The Devil's Necklace (12 page)

Silently cursing, Ethan turned to Grace, who glared at him from a few feet away. “Your aunt says I need to convince you that we should be wed. In your opinion, what is the best way for me to go about that?”

One of her burnished eyebrows shot up. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious. You’re an extremely intelligent young woman. What can I say that will make you see reason?”

“I cannot believe this. There is nothing you could possibly say. Are you not the same man who told me that every time he looked at me he would remember the men my father sent to their graves? How could you even consider marrying a woman who makes you feel that way?”

How could he, indeed? It was the question he had asked himself all the way to Scarborough. “Things happen. Circumstances change. The child you are carrying is mine. I would give that child my name.”

“Are you truly a marquess?”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “Is it that hard to believe?”

She turned her back to him. “Please, Ethan. Just turn around and head back to London. You have done your duty and I have refused your offer. You are free to go on with your life just as it was before.”

It was true, he supposed, though his friends might not
wholly agree. Still, he could be free if he wished—aside from the weight of yet another burden on his conscience. But as he looked at Grace, the life he had been living in London suddenly seemed the last thing he wanted.

Ethan settled his hands on her shoulders, gently turned her to face him. “You don’t want your child to be born a bastard. You more than anyone should understand how cruel that would be. I am the marquess of Belford. Marry me and your child will be raised with all the advantages that entails.”

She studied him for several long moments, trying to read his thoughts. Ethan could not clearly discern them himself.

“What if the child is a boy? If we are wed, that boy will be your heir. Are you willing to allow the grandson of a traitor to inherit the Belford title?”

His stomach knotted. He hated to think of it. It was one of the reasons he had been so opposed to the marriage. Now it no longer seemed important. He was committed to wedding Grace and he meant to see it done.

“I never cared about the title. I was glad my brother Charles had inherited instead of me. Whatever your father has done, he is a member of the aristocracy. If the child is a boy, he will become my heir.”

Uncertainty clouded her features. He knew she was thinking of the babe and what would be best for the child. He remembered the kindness she had shown young Fred die Barton and didn’t doubt she would be a good mother.

“You know where your duty lies,” he pressed. “Say you will marry me.”

It was the only solution and both of them knew it. Still, she waited so long to answer he was beginning to get annoyed.

“All right. I’ll marry you.”

It was insane to feel relief. She had agreed to become his wife, but that was scarcely what he wanted.

“I’ve arranged for a special license. I’ve already spoken to the vicar. We can be married tomorrow afternoon.”

The baroness, Lady Humphrey, rose from her place on the sofa. She was smiling as she reached out and enfolded her niece in a warm embrace.

“I am happy for you, dearest. I believe you have made the right decision.” She turned to Ethan. “Welcome to the family, my lord.”

He looked at his proud bride-to-be and something squeezed inside his chest. For the first time, he realized how much he had missed her, how much he still wanted her.

For an instant, Harmon Jeffries’s face flashed in his mind. Ethan’s jaw hardened as he forced the image away. He told himself no matter whose daughter she was, he was doing exactly the right thing.

The day of her wedding, Grace wore the necklace—the Bride’s Necklace, which seemed appropriately named. It nestled at the base of her throat, absorbing the warmth of her skin, oddly comforting in the face of the grim, cloudy day on which she would be wed.

She had chosen a gown of pale green silk banded with ecru lace around the skirt, down the sides and beneath the high-waisted bodice. Grace thought the sheen of the pearls perfectly matched the sheen of the pale green silk. As she prepared to depart the house that afternoon with her aunt and Lady Tweed, Phoebe set her fur-lined cloak around her shoulders. Then they headed out the door on their way to the Church of St. Thomas in the center of the village.

Aunt Matilda’s carriage waited in front of the house, the gilt trim on the wheels beginning to chip away, the black paint slightly faded. Grace wasn’t surprised at the leaden sky or the cold wind blowing in off the sea that seemed the perfect backdrop for the farce about to take place.

