His Saving Grace (24 page)

Michael quietly slid out of bed. They had not made love after all. Both had cried while holding each other until there were no more tears left and they had fallen into an exhausted sleep in each other’s arms. It had been nice, holding Grace like that, comforting her for once instead of the other way around. It didn’t stop his dark thoughts, and it didn’t quite change his mind that she was better off without him, but it had been nice.

In the drawing room, he stirred the embers in the grate, hoping to bring some warmth into the room. The thought of Grace living in such a cold, drafty house sparked his anger.

Michael moved the ottoman close to the flames and stared into them. He still felt he didn’t deserve Grace. She was so stubborn that she didn’t see what he saw. And she was so loyal that she refused to believe him when he said their marriage was over.

Is your marriage over?

His heart’s desire whispered across his conscience. He tried to ignore it, to push it away, but it persisted.

He loved her. That was not in dispute.

But it was because of his love that he wanted to sever their relationship.

She deserved happiness, and he was certain he could not provide it.

You made her happy once, you can do it again.

He stood and rubbed his hands along his trousers, feeling stifled. Now that he’d stirred the fire, it was too warm.

He made his way outside and looked up at the clear skies and the stars that twinkled down on him. He swallowed, his fear overpowering. He wanted to live. He wanted to make Grace happy. He wanted to stay with her, but he didn’t know how.

He didn’t know how to become the man he once was.

He wasn’t certain he
could
become that man again.

He felt so different these days. As if a part of him was gone and other parts irrevocably altered.

He breathed in the deep air and found himself in front of Grace’s now empty conservatory, where she had spent so many hours digging in the dirt and sorting through her seeds. Had it been her solace after his death? Had she come here to be alone? To think?

“What do I do?” he whispered to himself. “How do I make this right?”

By leaving her? Or by staying?

Something flickered in the reflection of the glass panes of the conservatory. An orange light that caught his attention. He stared at it, lost in his thoughts. Until he realized that it was unnaturally bright and the orange light should not be there.

He spun around to find flames dancing in the windows of the drawing room.

“No,” he whispered, his heart clenching. “No!” he screamed as he ran toward the house.

His knee buckled and he fell, realizing that he’d left his cane by the side of the bed. Pushing up from the ground, he stumbled to the house.

It seemed the flames were contained in the drawing room. Grace had said something about the chimney not pulling the smoke as it should. Damn it, he should have had it cleaned right away. Right on top of that thought came the memory that they had equipped the house with gas lighting. When those flames hit the gas, the house would blow.

“Grace!” He screamed her name even though he was certain she could not hear him. Her bedroom was on the other side of the house, facing the lane.

It seemed to take forever for him to reach the house, but when he did, the heat from the fire had him stumbling back a few steps. The roar of it was monstrous. He hoped it had awakened Grace and that she had made her way outside to the front of the house. Briefly, he contemplated running around to the front to see if she was there, but if she wasn’t, then he would have wasted precious time in getting to her.

Instead, he put his head down and plunged through the kitchen door. Thick black smoke obscured everything. He felt his way through the kitchen.

Thank the Lord there were no servants here.

But good God, if he didn’t get to Grace in time…

He stopped that thought before it fully formed.

The acrid smoke filled his lungs, and he coughed as he plowed through it and stumbled into the back hall, where more smoke floated above the floor.

Orange light flickered from beneath the closed door of the drawing room. How much time did he have?

He raced up the stairs. He didn’t have enough breath to call out her name. He was choking on the smoke, suffocating. He ran his hands along the wall, counting the doors as he went. The floor beneath him was becoming warm. His fear that the floor would collapse propelled him forward.

Something brushed up against his arm, and he grabbed hold of the soft flesh of Grace’s upper arm.

“Grace.”

“Michael.”

Through the swirling smoke, he caught glimpses of her. She had dressed in her white nightgown and robe, allowing him to see her better.

“What’s happening?” she gasped.

“Fire. In the drawing room. Get out.” He grasped her arm more firmly and turned around, running his hand along the wall in search of the railing that would lead them down the steps.

