Rescuing Mr. Gracey (34 page)

The pony walked forward, and after a few feet, Mary beamed him a triumphant smile.

“Well done, Mary.” He returned the smile, very pleased with her bravery. He mounted Ringo, and thinking conversation might relax her further, he said, “I had a most interesting talk with my father this morn.”

Mary’s eyes did not waver from her forward intent. “Oh?”

Alec chuckled. “Mr. Gracey thinks you’d make a fine wife.”

Mary’s eyes widened but never wavered from the road. “Ohhhh…”

“Aye. And Mrs. Gracey obviously loves you too.”

“Stop rattling on and on, sir. I am intent on staying atop this huge animal while going so fast.”

Erupting with laughter, Alec nearly rolled off his horse. “Mary…sweet Mary. We crawl at a snail’s pace. I grow fatigued at the careful speed you force upon me.”

Decisively, impulsively, Alec scooped her up and plopped her onto Ringo. She screamed and buried her head against his chest.

“Go home, Bell.” The smaller horse circled about and happily trotted toward the barn, leaving Mary no option but to remain on Alec’s horse. Laughing again, he rearranged her so that she sat forward, his arms woven inside hers, his hand resting on her stomach.

Alec laughed again when she huffed with modesty and jerked her dress over exposed ankles. Wiggling more, she pushed her tasseled hat back off her tumbled hair. Her movement affected his thoughts. Sliding to Ringo’s rump, he scooted her more into his saddle.

“Now, this
is
a large animal.” He chuckled.

She clutched his arms. “I’m wonderin’ if you’ve room back there. What if ya fall off and I must manage this…creature…on me own?”

“There’s no chance, Mary.” Alec laughed. “All you need is my arms.” Poor thing trembled as a bunny confronting a predatory snake. “Relax, Mary. Feel the wonder of the wind as it caresses your face, smell the bounty of spring flowers, and look at the world as it flies past.”

Stiff as a queen at court, she jerked her head. “That is not likely, sir.”

He laughed again, then, arms embracing her to his chest, kicked the magnificent steed. Ringo lunged. His long legs pounded the earth. His neck arched with the need to go faster. His long mane flowed as the wind parted for the beast and his passengers.

Mary’s hands painfully gripped Alec’s arms, and her breath came in desperate gasps. Her hat continued to slide over her eyes. Alec swept the thing off her head and tossed it to the wind, and then he let Ringo run hard for just a few moments.
 

“Open your eyes, Mary, or you’ll miss the adventure.”

Amazingly, her boardlike posture softened, inch by trusting inch. Alec snuggled closer and inhaled her scent, warm sun and gentle roses. His hand moved under her ribs, touching her heart’s rapid beat. Her hair, now tumbled over her shoulders and down her back, sparked as a spectrum of color and wrapped like soft ribbons around his shoulders and neck.

Slowing the powerful animal to a fast walk, he cut across a field of wildflowers and clover. Oak trees on either side of the path waved a greeting, thickening in number as they drew closer to the lake.

The horse stopped, and for a moment, Alec simply embraced Mary, bringing her small back more tightly to his broad chest. “Did you like your first horse ride, Mary?”

“It scared the life out of me, Mr. Gracey.” She paused. When she turned so that he viewed her profile, he was surprised by a dimple. “’Twas the most exciting thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Alec smiled and allowed his finger to stroke the dimple on her cheek. Mary lowered her head, then pulled forward.

Don’t go so fast, Alec.
After sliding off the back of his horse, he lifted her easily to the ground. His arms did not immediately relinquish the treasure, though. Instead, he leaned a little closer. “You don’t know how much I missed this…”

“This lake?” she asked, looking around as if the information had become important.

He shook his head. “Until now, this lake was only a childhood retreat.” He sighed. “No. What has haunted me with regret was the day Mr. Dennison stopped our excursions to the lake by your house. Aside from the night I parted from you, the day you restricted my time with you was the second blackest I’ve ever known.”

Alec knew he had opened the door for pain, but things must be said. History must be clarified. Mary twisted, forcing him to release her. She stepped toward the lake, her arms folded. He clenched his jaw, irritated with his impatience to clear the slate.