At least her mother would be happy. Grace had written her a letter that morning, telling her that she was marrying the marquess of Belford. Aside from the hasty circumstances and the lack of a large, fashionable wedding, her mother would be ecstatic. She had always wanted her daughter to marry into the nobility.

Grace wished she felt the same. Unconsciously, she touched the necklace. Riding nervously along in the carriage, she thought of the legend that surrounded the ancient pearls and wondered if marrying Ethan was some sort of punishment for the crime she had committed in freeing her father from prison.

Perhaps the viscount actually was a traitor, responsible for the deaths of dozens of men. Marrying Ethan, a man who cared nothing for her and resented her unborn child, would certainly be a lifelong punishment, indeed.

Her own feelings were mixed. She had foolishly believed she was past any sort of caring for Ethan. It had never occurred to her that the mere sight of him standing on her aunt’s doorstep might send her heart racing as it had before, send a whole swarm of butterflies rushing into her stomach.

For months, she had lied to herself, told herself that her attraction to him was only an infatuation—one that had led to her downfall.

Now she realized she felt the same magnetic pull that she had felt in the days aboard his ship. Just looking at
him made her chest ache, made her want to touch him, made her want him to touch her.

It was insane. Ridiculous. The man was the worst possible choice she could make for a husband. Too much had happened, there was too much water beneath the bridge for them to ever find any sort of happiness. And there was Ethan himself, a man eaten up with vengeance, still determined, she was sure, to see her father hang.

“There ’tis, just round the corner.” Sitting on the seat across from Grace and her aunt, Elvira Tweed pointed a thick finger toward the tall square tower of the ancient church. It was at least three hundred years old, had for all those years stood guardian in the village like a shepherd watching over its flock.

Grace had attended services with her aunt and Lady Tweed. She knew the vicar, Mr. Polson, his wife and their two sons. Such a hasty marriage would surely be a disappointment in the vicar’s eyes.

The matched bays pulling the carriage drew to a halt in front of the ivy-covered chapel, the horses’ coats a little scruffy, their bellies a little too fat, the animals beginning to show their age along with the rest of the household.

The wheels rolled to a stop and her nervousness went up another notch. She felt as if she were in some sort of trance, living someone else’s life. Surely Grace Chastain wasn’t actually getting married to a man she scarcely knew.

She took a steadying breath and turned to look out the window. She was surprised to see the big Scot, Angus McShane, waiting on the gravel drive in front of the church. He was wearing a dark green kilt, formally dressed in his Scottish plaid. Stepping forward, he opened the carriage door before the footman had a
chance, extended his hand and very gallantly helped the ladies out of the coach.

“My lady,” he said to Aunt Matilda with a sweeping bow.

“Why, Mr. McShane. A pleasure to see you again.” She turned to her friend. “Lady Tweed, may I present a friend of my niece’s, Mr. McShane?”

“A pleasure,” said the heavyset woman.

“Same fer me,” Angus replied. He smiled at Grace. “Well, lass, ye’ve certainly done it this time.” He chuckled. “’Bout time the lad settled down with a good woman.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to react to that, but in the end couldn’t help but smile. “It’s good to see you, Angus.”

The two older women started off toward the church, leaving Grace in the old Scotsman’s care.

He offered her his arm. “We’d best be goin’, lass. Capt’n’ll have me hide if I don’t get his bride ta the church.”

Her fingers tightened for a moment on his arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Angus.”

“A regiment o’ British grenadiers couldna’ kept me away, lass.”

She smiled again and some of her tension eased. Angus had been kind to her from the start. She could count on him to help her get through this.

The chapel was small but lovely, with thick stone walls, high, stained-glass windows and heavy wooden beams. A portion of the interior was paneled in warm, polished wood and dozens of candles lit the inside of the chamber.

