by Eva Leigh
And try her best to live with the heartbreak she’d caused.
It didn’t matter how much time he’d spent away from London, and from Grace. She was with him, in his thoughts and echoing in his body.
Still, he made himself slog through the countryside until the date of her departure for Greenland loomed. When he was reasonably certain that their paths wouldn’t cross, he took a mail coach back to the city.
On the day of his return to London, he did not go directly home. The thought of trudging up his stairs to reach his empty rooms was a bleak one and made his stomach pitch. Instead of walking or taking a cab back to Howland Street, he hired a hack to bring him to Rotherby’s Mayfair house. There was every possibility that his friend was still in the country, but on the chance that Rotherby was, in fact, at home, Seb hoped to share a glass of whiskey and sit in companionable silence beside the fire as he tried not to picture Grace’s ship sailing down the Thames.
At his knock, the butler opened the front door and looked at him for almost a full minute, as if trying to place him.
Only then did Seb realize how much his appearance had altered.
“It’s Holloway,” he supplied.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Holloway. His Grace returned only yesterday, so your timing is fortuitous. He was searching for you. Rather urgently.”
Seb frowned. “Do you know why?”
“He did not confide the reason to me, but you will find him dressing in his bedchamber. Do go up.”
Another realization—it was far earlier in the day than Seb had figured. The mail coach had arrived shortly after dawn, but he’d been too exhausted to pay attention to the lightening sky.
After handing his now quite shabby pack to the butler, Seb mounted the stairs leading up to Rotherby’s bedroom.
The door stood ajar, and Beale’s voice carried out into the hallway, “The buff breeches with a brown waistcoat? Really, Your Grace?”
Despite his weariness, Seb couldn’t help but chuckle. Some things had not changed.
He rapped on the door. “Shelter for a weary traveler?”
“Holloway?” There came the sound of heavy footfalls approaching and then Rotherby wrenched the door open the rest of the way. He was halfway garbed, his shirt untucked and his neckcloth hanging loosely.
Rotherby gaped at Seb. “The hell? Have you been living in a hermitage? You surely look like it.”
Seb opened his mouth to speak, but Rotherby held up his hand.
“No,” Rotherby said. “Wait. Before you utter a syllable, listen.” He grasped Seb’s shoulders. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. Since I found out.”
Disquiet tightened Seb’s muscles. “Found out what?”
“Lady Grace. She—”
“What about her?” Seb demanded.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, buffoon! She’s going on the expedition to Greenland—but not as Fredericks’s wife.”
The floor shuddered beneath Seb’s feet. “I don’t understand.”
“She’s bringing a companion with her. Don’t you see? She didn’t marry Fredericks. They’re going on this expedition as colleagues only. I heard it from Beale who heard it from—” Rotherby waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. But I wanted you to know. She’s unmarried. And her ship departs from the London docks this morning.”
Seb’s exhaustion disappeared. Energy shot through his body and woke his perplexed mind.
Grace hadn’t married Fredericks. She’d refused the naturalist’s proposal.
Seb saw in an instant what he had to do. It was a massive gamble, and one that might cause him unimaginable pain, but if he didn’t try, he’d regret his inaction for the rest of his miserable life.
“I need a horse,” he said.
“Done,” Rotherby replied immediately.
“Already summoned someone,” Beale said, his hand on the bellpull. He eyed Seb. “Given the circumstances, Mr. Holloway, I will refrain from making any comment on the condition of your . . . person.”
Seb dragged a hand over his jaw, feeling the rasp of his whiskers. Damn. There wasn’t time to shave, much as he wanted to look his best. Hell, he probably appeared at his absolute worst but there was no helping it.
Rotherby’s staff moved quickly. In five minutes, Seb found himself in the stables, slinging himself up into the saddle on a sleek chestnut gelding.
“Do you know the way?” Rotherby asked as Seb took hold of the reins.
