Sweet Surrender (32 page)

"Nothing.  I’m just undone."

"We’ll be fine, Duncan.  Trust me."

"What if I’m not the man you think I am?"

"You
are
the man I think you are."  Her cool certainty eased his distress.

"I’ll always try to be."

"You always
will
be."

"I want you to be happy.  I want you to be glad."

"I will always be glad.  Now"—she raised up so they were nose to nose—"will you please get on with it?"

With what felt like euphoria, he nodded.  "Yes, I believe I will get on with it."

He pulled her thighs a bit wider, and he took his cock in hand, wedging in the tip.  She tensed, and he kissed her again. 

"It will be over in a minute," he said.

"Thank goodness!  I didn’t need that stupid chastity anyway."

"Don’t be afraid."

"I’m not."

She was trembling, and he smiled at her, keen to impart all the comfort and encouragement he could muster.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I’ve been ready my whole life."

"So have I."

He decided there had been some destiny at work, that Fate had hurled him down a new road and into a carnal accident he hadn’t seen coming.  Who could fight destiny?  Why try?

He flexed his hips, pushing, pushing, pushing in until—suddenly—he burst through her maidenhead and slid to her womb.

A sheen of tears sparkling in her pretty hazel eyes, she looked shrewd and wise and much older than her eighteen years.

"You actually know how," she said. 

"Yes, I know how you minx."

"You delayed for so long that I was beginning to suspect you were a virgin, too."

"A virgin my ass," he scoffed.  "I’m all man."

"You’d better be."

He started to move, letting her learn the rhythm, letting her adapt.  Instantly, she understood her role, and they coupled as if they’d been at it forever.

He’d planned to stretch it out, to make it last, but he was too overwhelmed by her, by the circumstances.

He thrust once and again and spilled himself.

Just that quickly, it was over, but to his surprise, his cock didn’t realize it.  He was still hard as a rock.

"Did you survive it?" he asked.

"All in one piece."

"You might be the death of me."

"Never."  She shook her head.  "You can’t ever die because I couldn’t live without you."

He scowled and blurted out, "I couldn’t live without you, either."

"Love you," she murmured.

"Love you, too," he agreed, and he grinned.  It sounded just right.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Come in, Miss Bennett."

Grace hesitated, then walked into the library.

A maid had conveyed the command that she’d been summoned by Beatrice Scott.  She’d ordered Grace to bring Michael with her, but Grace couldn’t find him so she’d arrived alone. 

Jackson was gone, having left in an angry, visible flurry to chase after Duncan and Eleanor.  Grace had no idea what Lady Beatrice might want or why she’d have sent for Grace so soon after Jackson’s departure.  No doubt Beatrice was eager to threaten and offend and frighten Grace when Jackson wasn’t there to protect her.

Initially, she’d refused to comply, but the maid had begged Grace to agree, had convinced her she should obey, then pick up the pieces later on.

  Grace supposed the girl was right, and she wasn’t afraid of Beatrice.  Not exactly.  Jackson was now in charge of the Scott family’s affairs, and
he
would determine the outcome of Michael’s claim.

Still, as she marched in, she had to admit she was unsettled.

Lady Beatrice was seated behind the desk, and Susan Scott was seated in the chair across.  A man was with them, lurking off to the side.  He was burly and menacing and glowered quite effectively.

Grace took a quick look at him, then glanced away. 

Obviously, Beatrice intended more than a rehashed discussion about Michael.  What could they want?  What had they planned?

Suddenly, she felt vulnerable and defenseless.  She’d pleaded with Jackson to ride after Eleanor, but at the moment, she was vehemently regretting his precipitous exodus.  She’d love to have him walk through the door behind her.

"Where is your ward, Miss Bennett?" Beatrice asked.

"I couldn’t locate him, so I thought it best not to keep you waiting more than I already had."

The man turned to Beatrice.  "Don’t worry about the boy.  I’ll run him to ground once we’ve finished with her."

"Who are you," Grace inquired, "and what do you want with Michael?"

The man folded his arms over his chest and was mulishly silent.

"I asked you a question," Grace snapped.  "If you have business with Michael, I demand to know what it is.  I won’t give you permission to talk to him without my being present."

"Honestly, Miss Bennett," Susan Scott said, "you have the most annoying habit of speaking without being told that you may.  Be quiet."

Ignoring Susan’s barb, Grace glared at the man.

"Well…?  Who are you?"

A standoff commenced, and Beatrice ended it.

"This is Mr. Rafferty."

"Hello, Mr. Rafferty," Grace said.  "Why are you here?"

"He works for me," Beatrice explained.

"In what capacity?" Grace asked.

"In any capacity I require," Beatrice stated, which clarified nothing.

Grace was flustered and disconcerted, and she decided to hurry matters along.  Clearly, Beatrice had something she was keen to say, and Grace wouldn’t be able to leave until Beatrice had said it.

"What do you want?" she asked Beatrice.

"What do you think I want?"

"I haven’t a clue."

"I want you gone, and I wish your departure to occur in such a way that you will never return."

"I’m happy to go," Grace said.  "I’ve insisted as much since I arrived.  Mr. Scott is the one keeping me here."

"Yes,
Mr.
Scott is eager for you to remain"—Beatrice smirked—"but I am not.  Milton Abbey has been my home for decades, so it shouldn’t surprise you to learn that I know of all that happens in this house."  She smirked again.  "I reward people for tattling."

"How nice," Grace sarcastically retorted.  "I’m certain such unmitigated treachery builds enormous camaraderie among the staff."

"This isn’t a social hall, Miss Bennett.  This is one of the oldest and grandest residences in all of England, and I am fully apprised by the servants.  Would you like to hear what they have to say about you?"

