With This Kiss Part 7

He pushed up a hundred times. A fortnight later, two hundred times.

He could nap, but he couldn't sleep through the night. Finally, when he hadn't slept for two nights, he took laudanum in desperation. And again, he found himself in the ballroom.

This time, Grace was sitting at the side of the room. She was the most beautiful woman there, her skin like sweet cream, her hair glowing like banked coals. And none of the fools around her saw it.

He did. Their host introduced them, and then he finally touched her hand. She looked up at him with surprised innocence, and he realized that in this dream, she didn't know him at all.

He could woo her the way a normal man would woo a woman he desired. A profound joy filled him, and he smiled at her . . . the dream progressed through b.a.l.l.s and a musicale and a ride in Hyde Park. All the way through, he watched her with a kind of mad hunger, nouris.h.i.+ng the little flame of her feelings toward him.

Time was different in the dream . . . after weeks, or perhaps months, pa.s.sed, he knew that she was just as desirous as he was. She kissed him with an erotic longing that matched his own.

The kiss started to fade, and he realized, while still in the dream, that it was the laudanum, and not Grace.

Still, he held on to the moment with all his will. He didn't want to go back to the darkness, to the cabin that always smelled of p.i.s.s, to the bed where he lay not so patiently, waiting for the English coast.

In the last moments of the dream, she gave him a private smile, a little wicked and a little tender, and whispered, "Come to me tonight, Colin. I miss you. I miss you so much. I love you . . ."

And he woke. Or rather, he thought he woke, but in reality he was just caught up in a different dream. He opened his eyes to find himself on board s.h.i.+p. There was a crack, like lightning, and the mast was falling into the ocean. All around him were screams. He looked down and saw with horror that there was a river of blood running over his boots.

After that, he threw the laudanum out the porthole.

By the time the s.h.i.+p finally reached Portsmouth, he had come to a decision: Grace was not for him. He would go to the Ryburns' townhouse the first night, simply because his parents didn't maintain a house in town, and the duke and d.u.c.h.ess would be mortally offended if he stayed in a hotel.

But the following morning he would leave for Arbor House. In time, he would buy an estate with his prize money, somewhere far from Grace. Though, of course, she might be living in Scotland with McIngle.

Good.

It would be dangerous to be near her. He was her childhood love, and now he knew he loved her too. All he had to do was revert to the sort of cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d who wouldn't answer the letters written by a twelve-year-old girl.

He could do that.

The miracle was that he had a heart that could break, considering what a cold b.a.s.t.a.r.d he was.

Three.

June 12, 1837 Grace was in the entryway when the carriage bearing Colin Barry drew up, though she had no idea of that quite yet. She had just taken a cloak from their butler, Featherstone, as she and John McIngle, her new fiance, were on their way to visit a private showing of Constable's watercolors and preliminary sketches, which John had arranged as a special treat.

Then Featherstone opened the door. Grace turned as John was helping her into her cloak, and saw a tall man on the step, a servant holding his arm. Time slowed and almost stopped. She recognized his hair first: longer than she'd ever seen it, curls and loops falling below his ears. His shoulders, his legs, his face . . .

Her eyes wouldn't accept what she saw on his face.

The black bandage. The way the attendant stood at his side.

It couldn't be-it was.

"Featherstone, I apologize for intruding," Colin was saying in response to the butler's greeting, his voice utterly calm. "I will make arrangements to move to the country tomorrow. But at the moment, if you would be good enough to tell the d.u.c.h.ess that I have come for a brief visit, I would be grateful. My man, Ackerley, will arrange to have my trunk brought up."

With a silent jerk of his head, Featherstone sent a footman running in pursuit of Grace's mother. He was bowing, and never mind the fact that Colin couldn't see . . .

Because Colin couldn't see. He was blind. Blind.

Grace gasped aloud, reality finally burning into her mind. Colin turned his head toward her and she could have sworn that he could see through the linen cloth covering his eyes. But he said nothing.

He stood relaxed, seemingly at ease, in the midst of the butler, four footmen, John. Even blind, it was as if the other six men were kittens to his tiger. He was all muscle compared to John, his shoulders twice the size. A controlled strength always entered the room with him, and it hadn't lessened an iota with the loss of his sight.

