Seduced by His Touch(8)

Apparently age was no barrier to succumbing to Lord Jack's undeniable  charm. Grace was sure women routinely fell at his feet, especially since  he was obviously one of those men who simply liked women-no matter  their age, looks, size, or marital status. He could, she suspected, have  his pick of any woman in the world.

So why is he troubling with me? Then again, he really wasn't, since  their encounters were no more than mere happenstance and coincidence.
                       
       
           


///
       
Her aunt recovered enough to recall her manners and sink into a  respectful curtsey. "Oh, the pleasure is all mine, your lordship," she  said, straightening to a height that only brought her up as far as  Grace's shoulder.

"Byron, did you say?" Aunt Jane continued, tapping a finger against her  chin. "There is another family, quite illustrious and noble, who holds  that surname. I have read accounts in the guidebooks of the Duke of  Clybourne's principle estate. It is said that Braebourne is even more  elegant than Chatsworth or Blenheim, and that the duke's grounds and  gardens rival those of the royals themselves. I don't suppose you are at  all acquainted with those Byrons, are you?"

"Aunt Jane, really," Grace admonished in a hushed tone.

Lord Jack, however, seemed to take her aunt's inquisitive nature in his  stride. His face remained composed, although Grace thought she detected a  glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"As it happens, ma'am," he answered, "I do know that family. Quite intimately, in fact. The duke is my brother, you see."

Grace's eyes were the ones to widen this time. Surely she had misheard  him? Surely he hadn't just said his brother was the Duke of Clybourne!  But it would seem he had said exactly that, since her aunt was, at that  very moment, fluttering her small hands in front of her chest, as a  flurry of "oh my's" bubbled from her lips.

Lord Jack smiled with sympathetic amusement at her dismay.

Lord Jack.

Of course, Grace thought, she should have realized long ago that he was  the son of some high-ranking noble, since only the children of dukes,  marquises, and earls were granted the use of an elevated courtesy title  such as his.

Nevertheless, a duke's son. A duke's brother.

Good heavens, if she'd thought him out of her reach before, he was so  far away now that an ocean might as well be standing between them.

Maybe two oceans!

Her aunt recovered quickly, her tongue in as fine shape as ever. "Oh,  your lordship," she said, "I never dreamt you might be the duke's  brother. How extraordinary. And to think I am standing here in a little  shop in Bath speaking to one of the most distinguished men in the land."

"Fear not, dear lady. There is nothing much distinguished about me. I am  only a third son and of little use for much more than conversation and  making up an occasional fourth at cards."

"Oh, do go on," Aunt Jane scolded with a teasing smile. "I am sure you  are only being modest. Particularly if you like such serious pastimes as  botany lectures and books. I can't see the point to either, but dear  Grace loves anything that exercises her mind."

Lord Jack turned his head, his jewel-colored eyes meeting Grace's over  the top of her aunt's bonnet. "Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise for  the mind. Or the body."

Warmth swirled abruptly to life within her. Anxious to extinguish the flame, Grace looked away.

"Well, I vastly prefer entertainment," her aunt said. "Nothing better in  my estimation than a good party. Oh, heavens, what a superb idea I've  just had."

Grace frowned, suddenly sure of her aunt's next words. "Aunt Jane, I am certain he doesn't wish-"

"Of course he does," she said, waving aside Grace's objections. "You mentioned cards, my lord, so you must like to play."

"I enjoy a game every now and again," he conceded.

"Then you must join us this Friday eve. I am hosting a card party with a  bite of supper afterwards. I would be ever so honored if you would  come. Do say you will and I shall send 'round a card with all the  particulars."

Inwardly Grace cringed. Bad enough that her aunt had interrogated him  over his lineage. But now to invite him to a party that was so clearly  beneath him socially-well, it went beyond the bounds of proper decorum.

Grace's late uncle might have been a well-respected solicitor in his  day, and of genteel heritage, but his background was nothing compared to  the son of a duke-even a younger one.

As for Grace herself, her father was one of the most brilliant men in  England, at least when it came to finance. But he was of humble origins,  having clawed his way up from poverty as the child of a village  blacksmith. As a young man, he'd run off to London to make his fortune,  and he'd succeeded. He'd married her mother, whose own father had been a  physician.

But no matter Ezra Danvers's immense wealth, he would always be the son  of a blacksmith, and Grace the granddaughter of one. Her time at the  ladies' academy had taught her that much. Her years since had only  reinforced that lesson.                       
       
           


///
       

Duke's sons and tradesmen's daughters did not mix. Nor did aristocrats  come to card parties hosted by audacious middle-class matrons who  clearly did not know when to hold their tongues.

Grace waited for Lord Jack to think up an excuse and refuse.

He smiled at her aunt. "You are all kindness, ma'am. Cards on Friday,  hmm? I shall be delighted to attend so long as you promise to partner me  for at least one hand."

Grace stared, her lips parting in surprise.

"Oh, your lordship," Aunt Jane tittered, her smile as wide as the street  outside. "I cannot wait for the days to pass between now and then. Not  to worry, you will have a fine time and make no mistake. Grace will see  to it as well, will you not, dear? You won't let our dear Lord John grow  bored."

"Dear Lord John" met Grace's gaze again, one eyebrow sweeping upward  like a dark, silky wing. For a second, she thought she saw a spark of  pure devilment and delight in his eyes.

Suddenly the clerk arrived behind the counter, the wrapped bottle of perfume in hand.

"Your gift for your sister, my lord," Grace said, grateful for the interruption. "I hope the scent is to her liking."

"I am sure it shall be," he drawled, accepting the parcel. "Until Friday, then."

"Until Friday."





Chapter 5





He won't come.

That was the phrase Grace had been silently repeating to herself over  the past four days, ever since she and Jack Byron had happened upon each  other in the perfume shop-and Aunt Jane had invited him to the card  party.

Any minute now, a footman would arrive at the front door bearing Lord  Jack's note of regret-some politely worded excuse written in a fine hand  on heavy white vellum. Undoubtedly, her aunt would be cast into the  boughs over the news, particularly given how she'd been telling the  entirety of her acquaintance that the Duke of Clybourne's brother was  promised to attend her party! But Aunt Jane was a resilient sort and  would recover apace.

As for herself-well, she would have nothing to recover from, she told  herself. No disappointment to assuage, since she'd known all along that  he would bow out of the engagement. Ill-founded generosity had prompted  him to accept. Clearheaded rationality would lead him to refuse.

It's not as though I care if he attends tonight's party, she assured  herself from her seat at her bedchamber dressing table. The man is  nothing but trouble disguised in a pleasing package. A truly gorgeous,  heart-stopping, mouthwateringly delectable package that would send even a  blind woman into a swoon-but trouble just the same. The less she saw of  him the better off she would be.

She sighed aloud, her shoulders sinking beneath the amber satin of her short-sleeved, empire-waisted evening gown.

"'old still, miss, or I'll never get these pins set right," her maid chided from where she stood behind her.

The girl worked to arrange the burnished mass into a pleasing style,  combing and recombing a few strands of Grace's long, thick hair. Grace  held steady and forced herself not to fidget, as the last of her willful  tresses were tamed into place.

With her coiffure finished, she fastened a simple gold locket around her  throat, the piece a favorite that had once belonged to her mother.  Next, Grace drew on a pair of long, white gloves, then stood and crossed  to the door.

He won't come, she thought once again before she moved into the hallway and down the stairs.

An hour later, she was more convinced than ever of the correctness of  her assumption, for the house was noisy with guests-everyone save Lord  Jack. Still, she couldn't help but glance toward the parlor doors every  few minutes to check for signs of his non-arrival.