The Marquess' Angel_Hart and Arrow_A Regency Romance Book

by Julia Sinclair

  "To some man I've met perhaps twice. A Lord Cottering. It does not matter. I will not marry him. It means the end of everything I want, everything I've ever dreamed of. I don't care about the damned inheritance. Tristan can have it, so long as he leaves me alone. I have run away." She looked up at him, and there was the passion he was used to, but it burned with an icy flame. "Thomas. Take me as your mistress."

  "What?"

  "I mean it. You want me, don't you? If you make me your mistress, Tristan won't be able to marry me off to anyone. He'll cast me out as a fallen woman, and..."

  "Blythe, are you listening to yourself? Are you mad? You're a Carrow, the cousin of the Duke of Parrington. You cannot think that you should be my mistress. You've listened to the tales of all of the women you have helped, and somehow, you still think this is an acceptable idea? Society would turn its back on you. You'll never be able to hold your head up in public."

  "Do you think I care about any of that? Do you think I would rather have my pride than my freedom? Why won't you agree to this, Thomas? Your reputation would be intact. And I want you. And you want me. Beyond that, what else matters?"

  Thomas was struck silent by that. "Say it again."

  "Say what?"

  "That you want me."

  "Of course, I want you. I want you so much I do not know what to do with myself at times. I do want you, Thomas. I would never do this with someone I didn't want the way I want you." She looked at him carefully. "You weren't sure?"

  Thomas laughed, and even in his own ears, it sounded a little shaky. "This is what comes of associating with wild little angels, I think. You're so unbound by conventionality that I am never sure what to expect from you."

  Blythe smiled, a tiny thing, but it felt more real, somehow, than the kisses they had exchanged just a few minutes ago. "I was led to believe that being spontaneous and exciting were things you liked, Thomas.”

  “I love them.”

  Then, unbidden in his mind, I love you.

  The crux of the matter, the very heart of it, made him go still, but Blythe didn't seem to notice.

  “Until it becomes inconvenient or until it gets too strange?”

  “No.” Thomas recovered, his mind still spinning, but growing surer of the sentiment by the moment. “I do love those things in you, and I certainly will say it is more pleasant to kiss you than it is to sneak around the bad parts of London with you. But there's something else here. Do you actually want to be my mistress, Blythe?”

  She got a stubborn look in her eyes that he was beginning to know quite well, and God, but she was beautiful. Her beauty went down to the very heart of her, something lovely and sweet and perfect, and he wasn't sure if he could bear it.

  “I know that you want me.”

  “This isn't about what I want, Blythe. Look. I know you've been introduced to the worst of what men can do in the work that you've done. But surely, you know that I'm not like that. I don't want your sufferance or for you to offer yourself up to me as a means to an end.”

  “That sounds like a marriage to me.”

  “It does, doesn't it? When I'm with a woman, I want her there, wanting me for the very things that I want her for. There may have been exchanges of another sort as well, but the passion must be there. Otherwise, there's no point.”

  Blythe bit her lip, and it took Thomas a fair amount of willpower to stop himself from leaning in and biting it for her. “I was led to believe that in... carnal matters, the man's pleasure was overwhelming.”

  Thomas started to explain, and then decided that a demonstration would be far more effective.

  “Blythe, will you close your eyes, please?”

  She gave him a suspicious look, but obligingly she did as he asked. Gently, he cupped the back of her neck with his hand, holding her still as he brushed his lips across the corner of her mouth, her chin, her cheek.

  “What are you—?”

  “Shush. Just feel.”

  He could feel the way her body pressed against his, and when her tongue licked out to wet her lips, he nuzzled her mouth gently. This kiss wasn't an assault or a battle for dominance. Instead, it was an exploration, a meeting almost more intimate than anything they had done until this point. Thomas felt the way her breath moved when she sighed, and when she might have deepened the kiss, he drew back, teasing her response out all over again.

  It wasn't until Blythe whimpered a little, deep in her throat and with a kind of heartfelt need he knew so well, that he allowed the kiss to grow. Now he tasted the sweetness of her and the true heat of desire as she clung to him, moving restlessly against him in a way that was utterly maddening. It took every ounce of his willpower to pull back from her, and when he did, her eyes were wide and dark.

  “Tell me how much of that you tolerated.”

  “None. It was all very, very wanted. But surely, you can tell that I feel that for you.”

  “And still I need more. My father has always said that I'm greedy.”

  She started to ask what more he could have needed, but he shook his head. “You've had a long day, and though mine was less exciting by far, so have I. We need time and space before we discuss this more.”

  Blythe made an unhappy face. “I don't like things being up in the air.”

  “It won't be for very long. Look. I'll stay here with you tonight. In the morning, I want to make a call to my solicitor, and there are things I need to go over, but then I'll come back to have an early dinner with you. We can talk more then. Is that agreeable?”

