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Synopsis
Lady Grace Carpenter is ready to seize the day-or rather, the night-with the most compelling man she's ever known. Marriage would mean losing guardianship of her beloved siblings, and surely no sane gentleman will take on seven children not his own. But if she can have one anonymous tryst with Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, Grace will be content to live out the rest of her life as a spinster.
Matt had almost given up hope of finding a wife who could engage his mind as well as his body. And now this sensual, intelligent woman is offering herself to him. What could be more perfect? Except that after one wanton night, the mysterious Grace refuses to have anything to do with him. Amid the distractions of the Season he must convince her, one delicious encounter at a time, that no obstacle-or family-is too much for a man who's discovered his heart's desire . . .
Release date: April 1, 2016
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 320
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Three Weeks to Wed
Ella Quinn
End of February 1815. Leicestershire, England.
The sky had darkened and wind rocked the carriage, causing at least one wheel to leave the road. Hail mixed with freezing rain battered the windows. Lady Grace Carpenter pounded on the roof of her coach, trying to make herself heard over the storm. “How close are we to the Crow and Hound?”
“Not far, my lady,” her coachman bellowed over the wind. “I’m think’n’ we should stop.”
“Yes, indeed. Make it so.” She huddled deeper into her warm sable cloak. When they’d started out this morning, the weather had been dry and sunny, giving no indication a storm of this magnitude would come on.
She was only an hour or so from her home, Stanwood Hall, but they wouldn’t make it. It was better to trust in the Crow and Hound’s innkeeper’s discretion than risk her servants and cattle to this weather.
A few minutes later, they turned off the road, and her coachman bellowed for an ostler. Moments later, her coach’s door was quickly opened and the steps let down. Her groom, Neep, hustled her from the carriage to the open entrance of the inn.
The innkeeper, Mr. Brown, was there to greet her. Saxon blond, with blue eyes and of middling height and age, he shut the heavy wooden door against the weather. “My lady,” he said in a surprised tone, “we didn’t expect to see you this evenin’.”
“For good reason.” Grace whipped off her damp cloak and shook it. “I didn’t expect to be here. I was visiting an elderly cousin, and the storm blew up on our way back.”
“It’s as they say, my lady,” he said, nodding, “no good deed goes unpunished.”
“Well,” she blew out an exasperated huff, “it certainly seems like that at times. Thank God, we were close to you. I have my coachman, groom, and two outriders”—Grace grimaced—“but not my maid.” She prayed no one would discover she was there without her lady’s maid, Bolton, who was sure to give Grace her I told you so look when she finally made it home. “I shall require the use of one of your girls. It should go without saying you have not seen me here.”
“Yes, my lady.” He nodded, tapping the side of his nose. “You were never here. Don’t expect to see anyone else in this weather. You and your servants will sleep warm and dry tonight.” He pointed to the door next to the stairs and within easy reach of the common room. “I’ll put you in this parlor for dinner.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. That will be perfect.”
Susan, one of Brown’s daughters, showed Grace to the large chamber at the back of the inn on the first floor. She handed the girl her cloak to dry, then shook out her skirts. “I’ll call for you when I am ready to retire.”
“Yes, my lady. Anything you need, just pull the bell.” Susan bobbed a curtsey and left.
Grace glanced around. Although she had stopped here any number of times on family outings, she’d never spent the night. The inn had been in the Brown family for several generations. The building was old, but it was clean and well maintained.
She took a book and Norwich shawl from her large muff before descending the stairs to the parlor. Although it was early, not much past two o’clock, Mr. Brown had closed the shutters, and a fire was lit, as well as sufficient candles to brighten the room.
An hour later, warm and dry, she was engrossed in Madelina, the latest romance from the Minerva Press. Over the storm, sounds of another carriage arriving could be heard. Grace lowered the book, wondering who the newcomer could be.
The inn door slammed opened. Moments later, Mr. Brown’s agitated tone and that of another man, a gentleman by his speech, reached her.
Her heart skipped a beat. Worthington? Could it really be him? She hadn’t heard his voice for four years, but she’d never forget it.
Opening the door slightly, she peeked out. It was him. The man she’d wanted to marry her whole first Season and had never seen again. His dark brown, almost black, hair was wet at the ends where his tall beaver hat had failed to keep it dry. If he turned, she knew she would see his startling lapis eyes and long lashes.
“Could you not just ask the traveler in the parlor if I might share it with him?” Worthington asked the landlord, his tone strained, but still polite. He was probably already cold and wet, and the common room would be chilly at best.
The kernel of an idea began to form. Swallowing her trepidation, Grace stepped boldly into the hall. “Mr. Brown, his lordship is welcome to dine with me.”
“If you’re sure, my . . .”
She flashed him a quelling glance. If he said “my lady,” there’d be too many questions from Worthington. Whatever happened, he could not know her identity.
“Ma’am.”
She tried not to show her relief. “Yes. You may serve us after his lordship has had time to change.” Grace dipped a slight curtsey to Worthington and returned to the parlor.
Closing the door, she leaned back against it. This was her opportunity, maybe her only one, and she was going to take it.
“What are you doing, my girl? Are you out of your mind?” her conscience berated her.
No one will know. Brown will deny I was here.
“How do you expect to preach propriety to the children when you are—”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Grace muttered. “When will I have another chance? Answer me that. All I want is to spend some time with him. What is the harm in that?”
