How I Married a Marquess (24 page)

The further irony was that Helene had never been up on a horse, not even for a slow amble through Hyde Park, while Josie was not only an expert rider who fearlessly charged into fights—

His heart froze as the realization sank sickeningly through him. The damned
horse
!

Scrambling to sit up, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up with him. “Your horse,” he demanded, ignoring the sudden confusion flashing across her face. “Where do you stable it?”

She blinked. “What?”

“It ran away.”

“The gunshots frightened him. Why—”

“Think!” He shook her, trying to drive into her the importance of this.
Christ
!
A spy lived and died by the details, but in his desire to spend the night with her, this detail had completely slipped his mind. “The men who came after you tonight saw it run off and will track it. Where would it have gone?”

“I don't know.”

“Chestnut Hill?”

“No, I've never had him there.” The blood drained from her face. “But I've ridden him here.”

He shook his head. “If your horse had come here, the constable would have arrived by now. Where is it stabled?”

“With John Cooper and his family on their farm.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “
Oh God!
”

He slid off the bed. “Do you keep an extra dress here?”

She nodded.

“Put it on. We have to leave.
Now
.
”

Josie rushed to the armoire and grabbed her spare dress while Thomas quickly tugged on his clothes and then hurried into the main room. Still pinning up her hair as she left the bedroom, now wearing a blue muslin dress and matching pelisse, Josie paused in the doorway to watch as he scooped up the black clothes she'd worn for the robbery and flung them into the fireplace, where they caught fire on the dying embers. The same clothes he'd peeled from her body in the darkness. As the heat of that memory mixed with fear that she'd put them in danger tonight, her hands shook so hard she could barely slide the last hairpin into place.

He stood and brushed the ashes of her clothes from his hands. “I need your jacket.”

Without protesting, she shrugged out of the pelisse and handed it over.

“Thank you.” Twisting one sleeve inside out, he tossed it carelessly over the arm of the sofa.

Then, without explanation, he ripped two buttons from his waistcoat. She watched wide-eyed as he tossed them onto the floor.

“Come on.” His hand clamped over her wrist, and he half dragged her from the cottage as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.

With Josie riding in front of him, sitting sideways across his lap as his arms held her tight, they cantered through the woods and hugged the dark edges of the fields so they wouldn't be seen. The night was silent and dark, but the hour was much later than she'd thought. Swept away in the pleasures of being with him tonight, she'd lost all track of time. Even now the first fingers of dawn's light stretched across the sky from the horizon.

“Aren't we going to the Cooper farm?” she asked as he turned the horse away from the village.

“
I'm
going to the farm,” he corrected. “You're going home.”

“I want to go with you. It's my fault—”

“And how do you explain why we're riding up together at dawn on my horse?” He glanced wryly down at her. “We'd both be leg-shackled at gunpoint, then, and not because of any robberies.”

Her hollow heart thumped painfully, and she looked away, unable to answer. Because in the deepest, most hidden recesses of her heart, where she didn't dare admit it aloud, that was exactly what she wanted. To be married. And if she were to be married to him, how could that not be wonderful?

She'd never met another man like him. He was so incredibly special, the hero and protector she'd been waiting her entire life to find. She certainly didn't regret having given her innocence to him tonight. She would
never
regret that. Both tender and passionate, he'd made the experience so wonderful for her that she couldn't imagine how it could have been better. Or that she could have given herself so freely to any other man.

But she had no future with him; she'd known that from the moment they met. Even if she found a way to make him believe her and take her word over Royston's, he was still heir to a duchy, and she was…well, nothing a duke would ever want in a wife.

She might have desperately wanted the dream of a husband, home, and family, but Thomas didn't want her for a wife. He'd been very clear about that. He might not have been like the other men in the past, who cared nothing for her except for the possibility of bedding her and returning home once the house party ended
, but in the end, that difference made none after all.

Blinking back hot tears, she rested her cheek against his chest and remained silent for the rest of the ride. For all she knew, this would be the last time he'd ever hold her in his arms. He'd never mentioned sharing another night, and now, with everything falling apart around them, not only would he leave her, he might just end up arresting her. She didn't think she could survive that. Not after being naked and trembling in his arms.

