He cocked his head to the side and gave her a look of sheer disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, quite. Think about it. Do you still want to know?”
“Are you planning to ask me whom I’ve been with?” he asked, still blinking in disbelief.
“I might. Be warned.” She nodded vigorously, but her heart was pounding out of her chest. She didn’t at all want to ask him whom he’d been with.
“Very well. Yes, I still want to know,” he barked.
“Fine, but I’ve already told you, so you’re wasting a question. No, I’ve never gone to bed with Henri.” Was it her imagination or did Mark’s shoulders relax a bit?
He propped one arm against the coach wall and regarded her down the length of his nose. “You want to know whom I’ve been with?” His tone was lazy.
“No,” she said too quickly, lifting her chin and averting her eyes.
“No?” His voice held a note of surprise.
“That’s right. That’s not my question.” She leaned to deposit the rest of the bread and cheese back into the basket.
“What is your question then?” He crossed his arms over his chest and slid further down in his seat, his legs encaging hers.
She shook her head. “I … I want to save my third question. For another time.”
The sides of his firm lips quirked upward into a semblance of a grin. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
She raised her nose in the air. “I never said we had to ask all three of our questions now.”
Mark sighed and shrugged. “Very well. Save your question then.”
The coach rumbled to a stop and Mark drew open the curtains to look outside. “We’re here.”
Nicole nodded and leaned out the window to see a homey little whitewashed inn sitting in a circle of fat green hedges. The windows were open, candlelight danced inside, and the divine smell of some sort of stew cooking wafted from the place. After an entire day on the road, the inn looked like heaven. Even as an uncertain thrill shuddered through her, she tried not to think about the fact that she’d be sharing a room with Mark tonight. Was she ready? Would she ever be?
Mark pushed open the door and jumped to the ground. He helped Nicole down, grabbing her waist and swinging her to the ground.
The feel of his fingers made her shiver. He drew his hands away slowly. She swallowed and forced herself to turn and look up at the façade of the cozy inn. The coachman promised to ensure their trunks were brought to their room as he led the horses away.
They entered the inn together. Nicole waited near the windows, peering out into the darkness, while Mark spoke to the proprietor. Money changed hands and Mark was given a key. He turned to Nicole and gestured to a narrow flight of stairs with a well-worn bannister. “Shall we?”
Swallowing a fresh surge of trepidation, Nicole climbed the steps ahead of him. When they came to the first door at the beginning of the corridor, Mark slid the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door.
“So, just the one room then?” she asked, her heart hammering.
He quirked a brow. “It’s customary for married couples to share a bedchamber, or have you forgotten?”
Not for a second.
He allowed her to enter first. It was a simple room, but clean and well kept. A large feather bed dominated the center. Two small wooden chairs and an even smaller table sat in one corner. A wardrobe rested against the opposite wall.
Nicole stared at the bed, her heart still thumping like a hare’s foot in her chest.
A knock sounded on the door and she jumped.
“Are you all right?” Mark asked as he made to open the door.
“Yes, I … I think I am.”
The strapping coachman was at the door with Nicole’s trunk. One of the lads from the stable was with him carrying Mark’s trunk. The men placed the trunks against the wall nearest the door and Mark tossed each of them a coin. They grinned and hied themselves off.
Mark turned to Nicole. “I’ll go down and get a tankard of ale, to allow you privacy to undress.”
Nicole nodded, but as he made to open the door she said, “Wait. I’m … going to need … some help.”
He hesitated. His Adam’s apple worked in his throat. “Of course.”
She took a long, deep breath and turned her back to present him with the buttons of her gown. “All you need do is unbutton them and loosen my stays. Do you think you can do that?” Merde. She wanted to kick herself for that last question. He knew precisely how to do that.
“I think I can remember.” His voice held a note of sarcasm.
He started at her neck. His hands were warm and gentle. She trembled and bit her lip. At least he couldn’t see her face. She closed her eyes. His skin against hers, even the barest hint of a touch, sent waves of pleasure through her.
His fingers took their time, slowly moving down her back, brushing her bare skin each time a new button popped free. This was torture. She struggled not to lean into his touch. Was he doing this on purpose? Jacqueline did it every day, quick and efficient. Perhaps he was slow because he was unpracticed? That thought sustained Nicole.
When the last button popped free, Nicole couldn’t contain her sigh of relief. “Now my stays,” she whispered.
“With pleasure.” His warm breath brushed against the back of her neck.
The stays were more difficult. They were laced tightly in a crisscross fashion. It was painstakingly slow work to pull them loose, one by one. His fingers tugged first left, then right. As the laces loosened, Nicole should have been able to breathe more freely. Instead, she held her breath, her lungs aching. His fingers stroked her bare skin and she clenched her jaw, trying not to enjoy the feel of his hands slowly undressing her. Trying not to remember the nights they’d done this as a happily married couple, falling into each other’s arms because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Finally, the stays were loosened. Mark’s touch fell away. “Anything else you need, my lady?” he asked, his breath still a hot brush against the vulnerable skin on the back of her neck.