Finding Grace had been a stroke of luck. They easily could have passed each other without even realizing it.

An explosion rocked the house, throwing him to the floor. He held tight to Grace and pulled her down with him, rolling so that he could tuck her underneath him. The force of the explosion knocked the breath out of him, and for a moment he lay there, dazed.

The flames must have reached the gaslights in the drawing room, which meant they had only moments before it spread to the rest of the house.

He scrambled to his feet, pulling Grace up. “Are you hurt?”

She was coughing so hard that she could not speak. Once again he changed direction, heading back to the bedroom. Their only hope now was the windows. The stairway would be blocked, the entire downstairs engulfed in flames.

Grace stumbled along beside him as they entered the bedroom. He unlocked and lifted the sash and stuck his head out to gulp in fresh air.

A ledge ran the length of the house, wide enough that they could stand on it. It would be dangerous, but they had no choice. He threw one leg over the sill.

“What are you doing?” Grace pulled on his arm as if to bring him back in.

“No choice.”

He balanced one foot on the ledge and carefully drew his other foot out until he was leaning against the outside wall. He reached in for Grace. She hung back, her eyes wide as she looked at the ledge he was asking her to stand upon.

“Hurry,” he bit out.

She disappeared from the window, and then one bare foot poked out, toes searching for the ledge. She ducked her head through and carefully pulled the other leg out. Michael grabbed her hand as they pressed their backs against the wall.

From here, it was a sheer drop down.

Fire shot out from shattered windows just one floor below. Desperate and terrified, Michael scooted to the right, trying to get as far from the flames as possible. He had no idea where they would go after that. His only thought was to get them away from the fire.

Grace followed his movements, and for once he was grateful she didn’t argue. His breath sawed painfully in and out, and his lungs screamed in agony. He could hear Grace’s labored breaths. Her white nightgown was torn and sooty, and her toes peeked out from the voluminous hem. They clung to each other’s hands. He refused to let her go as he contemplated just what in the hell they were going to do now.

He heard a shout and Grace gasped.

Tarik stood below them, holding out his arms and yelling, but Michael couldn’t hear what he was saying. Behind Tarik came carriages, disgorging the servants from the manor house. From the other direction came more carriages. Townspeople coming to help.

Michael’s relief was so enormous that his legs almost buckled. He clung tightly to Grace and looked down at Tarik, realizing that the man was trying to get them to jump.

“Please, my lord. It’s the only way.”

Michael looked to the left, where the flames were advancing. Black smoke billowed out of the bedchamber that he and Grace had been sleeping in not an hour before. Heat crept closer.

People gathered in a semicircle behind Tarik, looking up at them.

Another explosion rocked the house. People screamed. Some ran in the opposite direction. Grace cried out as flames licked at her nightgown. She moved closer to Michael to avoid them.

“You have to jump,” he said.

She looked at him in terror. “Not without you.”

“This is no time to argue, Grace. It’s the only way.”

Her hold tightened on his hand. “I’m not leaving you up here. We jump together.”

Townsmen had joined Tarik. All were holding their arms out, urging them to jump.

He looked down at her face. How could he let her go?

How could he trust her to the men below?

A flame shot out from the window beside her.

“I have always loved you, Gracie. If I don’t make it, know that I will always walk beside you.” He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.

“No!” She let go of the wall behind her and clawed at his arm, but he was ready for her and pushed, heaving her away from the house. She screamed, reaching out to him, her nightgown billowing around her in a white cloud, her hair nearly as golden as a halo.

I love you.
He mouthed the words, hoping she saw. Hoping she understood.

He held his breath until she fell effortlessly and without incident into the waiting arms below.

She was whisked away by a group of men and carefully placed on the ground, where the town doctor bent over her.

Michael leaned his head back and breathed deep, the cool air like razors in his throat.

Desperate shouts had him opening his eyes and looking down. Tarik was frantically motioning for him to jump.

