Chapter 30
GRACE
Gunshots boomed through the house as Grace tried to play, her heart in her stomach and her mind upstairs, with Drasko.
Julien sat on the sofa with a brandy in his hand, tense as a rod but not saying a word.
Nina and Tripp didn’t flinch, guns in their hands as they guarded the door.
Grace stopped playing abruptly, and the echo of the music sank into the room’s silence. The house was eerily quiet, too, but her heartbeat was wildly loud.
Please, come back , Grace prayed, realizing she was afraid to lose her husband.
The door opened, and Drasko walked in, sharp determination on his face.
“One down. Three ran,” he said in a low voice to Tripp, tipping his head toward upstairs.
“Everyone is all right?” Nina tucked her gun into the folds of her skirt—a hidden holster that Grace had never noticed before.
“They are cleaning up, yes.”
“Sir?” Nina pointed at Drasko’s shoulder and the red seeping through the shirt fabric.
“Only a scratch.”
A scratch…
Grace stood up, her knees weak with sudden relief, her eyes on Drasko’s stained shirt.
“My guard will escort you home,” Drasko said to Julien. “It’s a precaution. I deeply apologize for what happened.”
Julien only nodded, his prolonged gaze on Drasko as they shook hands.
“That was?—”
“That never happened before,” Grace cut him off with an apology as they walked toward the entrance doors, guarded with more men than ever before.
“Life is not fair,” Julien said with sadness.
“What do you mean by that?”
Julien put on his suit jacket and picked up his fashionable cane and hat from the doorman, then turned to Grace.
“Ah, because you seem not to value your husband, Gracie. Whereas I, oh…” His eyes flashed toward the end of the hallway where Drasko and several of his men stood talking. “If he were mine, I would worship him?—”
“Oh, God, stop!” Grace exclaimed with a coy smile.
Julien gone, she waited with the rest for the Metropolitan police. The hall was crowded with the servant staff and the guards. Drasko exchanged hushed murmurs with his men.
Grace studied him openly—his rolled-up sleeves, the wound on his shoulder, the way he blinked in irritation.
There were little things, sounds and scents and gestures, that belonged only to him.
The scratch of a match when he lit it. The crackling of the tobacco and his eyes narrowing just a bit as he took the first drag.
The way his lips puckered just slightly on an exhale.
The smoke curling around him from the burned end of the cigarette.
The glint of the metal rings on his fingers.
The way he slid his other hand into his pocket. The shift of his broad shoulders.
Across the hall, he caught Grace’s gaze. She didn’t avert her eyes, let them linger on him, knowing he was watching. She knew that his eyes were on her as she followed the cigarette to his lips, then studied his lips when they took a drag and curled into a knowing smile.
She wanted him to know she was watching, baiting him. Was that called seduction? She wouldn’t know.
Many things intrigued her about him. Every new day was a revelation.
He had guards but did not let them handle his jacket or his hat.
He had unimaginable wealth yet worked with his men in the tunnels.
He shook hands with the Lord Mayor of London and the men in Parliament yet was most humble with street children.
He mined diamonds. Yet... There wasn’t a single diamond in his house, his cufflinks of plain silver.
In less than an hour, the house was quiet again.
“There will be more guards now,” Drasko informed her. “I am sorry. Please, rest.”
In a minute, he was gone, and she was left with Eden.
That was it? He just left her on a night like this?
“Where is my husband?” Grace demanded sometime later, disappointed.
“In his room, ma’am. With Arjun, his servant.”
“With a servant?”
“Arjun is taking care of his wound.”
Grace huffed in disappointment. That was her duty, not a servant’s, to take care of her husband, call the doctor perhaps, have him check the wound, do compresses or?—
She halted at the door to his bedroom, listening to the muffled voices behind it.
She didn’t bother checking what room the intruders had snuck into, what had been broken or taken. Drasko was behind the door in front of her, wounded, and her heart beat like mad at the thought that something could’ve happened to him.
She knocked.
“Come in,” he called.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
If the episode in the bathing room had left her yearning for more of him, the current scene in front of her was going to ruin her sleep.
