His Saving Grace (16 page)

“I put the lord and lady in the drawing room and instructed Katy to serve them refreshments while they waited for you. When I checked in on them, Lord Nigel was questioning Katy.”

“Questioning her?”

“He was asking about his lordship.” Nelson averted his gaze as color tinged his cheeks.

“What about his lordship?” Grace’s throat was tightening with fear.

“About his behavior. Things he’s said and done.”

So Nigel’s appearance was not nearly as innocent as he claimed. Grace was furious. As she had suspected, he was not going to go away easily. “Thank you, Nelson. If I could ask that you please not mention this to his lordship. I will take care of it myself.”

“But my lady—” Nelson looked appropriately horrified that she was asking him to keep something from Michael.

“I will take care of it,” she repeated with a pointed look.

Nelson backed up a step and bowed his head. “As you wish, my lady.”

Grace made her way back to the drawing room, where Michael was still seated, his head laid back, his eyes closed. So Nigel was fishing for information. Who had tipped him off that something was amiss?

She sat in the chair next to Michael. Without opening his eyes, he reached for her hand. She placed hers in his and they sat there in silence. She knew Michael sometimes needed quiet, and she enjoyed sitting next to him in silence. He seemed to take comfort from her touch, and she considered that a major victory. Ever since they began making love, she’d felt the walls of Michael’s resistance crumbling.

“How did your meeting with your solicitors go?” she eventually asked.

“It went well.” He rubbed his temple, a sure sign that he had a headache.

“Does your head hurt?”

“A bit.”

“Do you want to go lie down?”

“No.”

“Was it too much?”

“The meeting took a little longer than I anticipated.”

“You could have asked them to take a break.”

“I was fine. Do we have a ball to attend tonight?”

“We do. The duke and duchess of Varnham. You said the bigger, the better, and that’s about as big as you can get.”

“You are very right, my countess. So, the duke and duchess of Varnham’s ball it is.”

They arrived at the ball along with a few hundred other people. While they were en route, Michael repeated their hosts’ names in his mind, somewhat confident that he would not forget them. Not nearly as confident that he wouldn’t forget other things.

He exited the carriage first and held out his hand to assist his wife. She was gloriously beautiful. He had no idea how she’d managed to procure a ball gown so quickly, but she had done a wonderful job. The light orange of the gown shimmered as she walked. There was a name for the color, one he couldn’t remember, but it was beautiful on her.

Her hair was piled on top of her head with tendrils brushing her neck and ribbons of the same color woven through it. She looked like the flowers that she lovingly tended, bright and pure. He reached up and brushed a spot on her neck just to feel her soft, warm skin.

She jerked and looked up at him. “What are you doing, my lord?” There was a hint of a smile on her lips that told him she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Touching you, my lady.”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement, and he smiled down on her.

It wasn’t the false smile, like the time in church. This smile was filled with warmth, and it made his heart stumble a bit to see it. Despite his best efforts to keep her at a distance, she had managed to get close, and he couldn’t say he was angry about it. In some ways, he had been correct when he was in Turkey. What he’d needed all along was Grace’s love. It didn’t cure him, but it gave him some peace.

When they were introduced by the butler, a hush fell over the crowd. The once dead, now alive earl was here, and it was causing quite the stir.

Grace stiffened but held her smile in place. Michael was proud of her for holding it together. Then again, she’d been holding it together for weeks. He was amazed at her strength. Nothing seemed to get her down or make her stumble. She pushed her way through obstacles that made him pause, and for that he was grateful and awed and humbled, for she was much stronger than he.

They descended the stairs to the ballroom among the open stares of the crowd. Amelia Alexander, the duchess of Varnham, rushed forward, taking both of Grace’s hands in her own. Grace attempted a curtsy, though it was difficult with the duchess holding her hands. Beside her, Michael bowed.

“Oh, how exciting that you came,” the duchess said, taking them both in. “When I received your reply, I was just beside myself. I dared not believe you would actually attend.”

“But of course we would,” Grace said. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The duchess smiled up at her husband, who had appeared at her side. They were an older couple, at least fifteen years older than he and Grace, but they were handsome and vivacious. And they were genuinely nice people. Grace had picked well for their first ball.

“Blackbourne, it’s good to see you,” said James Alexander, the duke of Varnham.

“Thank you, your grace. It’s good to be back.”

