by Lyn Stone
“He’s well! I can’t believe it!”
“No, not precisely well,” Grace said, covering one of his hands with hers. “But he has more time with us now, I hope. Dr. Ackers says his heart is still damaged and will fail him eventually, but at least he will feel better in the time he has left.”
“Ackers left for London today. I wonder if that was wise.”
Grace squeezed his hands. “You mustn’t worry. He had to see to his own family and promised to return in two days, three at most. I know exactly what must be done in his absence. I hope you trust me. Uncle Hadley does.”
“Of course I do. And Uncle Hadley, is it?” Caine smiled, happy that they were getting on so well as that. “What of my aunt? Has she been well?” he asked.
Grace shrugged. “She always seems a bit sad, Caine, despite the earl’s improvement. Do you think she misses city life already?”
He looked at Grace for a full minute without answering, unsure whether he should confide in her and, if so, how to begin. “She likes to shop. Uncle used to take her out daily and she would come home with some small thing or another.”
“Every woman enjoys that.”
“I suppose so.” He smiled as he toyed absently with the ring he wore, twisting it round and round on his finger. “She’d want a pair of gloves or a few lengths of ribbon, such as that. Sometimes she would sit for the rest of the day, admiring whatever it was he bought for her. The next morning it would lie forgotten and she would ask to go out again.”
Grace said nothing, just waited for him to go on.
“She’s a child, Grace. No one ever told me why she’s the way she is, whether it was a fever, an accident or simply the way she was born. Maybe no one knows. She was taught to write and read a bit somewhere along the way, but has trouble with numbers.”
“Well, that’s not so remarkable. Many women aren’t taught that much,” Grace said.
Caine went on. “She’s quiet as a rule and her manners are usually so nice, people rarely notice how different she is or if they do, merely think her eccentric.” He pursed his lips for a moment, then gave a nod. “But you noticed.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “Your uncle seems very fond of her and quite protective. One can see how much they care for each other in every exchange between them.”
Caine nodded in total agreement. “He married her just as she is now over thirty-five years ago when she was twenty.” He gave Grace a meaningful look. “They never had children.”
Grace obviously grasped what he meant, that the Hadley marriage was and always had been platonic. He could see in her eyes that she understood.
“The earl must love her very much indeed,” she said. “A remarkable man, that uncle of yours. I hope he lives forever.”
“Yes, so does he. He worries dreadfully about what will happen to her when he’s gone. I can’t count the times I’ve had to promise him I would care for her as if she were my mother.”
“Of course you will! I could shop with her,” Grace offered eagerly. “We could go into the village today if she wants!”
“Not now,” Caine said. “Even with guards along, it might not be safe. But I appreciate the generous offer, Grace, and so will Uncle Hadley when I tell him.”
“I have years of experience as a lady’s companion, so whenever she needs company to entertain her, I will do what I can. I’ve read to her from a novel I found here, but she doesn’t appear to listen. All she does is embroider, hour upon hour. Is there anything else you can think of that I might do to make her happier than she is while they’re here?”
He smiled and took her hand. “Just be who you are, Grace. I think that will suffice.”
“I hope she realizes, at least in some small way, just how fortunate she is to have married your uncle.”
“I hope so, too. There’s no way to thank you enough for doing what you’ve already done for them.”
“Some things are done with no thought of a return, Caine. But if you like, consider our debts to each other evenly paid. You saved me and I’ve saved the uncle you love. Now we can dispense with all talk of gratitude, can we not?”
Caine nodded as he took her hands and looked into her eyes. “I need to apologize, Grace. Forgive me for doubting your motive in coming to me last night. It was just so hard to believe you would actually…well…choose me.”
“You still don’t believe it,” she said with a soft laugh. “But you will come to, I promise. Marry me, Caine, and try not to think too much.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because it makes me pigheaded?”
She nodded and made a face.
Caine reached into his pocket and drew out the jeweler’s box. “Your morning gift.”
Her eyes widened as he opened it for her and she saw the stones. “Oh, my! This comes a bit early!”
“So did the consummation,” he reminded her in a whisper, grinning as she lifted the necklace and held it to the light.
“Oh, Caine, it’s beautiful! How lovely this will look with my wedding gown!” She kissed him full on the lips. “Thank you so much!”
Caine had a sudden epiphany. “You know, Grace, we might have just discovered the secret to a happy union. You do something I can thank you for, I do something requiring your gratitude, on and on throughout life. Gratitude isn’t a bad thing at all, is it! Perhaps that’s the secret to a good marriage. What do you think?”
She shook her finger under his nose. “You’re overthinking again. And talking too much, so hush and kiss me,” she ordered.
He laughed out loud. “Thank you, Grace, I think I will!”
“Excuse me! I am interrupting.”
Caine released Grace and shot Trent a quelling look. “You are, in fact.”
“We’re being married the day after tomorrow!” Grace announced, breathlessly.
