White Regency 03 - White Knight (14 page)

Augusta said, tapping a finger to her
chin, “Odd. That doesn’t sound at all like Christian.”

“Indeed, he has always struck me as a
most polite and attentive man.” Catriona looked at Grace, lowering her
voice. “Forgive me, dear, if I intrude in matters of which I have no right
to ask. Understand that I am Scottish and we are quite open about such matters.”

Grace nodded for her to continue.

“I presume, from your comments
earlier, that you and Christian do not share a bedchamber … or, for that
matter, a bed.”

Grace felt instantly awash with shame, her
face growing heated. She nodded slowly.

Augusta shook her head. “Most odd
indeed.”

“One can only guess that because your
marriage was arranged, perhaps Christian is resistant to admitting
defeat.”

“Defeat?”

“Oh yes,” answered Augusta.
“He is, after all,
a man.”

“Indeed. They can be so pigheaded
about things, can’t they?” Catriona shook her head. “I would assume,
knowing what I do of Christian’s family history, that his grandfather the duke
arranged your marriage.”

Grace nodded.

“There is much hostility between the
old duke and Christian. I would guess it is simply because you were chosen by
his grandfather that Christian is behaving the way he is toward you. Were he to
show that he were pleased with you, to his thinking, that would be allowing his
grandfather to win.”

Grace wrinkled her brow in confusion.
“It would?”

“I know it makes no sense to a woman,
dear, because we are sensible and clear headed and we see things as they truly
are. Men, poor dears, can only see things in two respects: winning and losing.
If Christian were thinking rationally, he would be instead giving his
grandfather the impression that he is blissfully happy with his choice of you,
which of course he could only be with you as his wife.”

“Yes,” Augusta added,
“obviously with so much hostility between them, it would only rankle the
duke more to think that he had given Christian such a gift when he had intended
to give him misery. Mind you, not that you are a misery, dear. You clearly are
not.” She nodded, sitting up with both hands on Grace’s knees. “As I
see it, we must
enlighten
Christian.”

Grace was only growing further confused.
“Enlighten him?”

“Oh, yes, dear. It is your only hope
of bringing this situation to its necessary conclusion.” Catriona sat
taller in her seat and looked across the room, studying the crowd. “We
must find a way to make our dear Lord Knighton open his clouded eyes and see
what he has right before him. Either that or we shall have to conk him on the
head with Augusta’s telescope to knock some sense into him.”

The two of them laughed, and then Catriona
straightened more in her seat, peering past Grace to the doorway. “We must
proceed most carefully… it is a decision of the utmost delicacy…” She
smiled then. “And I think I have found just the person to assist us in our
endeavor.”

Augusta looked to where Catriona was
staring, a wide smile breaking across her face. “Oh, Catriona, I know what
you are thinking and I must say, dear, it is a perfect solution. Indeed, almost
too
perfect.”

Grace turned in her seat to see what it
was that had so captured the ladies’ attention. But she could see nothing at
all because the doorway was blocked by the figure of a man. She turned her
attention back to the two ladies. “I’m afraid I do not see what you are
talking about.”

“Look again, dear. I understand he
waltzes divinely.”

Grace turned a second time and it was then
she realized that they intended her to notice the man standing in the doorway.
Furthermore, they intended her to…

Grace looked back to them. “Oh, no, I
couldn’t.”

“Oh, but you could, dear. You want to
draw Christian’s notice, do you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“This will do much better than a
conking on his head. And it will serve him right for having neglected you as he
has. Trust us, my dear. We know well what we are doing.”

“But would it be considered proper? I
do not wish to do anything that might cause Christian embarrassment. Shouldn’t
I dance my first dance as a marchioness with my husband?”

“You would have, had he asked
you.” Catriona grinned. “Besides, I am the hostess this evening. It
is perfectly within propriety—in fact, it is my duty—to find partners for the
ladies who aren’t already dancing.”

Grace remained uncertain. Still she had no
better option before her and these ladies seemed so sure of themselves.

Catriona looked to Augusta with a devilish
smile. “Shall I do the honors, dear sister?”

“Oh, by all means.” She looked
at Grace as Catriona stood. “Watch and learn, dear.”

