Clasping his quaking hands behind his back, he walked straight through the large drawing room and out onto the terrace where his father-in-law stood alone. The man might not be the dashing, robust Foreign Secretary he once was, despite Lady Flarinton’s continued adoring looks, but Flarinton was still the steadfast gentleman that had counseled Matthew during a time he was left floundering with the mess his papa had left the Harrington estate in. He was the man who had predicted upon their first meeting that Matthew would fall in love with Grace. Flarinton was a brilliant man, even when battling an aging disease. Matthew’s views of the man would never change.
Matthew stood next to Flarinton and looked out into the garden. “I apologize for not seeking you out sooner.”
“No need to apologize, son.” His father-in-law’s heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Without waiting for a reply, Flarinton continued, “Hadfield had the marriage agreements redrawn, said the ones drafted by Burke’s men were totally inadequate to protect Grace and her rightful inheritance. I’ll have them delivered to you tomorrow.” There was a note of confusion in Flarinton’s voice, but the man’s eyes were bright and clear.
“Certainly. I’ll sign and return your copy as soon as they arrive.”
Flarinton’s hand dropped to his side. “Don’t you find it a tad peculiar that Hadfield took it upon himself to intervene?”
A bark of laughter escaped Matthew. “Not at all. The man was a barrister, and his involvement was most likely at Theo’s insistence. The woman is rather protective of her friends.”
Quick footfalls fell on the stone behind them. Turning, Matthew found himself being descended upon by his sister with Theo and Mary in tow.
Hands on her hips, Lucy stood a scant inch too close and demanded, “Where is Grace?”
While his twin was only six minutes older than him, she never let him forget she was the elder. “Abovestairs. She went to speak with her maid.”
The trio’s husbands were not far behind. Waterford was actually smiling as they approached. His jovial manner vanished as soon as he laid eyes upon his wife.
Theo held up a hand, halting the men. “Which of you confirmed Burke’s death?”
Archbroke answered his wife’s question. “Ellingsworth saw to the details, and the royal physician provided his report to me directly.”
Hands planted on her hips, Theo asked, “Are you telling me that none of you actually saw Burke’s dead body?”
The hairs on Matthew’s arms stood on end. Why had no one physically verified the devil’s demise? Matthew’s gaze flew to Mary, who was wrapped up in her husband’s arms, whispering. He turned to scan the second-floor windows. Grace’s room was dark. Panic set in. Running back through the house, Matthew took the stairs two at a time. He ignored the glares he received from the maids scurrying about.
Matthew spotted Tilman at the end of the hall. “Where is your mistress?”
“Out in the gardens. My lady said she needed time to think.”
Fear ran down his spine. Surely her footmen were with her, but the woman was a master at evading her well-trained protectors. He should have stayed with Grace; he had sensed she was upset. Rushing through the kitchen doors, Matthew sprinted toward the gazebo. If Burke remained alive, he would have to be crazed to confront Grace with everyone close by. No, the man would lie low, bide his time, and devise some complex strategy and employ others to carry out his wishes. The devil never personally executed any of his horrendous schemes. The bastard was a master manipulator.
Rationalizing that there was no way Burke would attempt an attack on Grace here tonight on her papa’s property, Matthew slowed his steps. However, the skin on his forearms still prickled. If she was alone and safe, he’d look like an idiot rushing in like a madman. But if she was in danger, Grace was skilled at self-defense. Matthew shook his head to clear his mind. What was wrong with him? Indecision resulted in the loss of life. He’d always been a man to act first, then modify his actions if necessary. A soft, wheezing sound came from the shadows.
Matthew stilled and called out, “Show yourself.”
Out of the shadows, Hadfield appeared, then stopped. He bent at the waist and rested his hands just above his knees. Inhaling appeared to be trying for the man.
Matthew rushed over to the PORF he had sworn to protect and serve. “How can I assist?”
“Burke… He… was sighted… at the church… earlier.”
At the church! During the ceremony, Matthew recalled the moment Grace had lost all color, as if she had seen a ghost. Damnation. The woman was attempting to lure Burke out of the shadows.
Matthew broke into a full sprint. A startled cry pierced the night air as he rounded the bend and the gazebo came into sight.
Hands clasped behind her back, Grace paced, and scanned the octagon-shaped floor. Devoid of the rug and cushions that she had carefully arranged against the far side, the gazebo was cold and barren. She needed the area clear of all potential threats. As the seconds ticked by, the temptation to light a candle and dispel the shadows increased. Grace shook her head. The risk of Burke using a small flame to his advantage was too high. Stealing her nerves, Grace froze and inhaled deeply. She should conserve her energy for the battle to come.
Even though she had anticipated Burke’s arrival, she still let out a surprised whelp when his large form engulfed the entrance. She couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness. Burke withdrew a shiny steel dagger. There were no nicks or any indication of it ever being removed from its scabbard.
Arms bent at the elbow out in front of her, palms down to protect her chest and face, Grace mirrored Burke’s steps to the side. Except she was wiser to know not to cross her legs as they went around and around in circles. Grace waited for Burke to break the silence.
