Page 82 of A Rogues & Gentlemen Christmas

“Oh, but—” she said, looking appalled.

“Don’t fret, lass. Sarah had me sleep there often enough. I’m used to it.”

Resolutely, Ned stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind him.

Grace stared at the door, perplexed. She didn’t understand this man. Not that she knew much about men. She’d had little experience of them outside of her father, her brother and, more recently, Mr Carrington.

Her brother had spent much of the past few days enjoying himself with tormenting her. He’d decided he’d best fill her in on the facts of life, and exactly what she ought to expect from her wedding night with Mr Carrington. He’d been vulgar, laughing at her embarrassment and shame. The things he’d said had appalled her when she’d thought of Mr Carrington touching her in such a way.

Yet she wasn’t quite as innocent as her brother believed.

During the summer she’d escaped the house, literally. She was forbidden to wander, certainly not alone, but her father had taken to his bed, ill, and her brother wasn’t at home. She’d walked for miles but still hadn’t been ready to relinquish her freedom and return to the house, so she’d climbed into the hayloft above the stables. It smelled sweet and wholesome and she’d fallen asleep in the warm, dim space.

It had been late when she’d awoken, to strange sounds below her. One of the grooms had a girl with him. Grace had been trapped, unable to escape. To her shame, she’d watched, knowing she ought not, but too fascinated to look away as the young man had coaxed the girl out of her clothes, not that she’d appeared unwilling. She’d watched as he touched and kissed and fondled the woman, so intimately it made Grace flush to even think of it. Yet the young woman had not been disgusted, shocked, or unhappy with her lover’s attentions.

Far from it.

The soft sounds of her pleasure had rung in Grace’s ears for days, making her wonder what it might be like to be touched so by a man, with such care and tenderness. What might it be like if Mr Hardy touched her so?

Heat flared in the pit of her belly. She remembered the moment she’d flung her arms about him, wondering now how she’d dared. He’d been so big and heavy and solid. When he’d put his hands about her waist, she’d wanted to press herself against him, to burrow into that strength and warmth, and the promise of safety. He smelled so good, too, like fresh air, leather, and straw, and something earthy, smoky and indefinably masculine that made her quiver inside.

But he would not touch her. He’d promised not to, but why? Was it her? Was there something wrong with her? Yet, he’d told her she was beautiful. Surely if he found her beautiful, he would desire her, would want to touch her in such a way?

Harold had told her men were animals and that Mr Carrington would use her as if she was nothing to him, like a dog. Mr Hardy was not like such men, men who would indeed use her, but would he deny himself just to make her feel safe?

Yes.

She’d known him a matter of hours, but every instinct told her that Ned Hardy was a good man to his core. He was solid and dependable, and he’d never use his strength against her. He reminded her of a towering English oak tree, proud and quiet in its solid dignity.

Grace smiled at that, and went to bed happy and hopeful for the first time she could remember.