The Way The Wallflower Wed

by Devon, Eva

  After all, he had been at war and in more adventures and precarious situations in Egypt than one could count on two hands.

  But this was different.

  A young lady of her standing hanging from a makeshift rope of frocks from a window in the dark had nearly undone him.

  Once he had spotted her from his coach window, he had bolted out into the cool night, darted across the road, and grabbed her ankles before the gowns could give way and she crashed upon the pavement.

  He had intended to storm the house and demand that her father allow him to see her. It had never occurred to him that his plan would not be necessary. It should have occurred to him. Of course, Pippa had freed herself! He should have expected nothing less of a woman so entirely capable.

  Filled with relief, he now held her carefully in his arms.

  Her gown was in disarray, and he methodically tucked it about her legs. He drew in a deep breath, thanking the heavens that he had been there just when she had decided to free herself. If he had not, they would have missed each other.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “We best be off. I don’t wish to be caught. Do you?”

  He quietly laughed at that. “No, let us go.”

  Knowing she was no lady to be carried about as though she were helpless, he lowered her feet to the ground and took her hand in his. The feel of it was utter perfection.

  Admiring her good sense, he ran with her across the street to his coach, which waited for them in the shadows.

  Rapidly, he hauled the door open, then assisted her in. Following her, in one large step, he flung himself onto the seat beside her and slammed the door shut.

  Marcus pounded the roof, and within moments they were rumbling down the street over the cobblestones.

  “You have a great deal of courage,” he breathed, still stunned by her action.

  “Why thank you,” she said. Her brow furrowed in the darkness. “Though it was either choose courage or be trapped in marriage to your idiotic former friend.”

  Marcus shuddered. “I cannot believe he was ever my friend, but we all make poor choices from time to time.”

  “He must’ve been very different,” she mused.

  “He was,” Marcus agreed, a touch of melancholy brushing over him as he recalled the bright-eyed boy who had run the halls of Eton with him. “Or at least he hid the jealous aspect of himself quite well. It is remarkably sad.”

  “Indeed, it is,” she agreed. “I had no idea that I would become such a linchpin in your rivalry.”

  He pulled her to him, desperate to hold her and know she was safe. “I’m very sorry for it.”

  “Don’t be,” she protested vehemently. “His actions are not your doing. After all, you cannot control other people.” She placed her hand over his heart, resting her head upon his shoulder. “You are not to blame for Westmore’s faults any more than I am to blame for my father’s.”

  “You are most wise. And I’m damned glad you are away from that man.”

  “So we run away to Egypt straight away?” she asked. “I’m not comfortable staying in London.”

  “I agree.” He savored the feel of her against his body. If he had his way, she would never leave his side again. She had become a necessity to his wellbeing. The perfect match. A companion and someone who understood him in a world that did not understand men like him. And he understood her. It was a rare union of souls and he would not foolishly ignore the luck that had brought her to him.

  “We should get away as soon as possible,” he said, before he stroked the fiery locks of hair that teased his cheek. “I’ve ordered your clothes. They will be available for us to collect in the morning, and then I think that we should go.”

  She tilted her head back and smiled up. “How truly full of foresight you are.”

  He beamed back at her, his heart welling in his chest. “I’m very glad you think so. You shall need them if you are to properly travel and explore like an adventurous woman. No restricting gowns for you, dearest Pippa.”

  “Thank you, Marcus. That is most thoughtful,” she said, using his given name in that moment. A change from the use of his title.

  The sound of that name, a name which almost no one used now, warmed his heart.

  Softly, he kissed her, marveling that she was going to be with him always. “We’ll have the rest of the trunks sent on. I think it is best to get you out of England and away from your father and Westmore as quickly as possible.”

  Her lips pursed, considering. “I cannot wait to be away from the machinations of my father.”

  He wrapped his arms about her, as if that would somehow keep her safe from her father. “Who would have thought the man would be willing to throw you under the carriage wheel so easily for his own advancement?”

  “I would,” she replied, resigned. “Though I confess, I did not realize he would put me under lock and key quite so literally. But men do still think of their children as chattel, do they not?”

  Her comment mirrored very closely the discussion he’d had with Peterbrooke. “Though it saddens me, I cannot disagree.”

  She gave him a mock serious glare. “You’re not about to do that with me as your wife, are you?”

  It would have been so easy to say something flippant. To tease her. But he did not wish to do either of those things. Instead, he cupped her cheek and gazed into her intelligent eyes. “You are my equal and my partner. Our departure from England is proof that I hope to keep you free rather than see you imprisoned, especially to a man like Westmore.”

  Her eyes shone with hope and something deeper. “I’m glad we are in accord on that.” But then she scowled. “Westmore asked me to be his assistant, if you can believe it.”

  “I can believe it,” he growled, wishing he could throttle the man again. “That bastard. Positively foul. No doubt he had visions of trotting you out in front of society to recite everything you know about Egypt. He knows so bloody little.”

  “You’re quite correct,” she said. “That’s exactly what he had in mind.” She stilled. “I must tell you something.”

