My Lord Rogue (13 page)

When her tears were spent, he
guided
her to her feet
and wrapped a towe
l
around
her shoulders. Then with gentle ease, he dried her body before lifting
her into his arms and carr
ying
her to the bed.
“No!”

“Shhh,” he cooed
, his husky voice
calming
her fears
. “You will catch your death if I don’t get you under the
bed covers
.”

He laid her down gently and removed the towel
unbearably slow
. Every
moment their gazes clung
,
she fought to throttle the dizzying currents
of desire
coursing through her. Nothing good could come from this tempting interlude. And yet sl
owly, seductively, his gaze bore through her, as if he took
pleasure in
torturing her
,
memorizing every curve,
repulsive
scar
, and
imperfection
. “You’ve not served your country unscathed, I see.”

Gillian
gasped
. “No,” she said on a half-sigh, fighting
the overwhelming urge to pull him closer as he
attempted
to pull
the linen back
over her
.
Simon caught her
hand
then interlocked their fingers. Flesh met flesh in a warm
,
desperate
grasp.

“You are more beautiful than I ever imagined,” he said,
releasing her hand to draw
the counterpane up to her chin
and tuck
the bed covering around her
to ward off a chill
.

“No,” she said. “I am weak,
addle
-headed
, a heartless wanton for torturing myself this way
.
You and I were never meant to be.
I should run as far
from you
as I can.”

“
You’ve already done that once. Look where that has gotten us?
You have nothing to fear from me. I would do anything for you. You know that.”

“Anything?” she asked sleepily.
He had already done so much
.

“Anything
,” he said
, dropping onto the bed beside her
.
“
B
ut the one thing you require.”

She turned her face to the side, trying to avoid his
mesmerizing
green
eyes.

“Sleep now. You are safe.
Tomorrow we will be at it hammer and tongs.
”

She closed her eyes
,
suppressing the giggle threatening to bubble up from her throat.
Hammer and tongs?
“
N
o
question.”

“
It’s settled then.
You
will
give me your answer at dinner tomorrow, my love.”

He’d called her his love. Dare she hope?
“Tomorrow
,” she murmured.
“Bellerophon.”

“
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That end
s this strange eventful history…
”

~
William Shakespeare’s
All The World
’
s a Stage

“Bellerophon.”

Simon
pondered Gillian’s choice of words throughout the night as he drank to submerge his lustful thoughts. More than anything he’d ever desired, he wanted to march up to Gillian’s room and pound her into the bed sheets. But acting on his love for her
physically
wouldn’t solve any part of their dilemma.
It would only compound it.
He knew once he
had a taste of her, he’d desire it night and day.

He poured himself another drink, caring not a whit what condition Archer would find him in when
the sun rose
through the study windows.

Dawn harkened a new day, a beginning that ushered in a new phase of his life. Gillian would be a part of it. He’d ensure it. He wouldn’t allow her to agree to anything else. Bloody hell. The last time she’d agreed to his terms, he’d been helpless to watch her speak vows of submissiveness to another man.

Never again
.

To mock him, a vision of her standing with Lucien at the altar flashed before his damnable eyes
…

~~~~

January 25
^th
, 179
6

“Do you take
this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

She froze momentarily and arrowed her gaze toward
Simon as he took his position
beside Lucien as a witness to the whole
bloody
debacle
. Curse him. He
stoo
d there like an arse and nodded
while his heart hammered, “No. No. No,” over and over again, the beat nearly deafening him with its powerful accusation
.
“Coward
.
Bastard
.
How could you give her away?”

But he had given her away. She
wasn’t
his to control. He didn’t have the right or inclination to lower either of them to the depths of hell for pleasure
’
s sake.

“I do.”

The words sliced through him, doing more damage than
the enemy’s
blade.
But he took
each blow
, knew it was for the best. Prayed he could live with himself knowing she was now another man’s.

The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow
as
legalities
were
witnessed, signed
, and
scrolled for future reference
.
Simon, relegated to helplessly watching the scene unfold, held his tongue. There were no words to describe his feelings. Disconsolate? Bereft? Nothing came close to the pain of watching
Lucien take Gillian’s hand and walk
away with her,
taking her
out of
Simon’s
life for what he
both
feared and hoped for his mortal soul was forever.

