Amelia gazed into Marcus’s amused blue eyes. “Not as astounded as I am. I thank God every day that I met my new husband.”
Marcus bowed. “You saved my life. I am the one who should be thanking God for putting you in my path.”
“Mayhap we are both blessed.”
“I like to think so.” Marcus bowed over Betty’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you for everything, ma’am. I do hope you will come and visit us either in London or at my country estate in Hertfordshire.”
“I would like that
immensely
,” Betty said. “Although I am not sure I am worthy to mix with the highest in the land—”
“Ma’am you are worth more than most of them, I can assure you of that.” Marcus smiled down at Betty. “I’m sure Amelia will write and tell you all the news as soon as we arrive home.”
Amelia moved to stand beside Marcus. “Indeed I will. We both have a lot to thank you for.”
“Oh, now you’ll make me weep from happiness.” Betty produced her lace handkerchief and dabbed daintily at her nose. “Get along with you both.”
Marcus took Amelia’s hand and walked her down the path to where their carriage awaited them. He conferred briefly with the coachman and then they were on their way to the next village. The rain had disappeared, leaving the skies blue with the occasional puff of white cloud. Behind the house the sea roared and ebbed as the tide came in.
“Are you all right?” Marcus asked.
“I’m holding up remarkably well,” Amelia reassured him. “And by the way, I meant everything I said to Betty. You really have nothing to thank me for.”
“I disagree. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t cared for me.”
“I wonder if that’s true? Someone must have deliberately placed you in our village because we know you didn’t get there alone.”
His smile was wry. “I certainly don’t remember how I got there.”
“Did someone expect me to find you or was there another person involved who was supposed to find you and came up empty handed?”
“It’s an interesting theory.”
“Considering Captain Fury, the smuggler, is interested in you and Jack, perhaps you were meant to be found by his employees.”
“A notion I will explore if I ever encounter Captain Fury again.” Marcus sat back and rubbed his forehead.
“Do you have a headache?” Amelia asked.
“Just a little twinge in my temples. Don’t worry, I’ll get through this next ordeal and then I’ll take myself off to bed. You don’t mind if we stay down here for the night, do you?”
“Not at all. I could go and see Mr. Tatlock by myself,” Amelia offered.
“I’d rather be with you. I have more countenance.”
“Being an earl.”
“Exactly.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the comfort of the leather. “Wake me up when we arrive.”
“My lady, I do have some papers that were sent home by your first husband and given to me by Mr. Jonathan Smith for safekeeping.” Mr. Tatlock’s gaze moved between Amelia and Marcus.
“Would it be possible for me to see them?” Amelia asked.
“In most cases, I would have to seek permission from Mr. Smith himself, but in this instance, considering the nature of the documents that were left with me, I believe Mr. Smith would be more than agreeable to you seeing them.”
Mr. Tatlock rose from his seat. “I happen to have the Smith papers available because I recently redrafted the ownership documents for Dove Cottage making Miss Betty a tenant for life and Mr. Jonathan Smith the owner.” He went to the door and held a low-voiced conversation with his clerk. “This will just take a minute.”
Amelia managed a smile and then tried to remember to breathe as Mr. Tatlock took a box from his clerk and brought it back to his desk.
“Ah, here we are. The letter Mr. Matthew Smith sent back with the papers was quite explicit. Would you care to read it?”
Marcus spoke for the first time. “Perhaps you might read it out to us both, Mr. Tatlock? It would save time.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Mr. Tatlock cleared his throat. “‘To whom it may concern. I, Matthew George Smith, place in the care of my brother and his heirs these documents pertaining to my wife, Amelia. If my wife should ever inquire as to this matter, I give permission for all the pertinent documents to be seen by her and returned to her if requested. Signed Matthew G Smith and witnessed by two officers of the 95
th
’.”
