My Saving Grace Page 4

  He summoned his usual rigidness to cover his embarrassment at being caught in such a state of undress, and in front of young ladies, as well. They were coming toward him. She was still staring. What the devil was he supposed to say to her?

  “Del, I’ve been wondering where you’d gone. So’s everyone else. What are you doing in here?”

  “Waiting for a bath to be drawn, sir.”

  “Of course. Most fastidious man I know. Anyhow, I’ve been looking for you. Thought you might like a proper introduction to my nieces here, one of whom owes you her life. Grace, Hannah, may I present to you my... my friend, Delmore Lord. Del, these two are my sister Ariannah’s daughters, Lady Grace and Lady Hannah Fairchild.”

  Del, feeling very self-conscious in his wet, stinking, transparent shirt and bedraggled hair, let alone the scent of eau de pond that clung to him, obligingly took each of their hands and bowed over them, wondering why Sir Graham didn’t introduce him as his flag captain.

  But of course.

  He’d wanted to keep a low profile while here in England. To relax and wind down and not have to think about his duties or command. He didn’t want his high station to be known or people to make too much of him, and he’d made that perfectly clear to the Falconers as well as Alannah before they’d even left the flagship. He didn’t want to be asked the questions that civilians would ask of him, if he had known Nelson (no), if he had served at Trafalgar (no), if he had ever seen battle (yes), if he’d ever seen someone get their head taken off by a cannonball (it was called round shot, not a cannonball, and no, he had not and did not care to ever see it, no).

  But now, he just felt awkward.

  As though his identity were just out of reach, and the person who stood here in wet, stinking civilian clothes wasn’t really a person at all, but an illusion. An imposter. To correct his admiral in order to reclaim an identity he’d willingly relinquished, even if just for a short time, would appear ridiculous, perhaps even petty. And what would Sir Graham think?

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lord.”

  Mr. Lord.

  He would have laughed if the situation hadn’t become so irretrievable to begin with. And now he looked down at her, this lovely young woman he’d fished from the pond. She had the same dark blue eyes as Sir Graham did, the same jet black hair, and she was looking up at him with a smile that did funny things to his insides.

  She was the fairest creature he’d ever met.

  No.

  I will not, I most definitely not, even entertain the idea of getting my heart broken again.

  I will not.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” she said, laying a hand on his damp sleeve. Her voice was soft and lively, her smile sweet and genuine, but her eyes held none of the adoration they’d had for Ponsonby. A realist by nature, Del certainly hadn’t expected any. He was responsible for some six hundred lives on HMS Orion every day the ship was under his command. What he’d done for the girl was something any gentleman would have done, let alone an officer of king and crown.

  Ponsonby hadn’t done it, though.

  Maybe Ponsonby just wasn’t as quick to react as you were.

  Maybe Ponsonby hadn’t seen her as soon as you had.

  Maybe Ponsonby cared more about preserving the state of his fine uniform than he did the life of the young lady.

  It didn’t matter. He would get the pleasantries over and done with and hopefully at any moment Thorne would be calling down to tell him his bath was ready and he’d have an excuse to escape this... this bizarre awkwardness.

  “It was nothing that any quick-thinking man wouldn’t have done,” Del said dutifully. “I happened to be nearby, and so I acted. I hope you are quite recovered, Lady Grace.”

  She smiled then, and her eyes, heavily lashed, darkly fringed, took on a sudden sparkle. “My body is quite recovered, but my pride has been sorely wounded. Everyone was watching, including— oh, that doesn’t matter, does it? Everyone was watching and now I’ve given the world something to talk about. But then, I always do. Really, I bring embarrassment to everyone who knows me, myself included.” She laughed. “Aren’t you glad you don’t know me? I’d embarrass you too, to be sure. Still, I hadn’t planned to be the talk of the afternoon. Oh, the mortification!”

  “An accidental jibe can happen to any sailor,” Del offered lamely.

