Rain stroked the soft fur of Sir Claws with one hand as she flipped the pages of her book with the other. After the run-in with Marcus the previous evening, she had avoided him all day. It was cowardly, but she couldn't face him. Not yet. The way his kiss had affected her had been too mortifying. Even more so having to admit it and ask him to ensure they would not consummate their marriage.
In her efforts to avoid her husband, she had even foregone going to Lady Yates's musical evening; a popular event for which everyone coveted an invitation. She had worried Marcus would join her after she had told him he needed to for their deal, and the idea of sitting next to him for an entire evening made her insides flutter. So she had made sure she didn't see him. It wasn't too difficult, as he spent most of his time in his study. But to be safe, she'd even taken her supper in her room.
With a frustrated huff, she closed the book. She couldn't focus, anyway. All she could think about was the way Marcus's lips had felt against her own. His hand in her hair. And how he had remained calm enough to hold on to his bloody drink. It was so unfair! Anger burned through her at the unfairness of it all, and she picked the book up and hurled it across the room, watching as it hit the wall on the other side with a satisfying thud before falling to the floor.
Lady Whiskers jumped up from where she'd been sleeping on a cushion and gave her a disapproving glare. The calico cat was another of her many strays that she kept collecting. This particular one had bonded so well with Sir Claws that they were happiest when in the same room, and Rain didn't have the heart to separate them. Which was why her room was now overrun with a litter of kittens.
A knock on the door made Lady Whiskers slink underneath a chair. She was still shy to any human other than her, especially men. Their butler couldn't go anywhere near her without her escaping the room and disappearing for hours.
"Yes?" she called out as she made sure her dressing gown covered her properly.
The door opened and Marcus came inside. Unlike the previous night, he was still properly dressed, cravat neatly in place. And no glass of brandy in his hands. His gaze swept over her where she sat in bed with the cat in her lap. It was strangely reminiscent of their wedding night when he had found her in a similar position with the same cat. He must have realised the same as his brows knotted.
"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I heard a bang."
Her cheeks warmed. "Yes. I just had a disagreement with a book."
"Oh?" He quirked a dark eyebrow. "Was the ending not to your liking?"
"I knew the ending before I began reading," she said. "So no, that was not the issue."
"I'm sure we can find you a more agreeable book, the—" His words halted as he realised what she'd said. "Wait. You know the ending?"
She nodded, stroking Sir Claws gently to occupy her hands. "Yes. I always read the last page before I start a book. So I know if I will enjoy it."
"Why would anyone do that? That takes away all the surprise. The anticipation." He shook his head, obviously unable to fathom why anyone would choose to do such a thing.
"There are a lot of books in this world. I do not wish to waste my time reading one if the ending will be disappointing."
"I suppose I cannot argue with that." He hesitated, his eyes flickering between her and the bed. It wasn't the large four-poster one in his room, but it was very similar. He cleared his throat. "Have you been avoiding me?"
The direct question surprised her. She shook her head. Then she nodded. "Yes."
He seemed to consider her answer, before asking, "Why?"
Feeling too vulnerable sitting in bed, she moved Sir Claws away—who looked offended at having been evicted from his sleeping spot—and moved to stand on the opposite side, keeping it between her and Marcus. Like a big, cumbersome shield.
"Last night was embarrassing."
"How so?"
She let out an abrupt laugh. Was he truly so oblivious? "I admitted to being weak around you! I made you promise to uphold our deal. Surely you must see how that is mortifying?"
"If you're attracted to me," he said slowly, taking a step into the room. "I would consider that a positive development. It is nothing to be ashamed of. I'm attracted to you."
"Oh?" she scoffed, even as her stomach lurched awkwardly at his admission. Not sure what to believe, she pointed out the obvious. "You didn't even put your glass down while you kissed me!"
"There was nowhere nearby, and I was not inclined to move away from you at that point." He took another step towards her, having to step over a kitten darting across the floor. "And it was probably for the best that I could not take you in my arms. I would not want to frighten you."
