Seduced by His Touch by Tracy Anne Warren Page B

before she knew it, she would find herself occupied by some other activity.
    As for Jack, she couldn’t think of him without her pulse picking up speed, her body tingling with heated memories of his touch. She missed him, her dreams and daydreams leaving her with a deep, yearning ache only he could assuage.
    Even so, she still didn’t know what to do.
    Terrence was a good and loyal friend—safe, steady, and dependable. With him she would enjoy the benefits of companionship and shared interests. As his wife, she would have few worries, her life a pleasant, even easy one. If only she loved him, her choice would be simple. But as much as she might wish it, Terrence ignited no fires inside her. He didn’t make her burn with a passionate intensity she hadn’t even realized she was capable of feeling.
    But Jack Byron did.
    Like a warrior laying siege, he’d taken her unawares, turning her suppositions about herself and her needs completely on their head. A part of her wanted him desperately. Another part of her was afraid of those very desires. He would bring her pleasure and excitement, making her heart and body soar. But what of the crash to follow? What of the scandal and shame?
    Terrence might never excite her heart, but neither would he break it.
    Then again, she could refuse them both, return to London, and continue on as she had been doing. Only a few weeks ago, she hadn’t minded the idea of spending her life as a spinster. So why did it no longer seem sufficient? Why did the idea leave her dissatisfied and oddly incomplete?
    No more at ease with her thoughts than before, she glanced out of the coach window and watched as Bath came into view. Arriving at her aunt’s town house, she went up to her room to change out of her traveling clothes and bathe.
    An hour later, attired now in a fresh gown of sprigged lilac muslin, she sat down to a light meal of cold sliced beef and crisp, late summer vegetables and fruits. Afterward, she went to her writing desk to pen a note to Mrs. Twine.
    But as she lifted her quill above the parchment, she hesitated. As amiable a companion as the older woman was, Grace didn’t want or need her company—at least not at present. What she wanted was some resolution to her situation. What she needed was to make up her mind and find some peace.
    Maybe if I talk to Terrence, I’ll be able to decide once and for all?
    It was late afternoon, but not too late for a social call between friends. Surely he would be at his hotel, where they could talk the matter through. If she listened to his counsel, maybe it would give her the strength to do what she knew she ought.
    She might not be a lady born, but she had been educated as one. And ladies did not toss their virtue away on handsome aristocrats bent on leading them into a life of sin—however wonderfully pleasurable and decadent that life might promise to be. Clearly, the rational choice was to break things off with Jack.
    Perhaps a talk with Terrence would convince her of that wisdom. And then she would be free to decide whether or not to say yes to marrying him.
    Setting down her pen, she rose and went downstairs. Without giving herself further time to consider, she gathered her spencer and reticule and made her way from the house.
     

    “You’ve the devil’s own luck, my lord,” complained one of the men across from Jack, as he flung down his hand in grudging defeat. “Never seen anyone have such a deuced smooth way with the cards.”
    Jack scraped the stack of winnings off the baize-covered table and fed them into his coin purse, the additional weight making the leather sag. “Comes from careful play, my good sir. Luck, on the other hand, is a fickle mistress, one over which I have no greater advantage than any other man.” Sliding back his chair, he stood. “My thanks for an excellent game.”
    “But you can’t leave now!” the man protested. “I haven’t had a chance to recoup my losses.”
    Jack gave him a cautionary look.