Catriona straightened her skirts and
glided elegantly across the room. In seconds, she had caught the attention of
the man at the doorway and they were soon engaged in conversation, smiling and
nodding. Moments later Catriona had taken his hand and was bringing him over to
where Augusta and Grace were still sitting.

“Lady Knighton, allow me to introduce
a friend of ours—and an acquaintance of your husband. Lord Whitly, please meet
our new friend, Lady Knighton.”

He was about as close as any mortal could
be to a god on earth—blond hair the color of spun gold, lazy hazel eyes, and a
smile that could easily melt an iceberg. He was dressed in a coat of navy superfine
with a superbly starched neckcloth worthy of Brummell himself. Even as he stood
beside her, Grace could see other ladies nearby stopping their conversations so
that they might watch him, fluttering their fans quickly before them.

Yet even while one could not dispute that
he was indeed handsome, Grace found she preferred Christian’s darker, more
natural looks to the example of overdone perfection that stood before her. Lord
Whitly seemed pleasant enough, though, and Catriona and Augusta obviously liked
him, so Grace offered him her gloved hand in greeting.

“A pleasure to make your
acquaintance, Lord Whitly.”

Lord Whitly took her hand and pressed a
kiss softly to it. “It is, indeed, my pleasure as well, Lady
Knighton.”

“Now, Whitly,” said Augusta
then, “you needn’t waste your charms on Lady Knighton because she is
thoroughly smitten with her husband, as any good wife should be. All we require
of you is a turn or two about the dance floor. That should serve our purposes
quite well.”

Whitly grinned. “Happy to be of
service, my ladies.” He motioned toward the ballroom door. “Lady
Knighton, shall we?”

Grace looked at Catriona and Augusta one
last time even as she rose to her feet. As they headed off for the ballroom,
she sent a silent prayer to the Fates that she was doing the right thing.

Christian took a draught from his port
glass and spied his sister Eleanor through the parlor doorway. She was standing
with his mother and another, smiling radiantly and he paused a moment, watching
her. He noticed she was talking with a gentleman—a gentleman whom he recognized
in the next moment when the man turned with Eleanor to look out over the
dancing area.

Christian nearly choked.

“Excuse me a moment, gentlemen,”
he said to his friends, handing his glass to Noah before he headed steadfastly
across the room to where his sister still stood. He approached them silently
from behind.

“Eleanor,” Christian said, his
voice cordial, showing no hint of the turmoil that was churning inside of him
as he came to stand beside her. He glanced once at the gentleman with her, then
immediately looked to his sister again. “It is time for that dance I
promised you, isn’t it?”

Lady Frances stood to Eleanor’s other side
giving Christian a look that only the two of them could understand.

“Oh, Christian,” Eleanor said on
a smile, “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to. I was just telling
Lord Herrick here of your marriage. You know the earl, do you not?”

Far better than I care to admit.
Christian turned, giving the man an affected smile
that never quite exceeded a cool politeness. “Herrick,” he said, his
voice empty of any emotion, “you are looking well.”

It had been over twenty years since the
two men had last faced one another, but it might have only been twenty days.
Richard Hartley, Earl of Herrick, still had the same coal-black hair and harsh
gray eyes he’d had as a boy. For the moment, it seemed almost as if Christian
were standing across from him on the cricket field at Eton with his shirttails
hanging out the back of his grass-stained breeches, his cuffs rolled to his
elbows.

By the time they had parted on that last
occasion, Christian had sported a blackened eye; Herrick had stood with a
bloodied and nearly broken nose.

But Herrick simply returned a curt nod
that revealed nothing, leaving Christian to wonder what the man’s aim in
speaking with Eleanor could be. “Knighton, my congratulations on your
recent marriage.”

Eleanor smiled, blissfully oblivious of
the tension that had suddenly thickened the air between them. “Oh, so I
was correct in thinking you do know one another.”

Christian’s eyes never left Herrick’s.
“Yes, Eleanor, Lord Herrick and I have already been acquainted, although
it has been some time. We were at Eton together, actually. It is good to see
you again, Herrick. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe I owe my sister this
dance.”

Christian didn’t wait long enough for
Herrick to respond, but instead directed Eleanor toward the dance floor and as
far away from the earl as possible. As he threaded them a path through the
other people in the room, Christian didn’t realize the tightness with which he
was gripping Eleanor’s hand until they had stopped and she pulled away, rubbing
her gloved fingers. She stared at him curiously.

