gaze drift downward, alighting on the heart-shaped pendant clasped around her neck.

  “You’re wearing it,” he said, his words carrying a wondering tone.

  Reaching up, she fingered the amethysts, then smoothed her thumb over the flat piece of porcelain in the centre with its tiny painted garden. “Yes. Because I realize now that it was given in love.”

  “It was, even if I was too blind to know it at the time. Something else for which I must beg your forgiveness.”

  “It’s yours.” She laid her palm on his chest near his heart. “Did you really carry the pendant around with you when we were apart?”

  “Constantly. It made me feel closer to you. Strange, I suppose, considering you wore it for such a brief time.”

  “Not so strange,” she reassured. “I kept a handkerchief of yours, though I never planned to tell you that.”

  Leaning near, he pressed his lips to hers. “Besotted. The pair of us.”

  “Definitely.”

  “Now,” he said, after another lingering kiss, “what do you say to getting naked?” He waggled his brows, eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation.

  Giggling, she nodded, then let him help her undress.

  It was only when she stood in her shift—the one thin garment all that separated her body from his gaze—that she felt herself grow shy.

  “What’s this now?” he asked, sliding a tender finger beneath her chin to tip up her face. “Are you turning bashful on me?”

  “I’ve turned round with child,” she said, confessing her qualms. “My shape is…fuller since the last time you saw me.”

  “Yes, and I can’t wait to find out just how much lovelier you’ve become.”

  “But what if you…”

  “Don’t like the way you look? Impossible.”

  We’ll see, she thought.

  But her fears proved groundless, his eyes darkening with clear desire. Gently, reverently, his hands traced the shape of her new curves, careful of her breasts whose larger size he seemed to find particularly appealing.

  “Lord above, Grace, you’re magnificent.”

  Her muscles relaxed, her confidence returning. “I believe, my lord, that you’re a bit overdressed at the moment.”

  He glanced at his fully clothed body. “I believe you’re right.”

  While she stretched out across the sheets, she watched him undress, smiling at his haste.

  He joined her, settling his long, powerful body against her own. But he was infinitely tender as his mouth took hers again, his hands wandering over her sensitive flesh in ways that literally stole her breath. Trembling, yearning, she waited for his possession, needing him, loving him, finally secure in the knowledge that he loved her too.

  “Heavens, Jack, I’ve missed being like this with you.”

  “Not half as much as I have, I’ll wager.”

  Winding her arms around his neck, she gave him a long, passionate kiss. “Perhaps we should bet on that?” she said. “After all, isn’t that what started all this between us? A bet?”

  “Indeed it is. And so long as you’re the prize, my love, then it’s a wager I’ll gladly make over and over and over again. But perhaps you need a demonstration?”

  “Hmm, perhaps I do,” she purred.

  And to her ecstatic delight, he proceeded to show her that when it came to love, both of them were on the winning side.

  * * *

  EPILOGUE

  Kent, England

  Late February 1811

  “Do you need anything?” Jack asked from his seat in the second-floor family drawing room.

  Ensconced in a plump armchair opposite, Grace glanced up from her embroidery and met his gaze. “I’m fine, darling, but you’re sweet to ask.”

  “Another blanket? I don’t want you taking a chill.”

  “I think there’s little likelihood of that,” she replied, hiding a gentle grin.

  Despite the snow-covered fields outside and the watery winter sunlight that was doing its best to filter through the windowpanes, the room was warm and cozy. A hearty fire blazed in the grate, Ranunculus curled up in a contented circle on a nearby side chair, his fur nearly as orange as the flames.

  “What about food? Are you hungry?”

  “Not after that huge plate of cakes and sandwiches I had just an hour ago. No wonder I’m as wide and round as one of those hot-air balloons Drake was talking about over the holidays. If I eat any more right now, I’ll probably ascend. Or else pop.”

  He sent her a reproving look. “Don’t be absurd. You’re eight months pregnant, you’re supposed to be round. As for your appetite, you’re eating for two. So, no worrying about your figure—which is beautiful, I might add. Every morning, when I wake up and see you beside me, I ask myself how I ever got so lucky.”

  Joy burst inside her, turning her as gooey as melted sugar. “You really don’t mind me keeping you up all night with my tossing and turning, or my having to get up every hour to use the commode?”

  “No,” he said in a serious tone. “I really do not.”

  “You could sleep in your old bedroom—”

  “I’m not sleeping in my old bedroom. Never, ever again. Besides, you need me.”

  He was right. She did need him, and loved him so very deeply.

  “Now, can you use another pillow?” he continued. “Your ankles are swollen. Do you have them propped up enough?”

  With a little tug on her skirt, she showed him the pile of pillows under her feet. “I’m wonderful. Pampered as a pasha.”

  “Well, then, if there’s nothing I can bring you, could you do with a kiss?”

  A smile teased her lips. “I can always do with a kiss.”

  Standing, he moved close and bent down, bracing his hands on the chair arms on either side of her. Her eyelids floated downward, her heart thrumming with a quiet rapture as his lips met hers. Delight poured through her in a honeyed wave, a pleasure of which she knew she would never get enough. Every kiss was always as deliriously wonderful as the first, each touch somehow new and uniquely special.

  Her senses were tingling, her skin flushed when he pulled away, carefully banked desire in his azure eyes.

  Then their child kicked from within her with a force strong enough to draw Jack’s gaze.

  “Was that the baby?” he asked.

  She nodded. “He’s at it again. At least he’s not pummelling me under my ribs like he was last night.”

  “She’s strong-willed, like her mama. Has a definite mind of her own.”

  “What makes you so sure this is a girl? Don’t you want a son?”

  He laid a wide palm over her belly a
nd rubbed in a soothing motion. “Honestly, I don’t care. Either will do fine by me.”

  “So, you won’t object if I give you nothing but daughters?”

  “I can’t think of anything more delightful than spending my days surrounded by a flock of lovely Byron ladies.”

  “A flock, hmm? I haven’t consented to producing a flock.”

  “You will,” he murmured, dropping another long kiss on her mouth. “I’ll persuade you somehow.”

  She knew he would, and that she’d delight in every moment.

  A knock came at the door. “Pardon me, your lordship. Your ladyship,” said a housemaid as she bobbed a curtsey. “I’m ever so sorry to interrupt, but the post just come. And a messenger as well.”

  “Put it over there on the table, would you?” Jack told the girl without looking around.

  Grace rolled her eyes at him and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Now, where were we?” he asked as soon as the servant had gone.

  “At a point where we should probably stop,” she said ruefully.

  He sighed and straightened. “I suspect you’re right. Unfortunately. Shall I see what’s in the mail?”

  “Yes. Maybe the messenger has brought word from Cade. I wonder if Meg’s had the baby yet? She’s due any day now.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed. “And she’s safe and sound at Braebourne, where you should likely have stayed for your confinement, as well.”

  She laid a hand over her stomach. “The circumstances weren’t the same at all. She and Cade live in Northumberland, and they were worried about finding themselves caught in a snowstorm during the birth. Or at least Cade was. Meg told me over Christmas that she would have been willing to risk it, but she worried Cade wouldn’t fare so well. Especially if the doctor couldn’t make it there in time. So a few months at Braebourne, it was.”

  “I ought to have insisted too. You’d have had family around to help you.”

  “I have family. I have you.”

  “I meant female family.”