She pounded on the unpainted door.
It suddenly banged open, and a face emerged from the shadows: dirty, weathered, streaked with wild tears.
Trevor was taken aback at the sight of a grown man sobbing. He had not seen that kind of raw pain on a man’s face since the battlefield, and it instantly brought back of flood of memories he had no desire to recall. All of a sudden, he felt physically ill.
“Oh, Miss Grace! Thank God you’ve come!”
“What’s happened?” She approached him without fear.
“It’s Nelson,” he wrenched out. “I think he’s hurt.”
“What?”
Trevor strode toward them, but foxed as he was, Tom Moody had not yet noticed him.
“What happened?” Grace asked quickly.
“I don’t know! It wasn’t my fault,” the dirty-faced man slurred. “He jumped up like he always does and knocked everything over, and I—”
“What did you do, Tom?”
“I kicked the damn thing! All right? And now he’s run off into the woods! He won’t came back. I think I might of broke his ribs. I didn’t mean to, ma’am, I swear. You know I love that dog. He’s all I got. But now he’s gone. I keep callin’. He won’t come back. Won’t you please help me find him?”
Grace was saying soothing things, trying to get control of the situation, but Trevor just stood there, numb. Frozen. The man’s despair had turned his blood to ice water in his veins.
When he saw the peg leg that probably explained why the town drunk could not get very far in searching the woods himself for the dog, the realization sank in that this man was probably a veteran. He had an instant, sickening suspicion that Tom Moody was one of the few survivors from Colonel Avery’s regiment.
He lowered his gaze, fighting against an unwanted sense of kinship to this broken man, this lost soul.
But for the grace of God.
Suddenly, Trevor felt a million miles away, jarred into a cold, detached frame of mind that he’d not had occasion to use in the past several months. A dark, emotionless state that was all about simply getting the job done, whatever it was.
Grace glanced twice at him, her soothing words to Moody breaking off midsentence. “Trevor?”
“How long has the dog been gone?” he heard himself ask in a clipped staccato.
“Who’s this?” Tom Moody asked Grace, dragging his tear-filled gaze away from her to Trevor.
“Our new neighbor, Lord Trevor Montgomery. He bought the Grange.”
“Can ye help me find my dog, sir? He’s a good dog.”
“Which way did he go?” he asked in a deadened tone.
Moody gestured toward a path that opened into the woods. “That way.”
“How long ago?”
“Only about ten minutes or so.”
Trevor nodded, but he had to get away from this man, right now. As if Tom’s brokenness was catching.
It was as though, deep in the back of his mind, he could hear a hurricane howling in the night black distance, and he knew it was coming for him.
Perhaps that was why he had never married Laura. Perhaps he’d always known that when the storm in him broke, it would blow her away. Blow his perfect house down. Ruin everything. And then he would have been trapped under the ruins for the rest of his life.
“Trevor?” Grace asked softly, searching his face. “Are you all right?”
“Of course. Stay here.” He glanced warily at Grace. “I’ll be back.” With that, he pivoted and headed for the woods, every muscle in him taut and bristling.
“I’m coming with you!”
He could hear her following but did not look back. “Please don’t.”
“Trevor, what’s wrong?” Grace demanded, striding after him toward the path into the woods.
He knew it was no use denying that he was out of sorts, but there was no way in hell he was telling her the truth. He stared straight ahead. “I don’t like people that hurt animals.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Go and wait in the carriage. If the dog is too badly hurt, I may have to kill it. You don’t want to see that.”
She fell behind in dismay, watching him march off like a wooden soldier.
Grace had never seen that look on his face before.
Anxious as she was about the dog, she was more worried at the moment about Trevor. Something about this situation had obviously struck a nerve.
If the drunkard had indeed accidentally killed his dog, she did not know how she was going to stop Trevor from killing him.
From the direction of the woods, she could hear him calling the dog’s name. They said that animals could sense a human’s emotions; even if Nelson were able to move, Grace doubted the dog would be eager to risk coming out to face another angry man.
On the other hand, the smell of food might help to lure the frightened animal out of hiding. Picking up the hem of her skirts, she hurried back to the cart and fetched the last jar of soup. She had, of course, brought it for Tom, but the best way to help the weeping drunkard at the moment was to locate his dog. The poor man was inconsolable.
Praying they would not find the lovable little spaniel too badly injured, Grace carried the jar of soup into the woods. Keeping to the path, she followed the sound of Trevor’s voice through the green, leafy shadows.
“Nelson! Here boy!”
Grace was not sure what was going on inside his mind, but clearly, their visit here had affected him deeply. When she caught up to him, he sent her a dark glance, but she lifted the jar of soup to show him she had brought it to lure the dog.
He gave a begrudging nod and moved on.
She followed him through the woods while he continued using his tracking skills to find the animal. Leaves crackled underfoot, twigs snapping as they forged a path through the underbrush, following little more than a deer path. “Nelson!” They both kept on calling the dog.
Trevor held a branch aside for her; Grace picked her way along behind him over the uneven ground, no easy feat in long skirts.
“I wonder if we should spread out?”
