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And why should he?
Grace should know, better than most, that the life George led with his wife and children was none of her business.
Still, she felt wrong-footed, her stomach churning with nerves at the unexpected encounter.
The pallor of George’s face said he felt that same emotion, and for the same reason. Any such meeting meant possible exposure, when they had been so careful this past year to ensure no one learned of their relationship.
The house George had found for Grace to live in was modest, and although situated on a pretty, tree-lined avenue, it was well away from the fashionable area of London where George lived with his family.
To further ensure their privacy, Grace employed a housekeeper to only come in during the day.
Grace filled her own days by either helping out at the orphanage, busying herself at home, or walking Finn. Her evenings were spent quietly, unless George was visiting her or she was invited to join some female friends on an evening out to the theater. She ensured the latter was always on an evening when she knew there was no possibility of seeing George or his wife there.
Until this evening.
The meeting was her fault. She accepted that. Or, more accurately, it was Alaric Montrose’s fault for providing her with the means of attending the theater the day after George’s visit when she might have informed him of her plans.
Goodness knows what George was going to say to her when next she saw him.
“I advise you forget about Redding,” Melborne, seemingly aware of her thoughts, bit out harshly as he dropped onto the seat beside her and tapped the roof to tell his groom to drive on.
She shook her head. “I could not possibly ever forget him.”
Melborne turned to face Grace as the carriage moved smoothly forward. “What hold does he have on you that causes you to feel that way?”
She frowned her puzzlement. “There is no hold over me.”
Melborne gave a disgusted snort. “Are you saying that you are in love with him?”
Grace lowered her gaze. “I do love him, yes.”
“Can you not see how shabbily the man treats you?” the duke scorned. “Dear God, the bastard hasn’t even troubled himself to buy you a carriage of your own so that you aren’t forced to walk about the dangerous London streets alone, day and night.”
“I have always liked to walk, but I am sure if I were to ask George—”
“I told you to stop talking about him!” Alaric tightly gripped her hands in his. “I am the only lover you will know in future,” he told her harshly.
Grace gasped. “You are not my lover—”
“But I intend to be,” he stated grimly. “Whatever Redding is giving you to be his mistress, I shall give you twice—three times!—as much. Your own carriage and groom. A larger house. Servants to run it for you. Gowns. Jewelry.” His fingers tightened painfully about Grace’s. “You will write to Redding this very night and tell him that the arrangement between the two of you is at an immediate end.”
“I shall do no such thing!”
“Oh, but you will,” he assured with a quiet certainty.
Grace could only stare at him as a numbness formed in her chest before spreading wider, and then wider still, until she no longer felt anything at all.
No more trembling.
No relief at being away from the theater and the discomfort of meeting George with his wife.
This evening had been an avalanche of emotions for Grace.
Joy at attending the play.
Shock when Alaric Montrose joined her.
Arousal at his proximity and the way in which he whispered physical intimacies in her ear.
