Candice Hern (35 page)

"Thank you, Spurling," Grace said, walking around Rochdale to the door behind him. "That will be all."

He watched, mesmerized, as she closed the door, locked it, and removed the key.

"There," she said. "Now we shall not be disturbed."

Feeling strangely off balance, Rochdale held out the flower he had brought her. One perfect red rose, its thorny stem wrapped in white ribbon and lace. "For you, my dearest love."

Her eyes widened along with her smile, and she took the rose from him and brought it to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled its heady fragrance. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, he saw what he'd never expected to see again: the brilliant, slightly glassy gaze of pure happiness. "Oh, John."

Without warning, she threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck and raining kisses on his face. He laughed giddily and enclosed her in a tight embrace. "Grace, my love, what is this?" She continued to kiss him, on the cheeks and nose and eyes, on temple and jaw and ear. "Dare I hope that this affectionate display means you forgive me?"

The kisses ceased and she looked him square in the eye. "No, I do not forgive you. It was a most ungentlemanly wager. But I do love you. Madly. Utterly. Deeply. I am consumed with love for you."

Her words momentarily robbed him of breath, and he crushed her in his arms, burying his nose in her golden hair. His heart soared. He did not deserve this joy, but he was determined to hold on to it and never let go. Rochdale knew what it must have cost this proud, dignified woman to so boldly confess her love, without knowing whether it was returned. When at last his throat opened up and allowed him to speak, he said into her ear: "And I love you, Grace. More than life."

She gazed at him, eyes brilliant with contained emotion. "More than Serenity."

"You know about that?"

"You gave her up for me."

"Yes."

"Because you love me?"

"Yes. And because I had done you enough harm. I could not go to Sheane and tell him I had made love to you. To provide him with an image of you naked in my arms seemed obscene."

An odd expression flickered in her eyes, then disappeared when she smiled again. "I am sorry about Serenity. I know what she meant to you."

"You mean more to me than any horse, Grace. More than any human."

"I said hateful things to you."

"No more than I deserved. And nothing that wasn't true."

"I accused you of not caring for anyone but yourself. But that is untrue, and I have always known it to be untrue."

"I care about you."

"I know. You cared enough to push me into taking more from life. You cared enough to help me discover the importance of finding my true self. You cared enough to show me how to take pleasure in my body without feeling wicked. I do not wish to be estranged from you over that wager, John. I hate that you did it, but I am ready to put it behind us. I want you in my life. And in my bed."

"Ah. Grace." He put his lips to hers and kissed her, very tenderly, letting his mouth speak his love.

Within a moment, the kiss had grown wild and lush and urgent. His hands roamed over her hips and buttocks, up her corseted waist to cup her tightly bound breasts. Slowly he inched her backward toward a sofa. When it caught her behind the knees, he took advantage and eased her down, twisting her until she was prone beneath him.

"I want you, Grace. Right now. Right here."

"Yes." She was panting hard, each breath causing her bosom to strain against the edge of her bodice.

"You did lock the door, as I recall."

She grinned. "I wanted to be prepared. Just in case. And I see that you are prepared as well." She placed her hand over the swollen length tenting his pantaloons.

"Dear God, woman. You will have me embarrassing myself like a schoolboy."

"Make love to me, John. Now. Please."

"With pleasure, madam."

She helped him to wriggle out of his coat and waistcoat, which were flung willy-nilly across the room, then she went to work on his neckcloth and loosened his shirt. Her hands explored his bare chest while he eased a sleeve over her shoulder, exposing more of one breast. He managed to free it partially from the stiff whalebone stays and kissed every liberated inch of skin.

His tongue found the depths of her cleavage while he pushed up her skirts and began to stroke her leg. His hand made its way up the silk of her stocking and above her garter to the bare skin of her thigh. She called out and he took her cry into his mouth, hoping the servants would not come running to her rescue, thinking she was being murdered. He stroked her soft thigh, then inched up to the damp curls of her sex, and pleasured her with his fingers.

