“He then, with great presence of mind, put a stop to any further recriminations by kissing her; and his indignant betrothed, apparently feeling that he was too deeply sunk in depravity to be reclaimable, abandoned (for the time being, at all events) any further attempt to bring him to a sense of his iniquity.”

Mrs. Whitten once again came to their rescue. Following them after the production, the cook sent a boy to the icehouse for a cup of shavings off the huge block stored underground. Kit found himself once again at the stain-darkened table. He held the chips in a cloth against his palm, while Grace oversaw the tobacco poultice made with yesterday’s moistened bread, meal, and the plant leaves. He studied the silver serving platters and porcelain dishes along the wall shelves, the pots hanging from the ceiling, and the ceramic jar near the copper-lined sink. The hiding place for Mrs. Whitten’s dry sweetmeats. His mouth watered. When his hand was numb, she took a needle and pierced the blisters then applied the poultice. He winced once when she missed the blister and the point went deeper into his hand. The look of pain on her face was much worse than what he had suffered. He had been foolish to make notice of it and cause her concern.

“Have I thanked you properly for all your attention to Sammy? You are a hero to him, equal only to my father in his eyes.” Grace kept her eyes on the blisters, the needle steady in her small capable hand. Her head was bent low as she concentrated. She was so close he had to move but a few inches and his mouth would be on her cheek. If she turned her head, it would be her lips.

“That depends on what you consider a proper thank you.” He goaded her, he knew. But time was no longer on his side. She returned to her own estates in a few short days, and he would be left…alone. He needed to tell her how he felt, that he couldn’t imagine not seeing her again, that he had grown fond of her. More than fond.

Grinning, she said drolly, “Perhaps Mrs. Whitten could witness a proper thank you, if you described such a thing to her.”

Embarrassment crept up his neck as the image of her gratitude formed in his mind. No, he certainly didn’t want any witnesses. She smirked at his silence, a raised eyebrow telling him that she had seen through his ploy.

“When this begins to hurt again, add more ice and then another poultice. Mrs. Whitten has agreed to make up more for you.”

He looked over Grace’s shoulder and saw the cook was busy at the other end of the room. “Lady Eliza and Sammy will be here soon. I need to speak with you privately.”

A startled look passed over her face, and she repeated his motion, glancing over her shoulder to see who was close. “Yes, my lord?”

“I fear a fit of the blue devils when you leave Falsbury at the end of the week.” He’d said it. Told her he had grown attached. In a roundabout sort of way.

Mrs. Whitten interrupted them. “I need to fetch some more lard to finish these poultices, my lady. I’ll be right back.” They were alone.

“I-I have grown used to your company also.” In those deep emerald eyes, he saw it: love, fear, hesitation. The world stood still as the breath was sucked out of him; nothing existed but the two of them. With a strange certainty, he knew they shared the first emotion. It hit him as hard and fast as an enemy ambush. He’d never experienced this kind of romantic love. The only people in the world that he’d associated the word with were his mother and Carson. Yes, and now Grace. This helped him understand the second emotion. It was frightening indeed. The void that Carson had left in his soul only resulted from true affection. And they both recognized they had come too far to pretend otherwise.

“Lady Grace, I ask your permission to speak with your father. I would like—no, I need to see you again. Might you possibly feel the same?” He was a Johnny Raw once more, kissing his first girl.

Her scrutiny made him shift in his seat, and the needle poked through his skin again. He made a small noise, and their attention was drawn to the drop of blood that spread in his palm. A tear fell and mixed with the deep red, forming a tiny pink puddle between the two blisters. His chest tightened, not understanding the meaning of it.

Grace swiped at her eyes with the back of a hand. Her voice was steady when she spoke but her gaze remained lowered. “I am honored by your request. In truth, if it were not for my situation, I would welcome your courtship. But in my present position, I cannot.”

“If it’s concern over my attitude as a husband, I may not be as doting as your father but I certainly won’t quash your spirit.”

“It is too much to risk.” Her head snapped up, and the words came out in a rush, passionate and urgent. “It is not only my independence. There is my father, he leans on me for companionship, to run the household, help him plan events and act as hostess. Who would take care of Sammy? I am like a mother to him. The thought of leaving…”

“Do you hold me in your affections, Lady Grace?” This was the issue. The rest could be addressed, but if she did not have the same feelings that he did then it was all pointless. Her gaze drifted again to his palm, pretending to fiddle with the burn.

“Mrs. Whitten should be back any moment and I’ll apply the poultice.”

His mouth fell open. She would ignore him. She would not answer him. She would pretend as if this discussion had not happened. “By god, I won’t allow it.”

