Page 81 of How the Earl Entices

A dark form moved forward from the blackness at the rear of the cell. The shadows were too thick for her to see him, but sheknew. Because she felt it swell up inside her, felt it reach out through the darkness toward him—that same connection that had linked them together since the moment he forced his way into her cottage. Perhaps long before that, always with her but sleeping, waiting for him to come to her again after all those years. And it shattered her.

“Grace.” Her name was a tortured whisper.

A sob fell from her lips. She was unable to speak as the pain overwhelmed her.

She pressed herself up against the bars and reached a hand into the darkness, desperate to touch him and prove that he was alive and unhurt. His hand slipped into hers, and she swallowed back a cry, refusing to let him know how terrified she was. She had to stay strong for him. He didn’t deserve her tears, even though her desolation burned so viciously in her chest that she could barely breathe.

He reached between the bars to cup her face against his palm and stroked his thumb over her cheek to comfort her. But instead of providing warmth and strength, his touch pierced her. It was agony to be so close yet unable to wrap her arms around him, unable to protect him as she’d done since the night of the storm.

Hell.They’d been thrust into hell.

“You shouldn’t be here. Kit shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“I had to see you,” she choked out in a whisper. If she spoke any louder, she would break down into tears. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head. “Those soldiers—the way they hit you—”

The warm softness of his lips touched hers between the bars. “I’m all right.” His shoulders sagged with palpable anguish. “But what I said about you at the carriage house, I never meant any of it. You mean the world to me, Grace.”

“I know.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, her trembling fingers startled to find a prickle of beard. Just as he’d been when he first arrived at her cottage, as if she’d never shaved him. As if they’d never shared those wonderful moments together. “You were protecting me.”

“Always.” His arms slipped through the bars to encircle her and pull her as close to him as possible. His body was warm and strong, even in this dank hell, but the bars were a hard and cold reminder between them of their situation.

“Now it’s my turn to protect you.” Fierce resolve stiffened her spine. That same horrible feeling of helplessness that had driven her to flee all those years ago returned, but now it made her determined to stand and fight.“I’ll free you from here, I promise.”

His arms tightened around her, as if he were afraid of being dragged away from her at that very moment. “You can’t.

“I’ll explain everything to the authorities. They have to listen, and they’ll understand. I’ll make them.”

He placed a somber kiss to her temple. “There’s no way to prove my innocence.”

“But the papers—”

“Are worthless.” His hands continued to stroke across her back, as if he was afraid that she would vanish into the shadows if he stopped touching her. “Without Wentworth’s private journal to prove that he was in Le Havre, they’re nothing but speculation. Circumstantial at best.”

“But wehaveto try to—”

He kissed her, silencing her. On that kiss, she tasted resignation, and grief shuddered violently through her. Dear God, she was losing him! Already she felt him melting away in her arms, like a ghost vanishing in the fog.

“Your fight is over,” he whispered against her lips, lingering in the kiss as long as possible. “Let it go, love.”

“I willnotgive up.” Her fear changed into anger, and she let it come, seeking solace in the burning that kept her heart from shattering completely into a thousand shards of glass. “We’re going to make them listen to you and prove that you’re not a traitor. I’ll go to the newspapers and make them publish those papers. The king and prime minister will have to listen to you then. There will be public outcry—”

“I’ll accuse you of lying and deny every bit of it.” That quiet comment sliced into like a blade of ice. “Because if you do that, they’ll arrest you as my accomplice, and I will not allow you to put yourself in danger for me.”

“Ross,” she whispered, stunned. He was giving up on proving his innocence, in order to protect her.

“To endure what’s to come, I have to know that you’ll be safe,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “Let me have that solace.”

She wanted to scream! She wanted to rage against every peer sitting in the Lords, against Wentworth—even the king himself. Ross had risked everything for his country, only for them to turn their backs on him. And now he was asking her to do the same.

But she wasn’t ready to surrender just yet.

“You want to protect me? Then give me the future you want for us.” She choked as she repeated his words, “With me by your side.” She shut her eyes against the anguish that squeezed at her chest like a fist. “I want that, too, Ross. I was afraid to admit that earlier. I’ve been alone and afraid for so long…but I want a chance at happiness, with you.”

He held her as close as he could. But already he felt a world away, slipping through her fingers even as she clutched him so desperately to her.

The grief that swept over her was unbearable, and so much worse than when she lost David, because Ross was still here in her arms, warm and alive, so strong…the only man she’d ever loved. She simply couldn’t fathom it, that they could do this to him, that they could rob him of his life. It was a nightmare. A horrible, surreal nightmare, one from which they could never wake up.

As she stood encircled in his arms, her cheek resting on his chest, she fought to imprint upon her mind every detail of him. The soft but strong heartbeat against her cheek, the way his arms held around her so tightly, the hard planes of his chest, the strength of his arms…She forced herself to memorize how soft his silky hair was beneath her fingertips, how tender his lips as he kissed her temple, the deep timbre of his voice that wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket…even that masculine scent of him, of port and cigars, leather and bergamot. She deeply breathed him in. She had to, during this short time they had together, this last time—