Thomas reined the horse to a stop at the edge of the property, carefully remaining out of sight behind the stone wall. He slipped from the gelding's back. “You can get inside?”

She nodded. The servants' entry would be unlocked, and she'd sneak in that way, stealing up the rear stairs as she did every time she slipped out for the night.

“Go straight to your room,” he ordered as he set her on the ground. “Then pretend to be ill, so seriously that you can't leave your bed.”

She shook her head. “I want to know what's happening.”

He cursed sharply, and she flinched, not because of the outburst but because she already felt the chasm opening between them, already sensed him pulling away from her.

“For once, Josephine, just do as I ask.” He pulled his hands away from her and stepped back, then glanced up the drive toward the still-sleeping house. “I'll send word as soon as I can, but I need to know where you are. I can't help Cooper if I'm worried about keeping you safe. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” But her agreement was a grudging one.

“The constable might come here after you.” He stared down somberly at her, his eyes matching the dark blue of the predawn sky. “If you're accused of being at the robbery, explain that we met up secretly at the cottage and that we were together there all night.” He paused pointedly. “Understand?”

Her breath strangled in her throat. Instantly, she knew…the pelisse made to look as if it had been pulled from her shoulders, the buttons he'd torn from his waistcoat, the two glasses of brandy sitting on the beside table—he'd staged the cottage so there would be no doubt about what had happened between them if she needed an alibi. Right down to the still-tangled sheets on the bed.

“If my parents find out, they'll force us to marry,” she whispered, grimly serious.

“Better to be forced into marriage than swing from the gallows,” he returned in the same grim tone.

He grabbed the front of her dress and pulled her against him as his mouth came down hungrily against hers. Despite herself, she moaned against the kiss and leaned into him.

Stepping away, he released her and swung up onto the horse. “Get to your room and stay there until you hear from me.”

He set the large gelding into a gallop and rode away. Standing helplessly in the middle of the lane, pressing the back of her hand against her still-moist lips, she watched him leave until he was no longer visible in the blue darkness. An anguished sob escaped her. Good God, would she ever see him again?

E
lizabeth Carlisle stared down at her daughter as she lay in bed, the morning sunlight streaming into the room. “Ill?” She arched a disbelieving brow. “You were fine at dinner last night.”

“It must have been something I ate,” Josie mumbled, hating that she was lying to her mother. “Or perhaps the change in weather.”

But she was certain she
did
look terrible from everything that had happened last night, from the foiled robbery to losing her innocence to her worry over John Cooper, all compounded by a lack of sleep. And parting so miserably from Thomas. Worse, her body now hurt in places she'd never before suspected it could hurt, and she knew the soreness wasn't from fleeing through the woods.

He
had done that to her. Thomas's unquenchable need and desire for her had marked her, branding her on the inside, and she suspected his imprint on her would last forever.

“Or perhaps this sudden illness is due to a certain marquess.”

Suppressing a gasp, Josie was unable to hide the blush of embarrassment heating up from her neck and the guilty look crossing her face. She swallowed nervously. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don't dissemble with me, Josephine Grace,” Mama chastised as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Don't pretend I'm so oblivious I've not noticed the way you and Lord Chesney behave around each other. You two have been sniping at each other since the first night of the party and cutting each other in front of the guests.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gaped for a moment before remembering to close it. “So,” she said carefully, “you think I'm pretending to be ill in order to avoid Lord Chesney because we've…fought?”

“Unless there's some other reason you've been behaving so oddly around him.”

Josie stared at her mother, struck speechless. Did she suspect…Sweet heavens, had Mama noticed?
Impossible
.
She and Thomas had been careful in front of the other guests, so careful, in fact, that her mother wasn't alone in thinking the two of them disliked each other. The ladies had teased her in the drawing room just yesterday afternoon about how many more of her cuts the marquess would accept before he gave up his interest in her.

“No, of course not,” Josie lied quickly, doing her best to slow her racing heart and steady her breathing before she gave herself away. “I know well enough to avoid a man like him.”
Knew
but hadn't managed to carry it off, much to her shameless pleasure.

