Alaric deliberately turned his attention to the stage after making his risqué remark. But he sensed Grace’s gaze upon him as he deliberately kept his face directed to where one of the actors had currently launched into a long diatribe Alaric had no interest in listening to. He knew it was unfashionable, and probably sacrilegious to some people, but the Bard had never been one of his favorite writers of plays. The man seemed to be far too keen on the sound of his own words.
Most of them were also of tragedy and heartbreak, to Alaric’s way of thinking. If he wanted to experience either of those things, he could spend an hour or so in the company of his mother, the Dowager Duchess. A woman he knew to be capable of turning any situation into either a tragedy or scandal.
Alaric, having decided to take Flint’s advice to present a visit to the theater as his fourth gift of apology to Grace, had chosen this particular play because it was similar in content to those she’d seen on previous occasions.
Alaric’s satisfaction when he observed Grace entering the theater a short time ago had been immense. She hadn’t seen him, of course, because Alaric had deliberately stood a distance away from the staircase he had known she would need to ascend to reach her box. By doing so, he had remained hidden amongst the crowd of fashionable people milling about in the foyer wishing to be seen before the lengthy performance began.
Alaric had brushed off the attempts of any of those members of Society to engage him in conversation. No doubt they were as surprised as he was to see him attending this particular play. He had made no secret in the past of his apathy where Shakespeare was concerned.
The moment Grace entered the theater and began to ascend the staircase, she drew the attention of many of those same people as they seemed unable to stop themselves from staring at the beautiful woman in the cream silk-and-lace gown. The unusual style of the off-one-shoulder gown appeared to be Grecian, as did the way her hair was plaited into half a dozen braids that were styled around a thin cream ribbon. Her only jewelry was again that gold locket about her throat.
Neither the gown nor the hairstyle fitted with today’s fashion, but Alaric believed, from the buzz of interest being shown by the ladies present, that by tomorrow, many of them would be asking their seamstress for the same style of gown and their maid for a similar hairstyle.
The fact the Duke of Melborne was now seated alone with the lady in the Grecian gown in the privacy of this theater box would no doubt add fuel to the fire Grace’s appearance and his own unexpected presence here this evening had already ignited.
Alaric had no interest in what Society thought of him. Only Grace’s opinion was important.
“Your Grace—”
“Are you mine, Grace?” he queried throatily.
She sighed her irritation. “You know very well I was referring to you by your title and not making a statement.”
“Alaric.” He turned to look at her when he received no answer. “I wish for you to call me Alaric.”
Her cheeks were flushed. “What you wish for is not what is acceptable.”
“In whose opinion?”
Her expression became exasperated. “My own.”
He shrugged. “You may call me what you wish, but I fully intend to call you Grace whenever we are alone together in future.”
The words arrogant, high-handed, and overbearing all rushed into Grace’s thoughts as being applicable terms she might use toward Alaric Montrose.
He was all of those things, and more.
He was also still seated far too close to her, his thigh hot against her own. His proximity also meant that with every breath Grace took, she inhaled the cologne he wore. It was a pleasant mixture of citrus and the pine trees in the woods near her Devonshire home.
A stark contrast to some of the unpleasant odors Grace had been aware of when she’d had to walk through the crowded foyer when she’d arrived earlier. Something else she had learned since moving to London—bathing daily was not a common practice, among the rich as much as the poor. Many of Society chose to try to hide that omission with too much perfume or cologne. Thankfully, Melborne was not one of them.
“In that case, I will ensure we are not alone together in future,” she answered him firmly. “Now if you will excuse me, I should like to watch the rest of the play.” She deliberately lifted her fan as a barrier between them.
Melborne’s unconcerned smile was far from reassuring. “By all means, let us watch the play.”
Grace continued to eye him warily over the top of her fan for several seconds, but Melborne’s attention now seemed to be directed toward the stage beneath them.
Ordinarily, Grace would have thoroughly enjoyed having an unexpected evening at the theatre. But she was unable to give her full attention to the play with Alaric Montrose seated beside her.
He was just so…so much of a presence, even when he gave the impression of being relaxed. A presence it was impossible for Grace to ignore as the evening progressed, let alone find pleasure in the play.
