An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(65)

Her father had disappointed her that day. But she'd gone back to Ranulf.

Grace looked over at the portrait of Cornelius that hung on the wall behind the head of the table. He stared out of the frame sternly, his dark red hair brushed off his autocratic forehead, his eyes hooded, judging.

No, he wouldn't have approved of the way she felt about Smith. Not at all.



* * *



After dinner was over, and the party had dispersed, Smith saw Grace to her bedroom and went across the hall. Pacing around the room he'd commandeered, he was not a happy man.

Watching Grace and Mr. Charm flirt during dinner had really gotten on his nerves. And that Pepsodent grin the man was sporting when he'd said goodnight to her had been the kicker. Smith couldn't help wondering if Walker was looking so damn cheerful because he planned on spending the night with Grace.

Smith wrenched a hand over his hair and caught his reflection in a mirror. He looked like a caged dog and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

You're jealous, stupid.

"I am not," he muttered, turning away.

He told himself to get real. He had no claim to Grace. He had no reason to care what she did after dark. Who she did.

Smith had turned her down so she was moving on. And why shouldn't she have a fling with some two-bit, Hugh Grant look-alike? She was a beautiful, vibrant, young woman, free to do what she wished.

He cursed out loud, thinking that was a great rationale, real logical. Too bad it hit him like a pair of brass knuckles.

The idea of her with Jack Walker put him in a commando kind of mood. He wanted to go find Walker, drag him out behind the house, and rearrange those pearly whites of his. Which was utterly ridiculous.

Still, getting physical on something was damn appealing.

Smith looked across the room, sized up the highboy in the corner and rejected the temptation. The thing would have been a fine opponent, for an inanimate object, but he'd feel like an idiot trashing the place. He wasn't a rock star, for God's sake.

No, he was just a sexually frustrated man who was going to have to try and sleep across the hall from the woman he wanted .. . while she was making love to somebody else.



Oh, hell. She was not the problem. The trouble was this possessive streak he had going. After years of not giving a crap what anyone else on the planet was up to, let alone who they were sleeping with, he couldn't believe he was finally interested in someone else's love life.

But damn, he'd managed to pick a bad time for the transformation.

Smith groaned as a thought occurred to him. He needed to give Grace a panic button in case something happened in the middle of the night. They were out of the city, but being at Willings didn't guarantee her safety.

He walked over to his bag. When he'd found what he was looking for, he gave himself a lecture. He wasn't going to waste a second in that room of hers. He was going to give her what was in his hand and then get the hell out of there.

He had no interest in meeting up with Walker.

After all, he had faith in his self-control. But he wasn't going to push his luck.



* * *



Grace was sitting at the vanity in her bathroom when she thought she heard a knock at her door. She put her hairbrush down and listened.

When another knock came, she traded the towel she'd wrapped around herself for a silk robe and went to the door. She was surprised to see Smith standing in the hall.

Going by the expression on his face, his mood hadn't improved.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Please." She stepped back, acutely aware that she was naked under the robe.

When he shut the door, his eyes lingered on her damp hair but his voice was gruff and standoffish.

"Take this." Smith held out a small black box the size of a pager. "It's a panic button. Press it and I'll come."

"Thank you," she said, examining it.

He turned to go.

"Smith?" She hadn't meant to speak, but his name just jumped out of her mouth. As he looked over his shoulder at her, her heart began to pound.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him. None of them were easy. Few made sense. And he didn't look like he was in the mood for talking.

"Never mind," she muttered.

There was a long silence between them. And then he turned around, his mouth lifting in a humorless smile.

"You seemed surprised it was me knocking at your door. Expecting someone else? "

She frowned. "No."

"You sure about that?"

"Who would—you mean Jack?"

"Seems like just the kind of guy who could juggle two women well. Probably discreet, too. Good choice, if you're looking for an affair."

Grace pulled the lapels of her robe closer together. "I'm not looking for one."

"You sure about that, Countess?"

His eyes were glittering as he looked her over and she was confused but drawn by the change in him. Sexual energy started coming off him in waves of heat.

"John?" she whispered, aware that it was an invitation of sorts.

He shook his head, although she wasn't sure whether it was to turn her down or because he was disappointed in himself.

"You are so goddamn beautiful," he said, his eyes moving over her face, down her neck, over her body. "I almost hate you for it."