Along Came a Rogue (18 page)

At his comforting words, the pain and fear in her eyes softened. She self-consciously lowered her gaze to his chest, but not before he glimpsed a brightness in her face. A flicker of hope. The first such look he'd seen in her since he arrived at Snowden Hall.

A soft smile teased at her lips. “I know it's silly—the baby's still only a little bump, after all,” she confided, “but I keep thinking of all the time we're going to spend together, all the songs and games I'm going to teach him, all the stories I'll tell him.”

“Him?” Grey grinned at that.

She nodded with resolve. “He's going to be a boy, I know it. And I'm going to teach him to sail little boats on ponds, to draw and paint pictures, to conjugate his Latin verbs—”

Grey laughed and tightened his arms around her. Only Emily could see Latin lessons as a precious childhood memory.

Faint worry darkened her face. “Although now that I'm headed to London and he'll be born a marquess, that might all have to change.”

“It won't,” he assured her, touching his lips to hers. “Except that now you'll have your brother to help you.”

She nodded at that, but her worry didn't fade even as she said with resolve, “Then I'll buy him a pony, and Thomas can teach him to ride and shoot better than any little boy in Mayfair.” Her blue eyes rose to meet his, an affection in their depths that made him shiver. “And he'll have you to protect him.”

“And his mother,” he murmured. His heart swelled with emotion for her and her unborn baby. Never…
never
had he cared this much about any woman before. Yet instead of terrifying him, the thought made him ache with longing. For the first time, he wished his life could have been different. For her.

She looked up at him through lowered lashes, a seductively innocent look that stole his breath away. “Make love to me, Nathaniel.”

Her words were spoken hesitantly against the darkness, as if she was afraid he might refuse her. But he would never refuse her anything, and certainly not this.

Slipping his arms around her, he rolled onto his back and brought her up on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. He curled his hand behind her neck and tugged her down onto his chest to kiss her.

As the blue light of dawn crept inside the room, Grey reluctantly slipped from the warmth of the bed and quietly dressed. His body was sore and stiff in all kinds of unusual places, an aching reminder of the abuse—and delicious pleasures—he'd put himself through since finding Emily. Even the old bullet wound in his thigh ached painfully from exertion. But he hadn't wanted to waste one precious minute of the time he had left with her.

He paused to watch her sleep as he buttoned up his waistcoat, her naked body still lying soft and satiated beneath the covers from when he woke her just before dawn to claim her a third time.
Sweet Lucifer
, he couldn't get enough of her. And he didn't know how he'd be able to give her up, once he'd delivered her to her family today and he left for Spain.

Yet he had no choice but to leave, no matter how appealing having a future with Emily was becoming. And it
was
appealing, damnably so. Enough that he was beginning to rethink his future plans and wonder if he was making the right decision by never attaching himself to any sort of commitment beyond his career, or if the freedom he'd come to enjoy so much in his life couldn't be replaced by something better. Like Emily.

No.
She belonged with her family, where they could help her raise her child, and he belonged in Spain. Breaking off with her would hurt, he held no illusions about that, but it was for the best. His life would continue on its path with the War Office, and she would step easily back into society. Soon, she'd be too caught up with raising her baby to even think of him, and he'd move on from her the way he'd moved on from all the other women he'd known. Without regrets or second thoughts.

Somehow.

She stirred. “Grey?”

“I'm here, brat.” He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to place a kiss on her bare shoulder.

With a smiling sigh, she stretched like a cat, then reached for his shoulders to bring him down to her for a proper kiss.

“Mmm,” she murmured happily against his lips as she trailed her hand down his chest, fingering the buttons of his waistcoat as if considering undressing him. “You spent the entire night with me. You didn't leave.”

“I suppose I should have.” He touched his lips to hers before straightening. “Especially with Lady Gantry haunting the inn.”

“I don't think Lady Gantry will be bothering us.”

He frowned faintly. “Oh?”

“She and I came to an understanding last evening.” Her drowsy eyes drifted lasciviously over him, taking in his half-dressed state, and his cock flexed eagerly through a yearning will of its own as she offered seductively, “So come back to bed.”

He groaned at the temptation she presented, wanting to do just that. “I wish I could, but I need to rouse Hedley and Dalton so they can get the team ready. We're due in London today.”
And I'm due in Spain…
The unspoken words hovered in the silence of the room as clearly as if he'd shouted them.

She dropped her hand away from him and sat up, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. “Can't we just run off together instead, somewhere we'll never be found?”