He stood, the chair clattering against the stone floor. She gasped. Her glistening green eyes blinked at the sudden movement. One arm came around her waist and yanked her against him; the trembling lips undid him. His last shred of self-restraint drained from his body. Kit tipped his head and claimed her mouth, soft and yielding. Her curves fit against him as if they had been cut from one mold. He eased up slightly and brushed his lips against hers, caressing and coaxing. A tremor passed through him as she sighed, her breath mingling with his. Citrus and vanilla enveloped him, intoxicated him. She was everything he had dreamed of. She was nothing he had expected.

He lifted his head, scrambling for a pittance of sanity but her arms went around his neck. The slight surrender sent a tremor down his length, his trousers tightening with desire. Kit buried his head in her neck, trailing hot kisses up the pale skin, feeling her pulse beneath his lips. He made a line across her jaw, ending with her mouth. Her chest rose and fell in short breaths. His tongue traced the line between her lips, and she gasped, opening them. He dipped inside and tasted the sweetness of her. When she fingered the hair at the back of his neck, the throbbing in his breeches threatened to explode.

Kit pulled back and held her close, running his hand along her back. “By God, Grace. I will have you. You cannot deny me.” He tipped her head back and kissed her tenderly again. Her head began to shake back and forth, her entire body trembling. But as she locked her gaze on him, it was not fear but anger in her glistening eyes.

“I can’t. I can’t do this.” She pushed away from him, looking around as if lost. “Oh, god. Oh, god. I cannot do this.”

Mrs. Whitten hurried into the kitchen. “Here we are. It will just take a moment and we’ll have that burn fixed in no time.”

Kit saw the panic in Grace’s eyes. He wanted to grab her again and shake some sense into her. He tried words instead. “No, cease this nonsense now. I said, I won’t allow it.”

“My lord, it’s just a poultice. I swear to you, it won’t hurt you any.” The cook clucked at him as she waddled over to the table. “Now here you go… Oh, my lady. What is the matter?” She looked accusingly at Kit.

An agonizing moan ricocheted through the kitchen, and Grace picked her up dress and ran from the room. Mrs. Whitten glared at Kit, and he shrugged his shoulders, his mouth set in an angry line. With a snort, he mumbled, “Thou art not false, but thou art fickle.”

* * *

Grace dashed up the second flight of stairs, pushed open her door, and slammed it closed. She sank against the hard wood, welcoming the pain against her spine. How could she be such a green girl, a clunch. It had been a simple request and had filled her with joy until uncertainty smothered the rapture, and the sharp taste of self-doubt coated her tongue. The words had stuck in her throat.

The kiss had been so unexpected. And wonderful. And terrifying. His touch, his body, the taste of him consumed her. She was on fire and melting, losing herself in the passion. With horror, she remembered throwing her arms around him like a trollop. She had clung to him and lost all reason when his lips touched hers. A tiny explosion, like gunpowder in the cup, had rocked the careful foundation she had built to protect her future. His passion could convince her to give up everything she held dear. The world that cushioned her from pain and heartache.

She’d escaped to the safety of her room. The protection of a future without love. The safety of loneliness. She cradled her head on her knees and let the tears flow, tension of the last month wash over her, cleanse her. Sunderland had shown her nothing but courtesy and consideration. He was handsome, charming, and kind. Sammy and her father liked him immensely and if she were to make a list, he would check every quality of a perfect match.

A soft knock on the door. “Gracie? It’s Eliza. May I come in?”

With a sigh, she rose, wiped her face, and shook out her wrinkled skirt before she opened the door. Eliza entered and hugged her. “Oh my dear, what happened? I saw you racing down the hall as if the devil himself was after you.”

“Lord Sunderland wishes to…woo me.”

“You cannot be surprised. He is your escort on our daily walks in the garden, your attentive partner in any of the parlor games. His eyes follow you across a room. Did you not expect this?” Eliza’s eyebrows drew together. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“He kissed me.”

Eliza gasped then beamed. “Oh, Grace. How wonderful. That is more than courting. He wants to marry you.”

She nodded, the pounding of her heart drowning out her ragged breath.

“What did you tell him?”

Grace could not meet her cousin’s eyes. She simply shook her head.

“I pray it was not a harsh cut. He has been through so much with the death of Carson.”

Grace clutched her chest. He bared his heart to her, still freshly bruised from the loss of his brother, and she acted as if he were an abhorrent brute. “The kiss was… I couldn’t think…and then I panicked. I fled. I saw a husband, and leg shackles, and patronizing looks when I mentioned improvements on the estate and—”

“Grace Beaumont, stop it. How can you know what sort of husband he will make? Has he shown you a domineering nature? Has he been patronizing in any way?”

She shook her head, swiping at her wet cheeks.

“If you knew his mother better, these fears would subside. Meek and obedient are the last words I would use to describe her. As she is the woman who raised him, I cannot imagine he would settle for any less in his own wife. He respects her and loves her.” Eliza tipped her cousin’s chin with a finger. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Grace bobbed her head.

“What is the real reason?”

