How I Married a Marquess (32 page)

“He doesn't know yet what he wants.”

“He knows.” Hot tears of utter desolation filled her eyes. “He wants to be with the War Office, and I can't compete with that.”

“You don't have to.”

With a sad shake of her head, knowing he didn't understand, she took a deep breath. “I'm not important enough for him.” She knew the truth. Even if Thomas hadn't wanted to be an agent…“He's going to be a duke, and I'm an or—” She bit off the word and choked out instead, “I'm no one.”

“The adopted daughter of a baron, you mean?” he asked gently. “An orphan.”

Her eyes shot up to his. There was no harsh judgment on his face and not a trace of pity.

“Trust me.” A hint of private amusement gleamed in his eyes. “The Matteson family likes orphans. And you are far from unimportant to him, or I wouldn't be here making certain you're safe.”

She desperately wanted to believe that Thomas cared for her, but if she couldn't trust Thomas to tell her that, how could she trust this stranger?

She pointed at the book on the cot. “And that? Am I supposed to believe that's real? I saw him toss it into the fire. I watched it burn with my own eyes. How am I now supposed to trust either him or you…or that book?”

“As soon as you look at it, you'll understand. You can trust me because Chesney asked me to help you tonight, and I always keep my word. And you can trust him,” he assured her quietly, his face softening, “because he loves you.”

Her heart thumped so painfully that she pressed her hand against her chest as if she could physically will away the raw pain slicing inside her. No,
impossible
. Thomas didn't love her. If he loved her, he wouldn't have burned the book, and he certainly wouldn't be leaving for London in the morning. And yet she was just foolish enough to hope…“He told you that?”

“Of course not. But he does. He just can't admit it to himself yet.”

Closing her eyes against the stinging heat of her unshed tears, she drew a shuddering breath. He was mistaken. Although he seemed to know Thomas well, in this matter she knew him better than anyone, and she knew his heart was still his own, still set on returning to the War Office, no matter the cost.

And the cost was a future with her.

“We're running out of time.” He pushed a sack through the bars. “Change into these,” he ordered, the concern and gentleness she'd seen in him just moments before replaced by a solemn, businesslike demeanor. “We're due for visitors, and I can't have you so obviously looking as if you were up to nefarious activities tonight. Give me those clothes you're wearing before anyone suspects you might just be a lady bandit after all.”

Muttering to him to turn around to give her privacy, she took the sack and retreated to the dark shadows in the rear of the cell. She pulled the muslin dress from the bag, a blue-and-yellow floral print with white lace trim. One of her favorite dresses. She grimaced in irritation.
Of course
.

Thomas must have broken into her home and sneaked into her bedroom to retrieve her clothes, right down to stockings, shoes, and shawl.
That
, she realized, had been the real reason he'd been late to dinner. He hadn't arranged a gaolbreak but a housebreak. She blew out a frustrated breath as she slipped out of the black clothes and into her dress. If Thomas loved her, he certainly had an odd way of showing it.

“I'm finished.” With her black clothes inside the sack, she pushed it through the bars. “Here.”

“And your pistol.” He leveled a hard gaze at her. “Wouldn't want you shooting Chesney before you have the chance to marry him. After all, some things should be left for the honeymoon.”

She returned his stare for a moment, her lips parting at his audacity. Then, with a newfound appreciation for his observational skills, which were proving nearly as keen as Thomas's, she lifted her skirt, pulling it up to the end of her stocking and to the small pistol she'd hidden there. To the man's credit, he never looked away from her face.

She handed over the gun.

“Thank you.” He tucked the pistol beneath his coat, where she was certain he already carried at least one other pistol, and mumbled to himself, “Never trust a chit with a gun, I always say.”

“Never trust a spy,
I
always say,” she countered, with a knowing arch of her brow.

At that he hesitated and, without openly acknowledging that she was correct about him, he drawled, “Odd. I always say that the only person you
can
trust is a spy.” He shook his head knowingly. “A pretty woman who's too smart for her own good—oh yes, you'll fit perfectly into the Matteson family.”

