Grace

by Deneane Clark

  “Stop!” Henry commanded. His loud voice boomed in the stillness. Mercy flinched and snatched back her hands. He shook his head and sighed. “You’re a rather unwelcome complication, brat.”

  “What are you doing here, Sir Harry?” Mercy asked, looking up at him in confusion. “Why did you tie Grace up?” Her hands hesitantly moved to the knots around her sister’s ankles.

  “Don’t touch those!” Henry yelled, then visibly composed himself and raised his eyebrows. “Inquisitive little twit, aren’t you?” He straightened from where he leaned against the wall and came toward them with slow, measured steps. Mercy began to shrink back, then bravely straightened her spine, mustering all the dignity she could while still seated on the filthy floor.

  Henry chuckled. “You Ackerly sisters have so much spirit, don’t you?” He stopped walking and stood before them, tapping a long finger thoughtfully on his chin. “The real question is what I should do with you now.” He shook his head regretfully. “I’ll have to give it some thought, as I have only two loaded pistols. I’d not planned on reloading. In the meantime, of course, I’m afraid I’ll have to detain you. I’m sure you understand.” He picked up a spare length of rope and bent over.

  Mercy’s mind swung instantly from confusion to alarm when she heard him mention pistols. She scrambled frantically backward in an effort to get away, but he caught her easily. He grabbed her arm in a punishing grip and shoved her back down beside her sister’s chair. “Don’t try my patience, Mercy,” he growled, his demented face inches from hers.

  Mercy’s fear and confusion abruptly vanished. She spit in his face.

  Rage instantly mottled Henry’s features; he turned a furious purplish hue in the semidarkness. Without another word he backhanded her with so much force her head snapped to the side. She cried out and tasted blood where her inner cheek split against her teeth. Never in her young life could Mercy remember anyone hitting her. With a pitiful little whimper, she subsided and allowed him to secure her to the legs of the chair with no further struggle.

  Henry stood and wiped his face. “Somebody should have taken a strap to that brat long ago,” he told Grace. He stopped suddenly and stood quite still, looking toward the window.

  Grace heard it then, too: the staccato sound of hoofbeats approaching the cabin, more than one horse, moving fast. Instantly hope soared in her heart, and she looked swiftly down at Mercy. Her dazed sister still sat with eyes downcast. Grace watched Henry bend and quickly gag Mercy with his cravat. He blew out the candle and picked up the box holding the dueling pistols. He extracted one and stashed it inside his coat, then held the other loosely in one hand as he opened the door. He gave Grace a last warning glance, then went outside.

  Henry’s eyes focused intently on the path that led from the woods. He ran to Mercy’s unsaddled horse and sent it trotting off into the trees with a sharp smack on the hindquarters. The dappled gray gelding had just disappeared from view when two riders appeared from around the bend. Hurriedly Henry hid behind his leg the hand that held the pistol. He immediately recognized Trevor Caldwell on one of the Ackerly mounts. The other man, though unfamiliar to Henry, also rode one of Bingham Ackerly’s horses. Cursing inwardly, Henry gave the men a disarming smile as they pulled up before him.

  Inside the darkened lodge, Grace pulled her hands free of the ropes she had managed to loosen when Henry left her alone earlier. She scraped the gag from her mouth, then bent down and went to work on the ropes at her ankles. She winced at the burning sensation from the chafed skin on her wrists, and vaguely wondered whether she would scar. “Mercy,” she hissed urgently.

  Her sister looked up, a purpling bruise already showing on her left cheek. Her eyes widened as she saw Grace kick away the ropes that had bound her ankles then kneel to remove the gag from Mercy’s mouth.

  “My knife,” Mercy whispered as soon as she was able.

  Quickly Grace pulled out the knife Mercy habitually carried in her boot. As she heard the hoofbeats outside draw closer and stop, Grace hastily sliced through the rest of Mercy’s bonds. “Hurry,” she urged, helping the child to her feet. “Before they leave.” Together the sisters raced for the door, opened it, and stumbled outside.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Henry said with a wide smile. “Rather a dark night to be out for a ride. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Trevor studied the man. Something about his stance instinctively bothered Trevor. He looked somewhat familiar, and Trevor searched his memory, trying to place him. Finally he did. This was Sir Harry Thomas, he recalled, the soldier Grace had artfully avoided by colliding with him on the evening they met. The man he’d punched.