“You turned my son against me!” Burke’s dilated but alert eyes followed her every movement. His lips were discolored with a tingle of blue and white spittle pooled at the corner of his mouth. The man was vile.
“It was your own actions that have landed you in this position.” Grace angled her head to the left to stretch out the tense muscles in her neck. She readjusted her stance, while her hands remained out in front of her, square to her shoulders. Grace was more than ready and capable of relieving Burke of his knife should he lunge forward. In fact, she wanted him to attempt the foolish move. She should have taken retribution against the man months ago. The devil was overdue in paying for his sins—years of racketeering, having orchestrated the kidnapping of her number one agent, Devonton, coordinating Matthew’s imprisonment, and disabusing his power as a PORF. Hatred flowed through her veins.
Grace spied the man’s grip on the short blade. Pfft. The fool’s thumb lay along the spine. His lack of knife skills would make it all the easier to relieve him of the weapon.
She should be inside, celebrating her union to Matthew, not pacing about with a madman. The notion of abandoning her training and be the one to attack first came and went. No. She needed to be patient. If she could elevate his ire and provoke him to attack, it would allow her the opportunity to knock the blade away.
The moonlight highlighted Burke’s crazed eyes as they flickered about. “Poison is the weapon of a lady. I know it was you who attempted to send me off to another world. Did you discover my fateful plans for you?”
Of all the methods to choose to do away with his sire, Tobias had selected poison—typically untraceable, often with the death attributed to natural causes. How fortunate for Burke that the amount administered had been insufficient to kill.
The man was as shifty as they came. She needed to maintain her wits about her and keep him talking. If she was missing long enough, Matthew would arrive to assist. “I heard a variety of scenarios, none of which would have succeeded as they were all poorly designed.”
Burke stopped and stepped forward. “You spiteful wench.” He swayed as he took another step closer. “Where is Tobias? Why was he not at the church?”
“Tobias is no longer…” Sh
e paused, letting her words settle between them. With a shrug, she said, “Your son is gone.”
“You bitch! You may have succeeded in taking Tobias, but your attempt to see that I meet my maker failed.”
The skin on the back of Grace’s neck came alive. Matthew was close by.
Maintaining Burke’s attention, she crossed her arms at the wrist to make an X. Then she quickly resumed her defensive position with her hands out front, ready to disarm Burke. She prayed Matthew would heed her command not to attack.
Burke raised his tattered coat sleeve to wipe the excess spittle from his mouth, nearly lopping off his own nose. “Girl, you are no match for me. I’m a bloody PORF, and if the network rumors are correct, you serve me, dammit.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He was about to go on the attack.
Grace lowered her stance and shifted to the side. Burke reached out with his free hand, attempting to grab her shoulder, but she was quick, avoiding his meaty hand.
“I’ll kill you and your interfering husband when he comes looking for you.” Burke raised his arm.
The knife slashed through the air. Without thought, Grace nimbly trapped him at the elbow. She used her body weight to pull his arm and twisted it until Burke growled in agony and released the blade. With the dagger firmly in her hand, Grace pushed the man away from her. But he didn’t go down to his knees as she expected. Instead, he rose with his hands stretched out in front of him, reaching for her neck. “You little whore. Get back here.”
Burke lunged forward.
She raised the dagger, and a second later it was buried deep into the man’s chest—all the way to the hilt. Knocked to the ground, Grace scrambled backward and said, “It is not I who will die this eve.” Her gaze never left her attacker.
Burke extracted the weapon, and the stench of blood brought bile up to Grace’s throat.
Unsteady, but still on his feet, Burke waved the ruby-red blade. “I’m going to slice that pretty little neck of yours.” He staggered forward.
She needed to get back up onto her feet, but her limbs were frozen.
Out from the shadows, Matthew appeared and deftly placed one arm about Burke’s reddened neck. Her husband’s arm flexed, cutting off Burke’s airway until the man went limp. The devil’s body slid down the front of Matthew and collapsed to the ground.
Her husband could have killed the bastard with a simple twist of the neck, but he was too damn honorable. It was why his original plan to see Burke tried instead of having a deadly accident had failed.
Grace looked down at her shaking hands. Matthew had the right of it. The death of another by one’s hand was a terrible thing to live with.
Matthew crouched down and assisted her to her feet. “I’m so proud of you.”
Crushed in his embrace, she placed her hand over her husband’s erratic heartbeat. The sight of Burke’s blood on her hand made her whole-body shiver. Grace buried her head against his chest and mumbled, “It’s over.”
A masculine cough came from the gazebo entrance. Grace lifted her head. Hadfield walked over to Burke’s unmoving form and, with the toe of his boot, rolled the unconscious man over.
Hadfield ran a hand over his face. “Take your wife inside and send Waterford out here.”
Matthew bent, and firmly placing an arm under her knees, he lifted her up and cradled her against him.
Grace asked, “Is he dead?” She needed to hear the words, to know for certain that the devil had finally met his fate and was no longer a threat.
Hadfield squatted and pressed two fingers to Burke’s neck. “Yes.”
Grace’s entire body trembled.
Matthew gathered her closer. “We’ll enter through the kitchens. No need to alarm the guests.”