Water dripped off the greatcoat of Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, as it had dripped off his hat earlier. A puddle had to be forming at his feet. He was not particularly impressed with the small inn. Although he’d passed it every time he made the trip to Town, he’d never stopped here before. If it weren’t for the weather, he wouldn’t have done so now.
“I can add more wood to the fire in the common room, my lord,” the landlord said. “But me parlor’s already got a guest.”
He glanced over at the fairly large space. Even with the shutters closed, the windows rattled. Cold and drafty. “Would you please ask your guest if he will share the parlor for a short time?”
“Couldn’t do that, my lord.” The older man shook his head. “I could send the meal to your room, but I ain’t got an extra table. Once it warms up, you’ll be right comfortable in the common room.”
He sincerely doubted that would be the case.
“Mr. Brown . . .”
Matt turned at the sound of the low, well-bred, no-nonsense female voice. He suspected it would belong to an older lady, perhaps a governess, most definitely not the vision of loveliness standing before him. Before he could even thank her, she gave a curt nod and closed the door.
“I’ll show ye to yer room, my lord.” The landlord grumbled as he picked up Matt’s bag.
“Thank you. It will be nice to be dry again.” Halfway up the stairs, he stopped as a memory played hide-and-seek with him. He knew her, but from where? London. During the Season. He shook his head trying to knock the memory loose, but nothing more came to him.
“This way, my lord.”
“Coming.” It was her hair that stuck in his mind. It shone like a new guinea coin.
The landlord held a door at the end of the corridor open. “Thank you.”
“I’ll send one of my boys up with warm water.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Brown set about lighting the fire.
Matt didn’t know many ladies who would offer to share their parlor with a complete stranger. The feeling that they had met before grew stronger. Who the hell was she?
“There ye be, my lord.”
Once the door closed behind the landlord, Matt began shedding his damp clothing. The sooner he got back downstairs, the sooner he’d know who his mystery woman was.
Less than a half hour later, Matt made his way downstairs and knocked on the parlor door before entering. He bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to share your parlor and your meal. Permit me to introduce myself. Worthington, at your service.”
Nothing like sounding pompous.
He was almost surprised when she smiled and rose instead of turning her pretty nose up at him. “How could I refuse to assist a fellow traveler and in such dreadful weather as we are having?”
Graceful.
That was the first word that sprang to mind as Matt watched her glide to the bell-pull. When he had entered the parlor, the table had already been set up for tea. She took a seat, motioning him to the chair opposite her. “Please. There is no need to stand on formality.”
She handed him a plate, and in a few moments a young girl brought in a pot covered in a brightly colored cloth, set it down, then left.
“Do you take sugar?” the lady asked, glancing from beneath her long gold-tipped lashes.
It was clear the lady, for she was certainly gently bred, had no intention of telling Matt her name. “I do, Miss—”
“Milk or cream?” she responded hastily.
“Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk if you would.”
The corners of her lush lips tilted up slightly.
He made a point of looking around the room as if searching for something. “Are you traveling alone?”
A deep rose crept up into her face. Though, under the circumstances, that wasn’t surprising.
“Sometimes one cannot order the weather to suit one’s convenience.” Her voice was tight as if she did not approve of either his question or the weather.
Her long, slender fingers showed no indication of a wedding ring. A fleeting memory of seeing her before niggled at him once more. How could any red-blooded man forget that glorious hair, gold glinting with burnished copper in the candlelight? On the other hand, the hair he remembered. It was her name he’d forgot. Her brows, a little darker than her golden curls, arched perfectly over eyes that tilted slightly upward at the corners. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
He wished he could make out the exact color of her expressive eyes, but the light was too dim.
Blue. That was encouraging. Now if he could only remember the rest. Damn the devil. He had seen her before, but where and when, and why couldn’t he remember? His gaze was drawn to her mouth, deep rose and a little wider than what was considered fashionable. What would it be like to taste her, to feel her soft lips on his and where had that desire sprung from?
Grace’s heart was in her throat by the time Worthington joined her. In the short time he had been gone she’d changed her mind a dozen times at least about inviting him to join her.
Mattheus, Earl of Worthington.
Grace allowed her eyes to trail over his perfect form, adding to her still-clear memories of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his jacket was cut to perfection. His cravat perfectly tied. He had always been so well dressed. She never thought she’d see him again, or if she did, he probably would be married with several children. Come to think of it, even though he wasn’t wearing a ring, he could still be married . . . Oh, he was speaking.
“Miss . . . ?”
When she did not give him her name, he looked at her curiously. Grace walked over to the bell-pull, giving a sigh of relief when a few moments later Mr. Brown’s daughter entered the room.
She’d have to do better than that if she wanted him to . . . well . . . She fought the blush rising in her cheeks. “Please take a seat. I shall enjoy the company.”
There, that was much better. Remember you are five and twenty, not eighteen.
This was not going to be as easy as Grace had thought it would be.
Worthington took a sip and his almost-black brows drew together. “This is extraordinarily good tea for an inn.”
“It is my blend. I travel with it.” She only had it this time as a treat for her elderly cousin who professed to love Grace’s tea, but would never allow her to leave the canister.
Now what was she to say? With the exception of her vicar, it had been so long since she had spoken with any non-family-member male and those had not been pleasant discussions. “Have you family that will worry about you?”
“Only my sisters and stepmother and they do not know when I plan to return home.” He took another sip of tea. “I imagine your family will be anxious.”
They would be frightened to death. She should have been home long before now, but her cousin was lonely and had needed the company. “A bit.”
“Do you have far to travel?”