“No need.” He stopped. “He’s in there.” He pointed to a low, horizontal crevice like a fox’s den in the little rocky hillside. “Nelson?”
Trevor took the soup from Grace and even as he approached, calling the animal’s name, she saw a black-and-pink-speckled nose poking nervously out of the den.
“Here, Nelson. Good boy,” he greeted the dog in a gentle tone, slowly setting the soup on the ground in front of the little cave. He pried off the lid and the odor floated into the air. “Come out and see us, boy,” he coaxed the frightened animal. “How are you doing in there? Let us have a look at you. Come on, now.”
Grace scaled the steep angle of the little hill. “Here, Nelson. Remember me? Come out, boy. We’re here to help you.” She approached quietly and crouched by Trevor’s side outside the mouth of the miniature cave.
From within, Nelson let out a small whine.
“I know, boy. It’s cruel,” Trevor said softly, putting out his hand so the dog could smell him.
They still couldn’t see the dog’s body as Nelson cowered in his hiding place. Grace waited with a cold knot of fear in the pit of her stomach for the dog to emerge so they could learn the extent of his injuries.
“Good boy, it’s all right now,” Trevor was soothing him.
“How can someone do this? All the creature wanted was to be his friend,” Grace whispered, tears welling up unexpectedly in her eyes.
Trevor shook his head, mute.
Then the brown-and-white spaniel came slinking out of the fox’s den with another pitiful whine, his head low, his feathered tail wagging nervously.
But his head was hung low with visible canine sorrow, and he only took a few steps, hunched with either pain or fear, before droppi
ng submissively at Trevor’s feet.
He licked his nose anxiously and, with his great, brown, soulful eyes, stared at them as if waiting for them to explain why this had been done to him.
“He’s hurt,” Grace whispered, knowing Tom’s fear was confirmed.
“It’s all right, boy. Let me check you now,” Trevor forced out.
Grace petted the dog’s head to calm and comfort him while Trevor ran his hands over the animal, searching for any broken bones. It rather surprised her that the dog allowed him to do this, though Nelson nosed his hand away when Trevor touched his rib cage.
“Hold his head more firmly,” he instructed her. “If his ribs are broken, he might’ve punctured a lung.”
“Be careful, don’t hurt him.” Half-blinded by tears, Grace captured the dog’s head gently between her hands. She distracted Nelson, giving him a tender scratch under his floppy ears, while Trevor examined his rib cage more closely.
The dog obviously didn’t like it, but at least he didn’t yelp or whine or try to nip either of them.
“You’re a good dog,” she whispered over and over, but Trevor was silent, concentrating on his task.
She could not think of anyone with whom she’d have rather faced this nerve-racking moment. Trevor had clearly been upset before, but then when it came down to the moment, he seemed to take the crisis in his stride.
Grace was just the opposite. She had been fine before, but now that she saw the gentle, innocent dog cowering in pain, she felt like she was falling apart inwardly, trying to hold back tears and losing the battle after all the pointless suffering that she had seen today.
Why did life have to hurt so much? Why was there so much ugliness, and what was the point in trying to go against it? The darkness was too deep. Surely, she was a fool to waste her life in a losing battle. A tear fell from her eye onto the dog’s head.
Thankfully, Trevor didn’t notice. He ran his hands carefully over the dog’s spine and down each leg, then he finally let out a sigh of relief.
“No breaks that I can feel,” he finally announced in a low tone. “Poor little fellow, he’s been pretty well beaten up, but I think he’s going to be all right. No guarantee a few of the ribs aren’t cracked. They obviously hurt him, but maybe they’re just bruised. Been there myself, boy. Not very comfortable, is it?” he murmured, stroking the dog’s head. “No blood on him. But if Moody kicked him in the belly, we’ll have to keep an eye on him to see if there’s any organ damage.”
Grace was so grateful for this news, she couldn’t get a word out. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so overcome, but her voice was blocked by the lump in her throat. She pressed her lips together, holding back a stupid sob. What on earth was wrong with her?
Trevor still hadn’t noticed her discomposure, fortunately. She was, after all, supposed to be the strong one.
Always.
Without fail.
She was Grace bloody Kenwood.
“Poor Nelson. Let’s hope he lives up to his namesake—Grace?” Trevor asked abruptly as a pair of tears dripped from her eyes without warning and fell onto his hand as he was petting the dog.
At the same moment that a small sob wrenched past her lips.
“Grace,” he said wonderingly.
She turned away and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, but it was no use. She simply crumbled.
Trevor stared at her, taken aback. The woman he knew as a tower of strength was weeping uncontrollably.
Her shoulders shook; she kept herself turned away, as though trying to hide the obvious from him. She took her fist off her mouth for a gulp of air amid a tangled sob, but still refused to turn to him.
His brow furrowed in bewilderment, Trevor laid his hand gently on her shoulder. “Grace, Nelson’s going to be all right.”
“It’s not that. Please—never mind me,” she choked out. “I’ll be fine in a moment, really—”
“Tell me what’s the matter,” he said softly.
