by Sophia Nash
The dowager’s small mouth V’d into a pert smile. “Good. It’s settled. Mr. Ranier is to come.”
Michael opened his mouth to dodge the invitation, but the dowager refused to notice.
“Come promptly at seven, Mr. Ranier. We start early and play long.”
“I shall do my best, ma’am,” he said cryptically. “I should tell you it will most likely be the last you will see of me. I return to Brynlow the following day.”
He didn’t need to turn his head to see Grace’s expression, for he sensed her stiffening beside him. If it was the last thing he did, he would find a way to speak to her tonight in private.
Helston’s face brightened considerably at the news. In fact, for the first time ever, Michael saw the man smile, one tooth crooked enough to make him appear even more devil-like. How did the lovely duchess tolerate him? At that moment he witnessed a look of tenderness pass from the duchess to the duke, and he idly wondered if it was Helston or Ellesmere who favored billiards tables for seduction. He would bet his last farthing it was the duke.
Michael planned his next move toward Grace as methodically as a pickpocket in the rookeries. While the others sat stuffing themselves like plump chickens, he mulled over the possibilities. Grace refused to meet his eye each time he glanced at her beside him.
At long last, the meal concluded with nary another insult implied or otherwise. The excellent food had lulled even Beaufort into complacency.
Michael grasped Grace’s arm as the gentlemen fore-went the pleasures of an after-dinner brandy to lead the ladies back to the original salon. “Would you not offer me a tour of the house, Lady Sheffield?” Michael raised his voice loud enough for the dowager to hear. He knew he would find aid in that corner.
“Oh do, Grace. You must show him the gallery. It’s much improved with Rosamunde’s addition of an imposing lady from her family tree.”
Rosamunde laughed. “I vow the Countess Edwina glowers at all who pass except for Luc. For some reason she appears to smile when he walks by.”
He sensed Grace’s hesitation.
“Please? You would do me a great honor,” he whispered in her ear.
Grace looked rather desperately from Ata to Rosamunde to Michael before she relented. “I would be delighted,” she lied through her teeth. “But Ata, would you be kind enough to pour my tea? We shall return in but a moment.”
“Of course, my dear, of course.”
Grace led, or rather dragged him down a long corridor once the others retreated. He stopped short at the first door and peered inside. The library. He allowed her to lead him further down and pulled up at the next door. Some sort of feminine sitting room. He continued along.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Taking a quick tour. That’s what you promised, isn’t it?”
She sighed and continued down the gilded corridor, Michael darting glances in each of the rooms as they went along.
He halted again. Ah. It was here after all. He pulled her into the room and closed the door. She whirled around. “What are you doing!”
“This is what I wanted to see. No need to show me the moldy old portraits.” He smiled. “All that talk at Brynlow…Well, I’d hoped…” He backed her against the felt-covered table and with great tenderness looked down at her extraordinary face. “Can you blame me? I was never going to be given a moment alone with you since those lords were watching you like dogs guarding a henhouse.”
“And why would you need a moment alone with me? There is nothing that needs to be said without my friends nearby.”
“No?” He teased her temple with his lips. “Well, I’ve never particularly cared for an audience when I wish to be alone with you. Defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
Her eyes darkened with pain and she pushed against him. “Don’t. Please, don’t make light of everything. I loathe flirtation. And you’ve done nothing but, since you arrived in town.”
“That’s what happens when you’re idle and rub shoulders with nobs all day long instead of laboring. And here I thought you favored lordly fops.”
When she refused to reply, he released her and brutally cut away the façade he’d so carefully cultivated since arriving in London. His voice slowed and became deeper. “I can’t continue the farce any longer, Grace. I’ve decided you would be happier knowing the truth about my past.”
Grace took a step away from him. “Look, this isn’t necessary. You’re leaving in a very few days. You just said you were. And I would like us to part amicably, since you’ve made it abundantly clear that is what you want and there cannot be, ultimately, anything more. I feel precisely the same way. I really think it best if we refrain from any more of this, this…”
“This what?” Michael asked.
“Nonsense,” she finished, brokenly.
“Nonsense?” He wanted so badly to have her come to him, but she would not, and he could not blame her. “I think I liked it better when you called it connubial bliss.”
“I can’t stand this.” Her lower lip was caught between her teeth and he longed to soothe it, but instead he forced himself to say what he had come to say.
“Grace, I wanted a moment alone to explain why I cannot offer you marriage.”
Hurt eyes darted to his. “It’s not necessary.”
“It absolutely is necessary. And I beg you to accept my apology for not telling you—for not trusting you enough to say all of it before you left Brynlow.”
She must have seen something in his expression for all at once, her blue eyes softened. “What is it, Michael? I know you don’t bestow your trust easily, but I owe you my life. And I promise, despite everything, that I won’t let you down.”
“Grace,” he said so quietly she leaned in. “I—I…God. You see, the thing of it is, I’ve committed a terrible crime…I’m a fugitive from justice.”
Shock registered in her expression but he continued. “A warrant and a huge reward were issued for my apprehension many years ago.”