Lightening his tone, he said, “My mother provided swimming clothes for you.” She turned, her brow lifted. He tossed a cloth bag toward her. “Would you like to take a swim?”

Her lower lip slid between her teeth. His heart pounded, worried, hopeful. Her gaze wandered to the lake, and she smiled. “Aye, very much.”

“And would you allow me to join you?”

Shocked, she frowned. “That…”

“The clothing is not in the least revealing,” he interrupted. “I have an old pair of breeches as well, and I promise to leave my shirt on.” He paused, head down, clearing his throat. “I just wish to enjoy a swim with you.”

“’Tis not safe for you to get chilled, sir.”

He grinned. “Oh, but I won’t, Miss Smyth. This lake is fed by a warm underground spring. ’Tis almost like a bath.”

Her hands twisted with indecision. He waited. “Perhaps ’twill do no harm.”

Alec hurriedly pointed to a grove of trees as he went in the opposite direction. “You may dress privately there.”

Within a flash of time, Alec dashed into the water, swimming backward. “Come out, come out, else I come and get you.”

The swimming gear provided by his mother was horrible. Fluffy leggings and a thick short dress that was so bulky, one could not see Mary inside it. At least she could not claim the garment was immodest.

She scurried into the water, her eyes wide with expectation, her feet splashing the lake bed. Alec loved that she abandoned all ladylike gentility. Instead, she splashed playfully and childishly. Surprise at the warmth of the water sweetened her smile. “Aye. ’Tis so much better than the lake with which I am accustomed,” she said.

Oh, how he wanted to frolic and leap and tease, abandoning all obstacles that separated them. Swimming closer, circling her, he closed the distance. “Do you know what water game I played with my sisters?”

Her mouth twitched as she tried to look calm. “Mr. Gracey, you promised to keep me out of harm’s way.”

His circles tightened; his smile broadened. “My game won’t hurt you.”

“No.” She laughed, trying to skip away. He enclosed his hands around her tiny waist and tossed her high and away. She screamed, then plopped into the deep water. Rising, her mouth open in a broad smile, Mary blinked away the water that rolled into her eyes. She swept chunks of burnished wet hair from her face, appearing to him as the most beautiful woman he had ever viewed.

Words failed him, but uncontrolled laughter did not. So distracted by his own amusement was he that he failed to see Mary approach from under the water. Suddenly, his legs flew out, and he found his own head dunked beneath the water.

Now it was Mary’s turn to laugh, the tinkling sound striking him like bells from heaven. “You forget I have four brothers. I know well how to defend myself.”

Oh Lord, after the last month of torture and worry, the respite was a treasure. The laughter and teasing erased all tension while conflict disappeared. Closing his eyes, he embraced the joyful emotion—warm sun, gentle breeze, sweet air, cool water, and Mary—to burn it into his memory.

Looking at her, his sweet little Irish angel, undignified as a wet kitten in overlarge clothing, he acknowledged that he desperately loved her, would do anything for her, be anything for her.

But he dared not tell her.

To share even a tiny portion of his love would destroy his blissful happiness as surely as the crash of delicate crystal. Instead, he checked the thrumming emotion racing through his heart and chased her around the lake until once more he tossed her high in the air, because the sound of her laughter was the happiest sound in the world.

After a half hour, they emerged and dressed. Alec lifted the picnic basket off Ringo’s saddle, and stretching a large quilt upon a flat, grassy spot under a shade tree, he arranged Mary’s favorite foods upon napkins. Chicken, cheese, fruit, bread, a little wine, and even sweet cakes were served.

Mary skipped a glance over the array of food. “You spoil me, Mr. Gracey. ’Twill be hard to return to potato cakes.”

He stayed silent, though he wanted to beg her never to go back. Instead, he allowed his fingers to brush her neck as he lifted a strand of hair. Goose bumps spread across her skin, and she released a sigh that encouraged sensuous impulses. Bringing the liquid golden fire of her hair to his nose, he inhaled the sweet rose scent, then trailed his finger down to her arm, to her hand.

~ 31 ~

“For them they will disown.”

