Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (6 page)

He smiled wryly. “In my time abroad, I often found myself in need of such instruments.”

“Why does that particular fact not surprise me?” she asked ironically.

“Because you, Miss Nelson, are a survivor. We hold that in common.”

The lady did not respond. Instead, she retrieved the knife and razor. Filling a bowl with the hot water, she said, “I must remove the dried blood to better determine the damage. Shall you be prepared?”

“Do your worst, Miss Nelson.” He accepted another swig of the brandy. “Give me the leather strap from the kit so I might have something to chew upon besides my own curses.” He saw her eyes open wide as she began to wash away the blood and dirt.

When she ripped the spectacles from her nose and tossed them onto the bed, it was his eyes that grew in size. “They are only an employment prop,” she insisted. He gulped air when her fingers examined the opening. “They protect me from lecherous masters.”

Despite the burning sensation radiating down his arm from the brandy she had splashed on the wound, Gabriel found his admiration increase for this woman. If he lived through this encounter, he would hope to know more of Miss Nelson.

“It is time, Lord Godown,” she said softly. “Permit it to happen. Whatever God brings us, I shall remain by your side, my Lord.” With that, she picked up the knife and cut into his skin.

Although she had seen renderings of classical statues, Grace had never imagined any man, who actually breathed life into his lungs, could possess such well-defined chest muscles. Firm hard flesh teased her fingertips. A few scars marred the golden skin. White ridges where someone had attempted to do him harm. Yet, those marks only increased his perfection. Grace’s skin pinked as her eyes followed a line of hair that disappeared into his breeches. It took all her self-control not to follow the line with her touch. No wonder she had considered him an Adonis. All bare flesh and chiseled muscles.

Grace bit her bottom lip in concentration as she explored His Lordship’s wound. What would she do if he did not survive? Grace could not believe she had accepted Lord Godown’s proposition. If anyone discovered her deception, even with the viscountess’s reference, she would find no employment. Yet, Grace knew she would never regret being in this room with this man.

She did not envision herself as some sort of hero. In her mind, she had thought of his saving her rather than her offering him peace. She had always acted in the most sensible of manners. When her brother assumed the title, Grace had done what she could to minimize the damage, and when no other choices remained, she had taken the position with the Aldridges. With her out of the house, Geoffrey would have no excuse to neglect their younger sister’s future.

It had always surprised her Geoffrey had not bartered away her hand in marriage. As the daughter of a baron surely her hand had held some worth, but without a dowry, no proper gentleman would accept her. Geoffrey might have considered a joining with one of his cronies, but had overlooked her merits. Or even a man in trade. However, her brother judged a woman purely on her appearance, and Grace knew she was far from attractive. Yet, for that oversight, she was thankful. An unacceptable marriage–one to a man who preferred his cards and his drink to his wife–would be a deplorable alternative, even more so than having to seek employment.

At the time, Geoffrey had berated her for Grace’s lack of femininity. Had actually called her “ill favored,” but Geoffrey had erred because the Marquis of Godown, one of England’s handsomest men, had pronounced her “the prettiest girl I have ever beheld.” A smile crept across her lips. Despite her intense concentration on the task at hand, Grace’s heart skipped a beat. It would be a memory she would nurture through the years to follow. And she would cherish these moments–even this harrowing effort to save Lord Godown’s life. He had called her “Grace” and “my Dear” and had made her feel capable and trustworthy. This was an adventure, likely the only one she would ever experience.

“You smile,” His Lordship hissed past the leather strap.

Grace’s eyes jerked to his countenance. Their gazes held for several elongated seconds before she softly said, “I contemplated how out of character this encounter found my life.”

He did not look away, but a slight nod released her to return to her makeshift surgery. “I have located the first shard,” she instructed as she reached for the tweezers from his shaving items. “I shall be a gentle as I can, but this shall cause you pain.” Again, he nodded, but he turned his head to look away. Others might believe Lord Godown wished to avoid looking upon her handiwork, but Grace knew he protected her. If she encountered the pure pain he controlled through a force of will, she might falter.