She writhed beneath him and said, "I want you inside me, John. Please!"

He bunched her skirts up around her waist and unbuttoned the fall of his pantaloons. A quick adjustment to his small clothes, and his erection sprang free. She helped him pull the pantaloons down over his buttocks, then took his erection in her hand and guided him inside her. He reached underneath her and lifted her bottom so he could plunge deeper inside. She wrapped her legs around him and pushed up hard against him with each stroke, meeting him movement for movement. Her breath came in short gasps and she whispered his name over and over until she convulsed beneath him.

Her climax pushed him near the edge and he pulled back with a groan. But she held him tight and said, "Please, stay. Don't leave me this time. I love you, John. I love you."

It was too late in any case, for he could hold back no longer and pushed deep into her once more as release overtook him.

He collapsed upon her and tried to catch his breath. He had seldom allowed himself to come inside a woman, or used French letters if he did. He had no wish to be trapped by an accidental babe into a life he did not want, and he took care that it never happened.

Strangely, as he lay panting on Grace, he didn't feel trapped at all. He felt ... free.

After a moment, fearing he was crushing her with his weight, Rochdale sat up, tucked his pantaloons up over his bare ass, and gathered Grace close beside him, each of them in a languorous and, if anyone were to see them, rather shocking sprawl.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and dipped his hand downward to stroke the soft skin of her bosom. "We may have made a baby, Grace."

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him. "I do not know if I can conceive, but if I did, I don't mind."

She did not care if she became pregnant? Grace Marlowe was not the sort of woman to have a child out of wedlock. It could only mean one thing.

"My love, are you saying —"

"I ... I am not sure being your lover is enough. I want more."

"Grace —"

"I know I am not the sort of woman you prefer. I'm not sophisticated and clever and experienced —"

"Have I ever complained?"

"Well, no, but —"

"And I never will. I love you just as you are. It is your innocence, your lack of experience, that utterly charms me. If you were a jaded sophisticate, I would never have fallen in love with you."

She placed a hand on his cheek. "And I love every part of you, John, the rakish scoundrel, the reckless gambler, the well-read scholar, and the compassionate man."

He took the hand and kissed it. "So you say, Grace, but I am not the man you want me to be. Everything you've ever heard about me is true, and more. I have never cared about being respectable or following rules, about being a 'gentleman.' I've done as I pleased with whom I pleased and hurt a lot of people along the way. Everything you accused me of was true. I do not have a charitable bone in my body. I did it all for you, to win the wager. I'm a gambler, not a philanthropist. I prefer horses over impoverished orphans and cockfights over the opera. I've never given a damn what people think of me. But I care about you, and I would be ashamed to offer up my ruined and scandalous life to you. You deserve better, Grace. You deserve the best."

"You are the best."

"No, I —"

"You are the best for
me
. You taught me how to be stand up for myself, to
be
myself, and not live in the shadow of my late husband's memory. You taught me about passion and how not to be afraid of it. You taught me how to have fun and enjoy life instead of constantly being on guard, worried what others may think of me. You taught me how to live. How could any man measure up to that? You
are
the best, John. For me."

"Does that mean you would have me, Grace? Would you marry me if I asked?"

"Are you asking?"

He took both her hands and pulled her to her feet. He wanted to do this properly. This was an important moment for him, not a moment to be in disarray, so he tucked in his shirttails, buttoned the fall of his pantaloons, retrieved his waistcoat and top coat, and made quick work of his neckcloth. Watching him, Grace shook out her skirts and straightened her bodice. They had each regained some semblance of order when he took her hands again and kissed each one in turn.

"My dearest Grace," he said, clasping her hands against his chest, "you are the finest woman I have ever known, and I love you with all my heart. Will you do me the very great honor of being my wife?"

Her eyes grew watery for a moment, but then she threw her arms around him and said, "Yes, yes, yes!"