She paused for a moment inside the door to receive final good wishes from her aunt and Lady Tweed, then the two women walked down the aisle to their seats. She was pleased and surprised to see young Freddie Barton
sitting in one of the pews, saving a seat for Angus. The blond boy waved to her and she managed to give him a smile. Next to him, Phoebe Bloom pressed a handkerchief beneath her nose and quietly sniffed into it. It was an odd assortment of guests, but all of them were friends and she was glad to have them there.

Her nervous gaze swung to the altar, where Vicar Polson stood waiting. He was a thin man in his forties with sparse brown hair and kindly eyes. In front of him, Ethan gazed up the aisle, tall and incredibly handsome, his black hair perfectly combed, his burgundy frock coat so dark it looked almost black over a silver waistcoat and dark gray breeches.

In the glow of the candles, she could see that his jaw was set, his expression guarded. But as she drew near, clinging to Angus’s arm, she saw that his light blue eyes were full of turbulence, and something else she could not name.

Her hand faintly trembled as Angus placed her fingers over his and together they turned to face the vicar. Grace tried to concentrate on Vicar Polson’s words, tried to make the proper responses at the proper times, but her thoughts kept straying to Ethan and what she might have seen in his eyes.

She turned toward him as the ceremony came to a close, saw that same look again as he stared down into her face.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I now pronounce that you are man and wife. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” The vicar smiled. “You may kiss your bride, my lord.”

For a moment Ethan didn’t move and she thought that perhaps his enmity went even deeper than she had be
lieved. Then he bent toward her and settled his mouth very softly over hers.

Grace closed her eyes and inhaled his familiar scent, felt the roughness of his coat beneath her hand. His lips felt familiar, too, soft yet firm, masculine and intoxicating. Her own lips softened under his. The kiss went deeper, their mouths clinging, melding together.

She felt his hands on her shoulders and the kiss went deeper still, Grace unconsciously tilting her head back, her lips parting, allowing him entrance. His tongue slid over hers and heat enveloped her. Ethan must have felt something like it for he started to pull away.

“Ethan…” she whispered, and he claimed her mouth once more.

Someone made a sound in the chapel that echoed against the stone walls. She realized Angus was pretending to cough, trying to remind them both where they were. They broke away at exactly the same moment, Grace’s face going warm with embarrassment, an odd flush appearing beneath the high bones in Ethan’s cheeks.

He looked away, then back at her, and she saw that he was angry at himself for his momentary loss of control. “I believe it is time for us to leave,” he said, his face an expressionless mask once more.

She took his arm with a hand that trembled, her insides tied in knots. She was married, but the marriage had been forced and there wasn’t the least joy in the fact.

“I believe Lady Tweed has prepared a wedding feast in our honor,” Ethan said.

“Quite so.” The heavyset woman waddled up beside them. “My staff has been working all morning. Beyond that, I’ve had a special suite in the east wing prepared for your use. I would be honored if the two of you stayed at Seacliff for your wedding night.”

For an instant, she thought Ethan might say no. He had made the lengthy journey aboard the
Sea Devil,
he had told her, in order to save time. She thought that perhaps he would wish to leave as soon as they were wed.

Then his blue gaze swept over her wedding gown, reminding him that he was now a married man, and he nodded. “We would be honored.”

Grace felt an unexpected wave of relief. One more night before they set off for London and a life for which she was completely unprepared.

“Thank you.” She managed to give him a brief, tremulous smile.

“It is our wedding day. I would see my bride happy.” But the look he gave her said something different entirely. His eyes had turned hot and intense and she knew he was thinking of what would happen when they closed the door to their suite.

Her heart took a leap. She belonged to him now; he could claim his husbandly rights whenever he wanted. Her heart pounded even harder. Grace wasn’t sure if it was fear or anticipation.

L
ady Tweed’s house was lovely in the extreme. Grace had been there, of course, on several different occasions with her aunt. The first time she had been surprised to discover the extent of Elvira Tweed’s wealth. Seacliff was the most magnificent house on the North Yorkshire coast, with fifty-odd bedchambers, a magnificent ballroom, a well-stocked library, several music rooms and what seemed an endless number of salons and parlors.

