Swallowing, she looked around, forcing back the first stirrings of panic. This was Devonshire for goodness sake. She knew this land like the back of her hand and had been lost in it more times than she could count, always being chanced upon eventually by her father or Percy.
A sudden sick feeling of dread paralyzed her as she abruptly realised that in this instance, no one knew she was missing. It might well be days before anyone discovered she’d left the cottage.
Feeling suddenly faint, Grace sat down on a large boulder. She was no stranger to this landscape and consequently to its hazards. While generally fairly clement, the weather had been known to cause havoc to the unwary. If she was unable to find her way and the temperature chanced to fall more than a few degrees, there was a possibility she would freeze to death.
Her mind began to visualise the various ways she might succumb to an early demise, each imagining more gruesome than the last. She was just recollecting the local legend of Old Nick himself galloping through the darkness, intent on crushing careless travellers with his coal black steed, when, all of a sudden, she heard the sound of hooves.
Jumping to her feet, she had no time to run but simply stared transfixed at the oncoming beast, huge in the gloom. “GRACE,” a hoarse voice shouted which sounded to her now rampant imaginings like the howling of demonic forces. Motionless Grace watched helplessly as the steed bore down on her, only narrowly avoiding trampling her to the floor by rearing up and moving aside at the last second.
The horse stood still, blowing and tossing its head as the rider quickly dismounted and strode towards her.
Unhappily, before Nicholas had the opportunity to ascertain if she’d been hurt, his wife muttered something about infernal justice and promptly fainted at his feet.
∞∞∞
Grace woke in an unfamiliar bed. Blinking, she raised herself onto her elbows and glanced round. The furnishings were masculine as was the recumbent figure snoring softly in the chair next to the bed. With her heart in her mouth, Grace recognised the tall form of her husband. Collapsing back into the pillows, she tried to remember what had happened for her to end up in what she had no doubt was the Duke of Blackmore’s bed.
Glancing back towards Nicholas, her heart missed a beat as she saw he was awake and staring back at her. Swallowing nervously, she made an effort to sit up, belatedly realising that she was dressed in only a chemise.
Rising quickly, her husband moved to her side but for some reason paused without touching her. Glancing up at him enquiringly, Grace realised he was waiting for her permission before laying his hands on her. Shyly she took his proffered arm and allowed him to help.
When he’d finally plumped the pillows behind her to his satisfaction, he sat down on the side of the bed and stared at her sombrely. Grace felt her heart leap at the expression she saw there. He was finally looking at her with all the love and longing she’d dreamed of. Fighting back tears, she raised her hand and touched his face gently, marvelling at his sheer masculine beauty.
“Forgive me,” he murmured hoarsely.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she whispered, fighting back the tears. “I love you Nicholas.”
In answer, he groaned and pulled her unresisting body into his arms, his mouth swooping hungrily down on hers. With a smothered sob of joy, Grace returned his kiss, revelling in the feel of his lips locked fiercely to hers. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed herself against him, feeling him shudder in return as he pulled her closer, gathering her willing body into his.
“God I’ve missed you.” His voice was husky against her lips before he deepened the kiss.
The exquisite sensation of her in his arms, the feel of her lips clinging to his was almost unbearable joy to Nicholas. Finally, he opened his heart and allowed the last of his resistance to melt away in the arms of the woman who meant everything to him.
“Heal me Grace,” he whispered brokenly when he finally tore his mouth from hers, “I can’t do this without you.”
“We’ll do it together my love,” she murmured resting her head against his chest, tears of joy and relief quickly soaking into the fine linen.
Closing his eyes, Nicholas gently rested his head on his wife’s, finally allowing himself to admit what he’d known, almost from the moment his wife had thrown up on their wedding day. Leaning back, he tilted her face up to his and stared down at her with aching tenderness.
“I love you Grace,” he breathed softly, “God how I love you. Can we start all over again? Will you be my wife, my partner, my Duchess?”
Epilogue
“Well Percy, I think we have time for a small celebratory drink before we attend the reception at Blackmore.
"We may have been well and truly in the basket my friend, but I think we can safely say all’s well that ends well. It was without question an ingeniously devised plan of action executed with meticulous timing. Not to mention daring.”
Reverend Shackleford was too busy congratulating himself to observe the doubtful look on his curate’s face. They were in the vicarage study waiting for the rest of the Shackleford household to ready themselves for the first reception to be held at Blackmore since
