Grace (36 page)

Carefully keeping Mercy’s body between himself and the others, Henry edged toward Sebastian’s horse. With a mocking smile he removed the barrel from Mercy’s forehead and jammed it into her ribs. She cried out in pain as he pushed her up onto the horse’s back.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” he said in a pleasant, sugary tone. “I’m sure you understand. We really must be going.” He moved as if to swing up onto the horse behind Mercy. For just a moment the pistol pointed at the ground. Mercy saw her chance and kicked out suddenly. Instant pandemonium erupted.

The contact of Mercy’s foot with his wrist caused Henry’s finger to tighten convulsively on the trigger. The gun discharged into the soil between the horse’s legs with a sudden loud bang. The blast erupting beneath the already skittish stallion now spooked him completely. The animal reared up in sudden fear, dumping Henry heavily to the ground. Mercy frantically clutched handfuls of the horse’s mane. Somehow she managed to hang on as the frightened horse bolted from the clearing. The loose reins flapped, useless and dangerous, around his running feet.
Mercy tried unsuccessfully to seize them with her right hand while desperately hanging on with her left.

Sebastian shot an anxious look at Trevor, who shouted, “Go!” with an outflung arm in the direction the horse had fled. Without a backward glance, Sebastian leaped on Trevor’s mount to pursue the helpless girl. Grace watched Sebastian disappear from the clearing while Trevor purposefully strode toward Henry.

Just before Trevor reached him, Henry rolled over. He scrambled to his feet and reached inside his coat to retrieve his second pistol. Standing and drawing in one motion, he leveled the wide muzzle at Trevor’s midsection. Trevor froze.

“Back off,” Henry snarled. Bits of grass clung to his disheveled hair, and dirt smeared his face. “Don’t make me shoot you!”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he stared into Henry’s eyes with a look of pure hatred. Henry’s thumb calmly locked the hammer back, filling the taut silence with a threatening, metallic click.

Oddly, at the ominous sound Grace felt the fear drain from her mind, replaced with calm purpose. Set and determined, she began edging away from the men, sidestepping out of Henry’s lines of fire and sight. Her eyes probed the clearing, questing, searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon. The moonlight illuminated a sharp-edged stone about the size of her fist a couple of feet away. Swiftly she bent and scooped it up. Then she spun and threw the rock in the madman’s direction.

At Grace’s sudden movement, Henry turned toward her. Her thrown rock sailed uselessly by, and he swung the barrel of his pistol around to bear upon her. There was a change in his expression. The madman closed one eye, as if taking aim, and minutely adjusted his pistol, leveling it at Grace’s abdomen.

Trevor sprang. His fingers locked on Henry’s arm in a steely grasp, and the momentum of his body weight and motion carried both men to the ground. The two hurled curses at each other and wrestled for control of the weapon.

Grace stood frozen, desperate to help, paralyzed by the realization that she could not. A strangled cry tore from her throat as she heard the men grunting and swearing. She wanted nothing more than to flee, but instead she moved closer, her eyes seeking out Trevor’s face in the moonlight.

Henry grasped the pistol firmly with both hands. Trevor kept the fingers of his left hand locked around Henry’s right wrist, pummeling his adversary’s face with his right. Blood erupted from Henry’s nose and mouth. Ignoring the blows, with a strength born of madness the man slowly brought his pistol to bear on Trevor’s face. With a mighty heave, Trevor tugged down sharply on the barrel. The weapon vanished between them. Henry kicked out and rolled atop his opponent, spitting into Trevor’s face, blinding his foe with blood and saliva.

The second she lost sight of the weapon, Grace’s heart constricted with fear. An instant later the gun went off with a sudden, muffled bang. Her hand flew to her mouth in an impossible attempt to hold back a scream. For a long moment neither man moved. Then Trever gave a mighty push, kicking and shoving his motionless opponent from atop him. Blood covered the earl’s face and chest.

At the sight of the stain spreading on her fiancé’s white shirtfront, Grace gasped. She raced to Trevor’s side. He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down. Her hands tore at the fabric and clawed at the studs of his shirt in a terrified attempt to find the wound.

“Grace,” he said.

“Shhh, darling, please. Just let me look at you.” Her fumbling fingers finally managed to unfasten the uncooperative
studs. With trembling hands she impatiently pushed his shirt open. Her fingers searched, roving over the bunched muscles and planes of his chest and stomach. She raised eyes filled with thankful tears to his grimly smiling ones. “It wasn’t you,” she choked out. Almost against her will, she turned toward Henry’s still figure.

Trevor swiftly reached up and caught her face in his hands, forcing her once more to meet his eyes. “Don’t look, darling. There’s no need. You’re fine, and I’m fine, and that’s all that matters.”

Grace began trembling all over. Trevor folded his arms tenderly about her as she buried her face in his neck. She began to feel safe once more. Against his collar she mumbled, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

He sat up and pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t be silly,” he murmured in a soothing voice, stroking her tangled hair. “Although I do wish you’d stop going to such extreme lengths to avoid becoming my wife.”

Grace pulled back indignantly, preparing to offer heated protest, when she spied Trevor’s tender smile. “After all,” he said with a victorious smirk, “I
did
win our wager.”

Grace could not be angry with him for the gentle gibe, could not even find annoyance at the fact that blood had soaked her hands and dress. She simply took his face between her hands and kissed him softly. Relief flooded through her, expressing itself in happy tears that cut stark-white paths through the dust and grime covering her cheeks. “Trevor?”

“I know, darling.” He smiled softly. “I know.”

