“No,” he insisted. With a deep inhale, he said, “Would you be so kind as to lead me to the inn?”
Without considering her actions, Grace laced his arm about her shoulder to brace his weight against her frame. She had never felt such panic. When she had first laid eyes on this man–some six months prior–she had considered his Christian name and how perfectly it fit his handsome countenance. Gabriel. The angel. The avenging angel, but an angel, nonetheless. “Lord Godown, please,” she whispered hoarsely as his heavy tread nearly took both of them to their knees. “Permit me to find someone more fit to assist you.”
A barely perceptible shake of his head declared his refusal. Grace’s bonnet shifted forward as his arm pressed heavy on her shoulders. He continued his jerky steps toward his goal–another ten feet to the walkway.
Finally, she shoved up on his arm to bracket his weight against the building’s side. Sliding free of his grasp, she turned to examine him more closely. In the darkening shadows, she realized his hair was sweaty and windblown, and dirt streaked his clothes’ fine cut. Then she saw the trickle of blood darkening his shirt. “Oh, my God!” she rasped as she reached for her linen to press to the opening. “Tell me what has happened.”
Head back and eyes closed, he appeared unable to answer, but he finally spit out the words. “Trailed my attacker to this inn.” Grace looked on in wonderment as he took a deep steadying breath. “You did not faint from the blood.”
“No, my Lord.” Grace pulled a second cloth from her reticule. She pressed it firmly over the first.
“Do you have a room?” he asked through gritted teeth.
Grace doubly regretted her unmarried status. If she had proper quarters, she could tend his wounds in private. She shook her head in the negative. “The innkeeper will not let to a woman without companionship. I will spend the night in the common room.”
Lord Godown nodded weakly. “Would you share my room?” He caught her gaze, and the clarity surprised her. “If you have a husband whom you were to meet on the road…” He did not finish his thoughts as the pain snatched his breath away. Frantically, he caught at her hand. He said softly, “I do not wish to die alone.”
Grace recognized his proposition to be a scandalous one, but she had accepted the inevitable conclusion the moment she had draped Gabriel Crowden’s arm about her. She would willingly participate in her reputation’s ruination. The fear she recognized in his gaze stayed her. This man carried death about his strong, muscular shoulders. “Yes, I will stay with you, Lord Godown,” she said without hesitation.
“You have called me by name three times. Do we hold a prior acquaintance?” She noted how he stood taller.
Grace blushed as disappointment filled her. Why would an “Adonis” remember someone as nondescript as she? “Grace…Miss Grace Nelson. Lord Averette once served as my employer.”
Lord Godown cupped her face as if seeing it for the first time. “Miss Nelson. Of course.” He stroked her mouth with the thumb of his left hand. “Just what I require. A touch of grace.”
Grace could not breathe. She had never known such an exquisite moment. He had seen her. Truly seen her. Not the governess, but the woman of three and twenty with dreams buried, but not deceased. And she knew him also. Not the face of perfection. But a man who had known great loss. She licked her lips for moisture, and her tongue grazed his thumb. She noticed how something flared in his gaze. “How should we proceed, my Lord?” she said uncertainly.
Her words had broken the spell, but his fingers still traced her skin. Grace’s breathing shallowed, and pure warmth spread through her. “You are my wife,” he said confidently. “Your maid abandoned you, taking your purse and leaving only a public ticket for your transportation.” He easily wound an elaborate tale. He was, obviously, a man accustomed to improvising in intense situations. “We were to meet in Carlisle, but when you did not appear, I came searching for you.” She nodded her agreement. “Reach into my inside pocket and remove my purse. I will not be able to do so when we enter. Have it at ready to place in my hand,” he ordered. She did as he instructed. “I will also require a card from my case.”
“You should probably open it in the innkeeper’s presence,” she said. “It will bring legitimacy to our claim. I have previously spoken to Mr. Bradshaw regarding a room.” She fished the items from his various pockets. “The innkeeper will recognize me.”