Grace studied him over the rim of her cup. She had thought there’d been a spark of recognition in his eyes, but it was clear he did not remember her. That was not surprising. It had been several years since they had seen each other. He had probably danced with thousands of ladies since her one dance with him. In any event, she did not want him to know who she was. It would only complicate her already overly complicated life.
“Within a day,” she finally answered. True, but misleading. She had to turn the course of this conversation to a safer subject. “What do you think about the progress of the peace treaty?”
A small smile formed on his well-molded lips. “That the process has gone on far too long and that the new French government is not as strong as it needs to be.”
Mr. Brown tapped on the door, then entered with another of his many daughters. “Come to clear the tea away, if you’re ready.”
Grace tore her gaze from Worthington’s mouth. Oh, my. If she’d thought he was mesmerizing before, it was nothing to what he was doing to her insides now. She had to pull herself together. “Yes, please. We shall dine at six.”
Mr. Brown bowed. “That’s perfect, my—”
She gave the man a sharp look.
“Ma’am.”
Enough was enough. Just being around Worthington was turning her mind into a bowl of jelly. The landlord and his daughter left, leaving the door slightly open. She met Worthington’s steady gaze. She would probably never see him again and might as well talk about what she wanted to. “I do not mind discussing politics, though you should know that I’m a Whig.”
That was certainly throwing down the gauntlet. Matt had a feeling this was going to become an interesting conversation. If only he could either remember or discover who she was. It would be even better. “My party as well. On the left side.”
The lady’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Then we should have much to discuss . . .”
During the meal and afterward, their conversation ranged over politics, philosophy, and estate management. In fact, any topic that came into their heads, except the weather. Hours later they had not even had to search for subject matter to discuss. He had not had such an interesting conversation in months, maybe years, and never with a woman. She was as well or better informed than any man he had ever met. He’d never been so taken by a lady. Suddenly Matt wanted to know everything about her.
“Are you an adherent of Wollstonecraft?” she asked.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Completely. I find her views on the rights of women interesting in the extreme, and I am pleased to see that the numbers of Wollstonecraft and Bentham followers have grown in political circles.”
A far-off expression crossed the lady’s face. “I’ve not been in London much of late, though I do keep up a lively correspondence with my friends.”
Perhaps this was his opportunity. “Do your friends hold the same ideas as you do?”
“Most of them.” A note of caution entered her tone.
“We might know some of the same people.”
“Have you joined the group attempting to help the war veterans?”
Drat it all. That hadn’t worked. “I have.”
They discussed some of the proposals being batted around. She was certainly knowledgeable. He peered at the large armchair near the fireplace. A book with a marbled cloth cover lay on the seat. “Is that one of the Minerva romances you have there?”
“Yes, it is.” She lifted her chin a little. “I find them excessively diverting.”
Based on their conversation, no one could accuse her of muddling her mind with romances. She was as well informed as any bluestocking, but she didn’t have the acerbic tone of one. “My stepmother reads them. Although, she tries to hide them from my sisters.” Matt grinned. “I’m not sure she always succeeds.”
A smile played around her lips, and she tilted her head a little to the side. Much like an inquisitive bird. “And you, my lord?”
He wondered, not for the first time this evening, what it would be like to kiss those lips. To tug lightly with his teeth on her full lower lip. She was beautiful, intelligent, and he had to answer her question. Damn, now he wished he had read the books. “Not yet.”
“You might enjoy them, some gentlemen do.”
“On your recommendation, I shall most definitely read at least one.”
She colored prettily, as if pleased that she had made a potential convert.
Before he knew it, the clock struck half-six.
He came to his feet as she rose. “I must tidy up for dinner.”
“Of course. I’ll meet you here shortly.”
She left the room, and he poured a brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. Never in all his years had he been as drawn to a woman like he was to his mystery lady. They agreed on almost everything, and when they disagreed, she stated her opinions clearly and intelligently.
Yet, how the devil was he to discover her name and direction? The only idea he could come up with was to offer to escort her to her home to-morrow, provided the weather cleared. But what if she refused? He could follow her. He tossed off the brandy. Somehow, some way, Matt was determined to court her.
Grace shut the door of her chamber behind her and leaned against it. For years Matt Worthington had been nothing more than an infatuation, but now, he was rapidly becoming so much more. It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel angry at the hand fate had dealt her. Yet, now, now she could do something just for herself. She would not leave here, leave him without knowing what it would be like to know joy with a man.
“What if someone finds out? Everything you’ve worked for will be for naught?” Her conscience popped up, just when Grace had thought it had given up.
Even with her family around, there were still times when she was so lonely she thought she’d die of it. Not being able to marry was the one thing she had never got over. “Am I to have no joy of my own? I just want one night. One night to last me the rest of my life, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Wanton!”
“So be it.” Her hands trembled and her stomach lurched. If only she wasn’t so ignorant.
“So much for your grand plans,” her conscience sneered. “You don’t have any idea how to go about this.”
“I am sure he’ll help. How hard can it be, after all?”
“He’ll recognize you. Then where will you be?”
“He won’t. Other than that one dance, when Lady Bellamny made him ask me, I am sure he never took a second look at me. I was just one of many girls who came out that year.” He certainly did not remember her now.
“So you say. What if you get with child?”
“Would you cease! It must be fate. After all, what were the odds that we would both be here at the very same time with no one else in the inn?”
Wishing she had something nicer to wear, Grace gave up arguing with herself and washed her hands. When she had returned to the parlor, she called for wine. By the time Worthington arrived, she’d calmed her jangled nerves, and her conscience had decided to leave her to go to perdition in her own way.
