A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (70 page)

“
Barrow?” Alex roared in
pain, his only thought revenge. This was not his first encounter
with the man, not by any means. “The bloody, licentious bastard,
I’ll have him drawn and—”

“
Wait, Alex.” Agony flooded
Peter’s face.

Alex’s anger subsided by a degree,
only to be replaced by fear. “There’s more?” He didn’t want to hear
the answer.

“
Barrow absconded from the
country. He has been gone since the day after he made his claims at
White’s. No one knows where he went this time, nor do they know
when to expect his return. Added to the gossip already floating
about her after the broken engagement with Walsingham…well, it’s
not a pretty picture. Things don’t look good for your Lady
Grace.”

Alex seethed in silence, ruminating
over the information.

After several moments, Peter
continued. “And there is more yet.”

“
More? How can there be
more? By Jove, is this not enough?” He could think of nothing more
than his desire to draw Barrow’s cork, if not something more
extreme than that. When he looked at his brother again, there was
pity in his eyes.

“
Chatham. He’s been making
waves.”

“
What in bloody hell does
that mean?” Who cared about Chatham when Barrow needed to be dealt
with?

“
He’s acting as though Lady
Grace has been kidnapped. He claims to have the Bow Street Runners
on the case, though I’m not certain that I would believe him.”
Peter rubbed his chin absentmindedly again. “Does she seem at all
uncomfortable with where she is? Is there any reason to believe she
has been taken against her will?”

Was she uncomfortable?
Kidnapped? “No. No, I don’t believe that could be true. But, wait…”
Sir Laurence
had
suggested Alex take her to Gretna Greene.

“
Wait, what?”

“
Never mind. It’s
nothing.”

Peter raised a brow, but said
nothing.

Even if it were something, Alex needed
to discover the truth on his own. No reason to have Peter
suspecting an innocent couple of wrongdoing. Besides, Grace had
arrived on the coach alone. No one brought her to Somerton. No, she
hadn’t been kidnapped. So what was Chatham’s game? What did he hope
to accomplish?

Several moments passed in silence.
“Alex, do you know if it is true? Barrow has a reputation for
fabricating stories to suit his purposes. He could have only wanted
to ruin Lady Grace, though what purpose her ruin might serve for
him, I don’t know.”

It took a moment for what Peter asked
to sink in. “It’s true. I don’t know all of the circumstances, but
I do know he tells the truth about the act having occurred.” He
would be bowled over if Grace was the only innocent he had ruined,
based on what he knew of the man.

He moved his chair away from the
hearth then resumed his seat. He felt over-warm with the adrenaline
coursing through him. Alex trusted Peter more than nearly anyone
else in his acquaintance, so he delved deeper into his suspicions.
“She may have been ravaged. She won’t tell me.”

Peter nodded slowly. “I was afraid of
that. I wouldn’t put even worse crimes past Barrow. I don’t trust
the bastard as far as I can throw him.”

Tell me about
it
.

Silence blanketed the room again, as
the brothers determined their next step. The duke was the first to
speak again. “You mustn’t waste time. Go to Chatham this morning.
Do whatever you must to convince him to give his consent.” Peter
paused for a beat. “He hasn’t protected his daughter well, has
he?”

Alex imagined one of his own sisters
in the circumstance Grace had been thrown into. “Not well at all.
I’m afraid for her. Her reputation—” He couldn’t
continue.

“
Do you love her? Truly
love her?” Peter’s marriage had been loveless, and Alex knew his
brother didn’t want any of his siblings to suffer a similar
fate.

“
We’ll make a good marriage
of it, Peter. I’ll be certain of that, if nothing else.”

He didn’t love Grace, did he? He was
attracted to her. He found her amusing. But love? Alex didn’t think
it possible after such a short period of time. Love needed to be
nourished, encouraged, grown. It did not happen
overnight.

“
You do that. Work hard at
it. She’s your responsibility now. You have a duty to at least try
to love her.” Peter stood and walked to the window before turning
back to him. “I have some business I must take care of this
afternoon. Lord Rotheby plans to handle his affairs today as well.
I’ll be taking him with me. And this evening, we’ve all accepted an
invitation to attend a ball at Yardley Court. Mama insists you also
attend.”

Alex joined his brother at
the window. “I’ll visit Chatham House.” He had no desire to attend
a
ton
ball this
evening. Too many cares weighed on his mind. Besides, Grace
wouldn’t be there. If he attended, he would have to dance and talk
and make merry with the ladies, all the while thinking solely of
another.

“
And the ball? Don’t
disappoint Mama. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” A cheeky
grin softened Peter’s words.

He sighed. “Yes, I will attend the
ball. Though I make no promises about enjoying myself.” It would be
much easier to suffer through the dancing and entertainment if
Chatham agreed to his offer. He hoped that would be the
case.

It would be easier still if Barrow
appeared and he could take matters into his own hands.

~ * ~

Aunt Dorothea and Grace worked on
their embroidery together in the morning room of New Hill Cottage.
They had finished their week’s stay in Bath early and traveled
home. The carriage was so full of boxes and packages that Uncle
Laurence had decided to ride his horse instead of enjoying the
conversation of the two women (which primarily consisted of the
solitary conversation of his wife).

Several days had passed since Lord
Rotheby had quit Bath for London with Lord Alexander, and Uncle
Laurence found he had enjoyed more than enough of the ladies’
company for such a short period of time.

Grace would never find a need for all
of the purchases her aunt and uncle made for her. They bought her
morning dresses, afternoon dresses, evening dresses, ball
gowns—even riding habits! She had never ridden a horse before, and
didn’t think it a wise endeavor to try to learn the skill while
carrying a babe. Of course, the dresses were not enough for her
aunt. She had ribbons and bonnets, pelisses, parasols, and so many
other items to accompany her wardrobe, she had difficulty in
keeping it all straight.

