A SINFUL SURRENDER: Spies and Lovers

by Laura Trentham

  Dimly, she was aware he had stilled above her, his entire body strung as tightly as a bow. A flooding warmth filled her. He had spilled inside her. A satisfaction that went beyond the physical brought tears to her eyes.

  They were truly husband and wife.

  After blowing out the candles, he gathered her close to him and tucked them under the coverlet. The darkness provided a different sort of concealment. Even her wild and wandering imagination couldn’t have envisioned the night’s events. From their foray to Fieldstones to the consummation of their marriage, revelations had revealed themselves one after another.

  She closed her eyes and gave thanks to whatever mischievous spirit was watching over her. What if she’d been forced to marry Sir Wallace by special license that day? She would be in his house, in his bed.

  She clutched Marcus tighter and buried her face in his neck. How had Marcus come to mean so much to her in such a short amount of time? The sweeping emotions scared her. While the murderer on their trail was dangerous, Marcus possessed the power to devastate her. Power she’d freely given him.

  His hand played in her hair. “What is going on in that active mind of yours, wife?”

  Unable to reveal her most vulnerable thoughts, she offered a different truth. “I was giving thanks I didn’t have to perform my wifely duties with Sir Wallace tonight.”

  His laugh rumbled his chest against her. “No regrets accepting my offer then?”

  She kissed his jaw. He turned his head to capture her lips, the sweetness making her toes curl. When they broke apart, she whispered, “None.”

  She opened her mouth to ask him the same but remained silent. Her lot in life had always included marriage to some man, but Marcus could have walked away from the complication. Yet he hadn’t.

  Still the question remained. Had he married her to assuage his bruised family honor, or did he truly care about her?

  Chapter 13

  A noise jolted Delilah awake. The shadows that climbed the walls were in the wrong places, and the usual scent of lavender had been superseded by the smell of bread baking. Where was she? Her heart leaped in panic before she remembered everything.

  She pulled the quilt to her chin and took stock. She was naked. It was the first time she’d ever slept naked. Of course, last night was the first time she’d done many things. Movement at the window drew her attention.

  Wearing his buckskin breeches and nothing else, Marcus peeked around the curtains. For a moment, she was distracted by the sheer beauty of the shifting muscles along his shoulders and back. Then the tautness of his body registered, churning her own anxiety higher.

  “What’s amiss?” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m being overly suspicious.”

  “But?”

  “But it would be best if we departed.”

  “Right now?” No hint of the dawn gathered outside.

  “I’m afraid so. Wear your warmest traveling clothes.” Marcus pulled on the rest of his clothes, then helped her fasten her dark blue habit. “Are you an accomplished rider?”

  She hadn’t grown up with horses. It was only after her father had begun to amass money that he had bought her a pony and she’d learned she had no affinity for riding. Even the pony had understood who was in charge, and it hadn’t been the awkward piece of baggage in the saddle.

  “I won’t fall off.” She considered the truth of her statement for a moment and amended her answer. “Probably.”

  He made a sound that fell between worry and laughter. “We’ll remedy that soon, but you’ll have to muddle along today.”

  A bump in the hall had them both staring at the door. It was likely someone returning late or rising early. Still, Delilah’s heart drummed in her ears. The door handle swiveled ever so slowly, and the door bowed as if a shoulder were being applied. The bolt held. For now.

  Marcus hissed and gestured her toward the window. This was becoming a dangerous habit. He nudged her out the window onto a rickety wooden staircase and handed out their traveling bags before dousing the candles and closing the window behind him. They were on the ground without an issue this time and not a second too soon.

  The faint sound of wood splintering carried to them. She froze and stared up at the room. Marcus grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the dim courtyard into a dark alley. The brutish man with the squashed nose pushed the window open and looked around the courtyard, letting out a string of curses before he disappeared.

  Marcus led them farther into the maze of alleys and streets until they were out of sight of the inn. His pace quickened until she was nearly trotting at his side. Confused and lost, she held on tightly to Marcus with one hand and her bag with the other, thankful one of them had a sense of direction.

