Saving Grace (44 page)

As Samuel did
.

She could neither accept Preston’s offer then, nor would she accept Nicholas’s plan now, unless it was truly what he wanted. Even then, it would not be to flee to Samuel. She had closed that door and would not reopen it. Her future lay either here with Nicholas or in the country with Helen and Christopher.

Grace pushed back from Nicholas, stepping from his embrace so she might think clearly — an impossibility when in his arms.

“Do you wish me to go?” She searched his face, knowing she’d find the truth there. Nicholas was no better a liar than she.

“No.” A sterner, swifter response she’d never heard from him. “At first, I did. But now ...”

She understood. “What you believed you wanted is no longer true?” A reflection of her own feelings, if ever there was one.

Nicholas turned away and this time succeeded in reaching his chair behind the desk, effectively separating them. “What I wish is not under consideration. I am interested in what is
best.
”

“Might they not be the same?” Grace asked. Fear began to creep its way into her heart, as if the physical distance between them was suggestive of the final outcome of this meeting.

“Unlikely.” Nicholas drummed his fingers on the desk in agitation.

“You think I would be better off with Mr. Preston?”

Nicholas grimaced. “I’ve no doubt that he would do everything in his power to make you happy.”

Words so near to what Samuel had said. “What of
my
doubts and feelings?” Grace asked, angry at Nicholas’s assumption — however true she’d feared it might once have been. “Would
you
be happier if I were gone? Have I been nothing but a distraction to you — a sore temptation to resist?” She whirled away and headed toward the door. With shaking fingers, she thrust the key into the lock and reached for the knob. Behind her, a chair crashed against the wall. A second later, Nicholas’s hand over hers stopped her from opening the door.

He pulled her to him, but Grace refused to step into his embrace. Instead, they stood toe to toe. She tugged her hand from his and crossed her arms.

“You are
maddening,” Nicholas said.

Grace glared at him, further hurt and angered by the amusement in his voice.

“I’ve been mad with frustration and desire,” Nicholas said. “Mad with laughter at your antics. I have been beside myself about what to do with you. It seemed entirely illogical for us to wed — a more ludicrous proposition I could not have invented just three months ago.”

“I see.” Grace looked at her shoes to hide her smarting eyes.

“You do not see at all.” Nicholas gently lifted her chin so she would look at him. “I have found myself alternately irate over you and then frightened on your behalf. I’ve wanted to punish you, then wished with my entire soul that I might heal your hurts and ensure that you never suffered another. First I resented your presence in my home but then realized that it was your presence that made these walls a home again.” He released her but held her gaze.

He continued in a softer voice. “I’ve known I must not touch you, yet I’ve longed for that touch nearly every waking, — and of late, every sleeping — moment. I’ve been distracted and tempted by your lips to the point of insanity. Your voice, your movements, your hair and smile, your wit and wisdom have all combined to prove my entire undoing. And so I confess, Grace, that I cannot endure it any longer. To this point I have seen to your safety. Your innocence has been preserved for Preston or any other man you may someday choose. But if we cross this line, here, now — if I take you in my arms and kiss you behind a locked door — there is no returning. You will be mine irrevocably.”

“The door is no longer locked,” Grace said, unsuccessfully attempting humor as she tried to blink back the tears spilling from her eyes.

“Leave if you will.” Nicholas stepped back and inclined his head toward the door.

Her heart pounded beneath her dress as she faced the door again. She stretched out her hand to the knob, then grasped the key and turned it swiftly, turning the lock. She pulled the key from the door and held it out to Nicholas, dropping it in his hand. “The key to my heart, milord.”

Nicholas swept her into his arms and crushed her to him. “Don’t cry, love.”

Their lips met in a frenzy of desperation. The kiss was neither slow nor gentle, as Grace had imagined it would be. He held her close with a fierce possessiveness, his mouth on hers, testing the strength of her newly declared commitment, demanding more and more in a way that left her breathless and with no doubt that there was no going back from here.

I am his.
A thrill of anticipation coursed through her. Nicholas’s hands left her waist and cradled her face. She opened her eyes to look at him and witnessed his expression of awe.

“Grace,” he whispered. “You have saved me.” His lips found hers again, this time with the lightest touch. His lips lingered, tasting her, caressing.

He desires me. I am loved.
Each kiss conveyed an entirely different message. The first had brought a rush of building desire; the second caused her heart to feel that it would burst.

Nicholas released her and pulled back, his breathing ragged. In a haze of desire and happiness, Grace crossed before him, seeking a chair for support.

“Don’t even think about sitting,” Nicholas teased, snatching her around the waist and pulling her close again. Grace slid her hands up to his shoulders. They kissed a third time, this one a combination of the first two — slow and sweet, hungry and possessive. Grace bent her head to his chest, her own heart thundering when at last they parted.

“I think,” Nicholas began, his voice unsteady, “that it is time we obtain our wedding license.” He pressed his lips to the top of her nose. “I could go to London tomorrow.” He kissed her forehead. “While I am gone, you can have your gown made.” He stroked her hair. “And then we can be married.”

“Soon?” Grace asked, leaning into him so as to keep herself upright instead of melting to the floor as her limbs seemed wont to do.

