Hamilton's eyes glazed over, and Grace thought he might stumble. "Bow Street?" he mumbled. "They're expecting me?"
"They're expecting you now," Lord Markham reiterated his gaze intense. "You must not forget to knock on the window with three loud raps and shout the password."
"Three raps and shout the password."
Lord Markham leaned closer and whispered, "The password is down with the monarchy. I would knock on every window, just to be certain." When Hamilton stared at him, Elliot repeated, "Go to Bow Street. Knock on every window. Shout down with the monarchy."
Mr. Hamilton nodded. "I … I had best be on my way."
Astounded, Grace watched the man scurry away. "He seems set on doing exactly what you told him to. Is it some sort of conjurer's trick?"
"The mind is often weak in certain individuals," he replied. "And as such, can be easily manipulated if you know how."
Grace remembered feeling strange when she first met Lord Markham. When he asked her to recall what had occurred between them. "Did you try to use the same trick on me?"
"Trust me. There is nothing weak about your mind. The insane often have the strongest minds of all."
"Insane?" She batted him playfully on the arm. "At least Mr. Hamilton thought he was talking to Caroline when he insulted me."
Lord Markham's eyes still burned with anger, and he glanced back over his shoulder. "Let us go somewhere more private and then I'll tell you why I'm so damnably annoyed."
Without saying another word, he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and escorted her from the ballroom. The muscles bulging against the sleeve of his coat felt taut and rigid, ready to burst through the material without warning. She could have argued with his high-handed approach. But it would only draw unnecessary attention.
He stopped at the end of a long corridor, the walls covered with paintings of men in long white wigs all looking as equally stern, all ready to condemn the guilty to the gallows.
"What on earth were you thinking?" he said backing her into an alcove. "After what happened with Barrington, everyone will be talking about you. You cannot risk someone discovering your identity. I swear I almost ripped Hamilton's head from his shoulders for what he said to you. My heart is still racing. God help anyone else should make a derogatory comment as I don't think I can stop myself."
Grace couldn't help but smile. Yes, he was extremely angry. Yes, she had been out of her depth with the likes of Mr. Hamilton. And yes, she was in danger of finding herself in another threatening situation. But it was what Lord Markham hadn't said that caused the corners of her mouth to curl.
Grace put her hand to his cheek. "Thank you for caring."
He blinked, looked shocked, completely taken aback. His ragged breathing slowed to a calmer rate, and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
Struggling with her own overwhelming feelings, she lowered her hand.
Lord Markham opened his eyes slowly, his heated gaze scorching her soul. "What are you doing to me?" he whispered.
Feeling a little bolder she said, "I am using a part of my anatomy coupled with honest sentiment to incite a genuine reaction. What was it that touched you? Was it the feel of my hand or hearing the emotion behind the gesture?"
He swallowed visibly. "Both."
"Well, I think that proves my point, don't you? And I must say, I find you far more appealing when you speak from the heart."
A sinful smile touched his lips. "Perhaps I should try it more often."
Grace nodded. "I think you should."
They simply stared at each other for a moment and she suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms, to feel his lips move over hers with genuine affection. Henry Denton had rarely kissed her. Even when inclined, it had amounted to nothing more than a peck on her cheek or the faintest touch to the top of her head.
Anger threatened to flare.
Why did everything always come back to her feelings about Henry?
Perhaps she would never recover from the hurt and betrayal. Was every thought and action to be overshadowed by awful past experiences?
"While you
r bawdy banter always leaves me cold," she said playfully, pushing all other feelings aside, "your honest reaction leaves me wondering if your skin tastes of sandalwood. If, despite your licentious nature, your lips are capable of moving softly and tenderly."