by Wilma Counts
Her breath caught. Heavens above, the man was demented.
“No.”
He laughed at her obvious distress. “Be glad it ain’t you in this bag.”
Grace watched in horror as Boswan shoved his way past her and with all his might hurled the bag toward the center of the lake. Her scream echoed through the air as she scrambled toward the water, knowing the poor kitten would drown within moments.
“No . . . Byron.”
Ignoring Boswan’s grating laugh Grace prepared to wade into the lake, indifferent to the sharp cold of the water. Then, seemingly from nowhere, Alexander was plunging into the lake before her.
Frozen in horror, Grace watched as he dived beneath the surface.
“Lord, please, please . . .” she silently prayed. She could not bear it if Alexander were harmed. She would rather have her own life ended than to lose the man she loved.
Indifferent to the cowardly servant who was hastily beating a path toward the woods, Grace continued her prayers. A century seemed to pass before he appeared with a loud splash. With slow determination he struggled back to shore. Grace gave a sob of relief as she reached out to grasp his arm.
“Here.” Despite his shivering, Alexander fumbled to open the bag and hand the indignant kitten to Grace. She hastily tucked Byron into the pocket of her cloak, her concern momentarily centered on the man trembling with cold.
“You must get inside,” she urged, then realizing they were a considerable distance from the house she whipped off her cloak and put it about his wet form.
“You will freeze,” he protested as she pulled him away from the lake.
“Nonsense.” She clenched her teeth, refusing to shiver. She did not care if she froze to the bone as long as he was safe. “I could throttle that horrid Boswan for putting you in such danger.”
“I fear you will not get the opportunity. I discovered the missing sheets from the ledger that prove he was indeed stealing from my cousin. I intend to turn them over to the magistrate who I have no doubt will soon apprehend the thief and ensure that justice is carried out.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God. You might have drowned because of him. He belongs in Newgate.”
Ignoring his speculative glance at her fierce desire to see Boswan punished, she marched them both to the house. They entered through a side door, startling a maid who halted to regard them with wide eyes.
“Oh, Maggie, will you have a hot bath drawn for Mr. Dalford?”
“At once, Miss Honeywell,” the servant stuttered.
“And have a bottle of Mr. Crosswald’s private brandy sent to his room.”
“Of course.”
With a hasty dip the maid scurried away, no doubt anxious to spread the word that Grace was towing about a soggy Mr. Dalford.
Turning she met his oddly glittering gaze. “You must change from those clothes at once.”
He ignored her anxious command. “I came back to speak with you about Lady Falwell.”
“That can wait,” she insisted.
“No, it cannot.”
“Alexander . . .” She found herself lost in the tender blue of his eyes. Right or wrong she had to assure him that she could not believe he would be anything less than honorable. “I do not think that Lady Falwell is your mistress.”
His breath rasped between chattering teeth. “You do not?”
“No.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “You are a kind and generous man, with more honor than anyone I have ever known.”
“Grace . . .” His arms reached upward and the cloak fell away. With an offended cry Byron untangled himself from the heavy wool and pranced toward an open door.
With a rueful smile Grace pressed her hand to his wide chest. “Please, you must go upstairs and change before you become ill.”
He paused as if determined to have his say; then a violent sneeze wracked his large form and he conceded defeat. “Very well, but we will speak as soon as I am dry.”
“Yes.”
Loving him more than she ever thought possible, Grace watched him slowly climb the stairs to his chambers. How swiftly he had rushed to the rescue of Byron, she thought with a flare of pride. He had not even paused to consider his own welfare.
“Miss Honeywell.”
Startled by the soft sound of her name, Grace shifted to view Lady Falwell standing in the doorway of the back salon. Grace felt a hint of embarrassment as she realized the older woman was bound to have overheard her conversation with Alexander.
“Yes, Lady Falwell?”
“May I have a moment?”
Grace hesitated. She had no desire to leave her post beside the stairs, but telling herself it would be some time for Alexander to bathe and change she gave a small nod of her head. She couldn’t deny she was a bit curious at what would possess Lady Falwell to seek her out.
“Of course.” She moved to join Lady Falwell in the salon.
Waiting until Grace had perched on the edge of a sofa, Lady Falwell restlessly paced to the center of the room.
“I heard you speaking with Alexander and I wished you to know the truth between us,” she abruptly burst out.
