Anastasie made the sort of dismissive gesture that told me she didn't believe me.
“Take the money,” Gracen said. “And let us be done here.”
Marius darted forward faster than I would've thought possible, his forearm pressed to Gracen's throat as he pushed him back against the wall. I stumbled backward, feet tangled in my skirts. It was only the element of surprise that had let Marius get the drop on my husband, but it was enough to give the older man the opportunity to slam the back of Gracen's head against the wall.
“Bastard!” I started forward, only to have my way blocked by Anastasie and a rusty knife. It didn't look sharp enough to do much damage, but I had no doubt that the filth on the blade would kill me no matter the size or depth of the cut.
Gracen pushed back against Marius, and suddenly, the two were fighting. This wasn't some sort of graceful exchange of blows, the kind of thing one would see beautifully choreographed so that each person took their allotted shot. It wasn't the type of sparring I’d done during my training in the army either.
No, this was the sort of dirty, close-quartered scrap that was brutal, violent, and over in a matter of minutes. Gracen stood over Marius, knuckles scraped and bloodied. His bottom lip was split, and he had a red spot on his cheek that I knew would turn into a brilliant bruise. He spat blood onto the floor and glared down at the old man. His breathing sounded harsh, and I could see a red line on the front of his neck where Marius had tried to choke him.
I drew myself up to my full height and called on every bit of intimidation I'd learned in the army. “Either take the money, or return it, but you are not getting Celina back. She's free.”
I held my hand out to Gracen as Anastasie lowered her knife and grabbed the bag of money, as if she feared I’d take it away from her. He took my hand, and the two of us turned to leave. He leaned heavily on me, favoring his right leg in a way that made me wonder if Marius had kicked him.
Even as we started for the door, I could hear Marius getting to his feet behind us. A strange sense of deja vú washed over me, and even as Gracen reached for the door, I somehow knew what was coming next. I tightened my grip on my husband's hand a split second before Marius said something in French.
Gracen spun around, tearing away his hand from mine, and it was then that I realized why this all seemed so familiar.
I'd dreamed it.
Which meant Gracen was going to beat the shit out of Marius if I didn't stop it.
I didn't care for Marius or Anastasie, but I didn't want Gracen to get hurt...and I wouldn't put it past the woman to stab my husband to save hers.
Gracen grabbed the front of Marius’ jacket and yanked him upright, slamming him against the wall.
“I will say this in both English and French, so there is no misunderstanding.” His voice was bubbling with rage. “If any harm comes to my wife in this cursed country, if anyone even looks at her in a way I find displeasing, I will kill you, and no one will find your body.”
The silence in the air was thick as I put myself between Anastasie and Gracen, and laid a hand on his arm. “Please, Gracen, let's just go. They have the money for the contract and Celina's free.”
“What he said–”
“I don't care,” I cut Gracen off. “Let him go. He's not worth it.”
Time seemed to freeze as I waited to see what Gracen would do. In my dream, he and I had walked away from this encounter after he'd beaten Marius, but that had been a dream, and this was real life. What happened then didn't mean it had to happen now.
My dreams weren't prophetic. They couldn't be.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Gracen released Marius. Anastasie let out a squawk and began screaming in French as she dropped to her knees next to her husband. I didn't wait around to see if whatever she was saying would set Gracen off again. I grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the door.
I could see the pain on his face as he climbed into the carriage, but that didn't stop him from wrapping his arm around me and pulling me to him. The trip back to the house was silent. I wasn't sure what Gracen was thinking about, but I was still trying to wrap my head around the memory of my dream.
When we arrived back at the house, it was my turn to help Gracen out, so everything else had to get pushed to the back of my mind. We'd hardly gone more than a handful of steps when the front door flew open.
“My God,” Alize gasped. Celina was at her side, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
We must have been a sight, me white as a ghost, and Gracen bruised and bloody. Whatever adrenaline he'd been running on was gone now. Alize called over her shoulder, and two male servants hurried out to help.
“It’s alright,” I said as I followed Gracen into the house.
Alize and Celine turned to me, cautious hope on both their faces.
I held up the paper. “She's free.”
Chapter 8
I waited impatiently outside the bedroom door for the doctor to finish treating Gracen. It annoyed me no small amount that I’d been kicked out for the examination. Hell, I should've been the one treating him to begin with.
Unfortunately, the doctor had been attending to one of the servants when we arrived, so there was no way to send him away without making a scene since, of course, a woman couldn't be counted on to treat such injuries. Not for an important man such as Gracen Lightwood, guest of Alexandre St. James.
Of course, it annoyed me mostly because Gracen was mine to take care of, but I couldn't not feel pissed at the patronizing way the doctor had herded me from the room. How he'd told me that I was far too delicate to deal with the injuries Gracen had sustained during the bar fight.
I blurted that one out as soon as the doctor had walked into the room, knowing that if Gracen or I said that he'd been mugged or assaulted, the local authorities would get involved, and that was the last thing we needed. Now that we'd bought Celina's freedom, calling attention to everything we'd been involved in would just make it harder for us to make the getaway we needed. The best thing for all of us would be to fly as far under the radar as possible until we got on that ship.
