The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child by Stephanie Laurens
Chapter 16
The week flew by in a flurry of activity as the staff of The Crier knuckled down to produce their most important edition yet.
On Thursday afternoon, with the boiler chuffing and the press clanking and clanging non-stop, Izzy was at her desk, busily tabulating early requests for extra copies, when the sound of brisk footsteps impinged on her awareness. She looked up and saw Gray walking through the office doorway.
She smiled delightedly and put down her pencil. He’d been off in the country over the previous days.
Smiling in return, he halted before the desk. “How are things going?”
“Excellently well.” She waited while he sank with his usual grace into his now-customary chair. “Hennessy and I thrashed out the details of our agreement so we both get what we want, and the solicitors are drawing up the papers.” Gray had been present for the initial round of negotiations on Tuesday morning. “As for the upcoming edition, everyone’s thrilled with how it’s turned out.”
She waved at the orders spread before her. “Our circulation’s gone up again. We started the press rolling on Wednesday afternoon and expect to run it tomorrow as well, just to supply the orders we already have. The advertisers are ecstatic and clamoring for more space.” Smiling broadly, she flung out her hands. “These last two editions have elevated The London Crier to dizzying heights.”
Lowering her hands, she continued, “On that note, however, we—Hennessy and I—called a staff meeting on Wednesday, after we’d settled on how we wanted to run things. We’ve agreed to keep The Crier small and focused and to continue with the other side of the business as well. We might eventually need larger premises, but for now, as far as The Crier is concerned, we’re going to concentrate on capitalizing on our increased circulation and locking in those gains by refining our offerings to both entertain and educate our readers.”
Gray smiled. “It sounds as if everything’s shaping up well. That leads nicely to my question.”
She arched her brows. “You have a question?”
He nodded. “Given everything here is bowling along smoothly and Hennessy is about should an owner be required, can you steal away for the day tomorrow? I’d like to show you something and get your opinion.”
She couldn’t read much from his expression or his eyes. “What do you want me to see? And where?”
“It’s in the country. There’s a deal I’d like to finalize, but I want your opinion on several aspects first.”
The “something” had to be the country house he’d been looking at. Her heart fluttered at the evidence of how serious he was over linking their lives. “This ‘something.’ Can’t you tell me what it is? So I can consider what might be important in forming my opinion.”
He held her gaze, then shook his head. “You’ll see it tomorrow, and once you do, I’m sure you’ll know exactly how you feel about it.”
She frowned. “It’s not a horse?”
He laughed and assured her it wasn’t.
In her mind, she heard her mother repeating the exhortation she’d voiced only the evening before.
Follow your heart and live your life.
Her mother had insisted that, having fought for so long to secure the family’s well-being, now the chance for Izzy’s own desired life had come her way, she should seize it.
Gray arched his brows, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “So, will you come?”
She smiled reassuringly. “Of course.”
A tap on the open door had them glancing that way.
Digby flung a grin at Gray, then said to Izzy, “Ma’am, Mr. Donaldson’s wondering if you have a moment to talk about what photographs you and Mr. Hennessy want for next week. We’ve been looking over the old stock, but as Mr. Donaldson says, if the paper’s heading in a new direction, you might want different pictures.”
“Indeed, we will.” She pushed back her chair and rose.
Gray joined her, and they followed Digby to where Donaldson and Hennessy were standing at the layout table. A brisk discussion ensued, and any doubts Gray harbored regarding how well Hennessy and Izzy would get on were laid to rest; their attitudes over what sort of stories they wanted to pursue and the direction in which they wanted to take The Crier were closely aligned.
It was finally decided that Donaldson, assisted by Digby, would go and take pictures of the remnants of the Crystal Palace, now in the process of being dismantled and carted who knew where.
Meanwhile, Hennessy would lean on his sources to see if he could learn where the structure was slated to go. “Then,” he said, “I’ll contact some of the businesses who participated in the exhibition and find some success stories to run alongside.” He nodded to Donaldson. “Once I have the stories, I’ll get you a list of businesses to go and photograph.”
With that settled, Izzy introduced Gray to the new printer’s devil, Eddie, a lively looking lad presently working closely with Lipson and very much under the manager’s eye, yet Eddie’s grin at his good fortune never left his face.
“He’ll do,” Lipson gruffly mumbled.
Allowing Izzy to retreat to her paperwork and sums, Gray hung around the workshop until it was closing time.
After farewelling the staff—and being farewelled in turn, very much as if they counted him one of them—he waited while Izzy locked the door, then offered his arm, which she took, and in comfortable accord, they walked to Woburn Square.
Mrs. Carruthers was delighted to see Gray as well as Izzy. They spent ten minutes satisfying the old lady’s bright-eyed curiosity, then walked to the lane, climbed into the carriage, and rolled around to Norfolk Crescent.
As the carriage turned onto the crescent, with a smile in her eyes, Izzy looked at Gray. “Are you free to stay for dinner? Silas is in town and should be joining us, and Swan might as well.”
