Page 50 of The Count’s Charade

She was watching him, a hunger in her features he could not assuage. Dieu, but it was unendurable! He got up abruptly.

“It is better that I go, Grâce. Give me the papers, that I may take my chance at another place. They do not search in the night. I may be to Ilford by morning, and take immediately the stagecoach for London.”

He was on the move, halfway to the kitchen door. Grace found herself on her feet, chasing him, clunking dreadfully as she struggled to catch up. “Wait, Henri!”

He paused in the doorway, looking back, impatience just visible in the features that were now in shadow. “Let me depart, pour l’amour de Dieu!”

She reached him, pulling him round and grasping at his shoulders. His wince went unnoticed, for she had forgotten his wound. Forgotten all but the aching dread of loss sweeping through her heart, overwhelming everything else.

“I can’t let you, Henri! I don’t care, do you understand? I don’t care what you are or what you’ve done! I can’t bear you to go away like this. In danger. In pain. Hating me! It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.”

Henri stood rigid. If he let go now, he would never be able to leave. The words were wrenched from him. “Life it is not fair, Grâce. And I can never hate you.”

“Then don’t go! Stay with me!”

His hands came up. Grace felt his grip upon her wrists and clung the tighter. Her chest was full to bursting as she struggled against his unexpected strength in the left hand. Her fingers were wrenched off his shoulders. He was bearing her hands down, pushing her away from him. She had a sudden vision of what she must look like, forcing herself upon a man who did not want her. Dear Lord, what was she doing?

Her arms went limp, and she stepped back, fighting to control the violent shaking of her limbs. Henri’s expression changed and his grip slackened. Grace tugged her arms away, unconsciously feeling her bruised wrists. She swallowed down the choking sobs threatening in her throat, and husked out words.

“Your pardon. That was — foolish of me. I will — get your papers.”

Henri backed into the hall as she came towards him, her gait more ungainly than he had ever seen it. The driving pressure within him eased. Then Grace was pausing in the parlour doorway, an air of uncertainty about her. He felt her more vulnerable than she had been in that frantic and uncharacteristic moment of intensity just now. His resolve wavered.

Grace felt wholly disoriented. She knew something was missing, but she could not think what. Then it came to her. She turned back. “The candles.”

Henri slid quickly back into the kitchen and picked up the candelabrum. She was standing in the doorway as he came out again and the light fell full on her face. His heart lurched. She looked both bewildered and wretched. And he was wholly to blame. Abruptly he was in agreement with that earlier cry of anguish. It was not fair.

She was turning, clumping towards the bureau as he followed, the candlelight making of her a grotesque shadow that spattered on to the wall. Henri saw her reach out to open the bureau, and something snapped inside him.

“Non!”

Grace checked, held by a throb in the one word. Turning, she beheld him closing in. Then he was setting the candelabrum down upon the top of the bureau. He looked at her, and the distress in her face was more than he could stand. He moved, hardly knowing what he did, and within a moment, Grace was nestling in his arms.

For a little while, she allowed herself the luxury of keeping reality at bay. It was infinitely pleasurable to be held in his embrace, to feel his warmth and the exquisite sensation of his hand at her back, his fingers stroking her hair and resting lightly against her neck. She was grateful for his silence, afraid that anything either of them said might shatter this all too brief illusion of happiness.

But it would not do. She knew it was only meant to comfort her, that it would be selfish to prolong the moment. A sneaking desire prompted her to try, although she managed to persuade herself it was all in his interests as she drew away a little.

“It is foolish to go this late, Henri. Why do you not sleep awhile, and leave in the early hours, a little before dawn?”

He was looking into her face, searchingly, she thought. “If I sleep, I do not know if I will wake in time.”

Grace tugged one hand free and reached to brush away a straggle of dark hair from his cheek. “I will wake.” She saw that he was troubled, and her hand slid to his shoulder, feeling it gently. “Does it hurt? You have not worn your sling all day.”

Henri shook his head. “A sling will show me on the instant to those who seek me. It aches a little, but nothing to worry.”

“Well, at least we can dress it again before you leave.”

A trifle of consternation riffled across her chest as he frowned. “I wish not to leave now, ma chère.”

Grace caught at a stray sob on her breath. “And I don’t wish you to. Yet if you stay hidden here, it cannot be long before one or other of them discovers you. Sir James is bound to return tomorrow, and —”

“And it is better that I am no longer here.”

To her intense disappointment, Henri released her, shifting away towards the door. For a horrid moment, she wondered if he intended to go tonight after all. But he turned there, and smiled.

“I feel not ready to sleep, Grâce. I will fetch the wine.”

He was back in a moment, armed with the wine bottle and the two glasses they had been using, by which time Grace had taken the candelabrum to the table. Henri pulled out a chair for her, and himself took the head of the table.