Lying back on the pillows, he draped the blanket across his waist. He had purposely left the placket unfastened. He would not tempt either of them again by permitting the lady to touch him so familiarly. “You may reenter, Miss Nelson,” he called out. Immediately, the door opened, and he had the uncanny feeling the sun’s warmth had filled the room. It was an aberration of the highest order: A quick glance at the mantel clock told him it was nearing midnight.
“If you are finished, my Lord.” She placed the chamber pot under the bed and then turned to the basin to wash her hands. “I will clean and dress your wound. I thought it best, at least, initially to permit the opening to heal from the inside out. It is too large to use stitches to close it.” She gently removed the cloth strips she had placed across the opening. “A surgeon might even consider cautery,” Grace confided.
Gabriel winced when she removed the last of the bandages. “Whatever happens, happens, Miss Nelson. I learned long ago a man cannot cheat death. No matter how efficient your efforts, if it is not God’s plan…”
“We shall not consider the possibility,” she said defiantly. Grace used soap and water to clean the area and examined her work. “I shall use a bit more of the brandy,” she said distractedly.
“I would be pleased…to have another glass,” Lord Godown observed.
Grace nodded her agreement. “Then I shall ask Mr. Bradshaw to bring another decanter.”
“My purse is full, Miss Nelson. Order whatever you like,” he insisted.
“I had thought to ask if I might have paper and ink,” she said distractedly.
Lord Godown smiled easily. “Do you wish to write to a long-time sweetheart, Miss Nelson?”
“A woman maintains the prerogative, Your Lordship,” she said with a mischievous grin, “to keep such secrets her own.”
Gabriel winced again, but this time the pain came from the possibility the lady’s heart was previously engaged.
Chapter Four
He had fallen asleep shortly after she had changed his bandage. Quietly, she made herself a pallet on the floor before the hearth. Thoughts of Gabriel Crowden lulled her to sleep, and despite the floor’s unforgiving hardness, Grace had never spent a more peaceful night. Therefore, when the tapping on the door announced the arrival of the breakfast she had ordered, she darted about the room to hide her bedtime linens.
At the third knock, she managed to reach the door’s portal. “Pardon, Ma’am.” A maid curtsied. “Mr. Bradshaw wanted ’is Lordship to ’ave the best of the eggs.”
Grace shoved the hair from her face and cinched her dressing gown closed. “Please thank Mr. Bradshaw for his consideration. Lord Godown still rests.” She gestured toward the screened bed. “If you would return with fresh water, another chamber pot, and paper and ink, we shall be content. My Lord has recently returned from the Continent, and I have insisted he take some much needed recuperative rest.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the maid said as she glanced nervously toward the bed. “Do all marquises rest as soundly as ’is Lordship?”
Grace stifled the grin teasing her lips. “I assure you I have no knowledge of other members of the aristocracy,” she said with feigned disdain.
“Yes, Ma’am.” The maid looked abashed. She placed the covered dishes on the table and made a quick exit.
In the girl’s absence, Grace quickly saw to her own ablutions and straightened the bed’s linens. She decided not to wake Lord Godown. “Rest is the best medicine,” she told herself. Dressed in a simple day dress, she accepted the maid’s return with good humor. “I will require a bath later today once the air warms from the sun.” The girl nodded and disappeared after another quick glance at the resting form of Lord Godown.
Grace discovered her newfound bravado quite empowering. She planned to bathe in a room where a man rested nearby. Instinctively, she knew even if Lord Godown was well, she could conduct her personal care without interruption. She would be unclothed in a room with another present. Such a situation had not occurred since Grace was a child in the nursery at Schiffer Hall, where her parent resided until her father had inherited when Grace was six. Yet, she felt no real disconcertment. She expected some embarrassment, but not self-contempt. The thought of how easily she had abandoned the moral code by which she had lived her entire life twisted her lips in amusement.
