The Baron's Saving Grace Read online

  She was not at all certain she’d get one. Handsome, engaging and no doubt a rake, he wouldn’t be the sort of person to tamely reply. He had the look about him—that of a man who would do as he preferred and not kowtow to conformity.

  The intruder rubbed his head, where she could see a lump was already forming. He smiled, ruefully. “George Armstrong. At your service, and to rescue you from the clutches of a man no sane person would spend a minute with. Otherwise, it won’t only be the parasol that is ruined.” He held out his hand. “If you wish to escape him, come with me now. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  She ignored his offer and resolutely tamped down the hint of sympathy for the injury she had bestowed on him. He deserved it. His face might be unfamiliar, but his name was not. The antics of a certain Mr G A of Corbridge had made regular appearances in the scandal sheets over the years. Why on earth hadn’t she kept her pistol in her reticule instead of stowing it in her portmanteau? She glanced towards the most substantial vase in the room. She would have no chance to reach it before he overpowered her. The nymph it would have to be. She had an irrelevant thought of the statue’s prominent breasts hitting him in a place he would find very painful.

  “George Armstrong… I’ve heard of you.”

  He flinched as if the note of disgust in her voice had administered a direct slap to his face. Why? Gossip might be unreliable but there would not have been quite so much of it in the press unless there was some element of truth in the loose behaviour they accused him of.

  “I should have hit you harder,” Grace said forcefully. “As it is, my poor parasol will never be opened again. Who are you to tell how me how to go on? You…you…rake…” She didn’t add she had also heard of his prowess as a lover, although being face to face with his broad shoulders and undoubted good looks, she had no trouble believing the truthfulness of those particular rumours. Not that she intended to let them influence her. Not at all. So why were her nerve ends tingling? Why were her palms clammy and her mind sending amorous thoughts to her brain? Along the lines of ‘wouldn’t it be good to find out’?

  Enough. Concentrate on the necessities of this situation.

  His mouth quirked up at the corners and a twinkle entered his blue eyes, as if what she had just said amused him.

  “A rake?” he drawled, in the best rakish voice she had heard in an age. “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call myself that, not these days at any rate, although I will admit to the odd peccadillo or several in my past. Due to those, ah…interesting times, and given my youthful follies, I have experience of how a rake’s mind works. I’ve met many a man like Corbett. I hope not to meet many more, but I don’t hold my breath. They seem to go forth and multiply at a formidable rate.”

  Grace looked longingly at the nymph once again then glared at him. Youthful follies? Not if the papers are to be believed. Is he addled?

  “Are you an aficionado of the poppy, Mr Armstrong?” It was the most scathing thing she could think of on the spur of the moment.

  Any hint of humour fled from his face. He reddened.

  Maybe that was a bit too much. He appears ready to commit murder. Probably mine. Grace opened her mouth to apologise, but before she had a chance to speak, he beat her to it.

  “I am not,” he replied stiffly. “I have no need of such things, be they medicinal or not. As for Corbett, I have no clue as to whether he has any unsavoury addictions, although I do know he’s a less-than-honourable man. A weasel. A reprobate of the first order. An underhanded rogue.” He raised his shoulders and let them fall. “Count your fingers after he has held your hand. He’s the type of person whose only consideration is for himself and what is best for him. Nothing else. Why on earth is someone like you here with someone like him?” His voice was desolate, and his bleak expression made her wince.

  However, she was wise enough to know any sympathy would not, at that given moment, be well received. Grace held her tongue, striving not to let her temper get the better of her and fairly sure she would not succeed. After all, what did he know?

  Given his father’s sad history, the lady’s question had stung, although she would not realise why it had caused him pain. Her next words had him within an inch of showing her the door and leaving her to fend for herself, but he could not bring himself to do it. No female should be left in Corbett’s clutches, let alone one as tempting as the apple-cheeked beauty stood in front of him now.

  “This is folly,” he said in what he hoped was a reasonable tone, and suspected she would disagree. “Someone needs to tell you.”

