Chapter Seventeen

An hour later, Nicholas had already had more than enough. He hated events like these.

He hated the people around him, the fawning, the pretence. But more than anything, he hated the fact that his wife was the toast of the ball, her laughter floating through the air.

He hated that no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t crush the jealousy that reared its ugly head every time she laughed.

Or smiled.

Or fluttered her eyes in a direction that was not his.

Swearing under his breath, Nicholas grabbed a glass of warm Champagne and forced it down his throat, grimacing as he did so.

“I never thought I would see the day.”

Nicholas turned to find James at his side, his eyes dancing with mirth. James Gilmore was the reason Nicholas had joined the Royal Navy. Older by a dozen years, James became the father figure Nicholas so desperately needed. He too had been invalided out after Trafalgar with the loss of his arm.

“What?” Nicholas turned to his mentor with no small amount of irritation.

“The day you cared about a woman,” James replied, shaking his head. “You’ve yet to take your eyes off her. ”

“Along with the rest of the ballroom,” Nicholas grumbled as Grace laughed yet again.

James clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s popular because she’s newly married. All the young bucks are hoping she’ll be looking for another bed after being saddled with the likes of you.”

Nicholas felt his jaw tighten as he continued to watch the men flirting with his wife. Dear God, just two months ago, he was wondering what the hell to do with her, and now look at him, casting calf eyes like a damned greenhorn. “They don’t stand a chance,” was his flat response.

“No, they don’t,” James stated shaking his head in mock amazement. “She only has eyes for your ugly face.”

Nicholas barked out a laugh, finally feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

Some, not all. “Tis a sight better than yours.”

“I will give you that, my friend,” James laughed. “Next time you come to London, I’d love to learn more about the woman who has wrangled you into wedded bliss.”

Nicholas thought back to the unlikely beginnings of his marriage and grimaced slightly. He’d only seen James a couple of times since Gibraltar, and as both occasions were in White’s, there hadn’t been the opportunity to regale his old mentor of the circumstances surrounding his nuptials. Indeed, Nicholas was not entirely sure he wished to entertain James with the circumstances surrounding his marriage to Grace. He could visualise only too well the older man’s interpretation of his cavalier attitude.

“’Tis a boring tale, almost identical to the beginnings of most unions, I think.”

James raised his eyebrows, clearly hearing something amiss in the Duke’s tone. “Mayhap I’ll save that particular conversation for your wife then,” he grinned as he secured a glass of Champagne from a passing servant.

Nicholas shook his head, a dark chuckle escaping. “If you think I’d allow my wife to spend any time alone with a debauched scoundrel such as yourself, you must be completely addled.”

James’s response was a shout of laughter which Nicholas did not hear as he was too busy observing another young buck writing his name on Grace’s dance card while wistfully looking at her décolletage as he did so. Nicholas had had enough. There was only going to be one name on his wife’s dance card. The rest could go to the devil.

And once he claimed his dance, he intended to take Grace home and make love to her until she forgot about every man but him.

If he didn’t, he would be sorely tempted to murder every man in this room who’d offered his wife more than a passing glance…

He abruptly made his excuses to his old friend who remained where he was to watch the drama unfold. This was the most entertainment he’d had since leaving the Royal Navy.

Grace was enjoying her debut.

Despite her concerns over embarrassing Nicholas, her introduction had gone without worry, and she now had a full dance card with many dashing, young bucks crowded around her. Never in her life had so many taken a liking to her, but there was only one that she cared about.

And he had yet to come and claim his dance.

“Your punch, your grace.”

Grace turned and accepted the small glass from an eager young man, bestowing him a smile in return. “Why thank you. I am parched.”

He grinned, bowing in her direction. “Then may I ask for the next dance set? I believe it’s the waltz.”

“She’s already taken.”

Grace’s eyes met Nicholas’s stormy ones as the young buck in question stammered and stuttered before taking back the glass and hurrying away. Nicholas extended his hand. Grace took it, and followed him to the dance floor, where they set up for the first strains of the waltz. “Where have you been?”

His hand gripped hers. “I’ve been watching you, my dear. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“There is so much to take in,” she admitted as Nicholas moved them through the first steps. “But I’ve yet to trip over myself at least.”

Nicholas didn’t respond, but the clench of his jaw told her that something was amiss. “Nicholas?” she asked hesitantly. “Is something wrong? Has something happened?”

