Chapter Nineteen
Rory was glad to see Grace enjoying herself.
He tried to make her smile at every opportunity.
It warmed his heart to see her smile after all she had been through, and she was smiling a great deal tonight.
This was nothing like the theatre when she seemed conscious of everyone’s eyes upon her.
This time she was ignoring them, laughing as they danced, and paying more attention to Rory and her own pleasure than those about her.
He thought that in time she would learn to show these London nobs that she was not to be intimidated.
And the necklace he had bought suited her well. Until Kilsyth had casually mentioned how much his wife had loved jewelry, Rory had not thought to get something personal. Well, he had thought about it, but he hadn’t been brave enough to actually make the purchase.
When the gentleman requested a dance with Grace, Rory was at first pleased. Yes, he would have preferred to keep her to himself, but this seemed like a good sign. And then he realized how her body had stiffened beside him and her face turned deathly pale.
“Grace?” He glared at the gentleman who, for some reason, seemed to be enjoying the effect he was having upon her. “What is it, my love?” The endearment slipped from his lips so naturally, he wasn’t even aware of it.
“Bolton!” another voice cried, and there was Lady Fotheringham, her eyes avid upon the three of them. “You are a naughty nephew. Do come away. You will upset Lady Grace.”
Bolton. It was so staged, so rehearsed, and there was such glee in the woman’s face, that Rory understood then that this had all been planned. And he was furious.
“Grace,” he said quietly. “We are leaving. Now.”
At the same time Bolton spoke, with a look that was admiring and yet salacious at the same time, “You look well, Grace. I wondered if you would let the scandal bring you down, but it seems you have risen above it.”
“What are you doing here?” Grace said, and Rory saw the moment her frozen demeanor turned to anger, and despite the awfulness of the moment, he was proud of her. “How dare you show your face to me after what you did!”
Bolton’s smirk grew. “I returned to London last week. My sister told me all about your marriage. A duke’s son, even if he is a Scot! I just had to see you and give you my congratulations in person.”
“I think you should leave,” Rory said in a soft dangerous voice. “I dinna want to skewer you, but I will if you don’t turn around and vanish. Remember, I am a Scots barbarian.”
Bolton gave an uncertain laugh. “I believe you mean that,” he said. “Perhaps you are in love.” The words held a sneer as he backed away from what he saw in Rory’s face. “Very well. I will live to dance another day.” And then he turned and vanished into the crowd.
Rory felt rage like a hot wave inside him, and his fists clenched at his sides.
Bolton Buckingham, the man who had abandoned Grace after he ruined her, who had treated her with cruel contempt and left when she needed him most. Rory wanted to punch him and keep on punching him.
He might even have done so if Grace weren’t by his side, her hand clutching onto his arm as if to hold him back.
Punching Bolton would not solve anything. It might make Rory feel better but it would not help the situation, and it would only make the scandal worse.
“We will leave,” he said more mildly.
Her dark eyes flickered over his face, as if trying to read his thoughts, and then she shook her head. She was still pale, but now there was a determined set to her mouth. “I think we should have one more dance,” she said, “otherwise it will look as if we are running away.”
Rory forced a smile of his own. “Good idea. We will show them all we don’t care. That the Buckingham beastie has done you a favor by running away so that I could marry you.”
Her smile trembled and his heart ached. He still wanted to do Buckingham physical harm, but he would restrain himself for Grace’s sake. For the sake of their plan to restore her good name to the society that had turned their backs on her.
They began to dance again, and gradually Grace’s stiff body softened, her strained look eased, and she even gave a giggle when he spun her around too fast.
“I am better looking than him,” he said, pretending to consider the matter. “Do you no’ agree?”
She laughed aloud this time. “Much!” she agreed. “And you are a better lover than he could ever be.”
Immediately, Grace bit her lip, and he could see she was wondering if she had gone too far, but Rory forced himself to smile back.
Yes, she had reminded him that Buckingham had touched her, kissed her, but he told himself that none of that mattered.
