Gazing down, he met her eyes, acknowledging the magnetism of her personality. Without even trying, Philipa Stockton fairly smoldered sexuality. And yet despite her undeniable physical beauty and admitted talent in all things amorous, he wasn't tempted.
Not in the least.
He didn't want her. He wanted Grace.
He didn't love her. He loved Grace.
And by simply thinking the words, he knew them to be true. Lord, how could I have been so blind for so long? Of course I love Grace. She's everything I want.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But whatever you and I once were in the past, it's over. My life, and yes, my heart, belong to my wife."
She trembled, her hand tightening on his sleeve. "Well then, I see I should wish you happy." A forced smile came to her lips. Instead of stepping away, however, she pressed nearer, sliding a hand up his chest. "One last kiss? What do you say? One final embrace for old time's sake?"
He stared down at her. "Philipa, I don't think that's a good idea."
"What harm is there in a little kiss? It's nothing we haven't done before. One short embrace, then never again."
Instead of waiting to see if he was going to refuse her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. "Just one," she breathed.
And then, without his consent, her lips were on his, kissing him with everything in her sexual arsenal. He knew he should pull away immediately, put her from him with force, if needed. Instead, he hesitated, curious in spite of his revelation about Grace to see what he would feel.
To his relief, to his joy, he experienced nothing more than an interesting sense of detachment, as though he were observing the kiss rather than being an active participant in it.
She isn't Grace, he thought. Her lips aren't as soft. Her flavor isn't as sweet. She's not the woman I love and she never will be.
Satisfied with the results of his brief experiment, he prepared to set her aside, sliding his hands upward to unlock her arms from around his neck.
Suddenly, a muffled thump came from the vicinity of the doorway. Breaking the kiss, he turned his head and glanced toward the sound. In an instant, his lungs stopped functioning, his heart missing a necessary beat as he met Grace's horrified stare.
Chapter 24
Grace stood mute, her gaze fixed on the couple kissing in the center of the Pettigrews' study.
At first, the scene made no sense to her. Unmistakably, the dark-haired woman was Philipa Stockton. Grace knew her identity, since she'd long ago made a point of finding out just what her husband's former mistress looked like.
But the man … no, the man couldn't be who she thought he was.
Seconds later, he slid his palms up Lady Stockton's arms and she knew it was Jack. Her Jack. Gooseflesh popped out all over her skin, bile rising into her throat with a burning sting. Taking a pair of steps backward, she stumbled against the door, desperate to look away, yet somehow incapable of the act.
Then, sensing her presence, Jack's head came up and his gaze locked on hers.
The shock broke her free, her limbs suddenly functional again. Wheeling around, she ran from the room. Behind her, Jack called out her name, but she didn't stop, knowing only that she had to get away.
Perhaps running was a cowardly act. Maybe if she were another woman, she would have stayed and confronted the pair. Flown at them with fists and fingernails and screams of outrage.
But such violence wasn't in her nature, and she'd already seen more than enough. She couldn't bear the idea of staying to listen to their excuses.
///
Slippers flying, she sped toward the entrance, uncaring who might see her along the way. A few eyes did follow her, but she barely noticed, intent as she was on escape. She was just hurrying past the ballroom when a man stepped into her path. For the faintest instant she thought it was Jack, that somehow he'd managed to catch up. But then she realized it was Cade instead.
"Easy there," he said. "Where are you going so fast?"
Before she could answer, Meg appeared at his side. "So? Did you tell him?" she asked Grace with a bright, conspiratorial smile.
Grace stared back, uncomprehending.
"Tell who, what?" Cade demanded.
"You know. About the baby," Meg said, lowering her voice to a near whisper. "I just couldn't keep it secret and told Grace. She was going to share the news with Jack, but … " She broke off, an expression of unease replacing her happy smile. "What is it, Grace? You don't look well. Forgive me for not noticing right away."
"It-it's fine," Grace muttered. "And n-no, I d-didn't have a chance to tell him. I'm sorry."
"Are you ill?" Meg asked with clear concern. "What has happened?"
"Yes," Cade said, stepping closer to take hold of her elbow as though he were worried she might fall. "You look quite pale. Why don't you have a seat and I'll go find Jack."
"No!" she cried.
Cade lifted a brow.
Modulating her tone, she continued. "No, d-don't bother him. All I want is the coach to take me home."
"Well, of course, but we should still tell him. He'll be worried."
But he won't be, she thought with dismal certainty. And even if he were, she didn't care. Not anymore. Still, all this talk of Jack made her realize that he might find her at any second. Recoiling at the thought, she pulled away from Cade.
"I n-need to go home. I shall see both of you later."
"But Grace," Meg called. "Where are you g-?"
Grace didn't stay long enough to hear the rest, hurrying away again as fast as her feet would carry her. Knowing there wasn't time to call for the coach, she sought out a footman.
"A hackney, please. As quickly as possible." She found a coin large enough to ensure his immediate compliance.
Less than two minutes later, she was inside the hackney cab. For a few seconds, she considered telling the driver to take her to her father's house. But Papa would be full of questions and demands she didn't wish to answer. Knowing she had nowhere else to go, she gave the address for Upper Brook Street.
Jack walked into the town house half an hour later, relieved to hear from Appleton that her ladyship had arrived only minutes before.
He would have been there sooner himself, but first he'd had to extract himself from a surprisingly contrite Philipa. After escaping her, he'd hurried off in search of Grace, only to be set upon by a concerned Cade and Meg. They had proceeded to inform him that Grace was greatly distressed, had refused their offer of assistance, and fled the party on her own.
Noticing their hushed conversation, Mallory, Mama and Edward had joined in as well, demanding to know what was wrong. Only the arrival of his coach allowed him to make his exit.
Now finally he was home. Now he could talk to Grace and straighten out this mess.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode down the hallway to her bedchamber. Pausing for a moment, he gave a quiet tap on the door and waited-not surprised when the only reply was silence. He tried the door latch and-also not surprisingly-found it locked.
"Grace? It's me. Would you open the door, please?"
Silence.
"We need to talk about this."
More silence.
"I'm not leaving until we've had this out. Now, let me in."
Something hard hit the inside of the door, making him jump. Moments later, a second something rapped against the wood with a resounding whack!
Is she throwing her shoes at me? Or is it books?
Either way, the gesture boded ill.
"Now you're just being childish," he said. "Open the door so we can discuss this like adults."
From inside the room, he heard movement. There was a long pause, then footsteps. A note came sliding out from underneath the door.
After a faint hesitation, he bent down and retrieved it.
Go away!
"Grace, I realize you're upset, but it's not how it looks. Give me a chance to explain."
Quiet fell, then more footsteps. Not long after, another note came shooting out at him, twirling in a circle in front of his feet this time.
///
No!
A measure of his patience fell away. "Enough of this," he stated in a firm voice. "Open this door."
She didn't repond.
"Now!" he demanded.
Something struck the wood hard again, quickly followed by another violent rap.
"All right," he said. "If that's the way you want to do this, then that's how it will be."
Turning, he strode away.
On the opposite side of the door, Grace stood trembling, the shoes she'd thrown scattered in haphazard disarray around her.
Good, she thought; he'd taken her none-too-subtle "hint" and left. Although, to be strictly honest, she was rather surprised he'd withdrawn so easily. Jack wasn't the kind to give up without waging a worthwhile fight, and his attempt had been little more than average.