by Sophia Nash
And then he noticed she was tugging at his coat sleeves. Shaking him, really. So hard he nearly fell over. The weight of his guilt had robbed him of balance. “What, Grace?”
“Answer me, damn you,” she said hoarsely.
Through the heavy snowfall, he finally noticed the trace of tears streaking her cheeks. “What did you say?”
“You know a young child would never be condemned for a calamity of this nature.”
His jaw hardened. “Yes. But when you are seven years old and a person of authority says he saw you light a lantern that you remember lighting, and when you awake with blinding smoke filling your lungs, and the screams of horses soon after filling the air, it’s not hard to believe you are entirely to blame.”
He closed his eyes, his voice fading. “And when that person, the stable master, who had only ever been sensible in the past, offered me a way to escape the persecution he insisted would soon follow, I jumped at the opportunity. Grace…you know when you told me you were craven? You know when you suggested that you always run away from everything?” He took a step away from her. “You know nothing of it.”
And then he took another step back.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” she said ominously.
“You want me to stay?”
She walked up to him and poked him in the chest. “You do not walk away from me until you answer my questions. Do you understand?”
“Whatever you want, Grace,” he said quietly. “I’ll do anything you want for the rest of my godforsaken life.”
She grabbed his arm with her small fingers in a surprisingly strong grip. “You are coming with me right now. It’s obvious there is more to this and I won’t rest until I drag every last drop of the truth from you. I will not allow you to make a fool of me thrice over, my lord.”
Feeling very much the cat being led by the mouse, he allowed her to drag him toward the far gate; candlelight from her opulent townhouse glittered in the widows on the other side.
She marched them both up the limestone stairs, her door swinging open. To his credit, the footman on duty said not a word as she proceeded to walk up the center of the staircase with him, shaking off snowflakes with every step.
He dragged his feet behind hers, wholly reluctant to involve her further in the misery that was his life.
She lowered a brass door lever on a third floor chamber door and entered. The shocked eyes of a maid registered his presence before the frail-looking miss lowered her gaze.
“Sally? Please leave us.”
“Yes, my lady.” The maid dropped a curtsy and the night rail she was laying out, and then disappeared.
“Grace…” he whispered.
“No,” she stopped him. She walked to an intricately sculpted pink marble mantel and knelt with the obvious intent of seeing to the fire, which needed building.
“Please, allow me,” he said, coming up behind her. He longed to find a shawl to warm her.
“No. I am perfectly fine. And perfectly capable of tending my own fire.”
It took her forever and a day to rearrange two logs, but Michael watched her with pride. God, how he loved her. She had no idea how much. Nor would he burden her with it, for he was terrified she would rise to the challenge of loving his wretched and unworthy hide back, and thereby ruining her own life in the process.
She rose and spread her fingers in front of the fire, but refused to look at him. “Now, you will tell me what really happened. And you will tell me why, when you were old enough to realize you would not be blamed for a fire you might have accidentally set, you did not come forward and claim your rightful place in society. A place, by the way, that would have given us similar stations in life, would it not? Did I not hear you tell Luc that that was required?”
“You have very good hearing.”
“Yes. So how long were you going to continue this farce? How long were you going to pretend that you are not part of the barbaric pack of gentlemen who send their mares to market or allow themselves to be led about like prize studs in exchange for a fortune?”
He felt strangling laughter shudder in his throat. “Uh, I was trying for forever.”
“Damn you. Tell me why you are living a falsehood.”
“Grace…how to begin?”
“I have all the time in the world.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I’ll admit there’s a part of me that wanted you to remember me as a sod less black than I am. There’s another part that has never been able to trust anyone. I think I completely lost that ability soon after the master at the foundling home allowed Rowland Manning to apprentice me when I was eleven. I was to learn a farrier’s trade in his livery stable, a struggling, mean enterprise at the time. You see, Rowland was the older brother of Howard Manning, the former master of Wallace Abbey’s stables.”
“Yes?” She still refused to look at him and he stood a few feet away, ready to leave as soon as she asked.
“Howard went to work for his brother after the fire…after he took me to the foundling home, where Rowland knew the master.”
“But why would Rowland Manning apprentice you a few years later?”
“Actually, I learned later it was Howard’s idea. He probably wanted to keep a closer eye on me.” It was so hard to get the words past his lips and his rasping voice probably betrayed his emotion. “At first when I was apprenticed, I had hoped the Mannings would…”
“Be kind to you?” she said in a more gentle tone.
“Suffice it to say, they did me a much greater favor instead,” he said with no small amount of contempt. “They taught me everything I needed to know about trust and envy and blind familial loyalty and yes, the rest of the ways of the world. Do you require more details?”
“Michael, there are to be no more lies between us.” She put more space between them by going to stand behind a pretty chaise longue, but at least she raised her beautiful eyes to meet his. “I’m going to tell you something I did this morning, but only after you tell me truthfully, this time, why you are in hiding. Surely, there is a great misunderstanding.”