  “Good evening, Thomas,” he said, his eyes now scanning the surrounding tree line.“We’re looking for Mercy Ackerly. We thought we heard a scream coming from this direction.”

  “I heard it, too.” Henry nodded. “I was just coming out to investigate. I haven’t seen little Mercy, though. I was under the impression that the entire Ackerly family was in London.”

  Sebastian looked around the clearing. “Isn’t this Ackerly land?” His eyes narrowed on the unkempt lodge.

  “Why, yes, it is,” said Henry. “Bingham allows me to use this old lodge whenever I feel like hunting. Truth is, if I didn’t use it, nobody would, what with Bingham having a whole passel of daughters. Wonderful neighbors, the Ackerlys.”

  The two men on horseback nodded, then exchanged a glance and prepared to leave.“If you would, Thomas, please keep an eye out for Mercy,” said Trevor. Henry nodded again, still smiling, and stepped back toward the building.

  At that moment, the door to the cabin crashed open.

  Chapter Thirty

  Trevor’s eyes widened in shock. Sebastian froze in stunned disbelief. Both men dismounted as Grace and Mercy stumbled out of the cottage and into the moonlight. “Trevor!” Grace choked, relief evident on her face.

  Unfortunately, Henry stood between the girls and the men. At the sound of the cabin door crashing open, he spun around. In their flight from the cabin, neither Grace nor Mercy had taken notice of him standing just outside the door. They’d focused on reaching Trevor, Sebastian, and the promise of safety.

  With an angry snarl, Henry lunged for the girls. He missed Grace entirely, but caught Mercy’s wrist. Forcibly he pulled her from her sister’s grasp. Mercy gave a small, involuntary yelp as she was hauled suddenly in front of him. She stiffened, and everyone went silent. The color drained from Mercy’s face as she felt the cold, hard metal of Henry’s pistol press against her forehead.

  Grace fell, sobbing, into the refuge of Trevor’s arms, then realized she no longer grasped Mercy’s hand. She turned to look for the younger girl and gasped in horror. Henry held her little sister in front of his body like a shield. Mercy stared back at her with huge, frightened eyes.

  Sebastian took a slow step toward Henry and Mercy.

  Henry leveled his demented gaze upon the duke. “Don’t even try it,” he warned. He waved the pistol in Trevor and Grace’s direction. “Move away from that horse.”

  Grace, frozen in fear for her sister, felt Trevor tug her away from his mount. Sebastian stood his ground. Henry quickly brought the muzzle back to Mercy’s forehead. “Now!” he thundered.

  With a deep scowl Sebastian moved aside, his hawklike, reassuring eyes never leaving the young girl’s. Mercy swallowed hard and nodded imperceptibly at him. As though she had absorbed a measure of his strength, some of the fear faded from her eyes, replaced by a look of grim determination. As Grace saw her sister’s expression change, she bit her lip and clutched at Trevor’s arm.

  Carefully keeping Mercy’s body between himself and the others, Henry edged toward Sebastian’s horse. With a mocking smile he removed the barrel from Mercy’s forehead and jammed it into her ribs. She cried out in pain as he pushed her up onto the horse’s back.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” he said in a pleasant, sugary tone. “I’m sure you understand. We really must be going.
” He moved as if to swing up onto the horse behind Mercy. For just a moment the pistol pointed at the ground. Mercy saw her chance and kicked out suddenly. Instant pandemonium erupted.

  The contact of Mercy’s foot with his wrist caused Henry’s finger to tighten convulsively on the trigger. The gun discharged into the soil between the horse’s legs with a sudden loud bang. The blast erupting beneath the already skittish stallion now spooked him completely. The animal reared up in sudden fear, dumping Henry heavily to the ground. Mercy frantically clutched handfuls of the horse’s mane. Somehow she managed to hang on as the frightened horse bolted from the clearing. The loose reins flapped, useless and dangerous, around his running feet. Mercy tried unsuccessfully to seize them with her right hand while desperately hanging on with her left.

