Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] (23 page)

He gave her a polite bow and withdrew, though she would swear his eyes were sparkling with mischief. And as the door closed, she found herself smiling as she mentally lingered over the image. Then she remembered what she’d promised.

An hour? For a bath and a proper dressing? Not to mention the time it would take to travel to the shop. She scrambled out of bed. What had she been thinking? But she’d be damned if she was one minute late if he was downstairs with a watch in his hand!

It turned out that Irene liked parties. And musicals, and even walking in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. She liked pretty clothes, and she liked having a very attentive gentleman on her arm. A lot of attentive gentlemen, it turned out, because as the news of her “wealthy widow” status became known, she found herself at the center of a great deal of masculine attention.

Against her explicit request, her father-in-law dowered her with an impressive sum, and the party invitations started to arrive. She understood his intentions. He told her quite explicitly that he was buying an entrée to the world for herself and his wife that had hitherto been denied. A large dowry brought invitations, but she’d only attend if her mama and Mrs. Schmitz were invited too.

He also told her that she’d wrapped herself in mothballs long enough. They loved her like a daughter, and it was time for her to get married again, have babies, and live the life she should have had. It had brought her to tears and had her swearing that they were the best parents she’d ever had. She would never ever cut them from her life. Then they had a great big cry before dressing for the first of what would soon be many outings.

They were always accompanied by someone. Grant was usually in attendance, but occasionally, his brother Will or Lord Redhill made up her entourage. With such delightful company, Irene found herself enjoying life more than ever before. She was popular. She was dressed in gowns that made her feel beautiful. And she had male attention everywhere she turned.

All in all, it made life busy. She was still working. The shop was in desperate need of ivory buttons, and she was on a hunt for the best bargains. Grant didn’t stop her from speaking with captains or shopkeepers. He just remained nearby—along with Mr. Tanner and her father’s “footmen”—as she went about her search.

No one attacked. And even little Carol was working out splendidly. The girl kept better track of her schedule than Irene ever had.

So why wasn’t Irene happy? Why wasn’t she bursting at the seams with giggly joy, even as she rushed from one event to another? Why did she take long moments to stare silently at the landscape without saying a word? She just sat. And she longed… for something. Or perhaps, it was someone. Her thoughts—or her gaze—would inevitably find Grant, and she would see exactly what she’d known would happen.

He was becoming Lord Crowle in every sense of the word. While she was enjoying the pleasures of dancing nearly every dance at a ball, he was enjoying masculine discussions with the financial men. Not quite a political, Grant was a man who understood money. Banking, investing, and management were his favorite topics lately. Not much with her at first, but eventually, some of his thoughts bled through. All too soon, they were talking about work and politics in a manner she’d never expected with anyone.

Which would be lovely, if she didn’t see the women attached to the financial men. Every one of their wives was a well-born conservative. They’d likely been virgins on their wedding night, and not a one had ever been impoverished. If the
ton
could be critical of her status, she shuddered at what Grant’s new friends thought. Bankers, as a rule, were not men who embraced social flexibility.

And though Grant never failed to dance a waltz with her, he began taking virginal girls to the floor as well. Daughters of his new friends, rosy-cheeked and so young it made Irene hurt to look at them. They were courtesy dances, he told her, but she could see the girls blush and smile as he escorted them. He was charming then, and he was Lord Crowle, a newly crowned financial. One day, one of those girls would walk down the aisle to him.

And that thought soured Irene’s stomach so much she couldn’t find the wherewithal to eat. He was slipping away. She’d known it would happen, but the ache of watching him walk bit by bit closer to some dewy-eyed girl chilled her to the bone. It hurt deep inside—a bitter coldness in places she’d thought already dead. Had she grieved for Nate as deeply? She knew she had, but this pain was fresh, this loss new, because she suffered it again and again every night when he danced attendance on yet another virgin.