Melborne seemed determined to behave the epitome of the attentive companion this evening.
First, he offered her a blanket to place over her knees if the large auditorium was too cool for her liking.
Half an hour later, he asked if she would care for refreshment and then produced a bottle of wine and two glasses she had not previously noticed.
Another hour later, he queried if her chair was comfortable enough or if she would rather have the one he was sitting on.
Grace was not in need of any of those things.
Now if Melborne were to offer to leave…
“Is there nothing I can do to enhance your pleasure this evening?”
Grace startled, a frown marring her brow as she turned to study the duke’s too innocent expression that told her his query was not in the least innocent.
Her chin rose before she turned away from the challenge in his dark gaze. “I would be much obliged if you would cease asking me unnecessary questions. In fact, it would make the evening far more pleasurable for me if you were to cease talking altogether for what is left of the performance.”
“Good choice,” he murmured in approval. “I have always preferred actions to words.”
Grace tensed as the infuriating man moved slightly so that he could lift the arm closest to her and place it lightly about her shoulders. His warm palm and long fingers then curved about the shoulder left bare by the style of her gown.
“You cannot do that sort of thing here,” she hissed as she glanced quickly about to see if anyone had noticed the intimacy.
The duke appeared completely unconcerned by her distress, nor did he remove his arm or stop touching her shoulder. “Then let us go somewhere where I can do it.”
“Alaric—”
“Dear God, say my name again!” he groaned.
She frowned her confusion, “Alaric…?”
His eyes appeared a glittering black as he turned to her in the darkness. “It has been pure purgatory to sit beside you for the past three hours, to breathe in your perfume, to feel the heat of your body so close to mine, and not be allowed to touch you in the way I wish to.”
Grace felt mesmerized by the intensity of passion in his expression as much as his words.
“Do you have any idea how often during the past week I have fantasized of having you kneel at my feet,” he continued achingly. “Hearing you say my name huskily before you part your delectable lips and take my engorged cock into the heat of your mouth?”
“Your Grace!” Grace recoiled in shock, never having been spoken to with such explicit language before.
Much to her relief, the curtain came down on the stage at that moment, signaling the end of the play. An ending Grace had completely missed because of Melborne’s outrageous comments. Not a particular hardship when the duke’s presence meant she had paid little attention to the rest of the play.
“Thank you for this evening,” Grace told Melborne stiffly as she rose quickly to her feet. She gathered up her cloak and bonnet before rushing toward the door and out into the hallway.
She was now desperate to get away from this man. From the heat and desire that was once again coursing through her body at the imagery his words created inside her head.
She needed to distance herself from Melborne immediately if she were to maintain any of her equilibrium.
She knew from when she arrived earlier that the number of carriages waiting outside to take their wealthy employers’ home would block the roads for some time. She would have to walk some distance away from the area before acquiring a hansom cab to transport her to her home. It was far too dangerous for her walk the mile to her house alone at this time of night.
Strong fingers curled about her upper arm as she joined the crowd of people also rushing down the stairs toward the front exit of the building. “What are you doing?” Melborne scowled his displeasure.
She gave him a flustered glance as she attempted to pull on her cloak. “I need to find a hansom cab—”
“You most certainly do not.” He took the cloak from her before placing it about her shoulders. “I will drive you home in my carriage.”
“No—”
“Grace?” a woman’s voice enquired curiously. “My goodness, it is you!” The voice warmed. “How lovely to see you here.”
To Alaric’s surprise, he instantly recognized the person greeting Grace so familiarly as being Lady Penelope Harper, the Countess of Redding. And the wife of Grace’s lover. A tall and fair-haired lady, at least ten years Grace’s senior, and the mother of Redding’s three children.
“My dear.” The countess turned to her husband as he stood beside her. “This is Miss Grace Sunderland. She is one of the most dedicated of our helpers at the orphanage.”
A glance at Grace showed him that all the color had drained from her cheeks and that her eyes were open wide with shock as she glanced briefly at the equally pale-faced man staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.
Or his mistress being greeted by his wife as if the two of them were friends.