Now, between the fading stress that came from what we'd been through, and the current stress of Gracen being hurt, and trying to hide what we'd done, I was a wreck. Add onto that the surreal feeling I still got when I thought about the dream that seemed to have come true, and thinking about other dreams I'd had – like the one I vaguely remembered about being with strangely-dressed men on a battlefield I'd never seen before.
All of which made me wonder how this was affecting my baby, and that didn't make anything better at all.
The only thing that made it worthwhile was the fact that, every so often, Alize and Celina would appear, and the sight of the two of them together kept my mind on the reason this was all worth it.
When the doctor finally left, I hurried into the room, but Gracen was fast asleep. A small bottle sitting next to the bed made me wonder if the doctor had given Gracen something to help him rest. While I didn’t think that was a great idea with Gracen's head injury, there was nothing I could do about it now, so I took a seat next to the window and let my mind drift. As I waited, I thought about the two of us starting a home together, building a life for ourselves and our unborn child. With everything I knew was coming, it seemed like some sort of fantasy, but everything about our relationship was beyond traditional understanding, so I wasn't about to write it off, not when I wanted it so badly.
Hours passed before I heard Gracen shift in the bed, a slight pained sound issuing from his lips. I moved to the bed and reached for the rag that had been soaking in a nearby bowl of water. After wringing it out, I pressed it to his skin as gently as I could. Gracen winced when he opened his eyes, but I was glad to see that his pupils dilated normally, and neither eye was bloodshot.
“That is not an encouraging look.” His voice was raspy, words blunted by his swollen lip.
I chuckled, happy he was conscious enough to tease. “I’m not gonna lie, you look li
ke you just got run over by a herd of horses.”
“I am well enough,” he said.
When he tried to sit up, I pushed against his shoulder, and he sank back against the pillows, his lack of resistance telling me he was feeling more pain than he let on. I folded down the blanket to bare his torso and went about making my own assessment.
His cheek was bruised, the area puffy, but didn't appear to be broken. His lip had stopped bleeding and would heal quickly enough. It was the bruises that covered his chest and stomach that worried me. No bones were sticking out, but if Marius had kicked Gracen, it could mean he had cracked ribs, or even internal bleeding. Anything like that could be deadly.
I ran my hands over his sides, listening for anything that could indicate a deeper injury. Fortunately, the bruising appeared to be superficial, but I knew I'd be keeping an eye on him until it faded.
“That is not usually how a man wishes for his wife to touch him,” he teased.
I raised my head and gave him my best stern look. “If a certain man would stop getting himself into trouble so much, his wife wouldn't have to patch him up so often.”
He chuckled as he took my hand. “I seem to recall that you have needed me to tend to your wounds a time or two.”
“Well, this is one time too many.” I lifted his hand and kissed his bruised knuckles.
“I agree.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Though we did accomplish what we set out to do.”
“We did,” I said with a soft smile. “But I’d appreciate if you’d try a little harder not to get yourself into such dangerous situations.”
He gave me a half-smile, cautious of his mouth. “I will remember that next time we try to purchase an indentured servant.”
“Good.”
I stood, releasing his hand so I could undo my dress. I left it on the floor as I climbed under the covers, careful not to jar him. He made a contented sound as I stretched out next to him. We'd missed dinner, but I was more tired than hungry. Right now, I knew that the best thing for both of us was to rest together.
I closed my eyes as he wrapped his arm around me, his hand resting on my hip. Warm and safe once more, I allowed myself to relax. As his breathing shifted, telling me that he'd fallen asleep, I slipped under as well.
I woke to the familiar sensation of his hands on my body, caressing, exploring. First over my shift, then under it as he pulled it over my head, baring me to his gaze. As I opened my eyes, I found him watching me, expression hungry as he visually devoured me. The air was chilly, but I was hot under his touch. My nipples hardened, my core clenching. I loved that he looked at no one else but me like that.
He was mine.
My fingers gently traced his torso, feeling the muscles clench and relax with my touch. Our eyes locked, and I gave him a soft smile before pressing my lips to his neck. I pushed myself up on my elbow so I could move up to his jaw, then across to his mouth. I kept my kisses soft, not wanting to cause him any pain, but when my lips touched his, his fingers caught in my hair, holding me in place. When his tongue teased the seam of my mouth, I moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as I struggled to hold back.
It took almost all of my self-control to pull away. “You’re still hurt.”
“I promise not to disappoint.”
I smiled at his words, loving that his first thought was of my satisfaction rather than his own well-being. “That’s never something I worry about.”
His free hand slid up over my hip and side until it cupped one of my breasts. A shiver ran through me, but I still resisted.
“You will not hurt me, Honor,” he murmured against my mouth. “Let me love you.”
I shook my head as I rose up on my knees. His eyes flicked down to my breasts, then up to my face. I pushed the blanket aside and moved until I had a leg on either side of his waist. His cock was already swollen, the long, thick length resting on his stomach.