Seating herself at the desk, she removed a sheet of foolscap from the stack Mr. Bradshaw had seen fit to send to her. She had placed a slice of ham on the dry toast, as well as poured herself some lukewarm tea. Retrieving them from the table, she settled in to record her thoughts. She would keep a journal of her time with Lord Godown. Taking up the pen, she frantically scribbled her thoughts.
An hour later, she looked up when she heard His Lordship stir. She had filled three pages and part of another one. Surprisingly, she found this all very exciting. She was actually living. A second moan brought her to his side. “I thought you might sleep the day into night,” she said as she straightened the blanket across his chest. “We should redress your wound and find something your stomach can tolerate.”
Grace placed clean bandages on the table. Lord Godown had not opened his eyes, but he did thrash about. His face had a bit more color, and Grace thought perhaps he might have taken a turn for the best. Those were her foolish considerations until she touched him. He was scalding hot. “Oh, no,” she gasped as her fingers peeled away the brown crusty cloths. “No!” she said in fear, as tears formed in her eyes. “I did everything right.” Her fingers probed the exposed area as Lord Godown continued to fight her efforts.
Squeezing out a damp cloth, she dabbed at his forehead. The coolness appeared to allay part of the marquis’s discomfort. “Your Lordship!” she said with some urgency. “I must tend your wound again. Please. You must assist me by lying still.”
Somehow, her words must have reached his subconscious. His eyes blinked open, and although they did not focus on hers, he murmured, “Do your worst.”
Grace dampened the cloth again and placed it on his forehead. With more soap and water, she quickly washed the exposed area. Thinking it best to describe for him what she was doing she began, “The wound is red and festering.” Her fingertips gently touched the area. “But it still appears quite clean.” Then she felt it. A tip of something sharp. She had missed one of the fragments. “I found the problem, my Lord.” Frantically, she reached for his shaving instruments. Uncorking the brandy, she splashed the liquid on the razor. “Please help me, God,” she said softly as she took a deep breath to steady her hands.
“I have confidence…” Lord Godown hissed.
“Say your prayers privately, my Lord,” she warned as she leaned across him. With a fortifying inhalation, she cut into his flesh once more. Grace feared she might cut a vein, but she possessed no other choice. They were too far from the village for a surgeon. “There is another piece of the bullet,” she told him. Every muscle in his body had hardened, and Grace could imagine the pain he resolutely endured, as if she could hear the perspiration forming on his upper lips. “I have the opening,” she whispered hoarsely as she reached for the tweezers. Biting her bottom lip, Grace pressed the instrument’s point into the fresh cut. “Hold steady, my Lord,” Grace ordered.
Eyes straining, Grace touched the tip of the instrument to the metal shard. She squeezed the prongs together to secure her catch and then slowly withdrew the piece. “A bit further,” she encouraged. “I have it,” she gasped.
Lord Godown expelled a ragged breath, and Grace rushed to repack the wound with clean cloth. “I am appalled, my Lord,” she said with a rush. “That I missed this piece last evening.”
“Enough, Grace,” he groaned.
“But, Your Lordship,” she said with tears forming in her eyes’ corners.
He turned his head toward her. “No buts. Your best…is enough.” Exhausted, he lay heavy on the pillow. His weight flattening the thin mattress.
Grace removed the cloth from his head and freshened it. Gently,
she stroked his face and his shoulders. “What if my best…” she asked through a stifled sob.
“A chance,” he murmured through dry lip. “With you.”
Grace wished he were asking for an opportunity to know her better. “I shall tend you, my Lord,” she declared. “Rest.” She washed his face and shoulders again. “I swear on everything that is holy. I shall not leave you.”
His gaze met hers, but he said nothing. Just the barest pressure of his hand on hers. His eyes closed slowly as Grace used the cloth to cool his skin.
For the next several hours, Grace remained hunched over his prostrate form. Lord Godown mumbled phrases she was certain to which she should not be privy. He spoke of his friends, of a man named Shaheed Mir. He taunted an opponent over a missing emerald. Spoke French so fluently Grace could not translate. And coaxed a woman called Ashmita to trust him. Unconsciously, Grace prayed the one called Ashmita did not rule the marquis’s heart.
