Rescuing Mr. Gracey (38 page)

Looking at the kind woman’s face, she wished she could share who she really was, her history, her family, their struggles. She looked down at her hands, away from the woman’s honest concern. Perhaps, after she was gone, Alec would tell them about her, and their opinions might change.

“There now. Be off with ya, miss. The young master will be wearin’ down the floor a’waitin’.”

Alec indeed paced below. She paused at the top of the stairs and watched him, hands behind his back, focus on the marble floor. He too had dressed formally in long, well-tailored black tails, a white linen shirt and cravat, and a gray silk vest. As she glided down the circular stairs, she was struck by his stunning appearance. Tall, well-built, dark, and so very handsome, he was unusually attractive tonight.

When he caught sight of her, his face lit like a blazing chandelier. He bowed formally, his gaze roaming over her approvingly. “Milady hypnotizes me this night,” he murmured.

Her heart hammered. “I believe you’re more Irish with every passing day.”

“Even the most eloquent Irish poet would hunger for words to describe the vision before me,” he whispered. He smiled, then inhaled. “I promised to show you something special tonight, but we will also be dining out.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I heard the earl will be here.”

Alec frowned and nodded grimly. He held open a shiny black silk cape with an emerald silk lining. “Tonight, it is only you and me. No country, no religion, no families.”

He adjusted the cape on her shoulders, his fingers caressing her exposed skin. Tiny bumps scattered down her back and fluttered her heart. She could feel his breath upon her neck, heard him breathe in the scent of her hair. She swayed, leaning into him.

He cleared his throat. Stepping to her side, he captured her hand and placed it inside the crook of his arm. “We are off to supper and a musical performance in Banbridge.”

Childlike excitement bubbled in her stomach. “Ohhhh.”

His warm smile turned into a boyish grin. “Aye. I knew you’d approve.”

Alec used the umbrella to shield her from the light rain as they entered the covered carriage. Affection and tender care completely surrounded her inside the covered coach. A hot brick was ready for her feet, as was the thick soft wool blanket that he wrapped carefully about her. Snuggled close, his arm touching hers, his leg pressed close, he caressed her hand inside his own and placed a soft kiss on her gloved palm.

When they arrived at their destination, they were ushered into a large, stately home and shown into a parlor where they sat with the other patrons. Moments later, an orchestra began to play, and Mary was enraptured by the exquisite sound of perfect music. Tears slipped from her eyes. Alec noticed, of course. “Milady is sad?”

Mary forced the melancholy away.
Not tonight, Mary Smyth. ’Twill be enough time for guilt and regret later.
She smiled gently, touching every part of his face with her gaze. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, then his finger captured a misty tear. He kissed the corner of her eye. “I wanted you to hear this group, Mary, and the beautiful sounds they make together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She could only nod, for the sound had so moved her.

“These people have come together because of their love of music.” He paused, then nodded toward the orchestra. “They are Anglicans, Catholics, Presbyterians…even nonbelievers. No family, no history, no differences. Only music. They are all different but share their love of music. They have found a way to make it work.”

Mary gazed hard at the group. One would never know they did not belong together, for they laughed compatibly, complimented each other generously. For the rest of the evening, that tiny flame of hope stayed deep in her heart.

Afterward, the pair rode silently back to Castlewellan, his hand possessively enclosing hers. Just before they arrived at the manor, he unexpectedly lifted her chin and brought his lips a whisper from her own. Rain tapped on the carriage roof and joined with horse clops to make cozy beats. His warm breath, slightly uneven, touched her face. “I have longed for a kiss since the night I let you go.” He waited as if for permission. So near, so very near she could almost taste his firm mouth. As if he were a magnet hovering over a precious metal, she tumbled into his waiting embrace. His hand, slightly trembling, captured her jaw. Her own clutched his cloak. The movement of the carriage added to a whirling dizziness that made her giddy. Melding into her, his mouth took possession of every tiny part of her own mouth. Her hands wandered through his hair, over his neck, memorizing, remembering every sensation.

