The Billionaire's Muse

  “You can stay here,” he said, taking off his coat and laying it down on a chair I hadn't noticed. “It isn’t much, but it's safe.”

  There was a light knock on the door, and Gracen opened it to let the man in. He carried a tray with a bowl and several pieces of cloth on it over to the dresser. He gave Gracen a questioning look.

  “That will be all, Titus.” Gracen nodded at him.

  Titus eyed me for a moment before he nodded and exited the room. I got the impression that the servant didn't trust me, but as long as Gracen did, I was fine. He closed the door softly behind him, sighing as he rested his head against the door.

  “What’s with the secrecy?” I asked, standing up and inspecting the tray. There was a pungent smell coming from the liquid in the bowl that made me cringe.

  “Word will eventually get out about what happened at the camp,” he said. “And if my father discovers you here, he'll hand you over without a thought.”

  “We were both there,” I pointed out.

  Gracen shook his head. “My father will find a way to make it look like I had nothing to do with the deaths, and that my escape was against my will.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “He'll say that I kidnapped you?”

  “Don’t take it personally, Daviot,” he said with a sigh. “I will not allow my father to turn you over. You are free to stay here as long as you wish, and when things calm down, I will make sure you get home.”

  If only he had the ability to make that offer for real, I thought.

  He put out his hand. “You saved my life, and for that, I am indebted to you, Mr. Daviot.”

  I looked up at him, the candlelight casting alternating shadows and light across his features. My eyes traced down across his jaw to his chin, rising to his lips, then up to his eyes again. He frowned at me, and I quickly took his hand. His handshake was firm, from one gentleman to the other, and it took every ounce of willpower within me to stop myself from telling him the truth about who I was. Or at least my gender.

  He released my hand. “Until tomorrow, my friend.”

  I nodded briefly and watched him leave, hating myself for the pang that went through me when the door closed behind him.

  I waited for a few more minutes, making sure no one was coming back before I undressed. I didn't even want to think about what that Titus man would think if he saw that I was a woman.

  I slipped out of my shirt, wincing in pain as I pulled my arms through the sleeves. The cut on my shoulder had stopped bleeding, but I had a feeling if I didn’t disinfect it, it would turn nasty by the morning. I didn't even want to think about what had been on that bayonet.

  I got up and made my way to the dresser, taking it easy on my bad leg. As I passed by the small window, I caught a glimpse of my reflection and frowned. My hair was disheveled, my skin streaked with blood and dirt. I unclasped my bra, sighing at the relief of being free of its constraint. I could see the deep red grooves on my skin from where the elastic had dug in.

  I dipped one of the cloths on the tray into the bowl, and then tentatively swabbed my wound. Better to get this one taken care of first, then sit down to do my leg. I clenched my eyes closed as pain lanced through my arm. I kept the cloth pressed down though, knowing that whatever was in the liquid was definitely doing more good than harm. After a couple minutes, I dipped the cloth into the bowl again before returning it to my shoulder, the burning less painful this time. I hoped that meant it was working.

  I caught sight of my tattoo, the colors of the American flag barely visible in the soft light coming from the candle. I was glad Gracen hadn’t seen it. If he had, I would have had a lot of explaining to do.

  In the back of my head, I could almost hear my brother’s laughter. He'd been with me when I had gotten it, laughing to the point of tears as I'd gritted my teeth to keep from squirming. He'd sat in the chair beside me getting his own tattoo, and although it was a point of pride that his little sister was doing the same, my reaction had amused him. He hadn't, however, teased me about the picture.

  We didn't joke about patriotism in my family. Something Bruce had discovered when he'd teased me and taken it too far. Ennis had knocked him to the ground with a single blow.

  I stared at the tattoo as I unconsciously cleaned my wound. I knew it would be at least a year before the flag would start to look anything like the one I would come to know. For the first time in my life, the Stars and Stripes wasn't being displayed anywhere but on my own skin.

  I finished cleaning my shoulder and then took the bowl over to the bed. I set it on the floor, dunked a cloth into the liquid, and sat down to rest my leg before I attempted to remove my pants. I knew I was safe here, but at that moment, I would have done anything to be back home. To have my parents with me. I didn't really miss Bruce, which should've said something about the strength of our relationship – or lack of it – but I would've taken any familiar face at the moment.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wasn’t in Boston anymore, at least not my Boston, and whatever was going on between me and Bruce would have to wait. At the moment, I had more important things to worry about. First, finish tending to my wounds. Then, keep myself from being captured by the British and killed for killing their soldiers. After that, most important of all, I needed to figure out how to get home.

  My mind was groggy, though, and fatigue was quickly setting in. I wasn’t going to come up with any useful ideas now. I'd be lucky if I got my leg cleaned before I passed out.

  There was a light knock on the door, and Gracen let himself in before I could respond.

  “Mr. Daviot, I forgot to tell you–”

  I sat frozen on the spot as I watched his eyes grow wide. When I registered where his gaze was directed, I quickly grabbed for my shirt as I rushed to cover myself. Heat flooded my face, embarrassment taking precedence over everything else.