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  Del stared at her, thinking that if she didn’t know what an accidental jibe was, she had no business being in a boat. So this was a sampling of the civilian population whose protection fell upon the hapless Royal Navy?

  God help them all.

  “Yes, a jibe occurs when the stern passes through the wind. In turn, it causes the sail to be caught by the resultant change in wind direction and the boom to come swinging ’round. When unintentional, the motion is usually quite violent, and can be dangerous.”

  “As I discovered.” She slid two fingers behind her ear, wincing. “I suppose that if I’m going to sail, I should take proper lessons.”

  “I daresay that would be advisable.”

  “Well, I was doing quite well until the wind gusted,” she challenged. “Don’t you think?”

  Again, Del was struck speechless; between her incompetent attempts to row the boat let alone sail it, he’d not seen such a cock-up on the water since an Eton classmate had made a paper sailboat that had promptly sunk the moment it got waterlogged.

  “Your efforts were quite—” he cast about for the correct word —“notable.”

  She fixed her gaze on him then, studying him for a long moment with her head slightly tilted and a sparkle in her eyes and her teeth worrying her bottom lip in a way that made Del think of what that lip must taste like, how plush and sweet it might be beneath his own.

  “Notable,” she repeated, head still cocked to one side, and he saw the laughter in her eyes and knew that she knew very well what he thought of her seamanship.

  “Well, yes.”

  “The next time you see me in a boat, sir, I’ll give you reason to think it memorable as opposed to just notable.”

  “Do us all a favor and stay out of boats, Grace,” said Sir Graham. “Leave the sailing to the navy.”

  “Yes, I agree with Uncle Gray,” her sister added. “We’ve seen notable. We don’t need memorable.”

  “Nonsense. You are a pessimist, Hannah, if you think ‘memorable’ carries connotations that are negative. In fact, I declare that my performance will be... unforgettable.”

  “That promises to be even worse.”

  Del stood there, unsure what to think of such a strange and silly conversation and decided that the clout to the girl’s head must have knocked something asunder within it. And in that moment, seemingly on impulse, she took a step forward, stood on her tiptoes, and anchoring herself with a hand against his shoulder, kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  Del stood there, blinking.

  “Thank you, sir. I shall forever be grateful to you for your kindness. And—” she grinned, her eyes sparkling with self-deprecation—“your seamanship that I so obviously lack.”

  Del, resisting the urge to touch his kissed cheek, tried to muster words from his suddenly dry throat and failed. He was saved by a most opportune source. A loud ahem from the top of the stairs revealed Thorne’s presence, and the coxswain was grinning as he noted the exchange between his captain, the two women, and the admiral.

  “Your bath is ready, sir.”

  Thank God.

  Del, his cheek still tingling where her lips had touched it, said the right things, bowed the right depth, and grabbing at the lifeline that had been offered him, all but ran for the stairs.

  7

  Grace, still chewing her bottom lip and thinking about the subtle rasp of Delmore Lord’s cheek beneath it, thinking about the strange electric jolt that had rattled her senses at that contact, watched her unlikely savior move quickly up the stairs.

  Hmm.

  “Sh
all I help you up to your room?” the admiral asked kindly.

  His words shook her out of her momentary confusion. Confusion that she’d felt the blood hum through her veins when she’d put her lips to Mr. Lord’s cheek. Confusion as she’d touched his wet shirt and the rock that was his shoulder beneath, and how that had made her senses swim with a sudden longing she didn’t understand. Confusion at feeling these odd things that she had thought, really, she might only experience with a similar imagined encounter with Captain Ponsonby.

  What is the matter with me?

  “Grace?”

  “Oh thank you, Uncle Gray, but I’m feeling much better,” she said briskly, coming back to herself. “I’ve got the banister and Hannah to help me, so I will be fine. Your friend... he seems rather stiff. I don’t think he likes me much.”