  Sebastian shot an anxious look at Trevor, who shouted, “Go!” with an outflung arm in the direction the horse had fled. Without a backward glance, Sebastian leaped on Trevor’s mount to pursue the helpless girl. Grace watched Sebastian disappear from the clearing while Trevor purposefully strode toward Henry.

  Just before Trevor reached him, Henry rolled over. He scrambled to his feet and reached inside his coat to retrieve his second pistol. Standing and drawing in one motion, he leveled the wide muzzle at Trevor’s midsection. Trevor froze.

  “Back off,” Henry snarled. Bits of grass clung to his disheveled hair, and dirt smeared his face. “Don’t make me shoot you!”

  Trevor’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he stared into Henry’s eyes with a look of pure hatred. Henry’s thumb calmly locked the hammer back, filling the taut silence with a threatening, metallic click.

  Oddly, at the ominous sound Grace felt the fear drain from her mind, replaced with calm purpose. Set and determined, she began edging away from the men, sidestepping out of Henry’s lines of fire and sight. Her eyes probed the clearing, questing, searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon. The moonlight illuminated a sharp-edged stone about the size of her fist a couple of feet away. Swiftly she bent and scooped it up. Then she spun and threw the rock in the madman’s direction.

  At Grace’s sudden movement, Henry turned toward her. Her thrown rock sailed uselessly by, and he swung the barrel of his pistol around to bear upon her. There was a change in his expression. The madman closed one eye, as if taking aim, and minutely adjusted his pistol, leveling it at Grace’s abdomen.

  Trevor sprang. His fingers locked on Henry’s arm in a steely grasp, and the momentum of his body weight and motion carried both men to the ground. The two hurled curses at each other and wrestled for control of the weapon.

  Grace stood frozen, desperate to help, paralyzed by the realization that she could not. A strangled cry tore from her throat as she heard the men grunting and swearing. She wanted nothing more than to flee, but instead she moved closer, her eyes seeking out Trevor’s face in the moonlight.

  Henry grasped the pistol firmly with both hands. Trevor kept the fingers of his left hand locked around Henry’s right wrist, pummeling his adversary’s face with his right. Blood erupted from Henry’s nose and mouth. Ignoring the blows, with a strength born of madness the man slowly brought his pistol to bear on Trevor’s face. With a mighty heave, Trevor tugged down sharply on the barrel. The weapon vanished between them. Henry kicked out and rolled atop his opponent, spitting into Trevor’s face, blinding his foe with blood and saliva.

  The second she lost sight of the weapon, Grace’s heart constricted with fear. An instant later the gun went off with a sudden, muffled bang. Her hand flew to her mouth in an impossible attempt to hold back a scream. For a long moment neither man moved. Then Trever gave a mighty push, kicking and shoving his motionless opponent from atop him. Blood covered the earl’s face and chest.

  At the sight of the stain spreading on her fiancé’s white shirtfront, Grace gasped. She raced to Trevor’s side. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down. Her hands tore at the fabric and clawed at the studs of his shirt in a terrified attempt to find the wound.

  “Grace,” he said.

  “Shhh, darling, please. Just let me look at you.” Her fumbling fingers finally managed to unfasten the uncooperative studs. With trembling hands she impatiently pushed his shirt open. Her fingers searched, roving over the bunched muscles and planes of his chest and stomach. She raised eyes filled with thankful tears to his grimly smiling ones. “It wasn’t you,” she choked out. Almost against her will, she turned toward Henry’s still figure.

  Trevor swiftly reached up and caught her face in his hands, forcing her once more to meet his eyes. “Don’t look, darling. There’s no need. You’re fine, and I’m fine, and that’s all that matters.”

  Grace began trembling all over. Trevor folded his arms tenderly about her as she buried her face in his neck. She began to feel safe once more. Against his collar she mumbled, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  He sat up and pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t be silly,” he murmured in a soothing voice, stroking her tangled hair. “Although I do wish you’d stop going to such extreme lengths to avoid becoming my wife.”

  Grace pulled back indignantly, preparing to offer heated protest, when she spied Trevor’s tender smile. “After all,” he said with a victorious smirk, “I did win our wager.”