She was teasing, but
Lord
, how tempting that sounded. So tempting he almost let himself consider doing just that. But fantasies about fleeing could never become reality, not for them. Remembering her initial plan to run away, he trailed a finger along the curve of her calf. “Like Glasgow?”

She trembled beneath his caress. “I know a dress shop where we could secure positions.”

“Hmm, stocking inspector,” he pondered with mock solemnity, stroking a slow circle over her inner thigh. “I think I could learn to appreciate the benefits of Glasgow.”

With a laugh, she swatted at his shoulder.

He caught her hand and raised it to his mouth to kiss it. Her fingertips brushed over his cheek as his lips lingered against her palm. “Thomas wants to see you, and he deserves an explanation about the past two years. You owe him that.”

She nodded, but her eyes lowered to the quilt. He could feel the fear and dread swelling inside her, so well did he know this woman now.

“You have to tell them about the baby, too,” he said solemnly but firmly. “You can't hide it any longer.”

Her eyes glistened as she raised her gaze to his. “But I'll also be placing all of them in danger. Someone burned down my house to try to kill me, and they nearly killed you, too. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to them because of me.” Her hand slipped over her belly. “Or this baby.”

He took her chin and tilted up her face to kiss her softly, trying to reassure her that everything would be all right. “You'll be safe in London. Your family will protect you, and so will I.”

She shifted away and arched a disbelieving brow. “All the way from Spain?”

Giving that sardonic comment only a passing glance, yet feeling the biting sting of it in his gut, he slid off the bed and stomped into his boots, then slipped on his coat and pulled his shirt cuffs into place. Her gaze never left him, and he found it oddly intriguing that for once he didn't want to dress and leave a woman's bed. Instead, he found himself wondering what it would be like to wake up next to Emily every morning, and he decided that it would be nice. Very nice, indeed.

“You really have to leave?” she asked regretfully.

He sent her a rueful smile. “Have to.”

“But you don't.”

He stared down at her, momentarily stunned as her quiet assurance swirled through him. She meant leave the room, of course, but her soft words underlying so much more about his life than she realized.

Good God, could she be correct? Did he really have to leave for Spain, or was the future he now wanted sitting right there all deliciously sleep-rumpled and welcoming before him? The enormity of it made him tremble. Would he ever be ready for something like that?

He shook away the sudden confusion gripping his chest. “We'll leave whenever you're ready. Go back to sleep if you'd like.” He leaned over her and kissed her, plundering her mouth as his hand tugged down the quilt to bare a single plump breast. “After all, you had a thoroughly exhausting night.” He placed a delicate kiss on her nipple, and it pebbled enticingly against his lips. “And morning.”

She moaned softly and lifted her arms around his neck to pull him back into bed with her. But he resisted her siren song and slipped from the room. As he closed the door, he looked up and stopped.

Hedley stood in the hallway outside the room where he and Dalton had slept. From the expression on the sergeant's face, he knew Grey had spent the night with Emily.

Bloody hell.

Grey blew out a harsh breath at being caught but said nothing. What was the point? There was no use denying the truth or attempting to lie his way out of this. Nor, for once, did he want to.

“Be careful, lad,” Hedley warned grimly. “I'd surely hate to see either of ye get hurt.”

Then he walked down the stairs and left Grey standing in the hallway, cursing himself beneath his breath.

Y
ou can do this,” Grey encouraged quietly as he stood beside Emily at the bottom of the front steps of Chatham House.

She stared at the massive door, her feet refusing to take another step.
This
was the moment she'd dreaded since leaving Snowden Hall, when she'd have to face her family, explain about the baby…and say good-bye to Grey, uncertain when she would be able to see him or be alone with him again. If ever. Now that it was happening, it was just as gut-wrenching as she imagined.

None of it was helped by Grey's contemplative quietness today, ever since he left the room that morning. But if he was as troubled by this moment as she was, he chose not to confide in her, instead keeping to himself the heavy thoughts furrowing his brow.

“After all, what's the worst your parents can do?” he asked wryly as he placed her arm reassuringly around his. “Marry you off to an indebted gambler in Yorkshire?”

Jittery laughter bubbled from her, and his teasing proved enough of a distraction to allow him to lead her forward and knock at the door.

“Don't leave me,” she whispered, her hand tightening on his arm.

“You'll be fine. Thomas will be happy to see you.”

