Anne pushed out of his embrace and paced the perimeter of the folly. He mourned the slight weight of her body, their lost connection.
“I sat in my favorite reading chair that night and read and read and read until my eyes were blurry with fatigue. Well after midnight, I tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, had come to anticipate my new-book routine, where I would read until I realized I hadn’t eaten a proper dinner. She would leave me a tin of biscuits to tide me over till morning.”
An image of a sleepy-eyed, disheveled girl traipsing through her house in search of a late-night sweet made Shev smile despite the building tension.
“In my excitement, I had read far later into the night than normal and wound up falling asleep at the kitchen table.”
“Did your parents find out about your secret, midnight escapade?”
“No. To this day, my secret remains with Mrs. Miller and me—and now you.”
She seemed reluctant to go on, so he offered, “Mrs. Miller roused you before the rest of the household awakened?”
Anne turned to him then, her arms crossed over her chest as if suddenly cold. Her gaze steady on his. “A storm blew in while I was asleep. The wind whipped through my bedchamber’s open window and knocked over the burning candle—onto the book I had been reading. The fire swept through the house, killing my mother, father, brother, and our maid.” Silent tears streamed down her face. “I stood at the bottom of the stairs, choking on smoke and staring into the terrified eyes of my family trapped on the upper floor. The last sound I heard was the crack of splintering wood, followed by my mother’s and little brother’s scream.”
Shev could not sit and watch her torment any longer.
In an instant, she was in his arms, remembered pain racking her body while he whispered a litany of nonsensical words near her ear. Mostly he just held on to her and rode out the wave of her grief.
“I killed them, Marcus. I killed my family for a b-biscuit.”
“No, Anne. You could not have foreseen the sequence of events.”
“But I should have blown out the candle before going downstairs.”
“Every one of us, at one time or another, has fallen asleep with a candle burning at our side or walked out of a room, leaving a lit candle behind. Even your parents, Anne.”
“I don’t—”
“Have you ever given thought to what would have happened had you stayed in your bedchamber and fallen asleep by the burning candle?”
“All the time.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Sometimes I wish I had”—she drew in a ragged breath—“I had d-died with them.”
“No, Anne.” He cradled her face, urging her gaze up to his. “Sweet Anne, no. Don’t ever wish that for yourself. Never again.” He brushed his thumb over her chin. “If you had perished in the fire, Jacqueline would still be a lost and angry child.” He dropped his voice. “And I would not have met the love of my life.
“What happened all those years ago was nothing more than a tragic accident. An accident, Anne. One I wish to God I could erase from your past. But I can’t.” He eased her away so she could see the determination in his eyes, the love. “What I can do is help you through this. Help you remember the loveliness of your mother, the strength of your father, the mischief wrought by your brother.”
“How can you be so accepting of this? Of what I did?”
“Because I love you. What happened was not your fault.”
She shook her head as if unable to accept such a simple answer to a complex issue. “If the ton ever finds out about my past, they will ruin me and everyone I love.”
“You were a child, Anne. A ten-year-old girl who lost her family during a horrible accident. I think it more likely that they will express their sympathy.”
“Even if you’re right, there will be those who will not like seeing the eligible Marquess of Shevington associating with a mere governess. Do not underestimate the power of malicious gossip.”
“Considering how I’ve spent the last decade, I know all too well the harm a well-placed comment can do.”
“Then you agree. We cannot take the chance.”
“No, I don’t. As it happens, I’ve amassed a fair amount of intelligence on the ton’s gossips while listening for treacherous conversations.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I won’t hesitate to use the information if the gossips try to sink their venom into my wife.”
“You still wish to marry me?”
“More than ever, Anne. For the longest time, my mother was the strongest woman of my acquaintance. But you have usurped her position.” He grinned. “She won’t be pleased by that fact.”
“I don’t know, Marcus.” She rubbed circles into her temples. “I’m afraid that when the dust of my revelation settles, you will come to your senses and regret your foolish decision.”
“I’ve been a fool on many occasions. But not now. Not about loving you and wanting to spend the rest of my life with you.” He dropped down on one knee and took her hand into his. “You also deserve a proper proposal.” He kissed the back of her knuckles and placed his other hand over hers. “Anne Crawford, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? My marchioness?”
The smile she sent him wobbled. “Yes.” Then she dropped into his arms, kissing him with a passion that staggered him.
When she began loosening his cravat, he said, “Um, Anne. Do you think we could move this to the daybed? I think my knee has gone numb.”
She popped up and glanced down to where he kneeled on the folly’s stone floor. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you rise.”
Shev tapped her nose. “That, you have already done, sweet Anne. Now, about that daybed…”
Anne gifted him with a beautiful, seductive smile. She grasped his hand and led him into the secluded depths of the folly. “As you wish, my lord spy.”
THE END
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Links to My Other Books:
Bones and Gemstones Series
Night Storm
Nexus Series
A Lady’s Revenge
Checkmate, My Lord
A Lady’s Secret Weapon
Latymer (Novella)
Shev (Novella)
Tea Time Novellas and Short Stories
His Secret Desire
Coming Soon
Night Rain
About the Author
Photo by: Lisa Kaman Kenning, Mezzaluna Photography
Tracey Devlyn is a USA Today bestselling author of historical romantic suspen
se (translation: a slightly more grievous journey toward the heroine’s happy ending). She’s co-founder of Romance University, a group blog dedicated to readers and writers of romance, and Lady Jane’s Salon-Naperville, Chicagoland’s exciting new reading salon devoted to romantic fiction.
An Illinois native, Tracey spends her evenings harassing her once-in-a-lifetime husband and her weekends torturing her characters. For more information on Tracey, including her Internet haunts, contest updates, and details on her upcoming novels, please visit her website at TraceyDevlyn.com.
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