“I’ll find it. I’ll find her.” The horse danced beneath Seb, impatient as its rider to move.
“Godspeed.” Rotherby slapped his hand on the gelding’s flank.
The animal surged into motion.
Never had Seb sped through London at such speed. The city rocketed past him in a blur as he urged the horse to go faster, and faster still. His heart pounded in time with his mount’s hooves, and sweat slicked his back as he leaned low over the horse’s neck. Angry shouts from drivers and pedestrians trailed in his wake. He didn’t give a sodding damn. He could run down Prinny himself and not care. All that mattered was reaching the docks in time.
Please, God, let there be time.
Soon the hulking warehouses of Wapping surrounded him. He guided the horse around massive stacks of crates, and wove between drays loaded with cargo. The sharp tang of river water announced that he was almost at his destination. Closer. Closer.
Have to reach her.
A moment later, he was on the docks themselves. But which ship was hers? He slowed the panting horse to a walk.
“Mr. Holloway?”
He swung the horse around to find Mrs. Argyle and her husband looking up at him with astonishment.
“Where is she?” Seb clipped.
Mrs. Argyle pointed toward a ship that—hellfire—was sailing away, some two hundred yards from the wharf.
His heart seized. Too late.
No.
He swung down from the horse and threw the reins to a mystified Douglas Argyle.
Seb’s gaze moved quickly along the water. A rowboat could never outpace a tall-masted ship, but he had to reach the vessel somehow.
There. Yes.
Seb charged toward a trim pleasure yacht that was at that very moment preparing to push away from the dock. A quintet of well-dressed men and women lounged on the deck while the crew operated the boat.
“Hold!” Seb shouted. There was no time to think or analyze. He could only act.
Everyone aboard the yacht stared at him. They gasped as he leapt from the dock onto the deck of the boat. The impact jarred him, yet he managed to stay on his feet.
“See here—” someone began.
“The woman I love is on that ship,” Seb snapped. He pointed to the vessel growing smaller as it sailed farther away. “I’ll pay you whatever you want. Just go after her.”
Everyone exchanged glances. Then one of the well-dressed ladies said in a commanding voice, “You heard him, Captain. We must catch that ship.”
“Yes, ma’am,” a man in the rugged garb of a sailor said with a nod. “All right, lads,” he bellowed to his crew, “let’s give chase.”
The fine ladies and men on the yacht cheered. Seb barely heard them. He strode to the prow of the yacht as the small vessel pushed away from the dock. His heart was a cannon booming in his chest as he willed the yacht to go faster.
God, he might not catch her.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Grace!”
Grace stood at the rail, watching the shore slide past. She’d seldom been on the Thames, and tried to take an interest in seeing this part of London from the water. There were warehouses and other large buildings, some in states of dramatic disrepair as they crowded close to the banks. Smaller vessels skimmed by the ship, yet she paid them little heed as the reality of her situation delved deep. She was truly leaving England and any possibility of seeing Sebastian again.
“Grace!”
Ah, damn, she wanted to see him so much she was hearing things. She shook her head, tr
ying to banish the illusion of his voice.
“Grace! Damn it, Grace! Down here!”
She looked, then looked again.
Impossible.
“Sebastian?”
He stood at the nose of a boat, waving his arms overhead as the smaller vessel drew up alongside her ship. Surely she had to be imagining things—but would her imagination conjure an image of him so very changed? For one thing, she had never once pictured him with a beard, but now he had somewhat wild whiskers, and his garments looked as though they belonged to a man who weighed a stone more than Sebastian.
Somehow, some way, he was here now. This was no fantasy.
“I must tell you something!” Sebastian shouted to her.
“What the devil is he doing?” Mason demanded, appearing beside her with Captain Collins.
“Please, Captain,” Grace said, gripping his sleeve, “dock the ship.”
Captain Collins shook his head. “Impossible, my lady. We are underway.”
“You can’t be serious, Lady Grace,” Mason protested.
