“So, go home and marry the poor girl.”
“And make both of us miserable? She cannot wish for this match.”
“Then untangle yourself from the contract and start again.”
“I intend to do that, but it would be better if I can present them with a fait accompli—“
“By already being married?”
“Yes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How underhanded.”
He shrugged. “You are entitled to think that, but knowing my family, it is the best way to accomplish the task. I will accept all the blame, and she will be free to marry again, her reputation intact.”
At this point, Amelia didn’t need to know that as far as he was concerned his family didn’t deserve his consideration. They needed to understand from the outset that he was in control of his own destiny. He was determined not to allow them to dictate to him.
“And what if she truly does still wish to marry you?”
“She never did. Before my disappearance, we’d already discussed ways of getting out of the damned betrothal. When my father was alive it wasn’t possible.” He took a steadying breath. “He died two years ago, so we can pursue our separation without fear.”
Her expression softened. “I’m sorry about your father. That must have come as a terrible shock.”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause where all he could do was stare down at their joined hands. Eventually she stirred.
“Even if your fiancée is pleased to get out of this betrothal, why do you need to marry me? Once you are free, you could marry anyone.”
“But I want to marry you.”
“
Why
?”
“Because I value your strength and your ability to see me as I am now, and not as I once was. Because my family… they won’t understand, and I need someone, I need
you
to stand by my side and believe in me. The
new
me.”
She briefly closed her eyes. “Oh God, Marcus. Why did you have to say that?”
“Because it is the truth?” He hesitated. “I’m asking for your help.”
“But this is marriage we are talking about. It is a lifelong commitment. You don’t love me, and I don’t love you.”
“Which has never been an impediment to a wedding among members of our class, you know that. We
like
each other.” He lowered his voice. “We also enjoy each other in bed. Neither of us is ready to fall in love. I’m not even sure if I’m capable of it, and you’ve already lost the love of your life. Isn’t it better to know your heart will be safe with me from the onset?”
“This is madness.”
“No, this is
real
.”
“What happens when you reclaim your true self? What
use
will I be to you then?”
He held her gaze. “I can never be that man again. I know that in my soul.
You
know it. War changes a person. You couldn’t settle into the peace of Dove Cottage forever, you’ve seen too much, and so have I.”
“Marcus…
“If I return to my family like this and without you as my wife, I’m… afraid of what will happen.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m afraid that I won’t be able to trust them again, and that I’ll have to leave again and… that would be a double betrayal of everything they once believed about me.”
“But—”
“They might decide that I am insane if I face them alone. I have no desire to be sent to Bedlam while my brother takes over my estates.” He swallowed hard. “I need you with me. I need you to believe in me and
tell me the truth.”
He couldn’t quite believe he was spilling his worst fears out, but it reminded him of why Amelia had become so important to him. He felt safe with her. She’d seen him at his worst, when he didn’t even know his own name, and she’d never backed away from the truth.
“Tunbridge Wells Coach!”
He winced as the coachman bellowed from the door.
“I have to go to my friend.” Amelia gathered her bags around her. “I have my pride. Can’t you understand
that
? I wish to be free. I am not a
thing
to be rescued and used for your own ends.”
He rose too and stared at her as a faint stirring of anger lodged in his stomach. “I’ve never thought you a coward, Mrs. Smith. But hiding yourself away in a school?”
“I’ll earn a wage, I’ll be…”
“Safe?” He took a step back. “I do understand that. If you change your mind, write to me, and I’ll come for you. No questions asked.” He bowed. “I owe you my life.”
She had half-turned away from him and swung back, her chin high. “I am
not
a coward.”
“Then come with me and share this adventure. I can guarantee you won’t be bored. We can keep each other safe.”
She picked up her bags and stormed out of the room, leaving him staring at the table. He could hardly blame her. What a ham-fisted mess he’d made of it.
The final call for the Tunbridge Wells coach went out. He turned blindly toward the door, trying to avoid the tide of passengers, hating all the bodies shoving and pushing around him. It felt like a rout. Which was at least fitting, as they were both running away.