Ignoring the foolish tickle of hope licking at her toes that he might be right, she leaned forward, pressing her face between the bars. “Let me out, please.”

“Apologies, but I can't do that. Chesney's orders.”

She stared, stunned. “Thomas asked you to lock me up?”

“It's the only way to keep you safe.” He gave her a half grin of wry amusement. “Apparently you won't stay where you're told, and we can't have you getting in the way.”

Leaving her to fume, he sketched a shallow bow, then tucked the sack beneath his arm and retreated toward the door.

“Miss Carlisle, it was truly a pleasure meeting you. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.” He paused, his hand resting on the door handle. “One more thing. There's a basket of food in the back of your cell. Your alibi for why you're here. You felt terrible that Mr. Cooper had been arrested, so you brought him a basket to comfort him, then stumbled into the cell and accidentally locked yourself inside. After all, you have a reputation for being clumsy.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “Even I heard you fell off your horse in the middle of High Street.”

Biting back a sharp curse, knowing the fault was her own for having set herself up like this, she watched him leave.

She sagged against the door. Thomas had ordered her locked up! There was no gaol
break, and most likely none had ever been planned. The story had been nothing more than an irresistible ruse to get her here so she could be kept out of the way for whatever else he had planned tonight. He'd lied to her, blast him.

But he'd also saved her.

In the morning, when the constable and his men found her locked in the cell, wearing her floral-print dress and waiting with a basket of Cook's biscuits at her feet, no one would believe she could possibly be a highwayman, no matter how much she protested. No one.
Ever
.

By locking her up, Thomas had ensured that she would never be accused of the robberies, but he'd also eliminated any chance he'd had of arresting her and being noticed in London. Yet her chest burned with anguish. Not arresting her because he didn't want to see her hang was a far cry from loving her.

Pressing her hand against her heart, she slumped down onto the cot, and her gaze strayed to the book lying beside her, the ledger that contained all the information she needed to prove Royston guilty. The book with the peculiar list of names, the one Thomas had told her could never leave his room.

She closed her eyes at the stab of pain in her chest. Whatever that list of names meant to him, he'd chosen it over her with a ferocity that had left her trembling. Treating it as if it were some sort of holy book, or secret document, or—

Secret document.

Oh God.

Her throat tightened, and her veins turned to ice. Not just a list of names. Not just a ledger of transacted goods…
Oh God!

Thomas had known immediately the ramifications of that list, but she'd been so selfish in forcing him to choose between her and the book that she'd been blind to what it truly meant. She thought he'd chosen the list over her, but now…What had she done? What awful choice had she forced him into making?

Her hand shook as she reached for it.

Her tentative fingers picked it up, and she frowned. The back cover was missing, the spine torn down the middle, pages ripped out—

Her heart somersaulted. Thomas hadn't given her the book. He'd cut it in two and given her the front half! She held in her hands the information about Mrs. Potter and the orphanage, all the evidence she needed to link Royston to the orphans. But Thomas had kept the second half for himself, the ledger she was never supposed to have seen and that she now knew put both their lives in danger.

Laughing in pained disbelief as a riot of emotions churned inside her, she turned the book over in her hands. He'd managed to do the impossible after all…keep her from being arrested, stop Royston, and prove to the War Office he was ready to return.

But most of all, this half of the book proved that Colonel Grey was right—Thomas loved her. He hadn't said it, but his mad machinations tonight confirmed it.

Yet her hand shook as she swiped at the tears that now rolled freely down her cheeks, and her chest burned with unbearable grief and loss, so much that she could barely breathe through the pain of it. Because for all he'd done tonight, he still hadn't found a way for them to be together.

“It's a shame you came all the way from London for nothing, Chesney,” Royston commented in the darkness of the swaying coach as the horses raced toward the village.

Across from him Thomas kept his silence as he casually folded his hands between his knees and relaxed against the squabs.

“The constable beat you to the highwayman, after all, and you did nothing to stop him or hunt him down,” he accused coldly. “Might have stayed in London for all the good you did here.”