  She pursed the perfect bow of her lips. “So you say.”

  She disagreed. God save me from a bloody contrary woman. Even if she does make my body tighten and my cock stretch my breeches.

  “As I’ve told you. I know so.”

  And if you believe different you deserve all you get.

  “Your opinion, sir, is nothing I need to have regard for.” She clenched her fists.

  George watched her warily. Women could be unpredictable and he knew to his cost this one had a strong arm and could use it to great success. It would be preferable if she didn’t have cause to use it in his direction in the future.

  “I am damned sure you do, woman. I rescued you.”

  The lady sent a glowering glance in his direction. One silk-slipper shod foot beat a soft but determined staccato rhythm on the carpeted floor.

  “Do not call me woman in that tone, sir.”

  How had she made ‘sir’ sound a like an epithet?

  “I didn’t need rescuing,” the lady went on in the same ‘explaining to a simpleton’ tone. “My sister and I are similar enough in looks for me to fool Corbett into thinking I am her. Especially when aided by a large-brimmed bonnet and a parasol to hide the fact that my eyes are green rather than blue and my hair is lighter in colour than hers.”

  George couldn’t help himself and grinned. She sounded interesting and took his mind away from his problems. “Why on earth would you need to do that?”

  She eyed him in a considering way, as if making up her mind about him. Did she think him untrustworthy?

  “For my ears only,” he added. “I might appear someone who shares, but trust me I do not.” He chuckled. “No rake or rogue worth their salt would gossip, and no ex-rake doubly so.”

  Then she nodded, plonked herself down on the padded boudoir chair with a sigh and removed her headgear. She tossed it onto the floor and pressed her fingers to her temples as if to massage away pain. Should he ask if she had a headache? Perhaps not. She might say yes and that he was the one who had caused it.

  “Ahh, that’s better. Let me try and explain. Around seven years ago, Mama passed away in tragic circumstances—she slipped and fell into the river Freshney, which was swollen with winter rains, caught pneumonia and died within days. Not long after, Papa remarried. He’s one of those men who need to have a wife.” She twisted her lips. “I’ve never been sure why. After all, half the time he’s not at home. Which is by the by. My sister, Jane, still resides at the family home, and our stepmother resents this. She wants her gone. We don’t know the reason, for her attitude, except perhaps it interferes with her social life.” Grace paused and smiled wryly. “Including the…ah…how should I put it…”

  “Shenanigans? Peccadillos?” George nodded. “It happens.”

  “Sadly. As you say. My poor papa. To make matters worse, you will find Corbett’s name on my stepmother’s family tree, albeit on a different branch. Jane and I believe if she is not actually in cahoots with Corbett, she has encouraged and aided his pretentions to Jane’s hand.”

  George pulled the high-backed chair from the desk and sat on it. “Why? Is Jane a great heiress or something?”

  The lady’s smile, although rueful, lit her face and nearly took George’s breath away. “No. We each have a small dowry along with a few hundred pounds inherited from Mama to be given to us on the day we marry. Corbett’s obsession with Jane is purely lust, I fear.”


  If the sister was in anyway comparable with the lady sat opposite him, George could see why Corbett desired her. Another’s encouragement coupled with the man’s own shady morals clarified for him how the situation had come to be. Apart from one point. “Ah… So two sisters alike in looks and circumstances. What makes you an unacceptable alternative to Jane?”

  “Alike in looks? Enough, unless we are stood side by side, but I reside in Harrogate and Jane in Knaresborough, so Corbett has never seen me in person and it does not naturally occur to him that Jane is not Jane. A few theatricals on my part have kept him on his toes and his mind rather too busy to think it through. Alike in circumstances? Not at all. Jane is unwed because she has been waiting for the man she loves to return from active duty. When she got wind of what Corbett was plotting, she appealed to the colonel of his regiment, who luckily is a distant relative to our late mama. The upshot being Major Winterbottom has been granted a period of compassionate leave. If my delaying tactics work according to plan, they will arrive at Gretna ahead of myself and Corbett. When we ourselves get there, Corbett will discover Jane is now married, and he is in the company of the wrong sis…”

  Her words trailed off at the sound of a tap on the door. It opened and the landlord walked into the room, his arms full of logs for the fire. Douglas’ eyes widened as surveyed George’s female companion, and his face reddened. “Um… Please accept apologies, my lord. I didn’t realise you had…ah…company.”

