Chapter Eleven

Grace was still mulling over whether she had indeed inherited her father’s penchant for becoming embroiled in bird-witted capers as their carriage passed from Devonshire and on up into Wiltshire. Ordinarily, she would have been consumed with excitement, especially as she’d never been farther than the Port of Dartmouth up to now, but as seemed so often of late, she seemed to spend her mental consideration in trying to work out how to extract herself from hobbles of her own making.

She became aware that Nicholas was speaking to her.

“Are you feeling well?”

She blinked. “Of course. I’m fine.”

He narrowed his gaze. “I don’t believe you.”

Her mouth pulled into a frown. “Why not?”

Nicholas nodded to the book in her lap. “You’ve yet to open your book.”

Grace looked down, her fingers tracing the leather cover, and Nicholas suddenly felt the urge to take the place of the book in her lap. “I’ve been distracted by the countryside. I’ve never been farther than Dartmouth before.”

While he believed her words, he still had this nagging feeling that something was bothering her. She was extremely pale. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, he would question whether she was with child. But as they’d yet to consummate their marriage, it stood to reason her anxiety must pertain to something else.

He sighed and continued, “As you’re aware, Grace, I have been out of the country for a good few years, and consequently, my knowledge of English Society and its foibles is not perhaps what it might be.” His words were terse and clipped, and Grace could feel his distaste. “Ordinarily, I would not trouble myself. I have no interest in learning the latest on dits and have found most members of the ton to be vain and self-centred.” Grace watched silently as Nicholas dragged his hand over his face. “That said, whatever my private sentiments, you have married into one of England’s highest-ranking families, and it is therefore necessary for you to be presented as my Duchess and take your place in society.

“We have been invited to a charity ball being thrown on behalf of naval heroes.” His face twisted in a mirthless smile, and Grace felt her heart contract. “Apparently, it is to be the culmination of the London Season. I have received a particular entreaty that we attend from a good friend of mine, and my reluctant acquiescence is a favour to him and him only.”

He paused, clearly waiting to see if his wife wished to make any comments. Unfortunately, Grace was so swamped with fear at the thought of being the focus of attention on such an illustrious occasion, she couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. Frowning, Nicholas continued, “Despite my reluctance to attend, the ball will be a perfect setting for your first public appearance.”

Silence ensued, and Grace realized her husband had finished and was now regarding her quizzically. It was obvious he expected her to show at least a small amount of excitement at the thought of attending her first ball. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could think about was the possibility she might trip, even fall down the stairs, of being a laughingstock. And dear God, what would happen if her wild exploits in Devonshire became common knowledge?

Nicholas was still waiting for her response, and finally, she cleared her throat and managed to speak, although she feared her voice was unsettlingly wooden. “I am indebted to you, your grace. As a clergyman’s daughter, I could not have hoped to attend such an exalted occasion. I shall look forward to it immensely, and of course to regaling my sisters with as many details as possible. They will surely be waiting with eager expectation.” She lapsed back into silence, feeling as though her heart was about to erupt violently from her chest.

Nicholas watched as his wife continued to stare determinedly out of the coach window at the scenery as it passed. Her face continued white and tense, and it was clear, despite the words that had come out of her mouth, she had no desire to attend the ball. Was it his presence alongside her she objected to? Or was she simply afraid of being out of her depth? He drummed his fingers on his knee tensely. He detested London. When his mother was alive, they would travel to London every season with her, his father opting to ride horseback, and she would tell them stories of her childhood in the capital. Though the Duke had not wanted his wife to coddle his sons, the Duchess would sneak them out at least once during their trips to enjoy the sights of the city.

But after their mother died, his father still required them to go to London. Gone were the good times the Duchess had engineered, and both Nicholas and Peter had spent long hours in their father’s study instead, watching as their father interacted with his steward and solicitor on behalf of their estate.

And now that estate was his.

Nicholas sighed inwardly. He hadn’t wanted to come to London, but he’d had no choice truly. He’d been sadly remiss with regards to his wife. As much as he abhorred the custom, he needed to introduce Grace to the ton . And he needed to school and clothe her as befitted her station. Her wardrobe would be provided during their brief sojourn in London, and he would endeavour to find a companion who would be suitable as a confidante and also provide the necessary instruction for his wife’s new rank. Once they returned to Blackmore, he would look to employ a full complement of staff to ensure the smooth running of the estate.

Whatever his private feelings, he knew it was his duty to ensure Grace was both content and able to hold her own in society without embarrassing the Sinclair family name.

In attending the charity ball, he was also returning a favour to the man who had taken him under his wing at the beginning of his naval career, and for that, he would suffer through the stares and whispers almost certain to come their way.

Watching his wife’s hands repeatedly clench and unclench, he suddenly realized she wasn’t afraid. She was terrified. Frowning, he leaned forward and was pleased to note that she didn’t shrink back. So, it wasn’t his presence she was afraid of.

“I know that mayhap our marriage has been less than ideal up until now, but I can assure you, it is my sincere wish that we do well together.” His voice was rough as he forced himself to continue, “As you are aware, I am a private man, but perhaps we might find some common ground to ensure our union is tolerable to both of us.”