~~~~

November 6
^th
, 1801

The mantle clock
sounded four bells, mocking him, one chime each for Lucien, Gillian, Edwina, and himself. Thoroughly reminded how much time
had
passed since that fateful morning
at
a parish church in Chelsea
, he
sat in his library
,
musing about the
contrast between Gillian as a bride, dressed demurely, an unsure smile tilting the corners of her mouth, and the
way Gillian had looked when he left her the night before
;
wet black hair clinging greedily to the sides of her face, wanton
,
red-rimmed eyes brimming with
unsolicited tears
.

Tears he had brought to her eyes.
He
fisted his hands
around his tumbler and drained his brandy
.
God
,
but she’d been tempting.
What was it about her that he
couldn’t get out of his blood?
W
hy
did
he
fight the overwhelming need to be close to her
, to join her on the bed and take what they both desired
?
He’d wanted to
kiss away her tears, make her forget Lucien’s death. Help him forget what a hardship it was to deny
her
love.
But he wasn’t like
the men he’d seen frequenting brothels or mistresses
. He held himself
to a higher calling
.
Lucifer take it!

In the passing years,
Gillian had
grown into a perplexing woman
, the
sort with whom
he was unused to dealing
. The
sweet
,
u
nassuming Gillian he remembered barely compared to
the woman
who’d donned
a
black widow
’s
disguise
and had risked life and limb to save Admiral Nelson’s life
.

He laughed. No one heard him
, of course
. He was alone
—
for now.
But t
he house would be stirring in a matter of hours.

How ironic it was that
the
chocolate-eyed
woman, for all her innocence
and courage, had been his
bright star
,
leading him to
this point in his life with
her wide, conspiratorial eyes
. She
’d
appeared younger, completely lost in the game they played
.
But he knew better.
She was
no simpleton. She had not outlived her husband based on feminine virtue or a life of ease. She’d fought the fight
, s
erved alongside
Lucien
until the bitter end. The s
cars along her shoulder blade, left hip, right knee, and ankle indicated
a
youth stolen by violen
t endeavors
. Damn
her father’s drunken pursuits. Damn
Lucien
for dragging her into
the
world
of espionage
.

Guilt unlike any he’d ever known assailed him.
This was his fault.
He’d done this.
Though he’d protected her from her father’s wrath and ill-fated debts, he’d also placed her in the hands of a man determined to see a revolution unhinged. The result?
Forays into danger, the
marks
marring her skin.

He ground hi
s teeth, choking back anger. For a moment, t
heir eyes had clung
,
and he
’d
waited
expectantly
for her to
speak
.
“Bellerophon.”

He
blinked
again at the
memory
. Death or glory.
Where had
Gillian
heard that phrase? Before he’d been able to question her further, she’d succumbed to
the
oblivion
of sleep deprivation
.

And now
,
t
here
he
sat, s
wishing around
another finger
’
s worth of
brandy in his tumbler. Was she on board? Had
“Bellerophon”
been her agreement to join Nelson’s Tea? Would she spend the next how
ever
many months
with him
, years it would take in pursuit of protecting England against enemies
of the crown
?
Would she be content to wait
for him
?

Edwina.

