Never Trust a Scoundrel (12 page)

 

When Grace awoke late in the morning, she was flustered and confused—and then she realized that her hair was tangled all around her. She pushed it out of her face as she sat up, sighing over all of the brushing she'd have to do to untangle it. In her sleep, the tie must have come loose.

And then she saw the note on the table, in a man's strong handwriting:
I resisted.

She covered her face and, with a groan, fell back among the pillows. Daniel had invaded her room, and she had no memory of it. What had he
done, besides release her hair from the braid that annoyed him?

But…he'd resisted. And he hadn't awoken her.

Had he come for what her wandering hand had promised him last night? Did he think she was ready to surrender? He'd find out soon enough that her armor was dented but not broken.

She tore up his note before anyone else could see it.

After an early luncheon with Edward—during which he barely spoke to her, so engrossed was he in his book on railways—Grace went shopping with Beverly. She didn't buy anything but ribbons for her hair, but it felt good to do nothing but talk about lighthearted concerns, fashion and hairstyles and who might become betrothed to whom.

But when she returned to the town house, Ruby met her in the entrance hall.

“We had visitors today, Miss Grace,” the maid said ominously.

“They must have left their cards,” Grace answered. “It was a good thing I wasn't here, or I would have felt obliged to see them. Have you started moving some of the paintings from my bedroom and the master suite?”

“I'm not sure that'll be needed anymore.”

Grace lifted the bonnet from her head and frowned, even as the maid absently took it. “What do you mean? Lady Cheston says she's going to call on me—”

“A decorator visited today. It seems Mr. Banbury hired them to fix up the place.”

“Mr. Banbury?” Grace said faintly, already knowing who was responsible and trying to figure out why.

“They're all excited, because they can do whatever they want—long as you approve.”

“Of course.” Grace plopped into a chair.

“Did Mr. Banbury win a lot of money?” Ruby asked suspiciously.

Grace opened her mouth, about to answer with uncertainty, but all she said was, “I don't think so.”

“Supposedly Mr. Banbury hired the Woodleys, too,” Ruby continued in a softer voice. “But he didn't do either of these things, did he?”

Grace shook her head.

“That man ye're challengin' thinks he can win ye,” Ruby warned.

“He just wants the house ready because he thinks he'll take over soon.”

“Is your quest to make him a better man workin'?”

Grace remained silent.

“The decorator said he'd bring his men and start workin' tomorrow. It'll be messy for a while.”

She felt angry and defensive. “So is he trying to remove me from the house early?”

“No,” said a male voice.

They both turned around to see Daniel standing in the front doorway.

“Might I come in?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that he owned the place, but she only exchanged a meaningful glance with Ruby.

“Do come up to the drawing room, Mr. Throckmorten,” Grace said, mindful that the other servants might be listening. “I'll ring for refreshments.”

Ruby didn't leave them alone, and Grace was grateful, even though Daniel glanced at the maid impatiently more than once as they waited for tea and iced cakes. Ruby sat in a window seat mending Edward's shirts, while Grace sat on the sofa, and Daniel paced. He looked too big for the drawing room, filled with energy that couldn't be contained. When the refreshments had been served, he pointedly took a seat beside her.

Ruby gave a disapproving sniff.

Grace stirred her tea and stared as the color lightened with the cream.

“Can't look at me?” he asked softly.

She gave him an arch smile. “How silly. Of course I can.”

After a long sigh, he glanced at Ruby, then lowered his voice. “I'm looking at you because I'm remembering where your hand was last night.”

She set the cup in the saucer with a rattle that splashed several drops onto her skirt. To her surprise, he quickly wet his handkerchief in a pitcher of water and dabbed at the spot over her knee before it could stain.

And she let him, knowing she'd touched him in a far more intimate way, her fingers dipping
between his thighs. She felt overheated with embarrassment. Why was it so difficult to accept her own eager participation in their challenge?

She heard Ruby get to her feet and couldn't even look at the maid. “It's nothing, Ruby. You can return to your sewing.” She had to get off the topic of her scandalous conduct. How better than to remind him of his? “You came to my bedroom last night,” she whispered disapprovingly.

“I had to, after the promise of your touch.”

She inhaled sharply, and finally admitted, “It was foolish of me to pay you back for how you'd touched me.”

“So that's why you did it?”

“Why else?”

“I thought you wanted my attention.”

That was too close to the truth.

“No, I wanted you to see how it felt to be teased in public, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop it.”

“I enjoyed it,” he said simply.

She sighed, taking another sip of her tea. “I'm surprised you did not press your advantage in my bedroom last night.”

“I tried to wake you, but you seemed exhausted.”