Grace concentrated hard on keeping her hand steady. She would love to have an extra pair of hands to blot the blood away, but she would manage. “I have the first one, my Lord.” She mopped the blood from his chest. “There are two more pieces.”

“Just do it,” he grunted.

“Very well. No more commentary,” she said with determination. She splashed a few drops of the brandy on the short blade knife and cut a deeper gash. With bloody fingers, she retrieved the second metallic sliver and deposited it into a small basin with the first. Sucking on her bottom lip, Grace returned to the task. “One more,” she whispered aloud as she fished for the tip of the third fragment. She caught it easily, but his muscle tissue held it tightly. Therefore, she cut another snippet to free it. Finally, she deposited the jagged metal tip in the bowl with a flourish. “We did it!” she said as she began to clean the newly opened wound. “It is done, my Lord!”

Yet, he no longer moved. Grace had not noticed when his muscles had abandoned the tension that had encased them. “My Lord,” she said in a panic, but the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated he still breathed. “Thank God,” she said on a gasp. Tears misted her eyes. Immediately, she removed the strap from his relaxed jaw and began to pack his wound with clean strips from his shirt. She thought to sew the skin together as she heard of a true surgeon doing, but Lord Godown’s chest muscles sported a deep hole of some size. Instead, she placed a brandy-soaked cloth over the opening.

As His Lordship slept, she quickly threw the bloody cloths into the fireplace to rid the room of any evidence of Lord Godown’s injuries. She washed her hands before searching the marquis’s bag for a dressing gown. She would not bother his rest with dressing him in the garment, but she draped it across his body to disguise her handiwork. “It has nothing to do with the fine line of the man’s chest nor of his flat stomach,” she thought. Her eyes traced the line of his nipples and of the blonde hair that pointed to his breeches.

A twisted smile played across her lips, and a blush spread from her chest to her forehead. “A god in waiting,” she mused. “I shall rest in purgatory for my thoughts,” she chastised as she returned to his wound. She placed another folded strip over the first and pressed down with the heel of her hand. She would not consider how inappropriate were both her thoughts and the situation in which she freely participated. Grace Nelson, former governess for Viscount Averette, shared a room with the half naked Marquis of Godown. “How quickly things change…”

“Grace?” he moaned. She liked the sound of her name on his lips. His slight French accent laced the word with elegance and fluid motion.

She caught his free hand within her two. “I am here, my Lord. Rest. I shall not leave you.” Grace brushed his hair from his forehead.

Lord Godown did not open his eyes, but he said, “I have never…doubted you…my Dear.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and drifted off to sleep.

How long she remained by his side, Grace could not say. The shadows had darkened the room. She enjoyed the tea and some bread and cheese. She placed the broth near the hearth to keep it warm. She was uncertain if he would be capable of swallowing a few mouthfuls when he awoke, but she wanted it available to him. She moved several pieces of furniture to further block his presence from prying eyes.

She heard footsteps in the hallway and asked a passing maid for a bowl of soup and more tea. Then, she settled in one of the armchairs to spend the evening reading. Sleep was the best medicine for Lord Godown, and so with one eye on His Lordship’s reclined form and the other on Pride and Prejudice, Grace spent hours in quiet solitude.

She had “borrowed” several books from Lord Averette’s library, which sported many classical works, as well as appropriate religious tomes. Samuel Aldridge had permitted his viscountess the occasional novel, and Grace had finally accepted Lady Averette’s offer to read from those available. With all the good intentions of asking Geoffrey to return them in the post, Grace had brought three with her. She had struggled through the first twenty pages before she abandoned the book to return to His Lordship’s side. Assuming a familiar position, Grace caught his hand and brought it to her cheek. “You are a very brave man,” she said as she rubbed her cheek against the back of his cupped hand. “I am in awe with how you have endured without protest.”

Instinctively, Grace stoked his arm. Her fingertips burned from the skin on skin contact, but she never released his hand. “I wish I had held your acquaintance prior to today. I would have been proud to be recognized by a man of your quality.”