Grace cleared her throat and looked for a second as if she would burst into tears. Nicholas cursed himself. His declaration hadn’t been romantic. But then he had no intention of love coming into the equation at all.

When Grace finally spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper. “You are too generous, Nicholas.”

Nicholas didn’t feel generous, in fact, he felt like a complete cad, but he didn’t pursue the conversation any further, deciding instead that silence was preferable to making matters worse with his clumsy attempts at idle chatter. A mere two hours later, just as twilight descended, they pulled up in front of a coaching inn in which Nicholas had already secured them two rooms for the night.

By the time it was fully dark, they were cosily ensconced in a private dining room, Grace gratefully sipping a warming glass of mulled wine, while the Duke opted for his usual large brandy. A few minutes later, their meal was brought in. A hearty mutton stew followed by a freshly baked apple pie. Simple but wholesome fare.

Despite her earlier feelings of despair, Grace found herself ravenous. Mayhap it was the third glass of mulled wine, but she began to feel a little more like herself. She had never before been this timid creature, afraid of her own shadow.

Her husband might yet cast her aside, but there was no reason to suppose her activities down in the wilds of Devonshire would become cruel gossip for the ton . She sipped at her wine, mulling over her problem. Should she manage to emerge from this situation unscathed, it was imperative she curb her impulsive nature and somehow make the Duke proud of her. Grace glanced up at her husband. His face was harshly beautiful in the torchlight, the habitual frown for once absent. She knew he would most certainly catch the eye of the female members of the ton , perhaps even take a mistress. Grace felt an unfamiliar pang at the thought of another woman in his bed. She supposed he would not be obliged to spend the whole night with any lightskirt, a term she’d heard her father use more than once, so his nightmares would not be an issue.

Although Grace was not completely bird-witted when it came to matters of the flesh, neither was she entirely sure of the fundamental actions resulting in the production of a baby. Did a man conduct himself differently when he was not looking to produce a child? Did a woman? She frowned, reaching for her wine glass, only to find it disappointingly empty.

“I think perhaps it is time you retired Grace. Should you drink another glass of wine, I may have to put you to bed myself.” Nicholas’s voice was unaccustomedly soft, a lazy smile taking the sting out of his words.

Grace coloured up, wondering if her husband could read her thoughts. Dear God, he was handsome when he smiled. Her pulse quickened as she stared at him helplessly, no quick retort springing to her lips. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips. Was that a necessary part of creating a child? She recalled hearing Blackmore’s scullery maid talk about kissing her stable boy. The chamber maid with whom she was confiding, was shocked to the core and had threatened to tell Mrs. Higgins. Grace hadn’t remained to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation but had sent a missive to her father asking for his assistance in facilitating the course of true love by ensuring the stable boy did the proper thing!

She became aware that Nicholas had risen from the table and was now standing at her elbow. Frowning, she looked up at him. Did he think her unable to make her own way to her chamber? Nevertheless, she took his proffered hand and made to rise. The room began to tilt alarmingly, and panicking slightly, she clutched her husband’s arm. Without further ado, he lifted her as though she was a mere child, seemingly with no effort at all. “Nicholas, your injuries,” Grace protested while trying to make sense of the room spinning.

“Hush, wife, you are as light as a feather. I’ll not worsen my wounds.” For some reason his voice was gruff, and she peered curiously into his eyes which oddly appeared to be glittering. Sighing, she surrendered to the wondrous feeling of security his embrace provoked and rested her head upon his chest as he carried her up the private staircase to their rooms. Once outside her door, he gently set her back onto her feet, keeping hold of her hands to steady her. “Do you still feel out of sorts?” he asked evenly. She wondered if he was angry with her and looked up in trepidation, only to be surprised by his laughing blue eyes. What would he say if she asked him to help her get into her night attire? Would he kiss her? Grace stared into his eyes as the laughter slowly leached from them, leaving the same disconcerting glitter. Mesmerised, she lifted her hand and lightly brushed her fingers over his full lips, feeling his sudden indrawn breath in response. Slowly, she rose onto her tiptoes and lifted her face to his, leaving no doubt as to her wish. With a low groan, Nicholas obliged, wrapping her in a crushing embrace, his mouth opening over hers in a fierce, wildly arousing kiss. Distantly, Grace recognised that this was nothing like the scullery maid’s description, and as an unaccustomed heat began racing through her, she pressed herself against the intimate hardness of her husband’s body, wanting, she knew not what. He responded by cupping her bottom, pressing her against his rigid arousal until she moaned in pure instinctive primitive desire.

After what seemed like an age, Nicholas lifted his head and stared down at her eyes, deep pools of languorous wonder. For him. Groaning, he set her from him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he couldn’t take advantage of her intoxication, even if he was her husband.

“Grace,” he breathed raggedly, “if we continue, I fear I will be unable to stop, and this is not the introduction you deserve to the pleasures of the marriage bed.”

Grace looked up at him confused. She wanted to take his hand, pull him with her into her bedchamber, but the seductive invitation that blazed from his eyes earlier was gone. Her heart sank, and she looked back to the floor, humiliated she’d appeared so wanton in his arms. Nicholas pushed her gently towards her room. She didn’t look back as she meekly entered the chamber and shut the door.