Gray grinned and, through the dimness, met her eyes. “Thank you—that would be delightful.”
The evening that followed was truly that—pleasant, relaxed, and filled with quiet laughter and cheer. Silas was in excellent form, and he and Gray spent a good half hour discussing business while Swan entertained the ladies.
In return, after dinner, Gray and Silas put themselves out to engage Izzy and Sybil, leaving Swan to Marietta and she to him.
While all were distracted in handing around the teacups, to Gray’s surprise, Marietta fetched up beside him.
She caught his eye and quietly said, “I don’t know what drove you and Izzy apart all those years ago, but it’s plain as a pikestaff you two should be together.”
When Gray merely arched his brows and waited, Marietta frowned and, with unaccustomed fierceness, said, “Make it happen, Child. I want to see Izzy happy—truly happy.”
Battling a smile, he inclined his head. “Rest assured I’ll do my humble best.”
Marietta humphed. “You’d better.” With that, she glided away, leaving him to sip his tea and reflect that everything in his life was settling into place.
One last but central and essential piece to go.
Supported by Silas, he continued to entertain Sybil and Izzy until it was time for him to take his leave. He did so with his usual charm and was entirely content when Izzy took his arm to steer him to the front door.
She didn’t resist when he diverted them to the empty parlor, whisked her inside, closed the door, framed her face, and kissed her. Ravenously.
Being Izzy, she responded in kind, and the exchange spiraled into a hungry give and take, fueled by complementary cravings.
This, between them, was so very real.
So potent and powerful and so utterly addictive.
Her lips and mouth were lush fruits he longingly savored, while her fingers tangled in his hair and gripped as she plundered his lips in reply.
His hands wandered, sliding, stroking, caressing, and claiming, and hers followed suit.
Desire rose, powerful and compelling. The ache of need that consumed them both was a passionate heartbeat that drove them.
They wanted, yearned for, and needed so much more, yet…
They were where they were, and no amount of desperation could change that.
Gradually, reluctance in every incremental movement, they eased back from the all-consuming vortex of sensations the kiss had become.
Bringing it to an end was hard.
He raised his head, rested his forehead against hers, and sighed—then dove back for one last, lingering, infinitely gentle kiss, one of unrestrained promise.
Her lashes rose as he drew away. She met his gaze, the emerald of her eyes rich and deep, then softly sighed.
They stepped back, rearranged their clothes, then he gave her his arm, and they resumed their interrupted stroll to the front door.
They halted in the hall, and he shrugged on his coat and picked up his hat.
She cleared her throat. “Tomorrow?”
“I’ll call for you at eight. In a hackney. Dress for the train.”
“The train?” She sent a surprised look his way.
He caught her hand, raised it, and kissed her fingers. “Yes, the train.” With a grin that plainly stated he wasn’t going to tell her anything more, he released her, opened the door, cast one last look her way, and said, “Until tomorrow.”
Then he left.
Gray felt Izzy’s gaze as he walked along the pavement. Only once he’d turned the corner and was out of her sight did he allow himself to think of how much he had riding on tomorrow.
If he’d thought of that earlier, she would have seen just how nervous he was over how his last ploy and his looming revelation would play out—for them both.
Gray managed to buy the train tickets without Izzy overhearing their destination.
She sat by the window in the first-class carriage; the constant rattling of the wheels made conversation too difficult, so he sat opposite her and watched her face as she gazed at the passing fields.
As the train slowed to draw into Stamford, he rose and offered her his hand.
She looked up at him in surprise. “Here?”
He grasped her hand and, as the train hissed to a halt, drew her to her feet. “Ancaster Park isn’t far away.”
She allowed him to lead her out of the compartment and down the corridor to the carriage door. “Your parents’ estate?”
He nodded, went down the steep steps to the platform, and held up his hands to help her down.
She joined him and glanced around, but didn’t say anything.
He wound her arm in his and led her out of the station to where a groom was waiting with a hired curricle. “We’ll be returning to catch the afternoon train.”
He helped her into the curricle, then took the reins, tipped the groom, climbed up, and sat beside her. From the station forecourt, he tooled the curricle north, over the bridge across the river Welland, and on through the town, eventually striking west along the main lane that led to the Great North Road. On reaching the highway, he turned the horses’ heads north and flicked the reins, setting the curricle bowling along.
Izzy hadn’t said a word, but she was gripping her hands tightly in her lap.
They rattled across the bridge over the river Gwash and came to the tiny hamlet of Tickencote. Gray slowed and turned onto the lane signposted to Empingham. Almost immediately, a pair of gateposts appeared on their left, the wrought-iron gates between them set wide, and he turned the horses through.
Izzy was so preternaturally still, he would have sworn she’d stopped breathing.
He kept the horses to a walk until they rounded the bend and the stately bulk of Tickencote Grange faced them.
Abruptly, Izzy reached over and closed her fingers tightly about his wrist.
He drew the horses to a halt and looked at her.