“But what did you do?” she whispered.
He forced the words past his teeth. “I killed someone.”
“I don’t believe it,” she breathed.
He drew back from the evidence of horror in her expression; bitterness invaded his soul. “Well, you should. I’m guilty and on a list for the gallows. It’s the reason I left England. I would still be on the other side of the ocean if not for Sam’s will.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Oh Michael.”
He rubbed her arms. “There. Now you know the truth of it. Now you can say good-bye to me and be glad. And you can understand why I must return to my corner of Yorkshire. And why you will continue on here. And I shall promise to never invade your circle of friends again—or see you—much as I would like to do otherwise. It was foolish of me to come. But Grace…God, I just couldn’t stay away from you. I had to see you to try and take the hurt from your expression. To make you understand that you are cherished—even if it isn’t worth much being adored by a bloody murdering blacksmith.”
He edged away from her and moved to the edge of the billiards table, picking up two of the ivory balls and absently sending one of them skidding across the felt surface. “You should return to your friends now. Let us say good-bye, then. I can see my way out. Give my regrets to Ata about that gathering. Your tea is probably cold.” He stared at the second ball as he sent it cracking into the other one, which shot into a corner pocket. He came about the end of the table to retrieve it and Grace’s slim arms circled him from behind.
“Michael…you cannot make me go away that easily.”
He went still and dropped his head.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened. There’s no need. I’m certain you had a very good reason for what you—for what happened. And I’m equally certain you’re not to be blamed for it. Any of it. It was surely an act of self-preservation.”
He felt an involuntary twitch in his jaw. “Don’t fool yourself. I killed someone,
plain and simple. And if I’m ever discovered, I’ll taint anyone caught in my circle. You hate scandal, Grace. You were running from it when I found you. Believe me, two broken engagements will look like child’s play compared to being found cavorting with a murderer. You’d never be able to hold your head up again in any drawing room in town. And even if I was never caught, can you really see yourself buried in the back of beyond with only me for company? Although, if I may say”—he tried valiantly not to show how much the conversation affected him—“the thought does hold some appeal.”
“Stop it! Don’t make light of this.” She hesitated but a moment. “I’ll never believe you black hearted. And, Michael, I understand why you don’t place your trust in anyone—you’ve probably had too many people disappoint you when it came to the point.” She quickened her words, “You told me a while ago not to trust people, but you see, I placed my trust in you the day I allowed you to pull me on top of your horse in the middle of a blinding snowstorm. And I cemented it when we were together. And I’m not afraid of the future, because—my God, Michael can’t you guess what I feel for you in my heart?”
His mind went blank. And then he moved her soft hands away from him. “Don’t become a tragedy, Grace.”
“Don’t you dare tell me what to do or what to feel. Don’t you know how tired I am of everyone trying to protect me? It should be my choice what I’m willing to risk.”
He burst out with pent-up emotion, overwhelmed by her courage and her faith in him. “Grace, you’ve had a mere quarter of an hour to think about something I’ve lived for a lifetime. Don’t be a fool about this.”
She ignored his attempt to divert the conversation and searched his face. “We could find a way to sort through all of it. Perhaps if you were willing to confide in Luc or Quinn, they might be able to secretly help you find a solution.”
“I rather think they’ll secretly arrange to string me up using your pearls. Even you must see they are aching to escort me back to Yorkshire.” He whispered it into her ear as he wound his hands into the silvery locks of her soft hair. “Grace, you don’t understand I made my choice seventeen years ago. And while there have been times when I wished that I had been of a more mature mind when fate knocked on my door…ah, Grace, I regret very few things. I regret having to tell you all of this. But I assure you that if there was the slightest chance of giving you a normal life I would grab it. There is not.”
Grace hung her head.
“Darling, don’t be sad. I’m happy I’ve finally told you. Now you will understand why I said the things I did, and why I’ve acted as I have. And now I want you to do me one last favor.”
“But Michael, I’m certain if I—”
He touched his forefinger to her lips to silence her.
“What is it?”
“I want you to promise me you will not speak of this to anyone. And I want you to promise me that we will endeavor to see one another at least one last time before I return to Brynlow, because I’m just that selfish to want one happy memory of you—without any discussion of my past and without any falsehoods. Grace, I want you to remember me with fondness, if that is possible after I’ve told you about my unsavory past. But I also want you to let the memory fade in the half light of time and go on to a better life, a happier life with someone your equal in every respect.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you really—”
A tap on the door interrupted her words. And the dark-haired duchess slipped her head around the corner. “I’m so sorry to intrude, but Luc is breathing fire and is threatening—well, I shall try to keep him in check for another few moments.”
Michael gripped Grace’s wrist and pulled her to the door. “We’ll be right behind you, ma’am,” he said then leaned against the door when she was gone.
He pulled Grace into his arms and looked down into her wistful eyes. “God, how did I ever find you? How did I ever deserve you—even for just this little while?” He swallowed painfully against the ache in his throat and claimed her lips with his own. He tried desperately to imprint the memory of this moment on his mind. They had so very little time left. He must not waste a minute of it. Must not waste a single fragment of a single second with her.