After that, she made no more personal references. Instead, she spent time tending to his care. Grace checked for a fever, gently replaced the makeshift bandage, and then read aloud to him, starting the novel over again with “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”

She could not remember falling asleep, but his fingers stroking her hair had gently brought her to an awakened state. Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and Grace struggled to right herself. The deep heat of a blush announced she had fallen asleep with her head resting upon his chest. The book had fallen from her grasp and lay open upon the floor at her feet.

“My Lord!” she gasped as she shoved a pin into her loose tresses. “I beg your forgiveness.” Not knowing where to look, Grace frantically examined his wound. With shaky fingers, she peeled away the bandage.

“Grace,” he said hoarsely. Reluctantly, she met his bleary gaze. “No forgiveness.” His Adam’s apple worked to swallow, and Grace, by design, spooned several mouthfuls of water into his mouth. When she returned the glass to the nightstand, he continued. “Waking to find…a warm female…asleep in my arms…was a taste of heaven,” he rasped.

His words were devilishly seductive, and Grace found herself flushing with color once more. She could not ever recall blushing so completely and so often. “My Lord,” she insisted, “I must object. I have agreed to tend your wound. That is the extent of our relationship.”

Lord Godown’s eyes remained closed, but his lips twitched with amusement. “Yet, I was of the understanding you preferred my acquaintance.”

Grace’s composure failed. “You heard? I am appalled you mean to make light of my honesty.”

As if waking from a long slumber, Godown’s eyes opened slowly. He rested his gaze upon her countenance. “And I speak honestly, as well, Miss Nelson. Despite the favor you bestow upon me, this day my words are not based on my debt to you. I think you quite remarkable, and finding your head resting against me was an exquisite moment.”

Grace’s fingers stilled. His scent–one of sandalwood and sweat–filled her nostrils. The thought of this man’s closeness clouded her reason, and her knees buckled. She braced herself against the bed. She had leaned across his taut body to adjust the blanket, but her nipples reacted to his nearness. They tightened in a new awareness of his masculine presence. “A woman of lesser intelligence might be swayed by your golden tongue,” she said with a snit of disapproval. “I shall change your bandage if you please, my Lord.”

It was the marquis’s turn to redden. “Prior to your tender mercies, my Dear, I fear I must plead for your assistance in a most embarrassing situation.”

Her mouth twisted in concern. “However might I serve you, my Lord?”

Lord Godown sighed in resignation. “I must meet my personal needs.”

Grace felt the blood drain from her face. She did not know where to look. Whether to blush or to laugh or to maintain a serious mien. “Of…of course,” she stammered. “I should have considered the possibility. “ She turned to rearrange the screen to provide him privacy.

Meanwhile, Lord Godown struggled to a seated position by swinging his long muscular legs over the bed’s edge and pushing himself upward with his uninjured arm. “I…doubt…a lady…even one…reduced to…being a viscount’s…governess…ever dwells on…a man’s baser needs.” He gritted his teeth from the effort.

Despite being overwhelmed by the impropriety, Grace wanted to laugh. It was, after all, a most bizarre experience. She recovered the clean chamber pot from the room’s corner. “Where shall I place this?” she asked without looking at the marquis.

Breathily, he answered, “Perhaps on the nightstand or the bed’s edge.”

Again, Grace swallowed her desire to laugh. When a woman has visions of a delectable man, it never occurs to her he has “other needs.” With his instructions, she realized Lord Godown would require a surface high enough where he might reach it easily. “The stand,” she insisted before moving the other items to the serving table. She set the pot on the polished surface with a thunk.

“In case I miss,” he said with a chuckle.

The heat had returned to her face with a vengeance. “Oh, no, my Lord, I never meant to imply.”

Lord Godown raised his hand in an aristocratic gesture that stifled her objection. “You will find, Miss Nelson, I often use jest to lighten my own discomfiture. I am well aware of your goodness.” He motioned her to him. “Come. Assist me to my feet.”

Grace placed herself in a position where she might tip him backward onto the bed if he pitched forward. She was desperately aware of the marquis’s solidness. If he lurched to the fore, Grace would never be able to prevent his collapsing on the floor. With only a slight sway, Lord Godown managed to right himself. Grace breathed with relief when he stood tall.