And if she didn't?
Well, he would deal with that later. Who knows, maybe he would be relieved by an amicable split a few months from now. In the past, he'd always tired of his lovers, no matter how beautiful or adept in bed they might be. So why should Grace be any different?
She won't, he realized with an odd sense of sadness. It's simply a matter of time until this hunger for her fades. But until it did, he wanted her. And he meant to have her again. All he needed to do was let time and desire weave its spell, and she would be back in his arms.
I seduced her once. I can seduce her again.
Only this time there would be no lies between them and nothing to hide, no need for pretense or artifice of any kind. When they made love again, they would come together out of naked desire-and find pure, sizzling ecstasy along the way.
Until then, however, he was in for some very long, very frustrating nights.
Releasing her long strand of hair, he gazed at her recumbent form for a few moments more. Jaw clenched and groin aching in abject misery, he turned his back on her and closed his eyes.
///
Chapter 19
Jack was gone when she awakened the next morning.
Apparently he'd been telling the truth when he'd said that all he'd wanted to do was sleep and nothing else. Honestly, she should be grateful for his lack of interest, and for the fact that he'd obviously had no difficulty forgoing the exercise of his husbandly rights with his new bride on their wedding night.
Not that she would have let him exercise those rights, but still, he might have tried a little harder.
Knowing that he hadn't, merely demonstrated that she'd been right about his calculating motivations. Nevertheless, the knowledge came as cold comfort. It was one thing to suspect he cared for nothing but her money. It was quite another to know for sure. With her chest tight, she tossed back the covers and rang for her maid.
An hour later, she descended the stairs dressed in a warm cerise kerseymere day dress that ought to have clashed with her hair but amazingly enough did not. The gown had been a suggestion of her new mother-in-law, who had an eye for such daring fashion choices.
With a newspaper folded open beside his nearly empty plate, Jack glanced up from his seat at the dining table when she entered the room. "Good morning," he said in an even tone.
Unable to bring herself to return the greeting verbally, she gave a brief nod, then moved to the sideboard, where a pair of silver chafing dishes were arranged.
While she helped herself to a slice of toast and a single, coddled egg, Jack returned to reading his paper. He looked up again when she took a seat at the far end of the table.
"Is that all you're having?" he asked, his blue eyes looking critically at her selection.
Taking up her fork, she thrust the tines into her egg with a defiant stab, letting the warm, orange yolk run over the bread. "It is. Yes."
He stared for another moment, then turned a page of his paper.
A maid entered the room with a fresh pot of tea. After pouring a cup for Grace and refreshing Jack's, the girl left the pot on the table, then departed once more.
Silence descended.
Jack sipped his tea and read his paper, while she applied herself to her breakfast.
"Is there anything you'd like to do today?" he inquired after she ate the last bite.
With him, does he mean? A little frown creased the skin between her brows. "No."
He met her gaze for a few seconds. "Fine. I'll be in the library, then. Reading." Draining the last of the tea from his cup, he stood and walked from the room.
Her shoulders sank the instant he was gone, misery sweeping through her like a cold wind. And cold was certainly right, she decided. The atmosphere between them was as frosty as the January day outside. How would she ever bear living with him like this for the next four weeks?
With halfhearted enthusiasm, she went upstairs to retrieve a few sheets of sketch paper, then quickly returned back downstairs again. Inside the parlor, she took a seat in front of the window and attempted a pencil rendering of the winter-shrouded grounds and attractive outbuildings. The results were so dismal, however, that she ended up tossing them all into the fireplace, where the flames turned the evidence to ash.
Returning to the bedroom, she tried next to take a nap but managed no more than a fitful, unsatisfying doze. Ringing for her maid, she bathed, then dressed in another of the new gowns from her trousseau-a watered peach satin that made a sibilant whispering sound as she moved.
Since they were keeping country hours, dinner was served early. Taking a seat across from Jack in the dining room, they ate in near silence, neither of them making more than a few attempts at conversation. Once the meal was over, he withdrew again to the library.
Then it was time for bed.
Her maid helped her into her nightgown and robe before withdrawing for the evening. Briefly, Grace considered taking a blanket and pillow and going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. But knowing Jack, he would probably just make her return upstairs as soon as he realized she was missing.
Still, something inside her rebelled at the notion of climbing meekly into bed while she waited for him to join her-even if all he wanted to do was sleep! Taking a book to keep herself entertained, she padded across to the large armchair positioned near the fireplace and settled inside.
She roused a long while later to the sensation of his arms coming around her, the fire burned so low the room was cast in heavy, nearly black shadows.
"Hush," he murmured in his deep, divine voice. "I'm just going to carry you over to the bed."
" … sleep here in the chair," she mumbled.
"Sleep in this chair and you'll wake up with a sore neck."
///
Too tired to protest further, she let him gather her into his strong arms. Moments later, cool sheets and downy soft feathers enveloped her as she sank onto the mattress. Covers were pulled up around her, his big hands tucking her in tight so that warmth spread through her body with a toasty bliss.
She was floating on the edge of sleep when his fingers brushed her cheek and combed the hair away from her face. She sighed in contentment, vaguely aware as his lips pressed lightly against her own. And then she knew nothing else.
Again, he was gone when she awakened, early morning light creeping gently beneath the curtains. If not for the rumpled bedclothes and the imprint of his head on his pillow, she wouldn't have thought he'd slept next to her at all.
She questioned her assumption again when she descended for breakfast and found him as quiet and reserved as he'd been the day before. And yet she knew she'd fallen asleep in the armchair, so it couldn't have been a dream. Could it? Touching her fingers to her lips, she wondered which parts were real and which ones were not.
The day continued much as the one before, with Jack disappearing into the library for hours, while she occupied herself alone-first embroidering and then reading. They met for dinner, their conversation confined to casual small talk and observations about the meal.
Then bedtime arrived once more.
Stubbornly, she sought out the armchair again, where she sat reading until her fingers grew limp on the pages and her eyelids too heavy to remain open. She dreamed of him carrying her to bed and kissing her as he settled her between the sheets.
But exactly as before, he was gone come morning.
And so it went for the next three days, each one slower and more tedious than the last.
Pouring himself a brandy, Jack paced inside the night-darkened library and wondered how much more waiting he could take.
After nearly a week, he'd hoped Grace would relent and show signs of wanting to end the stalemate between them. To his increasing frustration, however, she appeared completely content with the situation, apparently happy as she engaged in the solitary activities with which she occupied herself each day.
As for himself, he'd read a lot of books, but not nearly as many as she must think. Instead, he spent most of each afternoon in the library, sleeping-often exhausted after spending a restless night lying next to her in bed, his body aroused to the point of near pain.
He supposed he was a fool not to simply take her as he wished. But even knowing he was capable of rousing her natural passions to the fore, he didn't want her accusing him of taking advantage of her when her defenses were down. No, he'd promised to give her time. It's just that he wasn't sure how much more time he could grant her.
Tossing back in a single gulp the brandy he'd poured, he set down the glass and strode out of the library. Opening the bedroom door across the hall, he slipped into the darkened room on silent feet. As he had every night before, he expected to find Grace curled up in the armchair in front of the fire. But for once the chair was empty and she was asleep in their bed.