THE FIRE STILL BURNS

by Roxanne St Claire

  Perching on the side of the bed, he scooped up her withered old hands and reached over to kiss her wisps of white hair, taking a quick whiff of the light fragrance of talcum powder. "How's my best girl doing today?"

  Her wrinkles deepened with a knowing smile. "I think I've been replaced." With an effort, she turned to the other side of the bed, where Gracie had taken a seat in the single guest chair. "I could hear you lovebirds laughing in the hall."

  He saw Gracie flush in the dim light, but an odd sense of pride filled him. How could he not be proud that anyone would imagine Gracie in love with him? As if.

  "No one can replace you," Gracie assured her, her voice somehow a mixture of cool elegance and personal warmth. She had a gift for making people feel comfortable—a waiter, the butler, even sweet old Vera out front was charmed by her.

  "Colin talks about you all the time," she said to Marguerite, pulling the chair closer so his grandmother could see her. Or feel her, as she often did. "He's told me all the wild stories about the Rebels."

  Marguerite managed a sly look at him, then turned back to Gracie. "All true, I assure you. I have a colorful and checkered past. I hope St. Peter is in a forgetful mood when I get up there."

  Gracie patted her hand. "I understand he takes in all aspects of the situation," she said with a smile. "You're forgiven certain misdeeds if they were done for the right reasons."

  Marguerite sighed. "I hope you're right, my dear. I think I'm soon to find out."

  "No," Colin insisted, a familiar ache taking up too much space in his chest. He hated the thought of losing her. Hated the inevitable pain. Sure she was old. But she was … special. "You have a few important dates on your calendar, Marguerite, and none involve St. Peter. We need you as Mistress of Ceremonies for the Pineapple House groundbreaking, of course, and you have to dance with me at the Grand Opening party."

  Even as he made the promises, he knew they were empty. She'd never make the groundbreaking.

  "Gracie can have all my dances," she said, smiling benevolently at him. "But I'll be there in spirit, darling boy." As though to underscore that thought, she coughed and Gracie started to get up to get her water. "No, no," Marguerite insisted, patting Gracie's hand again. "I'm fine. I want to hear about Pineapple House. Tell me what you two are doing to make my dream come true."

  He and Gracie shared a look, and she gave him a nod of silent permission. He half smiled in return, the dull pain in his chest easing immediately. God, he adored her.

  "Gracie's had some amazing ideas, Marguerite," he began. "Wait until you see what she came up with to recreate the old stairway. There's a technology now…"

  He paused as Marguerite held up a hand as though to quiet him, but she merely wanted to touch Gracie's face. It was her only way of really seeing someone and Colin was grateful that Gracie understood and let her. Someone else might be put off by the intimate gesture, but Gracie leaned forward and let Marguerite examine her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  "Go on," said Marguerite, as she laid her palm on Gracie's cheek and began her tactile exploration. "I want to hear about the stairs. But I also want a good look at the woman you love."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  The woman he loved.

  Unable to stop himself, he looked over his tiny grandmother at Gracie, but she'd closed her eyes. And smiled. Marguerite stroked a finger over a single spot on Gracie's cheek. Was that why she was smiling? Or was it in response to the words that hung in the air?

  "Oh!" the older woman exclaimed with a tiny burst of surprise. "You have dimples."

  This time Gracie looked up and winked at him.

  "Yeah," Colin agreed, meeting her gaze. "She's basically the prettiest girl you've ever seen, Marguerite."

  "Oh, that's obvious," Marguerite replied.

  Gracie's smile turned self-conscious, and she shook her head as though they were both out of their minds. "Are you hungry, Marguerite?" she asked. "We have a little treat for you.

  His grandmother nodded and her eyes lit up like a little child's. "Yes, please! They gave me something dreadful and green for lunch. I'd simply cry for chocolate. My sweet tooth is screaming at me."

  Gracie chuckled. "We have just the cure for that." She went to the cooler and waved a hand at Colin. "Tell her about the staircase while I get the chocolate mousse."

  "Chocolate mousse?" Marguerite's voice went up half an octave with delight. "Oh, this is my lucky day."

  As Colin explained Gracie's idea—and it was brilliant—for reproducing the one-of-a-kind colonial staircase in Pineapple House, Gracie helped Marguerite quiet her sweet tooth.

  He tried to concentrate on describing the stair design, but watching this classy, beautiful woman spoon-feed high-end pudding to Marguerite blew his concentration. In fact, the sight of them together did the stupidest things to his insides. His heart, in particular, felt heavy and full. And his throat kept closing up.

  Where did he ever get the impression that Grace Harrington was a cold, stuck-up rich girl who looked down at him? She was nothing of the sort. She had a heart of pure gold and a soul as gentle as spring wind. She was kind, patient, funny, sensual, bright, unselfish and real. She was … the woman he loved.

  "She's asleep," Gracie whispered, pulling him out of his reverie. She carefully dabbed the older woman's lips. "We've tired her out with the technology of staircases, I'm afraid."

  He looked at her, his heart damn near ready to explode the way his body did when he was inside her. What was going on? What were these words that were ridiculously close to spilling from his lips?