  The admiral shrugged. “I’m sure he likes you quite well, Grace,” he reassured her. “But Del is obsessively fastidious and I suspect he just wants to get out of his wet clothes.”

  “Is he a sailor?”

  “He... uh... has a boat, yes.”

  “I can’t believe he jumped into the lake to rescue me. He doesn’t even know me!”

  “Well, thank God he was close and saw what had happened. You were quite lucky today, young lady.”

  Her spirits sank a bit. “Pity it wasn’t Captain Ponsonby who’d been close. But I don’t even exist where he’s concerned.”

  “I am sure that if Captain Ponsonby had been the first one to notice that you were in trouble, he too would have jumped into the lake to save you.”

  Hannah sniffed. “He was sitting near enough. He could’ve jumped in to save her but he didn’t.”

  Grace frowned. Surely, Captain Ponsonby had been too occupied with Cecily de Montforte to notice anything, really. Her face mirrored that unhappy thought and the admiral, probably wishing to extricate himself from such awkwardness as he sought to defend both his friend and a subordinate, was quick to make his excuses.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two to your own devices,” he said. “Try and rest, Grace. And I forbid you being out on that pond in a boat of any sort from now on.”

  She grinned and touched her fist to her brow in what she hoped was a proper naval salute. “Yes, Admiral.”

  He laughed, catching the mockery in her grin. “Enough of that. I’m off. If you’re up to it, Maeve and I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

  He bowed and turned, and went back outside to join his family and the guests.

  Hannah didn’t even wait for the door to close before she turned on Grace. “I can’t believe you actually kissed that man!” she hissed. “Whatever must he think of you, Grace? You don’t even know him!”

  “I do, now.” And what a dreadful impression I’ve made on him. Not to mention Captain Ponsonby.

  “It’s a good thing nobody but us saw you do that. Tongues would be wagging like a tail on a dog!”

  “Do stop being so dramatic, Hannah. The man saved my life. An impulsive expression of gratitude shouldn’t be criticized so harshly.”

  “Did you see his face? He was clearly uncomfortable.”

  “Well, I can’t take it back. And I wouldn’t want to. But if it makes you feel better, when I see him next, I’ll apologize for my impulsiveness.”

  “Let’s hope he’ll be at dinner this evening so you can apologize, then!”

  “Dinner?” Grace shook her head, causing a fresh stab of pain to lance it. “Ugh. The last thing I want is to remind anyone of that humiliating incident by appearing in company tonight.” She lifted the heavy wet hank of hair that hung over her shoulder in dismay and gave it an uncertain sniff before dropping it in disgust. “Oh, Hannah. What a disaster. How am I ever going to get Captain Ponsonby to notice me?”

  “Oh, he noticed you all right.”

  Grace began climbing the stairs, steadying herself on the banister and shunning Hannah’s help. “You know what I mean.”

  “Honestly, Grace, after your antics this afternoon I think you forfeited all chance of him noticing you.”

  “Nonsense. I just need to... to hone my sailing skills. He’s a naval captain. He’ll be impressed if I can prove that I really do know how to sail a boat.”

  “But you really don’t know how to sail a boat.”

  “I can learn.”

  “That would require finding a good teacher.”

  “And a body of water that doesn’t stink of mud and duck droppings, should the unfortunate happen.”

  “Really, Grace, you are in no way ready to practice your skills on any body of water bigger than a bathtub.”

  “And, I’ll never learn those skills if they’re not practiced.” She paused on a stair, catching her breath against a wave of dizziness. “I suppose I could ask Uncle Gray to help me, but he seems to have his hands full between his children and his duties.”

  “You could.”

  “Or I could ask Captain Ponsonby himself.”

  “That would be too forward.”

  “Then who can I find who might teach me?”

  Hannah’s gaze lifted, past the top of the stairs and to the hall beyond, where Sir Graham’s darkly mysterious friend had disappeared. “Well, you could ask the one who saved you. Didn’t Uncle Gray say he’s got a boat?”