"Not particularly."

"It seems you have developed a passion for my son."

"A passion?"  Grace scoffed.  "We’re friends.  That’s all."

"Just friends?  Is that what you’re claiming?"

"I’m not
claiming
a friendship.  It
is
a friendship."

"Permit me to offer a piece of advice, Miss Bennett.  When you’re staying in a strange house, you should be concerned as to who is changing the sheets on your bed."

Grace frowned.  "The sheets?"

"A hostess can discover many interesting facts about her guests from her laundress."

Grace nodded, confused.  "Thank you for letting me know."

"For instance, your genuine character has been exposed."

"My character?"

"I understand why you would be attracted to Jackson.  After all, he’s handsome and rich, but what I can’t understand is why you would prostitute yourself for him."

"Prostitute myself?" Grace huffed.  "Of all the rude, uncivil, preposterous—"

Beatrice peered over at her daughter-in-law.  "What is your opinion, Susan?  Would you spread your legs for a fellow simply because he was rich and handsome?  Wouldn’t you have a bit more pride?  A bit more sense?"

"I’m not stupid, Beatrice," Susan responded.  "I’d have to have a ring on my finger first."

Grace’s heart began to pound. 

Beatrice had been slow to get to the point, but there was no question she was aware of how Grace had been dallying with Jackson.  A thousand frantic thoughts whirled through Grace’s mind.  She was an adult and had no connection to Beatrice.  Just as Beatrice had no authority over Grace.

But Grace was a single female and couldn’t blatantly fornicate outside of marriage.  There were laws to stop such moral turpitude.  A woman could be jailed for illicit conduct, could be tarred and feathered or shamed in numerous other ways.  How might Beatrice punish Grace?

Grace’s gaze flitted to Mr. Rafferty.  What was the true reason for his presence?

She couldn’t guess what evidence the laundress might have shared with Beatrice, but Grace resolved to deny any allegation.  What choice did she have?

Susan lifted her hand and wagged it in Grace’s direction.  Grace couldn’t help but notice her gaudy ring with a diamond as big as a dinner plate.

"It’s lovely, isn’t it?" Susan said to Grace.

"Yes, very lovely," Grace murmured.

Her confident attitude had fled, and she was too perturbed to continue on with the meeting.  Yet how to leave with any aplomb?  Could they prevent her from leaving?

"This ring is a Scott family heirloom," Susan explained.  "I wore it during my wedding to Edward, but it’s so beautiful, Jackson and I figured we’d use it for our own wedding."

Grace flinched.  Had she heard correctly?

"Your…wedding to Jack…?"  She stumbled on Jackson’s name, realizing she couldn’t sound as if they were on intimate terms.  "I mean your wedding to Mr. Scott?"

"Yes.  He proposed earlier.  Have you missed the servants’ gossip?  The news raced through the halls like wildfire."

"You’re marrying Mr. Scott?"  Grace couldn’t wrap her head around the notion so she asked her question again.  "
You
are marrying Mr. Scott?"

"He’s been resistant"—Susan grinned—"but he finally relented.  It keeps everything in the family, and with his acting as guardian to my son, he agreed it’s so much tidier that way."

"He didn’t tell me," she muttered not grasping she would blurt it out like that.

"Why would you have been apprised?" Susan snorted.  "It’s between me and Jackson and none of your affair."

   Grace started to shake, her mind galloping at an even faster clip as she tried to remember the day’s events.  What had she been doing?  What had Jackson been doing? 

Grace had spent the morning alone, with the sole interruption being her failed appointment with Beatrice.  Afterward, she hadn’t seen Jackson for hours.  Where had he been?  Could he have been discussing marriage with Susan?  Was it possible?

She studied Susan, searching for clues, but Susan stared back, her gaze firm and unwavering. 

Was Susan telling the truth?  How could Grace find out?  She and Susan weren’t acquainted, so Grace had no capacity to judge her veracity.  But why would Susan lie?

Dread swamped Grace.  What if Susan was now engaged to Jackson?  Where did that leave Grace? 

As to Jackson, he’d briefly visited her room, then she’d received the note about Eleanor.  Had he come to confess his situation?

She didn’t think so.  Before the maid had interrupted them, he’d been happy and smiling.  His mood had provided no hint of trouble, no inkling that he had a secret to reveal, but then, she’d always found him to be extremely enigmatic.

Duncan had warned Grace to watch out for the Scott family, that they would never break ranks when their money and property were involved.  Was that what had happened?

She could hardly claim she had some sort of hold on Jackson, that they were promised or bound, but it seemed as if they were.  Their carnal behavior had skewed Grace’s view of the world and her place in it.

She felt deeply connected to him and had begun to hope they might end up together, that they might wed.  He was above her in station, but he didn’t appear overly concerned about status or lineage. 

She’d stupidly given herself to him and—at that very moment—could be pregnant with his child.  Yet there was a very real possibility that he was engaged to his attractive, aristocratic sister-in-law.

The prospect for betrayal loomed large, and she was so distraught that she was surprised she didn’t collapse to the floor in a stunned heap.

"Do you admit your fornication, Miss Bennett?" Beatrice inquired, yanking her out of her disturbed reverie.

"What?  No!" Grace adamantly replied.  "I did nothing inappropriate with Mr. Scott."

Susan snidely interjected, "I imagine you developed feelings for him.  With a man like Jackson, it’s easy, isn’t it?  He’s so masculine and mysterious.  You poor girl; you wouldn’t have stood a chance."

"I’m not in love with Mr. Scott," Grace declared, but her disavowal rang hollow and false.