Lord Godown smiled at her with admiration. “You are quick to assess what must be done.”
“I have been my own mistress since leaving the schoolroom. I left home at eighteen,” she explained.
A frown crossed his brow, but he made no comment on her disclosure. Instead, he lifted her chin with his fingertips. “Miss Nelson. Grace. The man who attempted to kill me is in the kitchen being tended to by the inn’s mistress. I managed to wound him.” She nodded her understanding. He inhaled deeply and looked off as if seeing something she did not. “If he discovers I have taken refuge within these walls, he will come for me. What I am asking of you could be dangerous.”
Despite wishing to appear brave before this magnificent man, Grace’s lower lip trembled. “How shall you stop him?” she asked tentatively.
Lord Godown smiled wryly. “If I am awake, I will deal with him. If not…”
“I must see to his demise,” she whispered. The thought of taking another’s life frightened her.
He must have recognized her fear. “It will not come to that,” he assured. “But I must stop him. Others of your acquaintance are in danger: Lord Worthing, Thornhill, Viscount Lexford and Sir Carter.”
“Those with whom you served?”
“Yes. They are my earnest companions. I cannot explain now, but know my words are true.” He swayed, and Grace instinctively reached for him. “You cannot send for the surgeon, Miss Nelson. You must tend my wound,” he insisted. “No one must know how close to death I am.”
“Please do not speak as such, my Lord.” She clutched at his lapel.
“My life is in your hands, my Dear,” he said matter-of-factly. He caught her fingers and brought them to his lips. “If I should die before I wake…”
Grace bristled. “I shall not have it! Do you hear me, Lord Godown? You shall not die on my watch!” Despite her best efforts, a tear crept down her cheek.
Godown flicked it away. “I will do my darndest to comply. Now, come, my Dear. We have a farce to play.”
How he managed to walk so straight and so proud, Grace would never know. Every step must have brought Lord Godown excruciating pain, but other than a flex of his muscle under her fingertips, she would never have guessed the truth. As they entered the establishment with her hand resting firmly on his arm, his countenance displayed nothing but amiability.
“Ah, my good man,” he said aristocratically as the innkeeper hustled forward to greet him. “Thank you for attending to my wife’s needs.” He flipped open the case and placed his calling card on the counter’s corner. Unobtrusively as possible, Grace slid it in Mr. Bradshaw’s direction. Lord Godown palmed the case and placed it in her hand. “My marquise has spoken of your kindness, Sir.” The innkeeper’s eyebrow rose as he eyed Grace suspiciously. He read the ornate card. Meanwhile, Lord Godown said, “I pray Her Ladyship’s room will suffice for we two. I have been too long without my bride. She has attended a sick relative for several weeks.” The marquis glanced lovingly at her, and, for a moment, even Grace believed the illusion he created.
The innkeeper blustered, “Of…of course, Lord Godown. I will see to it immediately. If you will sign the registry, Sir.” Bradshaw turned the book for Gabriel’s signature.
“May I?” Grace said on a rush. “I never tire of signing my new name.” She knew he could not lift his arm high enough to reach the book.
“And I never tire of reading it, my Dear,” he said evenly.
Grace caught the quill and signed their names with a flourish. “Delightful as always,” she said with a girlish sigh.
“This way, Your
Lordship.” The innkeeper gestured to the stairs.
His muscles flexed, pulling Grace closer to his side. The stairs would be a challenge. Despite the impropriety, Grace slid her arm under his jacket and about his waist. As they climbed, she gave a list of instructions. “Have someone bring His Lordship’s and my bags to the room. We shall require hot water to freshen our things after the dusty travel. A simple meal. Perhaps a clear broth with bread and cheese.” She tried to anticipate what she might require to attend him.
“And plenty of brandy,” Godown added. “My wife will have tea, but I require your best brandy.”
Mr. Bradshaw opened the door to the room and busied himself with building a fire. Over his shoulder, he said, “I will send up extra candles for better lighting.” He set the coals ablaze. “And how long might you be staying with us, my Lord.”