He had changed his linen, but not his suit. “I apologize for dining in boots.”
“I do not mind at all.” She handed him a glass of claret. “As you see, I have no other clothes with me. This was only supposed to be a day trip.”
“I expected to be home as well and sent my valet ahead with the rest of my kit.” He gave a rueful grin. “A lesson to me to keep a bag with me.” He took a sip. “This claret is excellent.”
“Yes, Mr. Brown keeps a well-stocked cellar.”
She had wanted to confide in Worthington. Tell him that her father used to bring them all here because of the quality of the wine. Confide the difficulties she was experiencing now. Fortunately, before she revealed too much, the door opened and Mr. Brown entered followed by one of his sons, both carrying covered trays.
The savory aroma made Matt’s stomach rumble.
“My missus thought you might like a nice cream of mushroom soup to begin. Then we have a haunch of venison, with Frenched beans . . .” By the time the man finished the dishes covered the table and sideboard. “And here is a trifle for desert.”
Matt offered the lady selections from the offerings before filling his plate. They were silent for a few minutes as they ate. He, because he was ravenous. She simply appeared a bit shy. That was no wonder. She most likely never dined alone with a man before.
“I must tell you that at first I was not impressed by this inn, but the food and wine make up for it being a bit shabby.”
“I have always found the place to be cozy.”
He gazed at her, mesmerized by the dainty way she licked the cream from the trifle from her spoon. “I think I agree.”
He asked her what she thought of the experimental farm in Norfolk and was surprised to find she knew as much as he did. The hours flew by as they had earlier. Soon the clock chimed ten, and she rose.
Matt stood as well, expecting her to make a hasty retreat. Yet rather than curtseying and heading for the door, she stood before him searching his face, waiting. That was all the invitation he needed.
Tentatively, he reached out and with the back of his hand slowly caressed her cheek. He had never wanted a lady as much as he did her. What would she do if he kissed her? Suddenly, where she was from or who she was didn’t matter any longer. She was his. He knew it in his bones. Fate had created a storm and placed her here for him to find and claim.
She took a small step toward him as with one finger he traced her jaw. She closed the distance between them again.
This is like tickling a trout, but with a much greater reward.
Worthington had proven to be everything Grace thought he would be, and now . . . now even if she wished to resist him, she could not. She shoved down her rising anxiety. Her plan was coming to fruition, and now was not the time to be frightened. After all, what good would her virginity do her in her spinsterhood?
His eyes mesmerized her, and she wanted him. To feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her. How much else there was, she wasn’t sure, but she wanted him to show her. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her the few inches to him. He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed his slightly callused thumb over her lips. This was going just as she’d wanted it to. It would be the most perfect night of her life.
“You are exquisite.” His voice was low and sultry.
A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine. She’d never thought to hear a man say that to her. She or fate had chosen well.
He bent his head and moved his lips softly against hers.
She rested one hand lightly on his shoulders. He took the other, encouraging her to wrap her arms around his neck. When he trailed his tongue over the seam of her mouth, she did not know what to do so she puckered them a little. He smiled against her lips. Had she done something wrong? She could not allow him to stop.
As bold as the lady had been when she had invited Matt to join her in the parlor and in their conversation, he had expected her to be experienced. She was not, and, for no reason he could understand, he wanted to crow. It was as if she had been waiting just for him.
Matt lifted his head and gazed down at her. “You’ve never been kissed before?”
A blush infused her cheeks. “Is it—is it that obvious?”
“No.” Yes, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
She lowered her long, thick lashes, and her unexpected shyness captivated him. “You are perfect.”
Once again she raised her face to him. He leaned forward, breathing in her light, spicy scent. So different from the flowery perfumes other women used. Cupping both her cheeks with his hands, he kissed her again, nibbling her lush bottom lip, teaching her, urging her to open her mouth to him.
Her tentativeness gave way, and she held on to him tightly, returning his kisses with more vigor. As he stroked her back, he itched to untie the laces his fingers traveled over, and he paused for a moment. Too much too soon. This lady was the most remarkable woman he had ever known, and he needed to ensure he did not scare her away.
She sighed, sinking boneless against him.
Two of his good friends had recently married, and it was time he did so as well. He hadn’t believed his friend Marcus all those years ago when he’d claimed to have fallen in love with Phoebe at first sight. Matt did now.
He had no brothers, and it was past time he wed. The idea to look seriously for a wife had been pestering him more and more over the past few months. Matt wanted to laugh. It never occurred to him that he would meet his future wife when they were stranded together in a small inn. He held her closer. Whoever she was, she was his. If only she would tell him her name. He considered ignoring all the manners he had learned and asking her for it. But he was afraid she’d flee. What did it matter, though, when he would spend the rest of his life getting to know her.
He supposed he’d have to wait until to-morrow to propose or to ask whom he should go to for permission to address her. Yet her countenance, conversation, and the mature curves of her body told him she was not a young lady. So much the better if she could answer for herself.
A knock sounded on the door. He broke the kiss and set her away from him. “Yes?”
Brown opened the door and poked his head in. “My lord, my—um, I mean ma’am. Your chambers are ready. I had one of my girls run a heating pan between the sheets and put hot bricks in them.”
When Matt had released her, his lady had turned from the door to face the fireplace, leaving him to deal with the innkeeper. “Thank you, Brown.”
“Ring if you need anything, and someone will answer straightaway.”