She frowned but didn't answer. Then she finally murmured, “What else did you do?”

She was growing so used to his moods, to the way his mind worked, that she could tell he'd stiffened. She was curious as to why but didn't ask.

“So you think I would abuse you?” he asked in a low voice.

She glanced up at him quickly. His expression was strangely impassive, and she wondered momentarily—had she hurt his feelings?

“I didn't say
abuse,
” she answered, still studying him. “You know how I react to you. Were you trying to wake me up?”

“Not really.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Just looking at you,” he said, his voice gone low and hoarse.

She was caught in the passion she saw in his heavy-lidded gaze. They weren't even touching, yet he aroused her, made her yearn for him. She was feeling overwhelmed and unprepared, and she wondered if she could hold out against the onslaught of her own needs.

With a start, she sat back, turning away from him. What was wrong with her? How could she even think about losing to him, when her future—and Edward's—was at stake?

He cleared his throat. “I'm leaving tomorrow for Hertingfordbury.”

She gaped at him. “You're going to my home?”

“I want you to come with me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

“I thought you could introduce me to the steward and servants. I'll go without you, if I must.”

Ruby had said that the servants back home had no idea that the family no longer owned the
manor. Much as Grace didn't like the intimacy of traveling with him, she owed them the consideration of explaining what had happened. And perhaps she could talk Daniel into retaining them.

“I'll go,” she said resolutely.

His eyes widened a bit. “That didn't require much persuasion.”

“I should be the one to tell them, not a stranger.”

“And what will your brother say?”

“He'll know that I'm accompanied by a proper chaperone,” Grace said, gesturing to Ruby.

She hid her smile at his look of resignation.

“I am not a naive girl fresh from the schoolroom, after all,” she continued.

He leaned back on the sofa and rested his arm on the back. “On the way, I'll be able to show you my charitable endeavor.”

She gave a small smile. “And what would that be? The racetrack where you keep the jockeys employed?”

“Now, Grace, I already told you that I read to the blind. I'll demonstrate it on this trip.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “I can't wait to see what you come up with.”

When he leaned toward her, she glanced pointedly at Ruby, then back at him. “Mr. Throckmorten—”

“Remember, Grace, we have only eight days left in our challenge. I have to somehow find an advantage over you.”

She leaned back, bracing herself on one hand.

“And if kisses alone won't work, I'll find your soft side with charity and my good nature.”

She bit her lip to keep from chuckling. “I guess you'll need all the luck you can get, because I don't plan to lose.”

Out of sight of Ruby, he moved his hand about her hip, cupping her backside, long fingers pressed and caressing.

Grace caught her breath, shocked at how quickly her desire for him could flare up.

His face too close, he murmured. “You have my promise—I'll be the winner in this game between us.”

G
race was worried about how both she and Daniel could disappear from the city—and Society guest lists—at the same time without causing suspicion. But all of that was taken care of at Lady Putnam's ball that evening.

She had hoped that Daniel would avoid the event, since he said he always did—before their challenge. But then she felt she was being a coward. She just would not allow herself to be alone with him. That was the secret to surviving his intimate persuasions and her own loss of control. There was only a week left. In a week of knowing him, she hadn't
quite
removed all her clothing in his presence.

Oh God, what had she come to when
that
was something to praise herself with! And how could she be proud, when she had allowed some of her clothing to be…rearranged. And too often she could remember his mouth on her, what he'd done with his teeth and tongue. It was amazing that she could still function whenever she thought of his effect on her.

At the ball, held in a suite of three large drawing rooms, Grace found Beverly and told her that she was leaving for home, and with whom she was traveling.

“I need your help to disguise that I'm leaving on the same day as Daniel,” Grace said in a low voice, smiling at an elderly man who nodded as he passed by.

“Oh, Grace, this is not a good idea.”

“I know, but I can't let our servants meet him with no explanation.”

“You could write a letter.”

“But then I couldn't persuade him to keep them all on. I'll be able to point out everything each one does to benefit the household.”

“Then if I can't talk you out of this, what can I do to help?” Beverly finally said.

With her glass of lemonade near her lips, Grace said, “Let the occasional person know that I'm visiting home in two days. If anyone calls tomorrow, I'm going to have my servants tell people I'm out shopping with you. Will you mind the lies?”

“They're for a good cause,” she said with a sigh.

“Speaking of a good cause…” Grace began, when she spied Daniel entering the room.

As usual, heads turned his way, and a wave of whispers went out from around him. Surely they weren't used to seeing him so much at these events. And then the heads began to turn one at a time to her. Everyone was waiting to see what they'd do together.