His head fell down, and he kissed the heated spot on her neck. His breathing became ragged. “Mary, I want to make you may wife. Please say yes.”

Now her world tilted.
Marriage. Mary Smyth, ’tis the devil come to take ya from yar faith.
She shoved herself from his warm arms. Nervously twisting her fingers, she heaved a great, painful sigh. “Don’t. Alec.” The words frightened her. Forbidden and terrifying, this could never be. “Please don’t. I don’t belong here with all this glitter. I have enjoyed all of it, but I know I will wake…”

Alec swept his hand in the air. “Mary. This is all frosting on a wonderful cake. I can live without frosting. I can’t live without the Irish cake.”

“You don’t belong in my world, Alec. Don’t pretend ’twill be fine just ’cause ya wish it were so.”

He nudged her chin up. “Mary, you forget, I entered your world, and it did not terrify me.”

She stroked his cheek and smiled sadly. “Aye. And then ya returned home to a nice soft bed and a bath and food to fill your hunger.” Her hand dropped as did her head. “’Twould be foolish to believe ya would not regret losing all this. I’ll be missing it meself, that’s for certain.”

He carried her hand to his chest. “You completely underestimate the power of the love that I have for a wee lass. To me, it matters not where she lives. A life without her is what would be unthinkable.”

She smiled wistfully, knowing this was the last time she would hold him. Boldly, she lifted her face. “Will you kiss me good night, Alec?”

His worried brow smoothed, and a broad smile spread over his expression. Cupping her jaw with one hand, he leaned down and brushed her lips, touched the corners of her mouth, tasted her cheek, the tip of her nose, her eyelashes. Then his mouth, warm and soft, joined hers. At first, the kiss was tender and gentle. Soon, she heard him groan, and his other hand tugged her head closer. Her heart began to crash with the weight of his need, her need. His lips demanded and gave, insistent and urgent. His breathing joined her ragged attempt to inhale.

She pulled away and touched her fingers where his sweet lips had claimed possession.
Leave, Mary Smyth, before ya beg him to marry ya.
“Good night, Alec.”

“Wait.” He took her hand and placed it upon his heart. “I will not force you to discuss our future tonight. But I want to assure you that I do have a plan in place, one that protects your family and mine. Say you will meet me tomorrow?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but his long finger pressed upon her lips and silenced her protest. His tender kiss made all other objections fall into a deep slumber. “In the morning, Mary. Good night.”

~ 36 ~

“There was a damsel among them all…”

Alexander Gracey lifted the smallest edge of the window cover. Peering carefully, he observed the earl standing at his door, waiting for entrance. Stiff, regal, impatient, the arrogant lord radiated aristocracy.

Gracey’s lips compressed with distaste. This was not going to be pleasant. Exhaling a frustrated puff of air, he dropped the curtain and moved to strategically position two chairs near the fire. Thinking better of it, he nudged one of the chairs to a sharper angle, thus gaining a better view of the library entrance.

As a betting man, he thought the odds were the earl would not sit down anyway. Gracey heard the butler greet the lord. “Mr. Gracey is expecting you, sir. May I take your cloak?”

He wondered how much the earl knew, considering the notes he himself kept getting. Never had the stakes been so high—his son, his wife, his own future—all rested on how well he managed to play this hand, for in Gracey’s mind, everything in life could be equated to a poker game. Pouring a generous tumbler of whiskey, Gracey felt a rush of excitement mingled with fear—like the old days when he would risk everything on a single hand of cards.

Or, he thought grimly, like the day he struck a deal with the devil about to walk into the room. Right now, as he heard the earl’s footsteps click down the marble hallway, his heart beat too rapidly. Tonight, his world balanced too precariously on a rickety bridge. He was not afraid for himself. Having scurried about the lonely, depraved streets in his youth, he knew how to survive if he landed there again.

Rather, he feared for his wife, his son. Gracey wiped a nervous hand over his jacket, then positioned his leg in a relaxed pose and adjusted his expression to match his body. Lord Roden would grow all the thirstier for his blood should he show trepidation. The earl’s s heavy steps tapped like the rhythmic tick of doom.