“Thank you, again.” Matt closed the door.
In two steps he was with her again. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “I’ll escort you to your room.”
She nodded. Even in the candlelight, he could see the desire lurking in her eyes. He wished he could take her to his chamber, but there was time enough for that after they were betrothed.
Leaving her at her bedroom door, he went to the chamber he’d been . . .
The sky had darkened and wind rocked the carriage, causing at least one wheel to leave the road. Hail mixed with freezing rain battered the windows. Lady Grace Carpenter pounded on the roof of her coach, trying to make herself heard over the storm. “How close are we to the Crow and Hound?”
“Not far, my lady,” her coachman bellowed over the wind. “I’m think’n’ we should stop.”
“Yes, indeed. Make it so.” She huddled deeper into her warm sable cloak. When they’d started out this morning, the weather had been dry and sunny, giving no indication a storm of this magnitude would come on.
She was only an hour or so from her home, Stanwood Hall, but they wouldn’t make it. It was better to trust in the Crow and Hound’s innkeeper’s discretion than risk her servants and cattle to this weather.
A few minutes later, they turned off the road, and her coachman bellowed for an ostler. Moments later, her coach’s door was quickly opened and the steps let down. Her groom, Neep, hustled her from the carriage to the open entrance of the inn.
The innkeeper, Mr. Brown, was there to greet her. Saxon blond, with blue eyes and of middling height and age, he shut the heavy wooden door against the weather. “My lady,” he said in a surprised tone, “we didn’t expect to see you this evenin’.”
“For good reason.” Grace whipped off her damp cloak and shook it. “I didn’t expect to be here. I was visiting an elderly cousin, and the storm blew up on our way back.”
“It’s as they say, my lady,” he said, nodding, “no good deed goes unpunished.”
“Well,” she blew out an exasperated huff, “it certainly seems like that at times. Thank God, we were close to you. I have my coachman, groom, and two outriders”—Grace grimaced—“but not my maid.” She prayed no one would discover she was there without her lady’s maid, Bolton, who was sure to give Grace her I told you so look when she finally made it home. “I shall require the use of one of your girls. It should go without saying you have not seen me here.”
“Yes, my lady.” He nodded, tapping the side of his nose. “You were never here. Don’t expect to see anyone else in this weather. You and your servants will sleep warm and dry tonight.” He pointed to the door next to the stairs and within easy reach of the common room. “I’ll put you in this parlor for dinner.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. That will be perfect.”
Susan, one of Brown’s daughters, showed Grace to the large chamber at the back of the inn on the first floor. She handed the girl her cloak to dry, then shook out her skirts. “I’ll call for you when I am ready to retire.”
“Yes, my lady. Anything you need, just pull the bell.” Susan bobbed a curtsey and left.
Grace glanced around. Although she had stopped here any number of times on family outings, she’d never spent the night. The inn had been in the Brown family for several generations. The building was old, but it was clean and well maintained.
She took a book and Norwich shawl from her large muff before descending the stairs to the parlor. Although it was early, not much past two o’clock, Mr. Brown had closed the shutters, and a fire was lit, as well as sufficient candles to brighten the room.
An hour later, warm and dry, she was engrossed in Madelina, the latest romance from the Minerva Press. Over the storm, sounds of another carriage arriving could be heard. Grace lowered the book, wondering who the newcomer could be.
The inn door slammed opened. Moments later, Mr. Brown’s agitated tone and that of another man, a gentleman by his speech, reached her.
Her heart skipped a beat. Worthington? Could it really be him? She hadn’t heard his voice for four years, but she’d never forget it.
Opening the door slightly, she peeked out. It was him. The man she’d wanted to marry her whole first Season and had never seen again. His dark brown, almost black, hair was wet at the ends where his tall beaver hat had failed to keep it dry. If he turned, she knew she would see his startling lapis eyes and long lashes.
“Could you not just ask the traveler in the parlor if I might share it with him?” Worthington asked the landlord, his tone strained, but still polite. He was probably already cold and wet, and the common room would be chilly at best.
The kernel of an idea began to form. Swallowing her trepidation, Grace stepped boldly into the hall. “Mr. Brown, his lordship is welcome to dine with me.”
“If you’re sure, my . . .”
She flashed him a quelling glance. If he said “my lady,” there’d be too many questions from Worthington. Whatever happened, he could not know her identity.
“Ma’am.”
She tried not to show her relief. “Yes. You may serve us after his lordship has had time to change.” Grace dipped a slight curtsey to Worthington and returned to the parlor.
Closing the door, she leaned back against it. This was her opportunity, maybe her only one, and she was going to take it.
“What are you doing, my girl? Are you out of your mind?” her conscience berated her.
No one will know. Brown will deny I was here.
“How do you expect to preach propriety to the children when you are—”
“Oh, do be quiet,” Grace muttered. “When will I have another chance? Answer me that. All I want is to spend some time with him. What is the harm in that?”
Water dripped off the greatcoat of Mattheus, Earl of Worthington, as it had dripped off his hat earlier. A puddle had to be forming at his feet. He was not particularly impressed with the small inn. Although he’d passed it every time he made the trip to Town, he’d never stopped here before. If it weren’t for the weather, he wouldn’t have done so now.
“I can add more wood to the fire in the common room, my lord,” the landlord said. “But me parlor’s already got a guest.”
He glanced over at the fairly large space. Even with the shutters closed, the windows rattled. Cold and drafty. “Would you please ask your guest if he will share the parlor for a short time?”