But it wasn't supposed to be about the two of them as a couple. He wasn't going to marry her, so it served no purpose for him to dance with her. Except that she liked his attentions, liked feeling the center of his warm regard. But there were other young ladies deserving of his time.

She turned back to Beverly and smiled. “Remember your vow to help Daniel meet prospective brides?”

“Yes?” she said brightly.

“There are so many beautiful, accomplished young ladies here, and he must already know most of them or their male relatives.”

“Probably,” Beverly said, looking a little confused.

“Then let's introduce him to the women he wouldn't normally meet.”

Grace whispered her plan, Beverly clapped her hands, and they both managed to appear politely smiling when Daniel finally reached them.

He bowed. “Ladies, you both look lovely this evening.”

Grace felt a little breathless just looking at him, all dark and handsome in his black evening clothes. He looked at her a bit too long, a bit too closely. It was time to distract them both.

“Thank you for your compliment, Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said. “Forgive me for getting right to the point, but I could use your assistance this evening.”

Grace saw him shoot a suspicious glance at her, but she kept a serene smile on her face.

“Do look at the corner closest to the main entrance,” Beverly said, not bothering to point.

Daniel looked, but not Grace, who didn't want to appear too obvious. But she already knew that there were two rows of chairs set up in the corner, facing outward, for the chaperones and wallflowers.

“There are several eligible ladies there who are never asked to dance,” Beverly said, “except by elderly gentlemen.”

Daniel looked at her. “And it is your mission to have me find men to dance with them?”

“Why no,” Beverly said lightly, “I would like you to do them the honor.”

Grace bit the inside of her lip so that she wouldn't laugh out loud at the impassive way he glanced once more at the single ladies, then back to Beverly.

“Lady Standish,” he began patiently, “there are many ladies there. I surely could not—”

“Don't be silly, Mr. Throckmorten. Some of them are chaperones and would refuse to dance with you anyway.” Beverly blanched. “I didn't mean that they'd refuse to dance because it's
you,
but because they're chaperones.”

“Of course.” The dry tone of Daniel's voice expressed his doubts.

“Then you'll do it?” Beverly asked with obvious excitement.

“I would do anything for you, your ladyship.”

“Then allow me to go over first, so I can begin chatting. After several minutes, you can come and request an introduction.”

“So it won't look so deliberate?” he asked with amusement.

Beverly nodded and sailed away, holding on to her skirt, bowing slightly at the occasional person who crossed her path.

Grace felt Daniel looking at her.

“This was your idea, was it not?”

She smiled, keeping her gaze trained on the dancers performing the intricate steps of the quadrille.

“You can ignore me all you want,” he said, “but I'm beginning to recognize how your devious mind works.”

She frowned at him. “It is not so devious to want young ladies to enjoy themselves at a ball.”

“Aha, it
was
your idea.” He lowered his voice. “You no longer wish to dance with me yourself?”

His question hung in the air a moment, and she didn't know quite how to answer it. “You know you dance beautifully,” she finally said with reluctance. “And I enjoyed myself. But I don't want people to…come to the wrong conclusion.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you are pursuing me.”

“But I am.”

She sighed, still not looking at him, though she was aware of his warmth and his scent. “Pursuing me for a noble reason.”

“Desire is not noble?”

“A wager is not noble,” she said in a low voice, wincing that she'd even said the word aloud. She felt flustered and uneasy. A young lady should
aspire to marriage—instead, she was aspiring to avoid an illicit seduction.

“So I can't dance with you?” he said, setting down his goblet.

“I didn't say that.”

“Then I propose that I will do this favor for you—and Lady Standish, of course—and in return, you will owe me a private dance.”

She took an unsteady breath, her eyes fluttering shut at just the thought of being held again in his strong arms.

How many days left until she won?

“Very well,” she agreed. “You wish to dance out on the terrace?”

“No, it will have to be another night, where no one can disturb us.”

His gaze could have melted her into a hot puddle of passion. She should have looked away, even as some distant part of her mind warned that someone could be watching.

At last he left her, and she could only think starkly that they would be in constant contact for at least the next two days.

Thank God for Ruby, or she couldn't imagine enduring endless hours in a rocking carriage with him staring at her with smoldering brown eyes.

 

As Daniel danced with three different young ladies, he knew he was once again the focus of whispered speculation. But he had to admit, it was for a good cause. It was a shame that these
women had so few dance partners that they could only stumble over their words of gratitude.

Every so often, he caught a glimpse of Grace, smiling at him with pleasure. Such a simple thing made her happy?

She danced with other gentlemen, and he found he had to force himself not to keep glancing her way. He didn't need to be jealous. He knew he was the one who would be alone with her in the dark, who was the first to show her passion.

