Love With the Perfect Scoundrel (36 page)

She appeared as if she had lost weight, and it filled him with ill ease. Made him want to force her down in the chair while he prepared a feast for her and handfed her with a spoon. Instead, he found his voice. “I’m sorry I gave you no notice. I assure you it was not for lack of effort.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “May I offer you something to drink? Perhaps a cup of—”

“Tea would be lovely,” he interjected.

A faint blush crept up the prim edges of her simply styled gown. “I’m afraid there’s no tea. May I offer you water or perhaps milk, Lord Wallace?”

He couldn’t forget how her plush lower lip was like soft petals in the rain and he wanted to cry for the damage she was doing, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Water would be most welcome. Grace, please let me—”

“And may I offer you a biscuit?” she interrupted. “They are freshly baked.”

“Thank you.” Would she ever let him speak? He was near to breaking as she placed water and several biscuits before him.

He stared at them, wondering where to begin.

“Well, are you going to try them? I’ve made a bit of progress. Cooking, I mean,” she said.

He bit into the fragrant, flaky biscuit, his appetite nil, his jaw working only to please her. He finally registered her effort. “Grace, this is bar none, the best biscuit I’ve ever tasted.”

“Thank you.” She finally lowered herself into the chair opposite him, and brushed a crumb into her apron, her eyes avoiding his. “What happened to your arm?”

He looked down at his forgotten sling. “Nothing much. It’s just a scratch.”

“I remember you once telling me the same when Luc and Quinn fought you. Did they strike you again?”

“No. This was courtesy of Rowland Manning, although I assure you I fared better than he.”

Her eyes flew to his.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

She jumped up and came to his side of the table. “I want to see it. Is it a broken bone or a flesh wound?”

He was so happy to see her concern, he would have let Rowland Manning shoot at all his limbs if he had known it would encourage her to touch him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He let himself drown in the gentle sensation of her fingers working the sling from his arm and unwrapping the bandage.

Her breath hitched and he finally opened his eyes to see her staring at the raw scar on his forearm. Before he could stop himself, his other hand reached to stroke the ends of her hair so gently she didn’t register the fact.

“Won’t you tell me what happened?”

“Grace…none of this matters. I’ve come to ask you something. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, it’s just that, well…I couldn’t find you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve toured half of England and Scotland looking for you. First to Brynlow, then to Mann—where I assure you it is indeed, cold enough to please any Viking, only to be surpassed by Scotland in February. By the by, Mr. Brown’s estate is quite lovely, even when covered by three feet of snow.”

She said not a word as he continued. “And did you know that there are at least six dwellings known as Ivy Cottage in the county of Berkshire?”

Grace looked into his clear golden eyes and prayed for control. She closed her eyes to stop herself from falling toward him. It had taken so long to force hope from her mind that she dared not ever hope again, after the agony of the last month of winter.

In the beginning, she had taken secret nourishment from the idea that he would rush to her the moment he was released from Newgate, like a grateful prince coming for his bride. But after the first three weeks, hope had slowly strained and become tinged with fear. And fear had continued unabated with each passing day, when no letters ever appeared from London. It was obvious that even Ata had given up hope, had not been able to bring herself to write of any happiness, and so had not written at all. Endurance replaced hope with shattering reality. And yet, self-reliance had brought the warm glow of pride to her heart. And
Lara
had fanned the flame.

Unexpectedly, she registered his large, warm hands circling her wrists and pulling her onto his lap.

“Your arm,” she whispered.

“Is fine—as long as it is holding you.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying at the overwhelming feel of his warm embrace. “Shall I find a fresh bandage for you? Or perhaps you’d prefer a poultice?”

“Still asking the wrong questions, I see,” he murmured close to her ear. “Aren’t you ever going to ask me why I’m here?”

She swallowed against the lump in the back of her throat, and tried to pull away. “My lord, I had thought—”

“Are you trying to torture me, Grace? Because if you don’t stop referring to me as ‘my lord,’ or ‘sir,’ or ‘Lord Wallace,’ or whatever else you dream up, I think my heart will never recover.”

