Seduced by His Touch(18)

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 parlor. 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 traveled 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 maneuvered  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 passersby 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!"