Page 43 of The Count’s Charade

“Yes,” said Grace. “But we must keep Henri hidden until we are certain they have truly gone.”

And then the whole hideous shock of it came in on her. Her right leg buckled, and she sank abruptly to the gravelled yard, her mind cloudy, her body drenching with sweat.

She was being raised, lifted bodily from the ground. Her head lolled against a chest and a rumbling echo sounded in her ears.

“Fetch to me water, Jemima! Come, ma pauvre, you will be well in a little minute.”

Grace took in vaguely that she was being carried, and heard the scrunch of gravel under booted feet. The significance escaped her, a hazy dullness gripping her mind. Presently she felt a sensation of coolness soft beneath her, and a breeze was wafting over her face. It was inexpressibly welcome.

Her head cleared a little, and she opened her eyes to find Henri’s face leaning over her, above him the tall height of a tree and blue sky beyond. He was wafting a collection of leaves before her face, but they were set aside as his gaze met hers. He was laughing.

“Ma foi, but you have made me more afraid than Jean-Marc!”

Memory filtered back, and Grace struggled up on to her elbow, anxiety flooding her breast. “Henri, what are you doing? You should be hidden! They may return at any time!”

“Be calm, ma chère.” A hand at her chest pushed her back. “They are well gone. Rest you, Grâce.” He turned his head, and Grace became aware of footsteps. “Ah, here is Jemima with water for you.”

The maid’s flushed features popped into sight, and a hand thrust out a filled glass. Grace felt Henri lift her head and the glass was put to her lips, obliging her to drink. Thirstily she swallowed at least half the water in the glass, feeling better for it.

Henri permitted her to sit up at last and she rested her back against the tree under which he had conveniently placed her. Jemima fussed about, brushing grass off her blue gown.

“That’s better, Miss Grace! Lor’, give me such a turn, you did!”

“I am sorry,” said Grace, a trifle breathless. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s all the fault of them there Frenchies, that’s what. But we fooled them, didn’t we, Mister Henry?”

“It is you who have fooled them, my clever Jemima. I do not think they suspected these sheets in which you smothered me.”

“’Course they didn’t,” scoffed the maid. “But you was very good under there, Mister Henry. Not a peep o’ breath out of you, and I swear you never moved a muscle.”

Henri answered in kind, and Grace wondered if he was encouraging the banter in order to give her space to recover. She felt better, but the momentary weakness had given way to a sense of deep foreboding, and the hollowness of dread. The episode had convinced her the Frenchmen would move heaven and earth if they had to, but they would never give up. Henri’s life might hang in the balance indefinitely.

When Jemima went off to clear up the mess of their subterfuge, Grace eyed Henri, who was seated close by on the grass, regarding her with an expression hard to read. He was cradling his arm, jerking Grace into speech.

“You should not have carried me, Henri. It must have hurt you dreadfully.”

He shook his head. “It makes nothing. Only now do I notice it. Already it was pained from the position I took on the floor in there.”

Grace’s heart took a dive. Ever practical, she took refuge in scolding. “You should not have taken your sling off.”

Henri’s expression altered. “Ah, but you remind me, ma chère.” He slid a hand into his pocket and brought out a crumpled bundle of linen. “Reuben has made it for me this morning.”

Taking it from him, Grace shifted her position and helped him to put it on. When it was done, she did not move back, but reached to grip his sound shoulder.

“Henri, you can’t leave now! It is too dangerous!”

He removed her hand with his free one and laid it against his cheek. “Do not be afraid, Grâce. I will go only at night.”

She stared into the green eyes, unable to utter the words tumbling in her head. Words of love and need, and deep-seated longing. Don’t go, she begged him silently. Stay. Be with me. I will keep you safe.

“My Grâce,” he murmured softly, and the smile was in his eyes. “I do not know a woman so brave as you.”

He turned her hand and kissed the palm. Grace made no attempt to conceal the moisture that leaked from between her lids. But she saw his concern, and sniffed, forcing a smile as she dashed her free fingers across her cheeks.

“We should not be sitting out here in the open.”

Henri sighed and released her. “It is good to be out of doors. But you speak true.” He grinned. “And soon I shall be outside more than I wish.”