He gulped in some fresh air and scanned the stable yard as the fully loaded coach trundled out under the archway, making the outside passengers hang onto their hats as it took a sharp left turn. A sudden peace descended on the frantic yard, and he heard the chirping sparrows and the bawdy jokes of the ostlers as they worked within the stables.
“Marcus.”
He turned to see a vision dressed in sensible dark blue. He tried to speak but nothing came out.
Amelia held out her gloved hand. He noticed it was shaking as much as his hand was. “I…I don’t want to be safe.”
Oblivious to those around him, he clasped her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Well thank God for that.”
Having escorted Amelia to a discreet inn where her lack of a maid would be noted but not held against her, Marcus set off to find the townhouse of the Duke of Diable Delamere. It turned out to be a very grand mansion in one of the best new squares in Mayfair. After speaking to the butler and sending in his name, he was surprised to be immediately invited in and taken through to what appeared to be the duke’s study.
“Major Stortford?”
Marcus nodded at the unknown man behind the desk. “Yes.”
“I’m Michael Waterstone, the duke’s personal secretary. His Grace will see you as soon as his current visitor leaves. Would you like to take a seat while you wait?”
“Thank you.” He frowned at the man. “Waterstone. Do you have brothers?”
“I do, sir. Two.”
“I thought I recognized the name.”
“I believe you served alongside my oldest brother in Portugal.”
“It’s highly possible.” Marcus shrugged. “I have almost no memory of that time. Were you an army man yourself, Mr. Waterstone?”
“I was until I was wounded.” The inner door of the office opened, and a man came out looking as if he wanted to cry. Marcus assumed it wasn’t the duke.
“I’ll go and see if His Grace is ready to receive you now, Major.” Waterstone moved out from behind his desk, and Marcus realized he was in some kind of wheeled chair. “I won’t be a moment.”
“There is no need, Michael. I am here and very willing to speak to our guest.”
Marcus stood as the Duke of Diable Delamere appeared in the doorway, his cold silver gaze running over his unexpected guest. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but there was a bone deep arrogance about him that drew the eye and demanded respect.
“How does it feel to have risen from the dead, Major Stortford?” The duke turned his back and walked into his inner sanctum, obviously assuming Marcus would follow him.
“I’m not sure, Your Grace.”
“I should imagine it to be quite terrifying.” He swung around to look at Marcus. “Did you desert your regiment and finally decide to come home when Napoleon lost?”
Surprised by such bluntness, Marcus stopped walking. “What the devil does it have to do with you?”
The duke sat down behind his desk. “I have a certain interest in the personalities involved in your disappearance.”
“I was told you knew Jack Llewellyn. Where is he?”
“I believe he’s in Wales attempting a reconciliation with his wife. Why, do you wish to thank him?”
“
Thank him
for what? He left me to die.”
The duke frowned. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing much until I woke up in bed in a coastal village called Highcliff.”
“In
England
?”
“Obviously.” Marcus held onto his temper. “Whereabouts exactly is Jack in Wales?”
“I’m not quite certain. Near Swansea, perhaps?” The duke raised an arrogant eyebrow.
“When is he coming back to London?”
“I have no idea, and even if I did you wouldn’t expect me to reveal that to a man who is obviously out for his blood. Who sent you here?”
“Captain Fury.”
“Ah, of course. He does love to meddle. “
“He implied that he had some hand in my return to England.”
The duke looked interested. “It’s possible, but you’d have to speak to Jack to get the details.”
“If there is anything left of Jack after I’ve ‘spoken’ to him, I’ll be sure to ask about Captain Fury. Will you at least tell Jack that I am looking for him?”
The duke leaned back in his chair and looked up at Marcus. “With all due respect, Major Stortford, I think you might have things twisted around. Jack isn’t your enemy.”
“Oh, I know that, Your Grace. I once thought he was my best friend in the world.” Marcus bowed and left the room. He hadn’t learned much, but at least Jack would know he was alive and not willing to let the past go.
