She made a tiny whimpering sound when he slid his tongue along first her lower lip and then between them. Her mouth was a perfect velvety heaven, and Thomas knew he could kiss this girl until the sky fell in and it would simply not be enough. Never be enough.
"We shouldn't do this." Her whisper was a small and shaky thing, but Thomas could feel her hands tighten n his shirt, as if afraid someone might pull her away.
"If you truly think that, then you should get up."
She shook her head, either refusing to think of it or refusing to get up. It didn't matter either way, however, because at this point, Thomas wasn't sure he could ever let her go.
"Well, this is a perfect thing to see when I was just expecting some eggs."
The servants had to announce themselves before entering the breakfast nook, but his sister had no such qualms. Thomas jumped, and Blythe might have tumbled out of his lap entirely if he hadn't caught her.
"Georgiana, I didn't expect you to be up for hours yet."
Georgiana grinned. "Obviously. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I would come down and get some breakfast. Imagine my surprise at catching my brother, the rake, with a missionary."
Blythe stuttered something garbled, and Thomas flinched a little when he saw a red blush rise up on her fair cheeks. It was shame and not pleasure, and for some reason, beyond the immediate and obvious, that stung.
"Leave off, Georgiana. Tease me if you wish but be gentle with Blythe."
"By all means. You're used to my teasing, and she is not. Blythe, I was actually looking for you. Our cousin Tabi left some clothes here when she was in town last, and while my things haven't a prayer of fitting you, hers might. Shall we go see? It's really not the thing to be seen walking around like a little dish scrubber, no matter how many donations you get because of it."
Blythe looked at Thomas, who nodded. "Go. After you get some decent clothes, perhaps I can take us all out for some coffee, and we can talk about what comes next."
For a moment, it looked as if Blythe would very much like to ignore Georgiana's presence and kiss Thomas goodbye, but she nodded, squaring her shoulders a little. "That is very generous of you, Georgiana, thank you."
The two left, and Thomas thought with some amusement that there was probably no unlikelier pair in London. No one would think that the prim little missionary girl Blythe pretended to be would tolerate Georgiana's wildness, and no one would ever dream that Georgiana Carrow would keep her claws sheathed around an innocent like Blythe.
Georgiana sees what I do. She can tell how spirited Blythe is, and how lovely.
Thomas’ thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a very harried young footman at the door. "What's wrong? Most emergencies that require my presence don't occur so early in the day."
"I beg your pardon, my lord, but Wilkins sent me to get you right away. He's having some trouble with a guest.”
Thomas rose grimly to his feet. "I can imagine who that is. I'm coming."
* * *
Tristan Carrow's very presence at the Martin townhouse felt like an insult. At least, the very moment that Thomas saw the other man there, he felt a trickle of rage go through him. He resolved to be civil, however, as it was his house and he was raised with manners, but all thoughts of civility went out of his head when Tristan turned to him.
"What the hell have you done to Blythe?"
"And a very good morning to you, too, Parrington. I am pleased to see that you could get the smell of champagne out of your hair so very easily."
For a moment, Thomas thought that Tristan was going to try to punch him right then and there. He didn't particularly like the idea of brawling in his own damned parlor, but when the other combatant was Tristan Carrow, he might have been willing to make an exception. At the last moment, Tristan seemed to pull himself back, instead content to glare at Thomas.
"I spent an hour looking for her at the Gorsing's crush, and when I couldn't find her, I thought she might have gone home ahead of me. She wasn't there, nor was she at the houses of any of the women with whom she stays the night after doing her charitable work."
Thomas wondered how Tristan would feel if he knew those other women probably had no idea what he was talking about. The idea of knowing something about Blythe that Tristan didn't made Thomas feel oddly smug and superior, but once again, that wasn't hard when he was dealing with a Carrow.
"I've been searching for her all night and all morning, and it wasn't until I rousted Lady Gorsing out of bed that she remembered that she had seen my ward leave with your damned sister, of all people."
"I assure you, Parrington, my sister is not so very unpopular that you must work your way through Blythe's list of friends before you get down to Georgiana."
"You are to call her Miss Dennings. Why the hell are you using her first name? How long has this been going on?"
Thomas crossed his arm over his chest, but he couldn't quite lose the small smirk in his voice. "How long has what been going on? If you mean your behaving like an ass, I should say for some, what, twenty-five, thirty years?"
It looked as if Tristan held himself back from striking Thomas down only with some difficulty. At this point, Thomas would have welcomed it. It would at the least be an excuse to get Tristan on the dueling field.
"You and your sister are the worst dregs that the Thames has ever thrown up," Tristan snapped. "You have Blythe here. Send for her. I am taking her home this minute."
Thomas studied him for a minute. "No."
Tristan goggled at him for a moment. "She is my ward, and you have absolutely no right to keep her here against her will!"
"Oh, do you think she's being kept here against her will? Are you really so bullheaded that you cannot imagine her being unhappy with being kept like a virtual prisoner in her own home and having men spy on her?"