He stood stock still, his heart pumping furiously in his chest. Good God, what had she done? “There’s no misunderstanding, Grace. I told you I’ve had Bow Street runners looking for me for many years. They have an excellent incentive—five thousand pounds. Make no mistake, Rowland Manning will parade out the older men still in his employ to bear witness that I am guilty.”
“But you would have all the privileges of rank to protect you, to help you. This is truly nonsensical, Michael. The House of Lords would never allow one of their own to walk to the gallows for an accident.”
He strode over to face her on the other side of the chaise longue, the back of which he gripped in his hands. “Grace, this isn’t about my father or the fire.”
They stared at each other in silence before Michael clutched his temples to ease the tension. “When I was older, I began to wonder why Howard insisted I go into hiding. I’ve never been sure, but I think he might have been stealing horses from the estate.” He returned his hands to the seat back, forcing himself not to reach for her.
“You see, my father, while ever involved with every part of the estate, might not have noticed if a horse or two went missing. We had a tremendous number. Indeed, Wallace was known for its stock.
“The abbey was everything to my father, who followed generations of great men. Every day, he worked himself to exhaustion, constantly adding, enlarging, bettering every aspect of the estate.” He paused before adding quietly, “There was a sadness to my father that I never understood, but it’s what drove him.”
“Why was he so unhappy?”
“I’m not certain. I was too young to understand most of it. But I remember hearing him cursing sometimes late at night behind the doors of his private chambers. He kept calling for Maura.”
“And who was she?”
“I don’t know. I told you my mother’s name was Lavinia.”
“Go on.”
“Well, perhaps my father caught Howard Manning in the act. Perhaps it was Howard who set the blaze.” Lost in the memory, he paused before continuing. “To be honest, it’s more likely I’ve fabricated the entire scenario in order to avoid blame.”
Her expression pained, she whispered, “Do you have any sort of proof?”
“The thing of it is that I remember seeing Howard Manning lead a few of our horses to a dark-haired wiry man as I emerged from the smoke-filled stables. I’d never seen the man before. Howard gave him the horses and then, as the other left, Manning turned and spied me. As dozens of servants emerged from the great house, he rushed me away and effectively convinced me of my guilt. I watched helplessly as the blaze consumed the stable and moved along the shared walls to the abbey.” His voice was nearly gone. “I tried desperately to go to my father as someone pulled his lifeless body from the ruins of the stable, but Manning wouldn’t let me go—he rushed me away. The image has haunted me every day of my life.”
Grace said not a word, but compassion illuminated her face. He hated having to tell her the rest.
“I told you I killed someone and then fled. It was Howard Manning, and I was five and ten years old. I refuse to natter on about it. The fact of the matter is that a man died by my hand, even if it was an accident—something Rowland Manning would refuse to believe and the other apprentices and men he employed would have been too afraid to suggest, lest Rowland cast them out. Howard was his only family and Rowland wouldn’t tolerate any truths about his brother.” Michael finished softly, “The accident ruined any chance I had of ever living a normal life or of discovering what really happened the night of that fire.”
In the growing silence that followed, he watched her eyes soften. “I believe you, Michael.”
Her faith in him was staggering. “You shouldn’t, darling. I keep trying to warn you off blackguards.”
“And I’m beginning to think you know nothing of the matter. Believe me when I tell you I’ve become quite the authority. You are but a scape-grace, finding trouble and disaster wherever you go. Luc and Quinn are more advanced cases, hardened hellions, if you will. You may only earn that rank if you allow a lady to think you will ultimately lead her to the altar. You never led me to believe that. Just the opposite, actually. You always made it abundantly clear I was not to pin my hopes on you.”
His hands were shaking and he gripped them behind himself to hide his nervousness.
“I suppose I should warn you I’ve decided that since it’s obvious I am only capable of surrounding myself with varying forms of less than ideal gentlemen for as long as I live and breathe—with the exception of my dear Lord Sheffield—I might as well stop trying so hard to lead a respectable life.”
“Grace, don’t even think it, please. Now, I’ve told you everything—the whole sordid story. Tomorrow, if not sooner, I will have to disappear again. But I’m prepared. I took the precaution earlier this week of securing a large portion of what Sam left to me. I had a notion…And no, I won’t tell you where I’m going. If I’m very lucky I might even be able to surreptitiously sell Brynlow without revealing my whereabouts.”
“Michael?”
“Yes, my love?”
“I’ve never risked a single ha’penny in my life. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do—”
“We are both going to have to risk something—give up something that is integral—if this is to work.”
“If you think you could ever offer up something to force Rowland Manning to drop this matter, you know nothing about the nature of the man. I would sooner see you face a pit of vipers than have you come within a thousand feet of the sort of malice Manning is capable of. He is a man bent on revenge. I know this because he’s increased the reward for my apprehension over the years.” He shook his head. “Grace, you are not going to risk a bloody thing.”