She was staring at the house, then she turned her head and met his eyes. “What are we doing here?”
Her voice was weak, thready.
Izzy looked back at the house; she could barely breathe past the hard knot that had formed in her chest.
Joy, sadness, relief the house still stood, and countless other emotions and memories warred within her.
She glanced at Gray, and he met her eyes.
“I searched for months for the house that would suit me and whoever I married. Of more than fifty houses, this is the only one that called to me.”
Unable to bear looking at her old home, she kept her gaze fixed on his face.
His lips twisted wryly. “I’ve learned through experience to follow my instincts—that they rarely, if ever, guide me wrongly, no matter what my rational mind sometimes thinks—and when it came to this place, from the first time I sat here and looked at it, it seemed to be the answer to my prayers.
“Then I ventured inside and knew beyond question that my instincts hadn’t lied.” He looked at the house. “No matter that I subsequently learned that this was the house your family once owned, the house your father lost through gambling it away, my instincts keep insisting that this is the right place for me to put down roots and thrive.”
He stared at the house a moment more, then simply said, “But I can’t thrive without you, Izzy.”
She’d followed his gaze to the well-remembered façade; she watched it draw nearer as he drove on down the drive.
He drew rein in the forecourt, tied off the reins, and climbed down, then rounded the horses and offered her his hand.
She gripped it, and as he helped her down, he said, “When I first visited, I had no idea it had once been your family home. Since the Extons were here, it’s been through several owners and ended in the care of a bank.”
She looked at the ornate panel above the front door. “And now, you’re thinking of buying it.” He wouldn’t have brought her there otherwise.
She glanced at him.
He was gazing at the house with a longing she recognized, then he met her gaze. “Only if you will be happy living here with me.” He tightly squeezed the hand he held. “But before we get to that, I’ve a confession to make.”
Gray saw wariness seep into her eyes and rushed on, “I have to tell you about my gambling.”
“What?” She stared uncomprehendingly at him. “What gambling?” She swung to face him.
Lips thinning, he took her hands in his and looked down at her slender fingers. “I told you earlier that the scent of adventure lured me to America. What kept me there…wasn’t gambling but the outcome of it.”
He drew in a rapid breath and forged on. “At Matcham House, I told you that after I reached America, over a period of time, I lost all my money. As you might imagine, I’d taken quite a bit with me, and in less than a year, I’d lost it all.” Briefly, he met her eyes. “At the tables, mostly.”
He didn’t try to conceal his self-disgust. “I was a fool. An arrogant, thought-I-knew-my-way-around-the-world fool. My only saving grace was that I came to my senses before I got into impossible debt.”
After a second’s pause, he continued, “I was naive, overconfident, and reckless. And looking back on those months, I would say I was addicted.” He drew a tight breath. “You decreed we should put our pasts to rest, and I agreed, but this is a part of my past that you need to see, to know.”
He finally raised his head and met her shocked gaze. “I didn’t know about your father’s gambling until Therese told me and didn’t truly appreciate the whole until you revealed that he’d made your family destitute through being addicted to gambling.”
Gripping her fingers more tightly, he held her gaze. “After the hardship, heartache, and sorrow your father brought to you and your family, I know gambling has to be a deeply difficult issue for you. On my honor, I swear that since that time—just over a year after I left England, when I found myself without a single cent in my pocket—I haven’t gambled in any way. Not socially, not professionally. Not for anything would I go back to the tables or permit myself to participate in any form of wagering again.”
He paused, then, still holding her gaze, said, “The truth is, after a time, the craving died. I learned my lesson the hard way, but learn it, I did. From having nothing, I clawed my way back to at least existing on my own terms—being able to pay for food and shelter. For years, I lived at that level, until I found that nugget.”
Her fingers curled, gripping his. Sharp and measuring, her gaze searched his face. “That’s why you viewed the nugget as Fate giving you a second chance.”
“That was the only way I could see it, and I knew I had to seize the chance and make the most of it.” He held her gaze. “And I did. That nugget and what grew from it saw me return to England. And it was instrumental in bringing us together again—it created the wealth that made me think I was the target of your exposé.”
Izzy studied his eyes while she absorbed what he’d told her and aligned that with what she knew of the man he now was. “You’ve trusted me with this because you want me to trust you.”
“Not just want—I need you to trust me. I want you as my wife more than I can say, but without trust…without you believing that I would never jeopardize our future, much less the future of the family I want to have with you…” He shook his head and let the sentence trail into silence.
There was a vulnerability in his face she’d never expected to see—not in him—and he was braced in anticipation of…her rejection.
With no further protestations, he stood, silently waiting for her judgment. She read as much in his amber eyes.
She held his gaze. “No one else knows of this, do they?”
He shook his head. “I was ashamed of it at the time. Now…” He lightly shrugged. “I would rather walk barefoot over broken glass than tell Devlin I was such an utter ass.”
“You didn’t have to tell me,” she pointed out.
