Chapter Seventeen
The pounding in Grace’s head had long subsided, but her thoughts were still racing, refusing to give her peace.
Breakfast lingered in the back of her mind, mingled with the hazy flickers of the study from the night before.
She couldn’t recall every detail, but she remembered enough to know that she most likely made a complete and utter fool out of herself.
She was on course for the library, hoping for a few hours alone with a book to settle her thoughts and return her heart to a normal rhythm. She turned the corner too quickly, colliding with something solid—or rather someone solid.
Oliver’s hands wrapped around the back of her arms, keeping her steady on her feet but sending her heart racing again. His smile had the same effect as Matthew’s brandy, making her blood run warm and her stomach twist in knots.
He laughed, his voice sending a shiver up her spine despite the flush in her cheeks. “If you are going to throw yourself at me, I would prefer it were not with the risk of injury.”
Grace’s whole body tensed as Oliver loosened his grip on her arms, letting his hands fall away completely.
“I was not trying to injure you.” Grace cleared her throat and smoothed her skirts in an attempt to settle her nerves. “I simply was not watching where I was going.” She braced herself for his inevitable retort—the flirtatious remark, perhaps even one of his daring winks—but it didn’t come.
Oliver studied her quietly, his eyes soft, before giving her the faintest smile and stepping aside to continue down the hall.
The moment he moved away, Grace realized she had stopped breathing. Air rushed back into her lungs, clearing her head enough to ignite a spark of frustration as she watched his retreating form walking silently away from her.
“Are you avoiding me?” She called after him.
Oliver stopped mid-stride and turned back, his brows lifting in surprise. “No,” He said, his tone deceptively light. “Should I be?”
“You tell me.” The thought of asking him directly what had occurred in Matthew's study was mortifying, but if she could coax him to volunteer just a sliver of information, maybe she could piece together a clearer picture for herself.
Oliver took a few careful steps closer, and Grace instinctively folded her arms across her chest like a shield. Her pulse quickened as his eyes searched hers, as if he were trying to find the memories that she had forgotten.
“What do you remember?” He whispered.
Grace hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. “Enough to know that I should be embarrassed,” she admitted. “But not enough to know why.”
A slow smile tugged at Oliver’s lips, and for a single heartbeat, Grace thought she saw his gaze drop to hers, but in the next moment, his eyes were locked on hers again. “You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Grace’s chest tightened. She knew the words were meant to soothe her mind, but they only made her thoughts race faster. “Then why does it feel like you are hiding something from me?”
“Because I do not want you to think that I will hold you to anything that you said.”
Grace felt the air rush from her lungs. Flashes of memories from the night before came rushing back. Why on earth had she been talking about Benjamin’s nose? And Oliver’s face…
His face had been so close to hers she could still feel his breath against her skin.
“What if I want you to?” She recognized the breathless voice as her own, but hadn’t even realized she thought the words until they were spoken out loud.
Oliver froze. His chest rose and fell unevenly, the rhythm of his breathing betraying the effort it took for him to remain composed.
“Grace,” the way he whispered her name sounded like a warning and an invitation all at once. “Last night, you asked me something. And I told you that if you truly meant it, then you would need to ask me again. The moment you do, I will be more than happy to oblige, but not before.”
Grace clenched her hands at her sides as if holding herself together might stop the rapid fluttering in her chest. Her cheeks flamed, her breath stuttered, but something about the way Oliver was teetering on the edge of madness and restraint gave her a boldness she didn’t know she possessed.
“How am I supposed to ask if I don’t remember what the question was? ”
Oliver’s eyes flicked back to hers, his smile deepening.“I am a very patient man, Lady Rockwell.”
Grace let out a breathless laugh, “That is not true.” The tension between them lifted for just a moment, giving her enough space to breathe again.
Oliver laughed as well. “You’re right, it is not.” He took another step closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I am discovering that for you, I could be just about anything.”
Grace’s heart lurched violently in her chest. His words weren’t a confession, but they were dangerously close.
Oliver reached out slowly, his fingers slightly brushing her wrist. His touch was warm, but as his hand gently slid down to close around hers, she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her.
“I have never been one to think things through or tread carefully.” He murmured, his thumb gracing the back of her hand in slow circles. “But I do not want to rush this. I want to do this properly.”
The room felt like it was spinning around her, but she was held perfectly secure by Oliver’s gaze and the feeling of his hand on hers. Oliver wanted her.
With a force so sudden it almost knocked the breath out of her lungs, Grace realized with perfect clarity—she wanted him to.
How had this infuriating man managed to wind himself so tightly around her heart that she could no longer pretend it was untouched?
Perhaps in the quiet moments, when his calm steadied her.
Or in the sparring when his wit ignited hers.
Maybe it was between the moments of laughter when he would give her small glimpses of his heart.
Or perhaps it was last night, when his nearness had stolen the very air she breathed.
Whatever it was, whenever it happened, it was now impossible to ignore. She was in love with Oliver Blackburn.
“Grace?” he whispered. She had been staring at him silently, so absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed the concern that was now etched into his brows. He was waiting for a response.
Grace’s eyes searched his, hoping perhaps she could find some cure to the insanity that had overtaken her. But instead of pulling her out of her madness, she found herself pulled even deeper into their dark blue depths.
