Looking down the table at her husband, she anxiously clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, waiting for his censure. Instead, he lay down his napkin, rose from his place and walked down the table towards her.Perhaps he intends to beat meshe thought a trifle hysterically as she watched his tall form move gracefully towards her. He reminded her of a panther, and despite her apprehension, she couldn’t help but admire his physique. To her surprise, instead of chiding her when he finally stood next to her chair, Nicholas held out his hand. Grace eyed it as she would a snake, and after a couple of seconds, her husband questioned dryly as to whether he had something unsavoury on his fingers.
Shaking her head in embarrassment, Grace hastily took his proffered hand and allowed him to lead her to a door, previously unnoticed in thecorner of the room.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he stopped in front of the closed door.
“It came to me that you may not know how to dance,” he answered, pushing open the door.
Grace froze as they walked into the room, seeing a long forgotten small ballroom before her. “We do not have to,” she said softly, turning to face him. “Miss Beaumont has informed me she has been able to secure a teacher who has a reputation for discretion.”
Nicholas placed his hand on her waist, the other pulling her hand up with his. “It is of no consequence. However, if you prefer, think of this as a favour to me. I have a need to practice this new-fangled waltz I’m told is all the rage in the ballrooms of London.” He gave a wry smile. “And considering the last person I practiced with was Malcolm, you are truly doing me a great service.” His lighthearted words drew an incredulous giggle which had clearly been his intention. Smiling warmly down at his wife, Nicholas adopted an air of mock seriousness.
“One dance, Grace. Now pay attention to my steps.”
Grace bit her lower lip, stifling her laughter, and did as he asked, doing her best to make allowances for his injuries as they moved about the wooden floor. After a few moments, she gradually learned the simple steps and began to move in tune with her husband until he was whirling her about the floor, their steps kicking up the dust around them.
“You are a natural,” he murmured as he eventually slowed their steps, pulling her against his strong form.
Grace smiled tremulously up at him. The feel of him holding her close was beyond delicious, and as she looked into his warm but troubled eyes, she realized she was developing feelings for her inscrutable husband…
Oblivious to his wife’s thoughts, Nicholas looked down at her and quirked another smile. “You will do very well, Grace, of thatI am sure, and I promise I will do my best not to tread on your beautifully slippered toes.” He set her away from him, and Grace expected this to be the moment he excused himself. However, her husband clearly had not finished surprising her for the day as he proposed accompanying her for coffee in the small drawing room.
For that one moment, Grace acknowledged she had never felt such happiness.
She was to remember that precise moment many times in the weeks and months to come.
∞∞∞
Giles Northrop could not believe his luck. As the penniless son of a distant relative of Viscount Northrop, he had spent his whole life on the fringes of theton. Generally considered beneath the touch, he had been ridiculed and despised in equal measure for as long as he could remember. It was his sole ambition to be finally accepted in the higher echelons of English society.
His visit to Devonshire had been more of an impulse. For three reasons. The first being a rumour that a prime bit of blood was purportedly to be put through her paces at Exeter racecourse, and secondly it provided a much-needed escape from an almost certain ignominious end at the hands of his dubious companions who accused him of trying to cut a wheedle.
However, his principal motivation was the knowledge that the elusive Duchess of Blackmore’s father resided in the area, and if there was one thing Giles Northrop was good at, it was sniffing out gossip. Indeed, he could not have hoped for a more favoured outcome - and one that would undoubtedly provide his long-coveted acceptance by theton- in the chance meeting with Reverend Shacklefordin the Red Lion.
∞∞∞
“Oh, your grace, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” her maid Dorcas breathed reverently as she unpacked a silver-grey satin cloak that seemed to shimmer in the light.
Grace shook her head mutely. She was surrounded by boxes. She had never in her life seen so many clothes. She had previously considered it all a scandalous waste of money since she was of the opinion that the majority of the beautiful gowns would be unlikely to see the light of day once she returned to Blackmore after the ball.
She sighed, picking up a pair of exquisite lace gloves. Unfortunately, her return to Blackmore appeared to have been postponed. It was now all too likely she would find use for most of her new wardrobe given the fact that her husband had intimated his desire that she remain in London to oversee the refurbishment of the Sinclair townhouse.
Grace frowned. In fact, Nicholas had all but ordered her to remain here while he returned to the Estate in Devonshire.
It seemed to her that every time she felt they were making progress, Nicholas pushed her away. After her impromptu dancing lesson, her husband had elected to keep her company for the remainder of the evening, but she very quickly realised he had done so to discuss their temporary separation. He had only stayed until she had reluctantly agreed to his demands. He had not even come to her bed once he’d excused himself. Restlessly, she threw the gloves onto the dozens already lying on her coverlet. She had been so very optimistic after their dance, and now she was plunged into the depths of despair.
She thought back to her reckless wish that Nicholas cast her aside, allowing her to live her life on her own. Now she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his enigmatic, beautiful face, ofnot tasting his lips on hers. She had never before experienced the feeling of safety she felt in her husband’s arms and she truly couldn’t imagine living without it.
The very worst thing had happened. She had fallen in love with Nicholas Sinclair.
How could she have been so foolish? She’d known from the beginning that her husband had no desire to elevate their relationship beyond that of uneasy companionship, but she had hoped, oh how she had hoped for more - especially after, well … after he had introduced her to the delights of the marriage bed.
How could she have been so naïve? In truth, she was well aware that to most men, coupling was no more important than winning in a game of cards, but if there was one thing she’d learned - her husband was not most men.
Sighing again, she rose to her feet and instructed Dorcas to continue. The maid curtsied, clearly thinking her mistress slightly addled in her lack of interest in the beautiful garments littering the bedchamber.
Making her way downstairs, she wondered what would happen if she revealed her true feelings to the Duke and begged him to take her home with him.When had Blackmore become home. She pictured her husband’s response to such a declaration and shuddered, shaking her head at her idiocy. Perchance the best way to his heart would be to prove to him once and for all that she was no simpering ninnyhammer, and she could very well demonstrate that by transforming the Sinclair Townhouse into a warm and welcoming home. His mother had clearly had beautiful taste, and Grace completely concurred with the old Duchess’s choice in soft furnishings. All she had to do was imitate what had already been done.
Feeling more lighthearted than she had in days, Grace decided that first things first, she would ensure she paid the strictest attention to Miss Beaumont’s instructions on comportment and etiquette between now and the Marquis ofBlanchford’s ball.