He frowned. “Of course I did. Given your past with your father, I couldn’t not tell you.”
She finally allowed her expression to soften, her lips to gently curve. “And that, dear Gray”—she freed one hand and cupped his cheek—“is why I believe you. Why I trust you when you say you’ve finished with gambling, now and forever.”
He looked puzzled, so she went on, “You didn’t have to say anything—you could have left me in complete ignorance in the hope I would never find out. Instead, you cared enough about what I might think and feel to make a clean breast of your past failing, even though you’ve put it behind you.”
She allowed her smile to deepen. “And just so you know, you would never have passed Silas’s assessment if you harbored any vestige of a liking for gambling—he has antennae that are beyond sensitive when it comes to detecting that particular vice.”
He caught her raised hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her fingertips. “And Silas knows, as I do, that the subject matters to you.”
“Indeed. Yet far from denouncing you, he’s talking of going into business with you. In that respect, there can be no higher accolade as to your trustworthiness.”
He tipped his head. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re probably right.”
“Trust me, I am. I’ve watched that old man navigate the shoals of England’s businessmen, and he never puts a foot wrong.”
“Hmm. I might just push to become his apprentice.”
“You could do a lot worse.”
He met her eyes. “We’ve strayed from the critical point. Can you accept me as I am now and overlook what I once was?”
She tightened her grip on his fingers and unwaveringly held his gaze. “The man I see before me now is the man I always hoped you would be—just ten years older and ten years wiser. As for any inclination to gamble, you stand before me as wealthy as Croesus, proof positive that you haven’t been frittering away your fortune but, instead, growing it. That’s not the hallmark of an inveterate gambler.”
His features finally eased, and his lips curved wryly. “No, that’s true. But I should probably warn you that, to some extent, I’ve swung the other way. When it comes to parting with money, you’ll discover that I’m rather careful.”
She laughed. “I believe I can live with that.”
“Good.” Gray exhaled, and it felt as if a massive weight had slid from his shoulders. For several moments, he luxuriated in her laughing, loving gaze, then keeping his eyes on hers, gestured toward the house. “Next subject. I fell in love with this place before I knew it was your old home, but I don’t know whether, for you, it holds good memories or bad.” Keeping his tone even, he added, “I did hear that your brother wasn’t all that bothered about selling it and moving away.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Her smile grew only more dazzling as she looked at the house. “But he wasn’t our grandmother’s favorite. I was. I used to spend so much time here—with her and Mama, too—when I was a child and even later. My memories of this house are wonderful. That was why I was so cut up when we had to sell.”
Relief swamped him, and he grinned like a schoolboy. “Thank God for that.”
As one, they walked toward the house.
He swung the hand he still held. “I take it you’re willing to look over the place.”
She beamed. “Oh yes.”
They climbed the steps to the front porch. Gray fished out the front-door key from the back of the urn where the agent had said it would be, then opened the door and ushered Izzy inside.
She knew her way; she kept hold of his hand, and he let her lead as she explored her old home.
“Very little has been changed,” she murmured.
They went down, then up, and eventually, she led him into the sunlit ballroom. Once inside, she slipped her fingers free and went to the central window. She stood before the large glass pane and looked over the lawn to the river and the fields beyond.
He joined her, standing shoulder to shoulder and looking over the sweep of land to the south. After a moment, he found her hand with his, raised her fingers to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I mentioned that Ancaster Park isn’t far away. Although I never ventured in this direction, this area is my home. It’s the electorate I’d like to stand for—the local member is retiring, and he’s encouraging me to put my name forward. And in this district, being a Child counts for quite a lot.”
She glanced his way, curious and encouraging, and he continued, describing his intention to work to make life better for as many people as he could. “Politics offers the prospect of reaching further and making a difference for more people than just those I represent.”
She dipped her head in agreement, then asked, “Why this house?”
He had his reasons, including location, ease of access from London, size, spaces both inside and out, and the right mix of reception rooms for the events a member of Parliament would be expected to host. After elucidating those, he studied her face. “If you would rather not host such events here, we can buy a house in London as well and entertain there.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I know as well as you do that the most important people to build connections with are those who live in the electorate. Local entertaining will need to be done here, and”—she met his eyes—“I don’t mind in the least.”
He tipped his head, studying her face. “Can you see it? Us here, living the sort of life we want to live.”
She held his gaze for several heartbeats, then looked out of the window. “You’re proposing to make me mistress of Tickencote Grange.”
“The position is yours if you want it.”
She looked to the east. “My ancestors are buried in that churchyard—you’re offering to allow me to re-establish my roots.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
She glanced his way, then smiled a rather secretive smile and grasped his hand. “Come with me.”
Izzy’s heart was thudding as she led Gray through the house, out of the front door, and along the side of the front lawn to where hedges protected the old knot garden.
It was overgrown and in dire need of tending.
Undeterred, she drew him toward the circular central bed. “This is the place, above all others at the Grange, that was my favorite. Not just because of the glorious scents in spring and summer but also the cooing of the doves and the soft sounds of the river.”