“I think it’s really you who is afraid to risk something, Michael. But I will make an allowance for that. I would probably feel similarly if every person I’d depended on had led me toward disaster. I’ve at least had Lord Sheffield, and Ata, and my friends.”
Her words were killing him, and he finally understood her disdain for pity. He wanted none of it. He opened his mouth but she stayed him with her hand.
“And, Michael? Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. It’s already done. And I don’t want to hear a single one of your arguments. You lost that right when you lied to me—all for your noble reasons. There is only one condition I require. If it is met then you owe me the courtesy of following through with my plans.”
He knew the whole bloody mess was his fault. “What is the stipulation?”
“Your heart must be fully, irrevocably, and truly engaged. And don’t think you can lie to me again. I swear if you do, I shall stand next to Saint Peter at the pearly gates and call the hounds of hell myself if you arrive after me.”
The horrible urge to laugh and cry came over him. “Sweetheart…this is but another indication that I’m a very bad influence on you. You’re losing your trusting nature, and you’re also hinting of terrible risk. Are you not the young lady who detests wagering of any sort? Please don’t suggest you’re contemplating driving toward disaster with me.”
“Actually, I’m contemplating riding toward disaster, since everyone would recognize my carriage.”
“Grace, will you tell me what you did? I would go before the House of Lords or to gaol itself before allowing you to place yourself in harm’s way.”
“No. It’s out of the question for the moment. I had thought we would have to go away—quite possibly for good. I’d thought we might leave everyone we knew behind us if you were ever discovered. Everything, except for my fortune, that is. We might have made a new life for ourselves. I was even thinking about Scotland. Had thought you would be very safe there. But now…”
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t think you fully understand the power behind your title if we can manage to have it restored and if we can find evidence against the Mannings.”
“Don’t you think I’ve thought about this every bloody day since I was old enough to figure Howard Manning might be at fault? Grace, it’s impossible. It would be my word against Rowland Manning’s—who, may I remind you again, is one of the most influential men in England. In the end, two facts stand out—any remaining servants from Wallace Abbey would admit that I had been reprimanded for leaving lighted lanterns in the stable, and secondly—Manning hands would say that I killed Howard. More importantly, I do not want to ever publicly admit my true identity.”
“But why?”
“If I did, a terrible blot of shame would rest forevermore on the honorable Wallace name. My beloved father would not have wanted me to sully the published family records of generations of indomitable Wallaces with my terrible history. And above all else I won’t tarnish your name by association. As it stands, the murder charge was issued using the name Howard and Rowland invented for me when they took me to the foundling home. And Rowland has every reason to keep my true identity a secret. In fact, it’s the only thing we agree on.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then ignored every last thing he had just said. “We might not have to go away forever. But we need time alone—away from here to consider all of this very carefully.”
Michael could stem the desire to reach for her no longer. “Grace, please darling, no more. I can’t argue against you any longer. I’m no good for it. For Christ sakes, at the very least stop using this chaise as a barrier to keep me from you.”
“I’m not using it to keep you from me.”
“Then what are you using it for?”
“To be able to continue standing.”
“Pardon me?”
She reached behind her to retrieve the Morning Post and handed it to him. “After I wrote a letter to the solicitors for this cottage villa outside of London to secure it for us, Rosamunde took me to
Ranelagh gardens again to go riding since I needed the practice if we’re to ride away from here. I hadn’t realized how sore my limbs would become. Oh, and I used an alias when I arranged to lease the cottage for a twelve month.”
It was as if she were speaking a foreign language. And she was far too calm.
“You know, for a sheltered female who was raised to live with propriety and restraint, you’ve certainly displayed a masterful hand at deceit and trickery. An alias, sweetheart? Running away with a fugitive to—” he glanced at the folded paper “—Ivy Cottage in Berkshire? What next?”
“I think that will do quite nicely until we decide if we shall fight this or leave permanently.”
He would never let her leave her world forever. He wasn’t even sure if he could let her leave it temporarily. But he wasn’t such a saint that he could leave her here right now.
“Grace…”
“Yes?”
He walked around the chaise and finally enfolded her in his arms, whispering into her hair, “Thank you. No one has ever…” The words stuck in his throat.
“I guess that means I’ve earned your admiration. Finally. Well, I was certainly never going to do it in the kitchen.”
“Grace, you’ve never had to try and impress me. I’ve been in awe since the day you let me sew you up with nary a peep. Well,” he smiled against her rose-petal-soft skin, “perhaps there was a wee word of protest. But there was not a single tear.”
She turned in his hawkish embrace and raised her arms, barely tall enough to reach around his neck.
“Grace?”
“Mmmm?”
“I would like more than anything to stay here and forget the outside world. But perhaps it would be best if you returned to Helston’s party. Perhaps, I should go.”
“No.” She dragged her soft, soft lips across his.