She should not allow him this intimacy—his slow, drifting fingers feathering a tender path down her neck, wrist, hand, fingers. Reasons to resist floated away like the fallen leaf that just disappeared across the lake’s shore.

“Would you like more chicken?” he asked.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she braced her hands on the ground behind her. Tilting her head up, Mary welcomed the delicious sensations of sun on her face and wet hair tumbled down her back. “I could not eat another bite,” she said, inhaling wild lavender and lilac blended with his smell of clove and leather and horse. Had she ever been this carefree?

“I love seeing you so content, Mary. You remind me of a kitten curled in a cozy chair.” His hand brushed up her arm again, then capturing a stray hair, he tucked it behind her ear. One finger stayed there, stroking her ear’s outer edge. She tilted her head farther up, giving him greater access.

The smile on her mouth grew as other senses awakened—birds chirping, leaves gently rustling, water lapping upon the shore.

When had she ever felt this wonderfully satisfied and relaxed? Her mind traveled back…before the blight, before the Gombeen man, before the threat of the workhouse.

Oddly, that thought caused a reflexive alertness in her stomach that rushed over every limb. As if she’d been slapped awake, Mary’s eyes flew open, her body shifted up.
How can ye be so selfish, Mary Smyth? Dawdling your days all the while the family suffers and sweats.
Mary bit her lower lip and stiffened.
The harvest.
Anxious, regretful, Mary was stunned that she had forgotten about the upcoming harvest. Her family must be desperate with worry about when she would return, for the job required the harsh physical labor of many people. Dread pierced her conscience, and she shuddered involuntarily.

Of course, he noticed her reaction. He noticed everything. “Are you cold?”

Mary tried to deny her body’s sudden chill, but Alec’s sinewy arms had already pulled her toward him and wrapped about her stomach. Before she could blink, he sheltered her inside his long legs and warm back.

“Sir, ’tis not proper.”

“Mary, we are a ways past ‘proper.’ You’ve seen me naked. I’ve seen you near naked. You’ve tended me during illness. I’ve tended you after an assault.”

The way he stated all the events they had experienced made her relax into his chest. His arms wrapped around her and rested over her arms. “I’m jealous when your thoughts steal you away. I fear the direction,” he whispered in her ear. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

Shamelessly, Mary curled into his warm wall of male strength. “Aye,” she replied, sadness creeping into her voice. “You have reason, for I was thinking how I need to be home.”

“Well then,” he whispered with an adorable Irish lilt. “’Tis time for me to pour on me very best distraction. Be wary, lass, for I’m most determined to shower ye with affection and send ya tremblin’ with laughter and smiles.”

“You’re welcome to try, Mr. Gracey,” she said, turning her head toward him. “But since I well know your reputation with young women, know I am well prepared to resist your attempt.”

One side of his mouth curved, slowly, playfully. His voice lowered to a rumble. “Does the lass challenge me, the champion mind-distracter in all of Ireland?”

Mary giggled and sighed.
What game are ya playin’, Mary Smyth?
Too many years of Catholic conscience jerked her from the sweet embrace. Curling her legs to her chest, her bare feet tucked inside her dress skirt, she hugged her legs and turned her head to look at him again. Having decided that tonight would be the night to slip away to Dolly’s Brae, she made up her mind that she would allow him bits of her, traces of her heart, before she left.

His gaze roamed, gathering her in, touching each facial feature. “Tell me about your childhood,” he said unexpectedly.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh well, that ’tis a distraction for sure, Mr. Gracey.”

His finger traced a path from her chin up toward her cheek. His voice was a velvet whisper. “Did you play with dolls or tease your brothers or get into trouble with your parents?”

She swallowed. Excitement, sorrow, joy, and fear all constricted her throat at once and made it impossible to breathe. “I did have a rag doll. Me oldest sister, Bridget, made it for me one Christmas. Really ’twas no more than bits of cloth, but I treasured Miss Molly.” She swiveled her head from his perusal, focusing instead on Ringo as he chewed on grass under a massive oak tree. “And as for teasing, my two older brothers forever played tricks on me, but I managed to get in a few licks too.”