While You Were Spying (Regency Spies Book 0) (37 page)

She began to say something else, but he put his finger over her lips, leaned down, and kissed her gently. “Don’t make me into something I’m not, Francesca. I’m not a hero.” He arched a brow. “I’m bad, remember?”

She smiled.

“And my depravity will surely worsen now.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel, checking the time.

She laughed. “Why is that?”

“Because now that I’m to be an old married man, I suppose I’ll have to retire. Nothing to do but practice my wicked ways.”

She didn’t return his grin. “I haven’t agreed this wedding yet.”

“But you will.”

She let out a puff of air. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

He gave her a cocky grin. “No, just sure of you.” He kissed her lightly again, resisting the urge to linger. “Your father’s waiting for me, and I don’t know how long it will take to get the license. I may not see you again until tomorrow.” He moved toward the door.

“Ethan.” Something about her voice made him pause. “You never answered me. Why?”

He debated giving her a flippant answer. After all, he had no real fear that she wouldn’t acquiesce to the wedding tomorrow. He didn’t need to tell her the truth.

“Because it’s the only way to keep you safe. I want you with me in Yorkshire, at Winterbourne Hall, where nothing and no one can reach you.”

She pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor. “Of course.”

No, he didn’t need to tell her the truth. But he would anyway. He went to her, placed one finger under her chin, and nudged her face up to his.

“And because I need you. I was thinking of Victoria this morning, not only because I regretted the way I’d behaved, the way I lost control, but also because I regret what I allowed her to take from me—my ability to trust people, to believe in anyone. But I want to believe in you,
cara
. I want to trust you.”

His fingers spread out along her cheek, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. “I will marry you tomorrow, not because I feel obligated, but because I want to be with you.” His heart thudded in his chest at the words, the most difficult of any he’d ever uttered.

She opened her eyes, and he forced himself to go on.

“Marry me,
cara
.”

She paused for the briefest of moments. In that split second, the flash of fear and vulnerability that rose in him was so powerful it took all he had not to rescind the offer, to walk away, turn his back on her.

“I will,” he heard her whisper.

He’d never imagined two words could give him so much happiness. Or so much dread.

F
rancesca watched Ethan climb the luxurious coach and four and settle on the plush green-and-gold squabs across from her and Lino. He frowned at the dog. Lino gave a yip, and Francesca laughed.

“He’s ready.” Ethan nodded to Lino then looked at her. “Are you?”

She held her breath as his warm amber gaze flowed over her. This was it. The beginning of her new life. She took a deep breath before nodding. Eyes never leaving her face, Ethan rapped twice on the roof of the coach, and the vehicle lurched into motion.

Ethan. Her husband. Though she still wore her wedding attire, she could hardly believe she was a marchioness now. She glanced down at her pale flowing gown with its wide pink ribbon sashed just above her waist. The bouquet of pink and white roses she clutched matched the wreath in her hair. She was a bride.

Ethan’s wife.

His wife! Her heart swelled with happiness she feared she could not contain. She wanted to laugh, run, jump, scream. She was married to Ethan Caxton. It was a dream come true.

Halfway down the drive, Francesca tore her attention from her new husband and stuck her head out the window to wave to her family. They had gathered together in a tight cluster, the servants lined up according to rank behind her parents. Her father stood with a supportive arm around her mother’s waist. She liked the image. It was just as she wanted to remember them.

Francesca clutched her hands together to staunch a flood of tears. She would miss everyone so much, but she couldn’t deny that she was ecstatic at the prospect of her new life in Yorkshire. From all accounts, the Yorkshire countryside was wild and beautiful, and Winterbourne Hall was supposed to be very grand.

And
she
would be its mistress. She shook her head in disbelief.

She gave one last wave, and her brother, John, who’d just arrived the night before from Eton, returned it. Lucia was beside John, but her sister’s eyes were not on the carriage. Rather she was watching Selbourne; he’d already turned away and strode down the path to the stables.

“Oh, Lord,” Francesca murmured. Lucia had been at Selbourne’s side since setting eyes on him this morning—an instant infatuation. A harmless one as well, Francesca had decided, since she knew enough of Ethan and his brother to trust that Alex would never take advantage of a mere girl.

Still Francesca had warned her sister not to set her sights on Lord Selbourne. His reputation was appalling—worse than Ethan’s.

But Lucia hadn’t seemed to register the advice. As soon as Francesca had said his name, Lucia had gazed wistfully at Selbourne. “Isn’t he just the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?”

Francesca waved until she couldn’t see her family anymore, and then she stared out the window, trying to commit everything to memory—the little thatched cottages, the rise and fall of the road, the brooks and streams and quaint bridges. She looked long and hard until she no longer recognized the landscape and then she sat back in her seat and looked at Ethan.

Her husband.

His brows rose in question when she looked away from the window. “See anything new?”

“No. I don’t want to forget any of it.”

“I know.”

And she believed he did. He’d always seemed to understand her love of Tanglewilde and the Hampshire countryside. She would miss it so much.

Her wistful feelings must have shown on her face.

“We’ll come back to visit, and you’ll like Yorkshire.” His voice was confident, reassuring. “The landscape is much wilder than what you’re used to, far less tame.” He grinned. “It will definitely suit you.”

Yorkshire—her new home with her new husband. Though she would miss Hampshire, she would have gone to the ends of the world with Ethan.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not wild or untamed. I think you’ll find soon enough how terribly ordinary I am.”

