Grace was fairly certain her place in heaven would be shoveling out the stalls for the Almighty’s animals. At least, she hoped so. If anyone understood her, it had to be the Creator.
She eased back another few steps as Serendipity leaned forward in an earnest attempt to draw the aloof Lady Longmorten into some semblance of conversation.
Then Grace slipped through the doors and was free. She scampered down the line of the wall, running her fingers along the roughness of the stucco and masonry, more relieved than anyone would ever understand. She almost laughed as she took hold of her old friend, the iron trellis, that had provided her an escape route to the countryside many times. Papa had once threatened to have it removed, but thankfully, he had relented when she gave in to a rare case of tears and begged him to let it stay. The only time she ever cried was when one of her beloved animals died. Papa knew that, and the sight of her reduced to such distress had stayed his hand.
Of course, it had been a few years since the last time she had climbed the old trellis. But she had no doubt she still remembered every foot- and handhold. She had nearly reached the second-floor windows when the ivy-covered iron framework reacted to her presence with a disturbing shudder. How many dangerously rusted joints did the leafy ivy hide? “Hold fast, old friend. I know I am a bit larger, but surely your strength can still bear me.”
Metal gritted against stone with a sickening grind. She stretched but couldn’t quite reach the ledge to the balcony of the bedroom she and her sisters shared. “Just a little more. Hold fast for a little longer. I am almost there.”
And then the thing groaned and slowly wilted away from the wall, dangling her over the ground that was entirely too far down there to let herself drop.
She held on tight and bit back a scream. “A cool head always wins, Gracie,” she said under her breath while gently swaying back and forth. As long as the iron continued its gradual bending away from the wall, she could drop to the ground as soon as she got close enough, and no one would be any the wiser.
But then it snapped and bounced her so brutally against the wall that she lost her grip. “Drat it all!”
“I have you, my lady.”
She landed in the muscular arms of the Duke of Wolfebourne, elbowing him in the face rather hard.
“Bloody hell, woman!”
“Oh, dear heavens.” The shadowy darkness hid his features, so she gently touched his face, checking him for injury. A warm, slick wetness met her fingertips. “Bless you, Your Grace, you are bleeding. I am so very sorry.” She pulled a handkerchief from its usual place, snug between her breasts down behind her stays, and pressed it first to his nose and then his mouth. “Is it your lip or your nose?” she asked in a frantic whisper. “I can’t tell. The moon has gone behind the clouds.” Her heart pounded at a deafening rate, and her middle churned as if holding a thousand little birds madly batting their wings to be freed.
The night breeze blew the clouds aside as if trying to help. Moonlight flooded the small clearing beside the trellis, revealing she had indeed bloodied the poor man’s nose. Without realizing it, she slid her fingers deeper into the silkiness of his hair and gently cradled his head while stanching the trickle of blood withher handkerchief. “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I hope I have not broken it. Can you breathe? Do you feel lightheaded?” Of course, that was a most silly question, because he still held her in his arms as if cuddling a cherished pet. That realization made her swallow hard. It would probably do them both a world of good if he would set her down. “Place me on my feet and let me tend to you. You have not answered a thing I have asked. Are you all right, Your Grace?”
Rather than lower her to the clearing, he hitched her higher against his chest. One of his dark brows ratcheted higher and, if she was not mistaken, sheer amusement flashed in his eyes. “I have not answered because I am unable to get a word in edgewise, my lady.”
“Sorry.” She forced herself to calm down and stop behaving like a mindless ninny. “I tend to babble when circumstances put me at a complete loss.”Or when I am lying,but she didn’t say that part out loud. There was no reason to arm the man with even more ammunition against her. Cringing, she dabbed at his nose again. “Thank you for catching me. Poor old trellis. I suppose I have worn it out over the years.”
He strode over to the bench beneath the balcony, the one sheltered from the rest of the garden by a dense wall of shrubbery. Behaving as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he seated himself on it and settled her firmly on his lap. “Might I ask why you were climbing the trellis?” He tightened his arm around her when she tried to scramble off him and get to her feet.
“This is most inappropriate,” she said as sternly as she could. It was difficult to speak with a pounding heart and a level of breathlessness the likes of which she had never known.
“Climbing a trellis is also most inappropriate,” he replied, “as is a woman clad in buckskins and riding astride.”
A hot surge of indignance flashed through her. “I might not be conventional or appropriate at all times, but I assure you I am no lightskirt. Release me at once, Your Grace.”
Wolfebourne jerked his arms out from around her and held them aloft as if stretching his wingspan. “I meant no insult, Lady Grace. Forgive me.”
Since they were once again in the shadows of the cloudy night, shefeltmore than saw his remorse. A hopelessness, an endearing sadness in his voice, immediately made her regret the sharpness of her words. She eased off him, but rather than rising to her feet as she should, she seated herself beside him. “I was climbing the trellis to escape this ridiculous dinner party my brother arranged because I am the next plump little Broadmere goose to be hung in the window.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My parents’ will decreed that while Chance might inherit the title, he would not receive the fullness of his vast inheritance until all of us are happily married for love—not for societal or political alignment.” She twitched a shrug. “Two of my sisters have married. Going by birth order, I am the next to be placed on the chopping block, because Seri promised Mama she would marry last so she could take care of the rest of us.”
“I see.”
She doubted that he did, but she would allow him to think so. After all, they both needed to be getting back inside. The rest of the guests would not necessarily miss her, but they would soon miss him. “How did you happen to be out here to catch me?”
“I abhor cigar smoke. The stuff chokes me.” He shifted beside her with a heavy sigh as he sniffed and pressed her lacy handkerchief to his nose once more. “I love a good pipe tobacco, but sadly, the sweet aroma was overpowered by those bloody cigars.”
Unable to resist, she leaned closer and sniffed him. The faint, acrid smell of burned wood came to her. “You smell like the fields when they burn off the stubble after the harvest.”
“I assure you I shall bathe before retiring.”
“I like a man who bathes,” she said before thinking better of it. What the blazes was wrong with her? Something about him made her feel as if she had known him all her life and could tell him anything. That was a most dangerous development, since she already possessed a general laxness when it came to curbing her tongue.
“You like a man who bathes, do you?” The shadows hid his expression but failed to hide the amusement coloring his tone. Or was it amazement at her frankness?
