And he dare not examine the reason why.
“Darling.”
Thomas started, and then turned at the soft lilting exclamation. Grace swept into the room, her hands outstretched. She wore a silky robe over an equally silky, pale pink confection of lingerie, which skimmed her lush figure. Before he could respond, she enfolded him into her arms, her neck angled back for her kiss.
Thomas pressed an obligatory kiss on painted red lips and then hastily extricated himself from the embrace and the overly sweet scent of her perfume. The pleasure on her face dimmed. She quickly offered him a smile too bright, too wide-eyed to be genuine. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to town,” she scolded lightly, trailing her hand up his arm.
Her touch failed to elicit the normal rush of desire. At that moment Thomas knew what he had to do and couldn’t help an inward cringe.
Thomas caught her hand with his, and drew her down to the chintz, floral sofa. “Come, we must talk.”
Grace subsided without a demur, her nightwear pulling taut over womanly hips and thighs, but her hazel eyes held a glimmer of unease. “You want to talk before we retire to the bedchamber?” Again her smile appeared forced.
“I’m not here for that. I’ve come to tell you I’m ending our arrangement,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, while retaining his hold on her hand.
The force of the slap caught him unawares, causing a stinging pain in his left cheek. That was when he wished he’d captured both hands.
“You wretched bastard.” Fury contorted her features, turning what he’d always thought was a comely visage into something not quite as comely. Not with her pupils dark pinpoints of rage and her red mouth drawn into a feline’s angry hiss.
She sprang to her feet and commenced raining blows all over his shoulders and arms.
The instinct of self-preservation surged to life and sent Thomas to his feet to capture the small hands before she managed to do any real damage. “Good God, Grace, get a hold of yourself.” He held her hands firmly while she tugged in vain to free them.
“A year I have saved myself for you. An entire year when I could have had any gentleman in London. They all wanted me, you know. Do you know how many men offered their protection? Men I turned down waiting for you, and you could barely see your way to call on me in the last three months.”
In an abrupt and unexpected move, she stopped struggling, her body going limp. She dropped back down onto the sofa. Thomas released her and quickly positioned himself on the other side of the center table opposite her, well out of her arm’s reach.
A violent shudder wracked her body as she covered her face with her hands and began a noisy sobbing.
Thomas could bear almost anything but a weeping, distraught female. And it had been at least three years since he’d had to endure such a scene. One of the reasons he had chosen Grace was because she’d not appeared the sort of female prone to crying fits. She’d handled herself with the kind of aplomb he admired and wanted in a mistress. With her, there’d be no histrionics. She’d keep to fulfilling his sexual needs and being the model escort when he desired one. Or so that’s what he’d thought. Four months into their arrangement she’d dispelled that assumption when she began to complain as the frequency of their meetings began to wane. From that point on, Thomas knew the clock on their arrangement was winding down. But obviously the end hadn’t come soon enough, he thought, rubbing his smarting cheek as he flexed his jaw.
“You’ve known from the start these sorts of arrangements are temporary,” he said, shifting on his feet. He watched her body heave as she inhaled and exhaled long, shuddering breaths.
At his words, her head jerked up, her hands dropped from her face, and he saw red swollen eyes and tear-stained, mottled cheeks. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? She’s demanded that you give me up, hasn’t she?”
Thomas’s thoughts flew immediately to Amelia. How could Grace possibly know about her? “What woman?” he asked sharply.
“The bloody Duchess of Bedford. The one who was here three weeks ago. Oh, she went on as if she’d mistakenly called on the wrong house. Said she thought a Mrs. Franklin lived here. But even after I told her there was no woman by that name around here, she didn’t leave. She started asking me