She cast him a smiling glance. “I used to spend hours here with my grandmother and Mama. Even when my siblings were born, for some reason, they rarely came here. It became my special place.”
They reached the raised central bed, and she halted and faced him. “Years ago, I had a vision of my future that I cherish to this day—of me, here, with my own granddaughter, teaching her the names of the plants and how best to make them grow.”
She met and held his gaze. “When we were forced to sell the house, I thought that dream was dead and gone. Now you…” She held her arms out to her sides and, laughing, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face, whirled in a circle. “You’ve brought me here, and you’re offering me this, and giving me back my dream. You’re set on making it possible. And yes, I can see how our lives will fit together, how we can meld our individual lives into a single, solid reality.”
Stilling, she looked into his amber eyes and, surrendering to impulse, grasped his hands, one in each of hers, and with her eyes locked on his, asked, “Grayson Child, will you please do me the honor of asking me to marry you?”
Gray threw back his head and laughed. Then he looked at her and, smiling unrestrainedly, freed one hand, hunted in his pocket, then went down on one knee. Looking up at her, his expression open and, like hers, filled with joy, he asked, “Isadora Descartes, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
He drank in her expression of untrammeled happiness and couldn’t resist adding, “I’ve waited ten years to say those words.”
Her smile deepened. “And I’ve waited ten years to say yes!”
She tugged at his shoulders, and he rose and opened the jeweler’s box he held. “I saw this and thought it would be perfect for you. I hope it fits.”
Her eyes lit as she plucked the ring, with its marquise-set emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds, from its velvet bed.
He took it from her fingers and, when she offered her hand, slid the ring onto her third finger.
Izzy raised her hand and admired the ring. “It’s fabulous, Gray. And it fits.”
“Just as we do.” He closed his hand about hers, slid his arm around her waist, and drew her to him. “And this is something else I’ve been waiting ten years to do—to kiss Lady Isadora Child-to-be.”
He suited the action to the words, and she met him with unfettered joy in her heart.
Heady strands of passion and desire wound about them, and they clung to the exchange, eager and glorying, as a lifetime of promise opened before them.
How long they stood there, locked in each other’s arms, exploring the connection that now bloomed bright as any star, neither could have said, yet eventually, both drew back, laughing softly, breathless as they leant their foreheads against each other’s and fought to find some semblance of balance.
“Sadly,” Gray said, once he could speak, “this is neither the place nor the time. That seems to have been a recurring theme over this past week.”
Izzy sighed and raised her head; when her gaze met his, her eyes were the deepest emerald he’d ever seen. “I don’t understand why, after waiting ten years, it seems so hard to wait a few more weeks.” She glanced toward the house. “Nevertheless, between us, I’m certain we’ll ensure that our wait will be worth it.”
He laughed and took her hand, and they walked out of the knot garden and onto the lawn.
They halted directly before the house. Izzy stood in front of Gray and leant back against his chest, and with his arms wrapped around her, they gazed on the place they would make their home and, in whispers and murmurs, shared their hopes and dreams.
Saturday, February 14
They were married in St. Peter’s Church, the local village church that lay beyond the grange orchard, the same church that, for centuries, had seen Izzy’s ancestors from birth to grave. The minister, a longtime local who remembered the Descartes family, had been beyond delighted to be asked to officiate at a wedding that would bring the well-regarded ladies back to their ancestral home.
It was too early in the year for blossom, but throughout the orchard, Christmas roses spread like a carpet, raising their white, pink, magenta, and crimson heads to wave in the light breeze as Izzy, attended by Marietta, her brother Julius, and her mother, walked from the house, across the old orchard, past the lily pond, and on through a small gate to the church.
The crisp, clear air lent the scene an almost-magical quality, something the select gathering of guests invited to witness the nuptials of Lord Grayson Child and Lady Isadora Descartes had already noted.
As Izzy walked confidently beneath the stone pillars that formed the church’s porch, the sun broke through the light clouds to beam down in unexpected blessing.
She paused in the foyer, haloed in the beam of light while her mother and Marietta fussed with the folds of her ivory silk gown with its overlay of delicate lace. Holding the bouquet she’d fashioned for herself from white Christmas roses, hyacinths, and ivy picked from the knot garden that morning, Izzy looked down the nave, smiling with unrestrained joy at those gathered in the pews of the old stone church with its amazing carvings and impressive chancel arch.
Beneath that arch stood a man with burnished brown hair, waiting for her to join him, and even from that distance, she could see his amber eyes were brimming with love.
Then her mother, finally satisfied, slipped past her and walked quickly down the aisle to the front pew, and the organ swelled, and Julius offered his arm. Smiling at her brother, who was more nervous than she was, Izzy placed her gloved hand on his sleeve. “Just follow my lead,” she murmured as she raised her head and stepped out.
Julius smothered a laugh. “Just as I have all my life. You’ve been an inspiration, Izzy. I’m so pleased Gray came back to you.”
