CHAPTER NINE
Henri rolled on to his side, bringing Grace with him. Slowly they came apart, and Grace lay in the slackness of his half-embrace, his arm caught under her neck, blinking dazedly up at the wooden tester, its outline visible in the faintly greying light.
By degrees it came to her what they had done.
What she had done! She could not blame Henri; she had come to his bed.
Once she was there, and he had kissed her, the rest was inevitable.
Grace looked for regret, and did not find it.
Had she secretly sought for this? Remembrance of the danger in which Henri stood crept back into her mind.
No matter his uncertain future, she had this to cherish.
A movement brought her eyes around to find Henri flexing his fingers.
His arm was caught under her. With instant horror, she realised it was the wrong one.
She threw herself up and turned to look at him.
She did not take in that she could see him, dark hair wild about his handsome face, drenched with sweat. Her eyes went to his wound.
“Your shoulder!”
Only now did she realise he was not wearing a bandage. There was a tear in the flesh, and a seeping ooze of blood.
“It has opened again! Oh, Henri!”
He had shifted his arm, laying it across his chest and rubbing at the flesh. But he smiled lazily. “It makes nothing.”
Grace hunted about for something to staunch the blood, and found her discarded nightgown. Seizing it, she would have put it to the wound, but Henri’s good hand caught her wrist.
“That is foolish, Grace. Better you find a bandage.”
Naked as she was, she slipped from under the covers, and climbed off the bed, lumbering to the chest. It did not take her long to find the rolled strips of torn sheet that had been used, and re-used after washing, since Henri had come here.
Only when she turned with a couple of rolls in her hand, did she become aware of her nudity.
Henri was watching her, an expression of appreciation in his eyes.
Grace felt heat rise in her cheeks, and could only think of the pale half-formed thing that was her right leg, so different from the shapely left. Hastily she limped back to the bed and climbed up again. When she would have put on her nightgown, Henri stopped her.
“It is no shame before me, Grace.”
But she held the gown against herself, horribly conscious of the gathering light. “It is not — it’s not shame.”
The green eyes were speculative. He reached out and gently tugged the gown away from her, exposing her body to his sight. Grace could not look at him.
Henri shifted on to his elbow, wincing a little. With his free hand, he stroked her bad leg. “Ma chère, it is in your head this ugliness. In mine you will not find it.”
He was disappointed that she grimaced and slid the nightgown over her head. What would it take to convince her it mattered not at all? If there was to be time for the effort involved. Remembering, he sighed.
“It is perhaps good that you bandage me now, Grace. We are late already.”
As she set about applying her bandage, Henri watched her face.
There was a tightening beginning to show.
Had she seen the consequences of the unplanned coupling they had shared?
It was a complication they had not needed, yet he could not wish it undone.
There had been too much passion for regret.
At a time when he had all to play, and did not know if he would win, it was the act of a scoundrel to have taken her.
Not that he’d had any such intention. But it was too late to be thinking of that.
It was done, and there was no going back. The die was cast.
After all, he decided in swift content, it was better so. It had clarified what he had already resolved. And it gave him purpose. Not to mention leverage, which one might need with a woman like Grace.
He kissed her quickly as she finished the bandage. “Merci. It needs only to dress myself, and I am gone.”
Grace watched him as he got out of bed, sitting where he had left her, the familiar hollow opening up inside her. Was she to lose him now, just when he had become hers? She thrust the thoughts away, and tried to turn her mind to practical matters.
“Food. I had best pack you some provisions.”
She slid off the bed, and was startled by a sudden patter of footsteps from above. Henri had heard it too, pausing as he drew on his breeches. They exchanged a glance.
“Jemima comes to wake me, I think.”
“A trifle late,” Grace commented, noting the signs of sunlight beginning to seep between the drapes at the window.
There was a pause while the footsteps were halted, and in a moment the maid appeared, poking her head around the door. Her eyes were round, and she glanced from one to the other. “Oh, Miss Grace!”
Grace limped up to her. “It’s all right, Jemima. I woke and came in to Mister Henry, so you need not reproach yourself.”
Jemima sidled into the room, fully dressed, and Grace realised there was fear in her features, as well as distress. “It ain’t that, miss.”
“What troubles you, Jemima?” came swiftly from Henri, alertness in his voice.