“Awful business that was,” the duke said with a grimace.

“Yes. Awful.” That didn’t begin to describe it, but he dared not contradict a duke.

“Glad it’s all behind you now. Time to take the helm of the Blackbourne title.”

“Of course, your grace.” All behind him. Hardly. He shot a look at Grace, whose smile had gone brittle; the twinkle in her eye had disappeared.

“Lady Blackbourne, you must come with me. It’s been so long since you were in society that I fear I’ll have to introduce you all over again.” The duchess swept Grace away, but not before Grace threw a worried look over her shoulder. Surely she didn’t think that the two of them would be glued at the hip all evening. That would look very strange indeed.

Michael gave her a reassuring wink and turned back to the duke. Two other men had joined them, and Michael suffered a moment of panic because he recognized them but, for the life of him, could not recall either of their names.

“Ah, Douglas, good to see you,” the duke said jovially.

Michael relaxed. Douglas. He repeated the name to himself a few times before he could remember the man’s full name. Viscount Henry Douglas.

The other gentleman nodded to him. “Good to see you, Blackbourne.”

“It’s good to be back.” He didn’t even attempt to search his memory for the man’s name. It would only cause his head to pound, and it was fruitless anyway. There were at least a hundred people here. There was no way he could remember them all.

After a few moments, he developed a plan of action. Most men who came over wished him good tidings on his return, then turned to other topics of conversation. Mostly politics. Michael found if he sipped his champagne and stood back. If he appeared to listen, they left him alone. A few would look at him strangely, as if unsure of this man who had appeared from the dead.

Some asked him his opinion, and if it was a political issue, he would say he hadn’t had the opportunity to read up on it. Which was true, of course. Another truth was that he would soon have to make the time to do so, but this was not the place for such thoughts, so he pushed it away.

Eventually, the music and the dancing began. Grace managed to find him, and they stood off to the side to watch the people dance.

“How are you faring?” she asked, low enough that others wouldn’t hear.

“Better than you, I fear. You look ill.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“There is no need. I’m doing very well. I’ve discovered that I am quite a good listener, and people like to talk about themselves to an extreme. A few nods and humming an agreement is all it takes.”

Grace leaned in to him for a fraction of a moment, a playful smile on her face. “You are incorrigible. But you are correct, and you have discovered the secret of all women who are hoping to catch a husband. Ask pointed questions to get him talking about himself. He will happily oblige, and you won’t have to say another word.”

“Ah, your secret is out.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“Never fear, Countess, I will never tell.”

“See that you don’t, or I will be kicked out of the club for certain.”

They chuckled, and Michael was pleased to see that Grace was enjoying herself. The worry was gone from her eyes, and her face glowed.

A couple approached a bit hesitantly, but Grace’s encouraging smile brought them closer. She slipped their names into the conversation, which was extremely beneficial. His lovely wife seemed to know exactly when he was confused, and every time she gave helpful clues in a way that no one but he noticed.

Within a few hours, the music became louder and the conversations rose with it. The familiar fog descended on his brain, shrouding him like a barrier. Conversations merged, people’s faces looked the same. The swirling bodies on the dance floor made him dizzy. It was as if the scene were too much for his brain to process, so it created a film over everything.

He found it more and more difficult to keep up with conversations. People looked at him oddly. He had to be asked the same question several times, and even then he couldn’t come up with the right answer.

Grace took his arm, claimed she was overheated, and excused them.

He walked through the crowd in a daze, smiling and nodding because it was expected of him. A few people tried to stop them, but Grace firmly announced that she needed fresh air and pushed through until they were outside. Before he knew it, they were enclosed in the silence of the carriage. He closed his eyes in relief. Silence never sounded so good.

“What happened?” she asked.

Michael cracked one eye open. “The noise. The bodies. The conversations. The music.”

She nodded and looked pensive. “You were doing well at the beginning.”

“False hope, I’m afraid.”

“No. I don’t believe that. You were doing well. Better than either you or I had thought.”

It hurt that she hadn’t believed he could muddle through the entire evening. Then again, she was correct. He’d thought he would do far worse than he had. In fact, he had been extremely pleased with his performance, perhaps a bit overconfident.

“The next time we won’t stay as long. I believe we overextended ourselves.”

“We?”

She looked at him pointedly. “Yes. We. We are a couple, are we not?”