Tristan jerked as if he had not expected Thomas to know those things. "What I am doing, I am doing for her own good. Now call her, or I will have the constables come in and arrest you and your sister for kidnapping."
"Go right ahead," Thomas said. "When they get here, we'll find out how they feel about terrorizing young heiresses and scaring them so badly they run out into the streets."
"You are an insufferable arse. Call her."
When Thomas refused again, Tristan crossed the floor in two long strides, fisting his hand in Thomas’ fresh cravat and jerking him forward. Thomas saw the grab coming, but he didn't stop him. If Tristan took the first swing, Thomas would be entirely justified in beating the man as he so richly deserved.
"Tristan, no!"
The cry coming from the door had an anguished note to it that tore Thomas in two with the twin urges to comfort Blythe in her pain and simultaneously to destroy whoever had caused it. It also had the effect of making Tristan drop his hold on Thomas’ clothing, turning toward the door.
Tabi was taller than Blythe, but her left-behind clothes fit Blythe rather well. In the back of Thomas’ mind, he wondered if Blythe would get along with strange little Tabi, and if she would get along with his father as well. Then he snapped to the present situation where Tristan was striding toward Blythe like the very wrath of God.
With a growl, he grabbed Tristan's arm, yanking him back. There would have been a fight, and to hell with who threw the first punch, but then Blythe was there, her hand on Thomas’ arm.
"Please. Just stop. Tristan, I'm so sorry..."
"Damned right you should be sorry. I thought you were lying dead somewhere, Blythe."
Blythe winced, and Thomas ached to simply pound Tristan into the ground.
"I'm sorry. I was just so confused and upset, and I didn't know—"
"It doesn't matter. You are coming home with me this minute."
"You don't have to, Blythe."
All three of them turned to the doorway, where Georgiana stood, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes like chips of glacial ice. She spoke to Blythe, but her gaze never left Tristan Carrow.
"Georgiana,
I need to go home."
"If you say the word, my brother and I will give you sanctuary. If you are afraid, if you are being abused at the hands of Tristan Carrow, you don't have to go with him."
Thomas bore no love for the Carrow clan, but he wasn't sure he had ever sounded as venomous as Georgiana did at this moment.
Blythe shook her head. "Thank you so much for your hospitality and your kindness, Georgiana. I need to go home though. I cannot stay away forever."
She didn't look at Thomas at all, no matter how he tried to catch her gaze. He had the feeling she was almost afraid to look at him.
Instead, she turned to Tristan. "I'm sorry, Tristan. I'm ready to go home."
After the two left, the silence in the parlor was deafening.
Georgiana broke it first, shaking her head with a grim look on her face. "I am going to spend some time in the main hall practicing fencing drills. It is that or I shall go and skewer Tristan Carrow straight through the place where his heart ought to be."
Thomas looked at his sister shrewdly. "You seem very angry about Parrington."
"Why aren't you? He just walked out of here with poor Blythe, and who knows what the hell he's going to do to her."
"If she had asked to stay, I would have moved heaven and earth to keep her here. I can't take that choice away from her. There's been too much of that going on lately."
Georgiana's gaze still had that angry heat to it, but there was a soft and surprising sadness that stole into it as well. "Such is the way for women everywhere. I'm off to practice with my saber. Don't come looking for me unless you're prepared to defend yourself."
Georgiana left, and Thomas was left on his own. He wouldn't take Blythe's choice away from her. However, there was no harm in offering her an alternative, was there?
* * *
15
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CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
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"Do I need to shackle you to keep you here?"
"Tristan!"
"It's an honest question. Just when I think things are settling, that you have decided to play by the rules, I find that you faked your illness, you're running wild through the city, and you run away with the Martins."
"I had my reasons! I was frightened!"
Tristan shook his head, and Blythe felt a deep well of rage open up inside her. She paced in his library while Tristan watched her coldly from the desk. She was through feeling like a supplicant, and now all she wanted to do was to shout until he understood her.
"Blythe, ever since we've received news of the inheritance, you've been running wild. You cannot keep doing this."
She spun toward him, eyes wild. "I've been acting differently? Tristan, you're the one who's turned into an absolute tyrant! I can't talk with you anymore; we've been at loggerheads ever since."
"You've been defiant and stubborn, and you have decided, of all things, to start taking refuge with the Martins. Of all the people in London, why them?"
Blythe stuttered to a halt. She wanted to explain to Tristan how kind they had been to her, how they had helped her while all he had done was berate her. She knew he would never understand. Instead, she turned and stalked toward the door.
"Blythe, this isn't over."
"Yes, it is. We have nothing else to say to each other right now. We keep going around in circles. I will not continue to go to your damned galas and balls every night while you dangle me in front of the bachelors of the ton. That is the end of that."
"Then you are not leaving this house. I swear to God, Blythe, do not push me on this matter. If I catch you out of bounds again, I swear I will take stronger action."
Blythe looked at him bitterly. "I'm sure you will. All you seem able to do lately is act the tyrant. Why not take it further?"
