Seduced by His Touch(37)

"Interesting," he remarked, crossing his arms. "What else? I assume you're not finished."

She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze for fear of losing her  nerve before she'd laid out all her demands. "I want a house in the  countryside, deeded in my name alone."

When he remained silent, she continued. "Something comfortable, though  it need not be extravagant, in the location of my choosing. I'm thinking  Kent perhaps, or maybe Essex, I haven't decided which. Some place near  the coast where the winters aren't too long or harsh."

"And what do you plan to do with this house?"

Stopping, she glanced up. "Live in it, of course."

Lines of puzzlement formed on his forehead. "You want us to live in a country house near the coast?"

"No. I want to live in a country house near the coast. You may take up  residence in London or wherever you please. It shall make no difference  to me."

A muscle ticked in his cheek. "So, just to be clear. We will marry, but not live together?"

She linked her hands together in front of her. "That's right."

"Do you not think people might notice if you desert me the moment we say  our vows? Your father, for instance? Knowing Danvers, he'll probably  refuse to pay the rest of the settlement, if we separate."

She nodded. "I did consider that, and you're right. Papa will know  something is amiss if we part immediately after the wedding. And if he  does, he may attempt to interfere again by having our marriage annulled.  Should that happen, it's doubtful I would receive my half of the money.  He might also insist you pay him back the full amount of your gaming  debt, after all."

"You certainly seem to have an excellent grasp of the situation," he said in a wry tone.

"I do. Therefore, I will consent to live under the same roof as you for  the first few months of our marriage. I imagine the end of the Season  should be long enough to allay anyone's suspicions. When the Ton leaves  the city at summer's end, I will quietly retire to my new house in the  country, while you can go … wherever you prefer to go."

"To the devil, perhaps?" he suggested.

"If that's what you'd like," she replied with studied nonchalance.

He shot her a piercing look. "There will be talk, you know."

"Not a great deal, I imagine. From what I am given to understand, most  aristocratic couples spend the majority of their time apart. You and I  shall be no different."

"You realize if we marry, it's for life. We may separate, but there will be no divorce."

Her heart squeezed to hear him speak so coldly. And yet this whole  matter between them was cold, as frigid and grey as the winter day  around them. "Even if a divorce were possible, I have no interest in  marrying again. A permanent separation is fine."

An unfathomable expression passed over his face. Pausing, he took a  moment to gaze into the distance. "You're sure this is what you want?"

"Quite sure. I have been manipulated and maltreated quite enough, thank  you. I want my independence, and I can think of no better way of  achieving it than by means of this arrangement."

Linking her fingers together, she squeezed them tight, using the  discomfort to hold down the rising tide of emotions churning inside her.  With only the tiniest provocation on his part, she feared she would be  lost, a torrent of tears-or worse-breaking loose. As he continued to  gaze out across the manicured grounds, she studied his profile, tracing  the planes and angles of his beautiful face. His once beloved face that  concealed the cold heart of a liar.

Her resolve hardened at the reminder.

"Really," she remarked in a deliberately casual voice. "I should think  you'd be relieved. If I call off the wedding, you'll just be back at the  beginning, and up to your ears in debt to my father. Agree to my  conditions, and you'll not only have your freedom but a fortune to  boot-even if it is slightly less than you'd been planning on."                       
       
           


///
       

He shifted his gaze, regarding her for a long, silent time. "Very well, Grace. It shall be as you wish."

Air rushed from her lungs. "Can your solicitor be here to draw up the  agreement before the wedding, do you think? I want no misunderstandings  between us."

Sudden anger flared in his eyes. "Oh, there won't be. And neither is  there any need for a solicitor. You may no longer consider me much of a  gentleman, but my word as a man is still good. You shall have your money  and your house, without strings, exactly as agreed. If that isn't  sufficient, perhaps we should go see your father right now and call the  whole thing off."

Her gaze swept down, realizing she'd pushed him too far. "No. Your promise is satisfactory."

"Good. And one more thing while we're having this tête-à-tête. You may  detest me now, but you're going to have to pretend otherwise for the  duration of the holiday. Until we're wed and off on our own, everyone  will be watching us, expecting to see a happy couple. Do you think you  can manage to show a measure of affection toward me for the next few  days? Otherwise, there's not much point to this plan of yours."

Her chin came up. "I can play the moony-eyed romantic if you can."

He showed his teeth in a feral smile before offering his arm. "Let us return inside then. I don't want you to take a chill."

But a chill was exactly what went through her as she laid her hand on  his sleeve, shivering as she wondered just what she'd done.





Chapter 18





Grace walked up the aisle on her father's arm, so numb she was barely  aware of the exquisite beauty of the chapel around her. Neither did she  pay heed to the multitude of family and friends seated in the rows of  glossy mahogany pews, focusing her concentration almost entirely on the  simple act of moving her feet across the gleaming white marble floor.

On the domed ceiling above lay a masterpiece of angels, their seraphic  faces gazing downward from a heaven of brilliant cerulean blue skies and  peerless pale clouds. But the ceiling might as well have been blank for  all the impression it made on her. Neither did she see the profusion of  lush pink roses gathered in several tall, elegant urns, nor smell their  scent, which turned the air perfume sweet.

All she knew was the reality of that moment, and the fact that today was  her wedding day-the most miserable day of her life. How ironic, since  not long ago she had dreamed of it being the happiest.

Arriving at the altar, her father drew them to a halt. She swayed and took a moment to steady herself.

"You all right, Gracie?" he asked in a hushed tone, his brows puckered with concern.

"Fine," she whispered.

Then, as she had at least a hundred other times over the past five days,  she forced a smile. Her lips felt false and waxen, but her response  seemed to satisfy him. Exactly as all her responses had appeared to  convince everyone of her supposed happiness in this charade that lately  had become her life.

Suddenly, Jack was there to take her father's place. Gently, he reached out and laid her palm on top of his dark blue sleeve.

"Your hands are like ice," he said in a low undertone.

When she made no reply, he sighed and signaled the bishop to proceed.

She trembled despite the warmth of her white satin gown, with its  matching, long-sleeved spencer trimmed at the collar and cuffs with  soft, snowy ermine. When she'd selected the simple, yet elegant, dress,  she'd been brimming with excitement over the prospect of wearing it.  Now, she no longer cared, chilled through to her toes.

Somehow she managed to say the right words at the appropriate times,  remaining calm and steady when Jack slid a wide gold band onto her  finger next to the diamond engagement ring already there. For a long  moment, she stared at the rings and everything they represented. Or  rather everything they were supposed to represent-and did not.

Amid cheers and congratulations, they walked from the chapel. But  instead of finding relief at the end of the ceremony, she realized the  ordeal had only just begun.

Inside the ballroom at Braebourne, she and the wedding party formed a  receiving line. The tradition quickly devolved into an act of endurance,  where she was forced to talk and laugh and behave as if she were the  happiest woman in the world. Pasting a smile on her face, she did her  best, even though her heart beat with the slow pace of someone dying  inside.

Finally, that particular misery ended and she was on to the next.

With her hand on Jack's arm, he escorted her into the formal dining  room, where an elaborate wedding breakfast had been arranged. Taking a  seat in the place of honor designated for her and Jack, she let him  prepare her a plate heaped with an array of mouthwatering delicacies.