Eyes shut, Matthew’s nose twitched at the alluring scent of lilacs. This was no dream. Grace was definitely in his chambers. This was his ultimate nightmare—the woman he loved within reach. Hauling her into his bed was not an option. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he held in a groan. Eight bloody hours—it took less than a day for his resolution to ignore the woman to disintegrate into an afterthought. He shouldn’t have left the note. He should have… No, he’d already resolved not to rehash the countless should-haves.
His lungs burned. Inhaling the sweet smell of the woman who inspired him to survive months of grueling captivity was pure torture. He’d endured enough of that for a lifetime. He took in a deep breath through his mouth to relieve the ache in his chest. But the harsh reality that once again playing cards, dancing, and making sweet love to Grace were no longer possibilities caused a sharp pain deep in the walls of his ribs. He expelled the breath.
Betrayed by the one woman who he had believed loved him like no other. His months away at Halestone Hall had given his body time to heal, but his heart and mind had metamorphosed into organs he no longer had control over. Apparently, he lacked control over other parts of his body in her presence. She had given him her virtue, heart, and soul before his disastrous mission on the Continent. His body remained in tune with hers. Matthew rolled slightly to his side to ensure Grace didn’t see the impact her presence was having on him. If he feigned sleep, perhaps she would leave and let him wallow in peace.
Leaving him alone with the memories that deprived him of slumber and refused to die. Muffled sobs of men. Putrid odors that turned his stomach. Rope abrading his neck, ankles, and wrists. And the black rats. Lord, the giant black rats. His entire body shuddered, erasing the painful recollections he vowed he would never taint Grace with.
The susurrus of slippers against the wood floor brought his thoughts back to the present. Time to confront the woman whom his heart steadfastly refused to forget.
Through gritted teeth, Matthew said, “Why are you here?”
Soft ungloved hands lifted his arm to uncover his eyes and face. In a tone that brooked no argument, Grace asked in turn, “Why did you fail to obey orders?”
The heat of her touch threatened to warm his heart once more. He needed to put distance between them. Matthew clenched his hand tight as she laid his arm to rest above his head. As her hand left him, only months of practiced self-control prevented him from reaching out and grabbing it back, pulling Grace down over his body, naked under the linens, every muscle at the ready to experience her soft curves.
Eyes half-closed, he peered up at Grace through his eyelashes.
She loomed above him like an avenging angel. Fire blazed in the golden flecks of her dark brown eyes. Why was she angry? He wasn’t the one who had returned home engaged to another.
He counted to ten. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“What was I to do? You left me with no choice.”
Grace’s accusatory tone spurred his ire. Damnation, the woman had plenty of choices, and she had chosen the devil’s own son, Ellingsworth. A wastrel and a simpleton if Matthew’s sources were to be believed. Lingering bitterness remained on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, simply asked, “What is it you want from me?”
Her eyes widened for a brief moment before her lips thinned into a straight line.
He glared at her.
She glared back.
Frowning, she finally broke the silence. “Why did you not provide a full report as requested?”
The woman was here for her report and no other reason. No surprise—Crown matters before all else; after all, he too had shared the sentiment, before his imprisonment. Curse his delusional mind for hoping she might be seeking more from him. She more than likely saw him as merely another informant. The stab of pain in his chest nearly had him acting savagely, and he fought the urge to tell her to go to hell. He was no longer the gentleman Grace had known, yet he would prefer she not see the angry brute he had become. He moved his arm back to shield his face and eyes.
The soft patter of her toe-tapping meant Grace would not be leaving until she received what she came for—a full accounting of events he dearly wished to never speak of again. Relenting, Matthew rose to a sitting position and shifted his back against the headboard. He let the bed linens drop to his waist, revealing his scarred and battered bare chest.
Grace gasped. Precisely the reaction he had expected. He hadn’t anticipated her knuckles turning white as she clasped her hands tighter. As if she was holding back from touching him. As if she cared that his skin was marred from burns and whippings, or that his ribs remained clearly visible. His liquid diet of brandy and whiskey fueled his appetite for revenge, not his body. The possibility that Grace might still care had him hungry for the woman who stood by the side of his bed.
