Christopher's Medal (9 page)

“It seems longer than that.” His leg shifted against hers. “I’ll make this weekend up to you, Gracey, I promise.”

“It’s all right.” For the moment it was. “It’s enough that we’re in the same place at the same time.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.

“So, Faith, how did the two of you meet?” Pippa picked up her wine.

“
Grace
and I met at the races. A family friend introduced us.” Christopher’s voice was tight.

“Can’t
Grace
answer for herself?”

“I can answer perfectly well, thanks, when I’m addressed by my name.” Grace smiled. She tightened her fingers around her fork and fought an urge to stab Pippa’s hand. “Yes, we met at the races. It was a very pleasant evening.”

Paddy reached across the table for the salt. “Pippa, I swear you’re nosier than Emma.”

“I’m just interested, that’s all.”

“It’s all right.” Grace sipped her water. “Pippa is perfectly entitled to ask questions, since she’s curious. I don’t mind. After all, I’m a stranger here. My father trains horses and I’m his assistant. It’s a good job.”

“Do you have any good horses?”

“All of our horses are good.” Grace speared a piece of carrot.

“Yes, come on, Grace.” Paddy helped himself to more wine. “Got any good tips for us?”

“Not at the moment. When I do, I’ll be sure to ask Chris to pass them on to you.”

“Ugh.” Pippa curled her lip at Paddy. “Don’t tell me you’d actually go into one of those dreadful, seedy little betting shops.”

“Of course I bloody would. If you had mess bills like mine, you’d lower yourself to make a bit of spare cash too.”

She shuddered. “Happily, I don’t have that problem.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you’re a trust-fund baby. You don’t have to worry about earning a crust like the rest of us mere mortals.” Paddy’s voice had an edge to it.

Grace studied her dinner with more interest, grateful when Christopher’s leg rested against hers. She was even more grateful when Emma’s father decided that a few toasts were called for. By the time the toasts and impromptu speeches were finished, they were down to the coffee and port and Pippa was complaining bitterly to the person seated on her other side.

“I sat next to the most dreadful people at a restaurant the other day. I don’t know how they could afford to eat there. She was so common, I mean white stilettos for heaven’s sake. Who wears those outside of Essex? I don’t want to spend a small fortune on a lovely meal and listen to a bunch of dreadful little tarts talk about their chavvy boyfriends. Honestly, I think restaurants need to be a bit more discerning about who they let in…”

“I’m sorry about all of this.” Christopher’s lips were warm on her ear.

“Don’t be. It’s certainly been an experience.” Grace let her hand glide along the inside of his thigh.

“Minx,” he murmured. “Don’t think we’re retiring to the drawing room for drinks.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“We can slip away and no one will notice.” His voice was rich with promise.

Grace crossed her legs and fought with the desire that rose at his touch. She glanced around the table. People were nodding over their ports, some yawned hugely and one or two were still blearily working their way through their drinks.

“I think you’re right there.”

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, drinks in the drawing room.” Emma, her cheeks flushed, stood by the door.

“Thank Christ for that.” Christopher held Grace’s chair for her. She shivered when he kissed the back of her neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

Grace was aware of Pippa’s sullen stare when they followed the other guests into the broad, shadowy hall then broke away toward the stairs.

Christopher didn’t speak as they hurried along the upstairs corridor. The heat in his touch when he took her hand outside the bedroom door told Grace all she needed and wanted to know.

“I’ve wanted to get back here for hours.” He closed the door behind them, locked it and kicked off his shoes. “What a fucking dreadful evening. I’m so sorry, Grace.”

Grace sank onto the bed and toed her shoes away. “It was pretty awful.” She watched Christopher unbutton his shirt and let it slip to the floor. She stopped thinking about the awfulness of the evening and wanting to thump Pippa and enjoyed the sight of Christopher stepping away from the pile of clothes pooled around his feet.

He grinned at her. “Your turn now.”

Grace rose and shimmied out of her dress, leaving it in a soft heap on the carpet. She shucked her underwear in short order, letting the bra dangle from her fingertip before dropping it onto the dress. “Better?”

“Oh, Christ, yes, much better. Much,
much
better.”

“Now what?” Moisture pooled between Grace’s legs. She sat on the edge of the bed and held out her arms.

“Now I make it up to you, make you forget what a fucking nightmare tonight was. Now I intend to shag you senseless.” Christopher stood before her, his erection a magnet for her gaze.

Grace shuffled back toward the headboard, never taking her eyes off the prize, her reward for putting up with Pippa and the endless dinner. “That’s the least you can do, soldier boy.”

He laughed. “You make those two words sound so utterly…filthy.”

“That’s the idea.” Grace braced herself for impact, desperate for him, scared by how relentlessly she wanted him.

Christopher crawled up the mattress. “It’s a good thing I remembered the condoms, isn’t it.” He paused and reached for his wallet, where he’d left it on the bedside table. Then he sat back on his heels and scattered half a dozen foil packets across the coverlet. “I think we’re set, don’t you?”

Grace bit her lip. Her pussy ached, needing him. “Yes. I think we are.” She reached for one of the packets then tore it open. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

He grinned. “An excellent choice, Miss Webb. Perhaps you would do the honors?”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.” She sat up and moved toward Christopher on her hands and knees. The soft linen of the duvet whispered beneath her. Her hand trembled when she unrolled the condom over his cock. She calmed herself by smoothing it down, rewarded by a muffled gasp from Christopher.

“Thank you, Grace.” He eased her back onto the yielding mattress. “Thank you for…you.”