“And how would you propose I address you?”

“‘Michael.’ And shall I tell you how I should like to address you?”

She shook her head, her throat tight.

“‘Lady Wallace,’ or more intimately,” he whispered, “‘Mrs. de Peyster.’ Yes…” He nuzzled her neck, sending shivers down her spine, “either of those names would serve, don’t you think?”

Her mind swirled with ill ease. “But—”

“No good comes from a sentence that starts with
but
. Start again, if you please.”

“Michael, I really think—”

“Say it again…the first part.”

“Michael?”

“Yes. I kept dreaming of you, whispering it over and over again as you did the last night I saw you. I think it was the only thing that kept me from going mad the four days I spent at Newgate.”

“Four days? But Quinn promised—”

“And delivered. But I wouldn’t leave without arranging a young friend’s release as well. It took more than a little doing, but your former fiancés were very accommodating. Well, one was a bit more courteous than the other. Oh God, Grace…I have to kiss you. I’m sorry I can’t wait any longer.”

She struggled against him. “Michael…wait.”

He sighed and stared at the lengthening shadows in the kitchen. “Grace, I struggled before leaving London. Do you want to know why?”

“Yes.”

“I struggled between the desire to come after you and the necessity of staying there, to secure that bloody Wallace title, the land, and any monies due. And do you know why?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “It was to make myself more worthy of your notice. But in the end, I couldn’t wait. And so, I took one day to do something I had to do and then I went after you. And by the by, if you ever contemplate the idea of leaving again without telling someone precisely where you can be found, I do believe I will have to fashion a twitch to…Well, this blasted Norse wanderlust has got to be reined in, I tell you.”

“But I did tell someone. Mr. Williamson knew precisely where I was. Although, I didn’t know there were six Ivy Cottages in this county. Perhaps that’s why I never received any letters.” She swallowed. “What was the one thing you had to do?”

“I refuse to tell you until you give me an answer.”

“To what question?”

He looked at her grimly. “I found a letter waiting for me at Mr. Brown’s estate in Scotland. Helston and Ellesmere informed me that the House of Lords has indeed looked favorably on the request for restitution of the patent letters of nobility and all Wallace lands, although, Grace, I must warn you that there is virtually nothing in the coffers save for a portion of the meager rents the trustees collected each year from the tenants. The abbey is in ruins and will most likely stay that way forever. But I can at least offer myself to you as a gentleman, and no longer as a fugitive. And I do own Brynlow.”

“What are you asking of me?”

He took up her hand in his. “I would ask you to condescend to marry me, much as I do not deserve a person of your good character, your integrity.”

“Oh, Michael…” She burst into tears.

“Is that a yes, my love, or a no?”

“I know why you are asking. You feel honor bound to offer for me. But you see, it’s as I told everyone before I left. I’m grateful for what happened. I’m happy here with Lara. Did you know I went to the foundling home before I left and asked her if she would like to come away and live with me, despite my reduced circumstances?”

“Mrs. Kane informed me.”

“Well, you do not need to worry about me. I will be perfectly fine here with my little angel. And when the lease runs through, I might very well continue on here, or Lara and I might live simply yet comfortably on Mann. We shall see.”

He stared at her. “Grace, will you come with me for a moment? Trust me?”

She nodded and stood up. He offered his arm and she placed her own lightly on top of his, her chapped fingers resting on the back of his hand. Michael led her outside, toward the little bit of wilderness on the side of the cottage.

“Who is that?” Grace asked, looking toward James and the two horses by the stream.

“Just a deserving boy. He’s been searching for something—or rather someone—for most of his life. I invited him to come with me when I left London.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He reminds me of me, you see. He’s been searching a long time for someone he can entrust with his heart.”

“Michael, this isn’t very fair of you.”

“I know and I don’t care.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Grace, I’m that worried you won’t have me and I don’t know how to convince you. Please, my darling, I beseech you to find it in your heart to love me, as I love you. Do you think you would ever be able to do that?”

“You know,” she replied softly, “if you had just said that part at the beginning, I would have agreed straight away. Haven’t you guessed I’m in love with you…and will never stop loving you, ever?”