“Christian, is something wrong?”

“No,” he lied. “Should
there be?”

“You just seem agitated of a
sudden.”

They prepared for the waltz that was about
to begin and Christian caught sight of Herrick over the top of Eleanor’s head.
Lady Frances had vanished and Herrick was standing at the edge of the dance
floor, watching them.

Christian frowned. He had hoped the earl
would have gone off in search of other company.

“Lord Herrick seems very nice,”
Eleanor said, drawing Christian’s attention away from the side of the room.

“You have spoken of so many of your
friends from Eton over the years that I thought I knew of them all. Why have
you never mentioned him?”

How in God’s name was he supposed to
answer her? He had thought he’d been so cautious, safeguarding against every
possible situation. Of all the contretemps that could have taken place, he
never would have expected this one. “I suppose I never mentioned him
because the occasion never called for me to, Nell.”

Eleanor smiled as she always did when he
used his childhood nickname for her. The music began. As they moved about the
floor with the other couples, Christian sought to change the subject. “Are
you enjoying the ball this evening?”

“Oh, yes, very much. It has proven a
most pleasant evening indeed.”

As they danced, Christian noticed Eleanor
looking to where Herrick yet lingered at the edge of the dance floor. He
noticed the smiles they exchanged and felt his stomach tighten in response.
Damnation!
This could not be happening. Not her. Not him. Not now. Christian quickly
turned his sister so that her back was to the earl.

“It is amazing,” Eleanor said,
“the differences in being ‘out’ and participating in the season as
compared to being relegated to our mother’s side to watch on in silence.”

Christian looked down at her. She was
still searching the fringes of the floor for Herrick. His voice lowered.
“You have all the time in the world, you know, Nell. You needn’t set your
sights on the first buck you run across.”

Eleanor looked up at her brother, her face
coloring at his having seen straight through to her budding attraction for
Herrick. “I am not setting my sights on anyone, Christian—not yet,
anyway.”

“That is good.” He turned her
about again. “You shall have a love match. I promise you. No one will
force you into a marriage you do not want.”

The undertone of his words was obvious.

“Are you so very unhappy with Grace,
Christian?”

The question was not one he had been
prepared for and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I don’t really
know. I don’t even know her; we are truly strangers and that is a sorry
beginning for any marriage.”

“You certainly don’t seem interested
in getting to know her any time soon, either.”

It was more an accusation than anything
else and Christian looked at his sister, but her attention was focused
elsewhere. He had to maneuver them a bit because it seemed as if the dance
floor was becoming more and more crowded. They moved through several more turns
of the dance.

“And I would suggest, dear brother,
that you concentrate your efforts on your wife a bit more before others see to
the job for you. That is, if it is not too late already.”

Eleanor stopped dancing. Most everyone
around them had as well. Christian turned to where Eleanor had motioned for him
to look near the center of the dance floor. Christian searched for whatever it
was she was pointing to, but there were too many blocking his view. Everyone’s
attention, it seemed, was focused there. He inched a bit closer and could see
that there was a solitary couple dancing in the midst of the crowd. As he made
his way around the onlookers, he soon saw why. He wasn’t surprised. Lord Whitly
had a talent for drawing attention to himself, as an accomplished dancer, yes,
but more so as a notorious rakehell. But in the next moment, Christian felt his
breath give way when he noticed the lady with whom Lord Whitly was waltzing so
finely.

It was his wife.

Christian fixed his stare on Grace as she
glided smoothly through the steps of the dance. The skirts of her gown swept
outward with her movements, her gloved hand resting lightly on Whitly’s arm as
he held her other hand in his. She moved as if she’d been born to waltz, her
curls bouncing gently about her neck, and she was smiling, a smile more
brilliant than he had ever seen her wear before. It was the sort of smile that
should have been reserved for him, her husband, not this stranger, not this
well-known roué.

Christian noticed that several of the
other guests around him were watching him for his reaction, whispering
conjecture. Conjecture, he knew, often led to scandal. If he didn’t proceed
carefully, this could furnish the tea parlors of the whole of London with
gossip enough for the next several days. Christian relaxed his jaw, which he
just realized he’d been clenching, and stood back until the first recess of the
dance. When Whitly bent into a bow before Grace, Christian began to applaud.
Everyone around him soon followed suit until the entire ballroom was paying
tribute. Whitly turned and executed a second flourishing bow to the crowd while
Grace smiled tentatively under the crowd’s overwhelming admiration.

