The Devil's Necklace (15 page)

E
than ended his meeting with Colonel Pendleton at the War Office. He left the building and returned to the carriage awaiting him out in front. According to the colonel, no word had surfaced of Harmon Jeffries. There hadn’t been the least whiff of news regarding the whereabouts of the viscount.

Ethan had learned instead that things were heating up with the French. The prime minister and members of the cabinet were growing more and more nervous. Two weeks ago, they had asked for his help.

“We need you, Captain,” the colonel had said. “In the past, your help has been invaluable. We are hoping you’ll agree to accept just one more mission.”

Reluctantly, he had agreed, but as of yet no date had been set for the
Sea Devil
and her crew to leave.

“It could yet be a few more weeks,” Pendleton had said during today’s brief meeting. “Max Bradley is still on the Continent. I want him with you on this. Bradley blends in like a native. He’ll be invaluable in collecting information. Until he finishes his current assignment and returns to London, it would be pointless for you to leave.”

Now, as the carriage rolled toward his town house, Ethan leaned back against the leather seat and silently cursed. He hadn’t wanted to involve himself in the war effort again. He had done his duty—more than done it. He had been looking forward to the challenges and duties of being a marquess.

An image of Grace, her breasts a little fuller, her belly slightly rounded with his child, popped into his head. There was even a time he had looked forward to being a husband, had imagined, somewhere in the distant future, finding some sweet, malleable girl to wed and bed and be the mother of his children.

Grace wasn’t the sort of woman he had thought to marry—quite the opposite, in fact. And yet from the moment he had met her, nothing he did seemed able to get her out of his mind. He wanted her endlessly, dreamed of making love to her, remembered with startling clarity each time he had taken her. Even leaving her miles away in the country hadn’t rid her from his turbulent thoughts.

Perhaps returning to sea was the answer. He hoped so. Nothing else seemed to work.

The carriage hit a pothole, jolting Ethan against the seat. Outside the window, a pair of linkboys carrying messages for their employers ran past. A beggar dressed in rags held out a dirty hand as he stumbled along the street. Ethan plucked a coin from the pocket of his waistcoat and tossed it to the man.

Ten minutes later, the coach arrived in the exclusive Mayfair district and rolled up in front of his Brook Street town house. His mind on his upcoming voyage, Ethan departed the carriage, climbed the steep stone steps, and walked into the entry.

“Good afternoon, milord.” His butler, a man named
Baines who had formerly worked for Charles, black hair graying at the temples and ineffably snobbish, stepped out of the way so that he might pass. “I am afraid there was a bit of an upheaval in the wake of your departure.”

Ethan focused his attention on the butler. “What sort of upheaval?”

“It would seem that your wife has arrived.”

The news hit him with the force of a blow. It was followed by a wave of emotion he refused to name. He looked at the butler’s stern features. Since Ethan hadn’t mentioned his fairly recent nuptials, he could understand how his staff might be a bit overset. “Where is she?”

“In her room, sir. She and her maid are unpacking her things. I presume I behaved correctly in installing her in the marchioness’s suite.”

Grace was in his town house. She was upstairs in the bedchamber adjoining his. His heart was thumping, his blood suddenly pulsing. Christ, just the thought of seeing her had him acting like a schoolboy.

“You behaved correctly. The lady is my wife, after all.”

“Congratulations, milord.”

He didn’t miss the faint disapproval in the butler’s tone. “I’ll see she is introduced to the staff before she leaves.”

But she definitely wouldn’t be staying. Not for any length of time, at any rate.

As he climbed the stairs, the more he thought about it the angrier he got. God’s blood, the woman had colossal cheek! He was her husband. By Christ, he was the marquess of Belford! Grace was his wife and she was supposed to obey his commands. And he had clearly commanded her to remain at Belford Park.

Pausing in front of her bedchamber door, he gave the
panel several firm raps, then lifted the latch and walked in without permission.