“You remain,” he said as his eyes fluttered open and closed.
“I promised I would,” Grace said as she squeezed the cool water from the cloth to place it on his forehead. “Permit me to assist you with a bit of water.” Instead of holding a glass to his lips, she spooned the liquid into his mouth. He managed four spoonfuls before shaking away her offer of a fifth. “Can you bear my changing the bedding?” she asked as she busied herself with righting his linens.
“Later,” he murmured as his eyes drifted closed. “Cold,” he groaned. “Very cold.” He snuggled lower in the bed.
Grace rushed to the freestanding wardrobe to search for additional blankets. “Of course,” she said as she brought a wool coverlet to the bed. “This shall keep you warmer.”
His teeth chattered as he visibly shuddered. “Thank…thank you.”
Grace touched his forehead with the back of her hand. His fever still raged. “Rest, my Lord.” She brushed the hair from his face. “You may depend on me.”
And so was her life. For some fifty hours, she tended Lord Godown’s wound and his fever. She arranged the room’s furniture so no one could have a clear view of the bed. When the maid and Mr. Bradshaw brought the tub and hot water, Grace released the drapery of the four-poster and pretended her “husband” was seeing to his horse’s care. After bathing, she used the water to first wash her hair and then to launder the bandages. Once the inn’s staff had removed the tub, she hung the cloth strips close to the fire to dry.
To distract herself from Lord Godown’s dire condition, Grace religiously recorded his mumblings and her description of his condition, and she constantly bathed his torso and face to bring down his fever. She slept little. Snatching an hour or two while curled up in a high backed chair while holding His Lordship’s hand.
Finally, she succumbed to the need for sleep without relinquishing her promise to watch over him. Grace draped a blanket across her body and crawled onto the bed to lie beside him. She caught his hand and closed her eyes.
She could not say what woke her. Perhaps, it was the difference in his breathing. Perhaps, it was how he aimlessly wrapped a ringlet of her hair about his fingers. Panicked, Grace made to pull away from him, but Lord Godown tightened his grasp. “Stay,” he insisted. “I was…just considering…the merits of heaven.”
His eyes still held a bleary gaze, and Grace reached tentatively to touch his face. His fever still roared, but, at least, he appeared a bit more lucid.
“You may find heaven some day, my Lord, but not today,” she countered.
Lord Godown smiled wryly. “I beg to differ. Waking…to find your hair…draped across my shoulders…and smelling of lemons.” He lifted her tresses to his nose and sniffed. “Is very close…to how I…envision heaven.”
Grace felt the heat spread across her chest and cheeks. “I should see to your wound,” she said self-consciously.
“You should see to your own needs,” he corrected. “You require…rest also.” His finger traced her jaw’s line.
“But I am to see to your recovery,” she argued.
Lord Godown’s breathing shallowed. “I am…content.” His eyes shuttered.
For a moment, Grace searched his countenance, but when his fingers stilled, she snuggled closer to his side. She would follow his orders. Grace would sleep a bit longer.
When next she woke, darkness draped the room. Only the light from the dying fire showed. No daylight remained, and the night’s reflective light had not achieved its glory. Somehow, Lord Godown appeared closer. His skin’s warmth caressed her cheek, and through her sleep-induced fog, Grace realized her head rested on his uninjured shoulder. She inhaled deeply. Sweat. The metallic smell of dried blood. But deep in the experience, Grace discovered the unique scent of this man. Close enough to touch him, her lips brushed against his skin. Her tongue trailed along the rise of his chest muscle. It was a taste she would never forget. Salty but deceptively sweet.
“Touch me, Grace.” His mouth’s warmth brushed her hair. So soft, Grace could not guarantee she had not dreamed it. Her eyes strained to see him in the developing shadows.
Tentatively, her fingertips stroked across his nipple, and a hiss of awareness followed. “Did I hurt you, my Lord?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Never,” Lord Godown moaned as he pulled her closer. “You are perfection.”