“No … no.” Her voice quavered and she hated it. “That’s quite enough. Th … thank you.”
“Very well. I’ll just go downstairs until—”
She swung around to face him, her heart hammering. “Mark?” Her voice was breathless.
“Yes?”
She cleared her throat. “I need time. To get to know you again. I cannot … couple with someone I don’t remember. I want to wait before we…” She could not force the words past her lips. She desperately hoped he understood what she meant without her having to say it outright.
Mark’s face fell. “I see.”
“I hope you understand,” she added, trying to muster a smile.
He quickly schooled his flash of disappointment into impassivity. “You’re the one who wants the baby, or need I remind you?”
“I know.” She nodded, her breath coming in short little pants.
“And there is only so long we intend to be in each other’s company,” he pointed out.
Another nod. “I know.”
He studied her for a moment as though weighing whether her reticence was genuine, before he gave a soft sigh. “Very well. It’s your choice. I will sleep in a hammock.”
“Is there a hammock?” She glanced around the room.
“There’s always a hammock. I’ll find one.” He left the room and the door slammed behind him.
Nicole watched him go and a relieved smile spread across her face. She could breathe easier. Now that she had time to contemplate it, she realized she’d managed to get a bit of her own back. He’d been the one to make the ridiculous demand that they make love, but she would be the one to decide when.
She’d told him she needed time, and that was true, but she was petrified that she’d never be ready. The trip to London would only take a few days. Would she be ready by then?
He was right. She was the one who wanted the baby. She was t
he one who wanted the sex. Now she was the one delaying it? It made no sense, but she needed time to come to terms with the fact that they would be intimate again. Time to steel herself against the emotions that would inevitably be stirred by such an intimate act.
Did she even remember how to go about it? What if she forgot everything about the act and made a fool of herself? Things were different now. Mark wasn’t her loving husband as he had been the last time they’d been together. He was a stranger. A stranger who hated her, or at least didn’t care. He was using her to further his political ambitions. Their coupling couldn’t possibly be the same.
That frightened her the most.
* * *
Mark stood on the opposite side of the door he’d just shut behind him. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. Damn it. He should have known she’d find a way to get a little of her own back. She had, hadn’t she? He’d been hard half the day thinking about their night together. Just now when he’d been slowly undressing her, he’d been so damned hard, it had been painful. Then she’d gone and slammed the door on that by telling him she needed to get used to the idea of sharing his bed again?
Infuriating woman. Sex had been her idea, not his. He’d been prepared to never touch her again. She’d been the one to ask for a child.
He strode down the corridor and descended the stairs to the main room. The innkeeper was bound to have a hammock. He’d pay him for it and take it with him on the ship. How he would explain his need for a hammock while sharing a room with his own wife was another matter entirely.
* * *
An hour later, after procuring both a hammock and two tankards of ale, Mark returned to the room. He rapped once on the door before pushing it open. Nicole was snuggled up in the middle of the downy bed.
She lifted her head and nodded toward the tangle of rope bundled under his arm. “You found your hammock?” The look of relief on her face irritated him.
“I did.” He let the thing drop and pulled the edge of it up to hang on a hook from one of the wooden beams that ran along the ceiling. He hung the other side from a beam across the room, shucked his boots and overcoat, and ripped off his cravat. He grabbed a spare pillow from the edge of the bed where she’d obviously left it for him, blew out the only candle in the room, and climbed into the hammock.
“Bonne nuit,” came Nicole’s soft voice from the bed. Was it his imagination or did she sound slightly smug?
“Good night,” he grumbled, punching the pillow savagely with his fist. Score one for his infuriating wife.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, Nicole awoke to an empty bedchamber. The hammock was gone and so was Mark and his trunk. She’d overslept. She winced. Mark was probably standing outside by the coach, tapping his boot on the ground and consulting his timepiece.
Nicole tossed on her traveling gown and flagged down one of the maids in the hall to help with her stays and buttons. She pulled on her pelisse and gloves and hurried downstairs to find Mark sitting at one of the tables in the great room, eating breakfast.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Grimaldi,” he said with a bright smile on his face.
She stopped short and crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you’d be waiting.”
“And so I am. Would you like some breakfast before we leave?”
“Yes.” She picked up her skirts to climb over the bench in front of the table where Mark sat.
Mark ordered her breakfast and asked the innkeeper to fetch the coachman to retrieve Nicole’s trunk. She ate quickly, only too aware of Mark watching her, a smug smile on his face.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she finally asked after she’d taken a bite of eggs.
“Am I staring?” he asked lazily, his chin resting on his propped-up hand.
“I’d say so,” she retorted.
“You’re quite beautiful, Nicole.”
The eggs slid down her throat. What? Had he actually just said that? It was almost as if he was flirting. If he was going to flirt with her, she wasn’t going to be able to withstand it. She’d be back in his bed in no time. The man could be downright charming when he chose to be.
