Chapter Thirteen

What mad thing have you done? Oh, Grace, dearest Grace, how could you do such an extraordinarily foolish thing? How could you have made such a terrible, terrible mistake? The moment I received your letter I wanted to come to you straightaway, but Easton says we haven’t the funds for it, and besides, there is the matter of our mother to consider. She can’t possibly travel now—

I fear we would lose her, and even if we managed to hold her close, there is her unfortunate tendency to engage others in nonsensical speech. Augustine tells me he and Monica have decided to marry in private before the summer and that we must make accommodations for Mamma. What am I to do? I must obviously remain in London for her and our sisters until all is settled. I can’t possibly come to you now.

Oh, dearest, I don’t know how you will bear it! Your situation sounds truly wretched. My only advice is to make yourself as willing a wife as you are able. You really must try, and above all, keep a pleasant countenance! Easton says that a man is made pliable to his wife’s wants if he is kept well occupied in the marital bed. My face burns at the mere mention of it, but I don’t know what else to advise you. I’ll come as soon as I am able.

Take heart, darling, and be strong. Remember Mamma always said a woman makes her own place in this world, and now you must make yours. Our love and sympathy, and do be patient until I can come to you! Fondly, Mrs. George P. Easton WELL OCCUPIED IN THE marital bed? Grace rolled her eyes—Honor’s advice was not always helpful. How exactly did Honor think Grace was to do that with a man who had his way and then left? A man who was as cold to her outside of these rooms as a hard winter? The marital bed, as Honor put it, seemed to be the only thing he wanted from her. He clearly didn’t care to know her otherwise.

If her sister only knew how Grace longed to know more of the marital bed, to experience more, to be swept away on that cloud of pleasure. But something was missing from Grace’s introduction to intimacy, although she couldn’t say exactly what. She only knew if he continued to be aloof and distant with her, she didn’t care to experience more at his hand—no matter how pleasurable it felt in the moment.

Because even when she enjoyed the sensations, she felt as if she were scarcely more than a vessel to him.

A rap at the door startled her. Before she could stand, her husband walked into her room. He had that darkly lustful look about him that made her heart skip and her blood race. It almost felt as if her clothes fell away every place his gaze touched. He shut the door at his back, then reached for his neck cloth and unknotted it. “You have not yet prepared for bed.”

“No.”

He glanced around her rooms, as if he thought Bother would hop out of Grace’s dressing room to surprise him.

“How do you find your new maid, my lord?” Grace asked as she slyly moved around to the end of her bed, putting some distance between them.

“What?” he asked, his attention on her once more.

“Your maid.”

He seemed perplexed by the question. His gaze slid down her body, lingering on her breasts and her abdomen. She noticed that he held one hand clenched at his side. Always clenched or tapping. He reached for her, taking her hand in his and drawing her into him.

“Hattie has done very well for me, if that was what you had wondered,”

she said.

“I hadn’t.”

“Why did you give her to me?”

“Why?” He said it as if the answer was obvious as he moved toward her.

“Because you wanted her.”

Grace opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head. “Any more conversation on the topic is unnecessary.”

“Unnec—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss. Grace wanted to resist, but his fingers splayed across her chin and his lips were so soft. His hand slid down her back to her hip, and Grace felt herself softening....

Until she heard the word unnecessary in her head. She suddenly brought up a hand between them and pushed on his chest. That was it, the thing that seemed so wrong—she was only a body to him. Everything else was unnecessary. “No,” she said sternly.

Merryton’s brows dipped into a dark V above his green eyes. “No?”

“I want to talk—”

He sighed impatiently heavenward.

“It is not an unreasonable request,” she said, trying to keep control of her temper.

“Talk, then,” he said, and gestured impatiently, as if she was to present a list of sentences.

She wasn’t going to be put on the spot like that. “Would you like to play a game?” The idea just came to her, but there seemed no better option at the moment than to force him to sit and actually speak to her.

“No.”

“Cards,” she insisted. “You do know how—”

“I know how, Grace. I don’t understand the purpose.”

“If you know how, ” she said, mimicking the stern tone of his voice, “then I have a challenge for you. Do you accept it?”

“How can I possibly accept it? I don’t even know what it is.”

“And therein lies the fun!” she said with false brightness. “Do you accept?”

He sighed, clearly debating. But if he were like every other man Grace had ever been even slightly acquainted with, she knew he would not refuse a challenge of any sort.

For once, her instincts proved right, for he said tersely, “Very well.”

She beamed, delighted to have won a tiny battle. “Shall we play Vingt-et-un?” she asked. “The first player to reach the value of twenty-one with his or her cards wins the hand.”

“I am familiar,” he said. “Have you a purse, or do you expect I will not only indulge you in this game but pay your debts, as well?”

“I pay my own debts,” she said smartly. “I’m not as clever with cards as Honor.” She suddenly thought perhaps it was best not to mention Honor and her antics in the early stages of their marriage and laughed. “Honor has always been rather unique in society. Well, that’s neither here nor there,”

she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “I had in mind gambling with something far more diverting than coin.”

“And what would that be?”

“You needn’t look so suspicious,” she said. “For every hand I win, you must answer a question. Truthfully, ” she hastily added.

“What sort of questions?” he asked suspiciously.

“Questions about you.”

“That again, is it?” he said. “And for every hand I win?”

“I’ll answer whatever you like,” she said.

He withered her with a look. She hadn’t thought far enough into this impetuous plan to know what she would do if he didn’t want to indulge her.

But she knew if she didn’t present something quickly, he would deny her.

So she seized on the one thing she knew he desired. “For every hand you win...you may point to an article of clothing that I must remove.”

Her suggestion had the desired effect; one dark brow rose slowly above the other. “That certainly makes your proposition more interesting.” His voice was smooth and deep, and Grace could imagine any number of women would swoon at the sound of it.

“Are you up to the challenge?” she asked, taking another step back. “Will you answer truthfully?”

“Do you suppose I would answer any other way? Have I not been truthful with you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Grace said with a shrug. “You want to remain a stranger to me.”

“Yes, well...” His gaze was suddenly piercing.

“This will be diverting. You’re not opposed to diversion, are you?”

He looked entirely opposed to a diversion and even a little tense at the suggestion. Lord—she’d not asked to look at the household books, she’d not asked for money, she’d not done anything but ask that she might know more about him. She impulsively reached out and touched his arm; he flinched.

Grace was not offended by it. She was, surprisingly, sorry for him. “It’s only a game, my lord. I promise not to delve too deep.”

He clenched his jaw, tapped his finger against his leg. “Very well,” he said at last.

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