At long last she was to brave the lion’s den.
Nicholas tapped his fingers on his leg, looking at the staircase with some irritation. Another ten minutes and they would be more than fashionably late for the ball, which would likely ensure they were gawped at by everyone attending.
In all honesty, he wanted tonight to be over and done with. He wanted to quit London, go back to Blackmore and try to process the feelings he finally realised he had for his wife.
Since his decision to leave Grace in London, the nightmares had been worse than ever. The thought of returning to Devonshire without her filled him with a sense of anxiety out of all proportion. How the devil had she managed to wheedle her way past his defences? Since partially revealing the cause of his nightmares, he’d found himself on more than one occasion on the verge of confessing the whole story. For the first time in his life he wanted - no craved - the closeness of another human being.
Only fear kept him silent. Fear she would walk away. Fear she would abandon him like his father had.
Fear he would lose her like he’d lost John…
“Nicholas.”
Nicholas glanced up and his heart faltered in his chest as he caught sight of his wife, looking every inch the duchess she was. Her shimmering gown accentuated her small waist, the skirts billowing out before her. The neckline was bare, with small sleeves at her shoulders and an impressive amount of cleavage on display for his perusal. “Christ you’re lovely,” he murmured as she made her way down the stairs.
She blushed, her gloved hand sliding down the railing as she descended. Nicholas watched with a mixture of pride that she was his and irritation that others would have a claim on her after tonight. Both feelings completely hitherto unknown. Suddenly, as she neared the bottom, her mouth rounded, and she pitched forward, allowing him barely enough time to catch her before she tumbled down the remainder of the stairs.
Nicholas held her close against him, his body reacting to her closeness as it always did, but the feeling was short lived as he heard her sniffle. Setting her on her feet, he spied the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Are you injured?” he asked sharply.
She shook her head, staring down at the floor. “I-I am going to embarrass you tonight!”
Nicholas shook his head, putting his finger under her chin and gently lifting her head until their eyes met.
“You will not embarrass me Grace.” He hated the thought that he may have put her under so much pressure, thinking she had to be perfect to keep him happy.
She was perfect to him.
Frowning he thrust the thought away. Now was not the time.
“But what if I stumble on the staircase at the ball? We will be laughing stocks.”
Nicholas produced a clean kerchief and dabbed lightly at the tears on her face. This was the first time he’d seen Grace cry and he hated the feeling of helplessness it provoked. “I will be there to catch you,” he murmured softly.
She gave him a watery smile, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. “Come,” he said taking her arm. “It’s time to see if you can steal their breaths as you did mine.”
∞∞∞
Felicity waited for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore with barely restrained glee. Indeed, she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the admittedly less than scintillating conversation being offered to her by her companion, one Colonel Daniels who was presently regaling her with the origin and symptoms of dengue fever. She had deliberately positioned herself near to the foot of the stairs in the event her charge should require her services.
Under normal circumstances, as the poorest of relations and a spinster to boot, Felicity Beaumontwould not have been invited to such an elegant occasion. However, in this instance Nicholas Sinclair had secured an invitation for her. So far, she had been assiduously ignored by the higher members of the ton, a circumstance that bothered her not at all. It simply gave her the opportunity to observe the myriad of mouths that would most certainly fall open at their graces’ appearance.
Suddenly the conversation and laughter around her died, replaced with an anticipation that was almost tangible. Nearly everyone present turned towards the stairs as the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore were announced. Even from here Felicity could see the tightness of Grace’s grip on her husband’s arm as they slowly descended the stairs.
Felicity drew in her breath as she realised that Grace’s inherent loveliness had surpassed everything she could have hoped for. She was draped in a shimmering gown of golden silk that clung to every curve of her slender voluptuous body. Nicholas Sinclair was almost impossibly handsome in superbly tailored black evening clothes. Glancing round, Felicity nearly laughed out loud at the expressions on the faces around her. She could only imagine the lively conversation inside every London drawing room on the morrow. Truly Grace Sinclair had outdone herself.
Especially in reaching the bottom of the stairs without mishap…
Chapter Seventeen
An hour later, Nicholas had already had more than enough. He hated events like these.
He hated the people around him, the fawning, the pretence. But more than anything, he hated the fact that his wife was the toast of the ball, her almost continuous laughter floating through the air.
He hated that no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t crush the jealousy that reared its ugly head every time she laughed.
Or smiled.
Or fluttered her eyes in a direction that was not his.
Swearing under his breath, Nicholas grabbed a glass of warm Champagne and forced it down his throat, grimacing as he did so.
“I never thought I would see the day.”
Nicholas turned to find James at his side, his eyes dancing with mirth. James Gilmore was the reason the Duke of Blackmore had accepted the invitation to
