settled in one of the armchairs to spend the evening reading. Sleep was the best medicine for Lord Godown, and so with one eye on His Lordship’s reclined form and the other on Pride and Prejudice, Grace spent hours in quiet solitude.
She had “borrowed” several books from Lord Averette’s library, which sported many classical works, as well as appropriate religious tomes. Samuel Aldridge had permitted his viscountess the occasional novel, and Grace had finally accepted Lady Averette’s offer to read from those available. With all the good intentions of asking Geoffrey to return them in the post, Grace had brought three with her. She had struggled through the first twenty pages before she abandoned the book to return to His Lordship’s side. Assuming a familiar position, Grace caught his hand and brought it to her cheek. “You are a very brave man,” she said as she rubbed her cheek against the back of his cupped hand. “I am in awe with how you have endured without protest.”
Instinctively, Grace stoked his arm. Her fingertips burned from the skin on skin contact, but she never released his hand. “I wish I had held your acquaintance prior to today. I would have been proud to be recognized by a man of your quality.”
After that, she made no more personal references. Instead, she spent time tending to his care. Grace checked for a fever, gently replaced the makeshift bandage, and then read aloud to him, starting the novel over again with “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
She could not remember falling asleep, but his fingers stroking her hair had gently brought her to an awakened state. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and Grace struggled to right herself. The deep heat of a blush announced she had fallen asleep with her head resting upon his chest. The book had fallen from her grasp and lay open upon the floor at her feet.
“My Lord!” she gasped as she shoved a pin into her loose tresses. “I beg your forgiveness.” Not knowing where to look, Grace frantically examined his wound. With shaky fingers, she peeled away the bandage.
“Grace,” he said hoarsely. Reluctantly, she met his bleary gaze. “No forgiveness.” His Adam’s apple worked to swallow, and Grace, by design, spooned several mouthfuls of water into his mouth. When she returned the glass to the nightstand, he continued. “Waking to find…a warm female…asleep in my arms…was a taste of heaven,” he rasped.
His words were devilishly seductive, and Grace found herself flushing with color once more. She could not ever recall blushing so completely and so often. “My Lord,” she insisted, “I must object. I have agreed to tend your wound. That is the extent of our relationship.”
Lord Godown’s eyes remained closed, but his lips twitched with amusement. “Yet, I was of the understanding you preferred my acquaintance.”
Grace’s composure failed. “You heard? I am appalled you mean to make light of my honesty.”
As if waking from a long slumber, Godown’s eyes opened slowly. He rested his gaze upon her countenance. “And I speak honestly, as well, Miss Nelson. Despite the favor you bestow upon me, this day my words are not based on my debt to you. I think you quite remarkable, and finding your head resting against me was an exquisite moment.”
Grace’s fingers stilled. His scent–one of sandalwood and sweat–filled her nostrils. The thought of this man’s closeness clouded her reason, and her knees buckled. She braced herself against the bed. She had leaned across his taut body to adjust the blanket, but her nipples reacted to his nearness. They tightened in a new awareness of his masculine presence. “A woman of lesser intelligence might be swayed by your golden tongue,” she said with a snit of disapproval. “I shall change your bandage if you please, my Lord.”
It was the marquis’s turn to redden. “Prior to your tender
She had “borrowed” several books from Lord Averette’s library, which sported many classical works, as well as appropriate religious tomes. Samuel Aldridge had permitted his viscountess the occasional novel, and Grace had finally accepted Lady Averette’s offer to read from those available. With all the good intentions of asking Geoffrey to return them in the post, Grace had brought three with her. She had struggled through the first twenty pages before she abandoned the book to return to His Lordship’s side. Assuming a familiar position, Grace caught his hand and brought it to her cheek. “You are a very brave man,” she said as she rubbed her cheek against the back of his cupped hand. “I am in awe with how you have endured without protest.”
Instinctively, Grace stoked his arm. Her fingertips burned from the skin on skin contact, but she never released his hand. “I wish I had held your acquaintance prior to today. I would have been proud to be recognized by a man of your quality.”
After that, she made no more personal references. Instead, she spent time tending to his care. Grace checked for a fever, gently replaced the makeshift bandage, and then read aloud to him, starting the novel over again with “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
She could not remember falling asleep, but his fingers stroking her hair had gently brought her to an awakened state. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and Grace struggled to right herself. The deep heat of a blush announced she had fallen asleep with her head resting upon his chest. The book had fallen from her grasp and lay open upon the floor at her feet.
“My Lord!” she gasped as she shoved a pin into her loose tresses. “I beg your forgiveness.” Not knowing where to look, Grace frantically examined his wound. With shaky fingers, she peeled away the bandage.
“Grace,” he said hoarsely. Reluctantly, she met his bleary gaze. “No forgiveness.” His Adam’s apple worked to swallow, and Grace, by design, spooned several mouthfuls of water into his mouth. When she returned the glass to the nightstand, he continued. “Waking to find…a warm female…asleep in my arms…was a taste of heaven,” he rasped.
His words were devilishly seductive, and Grace found herself flushing with color once more. She could not ever recall blushing so completely and so often. “My Lord,” she insisted, “I must object. I have agreed to tend your wound. That is the extent of our relationship.”
Lord Godown’s eyes remained closed, but his lips twitched with amusement. “Yet, I was of the understanding you preferred my acquaintance.”
Grace’s composure failed. “You heard? I am appalled you mean to make light of my honesty.”
As if waking from a long slumber, Godown’s eyes opened slowly. He rested his gaze upon her countenance. “And I speak honestly, as well, Miss Nelson. Despite the favor you bestow upon me, this day my words are not based on my debt to you. I think you quite remarkable, and finding your head resting against me was an exquisite moment.”
Grace’s fingers stilled. His scent–one of sandalwood and sweat–filled her nostrils. The thought of this man’s closeness clouded her reason, and her knees buckled. She braced herself against the bed. She had leaned across his taut body to adjust the blanket, but her nipples reacted to his nearness. They tightened in a new awareness of his masculine presence. “A woman of lesser intelligence might be swayed by your golden tongue,” she said with a snit of disapproval. “I shall change your bandage if you please, my Lord.”
It was the marquis’s turn to redden. “Prior to your tender
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