He looked down at her face. How could he let her go?
How could he trust her to the men below?
A flame shot out from the window beside her.
“I have always loved you, Gracie. If I don’t make it, know that I will always walk beside you.” He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.
“No!” She let go of the wall behind her and clawed at his arm, but he was ready for her and pushed, heaving her away from the house. She screamed, reaching out to him, her nightgown billowing around her in a white cloud, her hair nearly as golden as a halo.
I love you. He mouthed the words, hoping she saw. Hoping she understood.
He held his breath until she fell effortlessly and without incident into the waiting arms below.
She was whisked away by a group of men and carefully placed on the ground, where the town doctor bent over her.
Michael leaned his head back and breathed deep, the cool air like razors in his throat.
Desperate shouts had him opening his eyes and looking down. Tarik was frantically motioning for him to jump.
And then Grace was beside Tarik, looking up at him, tears running down her face, making clean track marks in the soot on her cheeks. She did not motion to him, but she did not need to. He saw the desperation in her eyes, the plea in her expression. And the terror that he would not jump.
He could die an honorable death. He could die a hero, having saved his wife.
Or he could jump into the arms of the men below and into an unknown future where he would have to learn to live with the man he had become.
Chapter Thirty-One
Michael groaned and tried to pry open his burning eyelids. He hurt everywhere. His hands, his legs, and especially his throat. It hurt to breathe. When he tried, he could do no more than make a wheezing sound that ended in a weak cough.
He turned his head to find Grace sitting in a chair beside his bed. Her hair was pulled back and her gown was a pale yellow. There was a red mark on her cheek, but other than that, she looked beautiful.
Did one dream in color?
Or was he dead?
She smiled at him and touched his forehead, her fingers cool and light.
“Did I jump?” Pushing the words through his scorched throat was agony.
“You did.”
He closed his eyes again. Maybe he drifted off, maybe he didn’t, but when he opened his eyes, she was still sitting there in her yellow gown, waiting for him.
“You’re too good for me.” His voice felt stronger, although still rough.
She smiled again. “Some would say you’re too good for me. You saved my life.”
He moved his hand toward her. She seemed to know what he needed, for she grasped it and held tightly.
“What did you mean when you said you would always walk beside me?” she asked.
He stared at their entwined hands, thinking back to that moment on the ledge. “I meant that if I died, I would watch over you from the other side.”
She blinked wetness from her eyes. “We will walk together from now on.”
He thought about that and found the idea not as distressing as he would have a few days ago. He’d cheated death twice. Who was he to say that it was time to end it when God clearly had other plans for him?
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Her other hand fluttered around the raw red mark on her cheek. “Nothing as bad as you.”
“Am I hurt?” He smiled and was pleased when she smiled back.
“A few bumps and bruises.”
He brought her hand to his dry, cracked lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m pleased, too.”
She tilted her head in question.
“I’m pleased that I don’t have to look over you from the other side.”
This time she didn’t manage to blink away all the tears. They rolled down her cheeks.
“I didn’t think you would jump,” she said.
“I didn’t think I would, either, but I realized I had to take a leap of faith. Literally and figuratively. For so long, you’ve taken care of me. It’s time I take care of you.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We will take care of each other.”
She was too good for him, and God knew he didn’t deserve her, but God had given her to him, and he would take the gift, hold it tight, cherish it, love it, and yes, he would take care of her for however long they had together. With any luck, that would be a long, long time. Deficiencies didn’t matter. Remembering mundane things didn’t matter. What mattered was Michael and Gracie.
And their love for each other.
Epilogue
The sun was shining through the thick leaves. The day was warm, and they kicked up a bit of dust as they walked; it had been a dry summer.
It had been four months since the fire. The dower house was gone. They planned to build another, but they also planned on not needing a dower house for a long, long while.
Today Michael did not carry a cane. He used it less and less. Grace was pleased to see that he was making progress. He had good days and bad days. Days he remembered most things and days he forgot most things. He still got frustrated, but she took it in stride. This was their life now, and for the most part, she would have it no other way.
High-pitched barking broke through her thoughts. A yellow puppy burst through the underbrush, long ears flapping, large paws tangling together in haste, tongue hanging out of a smiling mouth. Right behind her came her brother, streaking out of nowhere to overtake her. They both ran up to Michael, skidding to a stop but not soon enough. They collided, then fell into Michael’s legs.
Michael laughed, a full-bodied belly laugh, as he bent down and petted both of his dogs. Grace stood back and watched, remembering a time when she despaired of ever hearing her husband laugh again. He laughed quite a lot now, and it was heaven.
Ivan and Zoya—named by Tarik, of course—were the best gifts Grace could have given Michael. They brought life back to the house. They brought purpose back to Michael, and they allowed him and Grace to spill over all the love they had built up.
Grace had not conceived, but she still held out hope that someday they would have children. For now they had Ivan and Zoya.
And each other.
It was more than enough.