Then came the afternoon when Grant stepped into her carriage and asked Mr. Tanner to take Carol home. She had just come from a fruitless negotiation with one of Papa’s ship captains. The man hadn’t been able to keep any of his cargo for her. Her needs were simply not a large enough purchase. But they had discussed other options and then separated early, which is when Grant had hopped into the carriage.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, her voice short as weariness tugged at her. But even so, she felt warmth in her belly at his presence. No matter what the future was, right now, her body was thrilled. Especially since they would likely be alone in a dark carriage.

“Carol tells me you have nothing planned for this afternoon. So I am rudely commandeering the rest of your day, if that is acceptable. I have need of your feminine advice.”

She arched her brows, intending to be curt. He could not just “commandeer” her afternoon. But the words that left her mouth were soft and yielding. Her perpetual state around him, it would seem.

“Well, I am definitely female, and I am told I enjoy giving advice.”

“Then I will be eternally grateful if you would share it with me.” He rapped on the coach partition. Apparently, he’d already told the driver of their destination. Then he sat across from her, dropping into his seat with a loud exhale of relief. “You keep the most incredible schedule of any woman I have ever known. I don’t know why you aren’t dropping with fatigue.”

“I am rather tired,” she admitted. “I would cut back on the parties, but Mama loves them so. She has found some friends now, other matronly hens who love to cluck.”

He gave a mock shudder. “That image leaves me terrified.”

She laughed, and the feel of such a breezy sound lightened her heart. When was the last time she’d last made that girlish kind of giggle? Years, perhaps—before Nate’s death, certainly.

“I like to hear you laugh,” he said softly. “You don’t do it enough.”

“I was just thinking that too,” she said as her eyes lingered on the curve of his mouth. “You make me smile, my lord. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

He blinked, but far from smiling in return, his expression tightened. “That sounds suspiciously like a farewell.”

“No, no!” she lied. “Of course not. We still have that mysterious, completely absent villain to apprehend, remember? You cannot be rid of me until you finally declare this ridiculous hunt at an end.”

He grimaced, and she could see the way his shoulders stooped. “I know it is hard to be hedged in on every side.”

Actually, she’d been surprised at how easy it was to handle. At this point, her protectors functioned as easily as her maid: moving through her environment as if she’d always been protected like the crown jewels.

“The expense must be crippling you,” she said softly.

He snorted. “As to that, your fond Papa is bearing the brunt. He is still worried.”

“And you?” she asked quietly. “Have you realized that whatever it was—it is now over? There is no threat.”

He was silent, as if listening for something. What-ever it was, he didn’t hear it. So he leaned forward, his expression troubled as he touched her hands. “I cannot say that, Irene. I… I don’t know what to think. At one time, I was sure. Now, I begin to doubt myself.”

“No one can remain vigilant forever. Especially without reason to continue.”

“A little longer, Irene. Please.”

She nodded. What choice did she have? Even if Grant stopped his protection duties, her father-in-law would keep the “footmen” around.

Meanwhile, the coach stopped, and her two extra protectors leapt off the side, presumably to scan the area. A moment later, one opened the carriage door, proclaiming that everything looked “right as rain.” Grant stepped out first then extended his hand to help her alight. A second later, he escorted her up the steps of a comfortable home in a neighborhood she recognized.

“Is this close to my home?” she asked as she looked around.

Grant pointed. “Three blocks that way.” Then he pulled out a key and unlocked the door before gesturing her inside.

She stepped in, smelling the dust that came with an unused space. In the dim light, she saw the sparse outlines of covered furniture and long-abandoned rugs.

“What is this?”

“A property that I’m considering buying. It’s rather large, but the location is excellent. The price is reasonable, and I cannot forever live at an inn.”

She wandered through the parlor and to the dining room, then into the kitchen itself. “How many floors?”

“Four. The first has parlor, kitchen, and dining room. Seven bedrooms above—”

“Seven!” she gasped.

“—and more for the staff on the third floor. Storage above that.”

“That’s a lot of room for a bachelor,” she said, her heart sinking. He wasn’t thinking of himself as a bachelor. He was thinking of a wife and children. Of nannies and maids, not to mention a cook and butler. He was thinking of setting up his household, and the thought made her heart ache with longing.

“There’s more,” he said as he gestured up a narrow staircase. It was London, after all, and houses like this tended to be narrow and deep. And tall. This house was very tall.

