Seduced By His Touch Read online

  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 theatre. 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 parlour. 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 travelled 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—”

  Her lips parted on a silent gasp. “Married? How can you even think—”

  “Because I love you,” he said, his gaze beseeching as he reached for her hand. “Honestly, I do. Just because I was with some fellow doesn’t mean my feelings have changed toward you.”

  “Some fellow’? You sound as if you don’t even know him.”

  Ruddy smudges formed across his cheekbones. “We only met recently, but that isn’t important. I know you’re upset now, and I don’t blame you. But everything can be as it was before. Just say you forgive me and we’ll start again.”

  She stared at him, her chest tight with emotion and grief. “Oh, Terrence, can’t you see that nothing will ever be the same again? How can it after today?”

  An expression of panic darkened his eyes. “But—”

  “You deceived me and would have kept on deceiving me. If I agreed to marry you, our union would be based on a falsehood.”

  “I told you, I’ll give it up. I’ll never do it again.”

  “I know you mean that now, but what of later? What if you can’t stop? What if deep down this ‘compulsion,’ as you call it, is simply part of who you are?” She shook her head and cast off his touch, curling her hand against her skirt. “It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I can’t live a lie, and I care about you too much to let you live one either.”

  “Please,” he begged, reaching for her again. “We share so much in common. We’re such good friends. Don’t let this be the end.”

  Evading him, she hurried to the door. This time she succeeded in opening it.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded. “Don’t go.”

  “I have to,” she said, feeling suddenly as if her world was crumbling around her. Knowing she was on the verge of tears, she fled down the hallway, Terrence still calling after her as she ran.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  Jack flicked the reins, controlling his roan gelding as he manoeuvred his curricle through the late-afternoon traffic. Compared to London, the thoroughfare was barely crowded. Nonetheless, with Bath’s more relaxed pace, there was no driving fast—since anything above a moderate walk was considered recklessly inconsiderate.

  Taking his time, he drove toward his town house, directing an occasional glance over the passers-by ambling up and down the sidewalks. He was passing a wagon that had stopped to unload its cargo when a flash of red hair caught his eye.

  A flash of red hair that reminded him of Grace.

  The woman was walking straight ahead, her head bowed, her attention apparently too fixed upon her own thoughts to pay much heed to her surroundings. He drew closer, and as he did, he realized the woman didn’t just remind him of Grace—she was Grace.

  He pulled his curricle toward the curb. “Grace!” he called.

  She kept walking, in no way acknowledging that she heard his greeting.

  “Hello, Grace!” he called again, louder this time as he walked his horse and carriage along the street at her side. “Miss Danvers!”

  She made no response.

  Stopping his curricle along the curb, he tied off the reins with a quick twist, then jumped to the ground. Striding toward her, he soon caught up and reached for her arm.

  She startled visibly at his touch, glancing up in alarm to see who was accosting her. “Jack?” she said, clearly relieved to find a familiar face.

  “Did you not hear me? I called out several times.”

  She shook her head. “No, I…I’m sorry.”

  “No matter. When did you arrive back?”

  “Back?” Lines puckered the smooth skin of her forehead.

  “Yes, when did you return from your trip? From Bristol?”

  “Oh, Bristol. I came back today. Earlier today. This afternoon.”

  His brows drew together. Something is amiss, he realized, noticing the distracted expression in her eyes—eyes turned a deep, troubled shade of grey.

  “What’s wrong? I can see something has overset you.”

  Her lower lip trembled, her face turning vivid pink. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  “Yes, it is. What has occurred?”

  She shook her head, her lips sealed t
ight.

  He captured her hand and tucked it over his arm, wishing he could pull her into his embrace instead. But such intimacy was impossible given their very public location. “I can see you are distressed. Did your aunt come out with you? Is she in one of the shops? Let me find her for you.”

  “She isn’t here. She stayed in Bristol.”

  “You mean you’re alone? Do you even have your maid with you?”

  He could see by her reaction that she did not.

  “What has happened?” he asked. “And don’t bother to deny that something of note has occurred, since I know it would be an untruth.”

  She trembled but would not say.

  Briefly, he considered his options. “Come, I shall drive you home.”

  After another agitated look, she nodded, then let him assist her into his carriage.

  She spoke not so much as a word as he set his horse in motion, but merely folded her hands in her lap and cast her gaze low. Only when he drew the curricle to a halt did she glance up again.

  “This isn’t my aunt’s house,” she said with surprise.

  “No, it’s mine. I thought it might be easier for us to talk here.”

  He also thought it might give him some advantage. With her on his territory, she would be far less likely to slough off his questions. Nor would she tell him to “go away” and let her aunt’s butler show him out.

  For a moment, she looked as though she was going to protest and insist he drive her home, after all. Instead, she gave a small shrug of acceptance, then waited while he helped her alight from the carriage.

  Inside, he exchanged a murmured greeting with his own butler—one of the handful of servants he’d brought with him from London. He trusted his staff implicitly—both for their excellent service, as well as their unassailable discretion. He knew without question that no mention of Grace’s presence would ever pass any of their lips.

  Turning, he directed her across the white marble entry hall toward the stairs. She followed but stopped at the base.