She looked at him in bewilderment. “I just d-don’t understand. Why does there have to be so much pain a-and brutality? First all those people we saw today, and now this. The suffering, it’s endless,” she wrenched out. “I mean, if a man can do that to a poor innocent dog, a dog that loves him, what hope is there for any of us?”
“Come here,” he whispered, pulling her into his arms.
The green woods whispered around them as they knelt in the dirt, embracing. Trevor shut his eyes, firmly cradling her head with his hand while she soaked his shoulder with her tears. “Shh, it’s all right. I know,” he whispered. “You’ve been strong for everyone for so long, haven’t you? I’m here now. You go ahead and cry.”
Grace scarcely knew what had come over her.
This sudden storm of emotion was totally unlike her, but as she clung to him, still haunted by the pain on all those faces, the ex-assassin comforted her with the utmost tenderness, stroking her hair and her back, hushing her and speaking soft nonsense in soothing tones, while the sobs racked her.
She was well aware that he knew the darkness of this world all too well. Indeed, it had touched him, marked him, as she had seen for herself by the hatred in his eyes on the night of the Lievedon Ball, and his willingness to use her that night as a plaything. She also recalled what George had said, about how Order agents knew several ways to kill with their bare hands.
God only knew what all he had done in his years abroad. It unsettled her to lean so heavily in her moment of weakness on a man so expert in dealing out death, a man who had looked pure evil in the face, even unto the horrors of war. But yet, his battles against it had made him strong, while she felt boneless, melting into his embrace, devoid of strength.
Nor did she take any thought of the compromising position they were in, alone in the woods in each other’s arms. It wasn’t like that . . .
At least not until his embrace began to quiet her sobs and then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he bent his head closer and began slowly, gently kissing the salty tears from her cheeks.
The kiss, though pleasant, caught her off guard, called her attention to the very masculine hardness of his strong arms around her. Her awareness moved to the solid architecture of his broad shoulders and his muscled chest.
He caressed her hair and, still holding her, glanced at her face. He cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and wiped her tears away with his thumb.
“That’s better,” he whispered.
She slowly lifted her gaze to his, her lashes starred with tears. He looked into her eyes, then his gaze drifted down to her lips, swollen from her crying, and his pale eyes filled with anguished want. “You’re so beautiful, Grace.” His low, shaky whisper seemed to escape without his permission. “Your heart is so pure. So beautiful,” he breathed.
Grace went very still as he lowered his head. When he pressed his lips to hers, she closed her eyes in wonder, the shock of it reverberating silently through her world.
His kiss was exquisitely gentle, a silken caress of his mouth on hers.
It intoxicated her as well as brought her solace.
He paused with an anguished gaze into her eyes.
Grace thought she ought to say something, but her mind was a blank. She felt emptied of all the bottled-up grief she had been holding back for far too long.
Emptied . . . and she longed to be filled with him.
She dug her fingers into his broad shoulders as her lips parted. Trevor kissed her more deeply with a moan, his hand cupping her other cheek.
She felt the passion in him instantly ignite, just like it had that night in the darkened room at Lievedon House. His tongue glided in her mouth, and his fingers burned like fire.
Dizzied with longing, she quivered as he ran his fingers down her neck; his chest heaved against hers. She let out a small sigh as his lips left hers, however.
/> Somehow, he forced himself back a small space, as though he did not trust himself to continue. Pressing one last, lingering kiss to her brow, he released her. She came back gradually to her senses as he eased off to a safer distance.
She dragged her eyes open and stared at him as she realized that here was something beautiful and good that could make the darkness of this world bearable.
He lowered his gaze, looking as routed as she felt.
He swallowed hard. “We should get the dog back to the village,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps Dr. Bowen-Hill would take a look at him.”
“Yes,” she whispered, still dazed.
Trevor paused and sent her a probing glance full of swirling, complicated emotion. Need glittered in his pale eyes, and wariness, along with too much defiance to speak some chivalrous apology that would have been a lie.
It struck her absolutely speechless to realize this man wanted her. Her. Not some Society golden girl.
He dropped his hungry gaze and looked away; with another low clearing of his throat, he turned his attention back to Nelson, whose snout was now buried in the soup jar.
Trevor took it away from him with a rueful smile.
Meanwhile, Grace fought her way back to sanity after her strange crying spell and that brief but mind-melting kiss. She brushed the last of her tears away as Trevor pushed to his feet.
But when he offered Grace his hand to help her up, and she clasped his fingers, his touch nearly lost the battle for her again. She had a decadent vision of pulling him down on top of her. Forget about the dog. Instead, she accepted his help and stood up, her legs still shaking beneath her.
He studied her with a sharp eye. “You all right?” he murmured.
“Fine,” she managed.
He nodded, staring at her for a moment longer.
Grace couldn’t believe it. Never did she dream a man would look at her like that, call her beautiful, and certainly not a man like Lord Trevor Montgomery.
Trying to clear away the sense of unreality, she smoothed her hair while he bent down and carefully picked up the dog.
It dawned on her belatedly to be helpful. She quickly put the lid back on the soup jar—no easy task with the way her hands were trembling. Then they returned to the path and walked back without another word between them.
Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06] Page 22