Guilt assailed him. How could he ponder Edwina’s death
when his wife had nearly given her life to provide
him an heir
?
Was her
descent from hysteria to frail invalid
due in part to
him
being an unfeeling
cad?
Perhaps he would never know.

~~~
~

Eerily content,
Gillian
awoke to a glowing fire in the hearth and wiped sleep out of her eyes
.

“Good morning,
m’lady
,” a young
red-headed
maid said. “
My
name is Darcy and I’ll be seein’ to your needs.” She
curtsied and
then set about opening
the
heavy
curtains
to allow
rays of sunshine to brighten the room.

“Good morning,”
Gillian
responded at odds with herself
as Darcy returned to
her bedside
and
helped her sit back against the pillows, plumping the cushiony softness behind her head.

Where was she? What time was it?
Where was Lucien?
Ah,
Lucien,
the theat
e
r, Simon, the
bath
. Quickly, she searched for clues of the night before
:
her clothes, the stump of Simon’s cigar
. The copper tub had been removed,
all evidence of Simon’s presence gone. T
he borrowed widow’s weeds
lay
neatly on a nearby chaise longue
in preparation for her toilette
.

“Would you be ’
ungry,
m’lady
?”

Yes, but not in the way the young servant girl
surmised
.
Simon had won
again
.
No matter what she did, he ruled her thoughts, he had the upper hand. Even now, when all appeared lost, he swooped in like an avenging angel, a balm to her spirits, and helped her see that amidst the darkest turmoil, life always found a way.

The maid shot her a bewildered expression
when she failed to answer
,
but
Gillian
quickly recovered.

“I am
famished,” she said, watching the girl closely. “How long until I can break my fast?”

“
Fret
not, m’lady. W
ith no one
else about this morning
, your needs
will
be seen to right away
. The master
’
as taken off to
’
is home,
he ’
as
,
and the
’
ou
se is as quiet as church on
Monday.”

“Any word on when Lord Danbury will return?” she asked,
containing the brittleness in her tone,
trying to sound unconcerned. Inwardly, she cringed
. Simon’s thoughtfulness hurt more than any stinging barb he could give her.
T
ime was running out.
The meeting was tonight.
Either she had to agree to Simon’s terms or get out while she could
,
when
he was gone and couldn’t stop her
. But whe
re would she go? To Percy? He’
d offered his help. No. Percy’s townhouse
would probably
be the first place Simon
would look
for her
.

“Begging your pardon,
m’lady
,” Dar
cy said, interrupting her inner
thoughts
.

“Yes
?
”

“Do forgive me. I noticed that you didn’t come with
a valise
,
and t
he master left orders that you
would
be
needin’
a modeste.”

“He has, has he?” Cocksure man.

Darcy
nodded as she retrieved
a tray of biscuits, ham, and a
n
individually
sized kettle of chocolate
and settled it on her lap
. “Was quite thorough in ’
is order,
m’lady
.
The master, if you’ll pardon me for saying,
’
as wonderful taste. I daresay y
ou’ll be pleased with the results
of your new wardrobe
.
”

“Wardrobe?” Good God
,
she sounded like a parrot.

“Yes,
m’lady
.
I was told you would be attending a special gathering
’
ere tonight
and it’s our job to see you properly attired
.”

Gillian glanced over at the black gown. Properly attired
?
Wasn’t she a widow in the ver
y real sense? Didn’t black suit
?
Her brow rose
as swiftly as her ire. Simon took too much for granted.
She wasn’t a puppet
he
could manage with strings
.

Darcy nodded
, continuing her chatter
. “We’ve a
cquired a
wonderful lady’s maid.
Cora
be
her name.”

Cora? How had Simon—

“
Between the
two of us and your new modeste
,
we’ll
’
ave you right and proper. No need to distress yourself over the particulars.”

Distress wasn’t what she felt.
Simon had overstepped
by
having
her maid
Cora brought into Town,
assuming
Gillian
would stay when she had yet to make up her mind.
Cora would bring her wardrobe from Surrey
,
that much was certain
.
But Darcy wouldn’t understand
,
and she wasn’t about to explain
.

“Cook is skilled as well. You won’t find a complaint
’
er
e
, I wager,” she said when Gillian
sat motionless and
didn’t touch her food.

What good did it do to
blame Darcy for her situation
?
Simon was Simon. He wasn’t going to change. And the
biscuits and ham did smell
absolutely
delicious.

“I’ll leave you for now,
m’lady
. Ring the bell if’n you need anything else.” Darcy curtsied and disappeared, pulling the door closed.

Gillian rather liked
the
genuine
,
forward girl.
Where had Simon found her?
Her eyes were clearly intelligent, taking in more than she let on.
Was she aware of what Simon intended to take place
t
here tonight?
How
tight was
Simon’s network
of spies
?

Unable to fight her hunger any longer
, Gillian picked
up a biscuit
and took
a bite
,
nearly
sighing
aloud
with pleasure
. The pastry was divine, just as Darcy had said. But
beyond that,
the townhouse with its safe haven, Darcy, and
further examples of
Simon’s
unrivaled thoughtfulness,
didn’t make any of
it
right.
Nor did it
make her decision any easier.

Could she live
so close to the man she loved
without being
able
to act on her impulses
, to touch him, kiss him, and take him into her body and soul
? Would she be able to resist the temp
tation he posed to her desires? Could she openly hide her love and affection from the rest of the world?
She was tired
of
wearing a mask.