Her husband sat on a tabouret, shirtless and barefoot, only in his trousers.
The soft light from the sconces illuminated his strong body.
It beamed off the golden chain around his neck, reflected on the rings still on his fingers, glided off the wide leather bracelet around his right wrist, highlighted the red thread next to it.
He looked so…primal.
She’d never seen him naked so close, the muscles so beautifully defined, and… scarred so viciously.
His torso was etched with scars, dozens of them, shallow and deep, across his entire front, several giant scarred lines, like ravines sewn shut. Four of them, like an imprint from monstrous claws.
Who did this to you , she wanted to ask, but he wouldn’t tell her, she knew.
She forced herself to look at the fresh wound gaping on his shoulder, blood smudged around it.
“Did you need something, darling?” he asked, his voice sinking deep inside her.
She tore her gaze off his body and met his eyes, emerald, with mischievous specks of gold from the reflected light.
The servant stood with a cloth in his hand, his eyes on her as if waiting for a signal. A bowl of steaming hot water stood on a small table next to him, the smell of the antiseptic spreading in the air.
Grace took it all in, already unsettled at the sight of her husband half-naked.
“I shall do this,” she said firmly.
The servant bowed a little. “Madam, I will take care of it. You should rest.”
“Rest?”
“I have done this before.”
Drasko was calmly watching her. His broad chest rose and fell slowly. She caught sight of his nipples, then immediately looked away, blushing—there was no way of unseeing that now.
The servant said something in Hindi, but Drasko didn’t take his eyes off her.
“Leave us.” Grace nodded to the servant. “I will take care of it.”
She waited for the man to leave, then picked up the cloth, soaked it in hot water, and took a deep breath before facing her husband—she’d have to be close to him half-naked, and she had no idea what she was doing.
His head cocked in that amused way of his.
“Is everything all right?” he asked gently.
He widened his legs, leaving nowhere for her to stand but between them, and she stepped in. His large hands rested on his thighs, metal rings sparkling dangerously, his face lifted toward hers. Even sitting down, he was almost the same height as her standing up, his face so close it made her dizzy.
Grace kept her eyes on the wound, brought the cloth to his shoulder, and started dabbing the drying blood.
The wound wasn’t deep, thank God. She gently blotted it, noticing his muscles in her peripheral flexing just slightly.
She wouldn’t look anywhere else. Absolutely not! Not up, not down where there was so much bare skin. Or where his hands brushed against her skirt.
“Why are you avoiding looking at me?” he asked, tilting his head to catch her gaze.
“I am not.”
“But you are.”
She paused and met his eyes.
They intimidated her, sent flutters through her heart, that treacherous thing that acted of its own volition lately. Especially in such close proximity, at the sight of his soft lips.
“Are you hot?” His voice was like a warm embrace. “Your cheeks are red.”
His smile widened. He shifted, his nose almost touching her chin, his gaze gliding down to her lips.
This was the reason she couldn’t play in front of him. The reason she couldn’t sing. Why she checked herself in the mirror every time she left her room. Why she blushed as she caught him looking at her.
And that kiss—it had erased everything she’d felt and thought about him before. It had ruined her peace. It had made her restless at night, wanting her husband in a way she’d never wanted any man even in her most wanton dreams.
Something had snapped in her after that kiss. The lies, the doubt, the usual bitterness were gone. She wanted more kisses, more attention, more of his time, more of him. She wanted it all.
“Who were those men?” she asked as she continued cleaning his wound.
“We will find out tomorrow.”
“They hurt you.”
“I hurt them too.”
“You have guards. What are they for?”
“There are not enough.”
She stopped and gave him a reproaching gaze.
“We will have more guards,” he said. “At least until the auction.”
A month from now, then.
That was another thing that intrigued Grace. The auction had been announced the other day, a grand event Europe had been waiting on for years. Yet she sensed it worried Drasko, but she wasn’t sure why.
“You are a public person, you said so yourself.” His voice distracted her, his warm breath grazing her neck as he talked, his eyes never leaving her face. “And now you are married to another public person. We need to be protected.”