To Abby for giving Michael his name. To Nic for begging me to name the butler Alfred. (All you Batman fans will appreciate that.) To Megan, who understands probably more than anyone what this book is really about. And to John, on whom Michael is loosely based. I am in awe of your strength, your dedication, and your will to not only survive but to recover so successfully.
And finally, to all the doctors and nurses and therapists whom John and I met along the way. If not for them, then he would not be here with us today. For that I am eternally grateful. More than you will ever know.
BY SHARON CULLEN
The Notorious Lady Anne
Loving the Earl
Pleasing the Pirate
His Saving Grace
Coming Soon
Sebastian’s Lady Spy
PHOTO: PAM JONES PHOTOGRAPHY
His Saving Grace is SHARON CULLEN’s fourth historical romance with Loveswept. Her other novels include The Notorious Lady Anne, The Infamous Lord Blythe, and Pleasing the Pirate. Sharon is also the author of romantic suspense, paranormal romance and contemporary romance.
If you’d like to find out more about Sharon and her books, you can visit her at her blog or her website. She’s addicted to social networking, so you can find her on Facebook and Twitter. Friend her! Like her! Follow her! She’d love to hang out with you and talk about her passion—books.
sharoncullen.net
Facebook.com/SharonCullenAuthor
@SharonCullen
The Editor’s Corner
I don’t know about you, but this is my favorite time of year! Sure, the month is crazy with holiday preparations, but before you know it they’ve come and gone…which always makes me a little sad.
Never fear—I’ve some great romances to lift you out of those seasonal doldrums. Loveswept in December—guaranteed to keep you on that holiday high!
New this month is the latest tantalizing Rule Breakers novel, Want It, from Jennifer Chance, in which an irresistible alpha male follows his ex into a deadly standoff—and reignites a heated affair. A warm welcome to Wendy S. Marcus as she makes her Loveswept debut this month with Loving You Is Easy—she’s a survivor of the political front lines and he’s a wounded soldier returning home from the battlefield. Can they place their trust in the power of love? You bet! You’ll be thrilled to know that the conclusion of Ella Patton and Liam Stone’s story is here in Laura Marie Altom’s Possess—more of the contentious love affair that began in Control. Historical romance fans will adore His Saving Grace, by Sharon Cullen, a captivating novel that tells the deeply emotional tale of two devoted lovers facing the ravages of war.
And a little something special for you this month: Play Me, a serialization written by New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff. Five wonderful installments complete a full-size novel, and each section will tantalize you. Listen to this: Aria Winston lives the life of a loner waitressing at a popular Las Vegas casino. Sebastian Caine is the hot son of the owner who manages the business while his father recovers from a life-threatening heart attack. Things heat up fast, and the glimpses of the man behind the façade disturb Aria but also make her want him more (contains BDSM elements).
Wishing you a happy, healthy, and safe holiday season—and just in case Santa doesn’t deliver on the goodies, remember: Loveswept has what you need this month in romance. Until next time…
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
A Touch of Passion
by Bronwen Evans
Available from Loveswept
Prologue
CYPRIANS’ BALL, LONDON, 1814
“I’m surprised Lord Blackwood has graced us with his presence. It’s common knowledge he’s enamored with the French ballerina, Juliette Panache. I doubt he’s in the market for another mistress.”
“With his appetites, he no doubt has a stable of mistresses.”
“True. I heard he once pleasured ten women in one night.”
Lady Portia Flagstaff moved closer to the group of courtesans salivating over Grayson Devlin, Viscount Blackwood, as if he were a succulent feast to be devoured. Many years of experience allowed her to damper down her jealousy. She could hardly blame any woman for lusting after Lord Blackwood. She counted herself, along with most of England’s females, among his panting throng.
Being madly in love with Grayson was her penance for being so mean to him when they were younger. She’d tried everything she knew to exile him from her thoughts, but it was hard to forget him when he was the talk of the ton.
Lord Blackwood had entered her life just before her tenth birthday. He had always been the best friend of her elder brother Robert, but the day he’d moved permanently into their home, she’d cried in her room for hours. Why did it have to be Grayson, a boy, who had survived his family’s carriage accident? She already had five brothers. How could life be so unfair?
Grayson’s sister, Lucinda, was her friend, and Portia couldn’t understand why she’d died when Grayson hadn’t. Portia was too young and frightened to understand, so she’d blamed him.
Lucinda’s death was her introduction to how precarious life could be. Almost dying from a fever at sixteen had been her second lesson. From that moment on, she’d made a vow to live her life to the full. She wanted no regrets when death came calling.
“They say he can outlast any man, and his lovers speak of his prowess with awe. He cares more about a woman’s pleasure then his own—rare indeed. His kind of loving is priceless. I’d even do him for free.” This statement was followed by a gaggle of giggles.
“I’m more interested in learning if he is truly hung like a stallion. If so, I’d love to explore the evidence.” More giggles.
“ ’Tis true. Claudette said she could barely walk for a week, but it was well worth the two days spent in his bed.” This statement was followed by a collective sigh.
