Marshall chuckled and pulled the sheets out of her grasp. "Do your lovers usually sneak out in the middle of the night?"
"Of course not," she laughed. She tried to retrieve the sheets.
"Don't be shy."
"I'm not shy. I'm just--"
"Modest?" Marshall grinned. "I saw every part of you last night."
Just as she had seen every part of him. She trembled at the memory. "It was dark then."
He ran his fingertips down the side of her body. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
Isabel looked away, images of the night before flashed through her mind. She glanced up at him. "Please let me have the sheet."
The fire in Marshall's eyes had returned. His movement toward her was almost imperceptible, but she knew he would soon be atop her. "I can think of a much more delightful way to cover your body."
She scooted away, her back pressed into the headboard. "Marshall!"
"All right. You win." He tossed her the sheet, thereby revealing his own body.
She wrapped herself in the bed linens and tried to focus on his face. "Don't you need to be somewhere?"
"Like work?" He shook his head. "I don't want to work anymore. I only want to be with you."
"Be serious." She stared at the wall behind him. "You have to work."
"No, I don't. Not if there's no room for you in my life."
He was serious, she realized with a start. Her entire body reacted to the thought. "What do you mean, Marshall?"
He seized the edge of the sheet and pulled her into his arms. "I want you, Isabel. I love you."
Her heart pounded at the realization of her dreams. She never thought she'd hear those words escape his lips. Had never even dared to hope. Isabel blinked away the tears and tried to focus on his face. "Do you mean it?"
"I'm tied to you irrevocably, Isabel. I can't let you go."
It was difficult to breath, to absorb everything all at once. Her heart was beating frighteningly fast. Isabel wrapped her arms around Marshall's neck. "I didn't imagine you could feel that way."
He caressed her, leaving a tingling trail from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. "You should have realized it last night."
Now, of course, it seemed so clear. He'd shown her his love, just as she'd revealed hers. She brushed her lips against his bearded chin. "It was wonderful last night, but I wasn't sure if it was as meaningful to you as it was to me."
"I'd have to be a corpse not to be affected."
Isabel didn't take her eyes off his face, afraid he'd disappear if she looked away. She was terrified that the lightheadedness she felt was due to it all being a dream, a fuzzy fantasy from the edge of her subconscious.
Marshall kissed her forehead, leaving behind a tiny moist mark that felt cool in the early morning chill. "When I woke up beside you this morning, I felt I was the luckiest man in the world. You're any man's dream. I'm willing to give up everything to have you."
There was the rub. The imperfect element to her happy day and the proof that she was firmly enmeshed in reality. She leaned back a little. "But, Marshall, you could lose your position in the Parliament. Any hance you had of becoming a Junior Lord. Isn't that what you told me before?"
His expression was impassive. "I said that before I realized I was staring my dreams in the face, dreams I had completely given up on."
It seemed too easy. Too pat. She squeezed his shoulders. "How are you so sure now?"
"I told you, Isabel. I woke up beside you. I memorized every inch of while you lay there in the sunlight. I
know
."
"But . . ." she started, but couldn't finish. She'd gotten herself into a mess.
He thought he knew everything when, in reality, he knew nothing. She was an heiress, for god's sake! She had kept things from him that were most elemental to her personality. She had done it and thought nothing of love. Many days, she worried he would discover the truth and endanger her position. Then, she'd worried about his endangering himself. Not once had she considered the possibility that he would fall in love with her and make any subsequent revelation from her side the ultimate betrayal.
If he loved her as much as he said, as much as he seemed to when she gazed into his eyes, maybe it wouldn't matter. She was an heiress and therefore wouldn't impede his aspirations. He could essentially have his cake and eat it too.
Isabel shook her head. Her guilt made it ache profusely. "I refuse to let you give everything up for me."
"I knew you'd hate the idea of me sacrificing myself for you, but that's because you have a good heart. I didn't expect you to support my decision."
"That's not the only reason I disagree with it, Marshall."
Confidence in his gaze, Marshall replied, "Well, you cannot prevent it, Isabel. I've already done the deed."