Grace nodded, but her thoughts were still upon Burke. For years she’d wished the man dead—and now he was. She had killed Burke. Regardless that she had acted in self-defense, taking a life was a burden she would carry to her grave. Grace peered up at her husband through her lashes. “It’s nothing like we practiced.”
“I’m glad we did. Otherwise, you would not be standing here.” Matthew’s voice was gruff, but his eyes were filled with love and concern. He placed a kiss upon the top of her bent head.
Matthew tensed. A man was running along the path toward them—Waterford. He stopped in front of him, not in the least bit winded. “My wife informed me you might require my assistance.”
“Hadfield is waiting for you in the gazebo.”
Waterford’s eyes widened as he saw the blood on her dress. “Are you injured?” He reached out as if he meant to run a hand over her to check for injuries.
Matthew stepped back, placing her out of Waterford’s reach. “What do you think you are about?”
“I tended to my men’s wounds. I can help.”
“It’s Burke’s blood, not hers.” Matthew stepped around a stunned Waterford. “Hadfield is waiting.”
Waterford nodded and resumed running down the path.
They made it back to the servants’ entrance.
Grace smiled at the footman on guard. “Please inform Lady Oldridge we will not be returning for the evening and have her advise the guests it’s time to leave.”
Her bodyguard avoided Matthew’s gaze, nodded, and quickly left.
“You can put me down now.”
Matthew ignored her and carried her up the stairs, despite the fact his breathing was labored. She kept the observation to herself and basked in his warmth. When they reached her chamber door, he bent at the knees. Grace released the door latch and pushed the door open. He gave no indication he intended to let her go.
Matthew walked straight to the bed and sat upon it, settling her upon his lap. Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, he asked, “Do you want me to arrange to have the coach readied, or would you prefer we remain guests of your parents for the night?”
Leaning her cheek into his palm, Grace smiled. While Matthew’s gesture to remain another night under her papa’s roof was considerate, the thought of them consummating their marriage while her parents were in their chambers a few doors down the hall was not ideal. Her room was devoid of her personal belongings, and it was time for her to begin as Marchioness Harrington. “Please have the coach readied. I’m ready to go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Matthew closed his eyes as the coach took the final turn before they reached his townhouse. Home. The word rattled Matthew to his core. Upon his return, England, Halestone Hall, his townhouse, none of them held the same appeal as they had before. With Grace snuggled tightly against his side, he now understood why. She was the key to everything he treasured.
Grace was exhausted. But she didn’t appear to be suffering any ill effects from her dreadful encounter with Burke. Keenly aware of the toll her actions would take upon her soul, Matthew reconsidered consummating their marriage. Yes. He’d wait until tomorrow.
Coward. Damn his conscience.
It was out of consideration for Grace. Liar.
Why could he not even deceive himself? He swallowed and tried to ignore the mounting anxiety that was building within him. Grace had already seen the scars and the twisted, mangled sections of his chest. But seeing and touching were two entirely different things. She would initially be curious like he had been, but the reality was puckered skin was not at all sensual. It was repulsive, and the associated memories remained painful.
He didn’t want her sympathy, and she damn well better not feel any guilt—both of which Matthew was certain Grace would experience, even if she didn’t outwardly show it.
Sleepily, she said, “I don’t remember your residence being this far.”
“We are nearly there, love.” Proving his point, the coach slowed to a crawl. Then the coach came to a complete stop, and the door was flung wide open. “Would you like me to carry you up to your chambers?”
“Good gracious, no. I want to greet the staff as I should.” Grace looked down at the dark stains on her gown. Green
and red were a terrible combination. “Perhaps I should meet them tomorrow.”
Matthew stuck his head out and said, “Inform Kirkland her ladyship would prefer to meet the household in the morn.” The footman scurried up the path to pass along Grace’s wishes. Matthew turned to Grace and asked, “Ready, my love?”
His wife nodded. Matthew rose to exit, but for a moment, his legs remained unmoving, his fear manifesting itself most inconveniently. Buck up and get on with it. Throwing himself out of the coach, he surprisingly landed on both feet and straightened.
Grace took his offered hand as she descended from the coach. “Is anything the matter?”
Relaxing every facial muscle possible, he answered, “No.”
What was he doing? Why was he attempting to deceive his wife? He’d dreamed of taking her to bed every night for months. The pent-up tension in his groin was unbearable. It had worsened since their interlude in the gazebo. There was no question he craved her body. It was his damn fear that his damaged body would no longer appeal to Grace that had him behaving like a fool.
Grace arched an eyebrow. “Shall we go in now?”
He winged his arm, but instead of threading her hand through the crook of his elbow, she reached for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his. Walking hand in hand, they entered the townhouse, which was abuzz with activity. Maids and footmen rushed about as if the house was on fire.
Matthew stopped in front of Kirkland. “Is anything amiss?”
“No, my lord. We weren’t expecting you for a few more hours. I sent maids up to assist Tilman, and I have the lads getting ready to haul up hot water as soon as it can be boiled.”
Grace squeezed his hand. Remembering his manners, Matthew said, “Grace, this is our esteemed butler, Mr. Kirkland.”
Confessions of Lady Grace Page 19