“Couldn’t do that, my lord.” The older man shook his head. “I could send the meal to your room, but I ain’t got an extra table. Once it warms up, you’ll be right comfortable in the common room.”
He sincerely doubted that would be the case.
“Mr. Brown . . .”
Matt turned at the sound of the low, well-bred, no-nonsense female voice. He suspected it would belong to an older lady, perhaps a governess, most definitely not the vision of loveliness standing before him. Before he could even thank her, she gave a curt nod and closed the door.
“I’ll show ye to yer room, my lord.” The landlord grumbled as he picked up Matt’s bag.
“Thank you. It will be nice to be dry again.” Halfway up the stairs, he stopped as a memory played hide-and-seek with him. He knew her, but from where? London. During the Season. He shook his head trying to knock the memory loose, but nothing more came to him.
“This way, my lord.”
“Coming.” It was her hair that stuck in his mind. It shone like a new guinea coin.
The landlord held a door at the end of the corridor open. “Thank you.”
“I’ll send one of my boys up with warm water.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Brown set about lighting the fire.
Matt didn’t know many ladies who would offer to share their parlor with a complete stranger. The feeling that they had met before grew stronger. Who the hell was she?
“There ye be, my lord.”
Once the door closed behind the landlord, Matt began shedding his damp clothing. The sooner he got back downstairs, the sooner he’d know who his mystery woman was.
Less than a half hour later, Matt made his way downstairs and knocked on the parlor door before entering. He bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to share your parlor and your meal. Permit me to introduce myself. Worthington, at your service.”
Nothing like sounding pompous.
He was almost surprised when she smiled and rose instead of turning her pretty nose up at him. “How could I refuse to assist a fellow traveler and in such dreadful weather as we are having?”
Graceful.
That was the first word that sprang to mind as Matt watched her glide to the bell-pull. When he had entered the parlor, the table had already been set up for tea. She took a seat, motioning him to the chair opposite her. “Please. There is no need to stand on formality.”
She handed him a plate, and in a few moments a young girl brought in a pot covered in a brightly colored cloth, set it down, then left.
“Do you take sugar?” the lady asked, glancing from beneath her long gold-tipped lashes.
It was clear the lady, for she was certainly gently bred, had no intention of telling Matt her name. “I do, Miss—”
“Milk or cream?” she responded hastily.
“Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk if you would.”
The corners of her lush lips tilted up slightly.
He made a point of looking around the room as if searching for something. “Are you traveling alone?”
A deep rose crept up into her face. Though, under the circumstances, that wasn’t surprising.
“Sometimes one cannot order the weather to suit one’s convenience.” Her voice was tight as if she did not approve of either his question or the weather.
Her long, slender fingers showed no indication of a wedding ring. A fleeting memory of seeing her before niggled at him once more. How could any red-blooded man forget that glorious hair, gold glinting with burnished copper in the candlelight? On the other hand, the hair he remembered. It was her name he’d forgot. Her brows, a little darker than her golden curls, arched perfectly over eyes that tilted slightly upward at the corners. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
He wished he could make out the exact color of her expressive eyes, but the light was too dim.
Blue. That was encouraging. Now if he could only remember the rest. Damn the devil. He had seen her before, but where and when, and why couldn’t he remember? His gaze was drawn to her mouth, deep rose and a little wider than what was considered fashionable. What would it be like to taste her, to feel her soft lips on his and where had that desire sprung from?
Grace’s heart was in her throat by the time Worthington joined her. In the short time he had been gone she’d changed her mind a dozen times at least about inviting him to join her.
Mattheus, Earl of Worthington.
Grace allowed her eyes to trail over his perfect form, adding to her still-clear memories of him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his jacket was cut to perfection. His cravat perfectly tied. He had always been so well dressed. She never thought she’d see him again, or if she did, he probably would be married with several children. Come to think of it, even though he wasn’t wearing a ring, he could still be married . . . Oh, he was speaking.
“Miss . . . ?”
When she did not give him her name, he looked at her curiously. Grace walked over to the bell-pull, giving a sigh of relief when a few moments later Mr. Brown’s daughter entered the room.
She’d have to do better than that if she wanted him to . . . well . . . She fought the blush rising in her cheeks. “Please take a seat. I shall enjoy the company.”
There, that was much better. Remember you are five and twenty, not eighteen.
This was not going to be as easy as Grace had thought it would be.
Worthington took a sip and his almost-black brows drew together. “This is extraordinarily good tea for an inn.”
“It is my blend. I travel with it.” She only had it this time as a treat for her elderly cousin who professed to love Grace’s tea, but would never allow her to leave the canister.
Now what was she to say? With the exception of her vicar, it had been so long since she had spoken with any non-family-member male and those had not been pleasant discussions. “Have you family that will worry about you?”
“Only my sisters and stepmother and they do not know when I plan to return home.” He took another sip of tea. “I imagine your family will be anxious.”
They would be frightened to death. She should have been home long before now, but her cousin was lonely and had needed the company. “A bit.”
“Do you have far to travel?”
Grace studied him over the rim of her cup. She had thought there’d been a spark of recognition in his eyes, but it was clear he did not remember her. That was not surprising. It had been several years since they had seen each other. He had probably danced with thousands of ladies since her one dance with him. In any event, she did not want him to know who she was. It would only complicate her already overly complicated life.
“Within a day,” she finally answered. True, but misleading. She had to turn the course of this conversation to a safer subject. “What do you think about the progress of the peace treaty?”