“Soon,” Nicholas reiterated and then kissed her again.

Nicholas glanced at the crooked numbers hanging above the worn and filthy door. Grateful his hands were gloved, he pushed open the low gate — also filthy — and made his way up the uneven walk with care.

He rapped three times upon the door, then waited. It was mid-morning, the time — according to Grace — most likely to find George Thatcher at home.

When a minute had passed with no response, Nicholas knocked again and called out, guessing that Grace’s father was more likely to make an appearance if he knew there was not a bill collector outside. Again there was no answer, so Nicholas went around the back to see if there was another door.

The yard was strewn with debris — mostly evidence of the tenant’s drinking habits. Nicholas felt sickened as he thought of Grace and her siblings growing up in such a dismal place. When he saw the sagging clothesline and the old washtub propped near the back door, he felt even worse.

Never will she set foot here again,
he vowed.
Neither will I.
He’d come only to tell Mr. Thatcher that he and Grace would be married within the week and to let the man know that Grace and her siblings were no longer his responsibility and that he was not to attempt contact with any of them ever again.

Nicholas raised his hand to knock on the back door and found it already ajar. He called out once more, pushing the door open as he did. The odor that met him sent him back out quickly, and not until he had a handkerchief firmly pressed to his face did he attempt to reenter.

The cottage was dark with the drapes drawn, the only light being from the door he’d just passed through. Nicholas stepped carefully over more bottles than had been in the yard. He felt certain the house had not looked this way when Grace and her siblings lived here, but neither could he imagine it to have been a happy place to grow up.

As he moved through a narrow hall toward the front of the house, the foul smell increased until he thought he could endure it no more. Clearly, George Thatcher was not at home, so there seemed no point in staying. Nicholas pressed on, intending to exit through the front door, quitting this place as quickly as possible.

As he emerged from the hall, with the front door in sight, another sight stopped him — scared him so that he dropped the handkerchief and gave a startled gasp. From across the room, George Thatcher stared at him, his limbs stiff and eyes wide.

Frozen in death.

Nicholas sat at his desk, drumming his fingers, nervous about the news he must share with Grace and her siblings.

Christopher was first to arrive. “The girls are with the dressmaker,” he explained. “Their gowns are full of pins at the moment, but they’ll be down as soon as they can.”

“Very good.” Nicholas brought a hand to his mouth, considering how to delicately phrase what he must say.
Your father is dead,
seemed a little abrupt, though he very much doubted that tears would follow the news.

“You seem troubled, milord.”

“I am,” Nicholas said, then realized that the answer to his dilemma stood before him.
Why not tell their brother and let him break the news?
It seemed like a logical solution. Christopher was family, whereas he was not.
Yet.

“I went to see your father on my return trip from London,” Nicholas said.

Christopher’s eyes darkened. “I hope you did not give him any money. He’ll only waste it, you know.”

“I gave him nothing,” Nicholas said. “I did not speak with him, either, because I found him ... dead.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, Christopher’s face showed first shock and then relief. “Truly? You are in earnest?”

“Very much so. I would not jest about something so serious.”

Christopher sank into the nearest chair, a look of incredulity on his face. Nicholas remembered collapsing in that same chair upon hearing of his own father’s death. But in his case, it had been so he might weep in private. As he had suspected, no tears were forthcoming from the young Mr. Thatcher.

“Are you quite all right?” Nicholas asked. “Would you care for a drink?”

“I am well, thank you,” Christopher said. “In truth, you could not have brought us happier news.”

“That was my assessment as well,” Nicholas confessed.

“First the settlement of Grandfather’s estate, and now this,” Christopher continued, wonder in his voice. “We shall finally be free.”

“What about the settlement?” Nicholas asked. “Last I inquired, things were not looking good there.”

“It finally came through,” Christopher said. “Just before Christmas — a few days before we came here from Mr. Preston’s. He still has the paperwork, in fact. Asked me to hold off on telling Grace so he could tell her him —” Christopher broke off suddenly, as if he’d realized what he’d revealed.

“You — and your sister Helen — were staying with Mr. Preston?” Nicholas tried to digest one piece of disturbing information at a time.

“Yes.” Christopher looked toward the door with longing. “I’ll go check the girls to see what’s keeping —”

“Sit,” Nicholas ordered, pointing to the chair Christopher was attempting to vacate. “Has Grace been in contact with Mr. Preston these past months?”

Christopher squirmed in his seat. “I think you should ask her yourself.”

“I intend to,” Nicholas said. “But I want your answer first.”

“Yes,” Christopher said with some reluctance. “They met in the garden. He brought us her letters and delivered ours to her.”

“This went on for how long?” Nicholas asked. His stomach felt as though he’d been punched.

“October,” Christopher answered quietly, his head down.

“Why did you not simply come see her yourself?” Nicholas asked, sobered to think of Grace walking in the garden —
Elizabeth’s garden —
with Preston.

Christopher shrugged. “I don’t know. I was away much of the time, working on the settlement, and Helen never goes out much.”

So they were alone together. On how many occasions?
“And this settlement from your grandfather — you have it now? It was awarded in your favor?”