As I reached for him, his hands fell to my hips, lifting me enough so that I could situate him beneath me. My thighs were slick with arousal, and I knew I was more than wet enough for him.
We moaned in unison as I slowly lowered myself onto his shaft. I could feel him throbbing inside me, my own body answering each one with a pulse of my own. Even as I stretched to fit around him, it was less like I was making room for him, and more like fitting two custom-made pieces together.
As I took the last inch of him inside, I didn’t know which feeling to concentrate on more, his hands moving over my body, touching every bit of my skin, or his fullness inside me. Either way, I was enveloped in a mix of emotions and heavenly impulses firing away through every inch of me. I rocked against him, letting our bodies find the rhythm that worked best for us. It was slow and deliberate, each of us giving and taking the pleasure that we could only find in each other, until we were racing for the top together.
When I finally felt my body shudder in orgasm, when I felt his muscles clench beneath my hands, and his hips rise as he pushed deeper inside me, I cried out his name. Gracen wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down on top of him even as he found his own release. A part of me felt like I should move to his side, that I might be hurting him, but he wouldn’t let go, and as I closed my eyes, I smiled at the loving whisper of my name, and the sweet touch of his lips against my cheek.
A day late, but still the best Valentine's Day I'd ever had.
Chapter 9
“Madame Lightwood?”
February was at an end, and things had been boring for the last couple weeks. There'd been no retaliation by the Coutures, and Gracen's injuries were healed. The house was quiet, peaceful. The weather hadn't been great, but since we hadn't needed to go anywhere, it hadn't mattered.
But I'd known that, eventually, our insulated little bubble would pop.
Now, I turned to find one of the household servants standing tentatively in the doorway. Most of the staff didn't speak English, but I knew that wasn't the only reason most of them didn't talk to me. For some reason I didn't understand, I seemed to intimidate them. Every time I mentioned it to Gracen, though, he just laughed.
“Yes, what is it?” I thought her name was Collette, but I didn't want to get it wrong.
“A letter, Madame. For Monsieur Lightwood.”
“A letter?” I tried not to frown as I motioned for her to come in.
“Oui, Madame. From the colonies.”
Shit.
I couldn’t handle any more bad news, but if someone had sent a letter all the way here, it had to be important. I took the letter and managed a smile. The girl gave a little curtsey and scurried off, leaving me in the library alone.
I made myself sit down before I examined the letter. Gracen's name was written on the front in fancy script, and it was sealed with wax that I was pretty sure had been cracked and resealed. I broke it again and opened it, dropping my eyes to the end before reading it fully.
George Washington.
My stomach clenched, but I reminded myself that it might not be bad news. I took a slow breath and started at the beginning. Washington – or his aide – wrote neatly, but this sort of script wasn't anything I was used to reading. It took me a couple minutes to get used to it, but when I did, the tension inside me started to ease.
A man by the name of Silas Deane would be arriving in France on the first incoming ship. While I vaguely recognized the name as being one of the men who'd come here around the same time as Ben Franklin, I didn't know much about him. That hardly mattered though. What was important was that the last reason Gracen could give for staying behind when Alexandre's ship came in had vanished with this letter. We could give Deane's name to Alexandre, and they could pick up where we'd left off. History would stay on track, and the two of us would go home together.
“Honor?”
I looked up from the letter as Gracen came into the room.
“Collette said there was a letter?”
I stood up and held it out to him. “It's from Washington. He's letting us know that
we can come home. He's sending a man named Silas Deane to work some connections, and I know that sometime this spring, Franklin will be coming too. It's perfect timing.”
“Perfect for what?” Gracen asked as he looked at the letter.
“For us to go back together.”
He didn't say anything. In fact, he didn't even look at me.
The smile I'd been wearing faded. “You don't want to come back with me?” I put my hand on my stomach, the protective gesture more automatic than conscious. “Do you...do you want to stay in France?”
I couldn't believe this was happening. I thought the only reason he wanted to send me back to America with the girls was because of the baby. I hadn't been happy with him being so overprotective, but I understood that concern. This, I didn't understand. He and I had gotten into an argument when I'd thought he'd been returning Alize's flirting, but we'd worked that out. Or I thought we had.
I told myself that I was jumping to a conclusion, letting the pregnancy hormones mess with my brain. He was happy I was pregnant, and he'd always been faithful.
Except he slept with me when he was still engaged to Clara Stiles.
“Honor.” He put his hand on my arm, startling me from my thoughts. “I do not like where your mind went.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know what I was thinking?”
The look he gave me spoke volumes. “I do not want to stay in France.” He took my hand. “I do not want to be anywhere that is not with you.” His free hand covered mine on my stomach. “With you and our child.”
Relief and embarrassment made me giddy. I laughed as Gracen pulled me to him. He hugged me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“Let's go talk to Alexandre,” I said. “We need to let him know what's going on.”
Gracen nodded and took my hand. The two of us left the library and moved farther down the hall to Alexandre's office. The door was open, but Gracen knocked anyway.
“Entrez.”