Intrigued, she moved to the corner of the bed frame and grabbed hold of the wooden post. "What do you mean?"
The dark look in his eyes caused a shiver of anticipation to travel down her spine. "Despite appearances, I am a passionate man, Rain. And I have deprived myself of the touch of a woman for far too long. I would hate to frighten you with the intensity of my desires."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. His impassionate face and impeccable appearance made him seem so unattainable. So indifferent. But the fire in his eyes spoke of something else entirely. He could normally hide his emotions behind a blank stare, but tonight was different. Why, she didn't know, but it awakened something similar within her. A dark yearning to find out exactly what he was speaking of.
Her mind finally registered his words completely. "How long has it been since you've... been with anyone?"
"Too long."
She made a face. "You do enjoy giving vague answers."
There was a moment's silence as he considered her words, then he nodded slightly. "I have not been with anyone since I ended the arrangement with my mistress."
"I didn't realise you had a mistress." And if she was honest, she instantly hated the idea of it. She knew a lot of the men of the ton had one, and with the state of their marriage, it shouldn't have surprised her that he did. But she still hated it.
"Not for a long time." He shrugged. "Not since before I pursued you during the Season."
"Before you pursued me?" Her head shot up.
"It didn't seem proper to court a lady one day and visit a mistress another."
"You have different values to many of your peers."
"That is not necessarily a bad thing."
She let out a surprised laugh. "True." Sobering, she met his direct gaze. "You truly have not been with another woman since we married?"
"Truly."
It didn't escape her notice that he did not ask her the same question. She knew why. They both did. The bitter memory extinguished the fire in his eyes, and he sketched a curt bow.
"If everything is well in here, which it appears to be, I will take my leave. Good night, Miranda."
So she was back to her full name again. She flashed him a wry smile. "Good night, Marcus."
Cursing himself, Marcus tried again to focus on the papers in front of him but was no more successful than he had been for most of the day. The last two evenings with Rain had affected him more than he cared to admit. He had never intended to kiss her in the parlour, but after her angry assault, he had been unable to restrain himself. The quick succession of kisses—pecks, really—had done nothing but whet his appetite for more. More of her kisses. More of Rain.
To think she had asked him to uphold the tenets of their agreement was ludicrous at best. He wanted nothing more than to show her exactly how faulty any assumption of his impotence was. Then, last night, seeing her in her room in bed had brought back so many painful memories of their wedding night. But also every wish of what they could have had if he had not squandered their chance to be together. If he had been better at vocalising his motivations, perhaps she never would have rushed into his brother's arms that night.
Unless that had been her plan all along. He didn't want to consider the possibility, but it had nagged at him in the back of his mind ever since. Perhaps what he had said to her wasn't true. Maybe being attracted to each other wasn't a good thing. The bitter reminder of finding her in Dash's bed left him with rivalling emotions. Part of him wanted to let her go, to never have to see her again. Never be reminded of the worst night of his life. The other part wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she no longer remembered the taste of his brother. Hike up her skirts and bury himself in her until the memory of any other man faded from her mind.
"What have you scowling so?" Winter's voice made his head jerk up as his friend entered the study. Perhaps he should rescind the standing instructions to the servants to always allow his friend entrance to the house.
"You're early," he muttered. "Thomson has not arrived yet."
Thomson was the agent at the War Office assigned to inform them about the case of the missing list. He had reached out to request today's meeting, claiming he had new information. They had worked with him in the past. A decent agent, but Marcus was less than impressed by the War Office's handling of the current case. They should do more, considering the importance of the missing item. A list detailing the names and aliases of all current and former spies? One would think the entire staff of the Home Office would get involved. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could be disastrous. The war against Napoleon might be over, but that did not mean the enemies had all vanished.
"I wanted to get here before he did." Winter gave him a perceptive look, and he was rather glad for his usually stony face. The last thing he wanted was for his friend—or anyone, really—to be prying into his private life. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes." He shifted one of the piles of paper on his desk, pretending to be busy.