She was as well. This might be occurring ten years later than first planned, but he and she had grown so much in the intervening years, there was no sense of wasted time. They’d needed those years to become who they now were, so that as strong, experienced, tried and tested individuals, they could join forces and, together, go on.
Smiling radiantly, she met the many eyes turned her way. Some belonged to Gray’s family—cousins and connections—as well as several staff from Ancaster Park, while others represented the Descartes family, yet those she smiled most brightly at were the staff of The Crier.
She and Gray had elected to set aside all anxiety over her true identity becoming more widely known in order to have all the staff, who had supported her through the years and whom he had come to know, join them on their special day.
They’d been as one in decreeing theirs would not be the usual ton wedding and had limited their guest list to family, indispensable connections, and close friends.
Gray waited for her with Devlin Cader, his groomsman, beside him. As she neared, she glanced along the front pews, meeting Gray’s parents’ pleased gazes, the approving yet reserved expressions of his brother and sister-in-law, and the openly admiring gazes of his nephews.
Therese Cader sat just behind, enjoying herself hugely, and Martin Cynster was there as well, smiling broadly. Beside Martin sat Lady Matcham, her eyes alight with curiosity and approval, and beyond her sat Louisa and Drake, both relaxed and smiling.
On the Descartes’ side, Sybil, already dabbing at her eyes, sat by the aisle, with James, Izzy’s younger brother, beside her, and beyond him, her sister-in-law, Dorothy, and Silas, both beaming. Julius and Dorothy’s children sat in the pew behind, along with Lord Swan. To the delight of everyone in both families, Swan and Marietta, presently following Izzy down the aisle, planned to announce their engagement at the start of the upcoming Season.
With Julius, Izzy reached the end of the aisle, and Gray met her gaze and held out his hand.
Flown on happiness, she lifted her hand from Julius’s sleeve and laid her fingers across Gray’s and felt them close, strong and firm and undeniably possessive, about hers.
Together, they turned to the beaming minister, and the service began.
They’d decided to keep the service as short as possible, and the hymns they’d chosen were ones everyone knew and were happy to sing with gusto.
After the minister pronounced them man and wife, at his recommendation, Gray and Izzy shared their first kiss as a married couple while the sun poured down to bathe them in golden light.
They surfaced to discover that Donaldson and Digby had captured the moment. The pair rapidly drew back as, laughing and smiling joyfully, Gray and Izzy faced the congregation. Then they shared a swift glance, saw their eagerness and enthusiasm for getting on with their now-joint life mirrored in the other’s eyes, and faced forward and, hand in hand, started up the aisle.
The guests mobbed them, squeezing Izzy’s hands and slapping Gray’s back, their faces split by grins and smiles.
After tendering their congratulations, many guests poured outside to gather about the porch steps, and when Izzy and Gray finally emerged, a shower of rice rained down upon them.
Then Donaldson and Digby arranged Izzy and Gray in pride of place in the porch archway, with Devlin and Therese and Marietta and Swan flanking them, then begged everyone else to gather around. All the guests gladly obliged, and Donaldson took several exposures to commemorate the occasion.
Thereafter, the crowd—all invited to the wedding breakfast—streamed out of the side gate and along the path past the pond and on through the orchard. The staff Izzy and Gray had put together to man the Grange had been at the back of the church and had hurried to return to the house. They now stood proudly waiting to greet what were, in effect, the first guests to grace the old house in its new incarnation as Izzy and Gray’s home.
While the guests flowed through the house to the ballroom at the rear, Izzy and Gray dallied in the orchard, and Donaldson and Digby, both resplendent in dark suits with white Christmas rose boutonnières, took photograph after photograph, primarily at Gray’s behest.
He smiled at Izzy. “I want to be able to look back at this moment when we’re eighty years old.”
She smiled delightedly. “Preserving our memories in black and white. Not many have that chance.”
He nodded. “We do, and I’m seizing it.”
Soon after, they joined their guests, and the wedding feast began. The food was delectable—their new chef was on his mettle—and the champagne and wine flowed freely. The speeches, led by Devlin and Therese, aided by Swan and Marietta and Julius, with special appearances by Silas and Lady Matcham, were both touching and hilarious.
Then the musicians started playing, and to the delight of all present, Gray and Izzy shared the first waltz, then everyone was up and dancing.
At one point, Izzy’s hand was claimed by her younger brother, James, all of fifteen and acutely aware of it. They’d arranged the ceremony to coincide with the short leave toward the end of the Lent term, and James would return to Eton on Monday. However, having expected to spend the days in London with some of his friends, he wasn’t overjoyed at missing out on the likely hijinks.
For her part, having overheard several of James’s comments to his cousins, Izzy wasn’t the least sorry that James was in the country, far from the temptations of town. Not that she allowed that to show, but instead, complimented him on his dancing, which made him smile and almost preen.
Subsequently, Gray claimed her hand for a slow waltz, and when he asked for the source of the frown in her eyes, she shared the concerns she and her mother harbored over her father’s propensity for gambling emerging in his younger son.
