How I Married a Marquess (22 page)

But he had done just that tonight. Slept deep and carefree, like a normal man. For the first time in a year, he'd woken rested and at peace. And it was all because of her.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized softly as he reached out to brush her hair over her shoulder, feeling like a damned fool to fall asleep with such a beautiful woman sharing the bed. Although she was a breathtaking sight to awaken to, he'd admit. Lying there all warm and naked, covered only partially by the sheet and with her hair wild and loose across the pillow, she looked like one of those Italian paintings of Venus. A perfect, beautiful goddess. “You should have woken me.”

She stretched like a cat, as if waking from her own sleep. “I thought you needed the rest, so I didn't want to wake you.”

He'd certainly needed that rest. Dear God, how much he'd needed this night! And her. And not just the physical pleasures of being in her arms, but being able to unburden himself to her about the shooting and the hell he'd gone through.

“Thank you.” Feeling energized, as if he'd woken from a long nightmare into peace, he rolled over on top of her and kissed her. Softly and sweetly, with all the affection and longing he carried inside himself for her, all the emotions he wasn't yet willing to name.

When he lifted his head and she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze in the soft shadows, he knew she understood. That he meant far more than gratitude for a few hours of restful sleep.

“I'm glad you told me about the shooting,” she admitted softly. “I think I understand you better now.”

He lowered his head to place a kiss on her shoulder, unable to bear the confidence and faith in him that he saw in her eyes. How could she understand him when he was as confused as hell about himself? How could she hold such trust in him when he still didn't trust himself to make the right decision regarding the highwayman and his future? Even if that highwayman was Venus herself.

“You mean now that you know how I ended up here chasing a highwayman instead of French spies,” he murmured against her shoulder. He shifted himself completely away from her to lie beside her. Still close but no longer touching. “How I'd survived against Napoleon, French enemies, Spanish allies…only to have my life ended by a common thief.”

She reached for him. “Your life didn't end.”

“Yes, it did.” He pulled back, just far enough to avoid the touch of her fingertips. Embarrassment heated through him now as he had to share how his life had been ripped away. The wound had been painful, but the aftermath was humiliating.

She leaned closer, this time not letting him shift away as she rested her palm against his chest, right over his pounding heart. “Your life did
not
end,” she insisted, curling her fingertips possessively into his muscles.

“It might as well have ended because I lost everything worth living for—my career, my identity, my purpose.
Everything
.
All gone in a heartbeat.”

Bewilderment flashed over her face. “But lots of spies must get wounded. Surely the War Office doesn't dismiss every man who—”

“I lost my nerve, Jo.”

Her expression darkened, and in her eyes he finally saw comprehension dawn of how a single bullet had irreparably changed his life. Her gaze flickered down his front to settle once more on the scar at this side.

Sucking in a ragged breath, he shook his head. “The wound took months to heal, and even then I wasn't…right. I haven't been right since.”

“I don't believe you.” She laced her fingers through his, and he let her, unwilling to let go just yet of the closeness they'd shared. “You're the bravest man—”

“Who jumps at his own shadow,” he snapped from the anger stirring inside him at what his life had become. “An anxious insomniac who's afraid of the dark.”

“You weren't afraid in the dark tonight with me. And you slept—”

“Well, then the War Office can just send me onto missions with a naked woman,” he bit out sarcastically. “Problem solved.”

He hadn't meant to be cruel, but when he saw the wounded look flash across her face, he knew he'd been exactly that. A cruel bastard. To someone who didn't deserve it.

His shoulders sank as he murmured regretfully, “I didn't mean that.” He apologetically touched his lips to hers, but he sensed a hesitation in her, this woman who had taken pleasures so freely from him and cradled him so lovingly in her arms. Who had cried tears for him and then watched over him while he slept.
Damnation
.
He drew a deep breath and tried again. “But you didn't know me before.”

“What I know,” she said with conviction, “is that you rode straight into the fight tonight to save me. That wasn't the action of a man afraid.”

His chest warmed unexpectedly at her words. She made him sound like a hero, and he hadn't been one of those in a very long time. “I didn't have a choice,” he answered honestly. “I wanted to keep you from being arrested.”

She hesitated a moment, then whispered tentatively, “And…this?” She waved her hand, indicating the rumpled bed around them, the musky scent of sex and sweat lingering in the air.

He stared into her eyes, all the hot desire and passion he held for her boring into her. “I also wanted to spend the night with you.”

She said nothing for a long while, but her eyes dulled and sadness once more marred her beautiful face. A niggling worry knotted in his gut that he'd somehow said the exact wrong thing. At the exact wrong moment.
Christ
.

“And now you've had me,” she whispered, then glanced away self-consciously, but not before he saw a wretched desolation sweep across her face.

She twisted the sheet between her fingers, as if she was afraid he'd tell her that tonight had been a mistake. Her worries couldn't have been further from the truth. True, the night hadn't started out with making love to her in the forefront of his mind, and he certainly hadn't intended to tell her about the shooting, but he'd wanted her since the moment he'd first laid eyes on her across the ballroom.

Trying to soothe her worries about him, he placed a tender kiss on her shoulder. “I don't regret a moment of tonight.”

She trembled and shifted away.

A stab of worry pierced his gut. “Jo—”

“But you're still leaving when the party ends,” she whispered softly, barely making any sound at all. “And everything will go on exactly the same as before, with Royston taking advantage of the orphanage. You still don't believe me about him, do you?” A pained expression passed briefly over her face. “Not even now, after we shared so much tonight, after we…” She drew a tremulous breath. “Made love.”