Desperation clutched at her. “We must get him aboard.” She gazed at the assembled sailors who’d gathered to see the spectacle. “Can anyone help? Please.”
Murmurs rose up from the sailors. They shifted from foot to foot, clearly torn.
“Throw that man a line,” Captain Collins barked.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Two of the crew hurried to the side of the ship and tossed a rope to Sebastian as he stood on the smaller vessel.
For a moment, he stared at the rope as if in disbelief that he might attempt something as utterly mad as scrambling from one moving vessel to another. The people in his boat clapped him on his back in encouragement.
He straightened his shoulders, gripped the rope tightly, and climbed.
Grace clutched the railing as she watched him, her breath seizing in her throat. His feet left the deck of the boat as he ascended, hand over hand, using his legs to help propel him upward. Sweat shone on his forehead and he bared his teeth from the effort. His limbs shook, and his spectacles fell into the churning water. But he didn’t stop.
Passengers and sailors cheered him on.
“That’s it, gov!”
“Nearly there!”
“The man is insane,” Mason said in a disbelieving mutter. “But determined.”
She could not speak, her gaze fastened on the sight of Sebastian getting closer and closer.
“Hang on, lad,” a sailor called to Sebastian. “We’ll haul you up.”
Several members of the crew took hold of the rope and pulled. Finally, Sebastian was high enough to grab hold of the railing and clamber onto the deck.
She ran to him as he bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He’d turned an alarming shade of red.
But he was here. On the ship.
“My God, Sebastian.” She reached for him, but he held up a hand.
“Why . . . didn’t you . . .” he panted.
“Why didn’t I what?”
“Marry . . . him . . . ?” His gazed turned to Mason, who wore a stunned expression, then went back to her. “Become . . . Fredericks’s . . . wife?”
Tears gathered hotly in her eyes. She pushed words out past the constriction in her chest. “Because,” she said, her throat raw, “I love you.”
Hope lit his eyes. “You . . . do?”
“I do.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I love you, Sebastian.”
“Thank . . . God.” He straightened. His face was radiant, even with his impressive beard. “I love you, Grace. So much.”
“So much that he boarded my ship like a damned pirate,” Captain Collins muttered.
She didn’t pay heed to the captain, or Mason, or the sailors or passengers or the people on the other vessel. She cared about one person, and one person only.
He surged toward her just as she rushed to him. A moment later, he was in her arms as he held her close. They clung to each other, and only then did she let the tears fall, coursing down her face without cessation.
“You’re here,” she couldn’t stop murmuring over and over. “You’re truly here.”
“I am, love.” He tipped her face up. “If you want me, I’m yours forever.”
Joy flooded her, but she could not stop herself from asking, “Can you forgive me?”
He frowned. “For what?”
“For being foolish. For not saying what I truly felt, and . . . for everything. I’m not being very articulate right now, but give me a few moments, and I shall have much to say.” It could not encompass all that she felt, no words could, yet she had to try. “But I was so wrong for keeping silent when I should have spoken out.”
A regretful smile touched his mouth. “We both are guilty of that crime. So I must beg your forgiveness, as well.”
“Kiss her!” a sailor yelled.
“Kiss him!” the women on the smaller vessel called up.
Her gaze held Sebastian’s, and she saw reflected in his eyes the infinite love she felt for him. She was giddy with it, holding tightly to him to keep from wheeling off into the sky.
He lowered his head as she lifted onto her toes. Their lips found each other, and then the world did fall away as she knew only his taste and feel and a deep sense of homecoming.
Finally, he lifted his head just enough to murmur, “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere you want to go.” Emotion thickened his words. “Just be with me, Grace.”
If his arms had not been encircling her, she would have shattered into fragments of pure joy. “Yes. Oh, yes. Only . . .” She glanced at Mason, who still looked rather stunned by this turn of events. “I’m leaving you without a herpetologist.”
“Oh.” Mason blinked. “Right.”