She tucked her dark hair behind her ears. "I don't understand."
"I resigned."
No, she must have misheard. Isabel scooted closer to him. "What? Please tell me you're teasing."
"I'm not," he replied, expression quite serious for a man entirely naked. "I resigned yesterday morning."
Isabel snapped her gaze away from his strong body. "Why didn't you say that last night?"
"It didn't occur to me."
No! What had she done? Isabel trembled to think of what kind of reaction he'd have on discovering everything he knew about her was a lie. She needed more time to think.
"Miss Balfour?" A voice came a voice from outside the door. It sounded like Mary, one of the maids.
Isabel gasped and yanked the covers away from him to cover her nakedness. "Someone is going to catch you in here," she hissed.
Marshall laughed, then whispered, "When we announce our engagement, it won't matter."
The doorknob rattled. "Miss Balfour? Is the door stuck?"
"That's a pretty decent excuse," Marshall mused. "Too bad we're not at the townhouse."
She stared at the lock on the door, grateful for the foresight. "What is it, Mary?"
"Mrs. Templeton would like to see you downstairs."
"Thank you, Mary." Isabel slid to the edge of the bed. "Tell her I'll be down in a moment."
Marshall's large hand gripped her waist. "Where are you going?"
"You heard her. To see Mrs. Templeton."
"Now?" he demanded, his eyes liable to pop out of his head.
Isabel placed his hand on the mattress, then set her feet onto the floor. She went to her dressing table. "I need some time to think."
Marshall got out of bed and, his back to her, retrieved his trousers and shirt from the floor. After he'd finished putting them on, he walked to the door. "I thought this would be a lot . . . easier."
"Yes, well . . . there are some things you don't understand."
"Explain them to me," he said. He stared into her eyes, waiting.
"Later."
"Fine." He left the room.
"Miss Balfour, please come in." Jane was seated on the horsehair sofa, a tea service laid out on the small table before her. "Would you like some tea?"
"I would be delighte Thank you." Isabel sat across from her in a club chair, more than a little apprehensive about the conversation to come. What could Jane possibly have to say to her? Isabel gnawed on her bottom lip and wondered if she knew where Marshall had spent the night and if that was what she wished to talk about.
No. That was highly unlikely. Jane would never presume to bring up such a subject. Good etiquette decried it.
Jane poured out the tea into two delicate bone china cups. "This is difficult for me to say, Miss Balfour."
"Please, Mrs. Templeton, come right out and say it. I promise I won't react poorly."
"Oh no, it isn't bad."
Isabel sipped her tea, waiting.
"I spoke to Paige a few moments ago. We're going riding as soon as she's changed into her habit."
Isabel exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding and smiled. Even though she hadn't had much time to think directly on it, she'd worried that last night's game would only have negative consequences. It was good to be wrong. "That sounds like great fun."
"If you would like to join us--"
"No, thank you. You should be alone."
Jane nodded. "Maybe next time."
Isabel sipped her tea, waiting. She was sure Jane hadn't invited her downstairs merely to inform her of her riding plans.
Jane deposited her cup on the table, the spoon rattling in the saucer. "I want to thank you for everything you've done for my family."
Isabel felt a funny feeling in her stomach and looked away. "You don't need to thank me."
"But you've made such a difference with Paige. I wouldn't hesitate to call it a breakthrough."
She set down her cup, spoon inside, and Jane immediately refilled it with tea. "Paige is a good girl. It has been difficult for her these past few years."
"All because I've been too foolish to see what was right under my nose!"
"I can't pretend to know what you're going through, Mrs. Templeton, but don't blame yourself. I can see that you want the best for Paige."
"I do," she said. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. "I just wish you had come to us sooner."
Isabel shook her head. No words of consolation escaped her lips. She was a fraud. A complete fake. Jane wouldn't be so thankful if she knew who was really living under her roof.
An heiress playing a dangerous game of hide and seek.