After several dances, he took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stood alone near the open terrace doors. A faint breeze penetrated the stifling oppression of the overheated ballroom. His gaze was drawn to Grace, who danced the waltz with another man. He watched the graceful way she moved across the floor, her skirts twirling with each turn, her face alight with happiness, as she temporarily forgot her cares.

Other men watched her as well, and he found himself studying their expressions. Most seemed curious or interested, or even wore a smile of admiration. But one man, who stood alone, let slip an expression of rapt adoration before suddenly looking about as if he was worried someone had seen him.

Daniel suddenly recognized him. He was one of the other two men who'd played the infamous card game with Grace's mother. He'd been the one who wanted Mrs. Banbury to sweeten the pot with the hand of her daughter.

Feeling a cold thread of danger, Daniel began to
move, skirting through the edges of the crowd but staying near the wall, step by step getting closer to the other man. He was the right height and build, short and thin, for the stranger who'd been lingering in the shadows outside Grace's town house.

But what was his name?

Daniel kept him in sight, even when a gentleman or two struck up a conversation. At last, by casually inquiring, someone was able to identify him.

Horace Jenkins was apparently a gentleman of property in Hertfordshire. He must have at least seen Grace from afar—but mostly likely he had met her, for how else would he have decided he had to marry her? But Daniel didn't want to ask Grace and arouse her suspicions too soon. He would have his investigators look into the matter. He didn't want a word to leak out that might compromise Grace's reputation, and he was certain he could convince Jenkins and the other man, for the right sum, to remain quiet.

Besides, Daniel was about to take Grace away from London, away from danger, away from her ability to retreat from him. With the days dwindling, he needed every spare hour to woo her.

He admitted he'd underestimated the difficulty of her seduction. But he had a trick or two left.

 

At dawn the next morning, Grace felt like a character in a novel. She had already had her trunk of clothing sent down to the stables, where Daniel's carriage was waiting for her. Then she
and Ruby walked through the dew-glistening garden, through the stables, and then the gate in the wall that led to the alley. She felt nervous, as if she were doing something that might change her life.

Everything she did with Daniel Throckmorten had that potential, she thought. It should bother her, but instead it gave her a little thrill. Then she reminded herself that Daniel's coming into her life had changed everything, and not for the better.

She saw him standing beside the sleek, black carriage with its four matching horses, all snorting and tossing their heads as if anxious to go.

And suddenly Grace wasn't so nervous since she had Ruby to lean on. He had known she would not travel with him unchaperoned, yet his dark eyes lightened with amusement and a silent challenge, as if a mere maid could not stop him from taking what he wanted.

And that was Grace.

Even though she told herself not to be flattered, she felt it clearly, an almost feminine satisfaction. For whatever reason, he desired her. She was only his current challenge, a prize to be won. He was a gambler; it's what he did. She'd opposed gambling her whole life, had been on the receiving end of the terrible consequences too many times.

Yet she was participating in this indecent challenge—and enjoying it. Surely it was only the flattery of a man wanting her. And her certainty that she could win, denying him his ultimate prize.
She would never again allow a man such control over her.

And then Daniel opened the door to the carriage and reached for her hand to help her enter. For just a moment, it felt like she was entering into a perilous trap.

She lifted her chin, took his hand, and stepped up inside.

Even though the hour was early, the traffic was brisk. Many wagons were heading into the city with their goods from the surrounding farms—milk and strawberries and everything London cooks purchased each day. Grace sat in silence, listening to the calls of vendors, because she kept the nearest window blinds closed.

“It will get rather uncomfortable in here if you keep the window up all day,” Daniel said dryly.

“I'm not warm.” The first drip of perspiration slid down the center of her back, and it was only early morning.

“Don't worry about appearances. Everyone will think we're married.”

She frowned at the amusement he so readily displayed. “Not the people who know us—the people who believe that you're leaving town alone today, and I'm simply shopping.” She hesitated, then gave him a bold look. “So why have you not married?”

He arched a brow, but surprisingly, he answered, “It never seemed the right time.”

“You never met the right woman.”

“I never tried. Before you, it was rare that I at
tended balls, and only when my cousin insisted I look over the latest crop of debutantes. My current mistress took care of any other needs.” He grinned and allowed his gaze to roam down her body.

She gritted her teeth, ignored his indecent reference, and said, “Your cousin, the duke?”

“He long ago adopted the function of caretaker for the family. He thinks marriage will settle me down and make me happy.”

“But not for himself?”

“A duke has to be absolutely certain he's found the correct, presentable woman who's prepared for the position.”

“Is that how the Cabots have always approached marriage?”