She was still frozen in place when John stepped forward. "Captain Barry," he said, "you likely won't remember me, but I'm Lady Grace's betrothed, Lord McIngle. We met briefly at a musicale a few years ago."

Did Colin stiffen when John said the word betrothed? If so, it was an infinitesimal reaction.

"Of course," he said, bowing his head. John took his hand so naturally that Grace felt a pulse of deep affection for her fiance. The feeling cracked the walls of ice that surrounded her.

John was still speaking in his friendly, easy way. "Would you like to enter the morning room while we wait for Her Grace?"

"The rose chamber is waiting for you, if you would prefer to rest," Featherstone put in. "And may I add how very glad we are to see you in England once again?"

Grace took his free hand in both of hers. "Colin," she said. "I'm here." To her chagrin, her voice shook.

He turned toward her voice. "Lady Grace." He simply stated it, without a smile. The bandage emphasized his hewn cheekbones and stern mouth. "It's a pleasure."

"I'm so-I'm so sorry to see you ill." He'd lost weight, she thought numbly. He looked pared down, like a storm G.o.d in a drought. That thought was so irrelevant that she actually shook her head.

"I am blind," he said. "I wouldn't precisely describe it as an illness."

She took a step closer, clutching his hand even more tightly. "Are you in pain?"

"No." His voice was even, without a hint of anger. And yet a wave of silent rage struck her like a blow. "It happened almost six weeks ago, Lady Grace. I've become used to it." His body was rigid, belying the easy sound of his words.

She swallowed. Colin was a warrior, and she had the sense that he was fifty times more dangerous wounded than he had been whole. For an instant she stood, clinging to his large, callused hand. Was there a vulnerable slant to his lips?

The truth hit her like a stroke of lightning. Once again she was endowing him with the emotions that she wanted to see.

She dropped his hand. "Lily is not home at the moment." She forced the words out. "She'll be so happy to see you when she returns."

Colin nodded, and then unerringly turned toward John. "Lord McIngle, I would be most grateful if you would escort me to my bedchamber. Stairs remain a challenge."

It was amazing how he could calmly admit a need for help and still make it so clear that he was burning with rage at the very idea.

"Of course," John said, nodding to Featherstone, who preceded them up the stairs.

Colin didn't turn his head in her direction again. He simply walked next to John, managing to make it seem as if he were leading the Scottish lord, rather than the other way around.

Grace stood at the bottom of the stairs, tears pouring down her face.

Her mother ran out of the door at the back of the entry, and stood beside her, hand covering her mouth, watching as the three men reached the top of the stairs.

"He-he-" Grace couldn't make the words come.

"He's blind," her mother said softly. "Thank G.o.d, that seems to be all of it. Did you see other injuries?" The three men turned down the corridor and out of sight.

"All of it!" The words came out more harshly than she intended.

"Now Colin will have to leave the service," the d.u.c.h.ess said. "Don't you see, Grace? The navy was killing him inch by inch, and now he can be done with it. It's a cruel thing to have lost his sight, but I'm so glad that he's alive." She picked up her skirts and began running up the stairs.

Grace hadn't thought her parents understood how Colin felt. But they had watched him grow from a child. No one who loved him could have missed the fact that his eyes had turned to dark pools.

A few minutes later her mother returned downstairs, accompanied by John.

"He's tremendously brave," the d.u.c.h.ess was saying, her voice catching.

"He may well regain his eyesight," John said encouragingly, patting her hand. "I have heard of similar cases in which sight was lost from a cannon flare rather than a physical injury."

"I just can't bear it," her mother said with a little sob. "His parents will be devastated. And they're not even due back in the country until August! James will have to send someone after them immediately."

She collected herself. "Featherstone, please send a message to Lords, asking His Grace to return. And send a carriage to Dr. Pinnacle in Harrogate Street, with a request that he attend us immediately. Queen Adelaide herself told me that Pinnacle is a genius when it comes to ocular matters. He lives in Mayfair; with luck we'll catch him at home."

As Featherstone began sending footmen hither and yon, the door opened again; it was Lily, returned from a ride in the park. A moment later, having heard the news, she was rocketing around the drawing room, touching things lightly. That was what Lily did when she was nervous.