They turned in unison as slow hoofbeats approached the clearing. A familiar pair emerged from the trees, mounted together on the gelding, leading the lathered stallion behind them. Mercy was laid quite comfortably across a grim-faced Sebastian’s lap, her arms wrapped happily about his neck. The duke stared fixedly ahead and looked slightly
nervous. He purposely avoided looking down and seeing Mercy’s dreamy smile and luminous expression of utter adoration.

At the sight, Trevor and Grace burst out laughing.

A
hush fell over the enormous room. The crowd stared as four of the most powerful and influential men in England solemnly took their places at the front of the church, garbed in their finest clothing. The organ was silent for a long moment as the bridal procession assembled at the back of the church. An occasional sniffle punctured the silence, either from an emotional guest or a disappointed mama who had held out a final hope for her own daughter. Then the music began again, soaring through the church, filling the enormous room with sound. One by one Patience, Faith, and Amanda walked slowly down the aisle. When they had each taken their places opposite the men, Grace appeared at the end of the aisle on her father’s arm. The pair started slowly on their journey to the front of the church. Little by little the dreadful knot that had formed in the pit of Trevor’s stomach dissolved, replaced by a feeling of warm, possessive pride.

She was truly a vision to behold. Almost impossibly beautiful, she came toward him with regal grace, her head held high and her luminous blue eyes locked with his.
I did it,
he thought.
Somehow I made her love me.
His heart quickened at the thought, and his eyes softened with the wonder of it all. Before he knew it—though not soon
enough—she stood beside him. Bingham Ackerly gently placed her small hand in his large one. Trevor smiled tenderly down at his bride, and they turned together to speak the vows that would make them man and wife.

Grace repeated her pledge in a strong, clear voice, her eyes never leaving his. Trevor felt something wrench inside him, and when it came time for him to say his own words, his voice caught on the word
love
. He paused a moment, swallowed hard past the lump of emotion in his throat, and continued. Grace squeezed his hand.

After the words were spoken, Trevor leaned over to softly kiss his wife and to whisper to her in a voice still choked with feeling, “You look absolutely ravishing, my lady.”

Grace gave her husband an impish little smile, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him back. She replied in a low tone of mock solemnity, “I’m very glad you approve, my lord.” She waited a heartbeat, then whispered, “I very nearly wore my Grant Radnor costume, you see.”

The picture
that
statement brought to mind wrung a startled laugh from Trevor. Grace remained serenely composed. Still laughing, Trevor offered her his arm and they turned to walk together for the first time as husband and wife. And for weeks after the ceremony, those lucky enough to sit close to the aisle speculated as to why, when the Countess of Huntwick sailed blithely down the aisle, her face tranquil, her new husband walked beside her, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

They decided to hold the lavish reception at Trevor’s town house for the sake of convenience. His ballroom, much larger than Cleo Egerton’s, would more easily accommodate such a large guest list. The town house also contained more available chambers to house the many overnight guests who had come for the ceremony.

Grace and Trevor had stood in the receiving line for well
over an hour with their attendants, Aunt Cleo, and Bingham Ackerly, when the number of arriving guests finally began to dwindle. Gratefully, Grace accepted a glass of champagne and a gentle kiss from her husband, then rubbed her cheeks where the muscles ached from the effort of continuous smiling. She took a rejuvenating sip from the glass, leaned toward Trevor, and whispered, “Would it be all right for us to leave now?”

Trevor was pleasantly surprised. He had expected maidenly fears to have a prominent place in her mind this evening. “I think it is a bit early yet, darling. There would be talk, you know.”

Grace sighed. “I suppose it
would
be rather rude,” she said. She looked around the crowded room, but brightened as a thought occurred to her. “There are a lot of people here. Perhaps we wouldn’t be missed?” She gave him a hopeful look.

Trevor couldn’t believe she meant what he thought she did. Could she really be so eager to begin their wedding night? He searched her smiling face, but found nothing but love and trust in her shining blue eyes. She
had
grown up in the country, he rationalized to himself. She had likely watched her father breed horses all her life, and had, perhaps, even helped with the delivery of some. That would, of course, explain her frank attitude toward the consummation of their marriage. The knowledge rather relieved him. Although he looked forward to initiating his innocent young wife to the joys of the marriage bed, he did
not
enjoy the thought of frightening her. He smiled down at her, a wry grin on his face. “I’m quite certain our absence would be remarked upon.”

“You’re probably right,” she said with a resigned little sigh. She looked up at her handsome husband and felt a sudden surge of complete, carefree joy. Playfully, she tapped him on the shoulder, then backed a couple small
steps away from him. She clasped her hands innocently behind her back, an impish smile lighting her face. “Well, if we can’t leave yet, I think we should make every effort to enjoy the time we must spend here, shouldn’t we?”

Trevor looked into her dancing eyes dubiously. He took a step toward her as she continued to back away. Grace held up a warning hand. He stopped. “You’re it,” she gleefully informed him with a jaunty toss of her head.

A smile lit his face. He caught her joyous mood. “I’m what?”

“It,” said Grace patiently. She backed two more steps away. A worried look crossed her face, and she took one step back toward him, suddenly remembering that he had never had brothers and sisters to play games with as a child. Staying just out of his reach, she explained:“You see,
I
just tagged
you
, and now
you
must tag
me
. Then I will be it. But you have to catch me first.” With that, she spun away in a flurry of dove-colored silk skirts. She vanished with astonishing swiftness into the crowd.

Utterly enchanted, Trevor stared at the spot where he had last seen his bride of only a few hours, his face wreathed in a wide, silly grin.
I’m it,
he thought, and chuckled to himself.

Gareth materialized at his side. “Something amusing, Hunt?” He squinted and peered in the same direction as Trevor, but saw only a cross-looking old dowager in a shocking orange turban adorned with a large lime-green feather. He found the sight far more frightening than amusing. He looked back at his friend. “Care to let me in on the joke?”