A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet) (5 page)

BOOK: A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet)
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“Well, you know my name. My
Christian
name,” she said in a whisper, “and I do not know who you are at all.”

His thumb played across her knuckles, gliding over the thin linen of her glove so lightly as to barely be felt. “Stephen Melbourne, Earl of Terraview, my lady. It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

Using the temporary uproar caused by Stephen’s sudden appearance to her advantage, Grace slipped out of the room via an open door that spilled directly into a poorly lit hallway. A thick carpet of indiscriminate color muffled her footsteps as she scurried away with all haste, not caring where she was going, only knowing that she needed to escape.

Out of breath and barely holding back the sobs that were building like a dam in her chest she stumbled into an empty study and slammed the door shut behind her. Her knees threatened to buckle as she leaned up against the door and she clung weakly to the brass doorknob, drawing strength from the sturdy metal fixture even as her thoughts whirled in a thousand different directions.

Stephen was back
.

And oh, the pain of that knowledge was like a knife to her chest. A knife that did not enter cleanly, but rather one that angled in from the side, shredding and slicing and scarring as it went. Pressing a fist between her breasts Grace drew in a ragged breath and stepped further into the empty room.

It was small, but elegantly furnished, with a long mahogany desk and floor to ceiling shelves lined with books and other glittering treasures, a painful reminder of how her own father’s study had looked before they were forced to sell everything off bit by bit.

Because of me
, she thought brokenly as she sagged into one of the two leather chairs that faced the desk and drew her knees up beneath the voluminous skirt of her gown.
Because Stephen lost interest in me, as everyone always warned he would. Because he cast me aside as if I was nothing, as if I were no one, and he never came back.

Until now.

Now, when she was finally on the precipice of moving on and forgetting him, he had returned. The bastard. The awful, wonderful, heartless bastard who she hated almost as much as she loved.

Burying her face in her hands, Grace bowed her shoulders and wept.

 

When Stephen finally found Grace, she was curled up asleep in Lord Markham’s study. Beyond the room the ball continued, marked by raised voices and general merriment as the story of Lady Wells’ unfortunate pastry incident and his unexpected – albeit much celebrated – return made the rounds.

Stephen closed the door behind him and locked it, effectively sealing him and Grace in their own little bubble of privacy. Candlelight flickered across her pale face, illuminating the damp trails of silver that tears had left on her cheeks. Seeing evidence of her misery was like an arrow through the heart, although he knew the pain that blossomed in his chest was no less than he deserved.

Careful not to wake Grace, he crossed the room and sat in the chair next to hers, watching her sleep as he had once done long ago, when they had first met. He had been as entranced then as he was now, and now, like then, the mere sight of her was enough to steal the very breath from his lungs.

She had claimed to be no great beauty, he recalled with a wayward smile, even though he still thought her the most beautiful creature he had ever met. Her beauty came from within, shining through and encompassing everyone who was blessed enough to be loved by her.

Once upon a time Stephen had had the pleasure of being one of those people. She brought him light and laughter the likes of which he had never known, changing him for the better, rescuing him from himself. And he had taken that love, so artlessly given, and crushed it with one calculated pummel of his fist.

He still remembered, word for word, the letter that had ended it all. The letter that had torn his soul apart even as he wrote it. The letter that had haunted his dreams every night since its completion.

The letter that had taken his Grace away.

 

Dear Grace,

I am writing to let you know I will not be joining you at

Kensington as planned. As it so happens I am leaving

today for the Americas and will not be returning for

some time. In lieu of my extended absence, I feel

it is best to call off our engagement.

I wish you all the best in your

 future endeavors.

Lord Melbourne

 

It mattered naught that he truly believed his actions had been for the best at the time. That he had seen no other way to protect his beloved fiancée other than to cast her from his life completely. That leaving her was the only way her could ensure her complete safety, even if it meant he was cursing himself to a fate worse than death for a life without Grace was no life at all.

She had loved him, and in loving him she had trusted him, and he had destroyed all of that with one fell swoop of his quill. Stephen knew he could never forgive himself for what he had done, but the question that still remained, the question that haunted his every waking moment, the question that had ultimately brought him back to London, still went unanswered: could
she
forgive
him
?

“Grace.” He spoke her name softly, tenderly, with all the love that still lived in heart for this charming woman with her sky blue eyes, crooked smile, and giving nature. God, how many times had he dreamed of her while he was away? How many times had her sweet voice echoed in his head? How many times had he fallen asleep with her name on his lips? How many times had he chased a woman across the entire city of Boston, thinking it was her? The answer was countless, for he could not recall a day that had passed in the last three months where he had not thought of her at least a hundred times.

Lured to consciousness by his somber voice Grace slowly stirred, and he repeated her name twice more before her eyes opened and she lifted her head. He could tell the moment she saw it was him for her entire body went rigid and she sat up with a gasp.

“You,” she cried, hugging her knees tight to her chest with one arm while the other pointed straight at him. “What are you doing here?”  

