A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (65 page)

Her next partner came to claim Grace
for his set. Lord Cecil Fullerton was a handsome man with broad
shoulders and a good deal of height. Everything about him suited
the current fashion, from the cut of his hair to that of his
superfine coat. A score of young ladies eyed her jealously. He must
be quite the catch in Bath.

Lord Cecil bowed deeply to Aunt
Dorothea. “Lady Kensington, if you’ll allow me, I’ll leave you
bereft of your charge for a short while.” He turned his pompous
smile to Grace and placed her hand on his arm. “Shall
we?”

He led her to the dance floor, which
soon filled with couples. She took her place across from him. When
the music started, Grace attempted to fix her attention on the man
before her, but soon wished she were dancing with anyone
else.

“
You do realize you are the
envy of every young lady in the room at this moment, don’t you?” He
flashed her a grin, but she only saw teeth. Perfect teeth.
Perfectly straight, perfectly white, perfect teeth.

“
Is that so? Hmm.” The man
would receive no compliments from her, no matter how he fished for
them.

“
Quite. I must inform you,
I’m the most eligible bachelor in the room. Many would go so far as
to say the most handsome, as well.” He brushed a hand over his
waistcoat—again, a flawless hand—and drew her attention to the
peacock colors adorning him.

“
I see.” Grace looked down
the line of dancers for anyone to distract him. “Oh, look. The lady
over there with the fair hair and aubergine gown is attempting to
catch your attention.”

He followed her gaze across the hall.
“Ah yes, the Dowager Viscountess Burkes. She has been after me
since before her husband passed.” Lord Cecil winked at the woman
and pursed his lips, feigning a kiss in her direction. “Pay her no
mind, my lady. I have no desire to taste someone’s leftovers. She
will be no competition for you in winning my favor.”

Grace shuddered as they separated to
dance with a nearby pair for a few figures. She had no idea what
the ladies who envied her could see in him. She only saw an utter
popinjay.

They came together again. She steeled
herself for another round of revulsion.

“
Do you admire my cravat?”
He pointed to a
perfectly
knotted neck cloth when she did not immediately
respond.

“
What was that? Oh, yes.
It’s fine.” Good gracious, would he never speak of anything but
himself? His pomposity knew no bounds.

“
I purchased the fabric
from a trader in India. He has the most luxurious silks and muslins
you have ever seen.” He waited while they formed a figure too far
apart for her to hear. “When I brought the fabric home, I had the
best seamstress in all of England sew me some new cravats. I
daresay they are the envy of every gentleman in Bath. Probably all
of England. None could be finer.”

“
Yes, it’s fine, my lord.”
How much longer would the set last? The man was objectionable in
every way imaginable. Her exhaustion didn’t aid his cause either,
as she was soon cranky and irritable.

When the set finally came to a close,
Grace was parched and desperate to take her glass of lemonade from
her aunt so she could find somewhere she could sit to rest for a
few moments. However, she would find no such respite. Surely Aunt
Dorothea had promised the waltz to Lord Alexander on her behalf,
blast the meddlesome woman. He would be displeased if she
disappeared, and the infuriating man would, in all likelihood,
follow her to claim his dance.

Butany plans she may have formed were
moot. Lord Alexander stood adjacent to Aunt Dorothea and rendered
any escape plan impossible.

Lord Cecil turned to Grace. “I see
your next partner has arrived to claim your hand. Sadly, he’s not
as handsome as me. I suppose you must suffer through his attentions
for the duration of the waltz.” His voice drifted, and surely Lord
Alexander had heard every word. Lord Cecil inclined his head to the
party and took his leave. She couldn’t have been more thankful to
see him go.

Except she now had to face a waltz
with Lord Alexander.

Perhaps she could make him understand,
finally, that he should place his attentions elsewhere. How she
would manage it, other than stating it as plainly as possible, she
didn’t know. He hadn’t heeded any of her prior hints, however plain
she thought she had been. The time had arrived for blunt
truth.

Grace took a deep breath to calm
herself and faced him. Aunt Dorothea beamed in anticipation. Why
was her aunt so keen to see an attachment between them? Why could
she not see things as they truly were?

Lord Alexander, however, looked ready
to strike the next person who dared to cough in his presence. He
took a step toward her and bowed his head. “Would you like some
refreshment before we waltz?” Without awaiting her response, he
grasped her arm and led her toward a table laden with lemonade,
gently but firmly pulling her along with him with a sense of both
urgency and possession.

She did need something to quench her
thirst, so she allowed him to continue, weighing her options along
the way as every eye in the ballroom watched. Grace simply must
make herself heard tonight. She couldn’t delay any longer. He was
acting like a lovesick puppy, which she emphatically could not
condone.

He handed her a glass of lemonade with
his free hand, the other still firmly grasping her
elbow.

Another speech was on her tongue,
similar to her diatribe from that morning. But as she opened her
mouth to speak, he pulled against her and hauled her through the
crowd. She dug her heels into the floor and tried to remove the
vise of his fingers against her arm, but she was powerless to stop
her progress.

“
My lord. Stop this at
once.”

He paid her protests no heed and
stubbornly tugged her behind him through an alcove to the veranda.
He looked around, and then kept going until they reached a secluded
area. Apparently, he had no intention of repeating the morning’s
performance before of an audience. Fine. Grace intended to give him
a piece of her mind, no matter how many or how few people
witnessed.

He had to listen. He must
understand.

She couldn’t think what would happen
if the man refused to listen to reason.

~ * ~

Alex had watched Lady Grace dance with
her first two partners of the evening while trying to dissuade the
jealousy. Surely he was only jealous due to the fact that he
intended to take her as his wife. The sooner it took place, the
better.