Grace fought the urge to scoff at such falsehoods, but a secret part of her heart did not want it to be a prevarication. She wanted some man to consider her desirable. Even if that man was near death. Even if it was only for one night. Therefore, she slid her hand across his chest to the plane of his flat stomach.
“Grace,” Lord Godown bent his head closer to hers. “I want…nothing more…than to kiss you.” He shifted her weight to where he held her in a one-armed embrace. “Although I am currently…a poor excuse…for a man, I would give…a king’s ransom…to show you pleasure. Please come to me.”
She stilled. Was she truly willing to compromise herself completely? Of course, no one would ever forgive her numerous indiscretions since meeting Lord Godown in the inn’s yard some three days prior, but she would know the truth. If Fate held, she would leave His Lordship and return to a life of boredom among England’s servant class. She already held exquisite memories of his body and his tenderness. Could she possess one more?
With a deep inhalation of his intoxicating scent, Grace shifted ever so slightly, and Lord Godown’s mouth claimed hers. At first, the pressure was tender, but it quickly turned more demanding, and panic filled Grace’s mind. She would prefer Lord Godown not recognize her ineptness. Grace had never known a man’s kiss. Never even a playmate’s curiosity. “Teach me,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Open for me,” he exhaled the words.
Grace, not fully understanding, resumed the pressure of her lips on his until his tongue slid along her mouth’s seam, and then she relaxed her lips. By design, Lord Godown’s tongue pushed past her teeth to invade her mouth’s recesses. Instantly, heat flared within Grace’s chest. She had never known such exquisite intimacy with another human. Her heart raced. She could spend a lifetime in Lord Godown’s arms and never complain.
Need blossomed between them. His fingers tightened on her shoulder as Lord Godown edged her closer. His lips slid across her cheek and down the length of her neck. She felt his teeth skim the indentation where her neck curved to form her shoulder. His Lordship’s lips sucked gently, and Grace’s skin tingled from the contact. She could imagine Lord Godown biting her and her enjoying every minute of the delicious torture.
His Lordship’s hand slid along her length. When she lay beside him earlier, Grace had worn a night rail and a dressing gown. It was a bold move, but the inn’s maid had agreed to press the four day dresses she had worn the past few days. As Lord Godown had rarely remained coherent more than a few minutes at a time, Grace had not considered her lack of proper clothing an issue. Now, the heat His Lordship’s touch created made her wish she wore even less than she did.
Lord Godown shift
ed to his side, and Grace’s heart raced. “Beware, my Lord,” she rasped through the passion-filled haze. “Your wound…”
“Does not matter,” he finished for her. “What matters is you. You will always be more important than anything else.”
His words sent her conscious thoughts spinning. All her life she had wanted for someone to place her first in his life, and whether Lord Godown meant it or not, Grace relished the moment. It was a memory to fuel a relationship or a seduction, and Grace knew exactly which this would be. A marquis could never choose a governess as his wife. He offered her a taste of intimacy, likely the only one she would ever know.
Instinctively, Grace brushed the hair from his forehead. Although she thought he felt a bit cooler, the warmth under his skin remained. Her own heat tainted her reaction to him.
Lord Godown loosened the knot holding her dressing gown closed. “This is not something that should happen between us,” he said as his mouth returned to hers. “But I want you, Grace. More so than I can ever remember previously.” The next kiss began in tenderness; yet, desire soon ruled. Their tongues danced an intricate pattern older than time. Instinctively, Grace pressed herself to him. His erection rested at the base of her most private place. She greedily returned his kiss as she rocked against him.
Never in her life had she wanted anything so completely. Her hands roamed at will. His cheekbones. His shoulders. The flat of his stomach. His muscular arms. When her fingers traced the line of his breeches, he hissed his response. “You play with fire, my Dear.”
Grace would use these moments to learn every contour of his body. She prayed he would not think her too wanton. “Teach me to control the heat.” Like a magician, he had conjured a vanishing trick, but she wished the show to continue.
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 6