His Saving Grace

by Sharon Cullen

  “Ah. I see what you’re hinting at.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I don’t sleep well at night, Grace. I tend to toss and turn and roam the house. I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

  “I don’t care about that. I just want to sleep next to you.”

  He stared at her solemnly until she began to doubt herself. Maybe their conversation meant something different to him than it did to her. Maybe she’d misread the entire situation. She began to feel like a fool, standing in the middle of his room in nothing but her nightgown, practically begging her husband to bed her. She was thinking that maybe she should turn around and make a hasty retreat when he threw the sheets back.

  “Climb in, Gracie.”

  Not a little bit relieved and somewhat cold, she scrambled up the bed like a young girl and slid beneath the sheets, which were already warmed from his body heat. The scent of sandalwood wafted up, as if it had been trapped beneath the blankets. Sandalwood always reminded her of Michael. In the days and weeks and months when he’d been gone, she’d not been able to smell it without crying.

  As he adjusted the covers around them, she snuggled in to his side. There was a lump in her throat at this simple act, denied her for over a year. All those months after his “death,” lying alone in bed and reeling from her grief, she used to cry herself to sleep over the thought that never again would she be able to snuggle against his side in sleep.

  But those thoughts weren’t for tonight. Tonight was meant for reconnecting and rediscovering.

  Her head automatically went to the crook of his shoulder, right where it fitted best. And like it had done a thousand times before, his arm went around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head, and she hummed in pleasure as her eyes drifted closed. She wanted to savor this moment, commit the memory to her mind.

  Michael tilted her head up and placed a short, sweet kiss on her lips. “This is nice,” he said.

  Nice. Not the word she would have used, but she would take it. “Yes, it is.”

  He kissed her again, this time lingering upon her lips. The kiss changed in tone, becoming much more serious, much less lighthearted. Michael’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. “Ah, Gracie,” he sighed. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Of course you do. Now kiss me again.”

  “Gladly, my lady.”

  She ran her leg up his. Her knee grazed his erection, making him start.

  His hand found the edge of her nightgown and inched it up as his other hand cupped her breast, making her groan.

  She rolled on top of him, planting her hands on either side of his head. Her hair fell like a veil, hiding them from reality. She kissed him hard. It had been so long since they’d made love that it seemed like their first time all over again. However, unlike their first time, her desire had roughly shoved away her nervousness until she was acting on instinct and raw need.

  She pressed her hips in to him, feeling the hard ridge of his excitement. He gasped, grabbing her hips to hold her still. “It’s been a while, Grace. I’m unsure how long I can last.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t need slow and steady. I don’t want that. Not now.”

  His eyes darkened, and he roughly yanked up her gown as she reared back to pull up his shirt until they were lying chest to chest, skin to skin. It felt so good, so right, to feel him close to her.

  “I can’t wait,” he said between gritted teeth.

  “Who’s asking you to?” She was panting, nearly ready to plead with him to hurry up.

  He entered her in one violent thrust and they both stilled. She was completely filled, stretched thin, and it felt so good. She wanted to move, fought her body to remain still. Her muscles contracted around him in small pulses, her body’s way of welcoming him home.

  Michael gasped, closed his eyes, and began to move in her, slowly at first, as if he were allowing his body to remember the feel of her.

  “Grace,” he gasped. “Gracie.” Then he cried out, thrusting up and into her one final time.

  Grace ground her hips against him as her world narrowed to a small pinpoint and white noise filled her ears. When her world righted itself and she could see without spots before her eyes, she collapsed on top of him. He was breathing hard and his heart was hammering beneath her ear. His hands moved lazily up and down her sides, from the top of her hips to her shoulders, then back down. Her skin began to cool as she snuggled her head beneath his chin.

  This was what she wanted when she’d walked through that door, to make love to her husband, to be close to him. She smiled as she began to doze, the scent of the lovemaking mixing with the scent of sandalwood.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Grace awoke, she was disappointed to find herself alone. She’d looked forward to waking up next to Michael, to lying in bed and talking like they used to, maybe even making love again. In the past, they would lie in bed and talk quietly before the house arose and duties called. Sometimes it was serious things, sometimes not so serious, and sometimes they just ambled along with no clear destination.

  She vaguely remembered Michael leaving the bed in the middle of the night, apparently on one of his wanderings. What kept him awake at night? Was it a side effect of his brain injury, or did heavy thoughts interrupt his much-needed sleep?

  Aching in places that had not ached in a long while, Grace made her way to her room to dress. She held tight to the memory of last night, hoarding it along with other special memories she clung to at moments when life seemed too much to bear.

  She found Michael at the dining table, a plate of food in front of him. As usual, he wasn’t eating; he was going through the mail that had been brought in on a silver platter.

