Seduced by His Touch(10)

With that dismal reassurance in mind, she laid her palm atop his sleeve and let him lead her in to supper.

As she'd suspected, her aunt had arranged the table so that specific  guests were-and were not-seated next to each other. To her surprise,  however, she found herself placed next to Lord Jack.

"Once more, I find myself indebted to your aunt," he said as he read the names inked on the cards.

To her left sat an elderly man, who needed a brass ear trumpet to hear.  After an exchange of greetings that had to be repeated more than once,  he nodded and smiled, then applied himself to his soup, apparently  content to eat in silence.

With the woman to Lord Jack's right happily conversing with the man on  her other side, Grace found herself the sole focus of his attention. She  expected him to continue his earlier flirtatious teasing. However, what  he said next surprised her.

"So, Miss Danvers," he began as he dipped a spoon into his bowl of mushroom bisque. "What is your opinion of Descartes?"

Her own spoon wavered over her bowl. "Excuse me?"

"Descartes. You know, ‘I think, therefore, I am.' Surely you are familiar with his writings."

Descartes? He wants to talk about Descartes? A frown settled over her brows. "Why would you think that?"

"Because we both know you like to read, and since you are familiar with  Swift and Johnson, it follows you might have an interest in other men of  thought, even a few French ones."

"But Swift and Johnson were essayists, not philosophers."

"So you do know Descartes." He smiled and ate a mouthful of soup.

"My father says I should not. Our society believes a woman ought to  plead ignorance about any matter more mentally taxing than stitchery,  housekeeping and childrearing. Politics and philosophy should be left to  men."                       
       
           


///
       

"But you do not agree?" he prompted in a measured tone.

"Apparently not, since you are correct that I have read Descartes. I  told Papa that he, Voltaire and Rousseau were part of my French language  lessons when I was in school."

Lord Jack laughed.

They each ate a spoonful of soup before continuing.

"Voltaire and Rousseau, hmm?" he mused. "Do not tell me you believe in  the rights of the common man, the will of the people, and other such  radical notions?"

She paused, gauging him. "I'm not in favor of abolishing the monarchy,  if that is what you are alluding to. But neither do I think it wrong to  allow ordinary people more of a say in their existence. The right to  vote, for instance."

"Ah, so you would give the vote to everyone regardless of education or income, then. Even women, I suppose?"

She fell silent, struggling to decide whether or not to answer him. "Yes. Even women."

He ate another spoonful of soup, then patted his mouth with his napkin.  Leaning near, he lowered his voice. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but I  agree."

"You do?" Astonished warmth spread through her.

He nodded. "Shameful, is it not? A duke's son who wants to give the  commoners their say. As for women, well, they have more intelligence  than men like to admit. That's why so many of my sex want to keep their  females ignorant and pregnant. Just imagine the competition if we gave  them equal footing."

She smiled, marveling at his sentiments. "Yes, just think."

Their conversation continued on throughout the meal, roving from one  subject to the next-some topics serious, some fanciful, even funny. By  the time dessert was served, Grace realized she had no real idea what  she had eaten, having been too enraptured by Jack Byron to pay attention  to anything else.

Never one to stand on ceremony, Aunt Jane didn't ask the women to  withdraw in order to allow the men to enjoy their port and cigars in  solitary splendor. Instead, everyone rose from the dining table to make  their way back to the card room together. To Grace's secret delight,  Lord Jack took her arm, neither of them in a hurry as they strolled  toward the parlor.

Rather than join one of the games, however, the two of them settled onto  a padded window seat. While she sipped tea and he nursed a brandy, they  continued their discussion, delving for a time into the subjects of  art, music and favorite plays and playwrights.

Then, without quite realizing where the time had gone, the evening was over.

"Until next we meet, Miss Danvers," he said in his rumbling baritone as  he bowed over her hand. "I had a most enjoyable evening."

"As did I, your lordship."

