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He deliberately arched one haughty brow. “I assure you, the sort of games I wish to play with you would not take place in a tea pavilion in Regent’s Park.” Alaric realized, as he made the statement, that he spoke only the truth.
Sometime during the past week of having this woman followed by men Alaric was paying to do so, along with making a daily appearance himself in her vicinity, he had become deeply enamored of her. Some might even say it bordered on obsession.
It was not only Grace’s obvious beauty that drew him in, but the stubborn self-confidence that allowed her to walk to the shops or in the park without a lady’s maid and accompanied only by her small dog. As she chose to do on most days.
Alaric couldn’t think of another woman in his acquaintance who would dare to do such a thing. Certainly, his sister Susan would be horrified if one of her daughters were to ever risk her reputation in such a reckless manner.
No doubt Grace did so because, as Redding’s mistress, her reputation was already beyond the pale.
A relationship which caused Alaric’s jaw to clench and his hands to curl into fists.
Grace was so delicate to look at, so beautiful, and with that innate independence Alaric could not help but admire. The thought of her intimately entwined with George Harper in a bed brought the taste of bile to the back of Alaric’s throat.
Perhaps Alaric’s jealousy might be understandable if Redding was a bloated lecher, his cheeks mottled and his eyes rheumy from imbibing too much alcohol. But the Earl of Redding was much admired by the ladies of Society for his handsome looks, slenderness of build, and ease of manner. Alaric’s own sister described the man as being “positively charming,” and Susan wasn’t swayed by a pretty face.
Alaric doubted his sister would feel so indulgent toward the other man if she had seen him visiting Grace Sunderland’s home two evenings ago, staying for two hours before leaving to return to the home in which his wife and children also resided.
An occurrence which happened two times every week.
Last night, Alaric had dismissed the men he had watching Grace’s home and instead taken up position as sentinel himself across the street from the modest house where she lived. The fact Grace had drawn the curtains over every window before Redding arrived made it impossible for Alaric to see what was happening inside. His imagination had supplied graphic images of exactly what that might be.
So much so that by the time of Redding’s departure two hours later, an obvious jauntiness to his step as he strolled along the pavement, Alaric’s jaw ached from tension and the grinding of his teeth.
A part of Alaric had wanted to march across the street while Redding was still inside and knock on the door to confront the other man.
Firstly, with the possibility that Redding was responsible for killing Plymouth.
But also with the notion of what his wife might think if she were to learn of Grace Sunderland’s presence in his life.
Even in his agitated state of jealousy, Alaric had known that was not the way to learn the truth regarding Plymouth’s murder. Accusing Redding outright would only result in a negative response, whilst putting the other man on his guard against Alaric’s suspicions in future.
Leaving Alaric with no choice but to keep his silence and concentrate his efforts on what he now knew to be Redding’s weakness—the lovely Grace Sunderland.
How long he would have continued to have Grace followed, or if Alaric had ever intended speaking to her at all, was unimportant now that Grace had chosen to speak to him.
When Grace had chosen tochallengehis sudden presence in her life.
A challenge Alaric did not hesitate to meet. “Perhaps it is that you are afraid of joining me for afternoon tea?”
“Afraid?” The sharpness of her tone told him she was displeased at his use of that word.
He nodded. “Of spending more time with me.”
“Why would I be afraid of that?” she scoffed.
“Then you will join me?” He held out his arm for her to take.
Grace knew exactly what Alaric Montrose was doing bydaringher to accept his invitation. Just as she knew how socially unacceptable it was for a single lady and gentleman to be conversing alone together, as the two of them now were, let alone enjoying the intimacy of an afternoon tea in such a public venue as the pavilion in Regent’s Park.
Grace had not bothered with the expense of employing a lady’s maid to accompany her when she went out and about since her arrival in London a year ago. She had seen no reason to do so when she had not needed one whilst living in her father’s vicarage. Indeed, it would have been considered an unnecessary extravagance to her father’s less-than-wealthy parishioners.
That lack of a maid had not presented a problem until now, with the Duke of Melborne seeming intent upon having Grace join him for afternoon tea.
The same gentleman who, only minutes previously, had threatened to spank her arse for her use of what he considered to be unacceptable language.
Grace still had absolutely no idea why the thought of the duke administering such a barbaric form of punishment to her bottom should have created that warmth between her thighs.
There, it was happening again!
