Behind him, Tarik winked at her and closed the door behind him. Moments later, she heard the carriage clatter down the lane. Michael looked at the closed door. Obviously, he had heard the carriage leave as well.
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Tarik said you were sick and needed me to come get you.” He looked her up and down. “Obviously, that was a lie. What are you about, Grace?”
Grace. Not Gracie. “I asked Tarik to bring you here.”
He dropped his arms to his sides and pushed way from the doorjamb. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“I think it’s a marvelous idea.”
“We’ve already discussed everything.”
“Not nearly everything.”
He stared at her for several beats. “Did you not hear anything I said to you earlier today?”
“I heard everything you said to me.”
“It’s over, Grace.”
“That’s what you claim.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re not cooperating.”
“You thought I would?”
He huffed out a breath. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Love me. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you, Michael. Just love me.”
“I do love you, Grace.”
“You love me so much you want to eject me from your life?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“I know. I know exactly what the complications are.”
“You think you do, but you would be wrong.”
“Would I?”
“Yes. You would.”
“You feel that you aren’t good enough for our marriage anymore.”
His face tightened.
“You believe that you aren’t the same man I married.”
He glanced away, that jaw muscle working again.
“You’re wrong. I don’t care if you’re different. Inside, you’re the same man I fell in love with and married. The other things? They don’t matter.”
“They do matter. I can’t write. I can’t concentrate on anything for any length of time. I can’t remember half of what I used to.”
“And?”
His look was incredulous. “And? What do you mean by and? Do you want a complete list of my failings?”
“Is that what you think they are? Failings?”
“What would you say? That they’re advantages?”
“I would say they’re…” She searched for the right word. “Quirks.”
“So I’m an oddity. Something to be stared at and talked about.”
“Now you’re putting words in my mouth. They’re a part of what you are, just like your black hair and your green eyes. Nothing more.”
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand. You just won’t let me in. You won’t let me help you.”
“Won’t let me help you? You prompt me when I don’t remember a name. You find everything I lose. You used to write my letters for me.”
A thought leaped into her mind. “Who helped you write the letter to your solicitor?”
“Henderson.”
“You allowed your secretary to write a letter to your solicitor asking to set your wife up in a townhouse in London? I don’t believe you. There is no letter, is there, Michael?”
“There will be.”
Such a feeling of relief swept through her that she almost leaned against the wall. He hadn’t contacted his solicitor. At least not yet. She had an open window of time, and she planned to take full advantage of it.
“Stay with me tonight, Michael.”
“Grace—”
“Just one night. Tomorrow is another day.”
“My mind is made up. Tomorrow won’t change anything.”
She wanted to challenge him on that but, wisely, held her tongue. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t change anything, but the next day might, or the day after that. She could see the war raging inside him and rejoiced that there was a war at all. She would let him come to his own decision; she had made hers. She wasn’t letting him leave without fighting until she had no breath left in her.
“What am I going to do with you, Grace?”
She looked up at him with a faint smile. “Make love to me.”
He shook his head. “You are incorrigible.”
“I’m fighting for us, Michael. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“You think making love will make a difference?”
“It can’t hurt.”
“You’re so much better off without me.”
“And that is where we disagree. I’m so much more with you.”
“I’ve brought nothing but pain to you. Pain and heartache.”
“I suffered pain and heartache when I thought you were dead. I was half a person in that year, moving through life but not truly living it. It was like…” She paused to put her thoughts in order. “It was like the color was sucked out of my world. Everything was black and white, the sound dimmed, the joy gone. When you returned, the color and sound returned as well. Since then you’ve brought me nothing but joy.”
His face contorted into a grimace, and he turned on his heel to walk to the other side of the room. Grace followed but stopped just short of touching him.
“It’s so damn difficult,” he whispered. “Every day I wake up thinking my life will be back to what it was, that all of this…was a horrid dream. But then I look at something as simple as a fork and can’t remember the name of it. I try to read Roberts’s report, and I take two or three times to decipher it. Things never change, day in and day out. Endlessly.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to live inside your body, nor do I pretend to.”
“Inside…I feel different.” He turned to face her. She was taken aback by the raw desolation on his face. “I want that man back.”
“What if he never comes back? Can you live with that?”
Fear flashed in his eyes, a fear that made Grace’s stomach clench.
“Can you, Michael?”
“I don’t know.”
She was treading somewhere she’d never contemplated visiting. She had no idea how to proceed. She had to trust in her love to guide her. “Why were you at the lake today?”
He glanced away, his body tight, his hands clenched at his sides.
Her fear settled around her, making her weak and frightened in a way she’d never been before. “Why?” The question came out in a hoarse whisper.