“Well.” Her mother narrowed her gaze dubiously. “If that's all it truly is—”

“It is.” Josie leaned back against the pillows, doing her best to ignore the swelling of guilt inside her chest at lying to her mother.
Goodness
.
Her life used to be so much simpler when she was only a highwayman. “And I promise to pay closer attention to how I speak to him. In the future I shall endeavor to always be ladylike with the marquess.” Then, unable to fight away the devil on her shoulder compelling her, she added, “In public.”

Her mother smiled and patted her hand. “Good. Because I think Miranda Hodgkins has developed an infatuation with him, and as long as she's mooning after him, then she's not chasing after Robert.”

Josie smiled in private amusement. Miranda Hodgkins with Thomas Matteson? The silly goose wouldn't stand a chance with a man like him. He'd chew her up and spit her out as if she were nothing at all.

“I don't think Miranda is the kind of woman to catch the marquess's interest.” Or at least she hoped not. Selfishly, she didn't want anyone catching his interest but her.

“Well, better his than your brother's.” Elizabeth shook her head and moved away from the bed. “If I could just put Robert into storage for five years to let her catch up to him…” She exhaled a patient sigh. “Perhaps ten.”

Josie hid a bubble of laughter by breaking into a coughing fit. She
was
supposed to be ill, after all.

“So stay in bed if you'd like.” Mama leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, which Josie suspected was an attempt to check her temperature. “Sleep the day away and get your strength back for the farewell dinner tonight. The countess would never forgive us if we begged off.”

The farewell dinner? Heavens, how had she forgotten about that? Her chest tightened painfully. No, that was impossible. The party couldn't be coming to an end so quickly, because when it ended Thomas would have no excuse for lingering at Blackwood Hall. He'd be gone from both Lincolnshire and her life.

“Yes, Mama,” she whispered, suddenly truly ill.

“I shall be back to check on you later.” Her mother gently squeezed her hand, then glided across the room.

Josie sat up. “Mama?”

“Yes?” She paused, her hand on the door.

“Thomas Matteson,” she said quietly, focusing her attention on the coverlet as she plucked her fingers at the quilting. “Do you think— I mean, would it be so terrible to suppose…”

“To suppose what, dear?” her mother prompted gently.

She took a deep breath. “Would someone like me ever be able to…marry someone like him?”

She could feel her mother's curious gaze on her, but she couldn't bear to look at her, not even as she slowly returned to sit beside her on the bed. “That man should consider himself fortunate to ever have the attentions of someone like you, my darling.”

Josie's shoulders sagged. Of course, her mother would say that. That was exactly what mothers were expected to say to their daughters. But Josie wasn't her daughter. Not her
real
daughter. She wasn't a true Carlisle, and that made all the difference. “He's a high-ranking gentleman from a well-respected family.” She shook her head sadly, twisting her fingers into the coverlet. “And I am not.”

“While your father was awarded his barony and not born to it, he
is
still a baron, and you
are
his daughter.”

“But I am not,” Josie repeated, so softly the words were barely more than a breath.

Her mother touched her chin and lifted her face until Josie had no choice but to look at her. Quick anger hardened her features, reminding Josie of the fierceness of a lioness protecting her cubs. “Did Lord Chesney say something to you? Is that why you and the marquess are at odds? If he did, so help me, I will demand an apology, and that man will—”

“No, of course not!” Even though he knew the truth about her past, Thomas would
never
say anything like that to her. He was far too much of a gentleman.

Elizabeth sighed heavily, and her anger dissipated as she shook her head. “Then where is this doubt coming from?” She stroked her fingertips soothingly across Josie's cheek and frowned with concern. “You haven't spoken of the adoption in so long…I thought you'd finally put it all behind you and come to fully accept that you are part of this family and always will be.”

“I know I'm accepted here, by you and Papa, and the boys—” Her voice choked. “But I'm not truly a Carlisle, and I never can be.”