She also knew exactly how Jane would react. Indignation at being tricked and embarrassment at having treated an equal as a commoner. Isabel released her teacup, spoon in saucer. "Please don't, Mrs. Templeton. I don't think I did anything monumental."
Jane dabbed her moist eyes. "But you did, just the same," she said. "You gave me back my daughter. I know you orchestrated that game last night."
Isabel stared into her empty cup.
"I also want to apologize for treating you poorly in the beginning. Though it's no excuse, I was of the same mindset as my daughter. I've become too accustomed to scheming governesses."
"I understand."
Jane folded the handkerchief neatly and placed it on the arm of the couch. "Which brings me to another thing Paige tells me is to your credit."
Isabel leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. "Yes?"
"Is it true you openly criticized Mr. Templeton for his affairs?"
Isabel raised her eyebrows. "Well, I suppose I did. I was furious with his selfish behavior concerning Paige. He had no thought in his head of how his affairs were affecting his daughter."
"Then you'll be happy to hear that he listened to you."
Edward listened to her? She didn't believe it for a moment. Isabel shook her head. "Surely, you're mistaken."
Jane fluffed the pillows on the couch and replied, "Last night, he . . . apologized."
"He did?"
"Yes." Jane dropped the pillow. "It may not seem like much to you, but for Edward, it's a lot."
"I understand." Isabel stood. "I should go--"
"Yes, I know." Jane smiled.
Apprehensive about what the woman knew, Isabel crossed the drawing room and out to leave the room when Jane cleared her throat.
"I won't stand between you and Marshall," she said.
Isabel tripped over the edge of the rug. She steadied herself by gripping the doorframe. "Pardon me?"
"You've helped me, so I want to help you. You're a good woman, Miss Balfour."
Tears welled in her eyes; Isabel didn't know how she could feel guiltier. Now, not only did Marshall want to marry a governess, Jane was welcoming her into the family. She hoped they would be as accepting of a liar. Isabel smiled weakly. "Thank you, Mrs. Templeton. I appreciate your generosity."
"It's the least I can do," Jane said, then stood and reached for the bell pull. "Let me know if I can help you with anything."
Isabel nodded and left the room. She almost ran into the butler as he gave directions to one of the maids. Isabel hurried after them down the hall. "Did Mr. Templeton leave the house yet?"
"It's not for me to keep track of the family's goings about," the butler replied.
"Just tell me if he left!" she exclaimed.
A nearby maid giggled. "Mr. Templeton left only moments before."
"Thank you," she said, a genuine smile sprang onto her lips.
Isabel turned and ran outside. The bright sun paralyzed her as her eyes tried to adjust. But she could see enough to climb down the steps and hurry toward the sloping lawn on the side of the house. As far as she knew, Marshall's had had no plans to join the hunt. He had to be socializing with the rest of the house guests.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. When she turned to face the unknown intruder, her mouth fell open. "Bethany!"
Not blinking an eye at the use of her Christian name, she replied, "Hello, Isabel."
Isabel searched the street, eyes darting back and forth, looking for Cyril. "Is Cyril with you?"
"No," Bethany replied, strangely reticent. She wore an oversized cloak in the cooler than usual weather.
Isabel watched her cousin's paramour, wondering at her impractical dress and her strange expression. She backed up and moved closer to the manor house. "Miss Tavish, what are you doing here?"
The woman made no attempt to smile . . . no attempt at familiarity. "I've come to see you, Lady Darton. Aren't you happy to see me?"
"We both know you aren't supposed to know where I am."
Bethany pretended confusion. "Why is that?"
Isabel took another step backward. "I forgot something inside. If you'll excuse me."
Bethany reached into her coat pocket and pointed a gun at Isabel's heart. "The only place you're going is with me."
Isabel stiffened, her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't close her mouth or move, only stare. "It was you?"
"Just come with me, Isabel. And whatever you do, don't scream." She waved the gun carelessly, as though she didn't realize any false move might set the gun off.
Isabel followed the gun's movements with her gaze. Scream? If only she could.
Bethany pointed with the weapon. "This way."