Untouched (26 page)

reading his pain, reading his brave resolve to end his captivity in the only way he believed possible.

She bit her lip and strove for courage. Thank heaven he wasn’t touching her. If he touched her, her resistance would

crumble like chalk. Raising her chin, she forced herself to speak with merciless clarity.

“Unless you promise to take no action for six months, I’m not leaving.”

The blood drained from his cheeks and an expression of ineffable hauteur masked his distress. “This is beneath you. I

won’t submit to blackmail.”

“I’m asking for six months.” She prayed she found help before that time was up. She prayed she lived so long without

falling into Lord John’s clutches.

“For God’s sake, don’t endanger yourself to save me.” His voice developed a taunting edge. “What do you imagine you

can do against my uncle? He’ll crush you with less thought than he’d give to swatting a fly. Have you learned nothing?”

He spoke directly to her greatest terror. Or her greatest terror after her fear that Matthew would die before she found aid.

She sucked in a deep breath. She could handle fear. She’d been frightened so long, it had become her natural element.

“I won’t take stupid risks. But I may meet someone who can help.” She’d always known her plan was flimsy. Hearing it

aloud, it sounded insubstantial as a cloud.

“I’ll never be free. You just extend my torture.” He spoke as if he hated her. He probably did right now. She could

imagine what it had cost him to decide to end his suffering. Now she thwarted his chance to retrieve his honor and stop

his uncle’s depredations.

“Just for six months, Matthew.” She reached for his hand but he flinched away.

“You insist that your will prevails by giving me an impossible choice.” He hadn’t spoken to her so coldly since her first

days on the estate. She shivered. She’d forgotten quite how astringent that tone was.

“I want your word you’ll do nothing to endanger your welfare for six months.”

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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Lord, what if she’d stuck to her original plan and asked for a year? Could she rescue him in six months?

He stared into the trees as if he could no longer bear the sight of her. She didn’t need to see his expression to recognize

his desolation or how angry he was.

After a long pause, he shrugged with a carelessness she didn’t believe and turned to her. His golden eyes were guarded as

they’d been guarded when he’d first seen her. Even Wolfram’s stare seemed an accusation.

Matthew’s lips twisted in a caricature of a smile. “As you say, what’s six months? Yes, you have my word.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. His honor was more precious to him than life. He wouldn’t break his promise.

“Thank you.”

“Now, are you ready to leave or do you have further conditions?” He presented his arm with an elegant flourish. He was

at his most lordly, his deep voice clear and crisp. No trace now of her ardent, tender lover.

He was furious and hurt at what he saw as her betrayal. She’d had an unfair advantage. When she bartered his

cooperation for her safety, she’d known she’d win. Now the sun rose high in the sky. Must rancor contaminate their last

memories of each other?

She ignored his extended arm. She didn’t want him to escort her back to the cottage like a stranger. “Matthew, is this how

you want to say goodbye?” she asked in a small voice.

“Grace, you test me to my limits. You know what we’re about to do. You know why we’re doing it.” He didn’t sound

angry anymore. Instead he sounded deathly unhappy, which was worse.

The guilt that had tortured Grace since she’d stolen his private papers twisted in her belly like a snake. This was for his

own good, she assured herself desperately. She couldn’t tell him the full extent of her plan or he’d stop her. She knew that

as she knew she loved him.

“It breaks my heart to leave.” She blinked away tears.

His smile became more natural and he reached out to take both her hands loosely in his. Beneath his smile, he still looked

tired and sad.

“You have my promise. I’ll do nothing to change my situation for six months. Now let us make peace, my love.”

He’d always been so generous, even when he believed her his enemy. How could she bear it if she failed him?

If she thought about that, her courage would shrivel to nothing. She needed every ounce of courage to escape. Although

not as much courage as he needed to stay.

“There will be no peace for me until you’re free,” she whispered, her heart brimming with misery.

His face sharpened with grief. “Don’t, Grace. Run as far as you can and forget me.”

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ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

She didn’t bother arguing. What was the point? Nothing would deter her. “Kiss me,” she said in a broken voice.

Very gently, he took her face in his hands. At first, his lips were cool but heat soon overcame restraint. He took his time,

savoring her as if she were his last meal.

She trembled and opened her mouth. She couldn’t bear this parting. She couldn’t. Only the fragile hope that she could

rescue him kept her from begging him to let her remain.

As his tongue drove into her mouth, he snatched her up against him. She twined her arms around his back and kissed him

with equal hunger.

There was passion. And sorrow.

Above all, there was love. Love burning like a flame.

She wanted to stay in his arms forever.

It was impossible.

Danger awaited her. Untold suffering awaited him. He’d said little about the consequences of what he meant to do. She

knew enough to guess. And he’d face the aftermath without her. She felt as though she deserted him on the field of battle

to face an invincible enemy alone.

Gradually, the frenzy abated. The kiss ended as it had begun, in gentleness and regret. He drew away and she glimpsed

tears in his eyes. Tears he was too proud to shed.

“I love you, Grace.” It was a vow.

“I love you, Matthew.”

“It’s time.” He looked as somber as she’d ever seen him.

“Yes.” She stretched up and kissed him once more. Quickly. Because if she lingered, she’d never leave. “God keep you,

my darling.”

She turned and ran blindly back toward the cottage.

Matthew waited hidden in the trees near the main gate, Wolfram a silent, devoted sentinel at his side. Grace had left him

half an hour ago.

Monks hammered at something in the shadow of the gatehouse. Filey was out of sight, although from hundreds of

mornings watching them unload supplies, Matthew knew he wouldn’t be far away.