Grace widened her eyes in astonishment. “Very well.”
“I have known Alexander all my life. He has always been a good friend to me and the one person I could depend upon.”
A small smile curved Grace’s lips. “He is that kind of gentleman.”
“Yes.” The beautiful features seemed inordinately pale as Lady Falwell nervously twisted the large diamond ring upon her finger. “Now, what I tell you must be kept in the strictest confidence.”
Grace’s curiosity deepened at the raw tone. “Of course.”
Lady Falwell still wavered at revealing her secret. “Six years ago I was very young and foolish and imagined myself in love with an actor,” she at last confessed, her eyes dark with remembered pain. “We ran off together, and I naively believed that we were on our way to be married. Of course, it was no more than a ploy, and my companion promptly disappeared. The result was that I discovered myself with child. Alexander arranged for me to travel to Paris, where I had the baby. He then had the baby placed with a family on his estate.” A heart-wrenchingly sad smile curved her lips. “On occasion he brings me letters from my daughter and even arranges for me to visit her at a secluded inn.”
Grace gave a slow shake of her head. “So that is why you were seen at an inn together.”
Lady Falwell gave a startled frown. “Yes.”
How dreadful, Grace silently acknowledged. To have been seduced by a common scoundrel and abandoned. Then to have the torture of giving your child to another. It was little wonder she had turned to Alexander.
“Does Lord Falwell know?” she asked softly.
Lady Falwell’s lovely features twisted into a grimace. “Not yet, but Alexander has convinced me I must tell him the truth. I only hope his love is strong enough to bear the shock.”
Grace had seen the manner in which Lord Falwell gazed at his beautiful wife. It would take more than this to shatter such devotion.
“You have nothing to fear,” she assured her.
“I hope you are right. Love is a very special emotion.” She regarded Grace with a shrewd gaze. “You should tell Alexander how you feel.”
Grace awkwardly rose to her feet, too startled by the sudden remark to even deny the truth.
“I do not wish to burden him with my foolishness,” she muttered in embarrassment.
The older woman smiled with kind sympathy. “It will be a most welcome burden, I assure you. Alexander lost his heart to you long ago.”
Stunned, Grace watched in silence as Lady Falwell swept from the room. Alexander had lost his heart to her? But it wasn’t possible, was it? After all, there were any number of suitable reasons that such a thing was not possible. Hadn’t she painfully gone over them enough times during the past few hours?
She was still pondering the unbelievable accusation when Alexander hesitantly entered
the room. Her heart gave a painful kick at the sight of him. Every bit about him was dear to her, from his damp raven hair to the tips of his glossy boots.
“How do you feel?” she asked softly.
“Like a schoolboy facing his first maiden.”
She gave a blink at his odd words. “What?”
With a rueful smile he moved to stand mere inches away from her. “I do not know whether to flee or give in to my desire to pull you into my arms.”
Her breath became annoyingly elusive as she tilted back her head to meet his brilliant gaze.
“What do you wish to do?”
With a groan he roughly pulled her into his arms, the scent and heat of him clouding her mind with a dizzying pleasure. “Marry me, Grace. Make this engagement real.”
Grace did not even mind the lack of flowery poetry in his proposal. There was something sharply poignant about his blunt urgency.
“Are you certain? I have nothing to offer,” she said in hesitant tones.
“You have everything,” he argued in husky tones. “Courage, a gracious heart, and a sense of humor that matches my own. And, of course, you will fill my life with the music that my grandmother foretold all those years ago.”
Batting back tears of happiness Grace lifted a tentative hand to his cheek. “I do love you, Alexander.”
A fierce flare of happiness seared through his eyes as he slowly lowered his head toward her waiting lips.
“Happy Christmas, my beloved.”
Poised on the mantel Byron carefully awaited the best moment to pounce. He had discovered it was wonderful fun to leap on his victims when they were fully distracted. Then, with a great deal of reluctance he slowly relaxed his muscles and gave a wide yawn.
The two were far too engrossed to be properly appreciative of his fine pouncing skills.
He would leap on them tomorrow, he decided, as he made himself comfortable on the mantel. In the manner they were so enthusiastically kissing, he was quite certain there would be plenty of tomorrows.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2001 by Wilma Counts
Zebra mass market edition: October 2001
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2014
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3252-8