“I went for a boat ride to clear my mind. To get away from the activity at the house.”
She swallowed, not believing him. “And did you clear your mind?”
He drew in a deep breath. “I believe so.”
She was afraid to ask the next question—terrified, really. “And what conclusion did you come to?”
“That I’m weak. Spineless. That I don’t have the courage I thought I did.”
“The courage for what?”
He looked her in the eye. “To end everything.”
Grace blew out the breath she’d been holding. The statement wasn’t as shocking as it should have been, because she had suspected his motivation. “Maybe you have more courage than you think.”
“You are endlessly optimistic, aren’t you?”
“It takes courage to face your demons, and I believe that is what you did on that lake. You faced your fears and decided they weren’t as horrible as you believed them to be.”
“Or maybe I was a coward and couldn’t do what needed to be done.”
“I don’t think you believe that. What brought you back to shore, Michael?”
“You did.”
She lifted her brows. “Me? I thought you wanted to leave me, and yet you tell me I was the one who saved you.”
“You always were smarter in an argument.”
Because I’m fighting for us. “That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, damn you. You saved me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No, but it will do. Tell me why you wan
t to write to your solicitor.”
He looked away and cursed in Russian. “I don’t want you to leave, Gracie, but I want you to be happy.”
She took a step closer, close enough to touch his arm. His muscles were tight, belying the tension humming through him. “I am happy. I wish you would believe that.”
“I saw you speaking to Timmons. You don’t laugh like that with me.”
“I will. There will come a day when we will laugh again.”
“My optimistic Grace.”
“Not optimistic. Just truthful.”
He bent his head and his shoulders shook. It took a moment for her to realize he was crying. Her brave husband was crying, and it broke her heart. Tears filled her eyes, and she wrapped him in her arms.
He put his head on her shoulder and pulled her tightly against him as if clinging for his very life. She’d come so close to losing him again. The terror threatened to overtake her, but she wouldn’t let it.
She let him cry, her heart shattering with each sob that shook both of their bodies. And she held him tightly, afraid to loosen her hold. Afraid he would slip through her fingers like smoke, and she would not be able to catch him.
“I love you, Michael.” She repeated those words. Over and over and over. Willing him to believe it, forcing him to hear her. Maybe, if she said it enough, the words would penetrate and her love would be enough to save him.
Chapter Thirty
Michael quietly slid out of bed. They had not made love after all. Both had cried while holding each other until there were no more tears left and they had fallen into an exhausted sleep in each other’s arms. It had been nice, holding Grace like that, comforting her for once instead of the other way around. It didn’t stop his dark thoughts, and it didn’t quite change his mind that she was better off without him, but it had been nice.
In the drawing room, he stirred the embers in the grate, hoping to bring some warmth into the room. The thought of Grace living in such a cold, drafty house sparked his anger.
Michael moved the ottoman close to the flames and stared into them. He still felt he didn’t deserve Grace. She was so stubborn that she didn’t see what he saw. And she was so loyal that she refused to believe him when he said their marriage was over.
Is your marriage over?
His heart’s desire whispered across his conscience. He tried to ignore it, to push it away, but it persisted.
He loved her. That was not in dispute.
But it was because of his love that he wanted to sever their relationship.
She deserved happiness, and he was certain he could not provide it.
You made her happy once, you can do it again.
He stood and rubbed his hands along his trousers, feeling stifled. Now that he’d stirred the fire, it was too warm.
He made his way outside and looked up at the clear skies and the stars that twinkled down on him. He swallowed, his fear overpowering. He wanted to live. He wanted to make Grace happy. He wanted to stay with her, but he didn’t know how.
He didn’t know how to become the man he once was.
He wasn’t certain he could become that man again.
He felt so different these days. As if a part of him was gone and other parts irrevocably altered.
He breathed in the deep air and found himself in front of Grace’s now empty conservatory, where she had spent so many hours digging in the dirt and sorting through her seeds. Had it been her solace after his death? Had she come here to be alone? To think?
“What do I do?” he whispered to himself. “How do I make this right?”
By leaving her? Or by staying?
Something flickered in the reflection of the glass panes of the conservatory. An orange light that caught his attention. He stared at it, lost in his thoughts. Until he realized that it was unnaturally bright and the orange light should not be there.
He spun around to find flames dancing in the windows of the drawing room.
“No,” he whispered, his heart clenching. “No!” he screamed as he ran toward the house.
His knee buckled and he fell, realizing that he’d left his cane by the side of the bed. Pushing up from the ground, he stumbled to the house.
It seemed the flames were contained in the drawing room. Grace had said something about the chimney not pulling the smoke as it should. Damn it, he should have had it cleaned right away. Right on top of that thought came the memory that they had equipped the house with gas lighting. When those flames hit the gas, the house would blow.
