The open doorway and the carriage lamps allowed her to read the fury and incomprehension in Matthew’s face. His beloved face. Hungrily her gaze traveled over his features, testing the changes four months had made. His disheveled hair was long enough to touch his shoulders and he needed a shave. His cheekbones stood out prominently and there were deep hollows above the sharp angles of his jaw.
“Lord Sheene…” she began, then glanced away because she couldn’t bear to witness the misery underlying his rage.
“Be damned to that! You know my name,” he growled, hauling her away from her father.
“I’ll wait in the coach,” the earl said.
“Father!” she called helplessly. How could he abandon her when she needed him most? For once, she wanted him to play the despot, order her off this estate with its memories of death and pain and captivity.
And love. Always love.
“Come when you’re ready.” Her father shuffled toward the line of carriages where armed men waited with the shackled and cowed Filey.
“There’s no point to this,” Grace said in despair.
“Well, there’s something we don’t agree on,” Matthew said grimly. He ignored her resistance and dragged her around the side of the cottage until they had privacy. They were directly outside the garden room. Lamps within shed enough li
ght for her to see his impatience. Not that she needed to see it. It was vividly apparent in his voice and in the hold he kept on her arm.
“What the hell is this about?” he snapped.
She wrenched away with a shaky jerk. “You haven’t got time. You’ve got to go with Kermonde. The king commands your presence.”
“Damn the king. He’s waited eleven years for the pleasure of my company. He’ll wait another half hour. Why are you running away?”
“My father…”
“Will wait too.” The awful night became even worse as he encircled her with his arms and hurt confusion softened his tone. “Grace, aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Of course I am,” she admitted before she could stop herself. For one blissful second, she leaned her head on his chest. Under the stained linen of his shirt, she heard the race of his heart. How she’d craved his touch. His rich scent filled her head with poignant memories.
No. She couldn’t afford to weaken.
“Let me go, Matthew.” She tried to sound firm, resolute, determined, but her words emerged as a choked whisper.
“It’s been an eternity. I want to hold you. Grace, let me hold you.” His voice was velvety with yearning. Every hair on her body prickled as that seductive tone brushed across her skin, lured her to surrender.
“I…can’t,” she said through dry lips. This was like having her skin scraped off. She couldn’t take much more. With a muffled sob, she struggled out of his arms.
At first, she thought he wouldn’t let her go, then he lifted his hands with an ironic gesture. The eyes that had haunted her for four endless months were opaque as polished golden glass. He studied her as if he read her every secret. He probably did. In their short time together, he’d come to know her so well.
When he spoke, his voice was level. “Won’t you take off the mask? I’ve only had dreams to keep me company. I want to see your face.”
“The servants,” she said huskily. If she took off the mask, he’d know how she cried.
“As you wish.” He smiled at her, the sweet, tender smile that was manna to her soul. His voice gentled and he took her gloved hand in his. The warmth of his touch through the soft kidskin was a piercing reminder of all she sacrificed.
She should pull away but nothing could make her surrender this one last contact. “Kermonde is under royal decree to bring you directly to Windsor.”
“Very well.” Matthew’s jaw took on a determined line. He’d worn the same expression when he told her she had to escape. “It’s not how I wanted to do this. But then, I never thought my chance would come.”
“Chance?”
To her horror, he fell to his knees, still clinging to her hand. “Grace Paget, will you grant me the transcendent joy of agreeing to become my wife?”
Everything she wanted. Everything principle insisted she couldn’t accept.
Oh, Matthew, Matthew, don’t do this!