Chapter 15
Two days later, in the privacy of her beautiful suite adjacent to her bed chamber, Grace dipped the quill into her inkwell and circled a notice in the Morning Post. Abstractedly, she feathered the soft end of the quill against her chin as she pondered her predicament.
Michael had asked her to make the most of the handful of days before he left for Brynlow and she would do as he bid, the mystery of what he had revealed to her still swirling in her head.
She had pieced together all the conflicting actions and conversations they had shared in the North, all he had said in their bitter parting, and all his words here in town. And the more she thought about it, the stronger her convictions became, and the more she wanted to be everything he needed her to be. He needed for her to be as strong as he had been for so long.
And she would rise to the occasion. Because she was almost sure she had seen the truth in his eyes…that he cared for her, truly cared. And she was even more certain he was as innocent as the day he was born.
She looked down at the advertisement before her. It had taken two days of scouring the morning and afternoon papers before she had found a cottage villa not forty miles from Hyde Park corner. The solicitors in London offered immediate tenancy but required a one-year term. She would let the modest Berkshire dwelling, even though she would not need it nearly so long, all for the chance to be with him in secret while they planned their ultimate departure. It was the only solution given the circumstances.
As she wrote a letter accepting the conditions and noting her early arrival date, she also planned how best to ask her loyal maid, Sally, to deliver it furtively to the solicitors with the requisite number of gold guineas.
She paused for a moment before she signed the letter using her given name coupled with her mother’s maiden name, Roijen. Grace caught the edge of her lower lip between her teeth. She might very well have to endure a new name if Michael was ever discovered in future. Since he was a commoner and could not escape the charges, they’d have to flee, have to go away for a lifetime. But she could easily afford to buy a new life with him, far away from everything they both knew. It was too dangerous to return to Yorkshire given the unfortunate garrulous new connection with the Duke of Beaufort. Perhaps Mr. Brown would help them find an isolated property in Scotland if it came to the point.
And how could they marry given the danger of the public reading of the banns for many weeks? Grace buried her face in her hands. It appeared so impossible. All of it. She hated deception and that’s what all of this was. She finally understood what Michael had been trying to tell her.
And yet…it made her want to fight the injustice of it all the more. It would take endless hours to convince Michael to allow her to go away with him. But she would explain how she’d come to a decision today, on Boxing Day, when she’d endured a stream of the same people she had always known parading through Sheffield House while they boasted about their annual offerings. She didn’t care about any of these people.
At the sound of a light tap at the door, Grace quickly finished sanding the letter and hid it beneath a book on her escritoire. “Yes? Come.”
Rosamunde flew inside her chamber, a smile of mischievous delight on her face. “Well, are you ready? I’m half surprised to find you here. Thought you were trying to play a prank.”
Grace grabbed her veiled riding hat and swept the heavy skirt of her habit behind her as she rose. “You should know me a bit better than that. Have I ever played a prank on anyone?”
“No, but there’s always a first time.”
Grace arched a brow. “How very true. Come to think of it, I might just surprise you after all. And it might be very soon.”
As he had done every cold dawn for the last several days, Michael swung his leg over S
ioux and carefully wended his way through the half-dark maze of London’s streets.
He told himself he did it to find the chimney sweep. To find James. But he knew deep in his heart, he did it in fear. He felt far too restless no matter where he was: in the foundling home, in the great houses of Grace’s friends, even in the very streets he now tried to lose himself in. He had to go away. He only stayed because of the request he’d made to see her one last time.
He pulled the edges of his long slashed riding coat about himself to ward off the chill. His mare tossed her head at the sight of an expanse of grass in front of them and he let her have her head. Sioux lengthened her neck and her stride and broke into a gallop. Yes, even his horse was trying to tell him they needed to get out of the cramped spaces of London and return to the open moors of Yorkshire, a place that promised relative obscurity.
By the time they reached the other side of the park, his mare had released her energy and relaxed into a fast trot. And the exertion had also released the worst of Michael’s own doubts. He could do this. He could stay and attend Helston’s small celebration, stay for a last chance to snatch forbidden happiness with Grace, stay until he could say good-bye properly.
So deep was he in his thoughts, he did not hear the approach of a carriage along the street bordering the park. In the instant the driver passed him, their eyes met and Michael recognized him. Gordy Lefroy, grown much older, just as surely as Michael. Without thought, Michael turned his head to look back at the familiar dark blue and gold markings of Manning’s Livery, and Gordy’s head peered around the edge of the carriage in that same moment.
Fear clawing at his belly, Michael turned Sioux in the opposite direction and urged her away as fast as he dared. His mare sensed his fear and galloped as if all the Indians of the Carolinas were come to steal her from him.
Good God. Would Gordy say something to Manning? He prayed not. Gordy had been one of the best stable hands at Manning’s; he’d have known who was in the wrong even if he hadn’t witnessed the accident. But Michael knew better than to count on him. The lure of a reward might prove too strong for his former acquaintance.