They hadn’t bought only one wardrobe
for her, either. Aunt Dorothea thought it imperative that Grace
have enough of each of these articles to suffice during each stage
of her pregnancy. They wouldn’t ask poor Tess to continually let
out her clothing—no, that would be far too much work for the young
lady’s maid. After all, Tess must tend to all of Grace’s needs
while her lady was with child.

So Aunt Dorothea bought clothing of
all sizes for Grace, in every imaginable color, and in fabrics
appropriate for every season.

Grace had tried to protest, telling
her aunt she was more than capable of doing her own mending and
letting out—she had done both her own and her father’s for a number
of years, after all. No need for Tess to be put out by the
workload.

Aunt Dorothea found the idea
laughable.

Then Grace had argued she wouldn’t
need riding habits, since she didn’t ride. Neither would she need
ball gowns, as she intended to avoid all such future
engagements—especially during her confinement. She also wouldn’t
need separate morning and afternoon and evening dresses, since she
did not intend to be out in company. Aunt Dorothea hadn’t dignified
these arguments with a response. So Grace had returned to New Hill
Cottage with more items than could possibly fit in her
chamber.

They had been home, as Grace now
thought of New Hill, for two days. She spent her days working on
embroidery with her aunt, or digging up weeds in the gardens with
Uncle Laurence. Some days she read novels, though she took great
care to keep them hidden from Aunt Dorothea, since the older woman
found them highly scandalous.

More and more often, nausea caused
Grace to limit herself to her chamber. Sometimes, Tess kept her
company, while other times she preferred to be alone. When around
people, Grace put on a brave face. She smiled and laughed and
talked, but she rarely found joy in life anymore.

But when she was alone, she sometimes
cried and didn’t quite know why. She had heard women often became
overly emotional when they were with child, and hoped that might
explain her sadness. Some deep part of her knew better.

The truth was that she missed Lord
Alexander. She’d spent one night in his arms. She’d allowed herself
to experience an act with him she believed she would never come to
know. And now he was gone, at her insistence.

Yes, he had offered her marriage.
She’d been sorely tempted to accept. But in the end, she had done
for him what was right and honorable by refusing his
offer.

Now she wished she could change her
answer.

Grace had no right to want such a
thing. He had made the offer, only because of the expectations of
society. Lord Alexander had felt honor-bound to offer for her.
Nothing more. And she had refused him as was her right and
prerogative

No great feeling existed on his
side…certainly nothing more than a simple curiosity. She couldn’t
allow him to bind himself irrevocably to her and her unborn child,
which he did not even know would soon exist, when he so clearly
felt no deep feelings for her.

Her heavy heart made her tearful
again, and she set aside her embroidery with an audible
sigh.

“
Gracie, sweetheart, is
something the matter?” Aunt Dorothea looked up from her embroidery
work.

“
No, Aunt. Nothing’s wrong.
I just don’t feel quite the thing.” Perhaps a lie would keep the
woman from puttering about her. “I believe I’ll take a nap, if that
is all right.”

“
Of course, dear. You must
get plenty of rest, I’ve been telling you this all along. Go on,
now. Have Tess take care of you.”

“
I will, Aunt Dorothea.”
She placed her thimble, needle, and threads in a small chest, and
headed upstairs.

When she arrived at her chamber
though, she decided not to rest. She needed to paint—she needed to
work through the emotions that had plagued her since the trip to
Bath, the emotions continually stirred up by thoughts of Lord
Alexander. She needed to find release.

Grace collected her easel, paints,
brushes, and other supplies. She snuck down the servants’ staircase
and out the side door through the kitchen, so as not to be caught
by either her aunt or uncle.

It was the middle of the afternoon,
and the sky was overcast again. She lugged her tools through the
gardens a good distance, separating herself from the cottage.
Heaven forbid if a servant should catch a glimpse of her and then
notify Aunt Dorothea. She needed peace and quiet to
create.

After a short hike, she settled on a
location in a clearing. Open space and wind surrounded her, but
little else. Setting up her easel and canvas, she selected her
angle. Up ahead was a hill dotted with foxgloves and clover, with a
few ancient willow trees scattered throughout. The darkened sky
juxtaposed well against the scene.

Peace descended over her as soon as
she set to work. She tried not to think as she painted, but wanted
to let the images flow from her hands, through the brushes, and
onto the canvas.

Things did not work out quite as she
planned.

As she painted, the scene on her
canvas took on a life of its own; it looked nothing like the sight
before her eyes. Neatly organized flowers, water fountains, and
sculptures sat in a garden of roses in every hue. She heard the
sound of water tinkling in the fountains and the call of a bird
from a nearby tree that grew just outside the area of the garden
she painted.

Grace’s curiosity rose as she marveled
over painting something she could not see before her. Still, the
garden sat clear in her mind. She saw every tiny detail, right down
to the blush pink dog rose he placed in her hair.

Pink dog
rose
.

Memory poured over her as she
continued to paint the scene from Lord Rotheby’s rose gardens—the
place where Lord Alexander had first kissed her. Grace flushed,
thinking of his kiss, his hands, his scent—that woodsy, clean male
scent so unlike any other.

Then she thought about the morning
kiss in the Pump Room, when she was so angry with him—and angry
with herself, if she was honest—when she had returned his passion
for just a moment before striking him. Her flush deepened. The
fierceness of her paint strokes intensified; her hands worked
seemingly of their own accord.

Then her thoughts turned to their
encounter in the gardens outside the Assembly Room. Her body
tightened—a liquid pull to her center—in response to the memory of
his lovemaking.