The wedding buffet was held in the gold salon, a magnificent room dominated by black marble columns and glossy marble floors, black-and-gilt furnishings, and vases and rugs from the Orient. The salon had a row of tall windows that overlooked the sea, and while her aunt and Lady Tweed chatted amiably with Angus, and Ethan spoke to the vicar and his wife, Grace sought out young Freddie, who stood staring out at the incredible view.

The ocean stretched for miles, gray on a day that threatened rain, a brutal array of whitecaps stretching to the horizon. Thick black clouds rolled over the water, a bleak, grim day that matched her mood.

Turning away from the window, she forced her
thoughts in a more pleasant direction and smiled at young Freddie. “I am so pleased the captain brought you along.”

Freddie grinned. “I live with him now—me and Schooner both. I’m learnin’ to be a groom.”

“That’s wonderful, Freddie. So you work out in the stable? At the captain’s house in London?” She knew so little about the man who was now her husband, not even where he lived. She had always thought of him in his elegant quarters aboard his ship.

“Aye, London, miss…er, I mean milady. Me and Schooner, we got a real nice room o’er the carriage ’ouse.”

“Then we’ll see each other quite often, just as you once said.”

“’Fraid not, milady. Capt’n’s not takin’ ye ta London. ’E’s takin’ ye to Belford Park—that’s ’is house in the country. S’ppose ta be a real nice place.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Spotting Ethan heading in their direction, Freddie excused himself, leaned his weight on his crutch and headed off toward the vast buffet set out on a linen-draped table against the wall.

Ethan paused beside her. “Are you feeling all right? You’re beginning to look a little frayed.”

“I am a bit tired, I suppose. This has all been rather taxing.”

“Yes, I’m sure it has.”

“Freddie says we aren’t going back to London.”

“No. We’ll be leaving the ship in Boston, a seaport just down the coast. From there, we’ll hire a carriage to take us inland to Belford Park. It’s in the country southwest of Northampton. It’s faster that way than traveling to Belford from London. Besides, I thought you might prefer a little time to get used to the idea of being a married woman.”

“Yes, I suppose I would.”

“Charles’s widow is in residence. I think you’ll like her.”

The brother who had died and left him the title, she recalled. “I’m sure I will.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about Ethan’s plans, particularly since he hadn’t bothered to discuss them with her, but in her present condition, she was hardly eager to return to London. Even Tory seemed to have abandoned her.

Then again, knowing her friend as she did, Grace figured Victoria must have believed she was doing the best thing for Grace.

Obviously, she didn’t know Ethan Sharpe the way Grace did or she would have kept silent.

The hour grew late and it was time for the newlyweds to retire. Earlier, their hostess, Lady Tweed, had shown them upstairs to their suite, a magnificent chamber done in rose velvet and gold. A huge tester bed sat on a pedestal against the wall, snugly enclosed in rose velvet bed curtains, and a warm fire blazed in an impressive marble hearth.

A sitting room with gilded ivory furnishings adjoined the bedchamber, which had a dressing room off to one side. Ethan closed the bedchamber door behind them and Grace turned at the finality of the sound.

She was a married woman. Ethan was her husband. He was sure to have expectations. She had no idea what they might be.

“Your Phoebe has been given the night off,” he said. “If you recall I have played lady’s maid for you before. It shouldn’t be a problem tonight.”

“Yes…no…I mean…”

“Come here, Grace.”

She moved toward him on limbs that felt wooden. It had been months since she had seen him, months since they had been together. He seemed a total stranger and yet she must do as he bid.

Lightning flashed outside the window as the storm moved in, followed an instant later by the roll of thunder. She felt the same storm of emotions swirling inside her. She reached the place where he stood and turned her back to him, and he began working the clasp on the necklace. It dropped into his hands and he set it on the marble-topped dresser. She felt oddly naked without it.

