Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,118

She had always given as good as she got in the soup ladle battles of their childhood. “What would you do?”

He slammed his way out of her room without replying.

* * *

In the end, James brought Grace to the drawing room.

It was quiet in there, and deserted: there was a fire on, and he helped her into a chair close to it, bending to draw off her gloves. He wanted to kiss her bare hands—so vulnerable, so familiar from their days and nights in the woods—but he stepped back and left her alone to warm herself by the flames. It was not a cold day, but shock could make one shiver down to one’s bones.

The light from the flames danced over the William Morris wallpaper and the deep colors of the Axminster rugs that covered the wooden floor. At last Grace rose to her feet and began to pace up and down in front of the fire. She had pulled the last pins from her hair, and it streamed over her shoulders like icy water.

“Grace?” Now, in this room, with only the sound of the ticking clock breaking the silence, James hesitated, as he had not had time or pause to do in the infirmary. “Can you speak of what happened? Where was the attack? How did you escape?”

“Mama was attacked at the manor,” said Grace, her voice flat. “I do not know how it happened. I found her unconscious at the bottom of the front steps. The wounds in her shoulder and arm were the wounds of teeth.”

“I am so sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that,” said Grace. She had begun to pace again. “There are things you don’t know, James. And things I must do, now that she is sick. Before she wakes.”

“I am glad you think she will recover,” said James, coming close to her. He was not sure if he should reach to touch her, even as she stopped pacing and raised her eyes to his. He did not think he had seen Grace like this before. “It is important to have hope.”

“It is certainty. My mother will not die,” said Grace. “All these years she has lived on bitterness, and her bitterness will keep her alive now. It is stronger than death.” She reached to caress his face. He closed his eyes as her fingertips traced the contour of his cheekbone, light as the touch of a dragonfly’s wing.

“James,” she said. “Oh, James. Open your eyes. Let me look at you while you still love me.”

His eyes flew open. “I have loved you for years. I will always love you.”

“No,” said Grace, dropping her hand. There was a great weariness on her face, in her movements. “You will hate me soon.”

“I could never hate you,” James said.

“I am getting married,” she said.

It was the sort of shock so immense one hardly felt it. She’s made some kind of mistake, James thought. She’s confused. I will fix this.

“I will be marrying Charles,” she went on. “Charles Fairchild. We have been spending quite a bit of time together since I came to London, though I know you have not noticed it.”

A pulse had started to pound behind James’s eyes, in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock. “This is madness, Grace. You asked me to marry you last night.”

“And you said no. You were very clear.” She gave a slight shrug. “Charles said yes.”

“Charles is engaged to Ariadne Bridgestock.”

“That engagement is broken. Charles told Inquisitor Bridgestock he was ending it this morning. Ariadne did not love Charles; she will not care whether they marry or not.”

“Really? Did you ask her?” James demanded fiercely, and Grace flinched. “None of this makes sense, Grace. You’ve been in London less than a week—”

Her eyes glittered. “I can get a great deal accomplished in less than a week.”

“Apparently. Including harming Ariadne Bridgestock, who has never done anything to you. Charles is a cold person. He has a cold heart. But I would have expected better from you than to be a party to something like this.”

Grace flushed. “You think Ariadne is desperate? She is beautiful and rich, and Charles is prepared to tell everyone she broke it off with him.”

“While she was unconscious?”

“Clearly, he will say it was before she fell ill,” Grace snapped.

“And if she dies, how convenient for you,” said James, pain like a white flare behind his eyes.

“I told you that you would hate me,” said Grace, and there was something almost savage in her expression. “I