Grace was in the process of changing out of her traveling clothes. She stood in front of the window in a clingy lawn chemise, lacy garters and stockings, as tall, regal and lovely as he remembered. Her breasts were fuller, he saw, ripe and heavy, her rose-colored nipples larger, rounder, even more tantalizing than they had been before.

The chemise fell softly over the slight swell of her abdomen. By his calculations, she was nearly four months gone with child, and yet she looked more radiant, more lovely, than he had ever seen her. His mouth went dry. His muscles tightened and his body clenched. He told himself it was desire and not longing.

Her bright green eyes rounded at the sight of him. She groped for her dark green velvet wrapper and her maid grabbed it off the padded bench at the foot of the four-poster bed and helped her pull it on.

“I’d like a word with my wife, Phoebe, if you please.”

“Of course, my lord.” At the hard look on his face, the maid skittered nervously out of the room and closed the door.

Ethan turned his attention to Grace. “I told you to stay at Belford. What are you doing in London?”

Her chin inched up in a way he remembered. He told himself that he wasn’t the least glad to see her.

“I came to visit my husband. And of course I wished to see my family and friends. Marriage to you, my lord, does not give you the right to banish me forever from those I love.”

A moment of guilt slipped through him. He supposed she was right. Still, the sight of her there in his town house, in the bedchamber next to his, did not please him.
His gaze ran over her, taking in the pale column of her throat, the frantic pulse beating at the base that made him want to press his mouth against it, the lush swell of her breasts hidden beneath the robe, the slender feet and tiny ankles exposed beneath the hem.

His body stirred, tightened. Desire sank into his loins and his shaft sprang to life as it hadn’t since his return to London.

Not this time,
he told himself, knowing all too well the power she wielded with her delectable body. He might want her, but she would be leaving in just a few days—he intended to see to that himself—and he meant to keep his distance until she was gone.

“Are you certain you should be traveling in your condition?” he asked, only a little concerned, considering her robust constitution.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps not. I suppose I shall have to consider the risk before I journey at any length again.”

Silently, he cursed. He had accidentally set a trap and Grace had very neatly sprung it. Still, he vowed to see her gone long before traveling became a problem—before she could get under his skin the way he knew she would if he gave her the slightest chance.

They had agreed to lead separate lives.

It was an agreement he meant for them to keep.

Grace watched her husband exit the bedchamber and released the breath she had been holding. Her heart was beating, thrumming like a bird trapped in her chest. Sweet God, how could she have forgotten the effect he had on her?

She sank down on the bench at the foot of the bed, his tall, imposing image, so dark and disturbingly male, still
fixed inside her head. Power and sensuality seemed to surround him, to cloak him in an aura nearly impossible to resist.

Grace took a steadying breath. From the moment she had seen him, she had been certain she had done the right thing. She was in London. Firmly ensconced in her husband’s town house.

At least he hadn’t tossed her into the street!

She hadn’t been completely sure he wouldn’t. He didn’t want her there. That much was clear.

Still, he couldn’t quite hide the desire she had seen in his eyes, the pull of attraction that had drawn them together since the night he had stolen her off the
Lady Anne.

She had worried that he might no longer find her attractive. Her body was changing, becoming more womanly and round. As the baby grew inside her, she would eventually become fat and ungainly. In time, she would lose her feminine appeal altogether. She had to act now, win him while she could.

Grace thought of her strange encounter with the old woman at Castle Merrick. From the moment of Mabina Merrick’s departure, Grace had been certain of her path. In the carriage on the way back to Belford, she had explained to Harriet what she intended to do.

“I’ve been lying to myself, Harriet. I’m in love with Ethan. I’ve tried to stop loving him, but I can’t. I want him to love me in return and I can’t make that happen as long as I am here in the country.”

Harriet smiled, leaned over and hugged her. “I knew in time you would figure it out. You must go to him, just as you say. You must force him to admit his feelings for you.”

“Will you be all right while I am away?”

“I will be fine. The time we’ve spent together has given me a new lease on life. I shall busy myself with the house and perhaps, once it is done, I shall come to London my self.”

