Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (7 page)

“Loosen the button at my waist,” he instructed.

Grace reached for the garment as she squeezed her eyes shut to hide her disconcertion.

“Look at me, Grace,” he said softly. It was a warm brush of intimacy against her temple. When she raised her eyes to his, he whispered, “Permit your fingers to do what comes naturally.” He cupped her chin, and Grace knew a longing so deep she imagined it turned her inside out. Within seconds, he caught her hand. “As much as I am certain I would enjoy what you offer, perhaps we might wait until I am well enough to prove myself worthy of your purity,” he rasped.

Instinctively, Grace glanced to where her fingers rested beneath the cloth of his breeches’ placket. She jerked her hand away and retreated quickly from his nearness. “My Lord,” she began in distress.

“Enough, Grace,” he said with a bit of irritation. “Do not act as a prim English governess. Although of short duration, our acquaintance transcends normal lines of propriety.” He nodded toward the door. “Perhaps you might wait in the hall.” Grace clumsily staggered toward the door. Her complete humiliation hummed through her veins, but she stilled as she reached for the handle. Lord Godown’s words held her immovable. “My admonishment, Miss Nelson, was directed squarely at my chest. A man would be hesitant to deny any intimacy with a woman he admires.”

Without looking behind her to his nearly naked form, she said with regret, “You know nothing of me, my Lord.”

“That is where you err, Miss Nelson. In truth, I know nothing of your family. Of your hopes. Of your dreams. But I do know you. I know your strength. Your intelligence. Your mettle. Your beauty and your heart. I likely know more of you than do your closest acquaintances.”

Grace could not respond. With her scattered reasoning, words stalled in her throat, but she acknowledged his sentiment with a curt nod. Then she slipped from the room.

She clung to the wall outside the room she had agreed to share with the Marquis of Godown. She gulped for air. The impact of her decision to assist Gabriel Crowden came crashing down upon her: She had compromised herself. Even if she wished to leave, Grace could not do so. She must see this venture through. If she chose to leave early, rumors of Lord Godown’s mistress would follow her. A marquise would never travel alone on a mail coach. It would be necessary for her to arrange some sort of other transportation. Perhaps, the marquis would let a carriage that could take her to the next coaching establishment. She could not leave the Bradshaw’s inn as Grace Nelson. She must continue the pretense of being Grace Crowden, the Marquise of Godown. The only way to save her reputation was to walk away from the inn on the marquis’ arm. No one would take note of a man and his wife.

She also realized she could not depart until Lord Godown had recovered. Yet, how she could do so without betraying her susceptibility to the man she did not know. Her “awareness” of his masculinity troubled Grace. She had never entertained such thoughts previously. His Lordship had spoken the truth: The man knew more of her than any other person alive. That was the crux of the matter. No one knew her. No one had ever taken the time to know her. At least, not since her parents’ deaths. As a governess, Grace’s thoughts and dreams held no merit. The position placed her in limbo. It left her in an exalted position compared to the household’s other servants, but she was not one of the master’s intimates. In her position, she was to remain silent and unobtrusive.

“Now that Lord Godown has seen me, how will I ever be invisible again?” Grace asked the darkness. When she departed this inn, she would reenter a world of shadows–always present but rarely detectable. “Take the memories with you,” she suggested aloud. “You shall never possess this opportunity again. Never will I spend time alone with an attractive gentleman. Never will I be treated as a lady of quality.” Grace sighed deeply. It was a mark of her dismal existence. “I should ask Mr. Bradshaw for ink and paper. I should record every phrase. Every moment. Preserve this encounter. A memory to which to cling in my dotage.”

With new resolve, Grace waited impatiently for Lord Godown to summon her return. She would show His Lordship the definition of mettle.

*

Through the haze that was his scramble mental state, Gabriel had watched her go. Even with her departure, he had made no move to be about his personal business. Instead, he reflected on her hips’ gentle sway and the way several wisps of hair had escaped her chignon and had now hugged the lady’s nape. He had made an important discovery today: a jewel beyond value.