“This is quite unfortunate.” She whispered the moment she was able to find her voice.
“What is?” Oliver asked, a note of panic in his voice as the grip on her hand loosened.
Grace reassuringly squeezed her fingers tightly around his. “For the first time in my life,” she paused, taking in a shaky breath. “I have absolutely no desire to think things through.”
Oliver released a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, a gentle smile spreading across his face as the tension drained from his shoulders and his eyes softened with quiet relief.
“Does this mean we are free from the terms of our truce?” he teased, a spark lighting his eyes. “Because if you no longer find me insufferable, I can simply claim my victory.”
Grace shook her head with a smile, “You are still insufferable, Ollie.” Her breath caught at how the name continually slipped out with such familiar ease.
Oliver’s gaze softened even more, slowly lifting his hand and brushing a stray curl from her temple.
“I haven’t heard anyone call me that in a long time. Besides Matthew, but he does so with far less affection.”
Grace laughed, the knot loosening from her stomach. “You do not mind?”
“No.” He shook his head. The smile that was firmly planted on his face filled Grace’s heart with a feeling so achingly familiar.
“You may call me whatever you like.”
Grace laughed, daring to take a step closer. The hall was quiet, and the look in his eyes seemed to coax forth a part of her she hadn’t known still existed. “That kind of power might be dangerous.”
“Only if I fight it.” His voice dropped as he leaned in, lips grazing dangerously close to her ear, “If memory serves, I already surrendered.”
For one wild moment, she thought he might close the space between them entirely. But in one swift breath, he straightened, his expression perfectly composed.
Without another word, Oliver turned and walked away, leaving Grace alone with her pounding heart and thoughts tangled tightly around the memory of a white handkerchief.
Oliver was still reeling from his conversation with Grace in the corridor. Somehow, he had managed to walk away from her, even when everything in him screamed to reach for her.
He hadn’t been able to draw a full breath since he had left her. He needed fresh air, movement, anything to steady the storm churning beneath his ribs.
Cutting through the edge of the rose garden, his boots crunched along the gravel path. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, as if that might somehow keep him from clinging to the memory of Grace’s voice.
“Oliver!”
Oliver turned to see Sarah making her way toward him. She was remarkably swift for someone who was hiding, what by now had to be, a rapidly growing child beneath those layers of skirts. She slowed as she reached him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Ollie,” she said casually.
Oliver raised a brow. “You may call me Ollie the day I can call you Lizzy,”
Sarah laughed as she fell into step beside him. “Fair enough.” They walked in silence for a moment before she spoke, the teasing tone in her voice unmistakable. “Grace called you Ollie this morning.”
“I noticed.”
“She has never called you that before.”
His jaw twitched. His memories were flooded with the warmth of brandy and the soft whisper of her voice as the name fell from her lips.
He managed to keep his tone even. “It must have been a moment of madness.”
Sarah cast him a look but did not push the matter. “I do not want to assume anything,” she said carefully, “but you and Grace—”
“There is no me and Grace,” he cut in, sharper than intended. The silence stretched between them for a few steps, but he could feel her gaze on him. Sarah knew both him and Grace too well to believe that there was nothing stirring between them.
“Not officially,” he corrected with a sigh.
They passed the edge of the hedgerow where the path bent toward the orchard, the wind carrying the sweet mingling of blossoms and earth.
“Should there be?” Sarah asked softly.
Oliver kept his eyes fixed on the dirt path in front of them. His chest ached with the relentless beat of his heart every time his thoughts strayed to Grace. His head throbbed from the effort of steering his mind elsewhere, though she occupied his every waking moment.
He didn’t know exactly when she had taken up full residence in his heart and mind, but there was no denying that she had, and that she was there to stay. And though Oliver knew that he would never let her go, he also knew that didn’t mean either of their hearts were safe.
“She is still grieving,” he muttered, kicking a stone along the path.
“And you are not?”
Oliver finally managed to meet Sarah’s gaze, her eyes full of the same patient understanding that her husband possessed. “Sarah, you of all people know that I carry ghosts.”
Sarah did not reply, but simply waited for him to continue.
“I care for her.” That was a lie. Oliver did not care for Grace—he was utterly, irrevocably, and stupidly in love with her. “But I will not pursue her. Not unless she chooses to cross that line.” He had already pushed too far in the hall and revealed too much.
“Because of what she lost?” Sarah pressed.
“Because I know what it feels like to love so deeply that the world disappears, and to wake up and suddenly find it is gone.” His voice caught. “I will not ask her to love me in pieces, or to give me what still belongs to Benjamin.”
Sarah touched his arm lightly, compassion flickering in her eyes. She studied him for a moment before her eyes narrowed. “Did something happen during the dinner party?”
Oliver offered her a quick smile. “We debated the quality of Matthew’s brandy.”
Sarah arched a brow in disbelief. “And that is all?”
“I am afraid so.”
She exhaled through her nose in amusement, obviously unconvinced. “Keep your secrets. I will wear her down eventually.”
Oliver laughed, shaking his head as they continued along the path in companionable silence. If anyone could coax a secret from Grace, it would be Sarah.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she continued softly. “But if something ever does happen, promise me that you will not run from it.”
“I don’t plan to,” he said honestly. “Unless she chases me away.”