He smiled at the sharpness of her tone. She could be quite forceful when she wanted to be, and for some odd reason, that excited him. He wanted to take her home and make love to her. Already the fog in his brain was dissipating as his thoughts turned to far more inappropriate activities.

Unaware of the direction his mind had taken, she continued, “We will take things slowly. I can always claim a headache or become overheated.”

“They will think you a hothouse flower that is entirely too delicate.”

She snorted. He loved when she did that. “Let them. I care not.” Suddenly, she sat forward. “What if your injury is just like an injury to a leg or an arm? You can’t run miles on a recently mended leg. You have to work your way up to it. Maybe you can’t overuse your brain too much at the beginning. Maybe you have to work your way to full capacity.”

“So you’re saying my brain is like my muscles, and I have to exercise it? What nonsense, Grace. Exercising my brain, indeed.” He laid his head back and thought of all of that shimmering pale orange fabric—he wished to hell he could remember the name of the color—falling into a puddle on the floor of his bedroom and revealing his wife’s perfect breasts.

He shifted uncomfortably while Grace carried on about brains being the same as legs. He wanted to laugh at the picture of him walking his brain down the road like a favorite dog. Nonsense, it was. He listened to the rise and fall of her voice. There had been a time when he’d sincerely doubted he would ever hear her voice again. To sit here in a carriage and hear her speak was every prayer answered. He let it wrap around him and enfold him in a contentment he hadn’t felt in a long while.

The carriage stopped in front of their townhouse. Michael followed his wife inside, entranced by the sway of her hips as she made her way up to her bedchamber. She was still prattling on. Something about the duchess and her modiste. He couldn’t follow the conversation, which had more to do with thoughts of taking that damn gown off than it did with his unexercised brain being tired.

When they reached their respective bedchambers, Michael entered his and immediately dismissed Tarik. The man left with a knowing smirk that Michael chose to ignore. So what if he desired his wife? It was his right, was it not?

He strode through the connecting door and found her standing in the middle of the room, her lady’s maid untying the back of her gown.

“That will be all, Jenny,” he said, pleased he remembered the maid’s name.

The maid curtsied and fled the room.

Michael rubbed the fold of Grace’s gown between his fingers. The fine silk caught on his rough hand. “What is this color?”

“Peach.”

“Peach.” He repeated the word, knowing he would forget it by morning. Hell, he’d probably forget it in a few moments. “It’s beautiful on you. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her neck, unable to resist the warm, silky skin.

“What are you about, my lord?” Her tone was playful, husky.

“I’m exercising my brain.”

“Hmmm. I believe you’re exercising other things as well.”

“Quite possibly.” He made his way around to the back of her neck and reveled in the shiver that coursed through her body. “Will you help me, Grace?”

“Help with what?”

“My exercises.”

“This wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“Close enough. Now kiss me.”

She turned within his embrace and he captured her lips. She was soft and warm all over. And so damn vibrant and alive. He wanted to soak up her energy more than he wanted anything else at the moment.

He turned her around and loosened her ties.

She dropped her head forward and exposed the back of her neck. He was powerless to resist. He kissed her there, behind her ear, down her neck, and on her shoulder. With each kiss, she shivered.

The gown slid off her shoulders, and he cupped her breasts from behind, drawing her to him until her head lolled on his shoulder. And like he’d imagined it would, the gown fell to the floor in a pool of shimmering
…peach.

He slowly pulled the string that tied her corset, loosening it as he worked his way down her back.

She turned in his embrace and, with a seductive look the likes of which he’d never seen but which excited him beyond measure, she shimmied her shoulders and the corset fell to the floor. She was clothed in nothing but her chemise, and he made quick work of that until she was completely naked and he was still completely dressed.

His clothes were restricting, stifling. The fine fabric felt like the roughest wool, scouring his oversensitive skin. She stepped up to him until her naked breasts brushed against his clothed chest. He was breathing hard, his heart hammering. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. All he could do was watch her wonderfully, beautifully naked body. Firelight shimmered off her, gilding her in gold and making her look like an angel.

Slowly, she pulled on the end of his cravat, unraveling the intricate knot that Tarik had created. She pulled harder, and the cloth slithered off his neck. She ran her hands lightly down the front of his shirt, flicking the buttons as she went. Her smile was all wicked promises that made him catch his breath.