Christian seized the first opportunity to
step forward and lay claim to his wife.

“That was lovely, my dear,” he
said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I hope Lord Whitly won’t mind my
taking his place through the next movement of the dance?”

Whitly wisely bowed his head. “Of
course not, Knighton. She is, after all, your wife—and a treasure at that. Lady
Knighton, it was indeed a pleasure. Good evening, Knighton.”

Christian stood, watching Whitly’s prudent
retreat with a smile that was more predatory than polite. He turned to Grace.
“Shall we, my dear?”

Grace nodded just as the music resumed.
Christian swept her closer to him, his hand placed possessively at the small of
her back, that same fixed smile on his mouth. They waltzed into the first
several turns, a spectacle for all to see before the others around them joined
in on the dancing. He waited until he was certain they would not be overheard
before speaking.

“I wasn’t aware you were acquainted
with Lord Whitly.”

“I wasn’t,” Grace answered.
“Catriona and Augusta just now introduced us. He seems a most amiable
gentleman.”

“Gentleman, indeed.” Christian
took her into a turn, leading them closer to the far end of the dance floor
near to the terrace doors. “It is a good idea, Grace, to dance first with
one’s husband after being wed. It can avert unnecessary conjecture.”

Grace stared at him. “I would have,
my lord, had my husband asked me to.”

Touché.

As he spun her into the next turn,
Christian caught a breath of Grace’s fragrance, exotically unique. He
immediately felt the palms of his hands grow hot. He said, “That is an
intriguing scent you wear, my lady.”

“It is a family recipe, my lord. A
secret of sorts.”

“Indeed.” His heart began to
pound as if he had just run the length of the ballroom. He looked down at her,
a fatal mistake, for in doing so, he was afforded an open view of her glorious
cleavage. No doubt it had been the reason for Whitly’s smile. Christian was
seized by an overwhelming urge to bury his face against her breasts and fill
himself with her essence. His breath caught and he felt his sex begin to swell
beneath his breeches. Good God, he was a man of nine-and-twenty, not a randy
schoolboy. What the devil was wrong with him?

When next Christian turned, he faltered,
taking the wrong direction. Grace had been unprepared for it and so when she
stepped right, Christian went left. She lost her footing and fell directly
against him, every inch of her pressed intimately to him. His response, or
rather that of his body, was immediate.

“Good gracious,” Grace said.

An understatement, to say the least.

Thank God they were just beside the door
to the terrace, otherwise half of London society would have seen just how
aroused Christian was. Instead, he quickly recovered his footing and turned
them both out onto the terrace.

As he closed the door behind them,
Christian said a silent prayer of thanks that it was a chill night and no one
else had ventured from the ballroom. At that moment, he was beyond any thought
but wanting her. He backed Grace against the far wall and pulled her hard
against him, taking her mouth in a kiss that was fraught with impatience, and
lust. The curves of her body molded to his and he groaned into her mouth. And
the more he kissed her, felt her, knew her, the more he wanted her.

The more he
needed
her.

“Damnation!”

Christian tore his mouth away from hers,
staring at her in the moonlight, searching for some sense of explanation for
the effect she had on him.

“Christian?”

“Come,” was all he said and he
took Grace’s hand, striding across the terrace to the far side. At least he
still had enough sense to know he certainly couldn’t take his wife there
against the railing of a moonlit terrace. He found that blessedly the door to
Robert’s private study was unlocked. He opened it, navigating his way in the
moonlight to the opposite side of the room. Grace said nothing, just followed
behind him, the rustling of her skirts against the carpet the only sound
between them.

Christian’s pulse was pounding as he took
her up the back staircase usually reserved for the Devonbrook servants. He went
to the first bedchamber he could find, opened the door, entered, and locked it
behind them. He turned to face her. He was breathing hard. His body felt on
fire. At that moment, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his
life.

“Grace.”

It was all he managed to say before he
took her against him again. He kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue into her
mouth while he backed her to the side of the bed. He laid her down and fell atop
her, burying his face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her, his
hands groping her everywhere, anywhere, all at once. He fumbled with the
fastenings of his breeches, cursing himself aloud as he did.