"He's an aristocrat, Grace. You deserve the world, but facts are facts. Men of his class don't marry women from yours."
No, she conceded. They don't.
"I'm aware this isn't the best time to ask, but I will again regardless."
"No, Terrence-," she said, suspecting what he was about to say.
"Marry me, Grace. Marry me and let me make you happy. I'll shower you with love, enough that you'll forget all about him. Say yes and let me show you how grand our life can be together."
She opened her mouth to refuse, prepared to let him down gently, just as she had all the times before. But suddenly, the words did not come. Suddenly she was unsure-not only of her answer but of herself as well.
"I … ," she began, studying his earnest-eyed face. "I … " Her heart beat in a slow, heavy cadence. "I will think about it."
///
"But Grace … ," he said, starting to argue out of habit. Abruptly he stopped. "What? What did you say?"
"I said I shall consider your proposal."
His features lit with happy surprise. "You will?"
"Yes. In the meantime, why do we not talk of other matters? The latest goings-on in Town, for instance. Here, I'll pour us more tea while you regale me."
Several hours later, Jack leaned back in his chair and listened to the actors on the stage. But the play wasn't what held his real interest-that belonged to the woman at his side.
Entrancing in a gown of vibrant green silk, Grace radiated femininity, but not the frail, tepid sort borne by so many of her sex. She was bold and colorful-her lush red hair providing a perfect foil for the crisp apple green of her dress. Looking over at her, his mouth watered at the thought of taking a big juicy bite.
But sadly, even he knew a crowded theater was no place for the kind of things running through his mind. He would have to content himself with a far more innocent touch instead, particularly since her aunt was seated in the row ahead of them. The deep shadows inside the box worked to his advantage, though, providing concealment as he reached for Grace's hand. Lifting it gently, he settled her palm against his thigh.
She sent him a sideways look, her hand lying lax beneath his own. When a line in the play drew applause, she eased her palm away and softly joined in.
His brows drew fractionally closer before he tipped his head near. "Is anything the matter?" he whispered.
"No, of course not." Giving him a quick smile, she redirected her eyes toward the stage.
Leaning back again, he watched the actor portraying Petruchio hoist his Kate onto his shoulders. The audience laughed at the ribald, fast-paced dialogue delivered with unerring skill by the performers.
Gazing at Grace's profile, he skimmed his fingertips along the side of her neck.
She shivered and gave a small shrug to discourage his touch.
With a smile, he paused before moving to toy with a curl at her nape.
"Jack, stop," she said on a hushed undertone.
"Why?" he teased.
"You know why. Now stop."
His lips twitched. Reaching higher, he traced the shell-like edge of her ear, drawing a quiver from her this time.
"Please."
He smiled, slow and intimate. "Please what?"
"We're in a theater."
"Yes, but in this dark corner no one can see."
"What about Aunt Jane?"
"She is busy watching the play." Angling his head, he caught her earlobe between his teeth and gave a light, playful nip.
Her eyelashes fluttered and she bit her own lip to hold back a sigh.
"I could do more," he promised in a low, suggestive tone.
Her eyes turned to his, heavy-lidded and beseeching. "Don't."
"Are you sure?"
She stared, the play forgotten. "Yes."
He met her gaze for a long moment before taking pity and easing away. As he did, he reached for her hand again, causing her to tense. "Just relax," he told her softly. "It's only your hand."
With a slight nod, she relented, allowing him to cradle her palm inside his.
They sat just so for the next two minutes, watching the performance with their hands clasped.
Unable to resist another foray, he eased open one of the pearl buttons on her glove, then a second. Ever so gently, he stroked the warm, translucent skin on the inner curve of her wrist, moving his fingers in a seductive, circular glide.
Her hand trembled, quickened breath soughing from between her lips. Suddenly he was glad for the noisy action of the play.
For some little while, he continued touching her in that way, learning the feel of her delicate veins and sinew. Then, needing more, he opened another button.
Her breath caught as he inserted his forefinger, sliding it in a silky caress over the sensitive length of her palm.
She shuddered, her eyes falling closed.
Forward and back he went, then forward and back again. And again.
The symbolic imagery worked its spell on him as well, his groin stiffening painfully beneath his evening breeches. Hard and throbbing with need, he knew he had reached his limit. With one last wandering caress, he withdrew, taking time to patiently rebutton her glove.
Glancing over at her, he saw the flags of color in her cheeks and the bright glaze of desire visible in her eyes. It took every ounce of his control not to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth for a hot, wet kiss. Fighting the urge to draw her to him rather than away, he carefully returned her hand to her lap.
Gulping down an unsteady breath, Grace curled the fingers he'd freed into a fist and strove to calm the sensations whizzing like fireworks through her system.
///
All evening she'd been trying to place some much needed distance between herself and Jack-emotionally, anyway, considering the fact that she'd had no choice but to accompany him and Aunt Jane to the theater tonight as promised. Because ever since Terrence had taken his leave, their conversation had been replaying itself in her mind with distressing frequency.
Clearly, Terrence was right about Jack's affinity for women-he had only to snap his fingers and a multitude would come running. Nor did she doubt he was the gamester Terrence claimed, given his remarkable talent with cards. And as for his intentions toward her … if his ardent kisses were anything to judge by, he wasn't planning to lead her down the paths of virtue and self-restraint anytime soon.
He was a rake doing what rakes did best.
Sadly, her meager efforts to erect some mental barriers against him were proving worthless. One touch and she'd turned as malleable as clay. A single caress and she'd been his willing supplicant-longing for more.
And he didn't even have to kiss me!
What she needed, she realized, was time to think. Time that did not include Jack Byron's company.
To her relief, he made no further romantic overtures for the remainder of the play, conducting himself like a perfect gentleman rather than the rogue he truly was.
When the performance ended, her aunt excused herself for a few moments to go speak with a friend-leaving Grace and Jack alone.
"I thought I would stop by tomorrow afternoon," he said as both of them rose from their seats. "What do you say to ices at Ford's, then a walk to Beechen Cliff? I hear there are no finer views of the city than from that location."
"It sounds delightful."
And truly it did, she thought. But she needed an opportunity to consider her choices-and some distance from him while she did so. What better solution than a journey out of the city?
"I am afraid, however," she continued, "that we shall have to postpone the outing. I haven't had an opportunity to tell you, but Aunt Jane is traveling to Bristol tomorrow. I am to go with her."
Originally she had planned to remain at the town house, one of her aunt's female acquaintances happily agreeing to keep her company for a couple of nights. But Grace knew her aunt would be thrilled by her change of plans, as well as with her companionship on the journey west.
"Bristol." His dark brows shot straight. "How long are you going to be in Bristol?"
"Only a couple of days. Likely little more than the weekend. Aunt Jane is visiting an old school friend who just moved north. I am certain we shall not remain long." But long enough, she hoped, to enable her to make some decisions.
Jack looked completely nonplussed, as though news of her departure had thrown him off balance. Moments later, however, he recovered his usual affability. "Well, I wish you a good journey and shall count on seeing you upon your return."
"Yes. I shall send you a note the moment I am in town again."
His expression eased at her assurance. "Good. And not a moment later, mind, else I too find myself with a sudden need for a trip to Bristol. Four days at most and I shall expect you back."