And suddenly she was flying in the air. He had snatched her off the ground despite his injured arm and swung her in an arc about him. And he was laughing as if he would never stop. And then he was clasping her to his immense chest, and she was lost in his embrace. He whispered in her ear. “You must promise me, then. Promise you will marry me soonest.”

Emotion robbed her of speech. She arched away to show him her feelings instead.

“Well, do you? Do you promise to marry me?”

“You know I will, Michael. Why won’t you trust me?”

“Because I need to tell you something else, but I must have your word first.”

“Well, again, I must say you aren’t playing fair. I would think you should do the gentlemanly thing and tell me if there is something that might influence my decision.”

He blinked, unmoved by her reproach.

“Well?”

“Will you have me or not?”

She sighed. “I said I would. Now what is it?”

Michael reached for her fingers and extracted four long strands of pearls from his coat, using his uninjured hand. Grace watched as they coiled, overflowing into her waiting palm, and suddenly realized how little she had thought of them once they were gone. “How did you ever…”

“Consider them a wedding gift from Rowland Manning, if you will. And this”—he extracted a worn document from his coat—“is from me.”

Grace allowed the forgotten pearls to slip from her fingers when she spied the document.
The promissory note to Rowland Manning.
“What did you do…?”

“You didn’t really think I would let that blackguard ruin your life, did you? I would have killed him before I let him collect your fortune, Grace. And I would have hung for it. Gladly. But I will not let you live in poverty because of me. I coerced Helston and Ellesmere to go to Manning’s with me. As they stood guard, I climbed through a window in the middle of the night to steal the promissory note.”

Good God.
“And?”

“And he was waiting for me.”

“
And
?”

“And I convinced Rowland to return the note.”

Ill ease filled her. “And how did you do that, Michael? Perhaps you forget that I met the man.”

“I told him he could have my head, but not your fortune. During the course of our gentlemanly disagreement, I parted Rowland from his pistol at the same moment his pistol parted with its ball, hence the injury.”

She swallowed awkwardly.

“Gordy Lefroy appeared at the sound of the discharge. He was an old mate from the days when I apprenticed for Manning. When Rowland ordered Lefroy to fetch a pitchfork to kill me, Gordy refused. He did me a great favor, actually. He finally had the courage to tell Manning the truth, that I had accidentally killed Howard, who was beating a horse in a senseless rage after losing a large amount of coin to me. I had entered the stall with a pitchfork when I heard the horse screaming. The stallion swung about and reared when he heard me, probably assumed I was come to hurt him too. I raised the pitchfork to protect myself only to have the horse change direction in midair when he saw who I was. But the force of the horse’s shoulder landing against mine propelled me into Howard Manning. Gordy had seen it all, but Rowland’s rage at finding his brother near death was such that he would have killed anyone who contradicted Howard’s falsehoods. I don’t blame Gordy. He would have been relieved without recommendation and would have had nowhere to turn. Gordy and the others had urged me to run, had even emptied their own pockets to help me get away. All of us knew Rowland would blame me, would not hear the truth.”

“Oh, Michael,” Grace moaned.

“Helston and Ellesmere came in behind Gordy, and heard it all, even the damning part. Gordy said Howard had once hinted that he’d stolen a string of nobs’ horses in the North Country to line his pockets.”

“But how did you get the promissory note from Rowland?”

“Helston and Ellesmere threatened to expose all to the peers Rowland depended on for his business to thrive. That’s when he relented. But not before he wounded me more deeply than he had with a pistol ball.”

“He finally admitted you were his half brother.”

“Yes. Christ, Grace…”

She stroked his arm when she saw the sadness in his eyes. “But why didn’t you tell me about meeting Rowland when you arrived here?”

“Because I thought I had a better chance convincing you to marry me if you thought your only options were living in modest comfort at Brynlow or living as an egg and dairymaid here. I figured I had little chance of tempting one of the richest and most beautiful women in England to do my mending in Yorkshire. Just consider the family of scoundrels you would be forced to marry into.”