A small smile formed on his well-molded lips. “That the process has gone on far too long and that the new French government is not as strong as it needs to be.”
Mr. Brown tapped on the door, then entered with another of his many daughters. “Come to clear the tea away, if you’re ready.”
Grace tore her gaze from Worthington’s mouth. Oh, my. If she’d thought he was mesmerizing before, it was nothing to what he was doing to her insides now. She had to pull herself together. “Yes, please. We shall dine at six.”
Mr. Brown bowed. “That’s perfect, my—”
She gave the man a sharp look.
“Ma’am.”
Enough was enough. Just being around Worthington was turning her mind into a bowl of jelly. The landlord and his daughter left, leaving the door slightly open. She met Worthington’s steady gaze. She would probably never see him again and might as well talk about what she wanted to. “I do not mind discussing politics, though you should know that I’m a Whig.”
That was certainly throwing down the gauntlet. Matt had a feeling this was going to become an interesting conversation. If only he could either remember or discover who she was. It would be even better. “My party as well. On the left side.”
The lady’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Then we should have much to discuss . . .”
During the meal and afterward, their conversation ranged over politics, philosophy, and estate management. In fact, any topic that came into their heads, except the weather. Hours later they had not even had to search for subject matter to discuss. He had not had such an interesting conversation in months, maybe years, and never with a woman. She was as well or better informed than any man he had ever met. He’d never been so taken by a lady. Suddenly Matt wanted to know everything about her.
“Are you an adherent of Wollstonecraft?” she asked.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Completely. I find her views on the rights of women interesting in the extreme, and I am pleased to see that the numbers of Wollstonecraft and Bentham followers have grown in political circles.”
A far-off expression crossed the lady’s face. “I’ve not been in London much of late, though I do keep up a lively correspondence with my friends.”
Perhaps this was his opportunity. “Do your friends hold the same ideas as you do?”
“Most of them.” A note of caution entered her tone.
“We might know some of the same people.”
“Have you joined the group attempting to help the war veterans?”
Drat it all. That hadn’t worked. “I have.”
They discussed some of the proposals being batted around. She was certainly knowledgeable. He peered at the large armchair near the fireplace. A book with a marbled cloth cover lay on the seat. “Is that one of the Minerva romances you have there?”
“Yes, it is.” She lifted her chin a little. “I find them excessively diverting.”
Based on their conversation, no one could accuse her of muddling her mind with romances. She was as well informed as any bluestocking, but she didn’t have the acerbic tone of one. “My stepmother reads them. Although, she tries to hide them from my sisters.” Matt grinned. “I’m not sure she always succeeds.”
A smile played around her lips, and she tilted her head a little to the side. Much like an inquisitive bird. “And you, my lord?”
He wondered, not for the first time this evening, what it would be like to kiss those lips. To tug lightly with his teeth on her full lower lip. She was beautiful, intelligent, and he had to answer her question. Damn, now he wished he had read the books. “Not yet.”
“You might enjoy them, some gentlemen do.”
“On your recommendation, I shall most definitely read at least one.”
She colored prettily, as if pleased that she had made a potential convert.
Before he knew it, the clock struck half-six.
He came to his feet as she rose. “I must tidy up for dinner.”
“Of course. I’ll meet you here shortly.”
She left the room, and he poured a brandy from the decanter on the sideboard. Never in all his years had he been as drawn to a woman like he was to his mystery lady. They agreed on almost everything, and when they disagreed, she stated her opinions clearly and intelligently.
Yet, how the devil was he to discover her name and direction? The only idea he could come up with was to offer to escort her to her home to-morrow, provided the weather cleared. But what if she refused? He could follow her. He tossed off the brandy. Somehow, some way, Matt was determined to court her.
Grace shut the door of her chamber behind her and leaned against it. For years Matt Worthington had been nothing more than an infatuation, but now, he was rapidly becoming so much more. It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel angry at the hand fate had dealt her. Yet, now, now she could do something just for herself. She would not leave here, leave him without knowing what it would be like to know joy with a man.
“What if someone finds out? Everything you’ve worked for will be for naught?” Her conscience popped up, just when Grace had thought it had given up.
Even with her family around, there were still times when she was so lonely she thought she’d die of it. Not being able to marry was the one thing she had never got over. “Am I to have no joy of my own? I just want one night. One night to last me the rest of my life, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Wanton!”
“So be it.” Her hands trembled and her stomach lurched. If only she wasn’t so ignorant.
“So much for your grand plans,” her conscience sneered. “You don’t have any idea how to go about this.”
“I am sure he’ll help. How hard can it be, after all?”
“He’ll recognize you. Then where will you be?”
“He won’t. Other than that one dance, when Lady Bellamny made him ask me, I am sure he never took a second look at me. I was just one of many girls who came out that year.” He certainly did not remember her now.
“So you say. What if you get with child?”
“Would you cease! It must be fate. After all, what were the odds that we would both be here at the very same time with no one else in the inn?”
Wishing she had something nicer to wear, Grace gave up arguing with herself and washed her hands. When she had returned to the parlor, she called for wine. By the time Worthington arrived, she’d calmed her jangled nerves, and her conscience had decided to leave her to go to perdition in her own way.
He had changed his linen, but not his suit. “I apologize for dining in boots.”
“I do not mind at all.” She handed him a glass of claret. “As you see, I have no other clothes with me. This was only supposed to be a day trip.”