Godown reached into the purse Grace had surreptitiously placed in his hand while the innkeeper tended the fire. “I was considering a stay of some three days. Perhaps, longer. When a man is without his wife so shortly after his marriage, he must pay the price of the lady’s good intentions.” He lightly tossed a coin to the man, who adeptly caught it. “We do not wish to be disturbed. Her Ladyship will send word when meals are to be served.”
“Absolutely, Lord Godown.” Bradshaw made a deep obeisance.
When she noted Lord Godown swayed in place, Grace quickly closed the door before the innkeeper fawned further. “My Lord!” She rushed forward to brace him. “Sit.” She assisted him to the bed’s edge. “If you can tolerate it,” she said as she frantically worked his tight-fitting jacket from his shoulders. “Do not lie flat until I can remove your clothing. I doubt I can turn you to treat your wounds, otherwise.”
Godown chuckled, “I seriously doubt, my Dear, there is anything you cannot do once you set your mind upon it.” She had freed him of the jacket and turned to his cravat. “But as being undressed by an exceedingly pretty woman is not one of the seven deadly sins, I believe, I will enjoy the intimacy of the moment. I doubt to have this pleasure ever again.”
Grace’s cheeks pinked. “You will know such wayward pleasures, my Lord.” Her thoughts brought a deeper red. “And I am far from pretty, Lord Godown.”
His Lordship brushed a stray curl from her face. “That is where you err, Miss Nelson. You are the prettiest woman I have ever beheld.”
Chapter Three
It was the truth. She was not beautiful, but she was profoundly pretty. People might consider Miss Nelson unremarkable, but under Gabriel’s close inspection, he knew differently. Chocolate brown eyes. Long dark lashes. Tilted up nose. Full lips. Indeterminate hair color. Soft wisps along her temples said it was a deep chestnut color, but the lady used pomade to hold the tight knot at the back of her neck in place. Soft scent of citrus teased his senses, and despite his current pain, something stirred within him. Something Gabriel could not wrap his mind around. “You are most efficient in undressing a gentleman,” he said with a rasp, as she ripped his bloody shirt from his body.
“My brother Geoffrey knows the bottle intimately,” she said distractedly as her fingers probed at the bullet’s entry point. Without looking at him, she said, “There are fragments of the bullet in the wound.”
“I suspected as such. The bullet ricocheted off a large boulder,” Gabriel admitted. “Is this within your abilities?”
Grace’s eyes rose to meet his. “I am not certain.”
He clasped her hand tightly in his. “Either way, Miss Nelson, you do me a great service. If I recover, I am forever your servant.”
She gave him a curt nod. “I shall fight for your life, my Lord,” she said with assurance. “Recline back against the pillows, Lord Godown. I shall remove your boots. When the maid brings the brandy, we will begin.”
Gabriel followed her orders. How he had managed to, literally, stumble into her arms, he could not account, but he accepted God’s providence in the matter. Perhaps his soul was not so unredeemable, after all. “I place myself in your most capable hands.”
Propped against the pillows, Gabriel watched her closely. Competently, the lady removed his boots, placed a screen between the bed and the room door to disguise his presence, and ripped his ruined shirt into strips to use for bandages. Throughout, her forehead remained creased with worry lines, but Miss Nelson moved with confidence as if she considered how best to proceed. An hour earlier, he had expected to die before the day met its end; now, Gabriel assumed the odds had shifted in his favor, and that propitious favor was due to Grace Nelson’s presence.
Gabriel tried desperately to recall what he had once thought of the woman, but he regretfully had disregarded her. He had been in her company only twice. The first time was at the Prince Regent’s soiree, but the lady who now shared his room had made no impression on him. He wondered how that was possible for she was magnificent. Her movements as graceful as a ballerina. She extended her arms fully, and her hands floated on the air. He had experienced a full season of Jean-Louis Aumer’s choreography while stationed in Vienna. His favorite had been La Fête de la rose because the title had reminded him of his beloved aunts. Aumer, a Frenchman, was renowned as the principal danseur for the Paris Opera Ballet. Each performance had made Gabriel very melancholy, but he had religiously attended.