“None too soon, I’ll wager,” Trent said, taking a chair without being invited to sit. “Hope the rain stops. Happy is the bride the sun shines on.”
Grace stood up and whirled around to peer out the window at the downpour. “It won’t matter to me!” she declared. “No one could be happier, rain or shine!”
Caine thought she had never looked more beautiful, face flushed with excitement, modestly covered breasts rising and falling rapidly with arousal. She wore a rose-sprigged muslin gown, her hair pulled up into a braided knot tied with pink ribbons. Her childlike enthusiasm was contagious. He could hardly wait until she was truly his for all the world to know.
Neville joined them just then. “Greetings, all. Any further word from London in the morning post?”
“It hasn’t arrived yet,” Grace said, her happy mood suddenly diminishing. “By the way, I almost forgot. There was a letter.” She fetched it and gave it to Caine. “I don’t believe it was written by my uncle,” she told him.
He examined it for a minute. “Belinda Thoren-Snipes. She’s made some attempt to disguise her handwriting, but I recognize it from the few letters she sent to me. I could jolly well wring her neck for upsetting you, Grace.” He tossed the letter down on the table.
Trent promptly picked it up. “At least you have grounds for libel if you can prove she wrote it.”
“I know she wrote it, but it’s not worth pursuing,” Caine replied. He took Grace’s hands in his and drew her to him.
“I’ll handle the matter for you if you like,” Neville offered.
“Forget it, please!” Grace insisted. “Let’s not give it any consequence.” Caine felt the chill in her hands and pressed them between his to warm them.
“Wise to dismiss it altogether,” Trent agreed, frowning at Neville with a slight shake of his
head. “Forget everything but having a wedding to anticipate, Grace.”
“Quite right. Mr. Harrell will keep the guard up, so there’s no need to worry, is there?” she said.
Her smile returned, but Caine thought it looked a bit forced. He wished he could get her alone and really reassure her that all would be well.
“Yes, everything seems well in hand,” Trent said with assurance. “Besides, no self-respecting assassin would be lurking about in this downpour anyway. Weather’s fit only for ducks!”
Caine deftly changed the topic, regaling his friend and cousin with the news of Hadley’s improvement, then assigning them tasks as his groomsmen.
Breakfast was announced later in the morning and the day crawled by with maddening slowness for Caine. He could not concentrate on cards or billiards or conversation. The thought of one more day like it wore on his nerves.
When they retired for the night and headed up the stairs, he caught Grace’s arm and whispered in her ear. “My room or yours?”
“Neither!” she exclaimed. “We must wait.”
“Why?” he demanded, frowning down at her.
“Just because,” she whispered back with a teasing glint in her eyes. “So I might enjoy your impatience. It’s very flattering.”
“A streak of cruelty,” he grumbled. “See, I knew you weren’t perfect.”
Her merry laughter assuaged his disappointment, so he said good-night, kissed her soundly and left her at her door, hoping that kiss rendered her as frustrated as he felt. This night and one more. Then she would be his forever.
*
Later that night, Caine woke to a soft knock on his door. “What?” he muttered in a loud grunt. He opened one eye and squinted at the window. Still dark. Who would be waking him before dawn? Grace, of course, he thought as he came fully alert. She’d said no to him earlier, but she must have changed her mind. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his breeches, hoping he wouldn’t need them for long.
He opened the door slowly, fully expecting to see her impish face grinning up at him. No one was there. His bare foot landed on a slick surface different from the plush turkey carpet. He bent down and picked up a folded paper that had been pushed under his door.
He lighted his lamp and opened the note. What was this, a dare?
“Meet me in the root cellar. There is something you need to see. Yours, G.”
An odd place to meet. Surely she didn’t mean to have a tryst there, the little minx, not when there were perfectly comfortable beds available.
He hurriedly dragged on a shirt and pushed his feet into his slippers. Whatever her reason for summoning him, why not simply wait until he answered her knock so they could go downstairs together if there really was something to see there?
What if someone else had left the note? He went over to the lamp and examined it again. He couldn’t be certain, but the handwriting looked like Grace’s, her feminine flowing hand that he had seen when she had written to him in London.
Someone could have forced her write it, but how in the world could anyone have gotten past the bevy of guards they had stationed around the property? Harrell had even added several more. The rain, of course, might have prevented them patrolling as they should. He listened, then glanced at the window. The rain had stopped.
Best be prepared for trickery. He checked his pistol’s load and carried it with him.
Without lamp or candle to light the familiar route, Caine quickly made his way down to the kitchens. He followed the narrow stairway that tunneled from the very end of the ground-floor kitchens to the cellar’s storage chamber beneath it.
The thick oak door stood half open and weak candlelight spilled from the interior. Softly, he approached the portal, listening for movement inside.
He peered in. A bundled form in the corner moved, and he heard her muffled shriek! “Grace!” He cocked his pistol and rushed in.