“I expected to be home as well and sent my valet ahead with the rest of my kit.” He gave a rueful grin. “A lesson to me to keep a bag with me.” He took a sip. “This claret is excellent.”
“Yes, Mr. Brown keeps a well-stocked cellar.”
She had wanted to confide in Worthington. Tell him that her father used to bring them all here because of the quality of the wine. Confide the difficulties she was experiencing now. Fortunately, before she revealed too much, the door opened and Mr. Brown entered followed by one of his sons, both carrying covered trays.
The savory aroma made Matt’s stomach rumble.
“My missus thought you might like a nice cream of mushroom soup to begin. Then we have a haunch of venison, with Frenched beans . . .” By the time the man finished the dishes covered the table and sideboard. “And here is a trifle for desert.”
Matt offered the lady selections from the offerings before filling his plate. They were silent for a few minutes as they ate. He, because he was ravenous. She simply appeared a bit shy. That was no wonder. She most likely never dined alone with a man before.
“I must tell you that at first I was not impressed by this inn, but the food and wine make up for it being a bit shabby.”
“I have always found the place to be cozy.”
He gazed at her, mesmerized by the dainty way she licked the cream from the trifle from her spoon. “I think I agree.”
He asked her what she thought of the experimental farm in Norfolk and was surprised to find she knew as much as he did. The hours flew by as they had earlier. Soon the clock chimed ten, and she rose.
Matt stood as well, expecting her to make a hasty retreat. Yet rather than curtseying and heading for the door, she stood before him searching his face, waiting. That was all the invitation he needed.
Tentatively, he reached out and with the back of his hand slowly caressed her cheek. He had never wanted a lady as much as he did her. What would she do if he kissed her? Suddenly, where she was from or who she was didn’t matter any longer. She was his. He knew it in his bones. Fate had created a storm and placed her here for him to find and claim.
She took a small step toward him as with one finger he traced her jaw. She closed the distance between them again.
This is like tickling a trout, but with a much greater reward.
Worthington had proven to be everything Grace thought he would be, and now . . . now even if she wished to resist him, she could not. She shoved down her rising anxiety. Her plan was coming to fruition, and now was not the time to be frightened. After all, what good would her virginity do her in her spinsterhood?
His eyes mesmerized her, and she wanted him. To feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her. How much else there was, she wasn’t sure, but she wanted him to show her. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her the few inches to him. He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed his slightly callused thumb over her lips. This was going just as she’d wanted it to. It would be the most perfect night of her life.
“You are exquisite.” His voice was low and sultry.
A pleasurable shiver ran down her spine. She’d never thought to hear a man say that to her. She or fate had chosen well.
He bent his head and moved his lips softly against hers.
She rested one hand lightly on his shoulders. He took the other, encouraging her to wrap her arms around his neck. When he trailed his tongue over the seam of her mouth, she did not know what to do so she puckered them a little. He smiled against her lips. Had she done something wrong? She could not allow him to stop.
As bold as the lady had been when she had invited Matt to join her in the parlor and in their conversation, he had expected her to be experienced. She was not, and, for no reason he could understand, he wanted to crow. It was as if she had been waiting just for him.
Matt lifted his head and gazed down at her. “You’ve never been kissed before?”
A blush infused her cheeks. “Is it—is it that obvious?”
“No.” Yes, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
She lowered her long, thick lashes, and her unexpected shyness captivated him. “You are perfect.”
Once again she raised her face to him. He leaned forward, breathing in her light, spicy scent. So different from the flowery perfumes other women used. Cupping both her cheeks with his hands, he kissed her again, nibbling her lush bottom lip, teaching her, urging her to open her mouth to him.
Her tentativeness gave way, and she held on to him tightly, returning his kisses with more vigor. As he stroked her back, he itched to untie the laces his fingers traveled over, and he paused for a moment. Too much too soon. This lady was the most remarkable woman he had ever known, and he needed to ensure he did not scare her away.
She sighed, sinking boneless against him.
Two of his good friends had recently married, and it was time he did so as well. He hadn’t believed his friend Marcus all those years ago when he’d claimed to have fallen in love with Phoebe at first sight. Matt did now.
He had no brothers, and it was past time he wed. The idea to look seriously for a wife had been pestering him more and more over the past few months. Matt wanted to laugh. It never occurred to him that he would meet his future wife when they were stranded together in a small inn. He held her closer. Whoever she was, she was his. If only she would tell him her name. He considered ignoring all the manners he had learned and asking her for it. But he was afraid she’d flee. What did it matter, though, when he would spend the rest of his life getting to know her.
He supposed he’d have to wait until to-morrow to propose or to ask whom he should go to for permission to address her. Yet her countenance, conversation, and the mature curves of her body told him she was not a young lady. So much the better if she could answer for herself.
A knock sounded on the door. He broke the kiss and set her away from him. “Yes?”
Brown opened the door and poked his head in. “My lord, my—um, I mean ma’am. Your chambers are ready. I had one of my girls run a heating pan between the sheets and put hot bricks in them.”
When Matt had released her, his lady had turned from the door to face the fireplace, leaving him to deal with the innkeeper. “Thank you, Brown.”
“Ring if you need anything, and someone will answer straightaway.”
“Thank you, again.” Matt closed the door.
In two steps he was with her again. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. “I’ll escort you to your room.”
She nodded. Even in the candlelight, he could see the desire lurking in her eyes. He wished he could take her to his chamber, but there was time enough for that after they were betrothed.
Leaving her at her bedroom door, he went to the chamber he’d been . . .
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