Why should it? Rory had touched and kissed many women in his life, and if she was not concerned about his past, why should he be concerned about hers?
“Why don’t we go home,” he said, his lips against her hair, “and you can show me what a good lover I am. I would be happy to follow your guidance. Tell me what you want and I will obey, my love.”
Desire flared in her eyes before her lashes came down to shield them. “That sounds . . . interesting.”
Rory could see she was no longer worrying about Buckingham or the stares of those about her, and he adjudged the evening a triumph.
*
When they reached Aunt Jennie’s Mayfair house, they could see that it was lit up instead of being dark and quiet, as it normally was at this time of night.
Rory felt a moment of trepidation. Had something happened?
When they stepped inside, Hocking met them, his usually impassive face flushed and alive with emotion. “The master is home!” he burst out. “The earl is back!”
Rory felt immense relief. “Uncle James?” He hurried toward the sitting room with Grace trailing behind him. There they found Jennie in the arms of James, Earl of Strathmore, and their faces were wreathed in smiles.
“James is home!” Jennie said breathlessly, as if they couldn’t see for themselves. “He is here!”
James gave her a fond look and kissed her temple, before standing to greet Rory. “Nephew, it has been a while. You are grown,” he added with surprise. As if, thought Rory, he should still be the child he had been when last they met on a visit by the Strathmores to Scotland.
“I am,” Rory agreed, as he was clasped in his uncle’s arms. James was still tall and fit, and his eyes were bright, but these days his hair was more grey than brown, and his skin had the tanned look of a man who is often at sea.
“And this is your wife?” James was looking at Grace. “Jennie has told me you were ‘unexpectedly’ married, Rory.” His smile was curious and a little teasing.
Rory laughed. “Yes, ‘unexpectedly’ is right. This is Grace, and we are married.”
Grace began to curtsy, but James took her hands in his and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “We are family,” he said. “No need for formality here.”
Rory could see that she was moved by that kindness.
“What will Maxwell say?” James asked with amusement. “Jennie says he doesn’t know. You are brave to keep this from him, Rory.”
Rory didn’t want to think about Maxwell, so he changed the subject.
“Aunt Jennie received your letter. You said you couldn’t come home because you—”
James waved a hand to stop him. “I had hoped to arrive before my letter,” he said, with a glance of apology at Jennie. “After I sent it, I changed my mind. There are others who can sort out any problems with the ship. I did not need to stay. I missed my wife and I knew I needed to see her.”
Grace made a soft sound, and Rory saw that there were tears in her eyes as his aunt and uncle gazed at each other as if they were still newly wed.
He remembered how worried he had been that their union might be broken by his uncle’s absence, knowing that once something was broken it was so much more difficult—sometimes impossible—to repair.
Jennie looked teary too, but very happy. “There is much for you to catch up on, James, but not now. You are tired from your journey.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue and then his expression softened at what he saw in her gaze. “Yes, I need our bed,” he said.
“We both do,” Jennie agreed, but whatever was passing between them was definitely not tiredness.
James slid his arm about Jennie’s waist. “I am exhausted,” he teased.
Rory and Grace wished them goodnight and watched them leave the room.
Grace smiled. “It has been a very strange evening,” she said, “but it has ended well. Don’t you think?”
“I do,” he agreed. “Come to bed, wife.”
She met his gaze boldly, “Are you tired too, Rory?”
“Never too tired for you.” He held out his hand, and when she placed hers in it, his fingers closed.
He wanted to ask her if she still thought about the Buckingham beastie. He wanted to wipe the beastie’s very existence from her memory, so that she would never think of him again. But it sounded too much like jealousy, and he had no right to be jealous.
What was it about Grace that made him so conscious of her?
Her every smile lifted his heart while her every tear made him want to strive harder to make her happy.
He was never happier himself than when she was in his arms and by his side, and when he thought of her going away .
. . Well, he didn’t think of it. He refused to imagine a world without Grace in it and close to him.
His wife.
Rory knew he was in trouble and that refusing to think about his feelings was not helping, but right now, he didn’t care.