Page 73 of The Mistletoe Countess
She fought the tug. “No, but I was introduced to baseball last year, so I feel I have a pretty solid swing with the right target.” She needled him with a look, which was a bad idea, because her gaze fell into his. Oh, she did care about him. Immensely.
His lips twitched into that crooked grin she couldn’t quite sort out but found rather fascinating. “I believe there’s something wrong with your grip.”
“My grip?”
Before she could move away, he’d captured her left hand. “Ah, yes.” He took her fingers gently into his warm ones and examined her hand with such intensity, her frustration diminished into curiosity. “I see the problem. Your hand isn’t balanced properly.”
“My what?”
With a quick movement, he slipped her wedding ring back on her finger and tugged her closer to him. “Forgive me?” His brow crinkled into a dozen wrinkles, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
All her defenses crumbled, and she hadn’t even succeeded in making it to five minutes. Oh, she’d never been very good at holding grudges. “I forgive you.”
“You know, I will disappoint you again.” He captured a stray strand of her hair between his fingers, staring down at it with such intensity. “I’m a broken man, an aspiring hero, at best, but hopelessly flawed.”
Aunt Lavenia’s words took deeper root, and Grace saw Frederick as a little boy searching for someone to love him. Pain squeezed her heart. The burden he bore took on a greater weight when viewed from the eyes of a child who wanted to earn favor from unforgiving parents.
A harrowing feat she’d never known.
“Perfect heroes are boring.” She touched his cheek, bringing his attention to her face. “The only heroes worth reading about are the broken ones. They have the greatest potential because they’ve learned what it takes to be truly strong. And seeking forgiveness is certainly the act of a hero.”
He lowered his forehead to hers. “I wanted to remain your noble knight as long as possible, but I seem adept at falling off my steed.”
“That’s all right.” Her smile broadened as her fingers grazed his cheek. “As I recall, I’ve helped you back on a steed before.”
He stared at her, gaze roving her face in almost wonder. “How can you be so—” His breath caught, or was it a sob? His hands cupped her face, and he took her lips in a slow, tantalizing kiss that reverberated through her with much more than desire—tenderness.
Her dear, wounded hero had excellent potential.
“Come.” He brought her hands to his lips, his expression all teary-eyed and grateful. “We need to talk.” He took the mallet from her hand with a raised brow, then guided her through the back of the rectory to a small sitting room, a cheerful fire aglow.
Without releasing his hold, he led her to the couch and settled next to her. “You are very clever, so you’ve probably surmised my past choices have led to certain scandals for our family.”
She’d anticipated this great unveiling of his past. In fact, she’d conjured up enough possibilities to write a three-volume novel herself. Secret wife? Diamond thief? Mercenary? Pirate? She fought her grin. Well, pirate wasn’t so bad, but she didn’t like the secret wife scenario at all. No wonder Jane was so upset.
Grace steadied her shoulders, readied for the revelation.
“I was left to my own devices early in my youth and quickly became enamored with the daughter of one of our tenants.” He smoothed his thumb over her knuckles, his brow a fury of creases. “At the time, I didn’t know it was her design to entrap me into a financial obligation by carrying my child.”
Secret child? Oh, she’d left that one off the list. “Your…your child?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “The woman died in childbirth, to my father’s relief because it averted further scandal, but the rumors were not kind, though I attempted to make amends with her family.”
He wore the weight of his past with such penitence, shoulders stooped, gaze turned down toward their braided hands. Her chest squeezed with pain. “Oh Frederick, your tender heart.”
“Yes,” he growled, in a very un-Frederick-like way. “A tender heart is all well and good, but without wisdom it leads to folly.” His eyes wilted closed. “Such folly.”
Grace squeezed his hand. “And you’ve grown in wisdom?”
“Now?” His gaze found hers, the tension around his eyes softening a little. “Perhaps now, but not soon enough.” He stroked her hand almost methodically as he spoke. “I had a weakness for women who appeared to need me and who would at least pretend to adore me.” His expression hardened. “I wanted to prove myself, to feel strong and important.”
And find love.
Grace’s heart ached with pain again. For him. For the loneliness he must have known.
“Along came Celia Blackmore. She had the right connections to impress my mother and a family history to impress my father. All she lacked was money, and I had no idea she’d do anything to obtain it.”
“She sounds like Milady de Winter fromThe Three Musketeers.Villainous, beautiful, and a devastating temptress.” Grace shook her head. “She was able to seduce a priest, for goodness’ sake. Of course you couldn’t withstand such deviousness.”
