‘I married you, woman. That is for life.’
She shook him off, but he grabbed hold of her. ‘Leave me be, Rawden,’ she cried.
‘No. You will not tell me what to do, woman. You are mine. I made you mine last night, and there is no escape, Grace, from your prison or its jailor, who wants you with a vengeance.’ He stared down into her wide-eyed face, burning for her, wanting to soothe, conquer and claim her.
Grace stopped struggling. ‘Please, Rawden,’ she breathed.
‘Romola means nothing. She is nothing to us, nor will she ever be again. I swear on Will’s grave.’
‘Don’t talk of Will.’
‘Alright then, no talking.’
Rawden’s kiss was fiery yet tender, urgent but gentle, and the ache which bloomed in Grace’s heart could not be denied. She wanted him more than she hated him. This man was hers, and an insane urge to keep him from Romola and any other woman rose up and consumed Grace. So when Rawden picked her up and threw her onto the bed, she made no protest. When he covered her body with his own, flinging up her dress and releasing his manhood from his breeches, she did not push him off, for then he would stop.
Grace wanted the oblivion of his touch. She wanted the thrill spreading through her loins at being pinned by his bulk. And when he surged inside her slick, eager body, harder and in far more haste than before, Grace could only cling to him and cry out. Rawden rocked inside her in a frenzy of anger and desire, his mouth crushing hers while she tore at his jacket with her nails, their bodies a tangle of limbs and hurt feelings. A spasm of pleasure tightened her belly and grew with every thrust of his loins until it burst through Grace like a sweet fire, burning her jealousy to ashes. Rawden reached a groaning release soon afterwards, stiffening and jerking in a seizure of ecstasy.
Rawden heaved himself off her almost immediately, and they both stared at the ceiling in a tense silence. Grace pulled down her dress, her face burning, and she started to cry silently. She could not stop. The feeling of power and wonder at her release faded to confusion. No heart should hold this much feeling. Had she just debased herself for an uncaring man? Rawden was probably triumphing in her surrender. Now that her lust was sated, mortification crept in, along with its bedfellow of regret.
His hand came to her face, and Grace jerked away.
‘Are you crying? What is it? Forgive me. I was angry. I should not have….’
‘No. I should not. It was my fault, my weakness.’ She leapt off the bed. ‘Please go. I would like to be alone, Rawden.’
‘I cannot leave if you are in distress,’ he said, adjusting his clothes for modesty’s sake.
‘I am well,’ said Grace, wiping away a treacherous tear. It left a sticky track on her cheek. ‘It has been a long and trying day, and I want to be alone. Please, Rawden. I am begging you to leave me be. Do you have enough honour in you to do that at least?’
His lip curled, and anger flared on his face, to be instantly replaced by indifference. ‘If you wish me to go, I will go,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, standing up and fastening his breeches. He gave her one last frustrated look. ‘See what you drive me to, Grace. Can you be in any doubt of my wanting you now?’ When she did not respond, he came close but did not touch her. ‘I do not want this bitterness and mistrust between us.’ He gave a tortured little smile.
If it was meant to make her feel better, it did not. That smile creased his handsome face and brought a light to his eyes and a hunger that set a pulse of lust low in Grace’s belly. Oh, what woman with a heart beating in her breast could withstand the onslaught of Rawden’s sudden and rare charm? But she must, for he was false in every way, and that smile was but a weapon to cut down a woman’s good sense so that she would be his puppet.
‘You had better go now, Rawden,’ she said.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes, and then he was gone. The room seemed huge, cold and bleak without his stalking presence.
She hated her husband. She could not trust him an inch.
So why did she miss him already?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dawn could not come soon enough for Grace. A sleepless night had brought her to a terrible conclusion. She could not bear the humiliation of being around Rawden any longer. Marriage was nothing but a maelstrom of hurt feelings and servitude to a man’s needs, and one who cared nothing for her. It was insupportable, and it had been a disastrous mistake. Why had she not listened to him when he declared himself an inveterate rake who would never mend his ways.
Grace dressed quickly in semi-darkness, grabbed her most basic possessions in a bag, and then crept downstairs. A soupy mist had crept up from the Thames and made it hard to hail a carriage, but she eventually found one and sank back against the seat as it rattled away from Causton House and the mercurial Rawden Voss.
When Grace reached her destination and knocked on the door, she struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. She could not cry and collapse in distress – not here, not now. A servant opened the door, eyes widening in recognition when she stated her purpose, and he beckoned Grace inside before leaving her shivering and alone in a cold drawing room.
She leapt to her feet when Harriet rushed in. Her friend’s hair was still bound in ringlets, and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
‘Grace, what on earth is going on?’ she cried.
‘I have left him, Harriet. I have run away from Rawden. Please, may I have sanctuary with you?’
Harriet glanced at the open door behind her with a horrified look and rushed to close it. ‘I must ask Gilbert. I cannot just have guests to stay without his leave.’
‘Then ask him, please, Harriet. My uncle will not have me, I am sure of it, and I have nowhere else to go.’