Her throat tightened. “That's not what I—”

The door opened, and Jensen, the family's longtime butler, scowled down his nose at them, not recognizing her. “Major Grey.” He bowed stiffly in greeting with all the arrogance of a man who ran a duke's household and brought to his position a solemn responsibility befitting his employer's rank. “Miss.”

Emily took a deep breath and forced a nervous smile at the old butler. “Hello, Jensen. How have you been?”

The butler swung his startled gaze from Grey to Emily, staring at her blankly for a moment. Then recognition sank in, and an old affection replaced his scowl. He was so surprised that he actually smiled. “Miss Emily…my goodness! I mean Lady Emily—I mean, Mrs. Crenshaw.” The normally imperturbable butler stammered in stunned surprise. “My apologies, miss—ma'am—my lady.”

“Quite all right.” She smiled reassuringly, surprisingly touched by his befuddlement. “The last time I saw you I was still just a miss.”

Immediately, he collected himself, and his shoulders shifted back, his chin returning to its normal, haughty position. “If I might say so, my lady, you have been missed.” His voice choked with emotion. “
Greatly
missed.”

“Thank you, Jensen.” She rested her hand briefly on the butler's arm, her eyes misting. She hadn't realized until then how much she'd missed him and the other servants. At least someone in London was happy to see her.

With a low bow, Jensen stepped back and opened the door wide to allow her to pass. Emily drew a deep breath for courage and, letting her hand slip away from Grey's arm, entered the grand house.

She glanced nervously around the entrance hall and up the wide stairs to the first-floor landing. “Where is my family, Jensen?”

“The duke is at the Lords, and the duchess is in the drawing room,” he informed them as he took Grey's coat and gloves from him. “And Lord Thomas is resting in his room.”

Grey remained at her side, but in his peculiar distraction today, he seemed a hundred miles away. Already, she sensed the impending loss of him, and her eyes stung at the heavy emptiness in her chest. For the past several days, she'd come to rely on him, confide in him…love him. How would she be able to go on now without him when he left for Spain?

“Would you please tell them that Lady Emily has arrived home?” Grey asked, his expression grim.

Jensen bowed and retreated quickly down the hall.

Blinking at his unexpected exit, she mumbled with bewilderment, “He just left us here…standing in the foyer.”

“Yes, he did.” Grey chuckled. “I don't think he quite knew what to do with us.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you are family and shouldn't have to wait in your own home.” He averted his eyes to glance down the hall, searching for any sign of her family coming to greet her. “While I should never have been let through the front door.”

Her chest tightened with quick regret over the dismissive way her parents had regarded him over the years. “Don't say that.”

He shrugged, as if no more bothered by that than a buzzing gnat. “It's true.”

Regrettably, it
was
true. If not for his friendship with Thomas, he would never have been let inside at all. But Emily planned on changing that. She didn't know how she'd manage it, but she would make certain that Grey never again felt unwelcome at Chatham House.

“It's not really my home, though,” she said quietly, changing topics to move away from the embarrassment she felt over her parents' concern with status. “I never lived here. My family moved here after I married.” She shook her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the irony of it all. “I'm coming home to a house where I never lived from one that's now a pile of ashes!”

He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “You'll be welcomed here,” he said quietly, with that same contemplative demeanor that had shadowed him all day. So much so that he'd sat in the carriage with her for most of the long ride today staring thoughtfully out the window, saying nothing. He hadn't even attempted to kiss her, let alone make love to her again, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

“Grey.” She frowned, suspecting that whatever clouded his mind today had little to do with simply delivering her home. “Is something—”

“Hello, brat.”

She looked up at the stairway landing, and her heart skipped.
Thomas.

He was on his feet, although from the way his hand gripped the banister he was still unsteady, but his color was normal, his eyes shining bright with happiness to see her. Her throat tightened. He was a glorious vision, despite the half-dressed state of his shirt hanging untucked to cover the bandages he wore around his waist and the growth of beard that gave him a devilish air, and she had never been happier in her life to see him.

But emotion overwhelmed her. All she could do was stand there, staring up at him, while her eyes blurred with tears.

He smiled warmly as he carefully descended the stairs. When he drew nearer, she noticed the stiffness in his movements, the dark circles beneath his eyes, his tired and drawn face. He'd lost at least two stone in weight, and through the unshaven growth of beard, she easily glimpsed the sallow paleness of his cheeks. Her heart ached for him, and her grief for the hell he'd suffered stole her breath away.

But he was alive.
Thank God!