  Grace didn’t like eating in here. She much preferred the simplicity of the kitchen, with Ida and George, but those days were gone. Ida had taken over as housekeeper, and George was once again in charge of the stables. There were other servants she and Michael had to be mindful of, so they took their meals in the big dining room. But Grace refused to sit all the way at the other end of the table. She sat next to Michael to make it a bit more intimate.

  Michael was frowning at something he was reading and hadn’t even wished her a good morning. The warmth from the night before began to wane, and she grabbed on to it, refusing to let it go so easily.

  He put the paper down and smiled at her, a loose smile, free of shadows in his eyes. He seemed more relaxed this morning, less worried. She liked to think that she could take credit for at least part of the transformation.

  “Good morning, Gracie,” he said.

  She indicated the pile of letters with her fork. “Anything important?”

  He pushed the papers away and rested his elbows on the table to regard her solemnly. Her hunger from earlier deserted her, and she put her fork down. “What is it?”

  “My London solicitors want to meet with me.”

  Their gazes locked. Of course the London solicitors would want to meet with the new earl to go over the vast estate business. Per William’s prompting, Michael had been in charge of Blackbourne Manor and the surrounding estate; William had overseen all of the other enterprises that the earldom controlled. Now Michael would be in charge of everything.

  “Well, then,” she said. “We must work quickly to find ways for you to compensate before you meet with them.”

  His eyes softened. “Thank you, Grace.”

  “For what?”

  “For putting up with me. I know I’m not what you expected.”

  “Michael, you may not be what I expected but you are everything I need.”

  He leaned back. “How do you do it? How do you remain so strong? So sure of everything? I have to say, I admire your ability to do so, but it makes me feel even more of a weakling than I am.”

  “Never say you’re weak,” she said vehemently. “You have survived too much to ever be weak. And the least I can do is be strong. You don’t need a weeping, cowardly woman to deal with, along with everything else. Besides, I
want to help you.”

  Michael’s expression turned grave, and Grace’s stomach gave a little lurch. “We will have to travel to London to meet with the solicitor,” he said.

  “I imagine, with the size and income of the earldom, the solicitor could very well visit us here.”

  “I want to travel to London.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You do?”

  “I can’t avoid it forever.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Then we will travel to London. It will give me the opportunity to purchase a new wardrobe.” She pushed away worries of being in a big city, of the noise and the traffic and the distractions that might affect Michael. If he was willing, then so was she, and she had business of her own to conduct that could only be done in town. She would write a few letters to set up a few appointments.

  Michael pushed his chair back and rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my dear, I have something I must do.”

  Confused, Grace watched him leave. This was the most focused she’d seen him yet.

  —

  She was penning the last letter she needed to send to London when Michael burst into the room, causing her pen to slip on the paper and her to sigh in frustration. Now she would have to begin with a fresh piece of paper.

  Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “I need your presence, my countess.” He was smiling, eyes twinkling, and she could only stare at him in astonishment.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise.” He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet, he was so excited.

  “A surprise? What on earth?”

  He pulled her through her private sitting room, down the hall, and down the steps. They walked through the house and exited through the back door.

  “Michael. What is this about?”

  “You will see.”

  He practically dragged her across the grounds, then stopped. Grace put a hand to her throat and could only stare through eyes that were beginning to tear up.

  “This was what you had to do earlier?”

  “I knew you were upset by the neglect of your…” He waved his hand toward her conservatory, obviously searching for the correct word. “Glass house,” he settled for.

  The windows gleamed in the sun, obviously having been vigorously cleaned. New panes had replaced the broken ones, the vines had all been pulled down, and the foliage that had nearly choked the beautiful building had been removed. Not only that, flowerbeds had been tilled beside the conservatory and all around it.

  “I thought you might like to plant some flowers around it as well. Do you like it?” he asked eagerly.

  “I love it,” she whispered, then threw her arms around him to hug him tight.

  Michael laughed. Actually laughed. She hadn’t heard that full-throated laugh in so long that it made her cry harder.

  “I love it. I love you. Thank you.”

  He took her hand and pulled her inside. The shelves were empty but newly constructed. It smelled of new wood and fresh dirt. Some of the best smells in the world to her.

  “I can’t wait to get started,” she said.

  Her fingers itched to dig into the soil and to lovingly transfer her seedlings into the ground. She could picture yellow and purple pansies and maybe some hyacinths. Already her mind was whirling with ideas. When they were in London, she would see what plants she could purchase there. Maybe there was something new and interesting she could bring back.

  She turned to Michael and kissed him hard on the mouth. Thank goodness there were no servants around, for she feared she could not contain herself.

  Michael hummed low in his throat and backed her against one of the new workbenches, his hands roaming over her body. Suddenly, she was hot, and not from the glass trapping the heat from the sun. Michael picked her up easily and sat her on the bench to step between her splayed legs.

  Oh, this was sinful. But it felt so wonderful.