  It obviously wasn't, but Blythe nodded reluctantly. “It's funny, but I wasn't even paying attention to how tired I was until you mentioned it. Gracious, I feel as if I could fall asleep right here.”

  Thomas grinned. “Maybe at some point, I'll spend the night as your mattress. As it is, let's make up the bed for you, and I'll bed down out here.”

  The chaise where Thomas made his bed that night was too short for his long frame, and a draft came in from under the door as well. He fought the temptation to crawl into bed with Blythe and won, just barely, but sometime close to dawn, he got up and watched her sleep from the door. She curled on her side, her dark hair an inky shadow on the pillow, and she looked so perfect, he felt as if his heart would burst.

  I love her. I'm going to marry her.

  A Martin marrying a Carrow. His father would have a fit, Tristan would likely try to call him out, and they would set the ton on its ear. His solicitor would iron things out regarding her inheritance, but at the end of it, it didn't matter if it all went to Tristan, or the Crown, or to hell for all Thomas cared. He'd take her as a pauper just as he would take her as an heiress; it didn't matter.

  What mattered was giving her time to get the nerves of the day out of her body and making sure that when he asked her to marry him, she would smile and give him the joyous and willing yes he now knew he needed more than life itself.

  * * *

  19

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  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

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  When Blythe awoke, she was aware of a feeling of utter strangeness and confusion. At first, she had no idea where she was, but then the events of the past day came rushing back to her.

  It's finally happened. I have gone utterly off the rails.

  The thought did not frighten her as much as she might have thought it would. She frowned, remembering the events of the day before, particularly Thomas’ refusal of her proposal.

  I have to admit. I did not think he was going to refuse me.

  She wondered why that didn't sting more. Blythe supposed it was because she had never thought her own womanly charms were so very irresistible. A pang of jealousy hit her at the idea of Thomas having been with women with whom he had shared a certain kind of passion, but she told herself she had to be reasonable about it.

  Blythe remembered t
hat she had left Thomas sleeping on the chaise, and after dressing herself, combing out her hair and braiding it, and splashing some water on her face, she ventured out into the living room to find him. Instead of finding Thomas, she found a small loaf of bread, some cheese wrapped up in waxed paper, and an apple on the table. A rumble in her belly reminded her she hadn't eaten since early last night, and she was halfway through the cheese before she noticed the note.

  I decided to run out early to see if I could get some things done. You were sleeping so soundly, and you seemed so tired that I didn't want to wake you. Have a good breakfast, and if you get hungry, I opened an account for you at the bakery around the corner. I should be back in time for lunch, and hopefully, it won't even be too late.

  Something underneath was crossed out in dark ink, and Blythe shrugged. She wondered what in the world needed to be censored so closely, but she didn't think it mattered too much. At some point, Thomas would return and, together, they would figure out what she needed to do next.

  She was startled when a soft knock at the door revealed a young girl with cleaning supplies in a bag and a hopeful look on her face.

  “Hello, miss. The gent who owns this place hired me to do the cleaning and to fetch for you as you need, and today's my first day...”

  Blythe would have sent the girl away, but there was such a hopeful air to her that she let her in. When the girl suggested that Blythe bathe while she cleaned the small flat, Blythe gave in. The girl heated kettle after kettle of steaming water, pouring it into the ceramic tub in its own dedicated room. When Blythe stepped into the steaming water, she took a deep breath and sunk all the way down. It felt like it had been forever since she had been in the bath without anything occupying her mind. It felt so good to simply sit in the hot water that her eyes started to drift shut.

  I wonder what Thomas would think if he could see me now.

  The thought woke her up, making her sit bolt upright before she sank back into the steaming water. Blythe could feel a heat on her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the water.

  What a strange thing to think. He already said that he didn't want me to be his mistress.

  Still, she couldn't get her mind off of Thomas opening the door and walking through the clouds of steam. Would he be smiling that smirk that she could only privately admit sent butterflies through her belly? Would he watch her with that deep hunger she could feel in him sometimes?

  She closed her eyes as if to close herself off from those thoughts, but they persisted. Why was it so easy to imagine him kneeling by the tub, tangling his fingers in her damp hair and pulling her in for that kiss? When he touched her like this, there would be no clothing in his way, nothing to stop them from going further and further.

  I really am ridiculous.

  She picked up the rough cloth hanging conveniently from the hook nearby and started scrubbing. It was satisfying to get her skin pink and glowing, and then she could scrub out her long hair as well. A thin robe of muslin hung off of the door, and she dressed herself in it while she combed out her hair again. The girl peeped in to ask if there was anything else, and when Blythe dismissed her, telling her she had done good work, she grinned as bright as the sun.

  “My mam's been sick, and she was so relieved I could get a job in the neighborhood.”

  Blythe wondered if Thomas had known what a good turn he had done this girl. She hoped he did.

  After the bath, Blythe felt a delicious lethargy in her limbs. She supposed that living a double life as she had been doing was tiring. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to lie down for a nap. Just as she was pulling back the covers, there was a knock at the door, louder than the maid's and firmer.

