Chapter Ten
Nicholas
I’d been watching the young man in the grubby denim for a few minutes when Grace appeared, waving away a cab as the rain poured down.
I suppressed a stabbing pain as I wondered who was in the cab that she was so sad to say goodbye to; Dorian, no doubt.
I could only blame myself for that. I’d set them up, after all.
She should have had a good time with him.
I wanted that for her; to meet people her own age, to be young.
And I could see by the tangle of her hair and her smeared makeup that she’d done just that. She looked like a young woman who’d gone a little wild at a party.
Or perhaps more. I pictured what Dorian might have done with her in the cab, or perhaps at the venue, to make her look so dishevelled. I wasn’t so happy about that.
When the young man on my doorstep turned and shouted to Grace in the rain, I observed an instant switch in her behaviour. She staggered back a little, her mouth dropping open. He clenched his fists.
I ran, taking the stairs two and three at a time, until I burst my way outside.
The man had her by the hair when I got to him. He was shouting obscenities at her; something about worth, and ownership. He spat cruel words about her appearance, about her dress. I didn’t hesitate long enough to hear it. Grace’s cries were enough to ignite a blind rage within me.
I prized his hand away from her and shoved him, sending him reeling.
He was young, only Grace’s age, but he was tough and hardy, with broad shoulders and calloused hands.
I noticed how he looked weather-beaten despite his young age; a man who worked outside and used his muscle.
A man who could make short work of someone as slight as Grace.
“This is private business,” he shouted, stabbing the air with his finger. “Stay out of it.”
I drew back my fist and landed it against his jaw with a crack.
I grit my teeth and took fistfuls of his shirt before he could fall backwards, and kneed him in the gut.
His agonised grunt gave way to a slew of curses, before his hands were suddenly around my neck, his fingers grasping for my windpipe.
I landed another punch to his ribs, forcing him to let go and stagger back, wheezing.
He held his side as if nursing a stab wound, his face contorted in pain.
Hunched over, he tripped on the stairs and fell.
I dragged him the rest of the way by the scruff of his shirt. Grace covered her head, screaming.
I lifted him to his feet.
“You get out and you stay out, you filth,” I muttered into his ear.
He shrugged free of me and staggered through the iron gates and into the street.
He shouted back at Grace as I pursued him, promising he’d be back, promising she’d never escape him.
It took all of my strength not to drag him back in and finish him, knowing that I could.
Knowing that I had all manner of ways of dealing with him and his body.
But he walked away, disappearing into the rain.
Wiping my brow, I turned to see Grace shivering, her beautiful face streaked with tears and mascara. She looked a terrified, pitiful thing, so far from the frazzled party-girl who had walked through the gate.
I wanted to beat the air from the bastard’s lungs just for taking that away from her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, half-sobbing. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
All the anger and turmoil that rushed through me in that moment was becoming impossible to conceal, though I tried. I couldn’t just leave her like that, standing there, all alone, after that animal had almost torn the hair from her head.
I gathered her up in my arms, holding her quivering body close to mine.
We were both soaked through now, and the rain was unrelenting even as I carried her up the stairs and into the house.
It was late. I’d waited up for her, worrying about her return, hoping she’d be alright out in the world all alone.
She was so sheltered, so unaware...and I was trying to fix that, gently, by breaking her into a society that she so clearly knew nothing about.
I’d wanted to fix this problem for her; to introduce her to the world on her terms. She reminded me too much of my timid, poor Louisa, no matter how much I denied it. I couldn’t shake the feeling that if I could help Grace, I could make amends for the woman I had already lost.
“It’s my fault for leaving you,” I said against her wet head. “Who is he, Grace?”
He seemed to think he owned you, I wanted to say. Like property.
She didn’t respond, and only sobbed in my arms, her shoulders sagging. We entered the quiet house and I took her upstairs, intending to lay her down in her room and run her a bath – but she lifted her head, her arm around my neck.
“The library,” she said. “I want to go to the library.”
