His Saving Grace by Sharon Cullen Page B

window, growing pensive. “No. No hurry, but it galls me that he is residing in the manor house while you are suffering in the dower house.”
    “I’m not suffering.”
    He shot her a stern look, making her bite back a smile because she’d been the recipient of such looks before, like she was receiving a peek at the old Michael.
    “I think a week is a goodly amount of time,” she said. “And I admire you for giving him a stipend.”
    “Believe me, the stipend will be small.”
    “Nevertheless, that was kind of you.”
    He grimaced. “It was more an effort to buy time for myself.”
    “Are you concerned about Nigel’s threats?”
    He frowned at her. “Threats?”
    “He said he would protest because he does not believe you are you.”
    “Nigel is a fool. I can prove I am who I am, and I have no worries.”
    But Grace had worries. She would not bring them up now; Michael had enough on his mind with his imminent reintroduction into the world. In two days they would make an appearance at church, and their lives would be irrevocably changed again. So she kept her thoughts and her worries to herself, taking on the burden so his would be lightened.
    “When I was in Turkey and then France and Spain, I was obsessed with returning home,” he said while watching the bucolic countryside roll by. “Though I could barely remember home, I was convinced that returning was the answer I was searching for. But nothing has changed. My mind still doesn’t work the way it should.” He shot her a quick smile that made her insides flutter in a way they hadn’t in a long, long while. She was reminded of their kiss on the side of the road. They hadn’t so much as touched since then, and it bothered her greatly. She wanted to feel his touch, to kiss him, to lie in bed with him and feel him inside of her.
    Michael had said he foolishly believed that being home would cure him. Grace foolishly believed that if only they could sleep in each other’s arms and hold each other, she could cure him. Both were ridiculous thoughts, and yet they were very real wants and desires.
    She wanted their physical relationship back; it didn’t seem that Michael was in any hurry to resume. It hurt to think that your husband did not want you anymore.
    “I suppose you think me an imbecile to believe that coming home would cure me,” he said.
    Grace studied her husband, mulling over what he’d just said. Slowly, a thought formed and took hold. What an interesting use of the word “imbecile.” Was he afraid that he was an imbecile? Did he fear that others would consider him such?
    Everything inside her rebelled at the thought. He was still intelligent. She could see it in his thought process, even when the words would not come to him and the anger robbed him of speech.
    “I think we all believe that we will feel better when we are where we’re most comfortable. We keep the good memories close while the bad ones become fuzzy. It’s only natural that you would think being home would be better than not being home.”
    “It’s not even that. I truly believed that I would be healed when I came home.” He shook his head and fell silent.
    And she truly believed that he would gain confidence and feel better about himself if they were closer physically. It was something she had to ponder for a bit, but in her heart she knew it to be true.
    —
    He couldn’t remember the name of the butler. How could he have forgotten Alfred? The man had been with the family since Michael was a young boy. And yet when he looked at him, his mind had been a blank, and the familiar panic had set in.
    But Grace had been there. Grace had helped him. She had seen his panic and had understood and had smoothly stepped in so that Alfred had not noticed.
    Michael rubbed his aching head and closed his eyes. Bloody hell, he hated his life. He hated the fear that dogged his every step. The fear of people realizing that he wasn’t right in his mind. The fear that they would believe