Grim prescience was a leaden weight in his gut. Grace didn’t know what she asked when she made him wait six months.

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He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Christ, he could barely put the thoughts into words himself.

He’d steeled himself to what would happen once she was gone. Barely. His uncle had ordered him constrained after his

last escape. Any pretense that it was for his own good or to keep a dangerous madman under control had disappeared. His

wardens had tied him to that cursed table in the garden room and savagely beaten him as punishment. No other reason.

The chastisement had only lasted a few hours. Enough to remind him he’d rather die than resume life as a poor chained

madman.

Now he deliberately put himself into their hands. They’d tie him down, mock him, torture him. This time, they’d do it

because they believed him mad indeed. Which meant his ordeal would be longer, tougher, more agonizing.

God lend him strength. Every time his captors treated him like a madman, he was sick with terror that the madness would

return in reality.

A twig snapped behind him and he turned to see Grace. She looked such a little Puritan in her black widow’s weeds and

severe hairstyle. It was strange to see her like this again. As though she was no longer the woman who turned his nights to

flame. This woman was beautiful—she could never be anything else—but already beyond his reach.

“Are you ready?” He itched to snatch her into his arms one last time but if he touched her now, he’d never let her go.

“Yes.” She nodded, her gaze unspeakably sad as it clung to his face. With one hand she clutched a bundle wrapped in a

silk shawl. They’d spent a long time deciding what she’d take. In the end, they’d selected things she could barter for food

or a ride in a cart. Handkerchiefs, a few bits of tawdry jewelry, shoe buckles. A little food. Water.

Actual cash was appallingly short. She only had the few coins she’d carried on arrival. Neither Filey nor Monks had

thought it worthwhile to steal those. Just as they’d never thought to destroy her worn clothing.

“Has the supply cart turned up yet?” she whispered, crouching at his side.

“No. But it won’t be long.”

Matthew felt her hand slide around his. Her fingers were cold, although the day was warm and fine.

“It will be all right,” she murmured. How like Grace, to comfort others when she needed comfort herself.

“Yes.”

He suspected she knew he lied. He wasn’t angry anymore. The suffering that awaited was the price he paid for the rapture

he’d found in her arms.

He’d pay any price for that.

For a brief span, he’d been allowed to feel human. More. Every time she told him she loved him, he’d felt like a god.

Well, the god would come crashing down any moment. And gods, he was sure, were never as full of dread and regret as

he was.

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Jesus, where was the bloody cart?

The bell rang. As he’d suspected, Filey was nearby. He came around the house to help Monks lift the bar from the gate.

The heavy doors opened with a rusty squeak and the laden wagon rattled in. These days, his uncle made sure two men

drove the wagon. That made four men plus Mrs. Filey he needed to convince with his performance.

“Go, Grace. Go now,” he whispered, grief piercing his gut like a stake. “Godspeed.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a brief but passionate kiss. He fought the urge to grab her close. What was one touch

more when he craved a lifetime?

“Goodbye, my darling.” Pain throbbed in her farewell. One longing look from indigo eyes burning with anguish and love,

then she was gone.

Without thinking he stretched his hand out after her, as if to wrest her back. He only grasped emptiness.

He watched her make her way through the underbrush to a point where she was still hidden but close to the gate. She

paused under the shade and turned to smile at him. Strangely, it was a smile without darkness, the same smile she gave

him when he brought her to climax.

Her bravery stunned him. Inspired him.

She disappeared into the trees. The black dress served wonderfully as camouflage.

“Follow,” he urged the huge wolfhound as he straightened. They’d decided Wolfram should go with Grace as protection.

The plan’s success hinged on the next seconds. Could he do what he had to?

For Grace, he could.

He squared his shoulders and defied the ocean of fear that threatened to drown him. He took the pellet of herbs from his

pocket and put it in his mouth. Immediately, a pungent taste filled his head.

Grace lingered on what could be her last glimpse of the man she loved. When she’d first seen him, his lonely beauty had

struck her like the pure true note of a hammer on brass. Her last impression was no different. Any joy he’d found in her

arms had been fleeting.

Breaking into her anxious distraction, Wolfram trotted up. She patted and praised him, knowing all the while that she

took him from what he loved. They had that in common.

She fumbled at her waist for the short rope she’d brought to tie to his collar. She’d protested when Matthew insisted she

take the dog. Now she was glad. If things went wrong, he’d keep Monks and Filey away. And outside the gates, Wolfram

was a link with Matthew.

The dog stood obediently while she knotted the rope. She said a prayer of thanks that Matthew had trained him so well.

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At times, she thought Wolfram was almost human.

“Courage, my friend,” she whispered. Even though it was she, not the dog, who needed courage. Fear made the breath

stall in her throat. Fear not just for herself, but for Matthew too.

What if he miscalculated the dosage of the herbal mixture? Too much might kill him.

Dear God, don’t let her escape end in tragedy.

She had to trust him. She’d seen firsthand his knowledge of plants. He’d said he’d only take enough herb to incapacitate

himself.

She wouldn’t think about what could go wrong. Instead, she had to watch for her opportunity to sneak out the gate.

Her hand clenched in the thick hair on Wolfram’s neck. Very carefully, keeping her eyes fixed on the men, she rose.

In the late spring heat, her widow’s weeds prickled uncomfortably. She’d become used to the light silks and satins of her

risqué wardrobe. Now the thick black fabric scratched her sensitive skin and the high neck and long sleeves irritated her.

She watched as the men began to unload. The two draft horses stood patiently in harness as the men worked around them.