Grace gave a soft cry of distress. Immediately Matthew stirred to alertness. Somewhere in the dark hours, he must have fallen into an uneasy doze.
He wore a shirt and trousers and lay on top of the covers while she lay beneath them. He hadn’t wanted to risk hauling her into his arms and hurting her while he was unaware.
They’d been lovers only a few days but already he’d become dangerously addicted to holding her through the night. Without her, he was bereft and lonely. As if his world no longer turned in the right direction.
Jesus, how would he survive without her? Not just for one night. Forever.
He suppressed the grim premonition of what hell awaited and reached over to light a candle. “Grace, are you all right?”
The flickering light revealed new bruising on her face in spite of his efforts with the ointment. Pain and the ghost of fear shone in her dark blue eyes and tautened her swollen mouth. His resolve that Filey, and ultimately his uncle, would pay for this outrage surged anew. If heaven granted just that modicum of justice, he’d die a happy man.
“Yes.” The drugs thickened her voice. “What time is it?”
He checked the silver pocket watch he’d left on the bedside table. “Twenty past three. Would you like some water?”
She smiled, then flinched as the movement tested her torn lip. “Yes, please.”
He left the bed and filled a glass from the crystal decanter on the chest. “How do you feel?”
“Like a coach and four have run over me,” she said wryly, lifting herself with difficulty and accepting the drink in a trembling hand. “Twice.”
He managed a smile, although in truth her suffering made him too angry to feel much amusement. “Can I get you anything?”
“No.” An unsteady breath. “I want you to hold me.”
“I might hurt you,” he said, even while he itched to comply. Not so he could make love to her, although desire charged the still air. It always would when he was with her. But desire, for once, wasn’t the most urgent thing. Love, tenderness, care were what mattered now.
“Matthew, I…I need you.”
How could he deny her? God, he’d die for her if she asked him.
He waited for her to take a few sips then removed the glass. With great care, he slid under the sheets, immediately feeling her warmth.
How cold his life would be without her. Like darkest winter. Like the grave.
He heaped the pillows behind his head and gently drew her toward him. She didn’t need to tell him she was in pain. It was clear from the way she gingerly rested her head on his shoulder. She curled against his side and stretched her arm across his chest.
“That’s better,” she sighed, burrowing one hand beneath his shirt so it lay over his grieving heart. The sweet scent of Grace washed over him, sunshine, woman, jasmine soap. And a teasing hint of herbal liniment.
She was shaking. For Grace, terror still stalked this quiet room.
Since she’d become Matthew’s lover, he’d existed in a brittle paradise. He’d always known his joy was precarious but he’d refused to recognize the risks he ran by clinging to his darling. Risks that today had exploded into violence.
“Do you know the worst part of what happened this afternoon?” she asked in a husky voice.
Unfortunately, he did. He’d been bound and beaten often enough. “The sense of utter powerlessness,” he said grimly.
“Yes,” she whispered as if mere acknowledgment eased her. She sounded drowsy. The drugs he’d given her lingered in her system.
“Sleep, Grace,” he said softly. “I’ll keep you safe.”
The promise emerged from deep within. He’d protect her from Filey, Monks, and his uncle. Whatever the cost.
The cost was likely to be his sanity, if not his life.
For her sake, he must act. For her sake and his own, if he was to have any claim to be a man.
He stared out into the candlelit room while Grace slept. His brief paradise had disintegrated to dust. Cruel truth looked him straight in the eye.