FromNowOn (2 page)

Oh, Ridgley.

She pressed her lips together with renewed determination.
She must not think of him in any way. He would be gone tomorrow.
Today.

The tinderbox containing the firesteel and char cloth was
positioned at the edge of the desk. She quickly opened it to light a candle. A
single spark lit the char cloth and flamed to life before she touched it to the
wick. She gripped the brass holder.

She set her foot to the rung of the library ladder and
reached for the novel she wanted. She had taken refuge in her books and her
walks and her painting. Surprisingly, she had not read every book in the
library yet. She smiled briefly—she did have a tendency to reread her
favorites. Her sisters sent packages each month—most contained books, some
painting supplies, others leather walking boots or parasols—as if she could not
buy such things in Cornwall.

She snuffed the candle quickly.

She inhaled one last time, thinking about Ridgley and how it
might have been.

If only he had loved her enough.

* * * * *

The first time would be difficult. He knew that. In his
mind’s eye, he tried to imagine how she might look these months later, but he
could only invoke her perfect, appealing beauty.

He had not been the only gentleman interested in Grace—he
had
been
the only one she had allowed liberties. Wonderful, teasing liberties
he never forgot.

He inhaled another pull from the cigar and then stared at
the glowing red tip.

How could he describe faultless splendor? Her radiant
goodness? A greater man would have written odes attesting to her qualities. A
greater man would have recognized the treasure in the few moments he had
possessed it and done more to keep it.

Had the accident affected more than her outer beauty? What
if it had changed her? He had seen people grow bitter over lesser tragedies.

Tomorrow he would see her—confront her if necessary. He
stubbed the remainder of the cigar and settled more comfortably in the leather
chair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

She had sent his note back unopened. Had he expected she
would read it and then fly into his arms? No.

But he had hoped she would at least talk to him. Their
friendship had been real.

Some moments passed as he contemplated finding his bed and
starting over in his quest first thing in the morning. The clock struck one but
he hadn’t the motivation or desire to move.

An apparition walked through the library door. There was
barely a whisper of sound but something alerted him to her presence.

Grace.

He opened his eyes wider, his gaze searching past the
luminescence of her nightgown. Frozen in the chair, he dared not make a sound,
even his breathing seemed to slow. Where he sat at the far end of the room he
was hidden and protected by the darkness.

She fumbled for a moment. The grating of metal preceded the
quick burst of light as the char cloth flamed.

The glow exposed the right side of her face. Warmth cascaded
through his body. He curled his fingers, digging into the cool leather of the
chair. All of his urges would come to naught if he frightened her, if he came
upon her unawares.

She appeared golden and unblemished in the light. From where
he sat, he could not see a single scar, only the angelic perfection of which he
had always dreamt.

Surging desire pulsed through him. Yes, he loved Grace, but
he had always—
always
—wanted her. She might have been the one woman in
all of London he had wanted and had not seduced into wanting
him
. Well,
hardly.

There had been a few chaste kisses. And then an offer from a
duke. Sebastian knew his insincere suit was doomed. And the truth of the
situation was, he had been of an age when he had not really
wanted
to
marry.

Sebastian would like to go back in time and beat that bloody
young fool to a pulp.

He wanted to give her ample opportunity to come to him of
her own accord, but he knew there was a limit to his patience. He had not
agonized about this decision for nothing.

As she set her foot to the ladder, she smiled.

Sebastian felt a moment of peace—and relief—that she had
some small joy.

He could not imagine her without a smile. Great beauties
abounded, but a weak smile, a lack of warmth and a dull gleam in the eye could
ruin a truly beautiful countenance.

Grace exuded affection and joy. Her teeth were perfect
pearls, her eyes twinkled with the radiance of a thousand stars. Who could get
past her eyes? Deep green with the thickest, blackest lashes.

Hell, he was no poet.

He was a damned fool who didn’t know if his greatest mistake
could be made right.

From now on, he would be the man she needed until she said
she didn’t need him and never would.

Her luminescence trailed out the door and into the hallway.
Tempted as he was to follow her, he held back, allowing his body to relax into
the soft chair.

Lust he could manage.

Love was a damn nuisance.

* * * * *

Cook hurried to prepare a picnic lunch for Grace. Cook, who
was elbow-deep in flour and dough at the time, seemed a bit confused because it
was five o’clock in the morning when the duchess requested the meal.

“And some cider,” she said.

“If you are going out, Your Grace, best wear a coat and
boots. Old Madge was through yesterday and said rain is on the horizon.”

“Thank you. I mostly certainly will.”

Sebastian would leave today but Grace did not have the
courage to watch his carriage taking him away, nor did she have the courage to
see him again.

The picnic lunch was partly a ruse and partly a necessity
since she would make herself disappear until he was gone. She knew Sebastian
well enough to know if he had made the effort to find her in Cornwall he would
not leave unless she was abundantly clear about her wishes.

If she saw him, she could see herself bending to his will.
She had to protect herself, as cowardly as it made her. Ridgley’s reputation
was well-earned—her ability to resist his charm was difficult when she was
beautiful and his only intent was to flirt. Now? She was susceptible to the
least of his actions.

Once her basket was prepared, she left a note for Mr. Felix,
being just as cryptic. He could not share with Sebastian what he did not know.
She had already told her lady’s maid she would be free for the day.

Please express my regrets to Lord Ridgley. I wish him
well.

The note was not for Sebastian but Felix—how much clearer could
she be?

Of course, Sebastian would demand to see her note and
hopefully he would wish her to the devil before he bounded out the door.

She had found peace here in Cornwall.

He was the only one who could take away her serenity.