Her voice was light as she spoke, but deep down the prospect did worry her. How could she—plain, unsophisticated Francesca Dashing—ever hope to keep the interest of a man like the Marquess of Winterbourne, even if he was her husband? As much as she wanted it to be, their marriage wasn’t a true marriage. Not yet. It would only be a true marriage when Ethan trusted her and opened his heart to her. She had to make him fall in love with her...somehow.

Ethan leaned forward and took her hands. “You’re anything but ordinary,
cara
. You surprise me every day.”

Astonished, she sputtered, “I do?”

“Part of the reason I wanted to marry you.” He winked. “Keep my life interesting.” He pulled her forward until she was on the edge of her seat, and then he cupped her face and kissed her. The kiss deepened, and she felt his arms come around her, urging her into his lap. She reached for him and heard a sharp yip. When she didn’t respond, Lino yapped again and jumped on her legs. A moment later, he stuck his wet nose between them and began licking their chins.

Ethan swore, breaking the kiss, but Francesca laughed and gave Lino an affectionate pat on the head. “Poor baby. I think he wants some attention.”

“I know the feeling,” Ethan mumbled, sitting back once more.

Francesca scratched Lino behind the ears, under the chin, and rubbed his tummy until the puppy was content and sleeping on the cushion beside her. Then she glanced back at Ethan. He brooded, sitting far back in his seat, arms crossed, and a frown on his face. She still found him irresistibly handsome.

“We’re actually married,” she said, ignoring his bad mood because, since she’d gotten her way and convinced him to allow her to bring Lino and most of her other babies with them, she could afford to be magnanimous.

“I believe that was the purpose of the ceremony this morning,” he grumbled.

Francesca thought back to the simple wedding. She had never been so happy. She felt safe and warm with Ethan beside her, his steady voice confident as he’d said his vows. He’d pledged to keep and protect her, love and cherish her until death. She wondered if he took his vows as seriously as she took hers.

Since their conversation in the library the morning before, she felt closer to him. He’d finally told her the truth about Victoria and the terrible tragedy that had befallen his sister—even hinting about his involvement with the Foreign Office, though not elaborating, of course. She understood his wariness and distrust better now. It was obvious Ethan didn’t trust people because he was afraid of being hurt again.

Not that he would ever admit to being afraid, but in her mind that was the crux of the matter. Fear and a sense of self-protection. And those were two emotions she could understand very well. Hadn’t they played a part in her own reluctance to reveal her abuse at Roxbury’s hands?

He needed her as much as she needed him, and he had said he wanted to trust her. If only he would allow her into his heart. If only he could love her...

She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the grueling past few days pressing down on her. She couldn’t make him love her or trust her. But she would try.

T
he next morning Francesca had a vague recollection of Ethan carrying her, her cheek pressed against his chest, and his scent of leather and sandalwood. When she’d peered through heavy lids to ask where they were, he’d murmured, “Sleep,
cara
.”

Now she looked through the coach curtains at the inn yard and wondered how she could have slept so soundly. She didn’t even know if Ethan had slept in the same bed as she.

A moment later, he climbed into the coach and a footman shut the door.

“Where’s Lino?” she asked.

He grinned, eyes dark with promise. Francesca’s breath hitched.

“In the coach with your maid and Pocket.”

“Oh, but Mr. Pocklington won’t like that,” she said, rising. “He detests dog hair, and—”

“Francesca.” Ethan’s hand on hers stopped her. “Pocket will be fine.” His fingers brushed against the inside of her wrist, and she abruptly sat back down.

“Did you sleep well?” Something about the velvet tone of his voice caused her to snap her eyes to his. His gaze roved over her, and she felt the warmth of his perusal cut the November chill. “You were exhausted. Didn’t even wake when I carried you up the stairs.”

“I woke for a moment.”

“Mmm.” He kissed her knuckles, making her she realize that in her haste this morning she’d forgotten her gloves.

“Then you slept well?” he asked again, running his lips over her fingers.

She stared at his mouth, transfixed by the sensuous curve of his lips. Lips she was beginning to know so well, lips that had touched her so intimately, lips that were touching her again now.

“Francesca?” he murmured.

“Yes?” she whispered. Then, “Oh, I slept like the dead.”

“Mmm.” He moved his thumb to trace a lazy circle on her palm. She took a shuddering breath.

“I noticed. You barely fluttered an eyelash when I undressed you.”

His finger brushed against the inside of her wrist, and she gasped.

“Y-you undressed me?” she managed, hoping her face didn’t look too much like a tomato. She knew she shouldn’t be so embarrassed. She was his wife, after all, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her unclothed. But when his gaze swept down her body and back up again, she heated in every pore where his stare lingered, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d inspected her so thoroughly the night before.

“Where did you sleep?” She averted her eyes, looking quickly at her simple traveling gown. He didn’t answer right away, and when she looked away from the russet material and into his eyes, she saw they were lit with mischief.

“With you.” He crossed to her, and she leaned back, pressing herself against the soft squabs of the carriage. Now that she was sufficiently captured, he lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against hers. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered.

“Drove me mad. Your body, warm and silky, curled up next to mine.”

Her body was swimming with desire. Her cheeks alone were so hot that she feared they’d burst into flame. And that wasn’t the only part of her suffering from excess warmth at the moment.

“God, I wanted you.” He ran his tongue lightly over her earlobe.

She let out a stifled cry.

“But you slept the night away. Peaceful. Serene. While I was in Hell.”

“I never knew you were so much the gentleman.” His desire for her made her bold, playful. The blatant longing she’d seen in his eyes stunned her. She would have never believed a man would look at her as he did, especially not a man like Ethan. She could feel his need pulsing in him, and the knowledge that he wanted her was empowering.