He did not have feelings for
her—nothing serious, at least. He liked her. She fascinated him.
Marriage to her would be at the very least a tolerable affair, with
a fair amount of passion. Alex could imagine no woman he would
prefer to spend his life married to, so that likely played into his
feelings of envy.

Any reasonable man would be jealous if
the woman he intended to marry danced with and smiled at other men.
His reaction had been perfectly rational.

But when Lord Cecil, the deuced dandy,
had taken her out onto the ballroom floor, Alex cringed. The
infernal man was insufferable—almost as bad as Maxwell. Cecil
Fullerton rankled on Alex’s last nerve, and he could not hide his
distaste for the man, however hard he tried. Granted, he didn’t
quite try.

He returned to his position beside
Lady Kensington. The woman could talk the ear off anyone, but at
least she had a sense of humor. He couldn’t allow himself to become
distracted. She spoke to him—she must have spoken to him—but he
paid her no attention.

He could think of nothing but Lady
Grace.

Watching her dance with Lord Cecil had
been pure and utter torture. The bastard kept making vapid attempts
to smile at her, obviously in search of compliments. Lady Grace
played the part as well as could be expected, but by this point, he
knew her expressions well—and she was quickly growing annoyed.
Good! Alex was glad the fop annoyed her.

Maybe he had no reason for jealousy,
after all.

But if she was annoyed…well, Lord
Cecil had no right to cause her such aggravation. The abhorrent
dolt. Alex had to clench his jaw shut.

Various gentlemen came to him,
attempting to engage him in conversation. Alex wasn’t interested.
Not to be boorish, but he couldn’t suffer their simpering thoughts
at this point. He needed to focus his energies elsewhere, such as
on the dolt who was leering at his soon-to-be-fiancée while dancing
with her.

Of all the insufferable fools! Alex
was fuming. Smoke must be billowing from his ears, and he was quite
certain his face easily matched the redness of his hair. He could
scarcely remember the last time he had been so uncontrollably,
treacherously angered.

After the set finished, which felt as
though it filled the span of three sets, the nit-wit Lord Cecil
finally escorted Alex’s future bride back to her aunt’s side. He
then had the audacity to say within Alex’s hearing, “I see your
next partner has arrived to claim your hand. Sadly, he is not as
handsome as me. I suppose you must suffer through his attentions
for the duration of the waltz.”

Suffer through his attentions, indeed.
Alex would gladly suffer Lord Cecil through a fist to the jaw. Once
the half-wit left, Alex’s desperation to speak with Lady Grace
alone consumed him. He needed her alone. Now.

“
Lady Grace, would you like
some refreshment before we waltz?” Anything to find
privacy.

He didn’t wait for a response. If he
had, he knew she would say no, the minx. Or perhaps she would
remember her aunt was holding a glass of lemonade for her and
decline to go with him. Alex took her by the wrist and stalked off
to a refreshment stand.

He took a glass of lemonade and passed
it to her, never removing his grip on her arm. He would prefer
port, himself, or perhaps scotch. Something to clear his head of
all the cobwebs.

Other people leaned in, seemingly
attempting to overhear any snippets of conversation between them.
What would he have to do to find some privacy? Blast it, why had he
thought his idea so ingenious, so brilliant to face the scandal in
the open, to have their betrothal witnessed by the
masses?

But that had all changed
now.

He needed some seclusion with her, and
he needed it now. He pulled her behind him and searched for
anywhere they could be alone. The card room and the octagon room
were filled with people trying to avoid the crush of the ballroom.
There was nowhere acceptable indoors.

Lady Grace struggled against him,
digging her heels in and trying to pull her arm free. His strength
far outweighed hers, so he had no fear of her success. He would
never physically hurt her, or any woman. But he needed to deal with
things right now. Later would not work.

When her attempts to pull herself free
failed, she called out to him, “My lord. Stop this at once.” Alex
ignored her protests and continued his march toward
privacy.

The weather was quite pleasant that
evening—a little breeze, a few clouds, but no rain. He looked
around the room and found an alcove with a door leading to the
veranda. Perfect. He would take the chit outside, away from the
prying eyes of chaperones and gossips.

They needed to have a conversation,
and they would have it tonight, by God. Right now.

There were things Lady Grace must come
to understand.

Chapter
Fourteen

Alex pulled Lady Grace through the
gardens to find somewhere they could talk in private. The simple
task wouldn’t be so impossible if she would cease fighting him like
a banshee. At least she had finally stopped ordering him to leave
her alone. They would have a damned audience if she
continued.

He wound through the walks of the
garden, leading her by the arm. After countless twists and turns in
their path, they were blessedly far enough away from prying eyes
and ears to have their discussion. But where to start? He hadn’t
taken the time to decide how he should go about informing her of
his decision. It was obvious they must marry, but Lady Grace didn’t
strike him as a woman desperate to be married to him. For that
matter, she was loath to remain in his company.

A simple statement of the facts would
be the best course of action. “My lady, we’ll marry with all due
haste. I’ll travel to London tomorrow to speak with your father and
to procure a special license.”

She stared up at him lifeless glaze
cast over her eyes.

Her reticence was hardly unusual,
however. He pressed on. “I spoke with your uncle this afternoon,
and he assures me he and your aunt are both quite pleased with the
match. Our marriage will take place at the rectory in Somerton as
soon as I return.”

She may not be leaping for joy, but at
least she was not in a rage. Delivering the details without any
added fluff had clearly been the best choice, after all. Relief
swept over him, and the tightness in his chest relaxed.

“
I don’t yet have an estate
of my own, but I promise you’ll want for nothing. After a brief
honeymoon abroad, I’ll procure property.” He wished he had finished
his search and could move her immediately into his home. Women
liked having a home of their own—he was certain of it.