He looked down at her anxious face, and his expression softened. “No,” he answered ruefully. “I’m simply not accustomed to watching other men ogle my wife.”

Unsure whether he was teasing, Grace nevertheless gave him a shy smile and gave herself over to the music, determined to enjoy the fact that she was finally in her husband’s arms for all of London to see.

The dance was over too soon, but instead of accompanying her to the fringes of the floor, Nicholas escorted her outside and into a small informal garden. The breeze was refreshing on her slightly damp skin, and Grace sighed, inhaling the scent of roses that perfumed the air. To her delight, Nicholas enfolded her in his arms, nuzzling at her neck. “’Tis a shame we are not able to leave just yet,” he murmured in her ear. “But as soon as propriety permits us to do so, I give you fair warning wife, ‘tis my intention to take you home to bed. My bed or yours, I have no care which.”

Lost in the seductive invitation within her husband’s blue eyes, Grace leaned in and hesitantly lifted her arms, slipping them around his neck and pulling slightly. Nicholas groaned, wrapping her in a crushing embrace, his mouth moving hungrily over hers in a deep searing kiss.

“Pon my oath, it’s deuced hot in there.”

Nicholas stilled as the loud voice sounded at his back.

“’Tis a fine squeeze, it has to be said, but nevertheless it won’t do to remain out here for long. I have it on good authority that something’s afoot. I overheard Lady Granger talking to that bounder, Giles Northrup, and if that damned ivory tuner’s managed to sneak in unannounced, you can be sure there’s something nasty smelling at the bottom of it.”

The voices faded as the owners returned to the heat of the ballroom, but the mood had been broken, and Nicholas placed a last reluctant kiss on his wife’s trembling lips. “It seems some poor unfortunate has fallen foul of the ton .” His wry observation caused a shiver down Grace’s back, and she pulled back hurriedly. “Would you like some refreshment?” he asked gently, releasing her with reluctance.

“Yes please,” Grace whispered. “If it pleases you, I’ll remain out here. I … I … I’m still a little hot.”

Her voice was slightly breathless, and Nicholas grinned down at her, fully satisfied he’d supplanted any thoughts of the dashing young men vying for her attention earlier.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he murmured dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Grace watched her husband go through the open doors, her heart still racing and lips still throbbing from the intensity of his kisses. How could she even have considered a life without him? Grace knew that whatever happened between them, there would never be another man for her. Somewhere, somehow, between throwing up onto his immaculate hessians and dancing her first waltz with him, she’d fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with Nicholas Sinclair. Sitting down on a small bench, she put her head into her hands. She hoped with all her heart she was already with child. She was no simpering miss straight from the school room and consequently under no foolish illusions that a man such as the Duke of Blackmore would ever love someone like her. But if they had a child together, mayhap that would be enough to hold him to her.

She would take whatever she could get.

Suddenly, a figure loomed up to her right, and startled, she reared back, just as an arm gripped hers, pulling her up from the small bench she’d been seated on.

“Nicholas,” she gasped in relief when she recognised her husband’s harsh features. “You had me worried for a second.”

“Come, we have to leave,” he responded curtly.

Frowning, Grace looked up at him, and her stomach roiled as she saw his shuttered expression and clenched jaw. “Has something happened?” she asked fearfully, allowing him to lead her through a small gate into the formal gardens. Her husband didn’t answer, simply pulled her along at such a pace that she had to pick up her skirts and run to keep up with his long strides. “Nicholas,” she cried breathlessly, fearful she would fall headlong any second.

Abruptly, he stopped and thrust her behind him while he spoke in low tones with a shadowy figure. Panting, Grace peered around her husband’s back but could only tell that the figure was a man. She watched mutely as a carriage pulled up in front of them. The shadowy figure she finally recognised as the man Nicholas was speaking to earlier pulled open the door, then shook Nicholas’s hand before moving swiftly away.

Unceremoniously, Nicholas thrust Grace into the darkened interior, then followed, shutting the door with a thud. Seating himself opposite, he closed his eyes and leaned back, a picture of weariness as the carriage lurched forward.

Grace stared at her husband nervously. “What’s happened Nicholas?” she asked in a whisper, the sick feeling turning the punch she’d consumed earlier to acid in her stomach.

For a few seconds, she feared he would not respond at all. Then she truly wished he hadn’t as the Duke of Blackmore opened his eyes and silently raked his wife with a look of undiluted contempt.