An Unforgettable Lady(87)
Her hand was reaching for the knob when her mother said, "Tell me he is not your lover."
Grace glanced over her shoulder and saw that, behind the iron voice, her mother was looking pale.
Grace breathed in, long and slow, and spoke clearly. "Even if he was, that would be none of your business."
Carolina rose from her chair. "You are a married woman. How can you disgrace yourself by—by carousing with that..."
"With what, Mother?"
"That ruffian!"
Grace fought the urge to giggle inappropriately at the antiquated word.
"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered.
"He wore jeans to the breakfast table."
"For Chrissakes, Mother," Grace snapped, "this is a private residence, not a consulate. He can wear anything he wants."
"He is unsuitable as a guest and I don't understand why you insisted on bringing him here. May I remind you that you are married to a man of royal descent—"
"Spare me the ad copy, okay? Ranulf doesn't live up to any of it. If he were half the man Smith is—"
Carolina gasped. "Don't say that!"
"It's true."
"You—you..." And then, as if a switch had been pulled Carolina snapped her mouth shut. After a deep breath, she said, "I don't believe I have anything more to say to you at the moment."
"Which is good, because I was just leaving."
As Grace shut the doors behind her, she wasn't sure whether she had won or lost the argument and realized it didn't matter. At least she had held her own.
An hour later, while Grace was outside playing croquet with Blair, her mother came and announced that the evening's party had been canceled and she would be dining elsewhere. With no more explanation than that, she returned to the house, without once looking at her daughter.
She did make a point, however, of sparing a withering glance for John.
The afternoon was spent at Mr. Blankenbaker's looking over the portrait. Grace was thrilled by the masterpiece, although disappointed that Jack had missed the preview. Mr. Blankenbaker agreed to draw up papers making the gift official and to ship the painting to the Hall Museum in time for the Gala.
They returned to Willings when the sun was hanging low behind the house and the ocean was quieting down for the night. As she walked into the foyer, Grace decided a good long soak in some very hot water was just what she needed to relax.
Either that or a brain transplant.
"Where are you headed?" John asked.
She looked over her shoulder at him. He'd been silent for much of the day but never far from her side. After everything that had been said in her bedroom, being so close to him was a bittersweet torment.
Abruptly, she was struck by an idea. When she and John had talked, he'd been using his head. His reasoning. His logic.
Perhaps she just needed him to stop thinking so much.
Grace offered him a slow smile. "I'm going to have a bath."
He nodded and followed her up the stairs.
She'd never seduced a man before, she thought as she hit the second floor landing. And it was time to give it a try.
He'd said he wanted her. Maybe his body could override that mind of his.
* * *
Smith paused outside of her room, telling himself that he was going to use the time she was in the tub to do some push-ups and sit-ups. He had a hell of lot of energy he needed to burn off.
"I'll be across the hall," he said. "Take the panic button in with you."
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
"I think it's broken."
He frowned. "I tested it before I gave it to you."
She shrugged and went through her door. "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong."
And then she shut the door in his face.
He pounded on it. "Grace? I've got to check the damn thing."
There was only silence.
"Oh, for Chrissakes. Grace?"
He threw the door open and froze.
She was stepping out of her pants. Had taken off her sweater. All he saw was a lot of creamy skin and a few strips of silk.
Smith blinked like he'd been sucker punched.
Sweet heaven, he thought.
Moving deliberately, and without bothering to hide herself, she folded her pants and put them in the bureau.
As the sight of her flooded his brain, he tried like hell to hold on to reality.