Deep in thought, Marcus carried out the rest of his errands, hiring a maid for Amelia and obtaining a special license from the Archbishop’s office so that he could marry her as quickly as possible. The money his solicitor had given him was running out. Unless Jack returned within the next day or so, he was out of luck with his plans for beating the truth out of the man.
A trip to his family home was inevitable, and he wanted Amelia at his side. At the moment, she was the only person he trusted to tell him the truth. His steps slowed as he approached the hotel. The duke had implied that he’d misconstrued Jack’s part in his betrayal, but then Jack had always been a charmer. He’d probably come back to England as a hero…
Marcus now remembered the first hellish month of his captivity. The endless stumbling through the mountain ranges when he’d been so weak he’d sometimes been left to crawl into camp like a leashed dog. But even in his feverish state, he’d listened to his captors laugh and joke about the English traitor who had brought them such good fortune. David Rice had been shot dead before their eyes, which meant Jack…
“Marcus?”
He realized he was standing in front of Amelia’s door, his hand raised ready to knock. She’d obviously heard his approach and had opened the door.
“Are you all right?”
He stared down into her concerned grey eyes. “I just remembered something important about why I’ve been determined to find Jack Llewellyn.”
Taking his hand, she drew him into the room and led him over to a couch. “Tell me.”
He took a deep breath. “There was an ambush in the mountain pass. One of my companions was shot, I was taken captive and the third…” He swallowed hard. “Apparently came home unscathed.”
She knelt at his feet and stroked his knee. “Do you remember their names?”
“Lieutenant David Rice was killed and Jack Llewellyn… survived.”
“And you were captured.” She hesitated. “Were you carrying anything important?”
“Orders and battle plans.” His mouth twisted. “Thousands of lives in the palm of our hands. God, I have no idea whether our enemies used the information or not.”
“You are due to call at your regimental headquarters tomorrow aren’t you? Perhaps you can ask them.”
He nodded. “I tried to find out whether Jack was in London.”
“I suppose you wish to see him so that you can reassure yourself that he survived unhurt.”
“No, I want to see him so that I can choke the life out of him for betraying me, his King and his country.”
She went still. “He
betrayed
you?”
“So I was told.” He shrugged. “My initial captors didn’t seem to realize I spoke fluent Spanish and Portuguese.”
“Oh, Marcus, I am so sorry.” She kissed his fingers, bringing them to her cheek. “That is the worst thing imaginable.”
“No, the worst thing is that he was my best friend. I would’ve laid my life down for him, and I assumed he would do the same for me.” He sighed. “I can’t explain him to you, he was witty and charming and…so
strong
. He’d left his family home and worked his way up the ranks only to be demoted due to an incompetent officer’s refusal to accept responsibility for an attempted massacre of innocents. Jack stood up to him. How could he have betrayed us?”
“He doesn’t sound like the kind of man who would do that. Are you quite certain it was him?”
“Who else could it have been?” Marcus slowly shook his head, aware of pain creeping through his skull narrowing his vision. “I lost years of my life because of Jack. Countless other soldiers might have died, too. How can I ever forgive him?”
“I don’t know, Marcus.”
Her voice reached him through the pain and he slowly opened his eyes. “Will you come to bed with me, Mrs. Smith?”
“In the middle of the day?”
“We can draw the bed curtains.”
In answer, she rose to her feet and started undressing him, pushing off his coat and untying his cravat. He helped her, his fingers seeking the warmth and reassurance of her flesh both so resilient and so soft. She kissed him as she worked, murmuring his name and other soothing words that helped him regain control of himself.
When she was down to her shift and he was naked, he picked her up and walked her over to the bed. He placed her on the quilt and went to make sure the door was locked before he returned to her side. One of her hands cupped her bosom through the fine fabric of her shift. His throat went dry as she flicked her thumb over her nipple, and he crawled onto the bed, spreading her thighs with his knees.