The buttons that closed up her gown came under his attention next, his graceful, tapered fingers working them with ease. The bodice fell open and she started to walk away.

“Hold still. Let me take down your hair.”

She stood rigidly with her back to him while he pulled each pin and set it on the dresser beside the necklace. Little by little the heavy curls began to cascade down her back and around her shoulders. She felt his hands sifting through the thick mass, then he turned her to face him.

He brushed a soft kiss over her mouth, but didn’t linger. “I never stopped wanting you, Grace. Not after we made love. Not in the months that you’ve been gone.”

“It seemed so different that night. This doesn’t seem real.”

He ran a finger along her cheek. “I promise you, in a very few minutes, it will feel extremely real.”

Her stomach quivered. She remembered the way he had touched her, filled her that night. Remembered the plea sure. She tried not to recall what had happened after, the way he had spurned her, looked at her with such contempt.

She was his wife now. Perhaps things would be different.

She left him there in the bedchamber, disappeared into the dressing room as he strode toward the sideboard to pour her a glass of sherry and a brandy for himself.

In the small, marble-floored dressing area, she found a swath of emerald silk draped over the back of a velvet-up holstered chair. There was a note from Aunt Matilda lying on top of it.

For your wedding night, my dear. A woman should look her best for her husband. With much love, your aunt.

Grace held up the high-waisted nightgown of rich green silk. The bodice was fashioned of matching green lace so sheer she could see right through it. It was practically in decent and thinking of her very proper aunt, she almost smiled.

Instead, she stepped out of her wedding gown and embroidered chemise, took off her light green kidskin slippers, removed her garters and rolled down her stockings. Drawing the nightgown over her head, she slipped into it, saw that it fit her perfectly, just brushing her hips as it fell to the floor, the revealing bodice gently cupping her breasts, barely disguising her nipples.

Turning toward the mirror, she saw herself as Ethan would see her, womanly and seductive, a different creature than the one who had entered the bedchamber. Some of her confidence returned. There was a time she had wanted him in her bed, had, in fact, invited him there.

Tossing back her hair, head held high, she walked out of the dressing room. Ethan saw her and his brandy glass paused midway to his lips.

“Sweet God in heaven.” He set the glass down on the table and started toward her. He had changed into a bur
gundy silk dressing robe and it fell open to his waist when he moved. She could see a portion of his broad chest and a swatch of dark, curly hair across it.

Her stomach contracted. She trembled as he stopped in front of her. His gaze was hot and fierce as it roamed over her, fixed for several long moments on her breasts. His eyes found hers and she read the hunger, the need he no longer tried to hide. Then he drew her into his arms, bent his head and kissed her, and time seemed to still. She was back aboard his ship, back in his cabin, eager for him to make love to her.

Her lips parted under his and she tasted him, tasted the maleness and the power that had drawn her from the start. His tongue slid into her mouth and heat washed over her, thick and sweet and seductive.

He kissed her and kissed her, kissed the side of her neck, the lobe of her ear. “God, I missed you.”

The words stirred her, gave her hope. She didn’t know what the future held, but tonight he was hers and she wanted him even more than she had before.

“Ethan…” She leaned toward him, kissed him back with all the love she had once felt for him and Ethan deepened the kiss. Long, heated kisses followed, hot drugging kisses that had her moaning his name.

She felt his hands on her breasts, rubbing her nipples through the emerald green lace, the fabric abrading them, making them ache and distend. His mouth replaced his hands, kissing her through the lace, wetting the fabric with his tongue, circling her nipple.

Her legs felt weak. Wetness slid into her core. His hand curved over the faint swell of her stomach, paused there for an instant, then moved lower, cupping her through the silk, dampening the material as he pressed it between her legs.

Then he shoved the thin straps of the gown off her shoulders, slid the nightgown down over her breasts. It slithered over her hips to pool on the floor at her feet. Ethan kissed his way along her throat and over her collarbone, trailed kisses down to her breast. He took the fullness into his mouth, suckled and tasted until she began to moan.