He had nothing to say to that, and so she returned to her bedroom. A small part of her hoped that Tristan would come around and see how terrible he was being, but the rest of her was coldly certain that was not going to happen. If this was going to be her life now, she needed to figure out what she could do to preserve herself.
Blythe lasted for almost five days. Five days of being cooped up in the house made her feel as if the walls were closing in on her, and on top of that, it felt as if there were eyes everywhere.
Tristan's damned spies, she thought angrily. He wasn't content with using groomsmen to keep an eye on her or to rifle through her things. Now she could tell that the maids and the footmen were watching her as well, and so she spent even more time shut up in her bedroom. The situation felt like a powder keg, and Blythe had no idea when it was going to blow until she received a letter on Wednesday morning.
Blythe supposed it was a comfort that Tristan had never bothered to check her mail. She received plenty of correspondence from women doing good works in the city, after all. However, she could tell right away that the ragged brown envelope didn't come from one of the well-heeled women who occasionally called on her for help with their pet projects. When she opened it and started reading, she felt her stomach lurch with fear.
...don't know what to do... can't sleep, and I can't eat... some days are so dark... I've run away from the Abeggs...
Every word Honey wrote clawed at Blythe with an abyssal kind of darkness that made her shudder. The plea for help was jagged and tore at her. If she ignored it, she would never be able to forgive herself.
Thinking swiftly, she wrote a letter, sealed it, and stuffed it in an envelope for the Abeggs.
She had summoned a messenger and was waiting for his arrival when Tristan came upon her in the foyer. She stiffened. They had not spoken in days, but the man she saw now was less like the tyrant she had been battling than the cousin she grew up with. Something tired in his stance told her he was sick of fighting as well.
Tristan gestured toward the letter in her hand. "What's that?"
"A message to one of the people who coordinates with me on the crusade to end hunger in the city. They are having a fundraiser in a few weeks, and I'd forgotten to let them know I cannot help."
The lie rolled off of her tongue easily, the way it always had, but this time, Tristan simply studied her. There was nothing angry in his gaze for once, nothing furious or domineering. Blythe held his gaze while the damning letter sat burning in her hand.
"I'm tired of fighting with you."
Blythe blinked. She had not expected this. "Are you? I'm exhausted of it."
"Yes, you must be. I'm sorry for the last few weeks, Blythe. It seems as if everything is moving quickly now. Everything is changing."
"I've not changed at all."
Tristan laughed a little, and it startled Blythe. When was the last time she had heard him laugh? "I think you've not looked in a mirror for a while, cousin. You've changed more than you know. You change, and all I can do is to try to think of ways to keep you safe."
"You don't have to do that."
"Of course, I do. It's my responsibility. The moment I became the Duke of Parrington, it was my responsibility."
Blythe swallowed hard. There was something strange in Tristan's tone.
Tristan shrugged. "It's no matter. I simply saw you and thought how much I wished things were as they had been."
When I was lying to you regularly and you never noticed, you mean? But that was unfair. She had never lied to Tristan to trick him, only because there were so many things she wanted more than to be a diligent little woman in the drawing room.
"I hope, Blythe, that we are still friends?"
"We are." Maybe they could be again someday.
"Good. I'm glad."
Blythe felt a twinge of guilt when she handed the letter off to the messenger. There were things in the world that were more important than her cousin's feelings, however, and she knew that to the very core of her.
Thomas, don't let me down.
* * *
That night, the clock in the main hall struck two, and moving as quietly as she could, Blythe stole through the darkened halls of the Carrow residence. She had always been careful, but now she was utterly paranoid, freezing with every slight noise she heard.
She could no longer use the servants’ entrance, so she had had to get creative. In the ladies' drawing room, a place Tristan had no reason to go, she had left the window open, covering it with an old book to block the draft and closing the drape. Now she opened the drapes and set the book aside, revealing a window that was just open enough for her to sneak out. She was pleased to come up with the idea so that she would not be heard fighting with it, and she easily made her way to the rear alley. When she saw the hack with black drapes drawn over the windows, she grinned and walked faster. When she whistled the first bars of “Parson Hollis,” they were whistled back to her and the door opened for her to step inside.
"You've a fine sense for the dramatic, angel."
"I'm not being dramatic, I'm just trying to make sure that I don't get caught. And why are you calling me angel?"
Even in the darkness of the coach, she could tell that Thomas was grinning at her.
"Aren't you one? Maybe you're a little dirty since you fell down to earth, and certainly, you can't keep your halo polished if you keep wanting to run down to Seven Dials, but I stand by the statement. You do great good, you are willing to fight with the devil himself, and you wouldn't let heaven and earth stand in your way if you wanted to do something."
"None of your sweet talk; we're on serious business tonight."
It was true. Honey was in serious danger of doing something terrible. Blythe was worried about the young girl, but there was also something in her that reveled at being out and about again, doing what needed to be done.
The Marquess' Angel_Hart and Arrow_A Regency Romance Book Page 11