Grace welcomed his weight, and the sudden insistent push of his dick against her throbbing pussy. The entire evening had been a tortuous form of foreplay, Christopher’s subtle touches, his scent, his voice all served as an aphrodisiac far more powerful than any old wives’ remedies. She rose to his touch, letting him in, loving the depth of his sigh, the way he moved his lips over hers. He was all heat and slowness, like the port they were probably missing downstairs.

She inhaled the lingering scent of his cologne and beneath, the milky sweetness of his skin, already as familiar as her own. Her body met his, welcoming him as he thrust into her, driving to her core, raising the temperature. Grace curled her fingers into his tousled hair and thrust back, driving him deeper. Her cunt throbbed with every push, every threatened withdrawal. Christopher braced himself above her, propped up on his arms. His hair flopped over his brow and his gaze locked with hers. In the midst of the fire and passion, he paused, smiled then ducked to place a fierce, possessive kiss on her open mouth.

Grace smiled at him and kept him close when he quickened, driving into her pussy with apparent desperation, as if seeking absolution for the mess downstairs. She forgot all about that when the blood rushed to her nerve ends, heat pooling in her groin when she came with a sharp gasp, all else forgotten except Christopher. “That’s my Grace,” he whispered. “I love to watch you come.”

“Less talk. Kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He swooped to cover her mouth with his once more before pounding to his own climax.

Grace held him in the aftermath, stroking his hair as their breathing slowed and all that could be heard was the soft rustle of the curtains, moving with the evening breeze. She closed her eyes and thanked the General and Allonby for the gift she had in her arms.

* * * *

“Will I do?” Christopher stood by the wardrobe fidgeting with his cufflinks.

Grace paused in the bathroom doorway and stared. She’d had no idea what Christopher had meant by a mess uniform until that moment. The short red jacket tapered down to points above a low-cut blue waistcoat. A saber glittered coldly against the dark fabric of the trousers. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Victorian portrait.

“Oh, my.”

“Is that a bad ‘oh, my’ or a good one?”

“It’s a good one, believe me.” Grace no longer felt over-dressed in her long gown.

“You clean up rather well yourself, Gracey Webb.”

Grace’s cheeks burnt when she smoothed down her filmy overskirt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a long dress. “Thank you.”

Christopher held his arm out. “I don’t suppose you can help me with these bloody cufflinks, can you?”

“I can do that.” She took the cufflink and threaded it through the eyelets, fighting to keep her hand steady. The scent of Christopher’s cologne drew her back into the night and the feel of his body against hers.

“Thank you.” Christopher’s hand cupped her chin. His thumb caressed her jaw. “Thank you for being here with me, Grace.”

Grace touched his face. “It’s my pleasure.”

“I won’t mess your makeup if I kiss you, will I?”

“No.”

She felt his kiss down to her bones, to the roots of her soul. The breeze slipped through the open window and swirled around them. It brought with it birdsong and the rustle of the trees in the park. He sighed into her mouth and she wound her fingers through his hair, not wanting the sweetness to end.

“Come on, you two!” Someone pounded on the door. “Time to go.”

Christopher’s arms fell away. “Bugger.” He sighed and took her hand. “I suppose we’d better get this over with.”

Everyone gathered on the broad sweep of gravel in front of the house, apart from the bride and bridesmaids. The wedding photographer swooped and hovered while they walked down the drive toward the tiny chapel set on the edge of the parkland. Guests were already arriving, filing into the church, or lingering under the trees chatting.

“Oi! Beaumont!” Someone called from behind them. “Where the hell have you been?” A man steered his wheelchair across the gravel. Grace tried not to stare at the place where his lower legs should have been.

Christopher grinned. “Mark, it’s good to see you.” He shook the man’s hand and eased Grace forward.

The man, dressed in a well-tailored charcoal gray suit, turned to Grace. “Who’s the bird, mate?”

“Charming as ever.” Christopher squeezed Grace’s hand. “This is my girlfriend, Grace Webb. Grace, the man with the appalling manners is Mark Bracewell, he’s an old friend of mine.”

Mark’s handshake was firm. “It’s nice to meet you, Grace. I was beginning to worry about Chris for a while. Thought he’d switched sides, you know.” He winked.

“Just for that, you can do me a huge favor. I’m going to have to rush off in a minute.”

“Name it, mate.”

“Look after Grace for me. If she’s left to her own devices she might get bored and drive home without me.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Is that all right with you, darling?” Christopher kissed her, a short, sweet, fierce kiss. “I’m going to have to do my groomsman bit in a minute. I hate to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Mark, at least, seemed to be on the same planet. Grace hadn’t relished the idea of sitting on her own in the church. “Go and do your duties.”

Another kiss. “I’ll see you after the ordeal.”

Something deeper than desire tugged at Grace when she watched him jog toward the chapel and disappear inside.

“So, how long have you been seeing each other?” Mark leaned back in his chair.

“A few weeks, six perhaps.” Grace hated that she already felt the chill of separation.

Bloody hell, you’re a mess.

“He seems to be taken with you.” Her companion’s voice was suddenly serious.

“That’s good, because the feeling’s mutual.”

They headed toward the chapel. Grace waited while Mark negotiated the narrow ramp and followed him to the back pew. The shadowy chapel echoed with whispers, the rustle of paper and a muted Mozart sonata from a string quartet. The scent of flowers drifted across the aisle. Grace found Christopher, standing alongside the other groomsmen. His hands were clasped behind his back while he tilted his head back and stared at something behind the altar. It was nice to have the quiet luxury of watching him.

“You have got it bad,” Mark whispered.

“We don’t get to see each other much. I like to enjoy the view while I can.” Grace remembered the night once more. The brush of Christopher’s skin on hers, the way he moved inside her, as if they had the luxury of time. She tried not to think about how the short, red jacket emphasized the shape of his arse, the length of his legs. She wanted him all over again.