  He threw her skirts up. In the back of her mind, she thanked heaven that the shelves were clean, or she would have a lot of explaining to do if her skirts were beyond soiled. But that was a fleeting thought, quickly gone in the heat of the moment.

  Grace scooted forward, frantically pulling Michael toward her. They should not be doing this here, but she would simply die if they stopped.

  “Trousers,” she said against his lips.

  He fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, finally releasing his manhood. It stuck straight out, straining toward her, and she mewled in frustration.

  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he surged into her, arching his back and gritting his teeth. He pumped into her. They were so frantic for each other that it was as if last night had never happened.

  And like last night, it took no time for either of them to find their completion.

  Grace came first, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to keep from shattering the new glass panes with her screams. She bucked against him, the rough wood of the benches digging into her bare bottom. Later, she was sure she would feel it, but nothing penetrated the delicious sensations coursing through her.

  Michael arched his back, thrusting as far into her as he could go, and bit back his own cry of release.

  For long minutes they remained that way, panting, returning to earth from their unexpected high.

  Then Michael froze. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

  Grace shoved at his shoulders. “Hurry.”

  He unceremoniously pulled out of her, stuffing himself back in his trousers and buttoning himself up quickly. Grace jumped down from the bench. She fluffed her skirts out, fully aware that her underclothing was uncomfortably askew, but there was no time to right it as Tarik ducked through the doorway of the conservatory.

  He stopped and looked between Michael and Grace, who was trying to look innocent, with her hands clasped behind her back. Her inner muscles were clenching and unclenching as if Michael were still inside her. It made her knees weak, and she had to lean against the bench in order to survive the aftereffects.

  “Is there something you need, Tarik?” Michael asked calmly.

  Tarik looked at Grace, whose face was beginning to heat. Then he looked at Michael’s tousled hair, his coat askew. “Pardon my interruption.”

  Was it Grace’s imagination, or did Tarik’s lips twitch? His eyes were certainly sparkling. Beyond mortified, Grace looked down at her toes. She shifted uncomfortably, highly aware of her twisted underclothes and the full sensation between her legs.

  “Alfred sent me down here. You have a visitor, my lord.”

  Michael frowned. He looked so deliciously mussed, with his hair sticking up and his cravat half untied. She felt a spurt of irritation at Tarik’s interruption. Then again, they couldn’t stay in the conservatory and make love all day long.

  “A visitor?”

  “Mr. Samuel Roberts.” Tarik tucked his hands behind his back, but it seemed to Grace that his lips still twitched.

  “Why the devil is Roberts here?”

  “He said you scheduled the remainder of your meeting for today.”

  Grace looked at Michael, who appeared to be thinking hard. “I did?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Grace’s heart fell. It was easy to forget sometimes that Michael had such deficiencies. There were moments when he acted perfectly…well, “normal” was not a word she wanted to use, because who was completely normal? But there were moments when she almost forgot that he had problems.

  And then there were moments like this that reminded her there was something very wrong with Michael’s brain.

  All of the worry and anxiety that had disappeared for a short while returned.

  “Maybe Mr. Roberts is mistaken,” Grace said.

  Michael shook his head. “No. I probably did reschedule. We hadn’t finished our meeting. I vaguely remember saying something about it. I think.”

  His frown deepened, and he walked out of the conservatory, leaving Grac
e behind. She felt alone and slighted that he could forget about her so quickly. She watched him walk away, Tarik trailing after him. Michael’s head was bent, his shoulders bowed, and it occurred to her that maybe he hadn’t forgotten about her. Maybe his mind could focus on only one thing at a time, and the current subject was Roberts’s unexpected appearance.

  Despite her twisted underclothes, Grace hurried after them. “Michael.”

  He turned to her with a distracted look.

  “Take notes.”

  He looked at her blankly. “Whatever do you mean, Grace?”

  She refused to be deterred or to take offense at his curt tone. She was beginning to understand him a little better. When he was preoccupied, he tended to be short with her. That might be because he was trying to concentrate on something and she was keeping him from it.

  “Take notes. As Roberts tells you something important, jot it down. You can refer to your notes as you talk to him, and then you might not ask him the same question twice.”

  “He will think that’s odd.”

  “What does it matter? Let him think it’s odd. He doesn’t even have to see what you’re writing. But if you write it down, you will always have your notes as a reminder.”

  “I can’t even write all that well.”

  Stop throwing up obstacles, she wanted to shout at him. She forced her irritation away. “We will decipher it later. Even if you jot down just a few words as a reminder, that might be enough. Just try it. Please.”

  He looked at her. He seemed to be mentally switching subject matters to try to concentrate on what she was saying. “That might work,” he finally said. “I shall try it. Thank you, Gracie.”

  She bit her lip as he disappeared into the study. Oh, how she wished she could go in there with him, but that would be too odd. So she hurried up to her room to attend to her attire and discovered that her hair was a frightful mess.

  She was mortified all over again that Tarik had seen her like this.