  He deposited the logs in a wicker basket beside the grate, lit the oil lamps on the mantel with a taper flamed in the fire and backed hastily out of the room.

  That’s done it! There’s only one honourable way out of this.

  George opened his mouth to speak the words and found they came easily, as if this were his destiny. The way it was always meant to be. “Would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?” He waited for her answer with bated breath.

  Her face softened. “How very kind of you, but I’m afraid my answer must be no. Perhaps by way of an explanation I could offer you my name?”

  George’s heart sank. He nodded as his mouth went dry. He suspected he was in for an unpleasant surprise.

  “The Honourable Mrs Roger Foston.”

  His assumption had been correct.

  Mrs? Roger Foston? But he’s even older than my father would be now…

  Whatever else he had expected to hear, it was not this. Eloquence fled. Instead of a polite ‘pleased to meet you’, only two words escaped his mouth. “How? Why?”

  He received an amused smile accompanied by a shrug. “How? Well, in the normal manner. Roger proposed, and I accepted. We were wed in the local church a few weeks later. Why? Well, there are worse situations to find oneself in than to be wed to a good-natured man who treats his wife with respect and understands not all women are without a brain, and that some need more from life than an endless round of parties and tittle-tattle.”

  In the face of her refreshingly candid reply, George gathered his scattered wits and walked to a long side table. The contents of the decanters standing on it he had investigated earlier, before descending the stairs to spend the evening in the snug. He poured a glass of ratafia for her and a large tot of whisky for himself. “More than residing in a home where you are neither welcome nor wanted, for instance?”

  “Amongst other things.” She took the wine from him, had a sip and made a face before she put the glass down on a nearby table. “Good grief, it is revoltingly sweet. What are you drinking?”

  He handed her his glass with a bow, fully expecting her to decline. She didn’t. Instead, she lifted it to her nose, sniffed the contents and smiled in appreciation before she tasted.

  “Ah, Glen Eyevie, I suspect. Good choice. I do wonder how on earth it arrived here? Old Angus McSporran is very careful whom he selects to be a recipient of his talents, and his very words I believe are he ‘cannae stand most o’ thon sassenachs’.” She laughed. “You appear surprised I know such things? My husband is happy to introduce me to such niceties as a good malt. We may be sassenachs, but we both have ancestors from north of the border.”

  He nodded but made no comment regarding her or her husband’s antecedents, instead content to keep things harmonious and to the point.

  “A fine whisky for a fine lady.” He poured himself a fresh measure. “Slàinte. Your husband is obviously a man of discerning taste, Mrs Foston.” He hoped she didn’t understand the underlying implications in his words, or if she did, she accepted his admiration without reservation.

  She put the glass down and held out her hand. “Being as I’m in your bedroom, albeit unwillingly, you’d best call me Grace.”

  George shook it gently and managed the words he hadn’t been capable of earlier. “Pleased to meet you, Grace, and please accept my apologies. My actions were ill-conceived but not ill-intentioned.”

  A challenging glint entered her eyes. “Ill-conceived, certainly. Ill-intentioned? I have yet to make up my mind. Do you make a habit of forcibly removing females according to your own summation of their situation?”

  George picked up the gauntlet and ran with it. “About as often you adopt a false persona purposefully to deceive, I suspect.”

  His remark hit home. Grace’s face flushed.

  Chapter Two

  Well, really. The cheek of the man. She’d been a fair way to liking George Armstrong up until then. However, his words held a hint of truth, and her face heated even more as she glared at him and voiced her objection. “I beg your pardon? Are you accusing me of being a fraud?”