They circled the room, then Gray observed, “James is nearing a critical age.” He met Izzy’s eyes. “Why not arrange for your mother not to be available to host him in town and, instead, have him divide his time between Lyndon Hall and the Grange? Between us and Julius and Dorothy, I doubt James will have time to develop a taste for that particular sport, and if you wish it, when the time is right, I’m willing to speak with him about my experiences.” He met Izzy’s eyes. “I’m certain the picture I paint will make James think three times before engaging in any serious game of chance.”
Relieved, she smiled. “Thank you.” When he urged her closer, she obliged and laid her head on his shoulder. She studied his profile from close quarters, then breathed, “I’m very glad you came home.”
He cast her a sidelong glance. “So am I.”
Earlier, Donaldson had taken several photographs of the wedding high table and of Gray and Izzy ceremonially cutting the tiered wedding cake. Now, set up in one corner by the windows, Donaldson and Digby were taking photographs of those of the guests who wished to pose.
Seeing some of those participating, Izzy grinned. “I had no idea the older generation would be so taken with being photographed.”
Gray was smiling at the sight of Lady Matcham settling herself on the posing chair as if it were a throne. “They want to leave something for their descendants to remember them by.” He tipped his head. “It’s not a bad idea.”
Inevitably, Gray and Izzy found themselves with their peers—Devlin, Therese, Martin, Louisa, and Drake—discussing Gray’s plan to stand for the local seat.
“I’m fairly certain we’ll see a declaration within the next few weeks,” Devlin said. “Lansdowne is making concerned noises, and he’s one you can be sure will read the wind correctly.”
Drake nodded. “Russell’s ministry is on its last legs—he’ll be gone inside of a month—and that means we’ll be heading to the polls sometime in the middle of the year.” He nodded at Gray. “You’d best get ready.”
Gray had made the decision to stand as an independent, and with everyone there, including his parents and brother and sister-in-law, ready to support him, along with the additional backing Izzy could bring to bear, while he felt sensibly nervous, he was also reasonably confident he would win through. He inclined his head to Drake and Devlin, then shared a smile with Izzy. “We’ll be ready. I’m looking forward to the challenge.”
Standing on the edge of the group, Martin surreptitiously tugged his sister’s sleeve. When Therese glanced questioningly at him, he lowered his head and his voice to ask, “Do you have any idea where Gregory is? I tried calling at his lodgings twice, but no one seemed to be there, and none of the others in town have seen him recently.”
“Ah.” Therese turned to face him. “I heard from Mama that Timms—” She broke off and looked inquiringly at Martin. “Do you remember Timms?”
“Of course. She always fed me ginger biscuits. She’s Minnie’s companion.”
“Was.” Therese squeezed Martin’s arm. “Minnie passed on years ago, just after you went off. In her will, she left Bellamy Hall and much of her wealth to Timms, more or less in a caretaker capacity, on the understanding that when Timms passed, she would leave the hall and the funds to keep it up to whichever of Mama’s or Uncle Gerrard’s children Timms judged was most in need of the legacy. Timms died just before Christmas, and she willed Bellamy Hall and the funds to Gregory.”
Martin blinked. “Well, that makes sense. Of the four of us, he’s the one with the least other responsibilities, and Frederick and William are far too young.”
“Indeed. So I suspect that Gregory has gone off to Bellamy Hall to see what he has to deal with.” Therese’s lips curved. “And no, he really has no idea.”
Reading her tone and the tenor of her smile, Martin asked, “What doesn’t Gregory know?”
Therese’s smile bloomed into one of delighted anticipation. “From all I’ve learned, I rather think our dear brother is going to find laying his hands on the reins of Bellamy Hall to be the biggest challenge of his life.”
The wedding breakfast rolled on in joyous vein, with not a wrinkle or hiccup to mar the day.
Eventually, however, all the guests left, driving to their houses in the surrounding countryside or heading back to London via the Great North Road, or alternatively, crowding into the charabancs Gray had hired to ferry guests back and forth from Stamford Station.
The last to leave were Sybil, Marietta, James, and Silas, who departed in Sybil’s carriage for Lyndon Hall, following Julius, Dorothy, and their three children in Julius’s coach.
At the top of the porch steps from where they’d waved everyone off, Izzy leant against Gray and sighed with unalloyed happiness. She glanced up and met his amber eyes. “Everything went off perfectly.”
Smiling, he raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “A wedding day to remember.”
“And thanks to Donaldson and Digby, we’ll have indisputable proof of that.”
“Indeed.” Gray grinned, and together, they walked inside.
Corby, transplanted from London to fill the post of butler of Tickencote Grange, was waiting to shut the door and report, “Everything is in hand, my lady, my lord. The staff are clearing the ballroom, and we’ll have it and the rest of the reception rooms in good order within the hour.”