She disengaged from Sebastian and spoke quickly. “This ship docks next in Reykjavik. I correspond with a herpetologist there. Mr. Mikkael Leifsson. When you dock, find him. He might join your expedition.”
Mason nodded. “I will.” He glanced between her and Sebastian. “It’s been him all along, hasn’t it?”
“I’m so very sorry,” she said.
He ducked his head. “Can’t say this doesn’t hurt—yet I’m glad. For both of you.”
“You’re a true gentleman, Fredericks.” Sebastian held out his hand.
“And you’re a son of a bitch, Holloway,” Mason replied, shaking Sebastian’s hand, “but I don’t hold grudges.”
“Fair enough,” Sebastian said.
“Beg pardon, my lady, and . . . Mister whoever you are,” Captain Collins interrupted. “But if you want off this ship, the time to do it is now.”
Chapter 27
It was no small job to lower Grace, her maid, her companion, and all their luggage onto the yacht, as well as Seb himself, but he’d gladly accept the effort if it meant that he and Grace could be alone. Together. Finally.
He hardly noted how his whole body protested the extreme effort he’d put it through—especially after nearly a month of poor eating—because he could only circle again and again to the fact that Grace loved him.
So he practically soared down to the yacht as it sailed beside the large ship. Once his feet touched the deck, he was met by many handshakes and slaps on the back from the passengers and crew.
“To the dock?” the captain asked him.
Seb looked at Grace, her face bright with excitement and adoration, and his heart jumped. She loves me.
What that meant, what followed, he’d no idea. But of a certain he damned well wanted to find out.
“To the dock,” he answered.
The ropes connecting the yacht and the ship were undone. Seb and Grace waved farewell to Fredericks, who stood at the railing and shook his head as if still attempting to understand what had just transpired. Then Fredericks waved back, which gave Seb some measure of peace.
In a way, Seb owed him a great debt. If it hadn’t been for Grace’s initial infatuation with Fredericks, Seb would never have
been given the chance to know her better, and never would have known what it was to love her.
He kept his arm securely around her waist as the yacht’s captain guided his vessel back to the dock. Not touching her was impossible. He wanted to have the feel of her every moment of every day.
It took far too long for the yacht to return to its berth. The moment it did, Seb leapt to the shore and helped Grace onto the dock. Sailors assisted Grace’s maid and companion so that they, too, reached dry land.
“Holy Mother.” Mrs. Argyle was breathless as she and her husband rushed forward. “In all my days, I’ll never see a spectacle like that again.”
“It was rather dashing,” Grace said, her cheeks turning pink as she glanced at Seb. “You were a true Viking.” She nestled closer to Seb, and his weary body sprang to life at the press of her soft curves.
Grace’s companion made a tsk, her face tight with disapproval. Clearly, she was less enamored of grand romantic gestures than her mistress.
Seb dug into his pockets and produced most of the remainder of his money. He pressed the coins into the companion’s hand. “Thank you for all of your efforts. Your services are no longer required.”
“I will send you the balance of your wages on the morrow,” Grace said.
The companion wore a pinched expression, but she nodded, grabbed her valise, and walked away without a backward glance.
“Katie,” Grace continued, turning to her maid. “How do you fancy a day of leisure?” She dipped a hand into her reticule and held up a half crown.
The maid’s face lit up. “Oh! I can go to McKinnon’s for new books and then eat myself sick at Catton’s.”
“Don’t return home until late in the day,” Seb said.
“I’ll walk the length of London and back.” Katie plucked the coin from Grace’s hand and also hurried off.
That left only Grace, Seb, and Mr. and Mrs. Argyle. Normally, Seb enjoyed the Argyles’ company, but, good God, did he want some privacy with Grace.
His expression must have said as much, because Mr. Argyle looked to his wife with humor. “My love, perhaps you and I ought to return to our flat. I’ve a distinct feeling that our presence is not required.”