  This was insane. He'd fallen in love. Only one thing could happen now. She'd betray him. Wouldn't she?

  He knew that. Hadn't that been the one lesson his mother had taught him as a child? Love meant betrayal, pain and loss. And a lifetime of hurt.

  "What's the matter, Colin?" She reached over and touched his hand. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm just—" He shook his head and said the only thing he ever could when asked a question. The truth. "I'm scared."

  She squeezed his hand, a definite dampness filling her eyes. "I know. But she's lived a long life and you've done so much to make her even happier. And she just might see that groundbreaking party. You never know."

  "Yeah, you're right," he said, snapping out the light so Marguerite could rest. With an effort, he swallowed the words that threatened to wreck his carefully protected shell. He managed three different words. "You never know."

  * * *

  Ten

  « ^ »

  It seemed as if Colin couldn't drive any faster to get them home. He zipped his little sports car around the turns of Newport and accelerated through every intersection. His hand rested firmly on Grace's leg, moving only to shift gears and immediately returning to a solid grip.

  Since they'd left Willow House, he'd been distant and distracted, his eyes as stormy as whatever emotional disturbance was brewing inside him.

  Scared, he'd said. Obviously, he loved his grandmother, loved the connection to a side of the family he'd never known. He'd admitted that much during one of their long conversations. But it really didn't make sense to be scared. Marguerite was well into her nineties. She wasn't in pain or misery. Oddly enough, the older woman seemed to accept the end of her time on earth more easily than Colin did.

  Was he scared he might not complete her dream, might not have the opportunity to see Pineapple House built?

  The thought reminded her once again of the sickening secret she was keeping from him. There was no way she could let this go on. He had to know. Then they could be even more determined—together—to ensure that even if her father somehow fixed the bidding, H&H would go in with Pineapple House. But even as she harbored that fantasy, she knew the truth.

  He was going to be furious. Especially now that she'd let a week pass. She had to tell him. Now.

  She glanced at him, noting the set of his jaw, the slight frown th
at creased his forehead. So she remained silent, letting the wind whip around the convertible, filling the air between them with the salty, September tang of the sea. There was no sun, just thick, gray cloud cover that left the chill of impending rain.

  She felt, rather than heard him sigh as he pulled into the driveway of Edgewater's carriage house and parked the car next to her Audi.

  "Back to work?" she asked tentatively, imagining a quiet hour in the studio to break the news.

  He turned to her, his expression serious and unwavering as his gaze dropped over her face. He regarded her with the same intensity she'd seen when they made love, when all defenses were down and he lost himself in a moment of sexual satisfaction.

  "I'm going to take a walk." His voice rasped with the announcement.

  She had to tell him. Now. Regardless of his pensive mood. "I'll come with you."

  He glanced at her, a light of surprise in his eyes, then he looked up at the sky. She'd just seen the shadows of precipitation in the rain-laden clouds. They'd get soaked if they walked for more than ten minutes. "All right," he said simply.

  She silently thanked him for not insisting she change from her denim skirt and flat shoes, because she was certain if she'd gone into the house, he'd be gone when she returned. She wiggled her toes, confident that she could navigate the rocks and ledges in loafers and tugged at the hem of her fitted skirt. She'd be fine. She'd risk a little discomfort not to lose this opportunity.

  After he'd closed up the car, they joined hands and took the familiar route to the gated entrance to Cliff Walk. Grace untied the cotton sweater she had knotted around her shoulders and pulled it over her head, grateful for some protection against the ocean breeze. Autumn was descending in a big hurry over Newport, sending the temperatures below seventy on a cloudy day.

  "It seems like winter's coming faster this year," she said, only to make conversation, as they navigated the first smooth ledge of the Walk.

  "Yeah."

  He didn't want to talk, she could tell. So she clamped her lips together and decided to wait until the right moment. His mood still seemed somber, anyway. And she sure wasn't about to improve it.

  They made their way over some jagged rocks, descending a few broken steps to the regular path, which was deserted on this weekday afternoon in the fall. They had passed one other couple deep in conversation, but Grace couldn't see anyone else for the whole section of Cliff Walk ahead of them. She glanced at the threatening sky again, but resisted the urge to comment on it.

  The wind picked up, slicing her bare legs with a sudden whipping chill. She concentrated on her feet, determined not to trip on the irregular rocks.

  They walked for fifteen minutes to Rough Point Bridge, where the locals were known to say the real Cliff Walk adventure began. Grace had been there before, but the view of waves crashing below into swirling blue-black water never failed to impress her. They paused for just a second on the rickety metal, just long enough for a few fat drops of rain to hit them.

  "Here it comes," she said, holding out a palm to the sky. "We'd better get to one of the tunnels."

  There were at least three passages dug into the rocky cliffs within a five-minute walk, all built as access for residents from the various mansions and homes along Cliff Walk.

  "Gull Rock is the closest," Colin said, raising his face to the silvery sky as several drops hit his cheeks, forming rivulets over the dark stubble. "We can go there until it clears."

  Yet he made no effort to leave the bridge, even as the velocity of the drops hitting them increased.