Gracey’s heart banged, but closing his eyes, he said a fast prayer. The earl whooshed into the room, thunder in his expression. Gracey smiled and swept an arm toward the vacant chair next to his own. “Welcome, Roden. Shall I pour a bit of Irish whiskey to warm ya?”

The earl’s dark eyes pierced Alexander. “Where is your son?”

Roden’s words sucked the air from the room. An unfamiliar urge to flee made him tighten his frame. “Me son’s out with a new love interest.” He lifted a brow. “Do ya wish a drink, sire?”

From his towering position, Roden’s gaze probed. “Rumors abound, Gracey,” the earl said in a voice that rumbled like an approaching storm. “None of them bode well for your family.”

Sweat trickled down Gracey’s neck. He rose to his full height, knowing he had three inches on the earl, and placed his drink on the table. Locking a fearless gaze upon the earl, Gracey challenged him with lowered brows. The game had begun. “I am aware of the rumors, and the matter has been resolved.”

The earl’s voice boomed fury. “Nothing has been resolved.” Pointing a long finger, he twisted his expression to an ugly snarl. “Do you play me for a fool? Do you mock my goals?”

Calmly, carefully, Gracey gleaned information. “Sir, perhaps you would clarify?”

Roden’s voice was ominously quiet. “Are you denying that your son hired a Catholic to work at the mill? Are you saying that Joseph Smyth is not, at this very moment, preparing to harvest flax—a crop your son assisted in planting with that enemy? There is much to answer for, sir.”

His heart pounded in his ears, but Gracey knew to keep his face blank. He took a long sip, pausing to recalibrate.
When a bad hand has been dealt, ya must bluff.
Boldly shrugging, he said, “Alec believed that helping the native would increase his popularity with the more moderate voters, especially since he is allied with you. As you know, Alec’s opponent, William Maher, is well financed and quite popular with conservatives.”

Roden’s jaw clamped, and his thick brows furrowed as he digested the surprising answer. “Is this the excuse you are using, then?”

There was more. Gracey sensed that the earl played with him, daring him to admit something. Pacing toward the table, he pretended to refill his glass. He shifted strategy. “Ya know I am but a simple merchant, sir. Alec, on the other hand, is so very intelligent. I propose we both travel to your home tomorrow, and he can lay out his thoughts and ideas more clearly.” At least that would buy him some time.

The earl growled. “Are you saying he courted a Catholic to get political support away from Maher?”

Gracey stuffed sweaty hands into his jacket pockets.
Damn if he doesn’t know the worst.
“Your source failed to note that my son broke with the girl almost a month ago.”

In a burst of unexpected violence, the earl grasped the side table and heaved it across the room. Crystal shattered everywhere, but Gracey refused to flinch. To do so would show the earl that he held the better hand. Instead, he lifted one brow as if to reprimand the tantrum.

“You filthy Irish scum,” Roden roared. “I should have known better than to pull you out of the streets, give you the financing to start the mill…trust you. I can take it all away again. You know what I have on you.”

Gracey’s limbs melted like butter under the intense heat of the threat. He maintained a defiant pose. To do otherwise would give the earl the psychological edge. However, he stayed quiet, alert, ready.

“Do you deny you diverted the march from Dolly’s Brae?” the earl asked.

“’Twas politically wise.”

The earl paced, his stressed steps crushing glass into the wood floor. “If you are betraying me, I won’t stop with just you. I will destroy Alec. Do not doubt that your family will be on the streets by the end of the week.”

Gracey studied the opponent and realized he had one tattered card left to play. Raising the ante, he laid down his cards. “I do not need to remind you that Alec is the likely winner of this election.” He knew that the earl would rather do anything than have Maher win. Gracey doubled the bet by using the same argument Alec had with him. “The famine has increased sympathy for the natives. I thought diverting the march away from Dolly’s Brae wise…”

A meaty fist slammed upon another fragile table. “Don’t ever think again, Gracey. Leave that to those who were born with a brain. By God, from now on, you will follow my direction with absolute loyalty.”