“You
are
.” She lovingly brushed a curl from Josie's forehead. “When you arrived here for the first time, so small but feisty, you filled an emptiness in this house. We needed a girl's laughter echoing through the halls, her dolls left on the nursery floor, pink ribbons underfoot everywhere—” Her words caught in her throat, her eyes glistening. “I might not have given birth to you, but you belong to me, my darling. And I love you as much as any mother could ever love a daughter.”

Her mother wrapped her arms around her and pulled her against her bosom, holding her close and cradling her in her arms just as she had when Josie first arrived at Chestnut Hill as a little girl.

She closed her eyes tightly against the embrace. No matter how much Mama insisted she was the same as a natural-born daughter, she knew better. As newly titled peers, her parents were still used to the country lifestyle and middle-class mannerisms into which they'd been born, and they were very different from other peers who never would have even considered adopting a child, who at most would have welcomed into their home a distant cousin or niece. That alone made her unlike every other society daughter in England.

“Do you feel unwelcome here?” her mother asked. “Has anyone in Islingham, any of our tenants or household staff, ever treated you as anything less than a member of our family?”

“No, but…” Would a gentleman? When someone from a well-respected family looked at her, someone with position and property, someone like Thomas, would he see her as the daughter of a baron, or as what she really was— “I'm nothing.”

“Do not
ever
say that again!” Mama chastised sternly, shooting her the well-practiced scowl of displeasure whose force she'd spent the past thirty years perfecting on her boys. “You are beautiful, intelligent, loving, and kind. Any gentleman who cares more about blood lineage than all that does not deserve you.”

Josie sadly shook her head. Those words were so simple for her mother to say, but she knew how harsh the world could be. Well-bred gentlemen married well-bred ladies to produce well-bred heirs; there was no changing that. “And if all they do care about is lineage, if none of them want their progeny soiled by marrying the natural daughter of God only knows whom? If no one ever offers for me…”

“Then it is their loss and our gain because you will always have a home here. Always.” Her mother paused, her brows drawing together as she studied her closely. Then suddenly, knowingly, her lips parted, and her cheeks paled. “Is that why you declined seasons in London? Because you thought you wouldn't have any suitors, that no one would offer for you?”

She swallowed hard and looked away. That was exactly the reason. “That doesn't signify.”

“Oh, my darling.” Her shoulders slumped as she cupped her daughter's face in her hands and looked at her with deep regret and sadness. “If I had known…but you declined them, and your father and I never wanted to press you.”

“I know.” She'd never dared to hope for a London season, knowing what would happen as soon as the gossip of her past swirled through the
ton
and they learned that her real mother had been a maid or a prostitute. For heaven's sake, if she couldn't even catch the son of a Lincolnshire squire, what hope could she have had for a London gentleman? Her birth had put her on the shelf before she'd ever donned her first ball gown.

“It's not too late. If you want a London season, we'll still make it happen for you.” She squeezed her hands. “A good man
will
eventually offer for you, I know it. Perhaps not one quite as prestigious as Lord Chesney, but a fine man nevertheless.” She forced a reassuring smile, but to Josie her mother's expression was heartbreaking. “Do you understand?”

She nodded silently, unable to find her voice.

“I want you to be happy, darling, whether that means marrying a gentleman or a footman, or never marrying at all. Do you believe that?”

Josie nodded, blinking hard, and whispered, “Yes.”

“Good,” her mother said firmly. Then she paused, biting her bottom lip apprehensively. “But please don't marry the footman.”

“Mama!” Josie choked out in surprise through unshed tears.

“Well, you cannot blame me! I already have enough trouble on my hands with your brothers, and if I live to see the three of them married without scandal, it will be a miracle.” She gave a long, weary sigh, then kissed her cheek and stood. “As for Chesney,” she added as she crossed to the door, “just do your best to avoid him and ignore whatever teasing he aims at you.”

Avoid him? Oh, it was much too late for that. She'd already tried avoiding him and, well, look where that had gotten her—the furthest thing from avoided. She should have known all along that Thomas Matteson simply wasn't the kind of man a woman could ignore. And as for the teasing…
Oh my
. Her body heated feverishly just at the thought of how he'd teased her.