Mr. Tatlock looked up. “There is also another letter addressed specifically to your wife, my lord, which has not been opened.” He grimaced. “It was only recently discovered when we had cause to reorder the family papers. I do beg your pardon for not delivering it sooner, my lady. Mr. Smith fully intended for me to forward it onto you when we had your new address.” He broke the seal of the thick parchment parcel and untied the ribbons. “Would you care to come and examine the documents, my lady?”
Amelia rose and walked over to the desk. There was one letter addressed to her in Matthew’s familiar handwriting. The rest of the letters bore the scrawl of her brothers Tom and Edward.
Her heart stuttered in her chest and she pressed her hand hard to her bosom. What on earth had
happened
? Why had all these letters—all this proof of her brothers concern for her—been withheld? She glanced beseechingly over her shoulder at Marcus and he instantly rose to his feet and came to her side.
“We are staying at the local hostelry tonight. Would it be possible for my wife to take these missives and read them at her leisure? We will return to speak to you on the morrow before we depart for London.”
Amelia brushed her shaking fingers over the pile of letters. “I do have one question, Mr. Tatlock.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Was there any money in these letters?”
“If there was, it is no longer there. All the letters, apart from the one addressed to you, have been opened.”
“So I see.”
“Let me gather them up for you and put them back in the box,” Mr. Tatlock said.
“Thank you.”
Within minutes, Marcus was saying all that was proper and escorting her out of the solicitor’s office. She clutched the box to her chest as he walked with her along the village street.
“The inn is just up here.”
She followed him inside the old thatched building and they were ushered upstairs into what she assumed was the best bedroom by the obsequious landlord, who was bowing so deeply his nose almost grazed his knee. Marcus again managed the situation with his usual ease and they were finally alone. He shut the door and came toward her, leaning in to untie the ribbons of her bonnet and remove it from her head.
“Do you want me to stay with you? If you prefer it, I can go down to the tap room and order dinner.”
“You are most welcome to stay.” She heard herself speak but had no idea what to say next.
She placed the box on the knotted rag rug in front of the fire and sank down beside it while Marcus took the chair.
With trembling fingers, she took out Matthew’s letter, broke the seal and began to read.
My dearest Amelia,
If you are reading this letter you have probably discovered how I kept you apart from your family in the early years of our marriage. Looking back, I cannot believe I decided that this course of action was appropriate for a man of honor and integrity to pursue.
My love for you and my fear of losing you to your family—a family who could offer you all the material comforts and wealth that I never could—dictated my actions. By the time I was secure enough in my belief of your love for me, it was too late to change what I had done, and, unfortunately, your brothers had already ceased to write to you.
I ask your forgiveness. I was fearful of losing you, but that does not mean I am not guilty of falsely separating you from those who also loved and cared about you. Your brothers sent you money, which my family solicitor in London invested in funds to provide you with an income if I didn’t survive the war. I do hope that, at least, has brought you some comfort.
I cannot change what I did, but please remember that I will always love you in life and in death, and if you have reconciled with your family, I wish you joy in that as well.
Yours, Matthew
Amelia put the letter down on her knee and took a deep breath and then another before looking up at Marcus. A cold white blankness filled her thoughts as if she had wandered into a landscape where she had no points of reference. She handed him the letter and he put on his spectacles to read it.
“He sounds genuinely repentant.” Marcus’s tone was nonjudgmental. “And he used the money to secure your long-term future.”
“Yes.” Amelia took the letter back, folded it and placed it on the floor beside the others from her brothers. “I still cannot believe he chose to deceive me in this way. I thought we knew everything about each other and that there were no lies between us.”
Marcus reached for her hand. “I suspect we all lie at some point in our lives—sometimes to prevent what we perceive will be disastrous consequences.” He paused. “If Matthew had given you the letters—would you have been tempted to leave him?”
Amelia stared into the fire for a long moment. “In the first year—especially after I lost the baby—yes, I suppose I might have considered it.”
“Then was he right or wrong to conceal them from you?”