  He crossed one elegantly clad leg over the other and sat back more comfortably in his chair. Sadly, the position highlighted every line of his body, including his interesting—and it appeared interested—manhood. She averted her eyes and willed her pulse to slow down. He might be a fine specimen but he was not hers, nor could he be. The short, sharp shock of disappointment surprised her. No man had provoked such a reaction from her in an age.

  “Oh, don’t poker up so,” he said in an amused voice. “I was merely pointing out that for the best of reasons each of us has stepped outside the boundaries acceptable to our status in our endeavours to provide assistance to another person.”

  George’s stance was relaxed, his voice mild, and her ire faded. He had a point. “Yes. Well. I suppose so.”

  A smile lit his handsome face. “That’s better, even if I suspect it was dragged out of you. You’re here with your husband’s approval then? He knows of your plan?”

  The tug of attraction tightened in Grace’s stomach then made itself known in her nether regions. Oh, God. He is a charmer. Unsettled by her body’s instantaneous response, Grace pressed her knees together and refocused on the matter in hand. “Yes and no. Roger and I agreed I should go post-haste to Jane’s assistance, but I didn’t confide the finer details of how I planned to solve her dilemma. These days, my husband is in poor health.” She closed her eyes for a brief second to hide the sadness she felt for Roger. Very much older than her but considered ‘young for his years’ at the time of their courtship, his health had taken a sudden turn for the worse within a year of their marriage. “Roger’s heart is not as it should be. His physician says he is as comfortable as I can make him and he is content to live quietly in our Yorkshire home, watch the sea in all its moods and take an interest in the affairs of the village.” She sighed. “I would never have left him if my sister hadn’t been in such dire straits, but his valet is devoted, and Jane’s need was greater, so…”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise his health was failing.”

  “You are acquainted with him, I believe? He has mentioned your name from knowing you in earlier years when he himself was in better health.”

  George frowned. “Ah… Are you sure it is me you have heard about? I have no recall of having ever met your husband.”

  “Baron Armstrong?”

  He nodded. “That is me.”

  “Then of course I am sure. Your exploits are legenda
ry.”

  “But was it George or Gordon? I admit I had my moments before maturity, but I am no compatriot of your husband. He is of an age comparable to my late father. I believe they may have been acquaintances. Probably through being members of some of the same clubs.”

  A sinking feeling hinted she might have made a terrible mistake in thinking the worst of his reputation. “I only know ‘G’. Are you telling me that is not you?” She almost added, ‘it appears to be somewhat far-fetched for it not to be’, however some niggle in the back of her mind made her bite her tongue.

  “I’m George. My father was Gordon. I had my day, but I couldn’t compare my youthful exploits to those of the previous generation.” He smiled wryly. “They went at their hedonistic pleasures with no thought for anyone else. I, at least, took care not to hurt or embarrass those who were innocent.”

  Thank goodness she hadn’t expanded on her earlier statements and shredded his character completely. Grace felt faint at the thought of what unpleasantness her misconception could have caused. She made haste to explain herself further.

  “Thank you for clarifying your situation.” She glanced at the clock and jumped. “Now what do we do? Corbett will be searching for me. If the landlord recognised me from being with him earlier, the game will be up. I still need to keep him away from Gretna until at least the day after tomorrow. By my reckoning, Jane will now have left the church after marrying her beloved major. This night was to be their wedding night so they can…” Heat rushed into her cheeks. Those details shouldn’t be shared with an almost stranger.

  “Consummate their marriage?” George suggested without any inflexion.

  “As you say,” she said, grateful for his mild explanation. Why hadn’t she thought of it? “Then when Corbett and I arrived at Gretna, she and her husband were to get me out of his clutches, by force if necessary.” She took a deep breath. “Do you follow all I’ve said?”

  George nodded with appreciation. “Oh yes, and I must add, if you were to use your parasol on Corbett to the same effect as you did on me, their interference would not be needed.”