“My talent is nothing compared to the value of your wealth.”
He placed his hand on hers, stopping her. His thumb stroked her skin, making her body hum in response.
This innocent touch was too much. The touch that unraveled her. The touch that she dreamed about at night. But it hadn’t led anywhere at all. Not yet…
“Most musicians play from the sheets,” Drasko said, his gaze dropping to her fingers like they were a miracle.
“Great ones play from the heart.” He raised his eyes toward her again.
“The biggest talent is making those who live through tragedies dwell on happy moments. Making those who shed too many tears smile. Making cold hearts beat so hard that they catch on fire. Taking away the vicious flames that torment others and cool their burning minds.”
He leaned in just a fraction, moved his head just an inch, and his nose grazed her chin in a soft caress.
She held her breath.
“That’s what you are, Grace—a heart-whisperer,” he said.
He shifted, and his lips touched the side of her face in a butterfly kiss.
No one had ever talked to her like this.
This man was weaving some magic around her, and it was getting harder to resist. She didn’t want to.
It wasn’t a matter of feelings. No, no, no, she wasn’t giving in to his charms, she was simply curious.
She had been telling herself this for days.
She was a woman, yes, married to a fascinating man and still clueless about what it was like to truly be with him.
Shame—that was what burned her when she heard occasional rumors about Drasko’s former lovers while she didn’t know what it was like to be a wife.
She trembled at his touch but didn’t meet his eyes, continued cleaning the wound like it was the most important task.
Drasko shifted again and rested his hands on her waist.
“I wish you would play for me again, like you did today,” he said softly.
His hands shifted to her hips, their weight burning her even through the fabric of her skirt.
“I will,” she whispered.
“That will make me very happy.”
“We all have something to make others happy.”
He dropped his head and kissed her shoulder.
“What do I have, Grace?” he murmured against her skin.
She flinched, her entire body flaring up at his kiss.
“You…” She tried to bring her thoughts together. “You give people jobs. You make marvelous gems?—”
“Not others—you.” He dipped his head to catch her gaze, no trace of humor in his eyes anymore, only kindness, inquiring and expectant. “What do I have to make you happy? We might be in for a long ride. And I always make sure that people who matter to me are happy.”
“The ones who matter…” she echoed.
He leaned over again. Another kiss on her neck. His hair brushed against her skin.
Her eyes fluttered closed, but she forced herself to focus.
“Yes,” he breathed against her skin, then looked up to meet her gaze as if checking her reaction. “I’d like to make you happy, so you don’t feel like this marriage is your worst misery.”
“I do not… I don’t think that.” Anymore. “You got me pianos. They are?—”
“Things, Grace, objects. That’s not what I meant. Look at me.” She did, surprised to see unusual softness in his eyes. “What will make you happy?”
They were treading on sensitive ground. Things between them were changing.
She knew he didn’t despise her the way she had first thought.
And she… well, she couldn’t lie to herself anymore, pretending that she resented him, while in fact, he had done more for her than anyone before, made her feel like he cared. Made her feel .
“Well.” She took a little step back, letting his hands fall off her, then took the ointment and dabbed it on his wound, hoping it would distract him.
“I suppose, we all have hands that have special talents,” she said, pursing her lips, immediately regretting the stupid words.
She finished with his wound and put away the ointment, then wiped her hands on her skirt, not knowing what to do with them or herself.
He looked perplexed.
Was he truly that thick?
Despair took over her. How was it possible that she now needed to tell him that she wouldn’t mind the two nights a month ? Perhaps, one? Just one, to find out.
“My hands?” he mused.
“I suppose your hands would make me happy if you ever made good use of them,” she blurted. Her face grew hot that very instant. “I should leave,” she muttered and dashed toward the door, trying to hide her embarrassment.
She heard him move behind her as she struggled with the door handle and pulled the door open.
Too late.
He slammed it shut, whipped her around, and pinned her against the door, his weight on her.
“Darling, you cannot walk out after you just said that.”
A whimper betrayed her as his lips met hers in a kiss.