And then Grace was beside Tarik, looking up at him, tears running down her face, making clean track marks in the soot on her cheeks. She did not motion to him, but she did not need to. He saw the desperation in her eyes, the plea in her expression. And the terror that he would not jump.

He could die an honorable death. He could die a hero, having saved his wife.

Or he could jump into the arms of the men below and into an unknown future where he would have to learn to live with the man he had become.

Michael groaned and tried to pry open his burning eyelids. He hurt everywhere. His hands, his legs, and especially his throat. It hurt to breathe. When he tried, he could do no more than make a wheezing sound that ended in a weak cough.

He turned his head to find Grace sitting in a chair beside his bed. Her hair was pulled back and her gown was a pale yellow. There was a red mark on her cheek, but other than that, she looked beautiful.

Did one dream in color?

Or was he dead?

She smiled at him and touched his forehead, her fingers cool and light.

“Did I jump?” Pushing the words through his scorched throat was agony.

“You did.”

He closed his eyes again. Maybe he drifted off, maybe he didn’t, but when he opened his eyes, she was still sitting there in her yellow gown, waiting for him.

“You’re too good for me.” His voice felt stronger, although still rough.

She smiled again. “Some would say you’re too good for me. You saved my life.”

He moved his hand toward her. She seemed to know what he needed, for she grasped it and held tightly.

“What did you mean when you said you would always walk beside me?” she asked.

He stared at their entwined hands, thinking back to that moment on the ledge. “I meant that if I died, I would watch over you from the other side.”

She blinked wetness from her eyes. “We will walk together from now on.”

He thought about that and found the idea not as distressing as he would have a few days ago. He’d cheated death twice. Who was he to say that it was time to end it when God clearly had other plans for him?

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Her other hand fluttered around the raw red mark on her cheek. “Nothing as bad as you.”

“Am I hurt?” He smiled and was pleased when she smiled back.

“A few bumps and bruises.”

He brought her hand to his dry, cracked lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m pleased, too.”

She tilted her head in question.

“I’m pleased that I don’t have to look over you from the other side.”

This time she didn’t manage to blink away all the tears. They rolled down her cheeks.

“I didn’t think you would jump,” she said.

“I didn’t think I would, either, but I realized I had to take a leap of faith. Literally and figuratively. For so long, you’ve taken care of me. It’s time I take care of you.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “We will take care of each other.”

She was too good for him, and God knew he didn’t deserve her, but God had given her to him, and he would take the gift, hold it tight, cherish it, love it, and yes, he would take care of her for however long they had together. With any luck, that would be a long, long time. Deficiencies didn’t matter. Remembering mundane things didn’t matter. What mattered was Michael and Gracie.

And their love for each other.

The sun was shining through the thick leaves. The day was warm, and they kicked up a bit of dust as they walked; it had been a dry summer.

It had been four months since the fire. The dower house was gone. They planned to build another, but they also planned on not needing a dower house for a long, long while.

Today Michael did not carry a cane. He used it less and less. Grace was pleased to see that he was making progress. He had good days and bad days. Days he remembered most things and days he forgot most things. He still got frustrated, but she took it in stride. This was their life now, and for the most part, she would have it no other way.

High-pitched barking broke through her thoughts. A yellow puppy burst through the underbrush, long ears flapping, large paws tangling together in haste, tongue hanging out of a smiling mouth. Right behind her came her brother, streaking out of nowhere to overtake her. They both ran up to Michael, skidding to a stop but not soon enough. They collided, then fell into Michael’s legs.

Michael laughed, a full-bodied belly laugh, as he bent down and petted both of his dogs. Grace stood back and watched, remembering a time when she despaired of ever hearing her husband laugh again. He laughed quite a lot now, and it was heaven.

Ivan and Zoya—named by Tarik, of course—were the best gifts Grace could have given Michael. They brought life back to the house. They brought purpose back to Michael, and they allowed him and Grace to spill over all the love they had built up.

Grace had not conceived, but she still held out hope that someday they would have children. For now they had Ivan and Zoya.

And each other.

It was more than enough.