  "Are you going to tell me what's on your mind?" she finally asked.

  Saying nothing, he remained perfectly still, the rain running down his cheeks like tears, an image that moved her heart as a priceless work of art would.

  His opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Yes."

  Before she could respond, he took her hand and started off the bridge, breaking into a fast walk, since running on the rocks was out of the question.

  "Come on," he urged. "Let's get to the tunnel."

  Wordlessly, they trekked as the rain increased to a steady downpour, soaking through her sweater, plastering the white tank top she wore underneath against her skin. She couldn't move as quickly as he could, and it took nearly ten minutes to reach the portal of Gull Rock Tunnel.

  They dashed into the opening, skidding along the dirt into the middle of the tunnel, which was no more than twenty feet long. Inside it was nearly black, the openings at either end providing just enough light for them to find their footing.

  Grace squeezed the water out of her hair and wiped her face with her fingers, watching Colin give his mane a solid shake that sprayed water on the walls. It seemed he was trying harder to shake something out of his head than to sluice water off his long hair.

  She leaned against the cool surface of the wall, the echo of their labored breathing bouncing around the tiny space. Suddenly, Colin turned to her, slapping his hands hard against the tunnel, on either side of her head. He looked down at her, that black turbulence still darkening his eyes, his wet hair and gold earring giving him a menacing, piratelike look.

  Grace looked up at him, not knowing whether to expect a kiss, a curse, or an explanation.

  "I am completely unprepared for this," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "I don't think I'm even capable of … this."

  She frowned, looking hard at his expression, trying to figure out what he was saying and to prevent her heart from dropping any farther into her stomach. "Of what?"

  "Of loving you."

  The words reverberated through the tunnel.

  Grace stared at him. "Of…" She couldn't repeat them. She waited for him to say it again.

  "I want you to understand something." He dipped his face lower, near enough to kiss her, but he just consumed her with one long, black, hungry gaze. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the heat of his body practically creating steam against her soaked clothes and hair. "I'm not the man for you."

  She resisted the sudden urge to seize him by the collar, shake him and kiss him, tell him how wrong he was, but managed to find a shaky voice. "I think I am the person to decide that."

  "No," he insisted, giving his head one violent shake. "You can't—you don't know what—"

  She couldn't stop herself. Her fingers curled around the wet fabric of his shirt and she yanked him into her. "Why would you sabotage this, Colin? Can't you even give us a chance?"

  He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. When he finally looked at her, the storm in his eyes had subsided just as the one outside became more insistent.

  "Gracie, I don't believe in the kind of love you have dreams of finding. You know how some people don't believe in God, or they don't believe in—in…" He shook his head in frustration. "They don't believe in anything abstract or esoteric?"

  She just stared at him, refusing to say yes. Refusing to help him take this path. Don't do this, Colin. She bit her lip and listened, willing her heart not to break.

  "Well, I don't believe in that concept of love. I think people can only love themselves. At least, eventually. Once the bloom, or whatever, wears off, people really only care about themselves and someone always gets hurt."

  Did he really believe that? Was that his mother's legacy—a lesson that you can never be loved? Surely someone in his life had shown him differently. "What about your grandmother?"

  He frowned at her. "Marguerite? What about her?"

  "No." Gracie relaxed her grip on his shirt, but didn't let go completely. "The one who raised you. She gave up her life, moved in with you, raised you and your brothers. She loves you."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "And what about your brothers? They love you. And your father. He—"

  He cut her off by banging one of his hands against the tunnel wall. "No, you're talking about family. That's different. That's unconditional and those people don't have a choice."

  A choice. Did she have a choice about this?
Without a doubt, she did not. "When you love someone, Colin, do you think you have a choice?"

  And as she said the words, the revelation washed over her, soaking her as thoroughly as the rain had. Did she really have a choice? Even if he didn't believe in love and left her the minute their imposed time together ended, wouldn't she still feel this heart-ripping emotion every time she saw his face, heard his name, thought of him? Wouldn't she rather be with Colin McGrath than with anyone else, anywhere else, in the world?

  Yes, of course. She was already in love. The choice had been made for her.

  The knowledge left her reeling, dizzy. She wanted to love him. Needed to love him. But what was he saying? That he wasn't capable of it?

  "You always have a choice," he argued, his voice rough, but his hands tender as he grasped her shoulders. "And I strongly suggest you make the right one."

  All that mattered, all that was real in that one suspended moment of time settled in a warm cloud around Grace's heart. She had given her virginity to the man she loved. She had.

  "I already made a choice," she whispered, the rain thundering against the rock overhead so loudly that she could barely hear herself speak. She gathered his shirt again and pulled him closer to her face. "I chose you."

  The certainty and rightness of it sang through her like lightning in her veins.

  She loved Colin McGrath. Loved his heart and his soul and his brain and his body. She would do anything for him, anything to be with him, anything to make his life better.

  Then she remembered the secret she'd yet to share. She had to tell him what she'd learned about her father. She couldn't profess love, with something as ugly and unspoken hanging between them. She had to tell him both truths—the good and the bad.

  "I want to tell you something," she said softly.

  He put his hand over her lips. "Don't say it."