Outside the carriage the night was black. A thick layer of clouds hid the stars and moon, and the scent of rain hung heavy in the air. Thomas's gaze darted out the window at the passing scenery, and he recognized the bend where the road turned to follow the river, flowing along beside them now like a black ribbon sewed tight against the edge of the hard-packed dirt beneath their wheels.

“You know, Chesney,” Royston continued, his tone greatly confident, “when I approached you about finding this bandit, I had hopes you were the man I could count on to finish this business. I was assured by several men that you were the man I needed, one who would fulfill his mission and keep his silence. Sadly, they were wrong about you.”

Thomas said nothing. Instead he kept his face stoic in the shadows, thankful for the darkness that hid any trace of the hatred he now held for this man who had once been a trusted family friend.

“I should have known you wouldn't be up for the hunt.” Royston clucked his tongue softly, as if blaming himself. But Thomas knew full well where the earl was heading, and he let the man continue. “Not after the way you were gunned down last year. Surprised everyone that you lived, thank God.”

“Thank Lucifer,” Thomas corrected coldly. God had nothing to do with what had happened to him that night.

Royston frowned quizzically but otherwise ignored his comment. “But you didn't come back the same man, did you? I'd heard rumors even then that Chesney had lost his nerve, couldn't hold a gun steady, had lost the thrill of the hunt.” He paused to let his words hover in the air between them. “That he'd become completely useless.”

Thomas had heard the rumors himself. Worse, he knew them to be true. But that didn't stop his hands from clenching into fists.

“Still, I gave you one last chance to prove yourself, and all you had to do was find a highwayman. One highwayman in a village of less than three hundred people, and you couldn't even do that.” Shaking his head, he leaned back against the seat. “I'm certain you understand that I won't be recommending you to the War Office now.”

Thomas certainly hoped not, given that Royston was a traitor.

“In fact, I feel obligated to tell Bathurst about the concerns I have regarding your behavior this past sennight.” Royston smiled devilishly in the darkness. “After all, we wouldn't want you putting anyone's life at risk.”

Josie
.
The hairs on his arms prickled in warning, and he forced himself to keep his voice even as he asked, “Is that a threat?”

Royston shrugged. “You're returning to London tomorrow a failed hero. And Josephine Carlisle is lovely.
Quite
lovely.”

Every ounce of restraint in his body tightened into a ball inside his gut and somehow kept him from lunging across the coach to close his hands around the bastard's throat. “Yes, she is.”

“I'd have to be a damned fool not to see you've been plowing her.”

Royston was a dead man. At the first opportunity, Thomas would kill him, and the only thing preventing him from doing it now was the very real likelihood that Royston carried a knife up his jacket sleeve.

“You've asked her to perform other dirty deeds for you as well. I found her in my study pretending she'd torn her dress. But you know that, don't you? After all, someone unlocked the door for her. For all I know, you tore the dress yourself before you sent her inside.”

His body tensing, ready to spring at the first sign of physical provocation, Thomas carefully kept his silence.

“She might be entertaining on her back, but she's just as incompetent at spying as you are,” Royston sneered with a hint of cold delight, “because nothing was missing from my study.”

Thomas stared at him darkly. Royston didn't know they'd found the book. The same one he had so carefully replaced after his meeting with Grey and Edward, then stolen a second time from the study and cut in two, right before he'd tardily entered the dining room tonight.

“Whatever it was you sent her after, she didn't find…luckily for her.”

Thomas gritted his teeth, so hard his cheek twitched. “Leave her alone,” he growled in a low warning.

“I will, you have my word on that.
If
you keep your silence.” He shifted in his seat, his hands tugging at his coat sleeves under the pretense of pulling them into place, but Thomas knew he was sliding the hidden knife down toward his palm. “Her fascination with you will fade once you're gone, and there will be no reason to involve her in anything further. But if I hear one whisper about this highwayman and his connection to me, then she
will
pay for your mistakes.”