  Anxiety tightened his stomach as he looked down at her, determined to keep his apprehension in check. “Yes.”

  Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I believe I know where the map is.”

  “Where the blazes is it?” he all but bellowed, astounded she’d managed to discover it while trapped in her father’s house. But truly, nothing should have astounded him about Pippa. She was a revelation.

  “It is on his person,” she said triumphantly.

  She couldn’t be serious. Surely, Westmore wasn’t so foolish. “I beg your pardon.”

  “He’s keeping it on his person,” she reiterated. “He seemed most distracted by his coat. He kept touching the breast pocket when he was in my presence. I wish I could have thought of a way to get up close to him and examine it, but then he would have known that I knew where it was.”

  “Damnation!” Marcus roared, slamming his fist down upon his thigh.

  “What is it?” she asked, apparently no longer surprised by his occasionally gruff nature.

  “I saw him this afternoon,” he explained. “He put his coat down. I could have arranged for someone to pick his pocket.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Gentlemen Jackson’s boxing arena.”

  “My goodness,” she said. “I assume you came out as the victor.”

  “I did,” he admitted. “Westmore couldn’t quite keep up.”

  She nodded, her face growing more grave in the pale moonlight. “Luckily, he won’t be able to do much to us in the future, now that we’re going to be free.”

  “Exactly, Pippa,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that the map was gone. “Now that we’re going to be free.”

  “I think I might know how to get the map back,” she said suddenly, her eyes lighting with excitement and determination.

  His insides tightened with hope for a moment, but then he shook his head. “No, we
must let it go.”

  “Let it go?” she echoed. “I think not. Now, listen to my plan,” she insisted.

  Ignoring her would be condescending and a mistake. Yet he couldn’t ignore the sudden trepidation he felt. Pippa was a remarkable woman who was just as devoted to the protection of the artifacts in Egypt as he. He certainly couldn’t deny that. He only hoped he did not live to regret it.

  With each word that slipped past her lips, he felt both concern and admiration.

  He also knew there would be no holding her back. Not a woman like Pippa Post.

  Chapter 25

  The coach sat around the corner from the Earl of Westmore’s London town house.

  Roxley’s hands were in fists upon his breeched-covered knees. “I can’t let you do this.”

  “Let?” Pippa piped, even as she felt waves of uncertainty. “Let, sir? Do you not know me at all?”

  “Pippa, I know you very well.” A muscle twitched in his jaw as he struggled to find the right words. “It’s why I admire you so. But allowing you—”

  “You are not allowing me,” she pointed out. She was tired of men like Westmore and her father pushing her into a corner. For once, she wished to have the upper hand. And to have it before she ran off to Egypt. She wished to leave England a victor, not a coward.

  Gently, she reached out and touched Marcus’s clenched fist. “It is my choice, and I believe that I absolutely have the skill to take back the map.”

  “Of course, you have the skill,” he grumbled. The emerald shade of his eyes darkened with concern. “But he is a nefarious devil.”

  She cocked her head to the side, wishing to bring a bit of levity to their discourse. “Do you think I do not know how to manage nefarious devils?”

  “I do not know,” he ground out. “Do you?”

  “I do think that I am capable of manipulating a fool like Westmore, if I wish it.”

  Roxley stared at her, wary. “Will it be so easy, then?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pippa said, smiling, choosing optimism.

  She could see that Roxley didn’t like the idea at all, but she did not wish to allow Westmore to get away with having caused so much difficulty. He would never suspect her of being able to undermine him. His arrogance was immense.

  “A compliment here or there,” she said. “I will profess that I was mistaken, that he is truly the man for me.”

  Roxley blew out a derisive breath. “But what if something goes amiss, Pippa?”

  “Then you shall be near at hand,” she assured. “For once, I am asking you to trust me.”

  He looked unconvinced and positively uncomfortable sitting in the coach.

  She’d never really realized how large he was before. Somehow, his big, gruff appearance had become quite normal to her. Sitting in the enclosed space of the coach with him, its brocade blue walls lit by faint beams of moonlight, she was touched by his concern for her.

  In truth, he looked as if he wished to tear everything apart to keep her safe. It was heartening that he cared so deeply.

  But in the hours of the night, she had realized that while she did wish to escape her father’s dictates, she did not wish to run away.

  She wished to show defiance.

  She longed to live boldly.

  More than anything, she desired to spend her life with Marcus, studying the treasures of Egypt’s past. But she also wished to ensure that the artifacts in Egypt would be safe, and that meant that they had to get the map away from Westmore.

  Yes, she was certain. She would not want to leave England without it.

  Patiently, she leaned forward, took his hand in hers, and held it tightly. “You must trust that I have the ability to do this. If he does something that I don’t like, I shall shout the entire city down and all will be well.”

  His lips pressed into a tight line before he pulled her into his lap and held her close. “Pippa,” he whispered. “You are very important to me. Far more important than any map.”

  “Do you think Westmore might do me a mischief?” she asked, looking up into his gaze.

  “No,” he said bluntly. “He’s not a total cad. At least, I don’t think so. He has simply lost sight of himself.”