“Grace!” He screamed her name even though he was certain she could not hear him. Her bedroom was on the other side of the house, facing the lane.
It seemed to take forever for him to reach the house, but when he did, the heat from the fire had him stumbling back a few steps. The roar of it was monstrous. He hoped it had awakened Grace and that she had made her way outside to the front of the house. Briefly, he contemplated running around to the front to see if she was there, but if she wasn’t, then he would have wasted precious time in getting to her.
Instead, he put his head down and plunged through the kitchen door. Thick black smoke obscured everything. He felt his way through the kitchen.
Thank the Lord there were no servants here.
But good God, if he didn’t get to Grace in time…
He stopped that thought before it fully formed.
The acrid smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed as he plowed through it and stumbled into the back hall, where more smoke floated above the floor.
Orange light flickered from beneath the closed door of the drawing room. How much time did he have?
He raced up the stairs. He didn’t have enough breath to call out her name. He was choking on the smoke, suffocating. He ran his hands along the wall, counting the doors as he went. The floor beneath him was becoming warm. His fear that the floor would collapse propelled him forward.
Something brushed up against his arm, and he grabbed hold of the soft flesh of Grace’s upper arm.
“Grace.”
“Michael.”
Through the swirling smoke, he caught glimpses of her. She had dressed in her white nightgown and robe, allowing him to see her better.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
“Fire. In the drawing room. Get out.” He grasped her arm more firmly and turned around, running his hand along the wall in search of the railing that would lead them down the steps.
Finding Grace had been a stroke of luck. They easily could have passed each other without even realizing it.
An explosion rocked the house, throwing him to the floor. He held tight to Grace and pulled her down with him, rolling so that he could tuck her underneath him. The force of the explosion knocked the breath out of him, and for a moment he lay there, dazed.
The flames must have reached the gaslights in the drawing room, which meant they had only moments before it spread to the rest of the house.
He scrambled to his feet, pulling Grace up. “Are you hurt?”
She was coughing so hard that she could not speak. Once again he changed direction, heading back to the bedroom. Their only hope now was the windows. The stairway would be blocked, the entire downstairs engulfed in flames.
Grace stumbled along beside him as they entered the bedroom. He unlocked and lifted the sash and stuck his head out to gulp in fresh air.
A ledge ran the length of the house, wide enough that they could stand on it. It would be dangerous, but they had no choice. He threw one leg over the sill.
“What are you doing?” Grace pulled on his arm as if to bring him back in.
“No choice.”
He balanced one foot on the ledge and carefully drew his other foot out until he was leaning against the outside wall. He reached in for Grace. She hung back, her eyes wide as she looked at the ledge he was asking her to stand upon.
“Hurry,” he bit out.
She disappeared from the window, and then one bare foot poked out, toes searching
for the ledge. She ducked her head through and carefully pulled the other leg out. Michael grabbed her hand as they pressed their backs against the wall.
From here, it was a sheer drop down.
Fire shot out from shattered windows just one floor below. Desperate and terrified, Michael scooted to the right, trying to get as far from the flames as possible. He had no idea where they would go after that. His only thought was to get them away from the fire.
Grace followed his movements, and for once he was grateful she didn’t argue. His breath sawed painfully in and out, and his lungs screamed in agony. He could hear Grace’s labored breaths. Her white nightgown was torn and sooty, and her toes peeked out from the voluminous hem. They clung to each other’s hands. He refused to let her go as he contemplated just what in the hell they were going to do now.
He heard a shout and Grace gasped.
Tarik stood below them, holding out his arms and yelling, but Michael couldn’t hear what he was saying. Behind Tarik came carriages, disgorging the servants from the manor house. From the other direction came more carriages. Townspeople coming to help.
Michael’s relief was so enormous that his legs almost buckled. He clung tightly to Grace and looked down at Tarik, realizing that the man was trying to get them to jump.
“Please, my lord. It’s the only way.”
Michael looked to the left, where the flames were advancing. Black smoke billowed out of the bedchamber that he and Grace had been sleeping in not an hour before. Heat crept closer.
People gathered in a semicircle behind Tarik, looking up at them.
Another explosion rocked the house. People screamed. Some ran in the opposite direction. Grace cried out as flames licked at her nightgown. She moved closer to Michael to avoid them.
“You have to jump,” he said.
She looked at him in terror. “Not without you.”
“This is no time to argue, Grace. It’s the only way.”
Her hold tightened on his hand. “I’m not leaving you up here. We jump together.”
Townsmen had joined Tarik. All were holding their arms out, urging them to jump.
His Saving Grace Page 24