"How is it, being under the same roof as your wife again?"
Torture. He didn't reply, only continued moving stacks of paper and correspondence around his desk. Before his friend could ask anything further, there was a knock on the door and his butler let Thomson into the room. His staff knew well not to ask questions about some of the people that came to visit, and his butler didn't even announce the agent before disappearing again.
Thomson had a haunted look about him. His brown hair and beard looked as if he'd not groomed yet that day. When the man still did not speak, only stood there in the middle of the room, Marcus grew exasperated.
"You asked to see us," he said. "So speak."
The agent shifted from one foot to the other, but still didn't say a word.
"Thomson," Winter said, and the other man's head jerked up at his sharp tone. "Whatever news you bring, it won't be less awful if you wait to tell us, so you might as well spill."
With a sigh, Thomson dragged a hand over his beard. "We found him."
Winter straightened. "The man who stole the list?"
"Aye. He's dead." Thomson fell back into a chair, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling. Dark shadows under his eyes proved how weary he must be. "No sign of the list."
Marcus frowned as he considered the possibilities. "That's... unfortunate."
"Where did you find him?" Winter asked, always quick to want more information, while Marcus preferred to mull over each piece before getting the next.
Thomson ran a hand over his face and his eyes screwed shut. "At an inn a day or so from here. From asking around, we discovered he's been holed up there since he disappeared. But..." He opened his eyes again and leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees as he stared at them. "He'd been murdered." He took a deep breath. "Tortured."
"Tortured?"
"Aye. We reckon he either changed his mind about selling the list, or he wanted more money. Whatever the reason, we suspect the potential buyer—or someone else after the list—killed him."
This was grave news indeed. If the list ended up in the wrong hands, who knew what might happen. Marcus stood and put his hands on the desk as he leaned closer. "Do you think they have the list now? Are our names leaked?"
Thomson groaned. "I don't know. This is the issue. No one has made any claims to be in possession of the list. We have seen no movement against anyone on it. But it means nothing. They could be biding their time. They could be planning to sell it to someone else. Or our thief never told them where he hid it, and they're still looking. Your guess is as good as mine."
Winter closed his eyes as he massaged his temples. Marcus couldn't blame him. The sheer incompetence of Thomson and his fellow agents on this case was mind-boggling.
"What are you doing to solve this?" he asked.
"We're still trying to find the list, but without leads..." Thomson shrugged. "We're looking for a needle in a haystack."
"Find the Frenchman that wants the list," Winter said, echoing exactly what Marcus had been thinking himself. "You said there was an interested party. Surely he must be the first suspect in the murder?"
"We can't find him. He's vanished."
Another poor excuse while their former colleagues and families were possibly in danger. His temper sparking, Marcus snapped, "Look harder!"
Winter gave him an amused glance. Signs of temper were rare for him, which his friend was well aware of. "Living in the same house as your wife getting to you?"
The mocking comment earned his friend nothing but an annoyed glare.
"We're doing our best," Thomson muttered.
"It's not good enough." Walking around his desk, Marcus came to stand next to Winter. "People don't vanish into thin air. Find the Frenchman."
"What do you think we're trying to do?"
"Well, do it better."
Thomson scowled, obviously unhappy about being scolded, but being a duke afforded Marcus a certain level of respect—whether or not he deserved it. Few people dared to speak up to him.
"In any case," Thomson said as he stood. "I wanted to give you an update. Keep your ears to the ground in case you hear something. Any whispers of that list. Or a location of the Frenchman."
"We will," Winter promised.
Marcus showed the agent the door, then turned back to his friend. They had both hoped for better news. "This doesn't bode well," he said.
"It does not," his friend agreed. "The War Office has really bungled this. How could they have missed their colleague turning on them? A traitor to king and country in their own office!"