  Oh, Thomas is back.

  With a grin, she stepped barefoot back through the flat. She opened the door with a word of greeting on her lips, and then she realized it wasn't Thomas at all.

  It was Tristan.

  * * *

  Tristan, at the very least, gave her the time to get dressed. She did up the buttons on her gray dress, her teeth almost chattering with nerves. She couldn't get Tristan's expression out of her mind. He had been shocked to see her naked except for a robe and with her hair around her shoulders and down her back, and then a look of disgust and pity came over his face.

  Blythe moved slowly, putting off the time she would have to return to Tristan. He stalked the front room of the tiny flat, and she imagined it through his eyes. To her, it was beautifully cozy and sweet. To the girls she had worked with, the ones who slept four and five to a room, it was beyond luxurious that it should all belong to one person. To Tristan, raised in opulent splendor his entire life, it was beyond shabby and disgraceful.

  She scraped her hair back from her face, braiding it up and pinning it so tightly it made her temples ache. When she glanced at herself in the bronze mirror, she looked every inch the missionary most of the world thought her to be, but Tristan was no longer fooled. She wondered briefly why she bothered, and then she knew as she walked back into the front room. With her hair pulled back until it hurt, her gray dress unforgiving in its unfashionable angles, and her shoulders back, it all felt like armor, a way of keeping what she didn't want taken away. When she looked into Tristan's face, she knew that it was not going to be enough.

  He sat down on the chaise where Thomas had settled the night before and gestured for her to take the chair across from it. It was so civil, nearly friendly, that she almost missed the dangerous note in his voice when he spoke.

  “You cannot marry Lord Cottering after you have been ruined.”

  “Good.”

  The word popped out before she could stop it. A wave of rage swept over Tristan's face, and then it was quenched by something almost soul-destroying and weary. She felt a pang of sympathy for Tristan, and then she abruptly decided that he could stop this at any time. He was the one with the power here, not her, and he could stop whenever he wished.

  “I will not have Lord Cottering shouting your disgrace to the world when he figures out the truth. On top of that, I would not want to give the man a woman who belongs to another.”

  Blythe bit her tongue on the fury of belonging to any man, but this was hardly the time to push Tristan more than he was already pushed. There was a kind of energy to him in this place that she didn't like, that put her teeth on edge. Just like Tristan had lost the ability to predict her, she had lost the ability to predict him. If the girls she had helped agreed on one thing, it was that men were at their most dangerous when they could not be predicted.

  “The constables are waiting on the street outside.”

  “Are you going to have me arrested?”

  “No. I will have Thomas Martin arrested.”

  Tristan's quiet words struck her through the heart. She half-rose from her seat, unable to sit still, but Tristan's hand cut through the air.

  “No. Sit down. By God, you are going to listen to me at least this once.”

  With a storm on her face, Blythe did as he said, and for one brief moment, she wondered if that surge of anger had actually killed all the love she once bore for her cousin.

  “There are constables on the street. At the moment, they can still be called off, if I wish to do so. One of two things are going to happen. I know that Amory left earlier today, and that at some point, he will return. When he returns, the constables will arrest him for corruption and assault. Of you.”

  “Thomas has done no such—”

  “It won't matter. It will be the word of a duke against him. Oh, I doubt that anything terrible will happen to him. There will be an inquest and an investigation. He may have to pay a fine. But I also know his father is fed up with his antics, and that this could mean his disinheritance. Amory has many cousins, and the title could pass on to them just as easily.”

  “Thomas’ father wouldn't do that.”

  “Martins are vicious. Of course he might. But I suppose that is something you will have to bet on.”

  “What is the other thing
that might happen?”

  “I call off the constables. I tell them there has been a mistake, and that you were staying with a friend of yours, and that I missed the note you left, like the good and pious girl everyone knows you to be. Together, we wait for Thomas to return, and you make it very clear you will no longer have anything to do with him. You do it in such a way that leaves no doubt, and then you and I leave here.”

  Blythe could feel tears threatening, but she held them back viciously. She would not cry in front of Tristan. She would not give him that satisfaction. “How did you come to find me here?”

  He smiled at her coldly. “Did you think I stopped having you followed? The only reason I waited this long to confront you was because I needed Amory out of the way.”

  “Monster.”

  “I'm sure you see it that way. Maybe in a few years’ time, when we have put this all behind us, you will think differently. Make your choice, Blythe. I am in no mood to wait.”

  “You know what it is already. You must.”

  “I do.”

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  20

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  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

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  Thomas whistled as he handed his mare's reins to the hostler. It was only a short walk back to Blythe's flat, and as he covered the distance, he wondered if he had ever seen the world look so bright. It was one of those perfect winter days in London, the pale sunlight amazingly clear and the air as crisp as a white ribbon. In the pocket of his greatcoat, Thomas could feel the flat wooden box he had brought from home.