“I cannot leave Papa and Sammy. I cannot lose the two people who have kept me from drowning these past years. Living without them petrifies me,” she said in a whisper then let out a breath. “It’s not my independence I am fighting for. Oh lord, it is what I have been hiding behind.”

Her cousin’s voice softened. “You’ve finally realized it.”

“You knew?”

“Yes, but it isn’t something I could tell you, is it? You would have stomped your foot and denied it until you turned blue.” She smiled sadly. “It was something you had to discover on your own.”

“I’ve been such a fool.”

“If you refuse a courtship, you will never know what you might have lost. Or gained.” Eliza crossed her arms, a stern look sharpening her features. “So what is the plan? You always have a plan.”

“I think I owe Lord Sunderland an apology.” A teary smile formed, and Grace hugged her best friend. “Thank you.”

“It’s what friends do. We will always be here for each other. We are family.”

Grace never had the chance to offer an apology. Entering the drawing room before dinner, she found Lady Falsbury in tears. Eliza sat next to her, an arm around the older woman. She looked at Grace, concern darkening her violet eyes.

“What is it?” Grace hurried across the room. “Is there anything I can do?”

The marchioness shook her head. “We received a note that Falsbury’s carriage overturned. He’s hurt but we have no idea what condition he is in.” She held a handkerchief to her dark eyes. Grace noticed the circles beneath.

“Your father rode along with Kit so he could return quickly with news.”

“Where did it happen?”

“The toll gate south of here,” answered Eliza.

“That’s only twenty miles away. We’ll know soon enough, my lady. I’m sure he’s fine.” Grace hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. This poor family did not need another tragedy so close on the heels of the last.

The cook had left out a cold meat supper for Lord Boldon. The ladies remained in the drawing room and Eliza and Grace continued to keep up Lady Falsbury’s spirits. Sammy had gone to bed long ago, tired from a swim in the pond after dinner. The sound of hoofbeats on the drive had all three hurrying from the room. As the butler opened the huge oak door, Grace saw her father dismounting. His great bay gleamed in the lamplight, his coat covered in sweat. The urgency of the ride could mean one of two things. Had he rode like the devil to bring them good news or bad?

He met them in three strides and smiled at the marchioness. “He’ll live, my lady. The physician is worried about a cracked ankle and swelling on the knee. But he was fit enough to yell orders to the innkeeper and complain about the price of the carriage.”

The proper Lady Falsbury nodded, wiped at the tears spilling from her eyes, and promptly fainted. Eliza screamed as Lord Boldon scooped up the exhausted woman and carried her back into the drawing room. Grace yelled for smelling salts but there was no need.

“Gracious, tell me I didn’t swoon.” Lady Falsbury leaned her head against the back of the sofa. “I haven’t done that since I was a girl. We had that terrible hot summer and I insisted on playing a game of Graces.”

“It’s been a trying day, my lady.” Eliza smoothed the hair from her mother-in-law’s forehead. “Take a drink of this cordial.”

She smiled and obliged, soon able to sit up on her own. Grace listened with amusement as her father recounted the details of the afternoon.

“It seems some fop had tried to show off his new pair of steppers. Unfortunately, the horses had more experience than he did, and they soon parted company.” He shook his head at the folly of youth. “The runaways headed straight for the toll gate, and your husband’s driver couldn’t move out of the way fast enough. The horses made a sharp turn to avoid Falsbury’s team but overturned the phaeton.”

“What about the animals?” asked Grace. She hated the thought of a fine animal being sacrificed for some peep-o-day boy.

“I’m happy to report no fatalities today. However,” he bowed to his hostess and cringed as he continued. “I’m afraid your new chaise has seen some significant damage. Only one side will open and two wheels need replacing.”

She waved her hand. “It’s only money. It makes no difference.”

“I’m to inform you that your son will remain at the inn until the carriage is repaired and the doctor feels your husband is able to travel. It will be at least several days before they arrive.” He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the brandy snifter.

“Oh, goodness. You must be parched. Please, pour yourself a drink then Grace will accompany you to the dining room. There should be some cold meats and cheeses. If you want anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.” She smiled at her daughter-in-law. “My dear, would you stay with me a while longer?”

Eliza smiled. “Of course. I’ll walk with you to your rooms when you are able.”

“I tell you my dear, I don’t think my heart can take much more.” She cupped Eliza’s cheek in her palm. “I thank the heavens above when you were sent to me. What would I do without you?”

Eliza’s back was to Grace but she heard her mumbling and watched her cousin fuss over the woman. She realized, as she quietly shut the door, that Eliza had found a loving family. She had married Carson as an outsider, but somehow his death had provided a place for Eliza in the Falsbury household. The two women were devoted to each other and the strong affection was apparent. A line from one of Lord Milton’s poems came to mind:

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

Milton’s sable clouds had certainly found a silver lining for Eliza.