  Grace could not be angry with him for the gentle gibe, could not even find annoyance at the fact that blood had soaked her hands and dress. She simply took his face between her hands and kissed him softly. Relief flooded through her, expressing itself in happy tears that cut stark-white paths through the dust and grime covering her cheeks. “Trevor?”

  “I know, darling.” He smiled softly. “I know.”

  They turned in unison as slow hoofbeats approached the clearing. A familiar pair emerged from the trees, mounted together on the gelding, leading the lathered stallion behind them. Mercy was laid quite comfortably across a grim-faced Sebastian’s lap, her arms wrapped happily about his neck. The duke stared fixedly ahead and looked slightly nervous. He purposely avoided looking down and seeing Mercy’s dreamy smile and luminous expression of utter adoration.

  At the sight, Trevor and Grace burst out laughing.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Ahush fell over the enormous room. The crowd stared as four of the most powerful and influential men in England solemnly took their places at the front of the church, garbed in their finest clothing. The organ was silent for a long moment as the bridal procession assembled at the back of the church. An occasional sniffle punctured the silence, either from an emotional guest or a disappointed mama who had held out a final hope for her own daughter. Then the music began again, soaring through the church, filling the enormous room with sound. One by one Patience, Faith, and Amanda walked slowly down the aisle. When they had each taken their places opposite the men, Grace appeared at the end of the aisle on her father’s arm. The pair started slowly on their journey to the front of the church. Little by little the dreadful knot that had formed in the pit of Trevor’s stomach dissolved, replaced by a feeling of warm, possessive pride.

  She was truly a vision to behold. Almost impossibly beautiful, she came toward him with regal grace, her head held high and her luminous blue eyes locked with his. I did it, he thought. Somehow I made her love me. His heart quickened at the thought, and his eyes softened with the wonder of it all. Before he knew it—though not soon enough—she stood beside him. Bingham Ackerly gently placed her small hand in his large one. Trevor smiled tenderly down at his bride, and they turned together to speak the vows that would make them man and wife.

  Grace repeated her pledge in a strong, clear voice, her eyes never leaving his. Trevor felt something wrench inside him, and when it came time for him to say his own words, his voice caught on the word love. He paused a moment, swallowed hard past the lump of emotion in his throat, and continued. Grace squeezed his hand.

  After the words were spoken, Trevor leaned over to softly kiss his wife and to whisper to her
in a voice still choked with feeling, “You look absolutely ravishing, my lady.”

  Grace gave her husband an impish little smile, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him back. She replied in a low tone of mock solemnity, “I’m very glad you approve, my lord.” She waited a heartbeat, then whispered, “I very nearly wore my Grant Radnor costume, you see.”

  The picture that statement brought to mind wrung a startled laugh from Trevor. Grace remained serenely composed. Still laughing, Trevor offered her his arm and they turned to walk together for the first time as husband and wife. And for weeks after the ceremony, those lucky enough to sit close to the aisle speculated as to why, when the Countess of Huntwick sailed blithely down the aisle, her face tranquil, her new husband walked beside her, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

  They decided to hold the lavish reception at Trevor’s town house for the sake of convenience. His ballroom, much larger than Cleo Egerton’s, would more easily accommodate such a large guest list. The town house also contained more available chambers to house the many overnight guests who had come for the ceremony.

  Grace and Trevor had stood in the receiving line for well over an hour with their attendants, Aunt Cleo, and Bingham Ackerly, when the number of arriving guests finally began to dwindle. Gratefully, Grace accepted a glass of champagne and a gentle kiss from her husband, then rubbed her cheeks where the muscles ached from the effort of continuous smiling. She took a rejuvenating sip from the glass, leaned toward Trevor, and whispered, “Would it be all right for us to leave now?”

  Trevor was pleasantly surprised. He had expected maidenly fears to have a prominent place in her mind this evening. “I think it is a bit early yet, darling. There would be talk, you know.”

  Grace sighed. “I suppose it would be rather rude,” she said. She looked around the crowded room, but brightened as a thought occurred to her. “There are a lot of people here. Perhaps we wouldn’t be missed?” She gave him a hopeful look.