Not half an hour later, they were ensconced in the coach. They’d purchased more bread and cheese from the innkeeper and Nicole had refilled the basket. The horses were hitched, the trunks had been packed in the back, and the coach took off at a steady clip toward Calais.
The morning was spent mostly in silence. They spoke only of things that did not bring up memories. The weather, their meals. Nicole carefully avoided any fraught subjects such as Mark’s family and, oh, their failed marriage.
“What are your plans?” she finally asked him after they’d stopped for lunch and to change out the horses. They nibbled on the contents of the basket again.
“Plans?” Mark met her gaze and quirked a brow.
“Yes, for your new position as Home Secretary.”
His face registered surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to ask such a thing. Good. She liked to keep him guessing. Being predictable was ever so dull. “Knowing you, I’m certain you have large and involved plans.”
The hint of a smile passed across his lips. “I do.”
“And?” she prompted. “What are they?”
He studied her as if trying to determine whether she truly wanted to hear about his plans. He must have decided she was serious because he took a deep breath and said, “I intend to implement a police force in London.”
Nicole couldn’t help her tiny gasp of surprise. “A police force?” she echoed.
“Yes. The city is sorely in need of one. It should start in London and eventually work its way throughout the country.”
Nicole nodded. He never failed to impress her. “I see.” She took a bite of sweet cheese.
“What do you think?” he asked. He’d surprised her this time. Did he truly care about her opinion on the matter?
“I think it’s high time. Working with the runners taught me how little recourse people have when they’re victims of crime. Especially the poor.”
“I agree.” Mark nodded. “The runners have been stretched impossibly thin. And while there are guards at the gates into town, a group of men whose sole job it is to enforce law and order is greatly needed.”
“Only men?” She couldn’t help her sardonic smile.
He arched a brow in her direction. “It’ll be difficult enough to secure the funding from the government without my telling them that women will be a part of it.”
“I was jesting,” Nicole replied, nibbling on a bit of bread this time. “Secure your funding first. Women can be the future detectives. We’re more clever anyhow.”
Mark shook his head at her. He knew she was trying to bait him.
“I do think it’s a brilliant idea, Mark,” she said softly after she’d swallowed the bread. “Bow Street works on bounties. A paid police force will have the means to investigate a host of other crimes that go unheeded today.”
“Precisely,” Mark replied. “But it won’t be easy to convince Parliament.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.” She glanced away. Why did those words seem so intimate?
“Thank you,” he replied, sounding pleased.
“If you need any help from a clever woman, don’t hesitate to ask.” She winked at him, restoring the light mood.
Mark’s smile was bright. “I’ll keep that in mind, my lady.”
* * *
Three days later, they arrived in London. They’d spent their time while traveling to Calais and on the packet to England discussing the particulars of the plan for the police force. Nicole had pointed out a few improvements on his ideas and he’d readily agreed with her. To her surprise, he asked her opinion on several details and seemed to listen intently to her answers, asking follow-up questions and nodding when she made a particularly salient point. The time passed quickly and pleasantly. After Nicole’s declaration at the inn, there had been no
more awkward moments spent wondering whether they would go to bed together. Mark slept in the hammock and Nicole took the bed. The one night they spent in an inn on their way between Dover and London, Mark had slept on a mattress bundle on the floor, clearly willing to allow her to make the choice as to when and if they’d spend the night together.
Nicole hadn’t asked after their accommodations here in London. When they’d been married before, they’d lived in a modest flat above a shop in Kingshead. That was what they could afford on the wages of a corporal. Mark had steadfastly refused any help from Nicole’s wealthy family to secure better lodgings and she’d been only too happy to agree with him. So, it was surprising when the coach they’d rented in Dover pulled to a stop in front of one of the finest town houses in Mayfair.
“Yours?” she asked, bewildered as she stared up at the grand four-story whitewashed stone building. The front door was lacquered in black and a large brass lion’s head knocker dominated the center of it.
“Ours,” he intoned, tilting his head to the side. “In case you’re wondering, I haven’t taken a shilling from my family.”
“I never thought it,” she replied, her tone still amazed as she stared up at the grand mansion.
Mark had certainly done well for himself. She’d always known he would, but to see this magnificent building and know he’d purchased it himself without any assistance from his family was impressive, indeed. She couldn’t wait to get inside and discover what sort of furnishings he’d chosen. It was a silly thought, but she couldn’t help herself.
The door was opened by a friendly, efficient-looking butler who introduced himself as Abbott. Nicole stepped inside and turned in a wide circle to take in the magnificent foyer. The home was even more impressive than she’d expected. Marble covered every bit of the floor and walls, with large columns of it holding up the grand staircase, which was also made of the stuff. The entry was sparsely but finely decorated in hues of whites and grays and blues. A Chippendale desk graced the foyer, solid gold candlesticks and a simple gold clock resting upon it. Nothing here was fussy. Just like Mark. No ormolu or knickknacks for him. It was pristinely clean and sparkling with a hint of lemon wax in the air.
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