And she had, she realized. So enjoyable she couldn't remember a  pleasanter time. She'd relaxed and been at ease in his company in a way  she rarely was with anyone-man or woman.

Curtseying, she bid him adieu, then stood watching from the doorway as he climbed into his carriage and drove away.

Once the last guest had gone and the door was closed and locked for the night, she and her aunt turned toward the stairs.

"A fine time, was it not?" Aunt Jane said with a sleepy smile.

"Yes. Very fine," Grace agreed.

"I should imagine so, considering the way a certain handsome lord could  not be torn from your side. You've made a conquest there, my girl."

She stopped. "Conquest? Oh no, you mistake the matter."

Her aunt gave a disbelieving snort. "I mistake nothing. Men have a look  about them when they're pursuing a particular woman, and when it comes  to you, Lord Jack has that look written all over him. He's certainly a  bold one, singling you out the way he did, then keeping you all to  himself for the whole of the evening."

"It wasn't the whole of the evening," Grace defended. "And he did not  single me out. We were merely talking and the time got away."

"Talking, hmm?" Aunt Jane patted her shoulder as they reached the  upstairs landing. "Call it what you like, but that man wants you."

Wants me? No, she thought, he doesn't want me, at least not in the way  Aunt Jane thinks. He'd come tonight out of gentlemanly politeness, then  spent time with her because she was the youngest woman in the room. His  attentions were nothing special, nothing she should take seriously.  Likely he was bored and she amused him for some unfathomable reason.  Once his personal business here in Bath was concluded, he would leave,  forgetting he had ever known a young woman named Grace Danvers.

"We are merely friendly acquaintances, who share a few interests in  common," she stated. "He has no deeper regard for me, I assure you."                       
       
           


///
       

"Time will tell," her aunt said, a smug expression in her eyes. "For  now, I am off to bed. Good-night, dear, and sweet dreams. If Lord Jack  is in yours, I know you'll sleep well." With a little laugh, she walked  down the hallway to her room.

A moment later, Grace went to her own bedchamber, certain that on that last score her aunt was right.





Chapter 6





Over the next two weeks, Lord Jack Byron gave Grace's aunt plenty of  ammunition to bolster her argument that he was courting Grace.

Everywhere she and her aunt went, there was Lord Jack.

He happened upon them while they were taking the air strolling along The  Circus, and another time while they were shopping on Bond Street.

They crossed paths on the Royal Crescent, where Lord Jack had taken a lease on one of the area's luxurious town houses.

Grace encountered him at public assemblies and at one or two private parties, as well.

She even met him at the Pump Room, agreeing to walk along the room's  perimeter to share the latest news from London and abroad, while her  aunt sat with friends and took the waters.

Yet despite Aunt Jane's certainty that she was being pursued, Grace saw  nothing particularly lover-like in his attentions to her. He flirted,  yes, but she discounted that as a case of Jack Byron simply being Jack  Byron. As for his seeking her out when they were in company, well, they  talked easily and had developed a rapport of sorts-one that led them  both to gravitate toward each other for a measure of easy talk and  undemanding companionship.

She was certain he viewed her only as a friend. For in spite of his  roguish promises, he never made any effort to lead her down temptation's  path. Nor did he try to hold her hand or draw her away for a private  stroll or a stolen kiss.

Not that I want him to, she assured herself. She was content with his  friendship. Quite content. She needed and expected nothing more. Still,  the platonic nature of his attentions proved that Aunt Jane was mistaken  about his interest in her. Clearly, he saw her as a sister, which meant  she had no reason to guard her emotions against him.

The third week in September dawned warm and sunny, the sky a clear,  pristine blue after two nights of heavy rain. Deciding the weather was  just right for an excursion to Sydney Gardens to do some drawing, Grace  collected her paper and pencils and prepared to set off with her maid in  tow. Aunt Jane told Grace to have a good time, informing her that she  planned to spend the day with several friends-scouring the shops for  bargains-before adjourning to Mollands for tea and sweets.