Her fingers slid into the black silk of his hair as he moved lower, running his tongue around her naval, kissing the slight curve of her stomach. She gasped as she felt the invasion of his fingers, then the warmth of his mouth on her core.

“Ethan, dear God…” Pleasure washed over her. Dense waves of sweetness tugged low in her belly. She thought to pull away from the unexpected intimacy, but Ethan cupped her bottom to hold her in place and continued his assault. His mouth and tongue worked their magic and her legs trembled. Her head fell back and release hit her hard, waves of sensation crashing through her again and again.

She sagged into his arms as he lifted her against his chest and carried her over to the velvet-draped bed. Resting her in the middle, he came down on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbows, the curtains enclosing them, cocooning them in their own private world.

Ethan kissed her and kissed her, kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough. She loved the taste of him, the feel of his lean, powerful body pressing her into the mattress. She loved the clean, fresh scent of his skin that somehow reminded her of the sea.

Ethan parted her legs and settled himself between them, kissing her deeply as he found her softness and began to ease his heavy length inside.

She was wet and tight and he was big and hard.

“Christ, I don’t want to hurt you. Not again.”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “You won’t hurt me. Come into me, Ethan. I want to feel you inside me.”

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, something that looked remarkably like longing. Her words drove him on and he moved deeper, pushing steadily forward until she was completely impaled.

“All right?” he asked, his muscles rigid with his effort at control.

She swallowed, found herself blinking back tears. She had never felt anything more right than being joined with him. “I love the way you feel. Would you…kiss me?”

His light eyes darkened. He bent his head and devoured her with his mouth. He kissed her and moved inside her and her body tightened around him. The rhythm of his movements increased. Ethan filled her and filled her, each heavy thrust carrying her higher, sending hot sensation pouring through her. Out and then in, the pulsing rhythm increasing, the heat and the fury and the need.

Behind her closed eyes, the galaxy appeared that she had seen before and her body caught fire from within. On a wave of pure pleasure, she soared, a muffled sob caught in her throat.

Ethan joined her in release a few moments later, his muscles going rigid, his jaw like steel as he spilled himself inside her. His seed grew there now, she knew, and for the first time felt real joy in the knowledge.

She was married to the father of her child. They were going to be a family. She would find a way to help Ethan overcome the past, find a way that they could be happy.

They spiraled down together, then lay entwined, listening to the storm outside the window, the crash of the waves against the shore at the bottom of the cliff. Ethan
made love to her again a few minutes later, then took her again before dawn.

Afterward, Grace fell into a deep, satisfying slumber.

When she awakened, Ethan was gone.

Phoebe arrived with Grace’s breakfast tray. The girl was smiling, blushing, her face turning even redder as she reached down to pick up the thin scrap of emerald silk left carelessly lying on the floor.

“Good morning, my lady.” Phoebe’s dark brown hair glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the window as she set the tray of chocolate and cakes on the bed. “His lordship awaits you downstairs. I am here to pack your things and help you dress for the journey. His lordship says the ship will be leaving as soon as we arrive.”

She had forgotten that Phoebe would be traveling with them, but it gave her a measure of ease. She finished the chocolate and forced herself to eat one of the cakes, but her nerves were on edge too much to enjoy the light meal. She was anxious to see Ethan, to discover the greeting she would receive from him this morning.

Phoebe helped her dress in a dove-gray gown piped in scarlet for the day ahead. She dressed quickly, let Phoebe fashion her hair in a simple braided coronet, then grabbed her matching gray, scarlet-trimmed bonnet and started for the door.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath and started down. Ethan appeared at the bottom and unconsciously she froze halfway there.

“Phoebe will see your things loaded into the carriage. You may make your farewells to Lady Tweed and then we will go to your aunt’s. We will pick up your trunks when we get there.”