The last thing he heard as he fell was her tortured moan.
Chapter Seventeen
Grace wept as she watched Wardfelton bind Caine’s motionless wrists and ankles with the same narrow, pliable rope he had used for hers. When he had finished, her uncle was breathing hard. “Perfect. Now to you again,” he said, crouching beside her where she sat and reaching to remove the gag from her mouth. “If you scream, I will cut his throat,” he promised.
“Wh-what do you want?” she rasped, terrified that he would kill them both. She glanced at Caine, but he had not moved.
“I want to know who else knows what you know.”
“About what?” she asked, truly puzzled.
He scoffed. “You know very well what I mean! I’m sure you’ve told your future husband what you overheard. Who else?” he demanded.
“What I overheard when? Please tell me what you mean!”
“That night with Sorenson in my library, of course. What else would I mean?” He glared at her. “I saw you just outside the door that evening. You gave me that look of yours when we came out. You heard us and you meant to use it against me. I could see it in your greedy little eyes, planning blackmail. Well, I didn’t give you a chance for that, did I!”
Grace struggled to breathe normally and make sense of it all. “For goodness’ sake, Uncle, you were both speaking French! I don’t know two words of the language, only its nasal sound! Did you forget I was never sent to school? Father taught me all I know. I only had Latin.”
Wardfelton stared at her, wide-eyed with surprise. Then he narrowed his gaze. “That’s impossible. All girls are taught French!”
“No, it’s true!” she insisted. “As for the look you saw, I was upset that you ignored the summons to dinner twice! Everything had gone cold. When I came to see what was the matter, Sorenson was still there. You were always so furious with Cook when dinner was so much as a minute late!”
“Good God,” her uncle groaned. He remained silent for several moments, apparently thinking about the situation. “Well, no matter now, even if what you say is true. This has gone too far.”
“Please let us go. Neither of us knows anything damaging about you, Uncle. Please.”
He glared at her. “You know I hired someone to kill you.” He waggled his knife in Caine’s direction. “And him. Bloody fools couldn’t do the simplest of jobs I paid for. Now I have to…”
“But you don’t need to do this, Uncle. You could just leave us here and go away.” Again, she looked at Caine. He was moving a bit, coming to, she supposed, and almost hoped not.
Wardfelton scoffed, dragging her attention back to him. “Go away, Grace? Where?”
For a moment, he simply looked at her, much in the way he had before he had turned against her and treated her so bad. “It’s unfortunate how matters have turned out if you really didn’t know. I quite liked you at first.” He made a wry face. “But I didn’t mind disposing of James and your mother. Meddling fools brought it on themselves.”
“Mother and Father?” Grace asked in a horrified whisper. “You killed them?” She shook her head, unable to believe it. “But it was cholera. Everyone said it was cholera!”
He nodded. “Convenient, that epidemic. No one examines a cholera victim all that closely, now do they? No, James found out, you see, and promised to expose me. And he had told that mother of yours.”
Grace was weeping openly now, grieving for her parents, as well as for Caine and herself. They had no chance of survival. He would cut their throats before she could get free to stop him. But he surprised her yet again as he stood up and went to the door.
She saw him glance up at the slit of a window. The thick, narrow panes, barely above ground
, allowed a bit of light into the cellar in the daytime and provided ventilation when necessary. Unfortunately, she knew without looking that the window was ten feet up and too narrow to provide an avenue of escape even if it could be reached.
“Goodbye, Grace,” he said, and stepped outside the door. She heard the key turn in the lock.
Caine’s unexpected roll toward her surprised Grace. “You’re conscious! Thank God!”
“We have to hurry, Grace,” he muttered. “Your fingers are smaller to work the rope. Turn your back to mine and see if you can untie me. Not a minute to lose.”
“Why hurry? He has locked us in.” She began to work the bonds on her own wrists.
“No, but we can move that cache of gunpowder he intends to explode.”
“What?” She looked up to see a hole in the glass with a narrow ropelike fuse running to a wooden cask that sat on a top shelf above the baskets of apples. Now she worked frantically at the ropes on her wrists and was free in less than a minute.
Caine still wrestled with his. She crawled over to him. “Be still, I’ll do it.”
He grunted in surprise. “How the hell did you get free?”
She worked at his bonds. “Childhood trick. Obviously, my uncle never played pirates with the local hellions the way I did. One quickly learns how to let someone tie them up! Clasp hands together, separate and expand the wrists as much as possible, wriggle around and cry a lot. Usually works, especially for girls.”
He tossed the cords she’d untied and began working at the ones on his ankles. “Wonders never cease around you.”
“Well, they might if we tarry.” She rushed over and studied the shelving.
He jumped up and followed. “The sideboards are sturdy, but those slats won’t support me. Besides none of these are bolted to the wall,” Caine said, feeling the thickness of the slats. “And if you try, it could tumble forward. That keg’s iron bands striking the flagstone could cause it to explode.”