As the door closed behind her, he once again regretted ever having dismissed the lady as someone not worthy of his attention. Previously, Grace Nelson had maintained her unassuming role, and like a man destined for bedlam, he had overlooked the woman’s true brilliance. If he survived this ordeal, he would continue their acquaintance. Perhaps, she would accept the position as his mistress. Certainly, he could provide for her in a way superior to her tolling in another’s service.

“Likely a virgin,” he remarked as he freed himself to use the chamber pot. The thought of the lady’s innocence tightened his groin. “A man never stops thinking of intimacy,” he chuckled as he relieved himself. “But I place my desires ahead of the lady’s resolve,” he chastised aloud. “First, convince Miss Nelson to accept my protection.”

Gabriel rarely spent more than one night of intimacy with any woman. It had been true since he had discovered the pleasures of the fairer sex at age sixteen. A lusty barmaid had taught him what she had known of the act, but he had perfected his touch with some of Europe’s finest lovers. In those encounters, he had preferred to make no commitments because commitments meant the opportunity for someone to leave him. However, he could envision returning to Grace Nelson’s bed again and again. “It would be delightful to show the lady everything circumstances have denied her.”

He cautiously maneuvered toward the bed. Sitting heavily, he glanced once more to the door behind which he was certain the lady waited. “I will first convince Miss Nelson to remain with me until I am well enough to ride; then I will determine whether to present my offer. Either way, I will see Grace Nelson established. Perhaps, the lady would like a cottage in the country. I could discretely visit her there if she would accept it.”

Lying back on the pillows, he draped the blanket across his waist. He had purposely left the placket unfastened. He would not tempt either of them again by permitting the lady to touch him so familiarly. “You may reenter, Miss Nelson,” he called out. Immediately, the door opened, and he had the uncanny feeling the sun’s warmth had filled the room. It was an aberration of the highest order: A quick glance at the mantel clock told him it was nearing midnight.

“If you are finished, my Lord.” She placed the chamber pot under the bed and then turned to the basin to wash her hands. “I will clean and dress your wound. I thought it best, at least, initially to permit the opening to heal from the inside out. It is too large to use stitches to close it.” She gently removed the cloth strips she had placed across the opening. “A surgeon might even consider cautery,” Grace confided.

Gabriel winced when she removed the last of the bandages. “Whatever happens, happens, Miss Nelson. I learned long ago a man cannot cheat death. No matter how efficient your efforts, if it is not God’s plan…”

“We shall not consider the possibility,” she said defiantly. Grace used soap and water to clean the area and examined her work. “I shall use a bit more of the brandy,” she said distractedly.

“I would be pleased…to have another glass,” Lord Godown observed.

Grace nodded her agreement. “Then I shall ask Mr. Bradshaw to bring another decanter.”

“My purse is full, Miss Nelson. Order whatever you like,” he insisted.

“I had thought to ask if I might have paper and ink,” she said distractedly.

Lord Godown smiled easily. “Do you wish to write to a long-time sweetheart, Miss Nelson?”

“A woman maintains the prerogative, Your Lordship,” she said with a mischievous grin, “to keep such secrets her own.”

Gabriel winced again, but this time the pain came from the possibility the lady’s heart was previously engaged.

He had fallen asleep shortly after she had changed his bandage. Quietly, she made herself a pallet on the floor before the hearth. Thoughts of Gabriel Crowden lulled her to sleep, and despite the floor’s unforgiving hardness, Grace had never spent a more peaceful night. Therefore, when the tapping on the door announced the arrival of the breakfast she had ordered, she darted about the room to hide her bedtime linens.

At the third knock, she managed to reach the door’s portal. “Pardon, Ma’am.” A maid curtsied. “Mr. Bradshaw wanted ’is Lordship to ’ave the best of the eggs.”

Grace shoved the hair from her face and cinched her dressing gown closed. “Please thank Mr. Bradshaw for his consideration. Lord Godown still rests.” She gestured toward the screened bed. “If you would return with fresh water, another chamber pot, and paper and ink, we shall be content. My Lord has recently returned from the Continent, and I have insisted he take some much needed recuperative rest.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the maid said as she glanced nervously toward the bed. “Do all marquises rest as soundly as ’is Lordship?”