Hammond had multiple properties. The Cornish mansion was one
of the largest with over sixty rooms. It had not taken much to convince the new
Duke of Hammond to deed the unentailed property to her, especially after he had
seen her a month later. Her countenance had still been ravaged by the sharp
glass and the ugliness of healing. His only stipulation was that he retained
the mining rights to the tin and copper. She was happy to comply.

Her husband’s brother was a military man who appreciated
order and honor. He had stayed only long enough to facilitate the transfer. She
hoped he married soon. What would it be like to be free of the duchy? Most
would think her mad for having such a wish, but the title meant nothing since
she planned to live her life free from the social expectations of London’s
elite.

The multitude of rooms, however, came in handy when she
wished for some privacy. Grace walked back to her boudoir, carrying her
sustenance in a small wicker basket. She took her book, a sketch pad and
pencils, fitting them inside. She went to her sitting room and plucked up her
embroidery. She intended to be busy today. And alone.

The room she had in mind was on the fourth floor of the
mansion, in one of the wings. There was a large dancing hall with three double
doors leading to a balcony with wrought iron railing. The view was stunning
during the spring and fall, but stark and nearly lonely during the winter.

She walked to the end of the hall and entered into a small
retiring room with its own set of doors and a private balcony. The room was
decorated in reds and golds with several thick rococo chaise longues,
overstuffed brocaded chairs, a small escritoire and two sturdy oak tables on
each side of the room. A fireplace mantel dominated the middle of the room but
it was devoid of kindling. Hopefully the rain wouldn’t cause much of a chill.

The room was kept in perfect order. She didn’t think anyone
knew she came here on occasion. There were days when it was pleasant to pretend
she wasn’t a duchess.

Time passed much as she thought it might. Thoughts of
Sebastian intruded throughout the day, each punctuated by a second thought. Had
he gone yet?

Nothing could make her see him.

He could follow her to the farthest reaches of Africa but
she would not see him.

He expected his women to be beautiful and perfect. She had
seen the types he preferred and they weren’t dowdy vicar’s daughters or plump
matrons. Or blemished widows. Gossip somehow always reached her when he took a
mistress, had an affair or expressed interest in the next woman he pursued.
She’d made herself believe it didn’t matter.

Yes, she had changed. When she knew him before, she had been
just as shallow as he had been, relying on her beauty to charm and flirt.

Her mind ruled her heart when it came to Sebastian. It was
for the best he rode away.

She threw aside her embroidery and leaned over her knees.
The ache building in her chest had nothing to do with scars and everything to
do with lost love.

Tears filled her eyes and spilled into her lap. The pain
built with each beat of her heart until the first sob shook her body.

Her heart and her soul screamed that he must never leave
her. Those screams dripped from her eyes since there was no other way to
express them that didn’t involve the destruction of her carefully woven
existence.

When the tears stopped, she reclined on the chaise and
closed her eyes.

Sebastian.
Sebastian.

Why had he come?

Why had he torn open old wounds?

During a lull in the storm, she heard the sound of the
carriage and John Coachman shouting out to his team.

She let loose a torrent of tears before exhaustion overtook
her and night descended.

* * * * *

“What do you mean, she isn’t at home?” Sebastian asked Mr.
Felix. He had never seen a more secretive group of servants in all his life. He
had even dropped gold coins into several palms and received only the vaguest of
information. Insomnia had caused him to sleep late—well, later than he had
intended—and she had somehow disappeared while he slept.

He had politely waited to hear news of the duchess’s
intentions. It was as if she was not even in residence.

“May I see the note?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Sebastian grabbed it and read the two terse and
uninformative lines. She expected him to leave, did she?

“And you did not speak to her?”

“This morning, no.”

“Where would she go?”

“The estate is large, Lord Ridgley, and she owns it. I
cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“It’s raining.”

“So it is, sir.”

“The cook said she took a basket of food. Was she visiting
someone?”

“Again, I do not know.”

“Is there anything you do know?”

“Yes. I can have the stable hands prepare your carriage.”

“She would like that, wouldn’t she?” His words had more bite
than he intended. He had thought he had been prepared for her not wanting to
see him, he just hadn’t planned on complete avoidance.

Mr. Felix stood with his hands behind his back, giving away
nothing nor offering a clue to his mistress’s intentions.

With each impediment, Sebastian grew more determined.
Nothing could be so bad that a friend, a dear friend as she had once called
him, could not be privy to her hurts. For all she knew, he was here only to
socialize. Again he chided himself for his weakness. Would he slink away once
he saw her?

Where the hell was she?

The mansion was large, the estate was monstrous,
encompassing numerous smaller villages. She could be anywhere.

What would bring her out of hiding?

Oh yes, he knew. His departure.

Damn her pride.

“Mr. Felix, have my carriage readied by four.”

Sebastian detected a small lift of the servant’s lips as he
responded with a polite, “Yes, Lord Ridgley.”

He took the steps two at a time, stopping at the head of the
stairs to glance down the opposite hallway.

Since he had time, he quietly made his way down to the ducal
rooms. He wasn’t so shy that he wouldn’t walk into a room with an unlocked
door. Grace’s room was empty.

Next to the far wall, opposite her room, a set of servants’
stairs led downward to the main floor.

He had little choice.

Back in his room, Tibbets was ironing cravats. Sebastian
flung himself into a comfortable chair, explained the plan to his valet and
waited for the clock to tick away. She didn’t know he was determined now that
he had stopped dithering.

At four, Tibbets plucked up the empty valise, and Sebastian
snatched his greatcoat from the armoire and flung it over his arm. The carriage
was waiting. Mr. Felix stood at the head of the stairs, offering to carry
Sebastian’s bag, which Tibbets politely declined.

“Mr. Felix, please inform Her Grace I will be back shortly
and I will expect to see her.”

“I will relay your message, my lord.”