It was such a childish gesture, such a
Grace
gesture, that Stephen had to fight to keep a smile from laying claim to his lips. “I did not mean to startle you,” he said, careful to keep his tone steady and even, not wanting to reveal the desperation that simmered just beneath the surface of his outwardly calm façade. “But I had to see you. To talk to you.”

She watched him as he imagined a mouse would a hawk, eyes wide and wary, hands dropping to brace against the armrests of the chair, poised and ready for flight. “What do you want, Stephen? Why have you come back?”

Of course she would ask the two questions he could not answer. He cleared his throat, the thick layer of arrogant composure he wore as comfortably as a second skin stripped clear away to the bone. He had never been able to fool Grace. She had never been impressed by his charm or drawn in by his wit. It was but one of the many reasons she had been the first – the only – woman to lay claim to his heart. “I… I am sorry.” The apology sounded flat, even to his ears. Stephen inwardly cringed, trying to remember the speech he had so painstakingly rehearsed on the long walk from the wharves to the Markham’s townhouse and failing miserably. Running a hand through his hair, he tried again. “I know I have hurt you, and I—”

“Hurt me?” Grace said incredulously, rising halfway out of the chair. “You did not
hurt
me, Stephen. You broke me. You broke me into a hundred, nay, a THOUSAND pieces and no apology you could ever hope to muster will put me back together! Now be gone. I… I cannot stand to look upon you.” She twisted her head to the side, looking away from him while Stephen’s mouth opened and closed in stunned speechlessness.

Never could he recall his sweet, gentle Grace raising her voice before in anger. She was always so level headed. So filled with joy and happiness that any dark emotion seemed far beyond her reach. She was an angel, his darling angel, except now she was an angel spitting fire.

Leaning forward, he reached hesitantly towards the exposed skin of her wrist, having always been able to soothe her with a reassuring stroke or soft, soothing murmur. This time, however, before he could even get close to taking her hand she snatched it away and jumped to her feet with surprising agility given her innate – and in his eyes, adorable – clumsiness.

Whirling towards him with eyes that flashed a bright, brilliant blue, she spat, “If you will not leave, than I shall.” Shoulders snapping back, she marched across the room with all the bearing of a young queen, reached out to throw the door open… and ended up rattling the brass knob in frustrated confusion. “What have you done?” she cried at last, giving up with a muttered expletive that had his eyebrows rising.

Temper
and
the mouth of a sailor? It was becoming appallingly obvious that Grace had been spending too much time with her dear friend Josephine in his absence. “I locked the door,” he said calmly.

She tossed back her head and glared. Stephen had heard the saying ‘if looks could kill’ but he had never truly given it credence until this very moment. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“So we could have a conversation.”

“I do not
want
to talk to you!”

“Ah,” he said, standing in one fluid motion and crossing the room to stand between her and the door, “but I do want to talk to you, darling.”

Her lower lip jutted out, revealing her act of bravado had been nothing more than a valiant attempt to cover up the fact that she was perilously close to tears. “Do not c-call me that.”

“Call you what?” he asked softly. His arms ached to wrap around her, to comfort her, but he was careful to keep them at his sides even though the act of not touching her set his teeth on edge.

“You know,” she whispered, looking away.

“My darling.”

Her chin wobbled.

“My beloved.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“My heart.”

She began to cry then; silent tears that slipped down her cheeks and sparkled in the candlelight like diamonds. “I h-hate you,” she said.

“It is no less than I deserve,” Stephen answered in a voice raw with emotion and barely restrained tears of his own.

Seeing such naked pain flash across Grace’s face made him want to rip his own heart from his chest and stomp it into the ground. At his sides his hands curled into fists, and it took every ounce of control he possessed not to throw back his head and howl in anguish. Leaving had been a mistake, but coming back had been an even greater one.

Abandoning Grace had been the most selfless thing he could have done given the circumstances with which he found himself in. Returning had been the most selfish. With an oath of his own he turned from her. “I had no right to come here. To come to you,” he said hollowly. “The door is locked. The latch is just below the knob. Leave, and you shall never have to look upon me again. This I swear to you.”

His shoulders tensed when he heard the lock open with a sharp
click
. The door groaned as it opened, and squeaked when it shut. Stephen waited for what felt like an eternity before he pivoted… and saw that Grace was gone.

 

 

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

 

“I am going to pay him a visit and tell him
exactly
where he can go.” Standing in the middle of the Deringer’s depressingly empty sitting room, Josephine pinned her hands to her slender hips and cocked one eyebrow. “Who is with me?”

“Oh, do sit down.” Gesturing to the last remaining settee in the entire household, Catherine frowned over the rim of her tea cup. “You are upsetting Grace.”

Josephine pursed her lips, but did as she was asked and sat next to Margaret who picked up her yellow skirts and scooted to the side to make room. They exchanged a quick, knowing glance before looking to where Grace stood with her back to them, staring silently out the window at the falling snow.

BOOK: A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet)
4.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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