They wandered the upper floor, viewing the bedrooms. One was larger than the rest—for the master of the house—and she easily imagined his furniture there. Armoire to the left, reading chair by the fire, and a large, handsome bed fit for a king. Or at least an earl.

“It’s this last one I want you to see most,” he said as he opened the door.

It was the nursery. Painted in light blue, it had a covered cradle in one corner and a small pallet for a nurse.

“Who used to live here?” she whispered, her throat tight. “Please tell me that they lived happy. That they weren’t struck by tragedy.”

“They did suffer a tragedy,” he said softly, a teasing note in his voice. “Poor bastard had the misfortune of striking it rich in mining. Not a problem there, but he’d married a woman who loves fresh country air. He’d held her off, saying he didn’t have the money to set up in the country like she wanted. But they have it now, so he lost the battle to stay in London. The woman packed up the whole lot in the spring and moved them out.”

She laughed, as she knew he intended. “So they aren’t returning to London?”

“Turns out he prefers his wife’s company to the dirty city life. Decided to sell this place and stay in the wilds. I heard about the decision from a friend who knew I was looking. He got me the key yesterday, and here we are today.”

She took a step forward, unable to resist lifting the cover to look at the cradle. There was nothing special about it. A sturdy piece of furniture without decoration. And yet, looking at it, her heart squeezed tight. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And what a ridiculous thought that was.

“So what do you think, Irene?” he asked, his voice a soft whisper. “Do you think this is a good home? A place where a woman could be happy?”

She nodded quietly, unable to trust her voice.

He touched her cheek, turning her to look into his eyes. When he saw her tears, his eyes widened in shock. “Irene! What happened? What’s the matter?”

She shook her head, wishing she could explain. “It’s nothing. Every childless widow longs for children. Some little one to fill her lonely days.”

He caressed her cheek, the soft brush leaving heat in its wake. “You would have beautiful children.”

She swallowed, not able to answer. Beautiful or not, she wanted a babe. Some days she felt so empty. And in a room like this, the lack was like a yawning hole in her life.

He kissed her tenderly, the touch of his mouth and tongue telling her without words that he knew her ache. That perhaps, he shared it too.

“Grant,” she whispered into his mouth, wishing he were just plain Mr. Grant again.

“Shh,” he answered, as he kissed her neck. “It’s me. Mr. Grant. Lord Crowle. We are one and the same.”

It wasn’t true. The needs of the two men were very different. And yet, at the moment, it didn’t matter. She wanted him to touch her. He wanted her as well. And as he undid the buttons down her back, she arched into him. Her dress went slack. And when he was finished with her buttons, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders. As he shrugged out of that, she worked on his waistcoat and shirt.

“Mr. Grant had fewer clothes,” she said with a laugh.

“And neither man wears as much as you,” he said as he began to work on her corset.

She took a deep breath as her ties were loosened and her shift pulled away. A moment later, his mouth was on her breast, sucking at her nipple until she cried out at the pleasure. Her hands clenched on his shoulders. He was her only support.

He pressed more kisses into her breast, murmuring as he slowly made his way to her other nipple. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve wanted you every night,” she said.

He pulled it into his mouth, sucking hard. She cried out, undulating against him. She didn’t consciously feel what he was doing, only an overwhelming sense of wonder. He was suckling her, and she never wanted him to stop.

He kept her going for a while, but eventually, he had to stop. He straightened, looking about him. “This isn’t the way I meant to—”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.” And she didn’t. She didn’t care what it would do to her clothing or her hair. She didn’t care who might see them or what the footmen outside would think. He was nearly gone from her life. She felt it like she felt the coming of a bleak winter. She would take what harvest she could now.

“Irene,” he groaned.

“The cot.” Then she pulled back to look him in the eye. “Or the floor. I don’t care so long as you fill me.”

He paused, searching her face. “I could fill you in truth. We could have children together.”

They could, and she nearly wept at the thought. She wanted it so desperately. But that worry she could not simply sweep aside. “Do you have a French letter?”

He nodded, the motion jerky.