All the while Portia was listening to the seasoned courtesans, she kept her eyes trained on Lord Blackwood. Simultaneously praying he didn’t see her but wishing that for once he did see her—a woman. She knew Grayson looked upon her as a replacement baby sister, when she definitely did not view him as a brother. She never pushed the issue because she was petrified of losing him from her life, but sometimes watching from the shadows, as he flirted and seduced, broke her heart.
He’d find her presence here scandalous, as would most of society, a four-and-twenty unmarried lady, unaccompanied, at such a ball. Her five brothers would be angry, but they understood how confining the ton was for a woman of her intelligence. They encouraged her need for independence, respected it. However, Grayson compared her to the one woman he held in highest regard, his dearly departed mother, and therefore he found Portia wanting.
Grayson had a distinct view of women, probably because his mother had died when he was young and he idolized her memory. Lady Blackwood had been considered a sweet, dutiful paragon of virtue, and no woman could live up to her reputation. Grayson’s women generally fell into two groups. There were women, beautiful and sensual, often in certain sexually paid employment, whom he wanted in his bed. Then there were the other women, demure and respectable. Women he considered marriage material. Unfortunately, Portia fell into a third group, women he could not place in one of the previous two categories.
She was aware that if her identity became known, she’d be ruined. She’d thought her quest for knowledge was worth society’s scorn. However, as the evening progressed, it appeared that this was her worst venture yet.
“Oh, I say. Who’s the other handsome gent with Lord Blackwood? Perhaps we can entice the two men to play for the night.”
Portia’s heart skipped a beat. She knew without looking who stood behind Lord Blackwood—her brother Robert. Where one went, the other followed. Dash it all. If Robert caught her, there would be hell to pay. He might understand her thirst for knowledge, but he’d not condone her being here, or the fact that she came alone.
“That’s Lord Flagstaff, and let me tell you, he has no problem standing to attention.” The Cyprian glanced at her four companions. “I’m sure the two of them can keep us well pleasured tonight.” At the murmured assent, she added, “Are we all in agreement? We five shall entertain these two fine gentlemen.”
“Let’s have ourselves a private party,” tittered another. “I would die to be either of these gentlemen’s mistress.”
Portia’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. How on earth…five with two? She had so much to learn. She’d come tonight purely as a voyeur; however, she had no intention of watching her brother, and there was no way she could watch Grayson make love to another woman. Her mother did say curiosity often led down a path one did not wish to follow.
It was all Rose’s fault. Her best friend had just taken her first lover, having been widowed two years ago. Rose positively glowed, and Portia wanted to learn more about the act that gave so much pleasure, especially since she’d not be indulging in the biblical sense anytime soon. She had no experience in carnal matters, yet she didn’t wish to die a virgin. She wanted to learn the secrets of conducting an affair. As she had no intention of marrying any man except Lord Blackwood, she could see herself ending up an old spinster, leaving her I must experience list unfulfilled.
Several years ago, after recovering from her lung fever, she’d written a list of the things she wanted to have intimate knowledge of in this life. Making love and experiencing passion was on her list. Oh, she was not in any hurry to engage in a carnal affair, but she wanted to learn, to be prepared. Who knows, she might even learn how to attract Grayson’s interest.
When she set her sights on something, she always followed through. Wh
ere better to watch and learn about sexual congress than at a Cyprians’ ball? She just hadn’t counted on Lord Blackwood or her brother attending. She had been advised that Robert and Lord Blackwood were otherwise engaged.
“It looks as though we’re in luck, ladies. He’s staring at us quite determinedly.”
Please don’t let him recognize me. If she did not want to be seen, why then did her blood fire with excitement merely because she was in the same room as the legendary rake?
Tonight he outshone every other man. He presented an enticing image of true masculinity, striking features breathlessly on display despite the event being a masquerade ball. His fair hair curled thick and glossy about his ruggedly handsome face, copper highlights glinting in the chandelier’s light. His black domino, edged in gold, hugged his large frame as if it, too, wanted to touch every part of him.
She wasn’t the only woman tracking his movements through the crowd. His presence became the focus of a bevy of beauties all eager to attract his interest and purse—some women did not care about the money he could provide; they were interested more in pleasure.
Portia reached up and straightened her turban, ensuring that every scrape of her distinctive red hair was hidden. Her face was completely concealed by a mask, which, although annoying to wear in the heat of the ballroom, was a necessity for her diversion.
A wicked thought flashed through her head. What would she do if Lord Blackwell were to find her charms appealing? Just then, from across the room, his gaze clashed with hers and flared with obvious interest. Or perhaps it was the whole group of women who caught his eye. There were many here far more beautiful than she.
How insulting that the one time she’d managed to attract his attention, she was dressed as a lady of ill repute. She knew her costume was just as scandalous as that of the other ladies. She’d wanted to blend in. The décolletage of the harem top was lower than she’d ever worn, and it left her midriff on display. The splits in her Turkish harem pants exposed flesh very few had ever seen.
His Saving Grace Page 25