Grace stifled the grin teasing her lips. “I assure you I have no knowledge of other members of the aristocracy,” she said with feigned disdain.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The maid looked abashed. She placed the covered dishes on the table and made a quick exit.

In the girl’s absence, Grace quickly saw to her own ablutions and straightened the bed’s linens. She decided not to wake Lord Godown. “Rest is the best medicine,” she told herself. Dressed in a simple day dress, she accepted the maid’s return with good humor. “I will require a bath later today once the air warms from the sun.” The girl nodded and disappeared after another quick glance at the resting form of Lord Godown.

Grace discovered her newfound bravado quite empowering. She planned to bathe in a room where a man rested nearby. Instinctively, she knew even if Lord Godown was well, she could conduct her personal care without interruption. She would be unclothed in a room with another present. Such a situation had not occurred since Grace was a child in the nursery at Schiffer Hall, where her parent resided until her father had inherited when Grace was six. Yet, she felt no real disconcertment. She expected some embarrassment, but not self-contempt. The thought of how easily she had abandoned the moral code by which she had lived her entire life twisted her lips in amusement.

Seating herself at the desk, she removed a sheet of foolscap from the stack Mr. Bradshaw had seen fit to send to her. She had placed a slice of ham on the dry toast, as well as poured herself some lukewarm tea. Retrieving them from the table, she settled in to record her thoughts. She would keep a journal of her time with Lord Godown. Taking up the pen, she frantically scribbled her thoughts.

An hour later, she looked up when she heard His Lordship stir. She had filled three pages and part of another one. Surprisingly, she found this all very exciting. She was actually living. A second moan brought her to his side. “I thought you might sleep the day into night,” she said as she straightened the blanket across his chest. “We should redress your wound and find something your stomach can tolerate.”

Grace placed clean bandages on the table. Lord Godown had not opened his eyes, but he did thrash about. His face had a bit more color, and Grace thought perhaps he might have taken a turn for the best. Those were her foolish considerations until she touched him. He was scalding hot. “Oh, no,” she gasped as her fingers peeled away the brown crusty cloths. “No!” she said in fear, as tears formed in her eyes. “I did everything right.” Her fingers probed the exposed area as Lord Godown continued to fight her efforts.

Squeezing out a damp cloth, she dabbed at his forehead. The coolness appeared to allay part of the marquis’s discomfort. “Your Lordship!” she said with some urgency. “I must tend your wound again. Please. You must assist me by lying still.”

Somehow, her words must have reached his subconscious. His eyes blinked open, and although they did not focus on hers, he murmured, “Do your worst.”

Grace dampened the cloth again and placed it on his forehead. With more soap and water, she quickly washed the exposed area. Thinking it best to describe for him what she was doing she began, “The wound is red and festering.” Her fingertips gently touched the area. “But it still appears quite clean.” Then she felt it. A tip of something sharp. She had missed one of the fragments. “I found the problem, my Lord.” Frantically, she reached for his shaving instruments. Uncorking the brandy, she splashed the liquid on the razor. “Please help me, God,” she said softly as she took a deep breath to steady her hands.

“I have confidence…” Lord Godown hissed.

“Say your prayers privately, my Lord,” she warned as she leaned across him. With a fortifying inhalation, she cut into his flesh once more. Grace feared she might cut a vein, but she possessed no other choice. They were too far from the village for a surgeon. “There is another piece of the bullet,” she told him. Every muscle in his body had hardened, and Grace could imagine the pain he resolutely endured, as if she could hear the perspiration forming on his upper lips. “I have the opening,” she whispered hoarsely as she reached for the tweezers. Biting her bottom lip, Grace pressed the instrument’s point into the fresh cut. “Hold steady, my Lord,” Grace ordered.

Eyes straining, Grace touched the tip of the instrument to the metal shard. She squeezed the prongs together to secure her catch and then slowly withdrew the piece. “A bit further,” she encouraged. “I have it,” she gasped.

Lord Godown expelled a ragged breath, and Grace rushed to repack the wound with clean cloth. “I am appalled, my Lord,” she said with a rush. “That I missed this piece last evening.”

“Enough, Grace,” he groaned.

“But, Your Lordship,” she said with tears forming in her eyes’ corners.