Grace Unchained

14: Back To Castle Lowell

The ride back to Marcus's house was a blur. He didn't talk, which was a relief. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to hide in a hole in the ground, or barring that get into bed and not get out for a week. He seemed to sense it, and he just held her, his arm around her shoulders, while she looked out the window and watched Boston wash by.

The next thing she knew the car had ground to a halt on his gravel driveway. The façade of his beautiful house rose up just outside the window. She'd fallen asleep on his shoulder without realizing it.

"Here," he said, opening the door and offering her his hand. It was the first word either of them had spoken since she got into the car in the city. At least, that she'd been awake to hear.

Getting out of the car seemed to break some kind of spell. She felt able to speak again.

"Marcus," she said. "I don't know how to thank you. I don't even know how to start."

"You don't have to thank me," he said. "And we don't have to talk about anything until you're ready."

Again she felt relief. She was thankful for what he'd done, but that didn't make it any less confusing. Why had he been there, at the Yasna townhouse? What had prompted him to come in at that very moment, and to rush to her defense? Why had he gotten into a fistfight over her? She barely knew him. And Darius was hardly the type of man you crossed. But Marcus didn't seem to care.

The house before her felt unreal. Marcus felt unreal. Her whole life felt unreal—otherworldly, a dark ocean that surrounded her. It had been so long since she'd experienced anything like stability that she wasn't sure she knew which way was up anymore. And as welcome a sight as Marcus was—as welcome as this lush haven he'd taken her to felt—it also felt a little like drowning. Did she even want to be here? Did she even want him to save her? How did she know, really, that allowing Marcus to whisk her away was any less dangerous than staying with Darius? He wasn't currently trying to strangle her, but what could someone like Marcus Lowell want with a washed up whore, other than the obvious? Did he think she owed him a freebie, now?

Grace swallowed and ran her fingers through her hair, refocusing on the present before her thoughts drove her off an emotional cliff. Edward opened the front door for them, and she followed Marcus inside, wondering what to say next. She couldn't decide whether she had a hundred things she wanted to say or none at all.

When they were in the front hall, Marcus turned to her and took her gently by the shoulders.

"I have some work to do," he said, "but if you'd like to join me for dinner, we could talk then. If you want to."

"I don't...want to be a burden," said Grace, torn between the desire to fall happily into his proverbial arms and the nagging insistence that she was making yet another bad decision.

"You're not imposing," said Marcus. "I brought you here because I thought you might need a place to stay. Your own place...isn't safe right now."

She nodded. That was true enough.

"Edward will bring you somewhere you can rest. Anything you need, just ask him. Join me for dinner at seven?"

It was request. He looked like he meant it.

"Of course," said Grace.

"Everything's going to be all right," Marcus said. He brushed a finger down her cheek and left, nodding to Edward, who offered to take her bag. Grace shook her head.