“It’s late, Grace,” I said. “You’re soaked through. I want to look at your scalp and make sure –”
“I’m fine. My head is fine, thanks to you. Please, Nick. I want to go into the beautiful library and just be there for a moment. The sound of the rain against the windows is peaceful in there.”
I carried her down the hall to the room she wanted most. I was glad that she had a favourite room; that she felt at home here, with me. It was a dangerous feeling, and one I tried so hard not to nurture. I had hoped that if I paid it so little mind, it might fade away.
I laid Grace down on the couch, the rain hammering at the windows as a storm churned its way into being. She sat up, her eyes falling on the wall behind me, on the deep mahogany shutters concealing a painting.
“I’ve looked everywhere for a picture of her,” she said, her voice small and shaking. “She’s behind there, isn’t she? She’s behind those shutters.”
I tried to keep emotion from my face, but I couldn’t hide it. I hadn’t realised she was so pre-occupied with Louisa.
“I closed her away when I found...when I found it too painful to look at her,” I said solemnly. “The painting stays behind those shutters, Grace.”
“I need to see her,” she said, in no pleading manner.
I ran a hand through my mop of wet hair. “We really ought to get ourselves dried.”
“I want to see her painting or else I’ll leave tonight,” she said.
Her words sent a stabbing pain through my chest, as if she’d flung a knife.
She wasn’t asking much. It was an easy decision to make, although I didn’t take kindly to her threat of leaving.
I winced as she said it. I slowly made my way to the shutters, found the key hidden beneath the ledge, and unlocked it.
Grace turned on the lamp beside the couch.
As I drew the shutters open, Louisa’s face and hair were illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp.
Grace nodded slowly as she took in her portrait. Louisa watched faithfully back with her black obsidian eyes and impossibly-pale hair, so much like Grace’s.
“This was her library,” she said in a sad, low, defeated voice. “This was her favourite place.”
“It’s yours now,” I said, a little too quickly. My desperation was showing. Grace seemed to understand that, her eyes widening just a little in hope.
“You can close her up now,” she said, and I did so.
The burning inside me, the yearning to know who that man was, defeated me. She’d made a request of me and I’d obeyed her. Now it was time for her to answer to me.
“Who was that man, and what did he want with you?” I asked, meeting Grace by the couch. “I demand you tell me.”
Grace bowed her head and held her arm, stroking it as if to self-soothe.
“I ran from him the night I came here,” she said, her voice strained with emotion. “I didn’t know he’d come and find me. I rejected him, and he...he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ve known him all my life. He’s turned into a monster.”
“Has he ever...have you, ever...”
“No,” said Grace firmly. “Never.”
I crouched down beside her.
“If he ever comes here again, Grace, he won’t be leaving,” I said. I was alarmed at my own bitterness, my own hostility at the idea of that man, any man, laying a finger on her. But I meant every word.
She looked up at me curiously, then. Her hand lifted to touch my face, and I caught it, holding it in mine.
“He called me a whore,” she said, the pain evident in her broken voice. “He said I looked dirty and disgusting.”
“Put him from your mind immediately. Don’t gift him with any more space inside your head,” I said.
Tears pooled in her eyes and fell in such a way that I found it unbearable.
“We need to set a new rule,” I said, moving a few strands of wet hair from her crestfallen face.
I let go of her hand and let her arm fall back into her lap.
“That you never, ever keep secrets from me. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know about the dangers you’re facing.
I can’t keep them at bay if you won’t let me. Do you promise me, Grace?”
“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Thank you, sir.”
“You don’t need to call me sir,” I reminded her, ashamed that I liked it, deep down. Ashamed that I enjoyed the sound of her voice, in her soft accent, saying that word. “Do you need painkillers before you go to bed?”
“I’m all right, just shaken,” she said, holding herself at the elbows. “I had such a wonderful time before he...”
I sat down on the couch beside her, bowing my head.
It hurt to hear that she’d had a grand time, only for it to be spoiled by that lout, who had travelled a long way just to hurt her.
I would have to review our security controls.
The gate should have been locked, as it usually was, but I’d left it open deliberately so Grace could come straight inside.