  “That’s what I think too,” she surmised. “I wish to take this risk. It is mine to take, after all.”

  She stroked his dark hair back from his forehead. “He is merely a thief. Thieves, one can manage.”

  She tilted her head back and gazed at him. “Now kiss me for luck.”

  And he did.

  He lowered his mouth over hers, tracing her lips with his, and the gentle passion of it nearly overwhelmed her. It was such a delicious moment.

  She loved him. Oh, how she loved his great heart, his sharp mind, and the way he was determined to champion what they both loved so well.

  Pippa breathed him in, savoring this. Her hands softened, wrapping about his shoulders as she slipped into the bliss of his kiss. His mouth roved over hers and she opened to him. The soft velvet of his tongue touched her own and she sighed against him.

  “Soon,” she whispered, pulling back. “We shall have this whenever we desire without the fear of anyone separating us.”

  “Nothing shall come between us again,” he assured.

  She did not give that thought. For if she did, she might wonder if he still only wished to have her because she was so skilled in the organization of his work. She knew he liked her but. . .

  They were not marrying each other for matrimonial love. They were marrying for convenience, to ensure that she got away from her family, and she was grateful for that. Away from them, she could live the life she had always dreamed of.

  She turned to the window at the sound of a coach. She recognized Westmore’s crest upon the door. “There he is,” she whispered.

  “Are you certain you wish to do this?” he asked tightly.

  “I am determined,” she replied with a jaunty smile, though her insides quaked.

  With that, she slid off his lap, opened the coach door, and quietly jumped down into the dark London night.

  Soon it would be dawn. Intercepting Westmore before he went into his house was her best chance.

  She headed quietly along the pavement, and before he could get out of the coach, she winked up at his footman and opened the coach door. The footman grinned and said nothing.

  Hastily, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

  Westmore gaped.

  “Pippa,” he said. “What the devil are you doing in my coach?”

  “I wanted to see you,” she professed, calling upon all the romantic novels she had ever read. This was the moment that all that reading would come to fruition, and she was certain that Westmore was going to adore every word.

  “I could not bear to wait another hour,” she insisted, placing a hand over her heart. “I could not bear to wait to send you a message. I had no idea how long I would have to wait if I did, so I came to you at once.”

  He blinked. “You came to me?” he asked. “What the devil for?”

  Westmore’s cravat was a jumble. His hair was wild, as if he had spent the entire night in revelry. Brandy scented his breath.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, “I have thought about you all day. I can no longer deny the sensibleness of your proposal.”

  He stared at her, his eyes slightly glassy, but then a slow smile of pleasure tilted his lips. “In truth?”

  She nodded, realizing the fact that he was in his cups might make this easier than she expected. Appeals to his desire to be superior would surely work.

  “You are the one who is full of adventure and wonder, are you not?” she breathed, doing her best to look filled with girlish admiration. “You live your life as one who takes, who conquers and lives life to its fullest.”

  That smile of his only broadened into one of self-congratulation. “What made you realize this?” he asked.

  “I was reading over the newspaper articles that you’ve been mentioned in,” she said,
which was not a lie. She had been reading about the nefarious things he had done. “And I realized you are not some dry academic who cares only for dates. No, you care for the wildness of it all, for the adventure. You,” she praised, “know how to live your life for pleasure. And I wish to experience pleasure.”

  She scoffed with a derisive wave of her hand. “Roxley knows little of pleasure. He only cares for books, and the organization and cataloging of historical events.” Pippa widened her eyes. “Whereas you, you make events. You make people wish to listen.”

  “By God, Pippa,” he said, “this is quite a reversal. I am glad you’ve come to see sense.”

  “When one considers their future life,” she assured, the words nearly sticking in her throat, “one must consider what one is choosing. A dry life of little passion and excitement, or one that is full like yours.”

  He held out his hand to her. “Come,” he urged. “Sit beside me and tell me more.”

  Though she did not wish to, she was thrilled her plan was working. Pippa swallowed and took his hand. Slowly, she crossed the small space and lowered herself beside him. Her skirts fanned over his polished black evening shoes.

  She was not a seductress, but she was determined to get the map.

  He eyed where her frock skimmed his thigh, then he traced his fingers over hers. “I thought you were loyal to Roxley,” he said. “Why do you think marrying me is such a good idea?”

  Pippa resisted pulling back as the thick scent of brandy wafted over her. She forced herself to smile. Clearly, he wished to be favored in comparison to his rival. It was such a tragedy that the man was as shallow as a puddle.

  “You said we would travel to Egypt and find the most exquisite things to bring back to London.” The very idea dismayed her, but she smiled at him as if it was the most delightful prospect. “And when we do, everyone shall admire and celebrate us.”

  Though she was loath to take this particular tactic up, she batted her lashes and asked, “Do you think you could take me to the velvet nights of Arabia and introduce me to the perfumed winds of it all?”

  She’d read that line in a book long ago. She couldn’t recall which, but she was certain the heroine’s last name had been Smythe. Half the country had swooned over that novel and she was pleased to see that it was also being positively received by Westmore.