“His intentions were honorable, but I still feel as if this tarnishes him in some way.” Amelia shook her head as her voice broke. “I can’t quite explain it. Maybe it is because we prefer to see the dead as shining examples of virtue and forget their faults. Matthew was no saint, but I thought he loved me without reserve.”
“Perhaps he did.”
She raised her head to look at him and realized she was crying. The heat of her tears against her cold skin was quite shocking. “How can you
say
that?”
“Because he wanted to keep you with him, because he knew that was the right thing for both of you.” Marcus hesitated. “If you’d left him and gone home, what would have happened to you?”
“My parents would’ve sent me to live with some distant relatives in disgrace, and my name would have been struck from the family records.”
“And would that have been better than staying with Matthew and becoming the strong, independent woman that you are now?”
“It would have stopped me seeing him dying,” she whispered. “I would not have suffered that.”
He cupped her cheek, his expression infinitely gentle. “When you love someone and they leave you alone, you grieve for them. That is true, but would you rather have had nothing?”
“I…” She blinked hard to try and stop the flood of tears. “How can you say this when you have suffered so badly yourself?”
“Because my suffering has brought me here—back to my family and to you.” His smile was wry. “I cannot regret my path, although I might wish it hadn’t been quite so hard to survive.” He kissed her mouth. “Don’t cry.”
She kissed him back rising to her knees to wrap one hand around his neck.
“It’s all right to grieve for him, Amelia. It’s also all right to feel angry, confused and uncertain.”
“I don’t know how I feel,” she murmured, her voice clogged with all the conflicting sensations she couldn’t seem to express. “I don’t
know
how to feel anything anymore or what to trust.”
“You can trust me.” His smile was wry. “You’ve seen me at my worst. I have nothing left to hide from you.”
She slowly nodded, gripping his hand as if he was the only constant in her life.
“Do you want to eat dinner?” he murmured.
“No. I want you.”
“All of me?”
She nodded fiercely.
“Then let me lock the door.”
He helped her rise and walked across the room to bolt the heavy door. While his back was turned, Amelia hurriedly undid the buttons of her bodice and her tight, long sleeves. He helped her, loosening the ties of her stays and petticoats so she could ease everything from her tired and overwrought body.
Even as he worked to free her, she undressed him, shoving his coat to the floor and attacking the silver buttons of his waistcoat. What if he changed his mind? What if he, too, wasn’t the man she thought he was?
He gripped her wrist very gently. “It’s all right, Amelia. I’m not going anywhere. We have all the time in the world.”
She shook her head, refusing to slow down, and he didn’t attempt to reason with her again. When she was naked, he added his fingers to hers until he was unclothed and guiding her back toward the bed, their mouths already fused together in an endless kiss.
He rolled her onto her back and covered her, one knee pushing between her thighs, making a place for himself that she willingly ceded. She curved her fingers around the back of his skull and held him still.
“This isn’t about Matthew.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is.”
“I feel as if I’ve lost him,” she whispered.
“He’ll come back to you,” Marcus reassured her with soft kisses and long strokes of his hands over her quivering flesh. “You’ll find him again.”
She arched her back, and he groaned her name as his stiff cock slid against her stomach.
“God, I want you so much, Marcus.”
“Then let us take this moment, to celebrate our survival and our marriage because if fate had been less kind, neither of us would be in this bed.”
“That’s true.”
He rocked his hips, bringing the crown of his cock against her needy flesh. “Then let me in and love me as if we have survived the worst of storms.”
He slid home and Amelia wrapped her arms and legs around him like the true survivor she was and held on.
When Marcus opened his eyes it was dark and he could hear the rumble of voices in the tavern below. He was still lying on top of Amelia—both of them sunk deep into the cavernous feather mattress of the big bed. With a groan he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the beamed ceiling.
So Matthew Smith had lied to his wife. Would he have done the same? Quite possibly, if it meant that he got to keep Amelia by his side. It was wrong but it still made sense to Marcus. The question was what would Amelia do with the knowledge? And what would happen if he were ever in a similar situation? He’d been so damned lucky to find her, would he ever be able to let her go?