Grace laughed with delight and hugged her. “I should like that above all things.”

As soon as they arrived back at Belford, she had raced through the house, ordering her trunks up from the basement and helping Phoebe pack their things. All the while, the words Harriet had once said rumbled around in her head.

If Ethan truly hadn’t wished to marry you, there is nothing on earth that could have moved him to do so.

Dear God, she prayed her sister-in-law was right. Prayed that the look she had seen in Ethan’s eyes the day they were wed was exactly what she had so dearly wished it to be.
Love.

Even if he only felt a slight affection for her, there might be hope for them.

Or at least that was what she had told herself on her journey to London. Today, as he had stormed into the bedchamber, for an instant, she could have sworn she had seen that look again. His desire for her was unmistakable, but was there also the faintest gleam of love?

Perhaps it was too soon for that. But whatever she had seen, it stirred a feeling of hope. This time Grace refused to let that feeling slip away.

Ethan stood in front of the fireplace in his study, staring into the empty hearth. He was thinking of the woman upstairs, the woman he had married. In the days since his return to London, he had done everything in his power to forget her. Now she was here in his house.

Bloody hell.

A knock at the door drew his attention. He turned slightly as the door swung open and Rafael Saunders walked into the room.

Tall and imposing, the duke stopped just inside the door. “I don’t believe I have ever seen quite that look on your face.”

Ethan grunted. “My wife is arrived.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

“I am trying to figure out what to do about it.”

A dark eyebrow arched up. “What is there to do? Grace is a beautiful, desirable woman and she is your wife. I would say your next few days are going to be quite enjoyable.”

“I’m sending her back at the first opportunity.”

“Are you, indeed?”

“She wishes to see her mother, of course, and spend some time with friends. I can hardly deny her that.”

“Of course not.” Rafe’s mouth edged up in a knowing half smile. “And while she is here, the two of you will have a chance to become better acquainted.”

Ethan knew exactly what that faint smile meant. He didn’t mention that he had no intention of spending his nights in Grace’s bed, as appealing as the notion might be.

“Actually, her timing could have been better,” Rafe said, his faint smile sliding away. “I come with news of Forsythe.”

The muscles across Ethan’s shoulders went tense. He strode away from the window to where Rafe stood in front of the door. “Have they found him?”

“No. But the chief magistrate’s office received an unconfirmed report of the viscount’s presence in York.”

“York? Are they certain? I can’t credit the man would
remain in England with every man jack in the country looking to catch him and claim the reward.”

“As I said, the report was unconfirmed, but the authorities have put a number of men in the area, hoping to discover some sign of him.”

Ethan mulled that over. York wasn’t that far from Scar borough. Grace had gone to Scarborough to visit her aunt. He wondered if there might be a connection and made a mental note to have Jonas McPhee look into the possibility.

From the day Harmon Jeffries had been convicted of treason, Ethan had been determined to see the man hang. Though he was now married to Forsythe’s daughter, recently he had stepped up his efforts in that regard, hiring two more Bow Street runners. Still, until today, no word of the viscount had surfaced. More and more, he’d been certain the man was in France.

“I assume you’ll keep me posted.”

“Of course.”

A light rap sounded and Ethan beckoned the caller in. When the door swung open, Grace walked into the study. She was wearing a mint-green muslin gown that brightened the color of her eyes, and he thought how lovely she looked, even with the uncertainty he read in her face.

“I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not a’tall,” Rafe said before Ethan could reply, and she fixed her attention on the duke.

“Baines told me you had stopped by. I was hoping for a chance to greet you before you left the house.”

Rafe took her hand and brought it to his lips. “I am delighted to see you, my lady.”

Grace grinned up at him. Ethan had only seen that smile a few times since he had met her. The impact was dazzling.

“
My lady
sounds far too formal, especially since we have known each other for so long.”

“Then I shall simply say congratulations, Grace. I wish you and Ethan the utmost happiness.”