Why had he not noticed Miss Grace Nelson that fateful evening? Because she had hid behind a well-developed disguise and because he had become so involved with his own agony he had not given others the time of his consideration. “I wish I had danced with you at the Prince’s party,” he said casually as she plumped the pillows behind his head.
“So do I,” she said honestly.
Gabriel fought hard to stifle the laughter bubbling in his chest. A smile tugged at his mouth’s corners. “And why would that be, Miss Nelson?” He expelled a deep sigh as he settled into the bed’s mattress.
“Why what, Sir?” she said distractedly.
Her hands stopped their preparations, and her eyes returned to his gaze. He recognized the moment realization of what she had disclosed found a home. Grace Nelson blushed thoroughly, but her voice held no shame. She shrugged good-naturedly, as she said, “It has been many years since I have shared the dance floor with a gentleman. It would have been heavenly to be something more than a governess.”
A sharp knock at the door announced the inn’s servants. Boys delivered their bags and ewers of hot water, while a maid set out a tray with tea and the brandy. As Miss Nelson moved to supervise the deliveries, Gabriel knew real regret. He had never considered the many wallflowers at the various balls he had attended over the years, but he would do so in the future. If he had a future, he would do better by those women. And if she would permit it, he would personally see Miss Nelson dancing at Thornhill’s upcoming entertainment.
With the servants’ departures, the lady reappeared at his side. “I want you to drink this,” she said as she lifted his head where Gabriel might take a hefty swallow of the brandy. It was excellent stock. Luckily, Mr. Bradshaw had a source for bootleg French brandy. “I will need to ask our host for a small knife,” she said evenly.
“There is one in the hidden pocket of my right boot,” he shared. “Everything else you might require is in my shaving pouch.”
“You have thought of everything,” she said. He noted her bottom lip trembled, but Gabriel never considered how she might fail him.
He smiled wryly. “In my time abroad, I often found myself in need of such instruments.”
“Why does that particular fact not surprise me?” she asked ironically.
“Because you, Miss Nelson, are a survivor. We hold that in common.”
The lady did not respond. Instead, she retrieved the knife and razor. Filling a bowl with the hot water, she said, “I must remove the dried blood to better determine the damage. Shall you be prepared?”
“Do your worst, Miss Nelson.” He accepted another swig of the brandy. “Give me the leather strap from the kit so I might have something to chew upon
besides my own curses.” He saw her eyes open wide as she began to wash away the blood and dirt.
When she ripped the spectacles from her nose and tossed them onto the bed, it was his eyes that grew in size. “They are only an employment prop,” she insisted. He gulped air when her fingers examined the opening. “They protect me from lecherous masters.”
Despite the burning sensation radiating down his arm from the brandy she had splashed on the wound, Gabriel found his admiration increase for this woman. If he lived through this encounter, he would hope to know more of Miss Nelson.
“It is time, Lord Godown,” she said softly. “Permit it to happen. Whatever God brings us, I shall remain by your side, my Lord.” With that, she picked up the knife and cut into his skin.
Although she had seen renderings of classical statues, Grace had never imagined any man, who actually breathed life into his lungs, could possess such well-defined chest muscles. Firm hard flesh teased her fingertips. A few scars marred the golden skin. White ridges where someone had attempted to do him harm. Yet, those marks only increased his perfection. Grace’s skin pinked as her eyes followed a line of hair that disappeared into his breeches. It took all her self-control not to follow the line with her touch. No wonder she had considered him an Adonis. All bare flesh and chiseled muscles.
Grace bit her bottom lip in concentration as she explored His Lordship’s wound. What would she do if he did not survive? Grace could not believe she had accepted Lord Godown’s proposition. If anyone discovered her deception, even with the viscountess’s reference, she would find no employment. Yet, Grace knew she would never regret being in this room with this man.
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 4