Gray had ended his lease on his lodgings and dispatched his small household staff to the Grange, and Izzy had added several locals eager to join the servants’ hall at the “big house.”
“Thank you, Corby.” Izzy directed a teasingly speculative look Gray’s way. “If you don’t need his lordship or myself, then I believe we’ll…”
It was far too early to retire.
Catching her gaze, Gray smoothly supplied, “Retreat to our apartments so we won’t be in your way.”
Corby bowed. “Indeed, my lord. That would be much appreciated.”
With Izzy grinning delightedly, Gray steered her to the stairs. Halfway up the first flight, he paused and looked back. “Oh—and Corby?”
About to disappear down the hall, Corby halted and looked up. “Yes, my lord?”
“If we don’t appear again today, don’t send a search party.”
Corby looked faintly affronted. “Of course not, my lord!”
Izzy couldn’t help her laugh. She caught Gray’s hand and tugged. “Come on and stop teasing the poor man. He’s coped wonderfully given he’s never had to butler a gathering such as today’s.”
Despite their years of waiting, neither, it seemed, saw any reason to rush. Instead, they prolonged the anticipation by ambling, exchanging comments about this and that, remarking on the new furnishings they’d installed to soften and brighten the corridors and make the house more definitely theirs.
Eventually, they reached the door at the end of the upstairs corridor, the door that opened to the master suite. Gray set it swinging, and smiling, Izzy led the way inside, waiting only until he followed and shut the door to boldly walk into his arms.
They closed around her as she stretched up and, framing his face with both hands, set her lips to his.
The passion that had simmered for ten long years ignited.
Heat raced through them, and the years fell away, and they were the eager young couple they once had been, driven by their natures and their physical needs. Needs they could finally unleash.
Their lips melded. Their tongues dueled—seeking, exploring, and claiming.
He lured, and she followed without hesitation, eager and brazenly wanton in her desire to venture and learn.
Encouraged, he caressed her, sculpting her curves, still tightly encased in silk and lace.
She murmured in incoherent dissatisfaction and reached behind her to undo the tiny buttons that marched down her spine. Blindly, he helped, then she broke from the kiss to shed the delicate gown, closely followed by her ruffled petticoats. She kicked off her ivory slippers, and before he could do more than stare at the sight of the curvaceous figure defined by her corset, she launched herself at him, kissing him as if she were starving and he was her only hope of succor.
Need hit him like a train, driven and unstoppable.
He gripped her hips and fell into the kiss, into the raging torrent of desire and wanting she’d called forth and set free.
In short order, clothes flew, and with hands reaching, searching, stroking and possessing, they waltzed their way across the room.
Then they fell on the bed, hot skin to searing skin, and the jolt to their senses shocked them to stillness.
Darkened by passion, their eyes met.
Their gazes locked and held.
Both were breathing in shallow gasps, gripped by a yearning so powerful and intense they all but vibrated with the compulsion to rush on.
But they weren’t the youthful would-be lovers they once had been.
She might not be experienced in this sphere, yet he knew she knew there was more.
Lost in the glory of her eyes, he drew in a huge breath.
And more or less in concert, they drew on their reins.
Moving much more slowly, he lowered his head, and once again, their lips melded. But this time, they held the heat and driving urgency at bay and tasted each other, supped and sipped and savored.
Instinct—his and hers—flared and led them on, and together, like musicians following the directions of a conductor’s baton, they embarked on a slow, sensuous journey into intimacy.
Beat by beat, the pleasure mounted, and soft gasps and murmurs of appreciation became their symphony, one to which they both contributed.
Explorations were steeped in reverence, discoveries treated with worshipful awe.
Through the increasingly heated moments, knowledge of each other was their currency, and pleasuring the other became their ultimate and overriding aim.
The heady scent of passion wreathed about them as, finally, they joined, and for one shining moment, that scintillating sensation of being one, locked together in true intimacy, in the ultimate physical harmony, overwhelmed them.
Fingers clutching, gazes locked, they hung, suspended for an indefinable instant, no longer solely in this world, then the irresistible compulsion welled, swelled, and washed over them, and they surrendered to the compulsive tide.
Joy and delight, pleasure and sensation danced like magic beneath their skins. Passion and desire seared and burned and branded, and through it all, that elemental conflagration grew, undeniable and all-consuming, until it subsumed their senses and swept them from this world.
Into the heart of the sun of their creation.
They shattered, her, then him, nerves unraveling and senses expanding as light and glory filled them, and a connection so profound it linked their souls glowed in their minds.
Then aftermath rolled over them, and oblivion issued her commanding call.
They slumped, exhausted, yet with exhilaration still coursing through their veins.
Head bowed, he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a still-burning kiss to her fingertips. “Thank you,” he murmured, soft and low.
She raised her lids, revealing intensely emerald eyes that still glowed with the fires of desire. She met his gaze, steadily held it for several heartbeats, then her lips, lush and swollen, curved, and on an irrepressible chuckle, she said, “And you. And yes, that was, indeed, worth waiting ten years for.”