What if Grace refused to see him?
What if he could not change her mind with wooing?
Worst of all, what if she could never return his love? If she would not marry him?
He could not bear to contemplate such an unbearable notion. He had to believe he could win her heart. The passion between them was real and undeniable. Surely, they could build upon that. Even if she did not harbor tender feelings for him, certainly the pleasure they shared could grow and blossom and deepen over time.
Could it not?
He was spared from further tortured musings when the door to the salon opened and there was Grace on the threshold. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with pink. Her nose was as red as a holly berry. She looked as if she had spent the last few hours weeping.
And even with her rumpled gown, auburn ringlets worn loose from her coiffure to frame her face, her countenance pale, her mouth drawn, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. She was beloved to him. The only woman he wanted.
Forever.
It was a word that would have sent him fleeing not long ago. Before he had met Grace, he had never even contemplated the thought of marrying again in truth. He had simply been so consumed in his life of endless, meaningless pleasure. His thoughts had been for gaining Tyre Abbey and for little else.
But she had changed all that.
She had changedhim.
And she had most definitely changed his heart, for she owned it now. It was hers, and hers alone.
“Lord Aylesford,” she said, her tone shocked.
He wished she had called him Rand, but there was no hope for that.
He was treated to the vague glimpse of four sisters’ faces in the hall behind her before the door closed at her back, leaving them alone.
“Grace,” he greeted, bowing.
She dipped into an abbreviated curtsy but did not smile. “What is this about? You have somehow cozened my sisters into aiding you with this feigned betrothal nonsense? Are you holding the book over their heads as well? I have told you already that I will claim it. It is mine, and mine alone. The blame must be laid solely upon me. Go to my brother as you must, but I alone am the guilty one.”
“This is not about the book, Grace,” he told her, striding forward. Closing the distance between them because he had to. Because he could not bear to be so near to her, and yet unable to touch her.
But she shied away from him, flitting to the periphery of the salon as if she were a butterfly chased from a blossom. “What is it about then, Lord Aylesford? Why must you insist upon plaguing me? I have already told you I am done with this feigned betrothal. I want no more of it.”
“That is perfectly fine by me,” he told her, stalking to where she stood. “I do not want a feigned betrothal with you either.”
Her brow furrowed. AndChrist, it was adorable.
“You do not?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I do not. I want a real betrothal.”
She stiffened, her chin tipping up. “I wish you and whatever lady you have chosen well, in that case. I am sure she will make a lovely duchess one day.”
“Yes, she will.” He moved closer still. Until he was near enough to touch her. “No other lady could possibly be as perfect as she.”
“Finding a replacement did not take you long, did it?” She laughed, but he did not miss the bitterness hidden within her levity, and it gave him hope. “Several hours, and she is such a paragon that you have already decided you will make her your wife in deed rather than your feigned betrothed. How fortunate for you, my lord. You see? I did you a favor in setting you free of our odious bargain.”
“You did do me a great favor,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and drawing her lush body against his. Lord, how perfect was her fit to him. How right. How wonderful. His cock sprang to life.
The scent of glorious summer blossoms and Grace hit him, directly in the heart.
“What are you doing, Aylesford?” She began to squirm, as if intent upon escaping his hold. “I cannot think your betrothed would appreciate your freedom with my person.”
“Doyoumind?” he asked pointedly, kissing the upturned tip of her nose.