Small mistakes lead to big regrets. I was old enough to know that.
Grace’s hand on my face startled me. I looked up from my hands in time for her to mount my lap, placing a hand on each of my shoulders, her fingers tracing my neck.
“Grace, no,” I said, taking her by the hips to move her. She couldn’t do this, not now. Not ever.
“I want to, sir,” she said softly, making the skin on the back of my neck pebble as if under a sudden chill. “I know you like me to call you sir. I know you pretend not to like it.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain pattered hard against the window pane.
“You’re too young for me,” I said firmly, though I couldn’t tear my hands from her hips. I could feel the shape of them so clearly through her sopping wet dress. My thumbs instinctively made circles as I held them.
“And you’re far too old for me, sir,” she said, as she dipped her head and kissed me, deep and eager. I was lost to her for a few moments. When our lips parted, I knew I had to stop this now, or I’d never be able to resist her again.
“You’re innocent, Grace, and vulnerable,” I said.
“You can take all that away. I want you to.”
I groaned, my determination slipping away from me.
She could feel my stiffness beneath her.
She smiled as her mouth closed over mine again.
Her eager tongue probed until I let her in, and the sweetness soon gave way to the deep longing I had tried to suppress.
My hands were firm on her hips as she began to rock them, mewling gently against my mouth.
Grace began to lower her dress from her shoulders, shimmying down the wet fabric to reveal her small, perfect breasts and pink nipples.
She began to rock again, very gently, grinding herself against my thigh.
I lifted it and guided her hips, watching her eyes flutter closed, her expression contorting, as her heat seeped against my leg.
“That feels so good,” she said with such yearning that she almost moaned it.
My resistance disintegrated on those words.
I rocked her gently, guiding her hips, while she groaned and sighed.
She fell gently forward, pressing her forehead against mine.
I kissed her and lowered my head. When I closed my mouth around one pink, swollen bud and drew on it, she moaned against the crown of my head.
Holding her by one hip, I felt beneath her skirt and found the pulsing bead that I was seeking behind her knickers, and pressed.
With the pad of my thumb, I pushed and rubbed to the rhythm of her rocking hips.
Her breast in my mouth, I drew on her until she was crying into my hair.
Her hips grinding harder and harder, she shuddered in my arms. Her cries faded as she relaxed against me, breathing fast.
“The pink room,” she whispered against my neck.
“No more,” I said, but she kissed me and trailed a path beneath my ear. Within moments my mouth was on hers, my hands kneading her breasts.
I carried her to her room. The lightning flooded the bed in silver, patterned by the gnarled, bare limbs of the trees outside.
I laid her on the bed and she kicked off her shoes, wriggling free of her sodden dress.
Her cold hands tore at my belt buckle, tugging down my trousers, and fumbled with the buttons on my shirt.
I slowed her with a kiss, throwing my shirt onto the floor. I took her face in my hands and devoured her mouth, enjoying the way she moaned and sighed. I lowered her down onto the bed, caging her with my arms.
“I need to feel your heart against mine,” she said into the darkness.
I drew her into my arms, our cold bodies warming one another.
She nestled against me, our hearts thudding in our chests.
I pressed her pelvis to mine and rocked her again, this time against my stiffness, until she begged me to end her suffering.
I cupped her gently between her legs and she flowered open for me.
The first of my fingers made her gasp, tipping back her head.
Then her hips began to grind, and she was able to take a second.
With the pad of my thumb, I brought her as close to the edge as I dared.
When her mouth sought mine, she whimpered against it.
“Please, Nick,” she whispered.
I drew my hand away and moved between her thighs, nudging at her wetness.
She explored the crown of it, rolling her hips until she drove me senseless.
As her moisture made passage for me, I pushed inside, groaning and euphoric.
I entered her and filled her, slowly and completely.
The bed creaked beneath us, our bodies entwined, as I began to move.
She was warm and inviting, goading me with the movements of her pelvis.
Inches appeared and disappeared between us as she gasped against my lips, her hands grasping, her mouth seeking mine in the dark.
Our hands above our heads, clasping.