Matthew continued to stare. Grace’s eyes slowly returned to his. While her gaze had softened, her body remained rigid. She had never been self-contained with him when they were alone, only in the presence of others.
When she didn’t offer him a smile and continued to frown, Matthew folded his arms across his chest. After inhaling deeply, he began his report. “Madame Foreign Secretary. I beg your pardon for…” He paused to scratch his chin that had a day’s worth of stubble. His list of transgressions was long, and he was willing to admit to only a few.
He removed his hand from his face and raised his index finger into the air. “Ah, yes. First, not obeying your direct orders to report immediately upon my return from the Continent.” His middle finger joined his index finger. “Second, ignoring your summons while I was recovering at my country estate.” He released his ring finger to join the others, which he waved in front of his chest. “And lastly, neglecting your requests to appear at headquarters as soon as I returned to London.”
Grace’s gaze roamed his face and lower, over the outline of his body shielded by the bedclothes. Her features revealed nothing of her thoughts. “I was informed you were well enough to visit your club this eve. Begs the question as to why you were remiss in your duties.”
His hand quivered, the shaking uncontrollable. He tucked the offending appendage into the crook of his elbow before Grace could detect that anything was amiss. “Still spying on me. I imagined you would be too busy planning for your wedding. What will your fiancé think of your activities?”
Grace dipped her chin to her chest. “I’ve been told he’s not one to form much of an opinion on anything but perhaps which horse to favor at the races. He’s reported to favor hells and brothels. I’m certain he won’t be bothered with what I choose to do with my days… or nights.” She turned away from him to face the door.
What the devil was wrong with him? His words were unkind. How childish of him to lash out at her. He knew better. That was not how to treat someone you love, even if they no longer returned your regard and were betrothed to another. He should apologize. Console her at the very least. He sat up, ready to jump from the bed. The bed linens grazed against his bare skin. Naked—he wouldn’t be able to leave the bed. His heart screamed at him to beg for her forgiveness. Forgive him for his wretched behavior both this eve and the night he went in search of his best friend’s kidnapper—Lord Addington.
None of that mattered now. Grace was engaged to Ellingsworth, and he was a man on a personal mission—one that did not involve the Crown or any of its government offices.
Grace walked to the door without a sound. His lips firmly sealed and a breath trapped in his lungs, he waited for her to leave.
With her hand on the door handle, Grace swiveled to face him. “I will expect a FULL written report on my desk in the morning, Lord Harrington. No more excuses.”
The click of the latch falling into place echoed through the room.
Grace was gone.
He threw back the covers and reached for his nightshirt. Slipping the garment over his head and punching his arms through the sleeves, he began to pace. The lingering lilac scent had him waving his arms about like a lunatic. Was he trying to rid the room of the smell or catch and hold onto it?
He froze, closing his eyes tight. The image of Grace’s gaze, devoid of emotion as she spoke of her intended, seized his heart. Opening his eyes, his gaze fell upon the empty bed. Images of Grace naked wrapped up in his bed linens came rushing back, causing his body to ache for the woman. With no possibility of sleep, Matthew turned and marched to the window. The view of the street front gave no sign of Grace or her coach. The woman had made haste, wasting no time leaving.
Leaving him.
It was for the best. The farther removed from her he remained, the better. It would ensure her safety and happiness.
Matthew stepped away from the window to pace. Perhaps, if he repeated the adage, she is better without me enough times, his heart would listen, and he could be happy for her. That day had yet to come. His heart remained faithful though she was to marry Ellingsworth within the month. His right hand shook at his side. A reminder he needed to focus on other matters—the demise of his sworn enemy, Lord Burke.
Turning and changing directions, Matthew’s mind followed suit. He focused on devising a list of the tasks he would need to see to tomorrow. As a court-appointed advisor, Lord Burke possessed access to information and resources that would be hard to match. Still, Matthew was determined Burke would pay for his misdeeds once and for all. But what of his son—was Lord Ellingsworth as frivolous and devoid of mental shrewdness as informants had led Matthew and Grace to believe?