  Grace made a noise of dismissal and waved her hand. “Now that would be forward, and I don’t get the impression he likes me much. I’m not going to make him even more uncomfortable than I already have.”

  “Well,” Hannah said, shrugging. “It was just a thought.”

  Just a thought.

  They continued on and reached the top of the stairs. There, a window stood open and laughter drifted in from the party outside. A chestnut tree cast dancing shadows over the lawn as the breeze moved through its lofty branches and in the distance, Grace could see Ned Falconer helping his two little sisters into the same boat she’d tried to sail, and navigating it with perfect competence out into the lake.

  Fresh mortification tore through her.

  “I could ask Cousin Ned,” she mused. “It would give me the chance to get to know that side of my family better.”

  “Really, you’d be better off practicing piano than getting back into a boat. Or embroidery. Or French.”

  “None of which interest me.”

  “Swordplay?”

  Grace laughed. “I’ll think about it. Meanwhile,” she said, turning from the window, “I’m wet and itchy in these clothes, and I need a bath of my own. This celebration, or party, or whatever Mama is calling it, should last for a few more days. That should be plenty of time for me to think up a way to make a memorable impression upon Captain Ponsonby.”

  Hannah just shook her head, and the two sisters headed slowly down the hall, each step causing Grace’s head to pound a little harder until she realized that she had a proper headache brewing within her skull. She couldn’t wait to lie down.

  No, she didn’t want to attend dinner.

  She just wanted to rest.

  But Captain Ponsonby would be there and really, she didn’t have a choice.

  8

  The bath, served up in a gleaming copper tub with fine milled soap, fluffy towels, and deliciously hot water, was a luxury that was seldom afforded even the flag captain of a famous admiral while at sea, and Del was looking forward to it immensely.

  “Thank you, Thorne.”

  “Aye, sir. Will you have any further need of my services?”

  “No. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

  Thorne grinned, knuckled his forehead, and swiftly disappeared, leaving Del all alone.

  At last.

  He peeled off his sodden, clammy shirt and left it balled up in the washbasin so as not to ruin the rug or the furniture. His fine buckskin breeches, stained with mud and what looked suspiciously like the sheep droppings he’d tried so hard to avoid, followed, and finally his stockings. He wrinkled his nose. Yes, the bath was something he was eagerly anticipating, so much so that his skin was
almost crawling.

  Stark naked, he checked a second time to make sure the door was securely latched behind him and put a tentative foot into the tub. Hot water swallowed up his toes, his ankle, his long, hairy calf. He stepped fully into the steaming water and lowered his weight down, sighing in bliss as the water embraced him, scented with lavender and sending up little curls of steam toward the high plastered ceiling.

  He folded his knees to make more room for himself and sliding deeper into the tub, rested his head against the raised lip and regarded that same ceiling.

  Lady Grace Fairchild.

  He didn’t know quite what to make, let alone think, of her. The girl was as foolish as she was pretty because really, what would compel any person of intelligence to go out in a boat they didn’t know how to handle and on a windy day, besides?

  Of course, that was assuming such person was indeed intelligent.

  Del wasn’t so sure.

  He adjusted his cramped legs and shut his eyes. Again he saw the girl’s lively blue gaze, her clear skin, her dark hair falling in haphazard skeins of wet disarray around her shoulders as she’d gazed up at him in amusement just before planting that shocking kiss on his cheek. He hadn’t got the impression she was stupid.

  Impetuous, yes.

  Impulsive, for certain.

  But stupid?

  No.

  Something had compelled her to try such a foolish stunt, and he cursed his mind for continuing to dwell on a question that was, really, none of his business and beneath the normal array of his interests.

  And then he remembered her adoring eyes as she’d looked up at Ponsonby, and he had his answer.

  Ponsonby. Charismatic, handsome, and confident. The type of man women found irresistible, just as they did Connor. The type of man that Del had never been, would never be, and didn’t think he’d want to be.

  Why are you still thinking about her?