  After a quarter hour, he halted in an alley smelling of horse dung. When she would have spoken, he put his finger against her lips, his head cocked. The shuffling of hooves and soft whinnies sounded over a city coming to life. A cart full of vegetables pulled by an old nag rattled by on the main thoroughfare.

  Marcus gave a brusque nod and led her into a stable, stopping at a stall near the end. Delilah peeked over the door. Snuffling softly, O’Connell slept upright in the corner on a saddle, his chin on his chest and his arms crossed. The horse gave a chuff and walked toward the hand Marcus held out.

  Even knowing little about horses, Delilah recognized the beauty of the mare. This must be Starlight. Her silvery coat and long mane lived up to her name. No wonder Marcus was keen on having O’Connell protect her. He caressed her muzzle, and she moved closer to bump her head against his shoulder, the affection between them obvious.

  He let himself into the stall, shook O’Connell awake, and pointed toward the exit. The old man asked no questions, only rose, gathered the saddle, and began the process of saddling Starlight.

  Marcus moved into the neighboring stall and saddled a bay who also looked to be of fine quality. It tossed its black mane with impatience to be gone. The third horse to be readied was a round-bodied piebald with white whiskers. Marcus heaved a sidesaddle on the old gray, which answered one question.

  O’Connell mounted the bay using a block and held Starlight’s reins. Marcus brought Delilah closer to the old piebald and whispered, “His name is Pigeon. He’s not much to look at, but he’s as steady as they come.”

  “Will he be able to keep up with Starlight and—” She pointed at the bay.

  “Queenie. Pigeon will manage.”

  As Marcus gave her a leg up, she murmured, “But will I?”

  Dawn had come to London, muted by clouds and dampness. They rode single file, Marcus in front, Delilah in the middle, and O’Connell at the rear. Instead of remaining on the wide main roads, Marcus led them through twists and turns until Delilah had no idea which direction they headed. Pigeon plodded along as if playing follow the leader, and Delilah had little to do but stay atop him.

  Only an hour into the ride, and the ache in her backside bordered on painful. The jostle reminded her of their marital activities the night before. Even with her thick habit and cloak, she was chilled by the time the buildings thinned and newly plowed fields outnumbered cottages. How far did they have to travel?

  Marcus fell back to ride next to her. “How are you managing?”

  “Pigeon seems docile.”

  “He is, but how are you?” His green eyes were full of concern but also worries.

  Again she deflected. “How much farther will we ride?”

  His wince created a pit in her stomach. “Quite a distance, I’m afraid. I hope to reach the Wyndam estates by nightfall. It’s a bit beyond the village of Lipton on the western road.”

  Four hours later, she was biting the inside of her mouth to distract herself from the pain and cramps in her bottom and legs. A raindrop hit her cheek. She looked up, but a low fog obscured her vision.

  Another half hour of pure misery passed before the outline of an inn came into focus like a mirage out of the fog. She nearly wept with gra
titude. They veered into the inn yard. Eager to get solid ground under her feet, she kicked out of the stirrup, unhooked her leg, and slid to the ground. Her knees nearly buckled, and she hung on to the saddle until her legs could support her weight. She tramped through two inches of mud toward the shelter of the common room.

  Only a handful of patrons filled the smoky, dim room. The earthiness of the peat fire overlay the scents of men and rich food. The weather had kept most travelers off the road.

  She gingerly sat on a bench close to the fire, pulled her sodden gloves and hat off, and warmed her fingers until the pins and needles were gone. Marcus spoke with the innkeeper’s wife while O’Connell settled the horses.

  Marcus joined her with warm ciders, took her hands in his and chafed them. “The fare is simple but hearty. Stew and bread. I wish we could have waited to travel when the weather cleared.”

  “Obviously, staying in London was too dangerous,” she said.

  “You’re missing your family’s fancy carriage about now, aren’t you?” His gaze was on their hands.

