She smiled. "Yes. I am."
He looked at her, stroking back a strand of hair from her face. "You're one hell of a woman."
"Really?"
"Yes. Really." He kissed her. Long and slow.
She reached up and grabbed onto his back.
As he grew hard inside of her again, she sighed and gave herself up to the pleasure.
* * *
Grace woke up alone and she could tell it was late in the morning. The sun, which was streaming in through the windows and wandering lazily across the floor, had reached as far as the end of her bed. She stretched, feeling all kinds of new sensations, and smiled to herself as she looked at the mess they'd made of the bed.
After making love to John all night long, she felt like a new woman. He'd been everything she'd hoped he would be, both passionate and tender, and he sure as hell knew how to use that hard body of his. It had been the single most satisfying night in her life.
Looking across the room at the chair that was braced against the French doors, she did wonder how she was going to explain the damage, however.
She was just getting up and drawing on her robe when she heard a knock on the door. She was surprised to find her mother standing outside in the hall.
"This is early for you," Grace said, trying to smooth down her hair. She was well aware it was a matted mess.
"No, it isn't. You slept through breakfast."
Her mother stepped forward, forcing Grace to move out of the way. Her eyes went to the broken door. "I thought I heard something in here last night. What happened?"
Grace shrugged. "I locked myself out on the terrace by mistake."
“Why didn't you use the door at the end of the hall? "
"That was locked as well."
Carolina went over and inspected the broken handle. “I will have to get Gus up here to repair this."
"Do you want something?"
Her mother turned. "Why is the bedroom that I gave Mr. Smith uninhabited?
Grace hesitated. "Because he's not staying in it."
"And where is he staying?"
"Across the hall."
There was a terrible pause. Grace straightened her shoulders as her mother's eyes turned cold.
"Is there any particular reason his original room was not to his liking?"
"Mother—"
"You lied to me, didn't you ?" The words were whispered fiercely.
"About what?"
"About—about... that man being your lover!"
Not exactly, Grace thought. Yesterday, he hadn't been.
"Mother, you're blowing this out of proportion."
"Am I?" Carolina pointed a finger at Smith's coat, which was hanging over the back of a chair. "Then perhaps there; is another explanation for why your bed is in disarray and that man's jacket is in your room."
Grace prayed her flush wasn't as obvious as it felt. "We went for a walk. I was cold and he gave it to me."
"And you expect me to believe that?" Disgust cut lines through her mother's carefully tended forehead.
"You know, this conversation didn't go well yesterday. And it's not getting better with time."
"Is it too much to ask that you fulfill your obligations as-a member of this family and behave like a lady?"
Grace sighed in exasperation. "For heaven's sake, this isn't the Victorian era."
"And more's the pity," Carolina said with bite. "Back! then, people understood the importance of manners and appearances."
"Just who do you think I have to impress, Mother? Other than you, that is."
"Don't be argumentative. You know people are always watching. And I assure you, there is nothing quaint or nostalgic about breaking your wedding vows." Carolina pointed to the open door, through which Smith's room was visible. "I want that man out of this house."
Grace's eyes widened. “I can't do that"
"Yes, you will."
"Mother, John Smith works with me."
"I don't care if he's your doctor or your lawyer or your garbage man. I don't want him under your father's roof."
"Then I'm going, too."
Those four words brought the conversation to a halt.
"I beg your pardon?"
Grace raised a weary hand to her temple, trying to rub away some of the tension that had crawled up her spine and into her head. "Look, I don't want to upset you."
"It's a bit late for that."
"But I think it might be better if we just go."
Carolina sniffed with disapproval. "There's no reason to be theatrical, Grace. And I'm only looking out for your best interests."
"It feels as though all you're doing is making accusations."
"Better me than the press." Carolina's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "It would be so very public, if you were to indulge in any indiscretions. You know that, don't you?"
Grace nodded through her frustration. "Of course I do."
"We may have lost your father but we still have the power of his name. I don't want anything to happen to this family's reputation."
Grace stiffened as the implications of what her mother said sank in.
"Would that be the greater tragedy for you?" she whispered. "Harder to bear than losing him?”
Carolina ignored the question. "You are the only valid heir to his legacy. I don't want you to throw that all away for some ... man. You married into royalty—"
"Stop it, Mother," Grace interrupted. "Please."
Turning away, she went over to the closet and pulled out her suitcase.
"You are truly going?”
She found her mother's shock grating. "Yes, I am."
"But what will I tell the guests? After I already rescheduled the party to this evening due to your outbursts."
With a resigned shake of the head, Grace murmured, "I'm sure you'll think of something."
As she began taking things out of the closet, her mother made a disparaging sound in the back of her throat.
"Well, if this is going to be your attitude, perhaps it is best that you go." Carolina paused at the door. "Although do me the courtesy of saying your good-byes, will you? It's the least you can do."
As soon as Grace was alone, she slumped on the bed and looked over at the clothes she'd thrown haphazardly into the suitcase. The idea that she might not ever be comfortable at Willings again, that the division between her and her mother would only get larger now that her father's buffering influence was gone, disappointed her.
But maybe staying away was the only option. There was something about her mother that sucked the will to live right out of her, she thought. All that cold elegance, that indefatigable censure, it was like being next to an emotional black hole.
When she heard the soft tones of the grandfather clock down the hall, she realized she better tell John they were leaving.
She went across the hall and knocked on his doorjamb. "John?"
He came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt and black pants. There was a towel hanging around his neck and his hands were gripping both ends, making his biceps stand out.
A flush sped through her but, when their eyes met and he showed little response, disappointment had her squaring her shoulders.
"Good morning," she said.
He nodded. "Morning."
She sure could have used a smile. Some hint of warmth. The touch of his hand. Instead, he seemed to have retreated into himself and she was reminded of when she'd first seen him and wondered whether there was anything behind the hardness.
"Ummm—There's been a change in plans. We're leaving," she said.
"Fine."