“Miss Sunderland. Melborne.” Whatever Redding’s turbulent thoughts on the matter, they were not revealed in the coolness of his greeting or when he turned to nod acknowledgment of Alaric.
“Redding,” he returned as abruptly before taking a proprietary grip of Grace’s elbow. “Excuse us, we were just leaving.”
So far, Grace hadn’t spoken a single word, neither to her lover nor his wife. Indeed, Alaric feared she might have ceased breathing until he saw her breasts swell over the bodice of her gown as she inhaled raggedly. The increasing pallor of Grace’s cheeks warned him she was quickly reaching a stage where she might simply faint at the feet of the Earl and Countess of Redding.
“You are looking rather pale, my dear.” Lady Penelope voiced her concern before turning to her husband. “George, perhaps we might take Grace home in our carriage?”
Alaric’s jaw tensed in an effort to stop himself from snapping your husband never arrives at Grace’s home in his own fucking carriage.
Alaric had watched as the other man arrived and left on the evenings Redding visited Grace, and he was always on foot. As Redding House and Grace’s far more modest home were on opposite sides of London, Redding no doubt instructed the driver of his carriage to wait for him some distance away from the home of his mistress.
“That will not be necessary when I have already offered to drive Grace home myself.” An offer Alaric was well aware Grace had not yet accepted.
Probably because seconds before he made the offer, he had shared the fantasy he had of her on her knees in front of him, sucking his cock!
The countess gave him a curious glance. “We do not often see you at the theater, Melborne.”
He gave a nod of acknowledgment. “You would not see me here this evening either if it had not been the only way in which I might enjoy Grace’s company.”
Lady Harper gave Grace a curious glance before remarking, “Your gown is beautiful, my dear. Is it—”
“I am afraid I am feeling slightly overwhelmed by the heat and the press of so many people.” Grace spoke softly and for the first time since this chance meeting with her lover and his wife. “If you will please excuse us…?” She looked gratefully at Alaric as he held out his arm so that she could place her lace-gloved hand upon it.
Alaric was instantly aware of the trembling of Grace’s fingers even through the barrier of his jacket and shirt. As if, despite appearing outwardly composed, Grace was slowly falling apart inside from the strain of this unexpected encounter.
A part of Alaric wanted Grace to break, if only so that he could be the one to put her pieces back together again.
Another part of him wished to take Redding apart for having put Grace in this unconscionable position in the first place.
Even though he knew Grace had to have agreed to their arrangement for it to exist in the first place.
Wild thoughts as to how that came about had taken up residence in Alaric’s mind this past week.
Grace did not appear to be the sort of avaricious woman one would expect to be a mistress. She also remained totally loyal to Redding and was not swayed by Alaric’s obviously greater wealth, power, and single status.
Alaric had spent hour upon hour this past week pondering as to why that might be. In the end, the only explanation he could conceive of was that Grace, the daughter and helpmate of a Devonshire vicar until a year ago, had been coerced into becoming Redding’s mistress. That the bastard had to be blackmailing her compliance, and perhaps using something he had learned about her or her father as leverage in that exchange.
That explanation was not substantiated by the report Alaric had finally received this afternoon from the man James Stanley had dispatched to Devon to investigate both Grace and her father.
That man had learned nothing that might place Grace or her father in a position to be blackmailed, and only one way in which the two might ever have met before Grace’s arrival in London a year ago.
It was that the Redding earldom had a small estate in Devon, situated not too many miles from where Grace’s father was vicar of his small parish.
Stanley’s man had ascertained that the Redding family had spent Christmas there the year before last, and that Grace had traveled to London just a month later.
There was no evidence that either Grace or her father had socially met any of the Redding family during that visit, but it was the only lead Alaric had as to how Grace and the earl could possibly have become acquainted before she came to London and Redding began to visit her at her home twice weekly.
“Of course you must go, my dear,” the countess warmly replied to Grace’s request to be excused. “And please do not trouble yourself to come to the orphanage tomorrow if you are still feeling unwell.”
Grace’s smile was strained. “Thank you.”
Alaric took that as his cue to escort Grace down the remainder of the stairs and outside to where his carriage stood waiting.