  She thought fondly of the velvet-covered squabs and warming bricks and lied to alleviate his frown. “Nonsense. I enjoy the brisk country air.”

  He wasn’t fooled. “There’s a carriage in storage in the stables at the estate. O’Connell and I will set it to rights for your use, I promise.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the estate.” The brightness she forced into her voice did little to lighten his expression.

  “You should know that—”

  “We have a problem, laddie.” O’Connell boomed from the door.

  Marcus gestured him over. He sat and removed his hat and gloves, water dripping off both. He took a swig of cider before saying gravely, “Pigeon is favoring his back limb, the poor old boy.”

  “What do you suggest?” Marcus asked.

  “Leave him here, or he’ll be lame by the time we get to the castle.”

  “Do they have a horse for rent?”

  “Nay. They have no horses for any price. I already tried.”

  “We could take a room here,” Delilah said hopefully. A fire and warm bath sounded heavenly.

  Marcus considered her for a moment before returning his attention to O’Connell. “Go find out how far to Wintermarsh.”

  “What’s Wintermarsh?” Delilah asked.

  “Earl Winder’s estate. I would prefer to beg hospitality from the earl rather than chance another night in a public inn. I should have paid my respects to the earl before now.”

  “Will we be welcome?”

  “Our families have been neighbors for generations.” The lack of confidence in his voice was disquieting.

  O’Connell returned. “Two hours’ easy ride.”

  “I’ll take Delilah there on Starlight. You continue on to Lipton, take a room for the night, and gather supplies. We’ll meet tomorrow at the castle.” Marcus passed over a few coins.

  A serving girl delivered three bowls of stew and warm, crusty bread. Delilah’s stomach rumbled. They’d missed breakfast, and she had been too nervous to eat much the previous night before leaving for Fieldstones. She devoured the stew and used the bread to sop up every morsel.

  “Dusk will come early. I want to be off the road well before dark.” Marcus stood and tugged his gloves on.

  Delilah wished she’d taken more time with the stew. A drizzle still fell, and it felt as if the temperature had followed. She shivered, working on her gloves but shoving her wilted hat into her bag. She placed her foot on top of his, and he hauled her up to sit in front of him. She let out a soft yelp when her bottom made contact with the hard saddle. She squirmed to find a better position.

  He tapped her leg. “Bring your leg over.”

  “But I’m wearing skirts.”

  “There’s not anyone to judge you, lass. It will be more comfortable for you and Starlight if you ride astride.” When she still hesitated, he leaned closer to her ear. “Come now, you’ll traipse into a club of ill-repute but balk at exposing your ankles?”

  The humor in his voice was like little fingers tickling her heart and making it skip. Why was she concerned with her modesty in front of Marcus? It seemed that in spite of their intimacies the night before, they were still strangers in many ways. She hitched her skirts higher and, with his hands steadying her, settled herself astride.

  “It was more of a skulk than a traipse, sir,” she said with starch.

  Now, instead of the hard saddle, she was up against a hard man, which was uncomfortable in an entirely different way. She searched for something innocuous to discuss.

  “Starlight is a beautiful mare.” Delilah patted the horse’s shoulder.

  “Aye. Starlight will be the dam to launch my stables. All I need is a worthy sire.”

  “You don’t have one in your stables?”

  “I’m flush with mares at the moment, but I have faith I’ll find proper studs for them all. One good foaling will turn things around.” Equal parts optimism and despair battered his voice. “My dream is to breed the finest horseflesh in England and beyond.”

  Delilah might not have grown up as part of the ton, but she had learned hard lessons about its insular, unforgiving nature. She shifted in order to see his profile. “This quest to clear your father isn’t entirely out of familial love, is it?”

  His sigh sent a puff of white into the air. “Not entirely. Who else but my fellow peers will buy my thoroughbreds? Who else could afford them?”

  She faced forward and stared at the muddy road framed between Starlight’s ears. “Men like my father. Men whose fortunes are rising through shipping or industry.”

  “Cits?” He sounded astonished.