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Thomas,” she whispered, his name a plea for forgiveness.

Silently, he held out his hand to her, and she ran to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.

She pressed him close, feeling the warmth in him and the steady beating of his heart. Thank God, he was alive! And he was going to be all right. To think how close she'd come to losing him, to never seeing him again—to risk that he would go to his grave believing she'd stopped needing him…But she would always need him, and she would never again let her own foolish pride come between them.

Thomas winced, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth.

Quickly, she stepped back, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh! I've hurt you.”

“It's all right.” He placed a hand over the wound in his side and reached for the banister with the other to steady himself before giving her a weak smile, but one beaming full of love. “I'm just glad you're here.” He slipped his arm around her to carefully hug her to him, then he looked over her head at Grey. His voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for bringing her home to me.”

“You said you needed her,” Grey replied softly, and Emily thought she saw his eyes glisten just as much as Thomas's. Clearing his throat, he glanced down at Thomas's side with concern. “Should you be out of bed?”

“I'm fine.” Despite his assurance, she thought she saw him tremble as he scratched at his wrists, only to drop his hands to his side when he caught her watching him. “Can't stand another damnable minute in that bed. Besides, there'll be plenty of time to rest later.” Grinning at Emily, he swept his gaze over her, taking her all in. “I wouldn't have missed my sister's homecoming for the world.”

New guilt swept through her, and Emily bit her bottom lip. Grey was certain Thomas would forgive her, but so much had happened…Would he truly forgive her for all the mistakes she'd made?

She drew a deep breath. “Thomas, I need to speak with—”

“Emily!” Mary Matteson, Duchess of Chatham, glided down the hall and into the foyer. “Thank goodness you're finally here!” Her mother turned a commanding gaze at the butler, who followed behind. “Jensen, send a footman to the Lords right away. Tell Chatham that his daughter has returned and is waiting to see him.”

The butler nodded and signaled to a uniformed footman standing by the front door who hurried from the house, most likely with a prepared message already waiting in hand for her arrival.

Mary hugged Emily to her briefly, then pulled back and squeezed both of Emily's hands in hers. “We've been beside ourselves with worry about you traveling alone, all the way from Yorkshire.”

“I wasn't alone.” Emily cast a grateful smile at Grey as he moved to stand beside Thomas. “I had Major Grey to protect me.”

Mary glowered briefly in Grey's direction, as if displeased that he, of all people, had been sent to Yorkshire to fetch her daughter, before smiling again at Emily. “Nevertheless, we were worried. An uneventful trip, I hope?”

She lowered her eyes, unable to answer in a way that wouldn't make her mother faint.

“Well, thank God you've arrived safely. We were so upset when we received your letter, stating that you couldn't travel. Of course, it was perfectly understandable, but—” Her mother broke off suddenly and frowned in bewilderment. “Whatever are you wearing?”

Emily shot a pleading glance at Grey to keep his silence. Knowing her family might be in danger even now from whoever killed Andrew, she hesitated over how much of the truth to tell them, wanting to reveal all her secrets in her own way, in her own time.

Grey's eyes met hers, and although he didn't say a word, she now knew him well enough to know that he understood. But there was something else there in the warm chocolate depths of his eyes that caught her attention, something that had been there all day through his distraction and that she couldn't quite fathom—

“Emily?” her mother pressed, interrupting her reverie.

“My apologies,” she mumbled and turned away from Grey to force a smile for her mother. “We left Snowden quickly, so I wasn't able to properly pack.”

Mary's frown only deepened. “But surely Yardley—”

“So quickly that Yardley had to follow behind,” she added, carefully avoiding Thomas's eyes as she dissembled and resisting the urge to place her hand protectively over her baby. Her brother had an uncanny ability to read people, and he'd always been able to see right through her, even when they were children. “I had to buy a dress along the way, and we didn't have time for it to be altered.”

“Well, no matter.” Her mother looped her arm through Emily's and led her from the foyer toward the drawing room. “You are here now, and that is all that matters. Tomorrow, we shall go to Madame Bernaise and have you measured for a new wardrobe.”

Measured by a modiste, who would see her without her clothes—Emily cast a panicked look over her shoulder at Grey, who only stared silently back as her mother led her away, leaving it up to her to tell her family the truth.

“Thomas?” his mother called out to him. “You'll join us in the drawing room?”

With amusement, Grey noted that her question was actually a command, and one that predictably ignored him. Just as he noted that Thomas stood his ground and didn't move from Grey's side.