John, laughing, followed her around the room, teasing her as she rearranged her mother's china ornaments.

The doctor arrived and was escorted upstairs. Grace just sat on the sofa, her knees clamped together, her hands shaking. She couldn't bring herself to speak. She didn't belong here, in this too-bright room full of people speaking too loudly. She should be with Colin.

It seemed hours before the doctor clattered his way back down the stairs, accompanied by her mother. Grace jumped to her feet.

The doctor was shaking his head. "I really cannot say what will happen, as I didn't dare to remove the bandage. But unless you can make your patient lie still in a dark room, Your Grace, he may well be permanently blind. In this sort of case, the patient must be protected from all disturbances, and repose in full darkness for six weeks. From what I understand, Captain Barry has had no proper care to this point. He should have had the bad blood let out after enduring that cannon flare, though luckily he seems lucid enough."

"We'll keep him in bed," her mother promised. "And in the dark."

When the d.u.c.h.ess of Ashbrook took that tone, she was never disobeyed. Colin would be flat on his back if she had to tie him to the bedposts.

"You won't have a problem for the next twenty-four hours," the doctor said, pulling his cape over his shoulders. "I gave him some laudanum. Given his size"-he said it distastefully, as if his patient was a giant of some sort-"I gave him a double dose. You will find him docile for some time, Your Grace, and I would be happy to visit tomorrow and administer the same again."

The d.u.c.h.ess's brows drew together. "Did he agree to this medicine, Doctor?"

Dr. Pinnacle apparently caught the dangerous note in her voice.

"It was best for the patient," he said, putting on his gloves. "There are times when a doctor must overrule a patient for his own good, and this was one of them."

The d.u.c.h.ess said nothing, but the moment the doctor left, she raised a finger in Featherstone's direction. "Be so good as to find another ocular expert, if you please." The butler nodded, bowed, and backed through the door.

"I suppose we might leave now," John said with a kind of relentless cheer that grated on Grace's nerves. "Everything is well in hand. Captain Barry will likely sleep well into tomorrow."

"My mother always has things in hand," Lily said, rearranging the ornaments on the mantelpiece again. "Where are the two of you off to?"

"Lord Burden-Sisle has kindly agreed to allow us to view his collection of Constable watercolors," John replied. "Would you like to join us?"

Lily wrinkled her nose. "Absolutely not. It sounds horrendously boring. I can't imagine how you'll survive, John."

"There are only six watercolors and some preliminary sketches," he said.

"But Grace takes forever to look at even one picture," Lily complained. "Haven't you seen how she peers at paintings, and then stands back, and then peers at them again? I was near to weeping with tedium the last time we went to the National Gallery."

Grace stood up. "John, if you'll forgive me, I wouldn't be able to enjoy the collection at the moment."

"But Lord Burden-Sisle made a special appointment," John protested. "He is expecting us."

"Lily will go with you in my stead."

Something in Grace's face caused Lily to leap to John's side, taking his arm and smiling up at him with her most dazzling smile. "You will take me, won't you, John?"

He scowled at her. "Not if you ply your wiles on me. I'm to be your brother-in-law, not one of those foolish puppies whom you dazzle in the ballroom."

"Shame!" she cried, drawing him toward the door. "I'll have you know that my swains are very intelligent men. I can't imagine why you would slander them in such a fas.h.i.+on."

He looked back, but Grace shook her head, so he bowed and left.

Four.

This time, Grace didn't wait for a moan through the wall. She ran up the stairs and straight into Colin's bedchamber. The room was in darkness, thick velvet curtains pulled across the windows; the only light came from a single lamp, turned down low. She took a deep breath, closed the door, and leaned back against it.

This was madness. Yet she couldn't stop herself.

Colin was not lying in bed the way the doctor said he must.

He was seated at a chair before the fireplace, almost as if he were staring at the empty hearth.

"Colin," she whispered.

He turned his head, slowly, far more slowly than he had earlier. She realized that his hands were gripping the arms of his chair as if he were in a s.h.i.+p on a tossing sea.

"Who's there?" he said, growling it.

"It's me, Grace." She walked over to him. "How are you?"

"What did they give me to drink?" He spoke through clenched teeth.

"Laudanum."