  She jabbed him with her elbow. “Considering you married the daughter of one, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a snob, Lord Wyndam.”

  His good-natured chuckle settled her ire. “Not snobbery. Only surprise at my own nearsightedness. Seeing as how your father is my only connection to that world and would have rather seen me dead than bless our marriage, I doubt he will vouch for me to his friends.”

  “Father would never have wished you dead. He’s not a violent man.” She found herself smiling. “In fact, he can be quite jolly. I remember once with Alastair—”

  Remembering her brother brought into focus the tangle of fate between her and Marcus.

  “Tell me about him.” Marcus gripped the reins in one hand and tightened his hold around her waist with his other arm.

  “He was smart and handsome and funny. Even more admirable, he didn’t treat me as an annoyance. Although there was one time I caught him kissing the baker’s daughter behind their shop. I teased him incessantly until he threatened to spank me and chased me up a tree.” She laughed. Alastair had pulled her out of the tree, but instead of spanking her, he had tickled her until she begged for mercy.

  “He sounds like a good brother.”

  “He was.” She paused to gather her courage. “He wasn’t killed performing an act of courage in battle. His rifle misfired due to tainted gunpowder.”

  The squelch of Starlight’s hooves in the mud filled the oppressive silence. Marcus’s voice was hoarse. “The whispers against my father accuse him of selling tainted powder to the troops.”

  “I know. Mother told me of the rumors.”

  “When?” His body was stiff and unyielding at her back. Starlight shuffled restlessly and tossed her head, picking up on his mood.

  “After you called at the house.”

  “No wonder your parents were willing to sell you to Wainscott to get you away from me.” He gathered her damp, snarled hair and pushed it over one shoulder. She shifted around. Her nose brushed his, and his gaze was steady on hers. “And yet you agreed to marry me, knowing my father may have caused your brother’s death. Why?”

  Starlight halted and stamped her hooves. A raindrop hit Marcus’s temple and coasted to his jaw like a tear. Delilah cupped his face and ran her thumb along his damp cheek. “Because you are not your fa
ther. Because you believe in his innocence, and I believe in you. Because when you could have left me to the mercy of the wolves, you didn’t.”

  “You might have been better off if I had left you.”

  “No! No,” she repeated softer. “Either they would have killed me as soon as they discovered me with Quinton’s body, or Lord W would have finished me off later.”

  “We’re not out of danger yet.”

  “I trust you to keep me safe.”

  “I worry I’m not deserving of such trust.”

  “Then I’ll keep you safe.” She tried to smile with trembling lips.

  He pressed a hard kiss against her mouth before getting Starlight walking again. A chill wind lashed them with a spate of raindrops from the leaves overhead. Delilah tucked her chin down and didn’t speak again until Marcus pointed to a long drive emerging in the premature dusk. “The lane to Wintermarsh.”

  Hundred-year oaks lined the path, stretching their limbs and shielding travelers from the worst of the rain. Through the gloom, a large gray-stoned house stood sentinel at the end of the drive. It was a handsome house, if a little forbidding.

  “The earl may not even be in residence,” Marcus said thoughtfully.

  “If he’s not?”

  “Then we throw ourselves on the mercy of the housekeeper. Worst case, perhaps the stable master will lend us the use of a dry stall for the night, if not for us, then for Starlight. She needs oats and water and a blanket. I’ve pushed her hard today.”

  At the stable door, Marcus dismounted, and without his stalwart bulk and heat behind her, Delilah crumpled into herself, her shoulders hunching. He held up his hands to help her down. Instead of a graceful dismount, she toppled forward, her hem catching on the saddle and pulling her skirts to her knees. A tug freed her and sent her into Marcus’s chest, where she burrowed, feeling fragile and perilously close to tears.

  Starlight whinnied. A man stood in the doors of the stable, a warm smile on his rough-hewn handsome face. “Looks as if you’re nearly drowned. I’m Tom Donahue, the stable master at Wintermarsh, and who is this beauty?”