Page 37 of The Mistletoe Countess
“Very smart of you, Grace.” Frederick raised his eyes to Blake, an unspoken agreement passing between them to keep alert. Perhaps it was nothing, but Grace was a part of the equation now, and he’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe, even if the “villain” proved nothing more than an exaggeration of her imagination.
Grace had been so happy only a few hours before.
But now, as Frederick sat back in his berth and watched her riffle through three books without reading a page, he knew something was terribly wrong. Her anxiety had been growing ever since dinner, but at first he’d thought it had been her overly conscious attempt to keep from fidgeting.
Blake and Elliott had come to an agreement to keep watch outside the room for any suspicious activity, and even after a solid scout through the ship after dinner, neither Frederick nor Blake located a man fitting Grace’s description. His bride may have an overactive imagination, but she was no liar, and her sense proved adept, but she wouldn’t have let the mysterious man agitate her to such a degree. Truly, if anything, the presence of a mysterious man likely would have fueled her excitement.
She slipped into her bed and shifted around with the blankets, then stood, walked to the closet, and brought out a different book. But that didn’t seem to suit her, so she stood back up again, wringing her hands a little as she moved.
“Grace, are you well?” The silky material of the gown brushed over her skin in a most enticing way. He squeezed his eyes closed to maintain his good intentions.
She paced the length of the row between their beds. Her brow puckered along with her bottom lip. “We arrive in England first thing in the morning, and after Mr. Blake’s comments earlier today…”
“Yes,” he answered slowly. Was she concerned for her safety?
“I—I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Frederick,” she muttered, pausing long enough to look over at him before resuming her pattern. “I never meant for the subterfuge to continue this long.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve not been completely honest with you.” Her breath pumped with the quiver of her lip. “And I should have from the start.”
Everything within him stilled. No, not her. First Celia, then Lillias, and now Grace? He couldn’t have been wrong about her! “Grace?”
He braced himself for the blow.
Her rounded, sapphire eyes met his. “I don’t know the first thing about fashion.”
He released his held breath. “What?”
“I am well read, and I’ve helped Father with his house parties, so I have some understanding of being a hostess, and I can even, possibly, fake being clever, but I’m at a complete loss about fashion. All that hat talk today was terrifying.”
He stared at her as her words and the intentions behind them moved through his comprehension as if they swam through thick treacle.
“You think my talking and fidgeting are bad, but I have no concept of the clothing world.” Her eyes rounded in the most pitiful of ways. “All these beautiful outfits were Lillias’s. I’d never know what shoes fit with which gown and what hat was meant for afternoon and—”
The pent-up fear she’d built with her introduction burst out of him in an uncontrollable wave of relief and laughter. She stopped her pacing to stare, bright eyes widening.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about me not knowing the proper fashion.” She placed her hands on her hips. “What would your mother think if I walked into public wearing a winter dress with a summer hat? She’d be mortified. And that’s an appropriate use of the word.”
He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t catch his breath. Her adorable concern left him useless to anything but another round of laughter.
“You’re not helpful at all right now, are you?” Her pout started to slip into a grin. “But…but you do have a delightful laugh.”
He couldn’t stop himself. In one fluid motion, he grabbed her nearest hand and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her so she fell against him in the bed. The silky cloth of her gown slid over him until she fitted to one side, pressed against him in the small bed.
She didn’t seem aware of the intimate move he’d made, because she simply pushed up from his side, hand on his chest, and looked at his face, brow peaked. “I don’t see how this helps my fashion sense at all.”
He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her near him, where she belonged. This was a good start in the right direction of their growing intimacy. He slipped his hand through her wealth of hair to cup the back of her head and drew her down to his mouth. She melted against him, warm, soft, each curve pressing into him with a wonderful ease.
She pursued the kiss as he turned her on her side and proceeded to move his hand over her shoulder and down her back. With an easy introduction, he slid his lips from her mouth and began a gentle descent of kisses over her jaw to her ear. She gasped, her fingers grabbing at his shirt, and nearly undoing his careful control. Slowly. Not too much—and certainly not in this tiny bed.
Her skin, smooth and warm beneath his lips, heated to his touch, carrying with it the sweet scent of rosemary. He left her ear and moved his kisses down her neck until she moaned against him, her fingers fisting his shirt in both hands. No one had ever kissed her like this. He was the first, and the realization tempered his desire with something deeper and sweeter.
He slipped his kisses back to her mouth and ended by tucking her against his side, her chest pumping shallow breaths. Her body trembled as he pushed back her hair from her face. She opened those glossy eyes, foggy from the effects of his mouth’s attention to her neck.
“Please tell me that’s a common occurrence in marriage,” she rasped.
“I certainly hope so.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I think it ought to be.”