"It's outrageous, but not everyone is perceptive enough." He was one of them. Judging people based on their emotional responses and facial expressions had never been his forte. Numbers and letters; things that followed logical patterns. That's what he knew best. In need of a drink, he walked over to a cupboard and fetched two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Bringing it back to his desk, he poured them each a glass.
Winter took one as Marcus sat back behind the desk with his own drink. Watching the amber liquid swirling in his glass, he tried to think of anything the War Office might have missed. Anything to help them solve the case and ensure everyone's safety.
"I assume you will remain here for the time being, rather than return to the Albany? To keep an eye on your wife?" Winter asked.
"It's the prudent thing to do."
"Prudent?" His friend shook his head, suddenly annoyed. "You should consider yourself lucky to be married. Thank your lucky star she would have you!"
She wouldn't exactly have him though, would she? Marcus put his drink back on the desk without having had a single sip. He levelled his friend with a cool look. "Being a duke helps."
His friend knew better than to comment on his marriage. Winter had been there when Marcus began his pursuit of Rain, and he had not exactly been a staunch supporter of his plans. But knowing that Marcus did not appreciate people getting involved in his personal life, he had offered no comments after the marriage fell apart so spectacularly already on the first day. Until today.
"If you think your wife married you for your title, you're a bigger idiot than I realised."
Marcus shrugged, refusing to answer. Didn't want to admit that it was a niggling fear he could not divest himself of.
"I warned you against your harebrained scheme," Winter said tersely. "It felt wrong from the start, and I wanted no part in it."
"It worked, didn't it?" That was probably debatable, but he was growing frustrated with his friend's opinions.
"Until it didn't," Winter bit out. "What happened? Did she find out what you did?"
The comment hit a little too close to home. There was a reason Marcus didn't want to discuss these things with others. He knew he'd done something awful, but since he could not change it, he did not wish to dwell on it. Just because his friend was struggling with his own feelings for another woman did not give him the right to put his nose where it didn't belong. Anger coursing hotly through his veins, he stood to his full height as he stared at Winter. "I would thank you not to make comments about my marriage," he said coldly. "Sort out your own feelings regarding Nick Howerty, and leave me to deal with my wife as I see fit."
His friend pulled back, visibly shocked. "Sort out my—? What are you talking about?"
"There is obviously something going on between the two of you." Marcus sat back down, his temper curbed. "I saw you together in my garden."
"I don't... There's nothing—"
"I don't care one way or the other." That was not entirely true, Marcus realised as he watched his friend squirm under his scrutiny. It was fascinating to see Winter act so unlike himself, where the young Nick Howerty was concerned. "But don't allow your foul mood to make you offer opinions that are not wanted."
"She's so young. I could never... And with this looming over us." Winter shook his head. "I must keep her safe."
Marcus felt the exact same way about Rain. Not that he was willing to share it. Instead, he said, "Didn't ask. Don't want to know."
Winter gave him an annoyed look. "Is that so? Because you seemed quite happy to throw her in my path and have her discover who I am."
Unable to hold back, Marcus smiled. "You must admit, she is rather perfect for you."
"So you did it on purpose." Winter set his drink down. "I can't even comment on the state of your marriage, but you can try to matchmake me with your wife's sister? How is that fair?"
"Life is never fair."
"You are a very aggravating man."
"So I've been told."
Winter sighed. "I will have two of our men switch from our current cases to look for this mysterious Frenchman. If we can find him, we might find the list."
Marcus had been about to suggest the same, so he nodded. "Agreed."
The sooner they could get this case solved, the better. It may have afforded him the opportunity to live under the same roof as his wife, but he'd rather not have to worry about her safety. Perhaps he should swallow his bitter pride and seek his wife out once Winter left. The ugly memory of her with his brother had kept him away from her today, but he had another eight kisses to collect. And he would, even if she had made him promise to ensure they would not consummate the marriage. He was a man of his word, so he would have to uphold that vow, even if it was the last thing he wanted.
~~~~~~