Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere (44 page)

“I would go through it again if it made a difference in your life,” Cashé claimed. “Every hair-raising second if it gave you peace.” She clung tightly to him.

Marcus kissed her softly and then more passionately. “I plan to make love to you, Ma Chère. Let us make beautiful children together. A dozen of them.”

“A dozen?” Cashé smiled amusedly.

“A little girl who we will name Margaret...Maggie,” he whispered into Cashé’s hair as he pulled her closer.

“Twins,” she corrected. “We shall have twins...a boy and a girl.”

Tired of being a spectator in life, Gabriel Crowden had ridden leisurely, but with a new determination to find his own future. He had crossed Midlothian and Peeblesshire and was likely in Dumfriesshire when the shot rang out. Despite the pain in his chest, he had jerked on Balder’s reins, turning the stallion in a tight circle. He had searched from where the bullet came, but he found nothing unusual. He thought to find cover, but another bullet whizzed by his ear so he had kicked Balder’s flanks and tried simply to hold on.

Minutes later, the blood still squirted from the wound. He had ridden a mile or more before stopping to examine it. Now, with his back to a large boulder, he held a second blood soaked handkerchief to the wound and prayed to stop the flow. He had cursed himself for not considering the possibility of a highwayman’s attack or even of Jamot seeking revenge. He had been so consumed with the idea of finally finding happiness that he had not listened to the knell of his own death’s bell. Putting more pressure against the gaping hole, Crowden closed his eyes and prayed for a second chance.

*

“I do not let rooms to unchaperoned ladies,” the innkeeper asserted as she protested his lack of understanding. “You be welcome to wait in the common room with the other travelers.”

Grace Nelson considered continuing the argument, but it would be useless. She accepted the man’s objections. If the innkeeper wanted to run a legitimate business, he had to enforce the rules, but that did not mean that she would enjoy sitting up all night. Grace certainly would not allow herself to fall asleep. It would be too dangerous. Someone could steal what money she had or do something worse. A woman was defenseless in such matters.

Frustrated, she stepped outside into the busy inn yard. If the mail coach had stopped in a village, she might have sought the pity of a widow or a newlywed couple to spend a night on a chaise or even a pallet before the hearth. But they were between villages so she would have no choice but to wait with the others for the morning coach.

“Stretch my legs while it is still light,” she said softly to herself. Having escaped Viscount Averette’s latest rant, she had traveled for two days. Grace had congratulated herself for assisting Lady Averette and Gwendolyn to make a speedy retreat. The viscount’s personal business had become more and more secretive over the past two months, and Grace had easily recognized that it would be only a matter of time before Averette’s world exploded. When she overheard one of the viscount’s visitors threaten Averette’s life, she had come to the quick conclusion that it was time to leave. “Geoffrey will not be pleased to see me,” she thought aloud. “But it will not be for long. I have my letter of reference; I will find another position.”

Grace stepped off the wooden walkway, which ran across the front of the inn, and turned her steps toward the stable. She loved horses and thought to see what the inn housed. Anything to pass the time.

Yet, as she reached the main door, it swung wide, and a man in a finely fitted coat staggered toward her. At first, she had thought to turn on her heels and make a speedy escape, but then a face of an Adonis stilled her. She had seen him once before–in London. At a party where she had spoken to Prince George. “Lord Godown,” she gasped, and then she saw the painful grimace as he pitched forward.

Grace caught him, shoving up on his shoulder. “My Lord, are you injured!” He used his free hand to steady himself against the door. “Let me find assistance.”

“No,” he rasped. “Can you lead me to the inn?”

Grace braced him against her frame. “Lord Godown, please,” she whispered hoarsely. His weight pressed her backward. “Allow me to find someone to come to your aid.”

He continued his heavy tread–another ten feet to the walkway. Finally, she braced his weight against the side of the building. His hair a mess and his clothes with dirt streaks, at first, Grace did not see the wound. “Oh, my God!” she gasped as she reached for her own handkerchief to press to the opening. “Tell me what happened.”

Head back and eyes closed, he appeared unable to answer, but he finally said, “Trailed my attacker to this inn.” He took a deep steadying breath. “You did not faint from the blood.”

“No, my Lord.” Grace grabbed a second cloth from her reticule.

“Do you have a room?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Grace shook her head in the negative. “The innkeeper will not let to a woman without companionship.”

Crowden nodded weakly. “Would you share my room?” He caught her gaze. “If you had a husband whom you traveled to meet on the road...” He did not finish his thoughts as the pain wretched his breath away. He caught at her hand. “I do not wish to die alone.”

Grace knew his proposition to be a scandalous one, but she could not withdraw from the fear she recognized in his stare. This man carried death to this mediocre inn. “Yes, I will stay with you, Lord Godown.”

“You have called me by name three times. Do we have a prior acquaintance?” He straightened his stance.

Grace blushed. Why would an “Adonis” remember someone as nondescript as she? “Grace...Grace Nelson. I once worked for Lord Averette.”

Crowden cupped her face as if seeing it for the first time. “Grace. Of course, just what I need. A touch of grace.”