He picked her up and swung her around and around, and she laughed, that voluptuous laugh that conjured up all the wicked things he wanted to do with her. And now they would have a lifetime to be wicked together.

He brought her back to earth, set her feet on the Turkish carpet, and kissed the end of her aristocratic nose. He reached into his coat and brought out a small shagreen box, which he held out to her. "For you, my dearest Grace: a symbol of my commitment to you, a pledge to love you forever."

She took the box and opened it, then smiled up at him with pure feminine delight. "Oh, John, it's beautiful. How did you know that emeralds are my favorite gemstones?"

He took her hand and slid the ring on her fourth finger. The large table-cut emerald was surrounded by small diamonds and set in gold. "It was a lucky guess. The color suits you."

She held her hand this way and that, studying the ring from every angle, then looked up at him with a smile so dazzling he had to blink. "Thank you, John. I love it. You could not have chosen a better emblem of our love. Heavens, my friends will be jealous when they see this!"

They laughed together and kissed again. And again.

"I can hardly believe this is happening," Rochdale said when they had both resumed their places on the sofa, her head on his shoulder. "Can you imagine a more unlikely match? The Bishop's Widow and the Libertine?"

"But remember, they lived happily ever after."

"Ah, yes. They did indeed. How prescient we were. Still, it is rather astonishing that we found each other and fell in love. I daresay the
ton
will be shocked."

"Yes, and please may we shock them a little more with a very short engagement?"

"Wicked woman. Impatient to have me in your bed again, are you?"

"Of course I am. And to wake up beside you every morning. Oh, John. I am so happy. Can we announce our betrothal right away? Tomorrow?"

"Egad, woman, you
are
impatient."

"I am. But I am also thinking that there might still be rumors buzzing about the wager. If my stepdaughter heard them, others must have as well."

"Your stepdaughter? Lady Bumfries?"

"Yes, she is the one who told me about the wager."

"Dear God. That must have been awkward."

Grace snorted. "Much worse than awkward, I assure you. But that is water under the bridge. I was just thinking that if we were to marry soon, the rumors would have no teeth."

"I will procure us a special license as soon as I can. I am not acquainted with any bishops to smooth the way. I would ask to use your contacts in the Church, but that might be awkward. The normal channels will have to do. Cazenove said it took him almost a week of haunting Doctors Commons to get a license. I will begin my own haunt tomorrow."

"And will you also put an announcement in the papers tomorrow as well?"

"It is important to you to make this formal and respectable, is it not? All right, then. I will place the announcements tomorrow."

"Thank you, John."

"Anything for you, my love. My future Lady Rochdale. Ha. You will lend more credit to the title than the other two ladies I have known who held it."

"I hope I will. Because I am more honored than you will ever know to have been offered the opportunity to be your viscountess."

The honor, in point of fact, was all his.

* * *

Two days later, Grace clipped the betrothal announcement out of the
Morning Post
and folded it inside a letter. She sealed it and wrote Lord Sheane's direction on the outside.

It had been an audacious wager. She had
hoped
Rochdale wanted to marry her, but she had not known for sure if he would. She did not need the odious Lord Sheane to tell her that Rochdale was too much of a libertine ever to marry. From the beginning, she had guessed him to be one of those lifelong pleasure seekers who never marry. She'd imagined that he would live out his days like the infamous Old Q, the Duke of Queensbury, a bachelor roué to the end. But at Newmarket, she could have sworn there was something more than lust between them. She had trusted in her intuition that he cared for her. Thank God she had been right. Otherwise, she might be sitting naked right now in front of Lord Sheane while he painted her picture. And heaven only knew how many people would have seen that picture. She would have been forced to sell the Portland Place house and retire to the country.

But she had trusted herself to be persuasive, and trusted Rochdale to do the right thing. Everything had worked out perfectly. She was in love, was now to be Lady Rochdale, and had never been happier in her life. She had most definitely become a new woman this Season. No longer The Bishop's Widow, she was to be the Libertine's Wife.