  Then my eyes met Gracen's and the anger in his gaze made me remember what was at stake here.

  Chapter Twelve

  The day I told my family about my engagement to Bruce had been far more uncomfortable than any such announcement should have been.

  I'd been ecstatic about the prospect of marrying my high school sweetheart, silently riding a high throughout the day as I had contemplated just how to share the news with the rest of my family. It had been during dinner, when everyone was sitting quietly around the table, offering bits and pieces of conversation about random topics. Ennis had just started talking about the most recent paper he was working on when I blurted it out, like pulling off a band-aid, and the entire table had gone terribly quiet.

  I remembered the smile on my face, wide and cheerful, as I'd waited for the rest of my family to congratulate me, to show the same joy as I felt. Finally, my smile had faded as Ennis and my mother had tried to say something, anything, remotely encouraging. Their words had been a mix of mumbles and stutters, my sudden outburst having taken them completely by surprise. They, at least, were trying.

  My father was the only one frowning at me, clear disapproval written on his face. He'd never been fond of Bruce, and that night my dad hadn't sugar-coated anything. He'd told me exactly what he thought of my choice, but even if he hadn't said it, I would've known by the expression on his face. I could still remember the way my father had looked at me that night, furious, his hands clenched into fists as he fought hard not to burst out in anger.

  Gracen was giving me that same look now.

  I sat completely still on the bed, my hands clenching my shirt as I covered myself, just as lost for words as he was. I was barely aware of the pain in my body, only focusing on the man in front of me. His eyes darted from my face to my chest and back again as his lips flattened into a thin line.

  “I can explain,” I started.

  He raised his hand in a gesture that clearly meant that I should stop talking. I could sense his anger from across the room, could almost hear his mind working. I needed to figure out a plan, a story, something to explain the deceptio
n.

  He whirled around, his back toward me. “Cover yourself,” he hissed.

  I was about to say that the important bits were covered but thought better of it. Modesty wasn't really the issue at the moment. I pulled my shirt on as I played various scenarios through my head, wondering what this sudden discovery might mean for me now. Whether I liked it or not, I needed Gracen and the shelter of his home, at least for the time being.

  I coughed, and Gracen looked over his shoulder at me. Seeing that I was now decent, he turned back around and marched right up to me.

  “You lied to me!” His voice was low, but that didn't detract from how pissed off he clearly was.

  I sighed. “I didn’t lie to you. I just never corrected you.”

  “You’re a woman!” His voice began to rise, his eyes searching my face as if seeing it for the first time.

  I pushed my hair back from my face. “Yes, I am, but if you’d just let me explain.”

  “What can you possibly say that would make this lie better?” he yelled. He quickly looked over his shoulder at the door, and then lowered his voice. “Do you even understand the consequences of your deception?”

  “Consequences?” I asked, frustrated at how much he was blowing this out of proportion. “I saved your life! You said that yourself! How is my being a woman relevant to keeping you alive?”

  “You put yourself in unnecessary danger,” he hissed. “You could have been killed!”

  I stopped my retort, taken back by the concern I could hear mixed with the anger in his voice. Here he was, this man who I barely knew was berating me for putting myself in harm’s way, when my own fiancé never even bothered to tell me to be safe. In Bruce's mind, it was pointless to say something like that to someone in a war zone. I had told him that I understood, but I didn't realized until now how much I missed the concern.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked as he paced the room. He ran his hand through his hair.

  “I can take care of myself, Gracen,” I said, deciding not to remind him how I had helped him as well.

  “What was I thinking? How did I not see this?” he muttered, and I couldn’t quite tell if he was talking to me or to himself. His eyes were fixated on the floor as he paced back and forth, his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. He stopped suddenly and looked at me. “Is Daviot even your name?”

  “It is,” I said quickly. “It's Honor. Honor Daviot.”

  “Honor,” he rolled my name across his tongue as if he was testing it. “How ironic.”

  “Need I remind you that it was you who tied me up last night?” I spat. “I was content with going my way on my own. You’re the one who kept me by your side like a prisoner!”

  “I was protecting you!” he snapped. “I found what I thought was a hurt man lying in an empty field, out in the open, and decided to help. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have!”

  “Protect me?” I scoffed. “If I remember correctly, we’re here right now because of me.”

  “You’re a woman!”

  “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I'd put up with a lot of shit in the army for being a woman, but this was testing my last nerve.

  “You lied to me,” he repeated. “You knowingly deceived me and led me to believe I was in the company of a gentleman in need of assistance. I risked my own life to defend you. I killed that man to defend you.”

  “I never asked you to!” I said in retort.

  “You never needed to!” he said through clenched teeth. “It was the right thing to do! The honorable thing to do! And now I find out you’re a woman.”

  “So it’s only honorable when you thought I was a man? How does that make any sense at all?”

  “That is not what I said.” He sounded exasperated.

  “You’re sure as hell implying it,” I countered.

  “Then you’re just as foolish as you are a liar!”

  I took in long and deep breaths, knowing that my own spike in temper wasn't helping matters. We both needed to calm down, or things would keep escalating, which wouldn't go anywhere productive.