His heart jumped in his chest.
Made love
?
He'd never considered…With all the women before her, he would have laughed at the naïveté to describe what they'd shared in such emotional terms. Yet that was exactly what they'd done tonight. For the first time in his life, he'd not simply taken a woman for sexual pleasure—he'd made love to her, with affection and caring behind every caress and touch. A coming together of equals, a melding of bodies and a meeting of hearts… Her pleasures and feelings had been more important than his, and the sweetest part of the entire night had been simply lying in her arms, letting her caresses soothe him into sweet sleep. She'd healed him more in these few hours with her soft touches and tears than he'd been healed
in an entire year.

But she was right. Doubts about her still lingered in his mind, even now. He'd built his life around trust. First with Edward and Grey during the wars, when all three men trusted each other with their lives. Then during his spy work, when he'd had to trust his instincts. And last year, during that horrible and dark year, when he'd trusted his sister Emily to help him survive.

Could he trust Josie, knowing the lies, schemes, and secrets she kept to be the highwayman? A woman to whom deception was second nature…could he ever trust her with his heart?

And if he chose her over Royston, if he let the highwayman get away and lost his last chance at returning to the War Office, only to learn that she couldn't be trusted after all— Good God, what would become of him then?

His chest sank painfully, and he shook his head. “Royston is an old family friend.”

“While I'm just a woman who shared her bed.”

Her soft accusation sliced at his heart. She was so much more than that, so much he could never bring himself to admit. “I didn't mean that, and you know it.”

“Didn't you?” The expression on her face grew unreadable, and she lifted the sheet to cover herself in a thin barrier between them. “I'm not some naïve girl, Thomas. I never expected for you to care or—” She cut off her words with a far-too-casual shrug, and he saw her fingers tremble as she pulled the sheet farther up her body to hide even more of herself from him. “But I'd thought you'd realize that if I trusted you enough to make myself vulnerable to you that you could trust me, too.”

“I do trust you.” For Christ's sake, he'd told her everything about the hell he'd gone through with the shooting, and he'd never told anyone. Not even Emily.

“But not about this,” she whispered sadly. “When it comes to this, you still don't know what to believe, do you?”

His gut clenched into a burning knot. “Josephine.” He reached for her shoulder, but she shrank away from him, turning her head so he couldn't see her expression. “Please listen—”

“We should get dressed now.” Her back straightened with resolve as she slipped from the bed. “I need to go home, and you should—”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her back, bringing her down across his lap. Her hands pushed against his chest as she tried to break free.

“Let go of me!” She twisted her body to pull away from him, but he only tightened his hold. He refused to release her. Not until she'd heard him out.

“This isn't about you,” he said adamantly. When her green eyes narrowed dubiously, he explained, “It started a year ago, long before I ever knew about the highwayman.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders to keep her still, because if she kept wiggling her bottom against him like that he'd end up tossing her onto her back and taking her again. And if he did that, he might very well end up losing his mind and his heart, after all.

Which he could never let happen. Because once the party ended in just two days and he'd secured Royston's recommendation—no matter how he managed to do that—he would return to his old life, and that life certainly didn't include a lady bandit, no matter how beautiful. Not when he had to focus on regaining all the ground he'd lost as a spy, when Bathurst and the entire War Office would be scrutinizing his every move for any sign of weakness. She would be a distraction. And the last time he'd been distracted, he'd nearly lost his life.

“This is about proving my worth as a spy,” he admitted. “And getting that life back.”

She raised her chin defiantly when she couldn't free herself from his grip. “But you're not a spy anymore. You're—”

She froze, suddenly stopping her struggling. Her green eyes flashed knowingly with a hundred emotions—and a thousand accusations.

“That's it, isn't it?” she whispered. “Why you want to arrest me…so you
can
be a spy again.”

The earth dropped away beneath him at her words. The terrifying burn flared up beneath his skin again, the same anxiety and desperation that being in her presence had held at bay. Until now. When he was losing her even as she sat perched on his lap.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It's not—”

“That's why you rode into the fight tonight to rescue me. It wasn't that you didn't want me arrested”—she swallowed hard, the words choking her—“but that you wanted to arrest me yourself. Wasn't it?”

“Josephine, please listen—”

She pounded her fists against him. “Damn you! All this time you were lying to me, and I trusted you. You bastard!”

“Listen to me!” He grabbed her wrists and held her hands still. “This is my last opportunity to be a spy again, so I took it.”

“And what was tonight, then, Thomas? An opportunity for you
personally
?” She glared at him in betrayal, furious tears glistening accusingly in her eyes as she whispered, “You used me…”

“I didn't use you, damn it!” He tightened his grip around her wrists. “Yes, I came here because Royston promised to recommend me to the War Office if I stopped the highwayman. But then it all changed.” He dragged in a harsh breath. “And you, Josephine—I never expected to find you.”

With a scowl he released her and set her away from him, letting her bottom bounce on the mattress as he dropped her, then stood and began to pace beside the bed, suddenly unable to stand still as anxiety and agitation rose inside him. But the unease wasn't due to the demons and the darkness that had plagued him during the past year. This time it was desperation to keep from losing her.

Her gaze followed him silently, glaring at him, but now more wary than furious, more confused than wounded.

“And I certainly didn't expect…
this
!” He gestured toward the bed in frustration. “You've changed everything for me.”

He ran a hand through his hair and resisted the urge to punch the wall. She was angry at him, deservedly so, but her anger ate at him. He couldn't ignore it, not after being so close to her. Not when he still wore the scent of her on his skin and still held the sweet taste of her on his lips.

“I don't believe you,” she said reservedly, her voice even. She was clearly not fishing for empty compliments as she added, “Actresses, opera singers, the darlings of London society—you must have been with lots of women, and I don't presume to be special compared to them.”