The girl twisted her apron. “Oh, Mister Henry, I don’t know how to tell you! I was getting meself dressed, and I looked out the window to see how light it was, and then I saw them.”
Grace’s heart missed a beat. “Saw who, Jemima?”
“Men, Miss Grace. They’re out front, and in the back too. I just checked out the window over the lean-to. All round the house, they are.”
Glancing at Henri, Grace thought he had paled slightly. Her pulse was racing. “Is it the Frenchmen?”
“I dunno. I ain’t seen them, but there are that many men out there, there’s no saying it ain’t them Frenchies an’ all!”
“What men are they?”
“Same as was searching for Mister Henry yesterday.”
Grace cast a wild glance at Henri. “Why? Why have they come? Surely they can’t know you’re here!”
Henri shrugged. “It is possible. Get you dressed, ma chère, and we can find it out.”
What else was to be done? Grace turned to go and became aware of the maid’s startled eyes roaming over the rumpled bedclothes. To her chagrin, Jemima glanced from Henri to her mistress with an abrupt look of realisation. Hastily, Grace wafted impatient hands at her.
“Go, Jemima! Start preparing breakfast. We must strive to look as normal as possible. Go, quickly. I will come down as soon as I’m dressed.”
The maid disappeared and was promptly to be heard tripping down the stairs. Grace cast one harassed look at Henri, who had resumed dressing, and flung herself out of the door.
She stumped loudly as she came down the stairs, hoping the sound would travel to those waiting beyond the front door.
She had taken a good look when, once dressed, she had flung aside the drapes at her bedchamber window, staring in feigned astonishment as the three men visible outside one by one turned up their faces to look.
She had recognised Clem and Samuel, and another of Mayberry’s men.
Were Wooferton’s there too? He had two at his disposal, who were perhaps watching at the back.
She had not dared to look out over the lean-to, for she thought it would be more natural to hurry down and out of the house at the front. Calling loudly to Jemima as she passed the kitchen, she made for the door and turned the key in the lock.
Jemima appeared behind her, whispering. “What are you going to say?”
Grace glanced back and put out a quick hand. “We know nothing of Mister Henry, Jemima. He left here yesterday and we have not seen him again. Remember that!”
The maid nodded frantically. “There ain’t no call to tell me, Miss Grace. I wouldn’t betray Mister Henry, not for anything!”
“I know.” Grace smiled at her. “But you must look both angry and surprised, Jemima. Yes, that’s very good.”
Satisfied that the girl’s subterfuge was as good as her own, Grace took a breath, and opened the door, stomping on to the porch. She put on an irate front.
“What, may I ask, is the meaning of this?”
Clem and Samuel had approached the path, but had not ventured on to it. Clem looked sheepish, and Samuel apologetic. “Orders is we’m to watch the house, Miss Grace,” offered the latter.
“Mr Mayberry sent you?”
Clem touched his forelock. “Begging your pardon, Miss Grace, it were Sir James hisself.”
A knot of desperation settled in Grace’s stomach.
If Sir James had ordered this, there could be little hope of evading the outcome.
But why, when Sir James had called off the search?
If only she had let Henri go last night, as he had intended!
Fool that she was, she had held him only to run him into danger.
Worse, if she had not slipped into his bed, he might have been away long since. Unless the men had been here already?
She turned abruptly on the reluctant intruders, limping on to the path. “When did you get here?”
The two men looked at each other. Clem jerked a thumb at the others. “Them two come at half-three, miss. Sam and me was here after four, being as we’re only down the lane.”
Then it had been too late long ago! Grace abandoned pretence. “And the men behind the house? Who are they, and when did they come?”
“They be Mr Wooferton’s men, miss,” Samuel explained. “Mr Wooferton sent ’em last night, I reckon.”
Clem grinned. “Cold and half asleep they be.”
Grace held her countenance with difficulty, sick at the thought of strangers outside her house, bearing witness as she and Henri had been engaged in their frantic joining.
“You expect Mr Wooferton?”
“’E’s coming at six, Miss Grace.”
“And Mr Mayberry with ’im.”
Armed with their warrant, no doubt. Turning from them, Grace went back to the house, ushering Jemima, suitably goggling, before her. She closed the door and leaned against it. Dismay took the place of feigned astonishment in the maid’s features.
“They’re coming for Mister Henry, ain’t they?”
Grace nodded, placing one hand below her breast as if she might still the fluttering there. “I don’t know what to do.”