  “I want the truth,” Gracen said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want the truth, all of it,” he repeated. “I believe I’m entitled to complete honesty after all this.”

  I looked up at him, our eyes locking as I tried to weigh my options. How was I supposed to tell him the truth when I didn't even understand it myself? How could I explain to him where I was from, or when I was from for that matter? Considering his clear opinion of women, I had no doubt that he'd instantly dismiss the truth as some sort of hysteria.

  But I had to think of something, and he was clearly getting impatient.

  “I ran away,” I said simply, feigning discomfort, stalling to further develop a fake story in my head.

  “From whom?”

  “My father,” I blurted out, saying the first thing that came to my mind. “I was to be married to a man I didn’t love, and when I objected, I was beaten and told that what I wanted didn't matter.”

  Gracen’s expression softened, and I knew I'd chosen the right angle. I watched as his jaw unclenched and the furrows on his forehead relaxed. I felt guilty at having to lie to him again, but the alternative was out of the question. I'd be lucky if I wasn't locked up in a madhouse.

  “I couldn’t stay,” I continued, pushing deeper into my lie. “I had no other option but to run. I knew I wouldn’t be able to travel alone as a woman, so I stole clothes from one of my brothers and escaped. I was on my way to Canada, with no food or water, and probably lost consciousness when you found me.”

  “You were on foot?” Gracen asked, his look showing slight skepticism.

  “I couldn't risk taking a horse.” I assumed what I hoped was a hurt expression. “My father would be more likely to search for a missing horse than a missing daughter.”

  Gracen eyed me for a moment, and I could see him trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I prayed he would since I'd reached the end of my endurance. I was tired, my leg ached, and I was worried that if he didn't let this go, I'd pass out before I knew whether or not he planned to turn me over to the British...or just dump me somewhere outside and leave the rest to chance.

  I winced as I shifted, and he looked down at my leg, then at the bowl.

  “Do you need help?” Color suffused his cheeks.

  “I can do it myself. Thank you.” I managed not to blush at the thought of having his hands on my thigh.

  He nodded, then crossed his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you.” That, at least, was honest.

  He frowned, an expression of hurt flitting across his face before it vanished. Our eyes locked for a few seconds before he turned away.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “I cannot condone your actions,” he said. “However, I will not meddle in things that do not concern me. Come morning, you can decide for yourself what you wish to do.”

  I felt panic creep up on me. I couldn't let him kick me out. Not in this condition. I didn't think I'd survive. I needed at least a couple days. “I can cook.”

  His head snapped up in surprise as he looked at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I can cook,” I said. “I can help out here.”

  He shook his head. “You have a destination.”

  “Until my leg gets better, I won't be going far.” I pleaded with him with my eyes. “At least let me be useful.”

  He eyed me for a moment longer before nodding. “As you wish.” He turned to leave, his hand resting on the handle of the door as he looked back at me. “I’ll send Titus up with proper clothing, and I’ll explain the situation to him. He'll keep quiet about our homecoming.”

  “What about your father?” I asked.

  He paused before smiling and saying, “I’ll make sure he knows we have a new girl in the kitchen.”

  With tha
t he exited the room, softly closing the door behind him.

  Great. I was a new girl. In the kitchen.

  Then again, that was better than British prisoner and accused spy so I couldn’t complain. Besides, I wasn't planning on staying any longer than I had to. Once my leg was healed and I figured out how to get home, I was gone.

  I didn't belong here, and there was nothing that made me want to stay.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I spent the next couple days learning every nook of the Lightwood estate as I kept myself busy. I also made sure I stayed in the background. Titus was the only one who knew how I'd come in, and Gracen had made it clear that those circumstances were to be kept quiet. Judging by the look Titus had given me when I first hobbled downstairs in the dress he found, he wasn't too fond of me, but as long as he kept his mouth shut, I didn't care.

  After a cursory introduction to the rest of the staff, I'd been put to work. The house was as massive on the inside as it'd appeared on the outside, and every room was richly decorated with antiques and furniture that looked like they belonged in a museum. Except I'd never been to a museum that could hold a candle to this place.

  I started in the kitchen, first gathering water from the pump outside before slowly being trusted with more elaborate tasks. It was a tiring business, hours spent just to prepare dinner. My mother had always been a great cook, and I'd always understood the amount of work that had gone into meal preparation. At least, I had in my time. After only one day, I understood why places like this had to have a full staff. One person couldn't have done it all. The servants all worked together like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew their place and what they were supposed to do.

  Which meant it was apparent from moment one that I wasn't a regular member of the staff.

  I felt completely out of place no matter how hard I tried. The long gowns I wore were a stark contrast to the uniforms I'd been wearing almost non-stop since I'd enlisted. The way I talked and acted were both out of place and time. I was constantly having to check myself to make sure I wasn't using colloquialisms that hadn't been made up yet. Fortunately, most members of the staff seemed to accept the lie that I'd been born in a more western part of the colonies. Or they were just following the instructions I was sure Titus had given regarding my past.