Part 8 (2/2)
He straightened and tied the laces, then spun her around and pulled her into his arms. ”Tell me again why you won't stay.”
”I tell you every time I'm here.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. ”I have servants, you know, and I am trying to live a proper sort of life. Servants talk, and as the house belongs to Evelyn, I daresay it would only be a matter of time before she wondered what I did with my evenings if she learned I was not returning to my own bed.” She shook her head. ”She is my dearest friend. I do so hate lying to her.”
”It's not lying, really. You said yourself she never asks what you do in the evenings.”
”No, she doesn't,” Celeste said slowly. ”Still, she might well consider my presence with her at all a lie.”
”Celeste.” A warning sounded in his voice.
”Yes, yes I know.” She huffed. ”You and Sir thought it was necessary. But she would certainly take my leaving the department to keep an eye on her, and provide protection if necessary, as deceit at the very least.”
”She will never find out,” he said firmly.
”Regardless, I am going to endeavor to lie less in the future.” She paused. ”To Evelyn and everyone else.”
”Rubbish.” He laughed. ”Everybody lies.”
”I do so hate lying.” She sighed. ”Obviously I've changed.”
”Two years of proper behavior will do that to you.” He pulled her tighter against him.
”It hasn't been entirely proper,” she said under her breath.
”Thank G.o.d.” He lowered his head to kiss that sensitive spot between her ear and her jaw, and she moaned softly. The man knew exactly what to do to make her melt in his arms.
She drew a deep breath and pushed away. ”That's quite enough.” She cast him a chastising look. ”Do you think you could at least don a dressing gown?”
”I'm tempting you to stay, aren't I?” He grinned wickedly but grabbed his dressing gown nonetheless. She found her skirts and stepped into them, then slipped into her shoes.
”Not at all,” she said in a lofty manner. ”I am simply concerned that you will catch your death of cold.”
”I didn't know you cared.”
”Of course I care.” She was b.u.t.toning the last b.u.t.ton on her polonaise when his arms slipped around her from behind.
”I'm glad.” He nuzzled her neck.
”I would hate for anything to happen to you,” she said brusquely, sounding rather more affectionate than she'd intended. She much preferred not to reveal her emotions.
”I want you to stay with me.” He paused. ”Do you realize, from the moment you first shared my bed, there has been no other woman in my life but you?”
”My G.o.d, Max.” She forced a light note to her voice. ”What on earth has happened to you?”
”You have happened to me.” His tone was abruptly serious. ”I could make an honest woman out of you.”
Her breath caught. She ignored it but was glad he couldn't see her face. ”Don't be absurd. You're the youngest son of a marquess. You've been knighted. I am not the sort of woman you should have as a wife.”
For an endless moment he didn't say anything. Then he blew a long breath. ”Perhaps.”
A few minutes later she was on her way home in the cab he had, as always, arranged to wait for her, refusing, as always, to allow him to escort her. His suggestion lingered in her thoughts. He'd never mentioned marriage before; she never imagined he would. They'd been together for more than three years now, and she had long ago accepted this was all they would have.
Still, when she'd said she wasn't the type of woman he should marry, it would have been nice if, just this once, he had lied.
Chapter 7.
”I would never presume to question either your decisions or your conclusions, sir, and I have done precisely as you instructed but ...”
Adrian narrowed his eyes. It was already late afternoon and his patience had worn thin hours ago. Worse, he had no real idea where his wife was at the moment. ”But?”
”But ...” Isaiah Vincent, Adrian's valet, chose his words with care. ”It would seem to me you are jumping to unwarranted conclusions.”
”They're not entirely unwarranted.” Adrian tried and failed to hide the defensive tone in his voice.
Vincent raised a questioning brow.
”She has not been herself.”
”Perhaps not. The weather-”
”I'm tired of the weather being used as an excuse,” Adrian snapped. ”I have experienced the exact same weather she has and have felt no ill effects.”
”You did mention you have been feeling restless of late, sir.”
”That has nothing to do with the weather.” Adrian waved off the comment and paced the length of his bedroom, the largest such room in the London house. It had been his father's before him and his father's father before that. As the heir, Richard had occupied rooms that were nearly as big and he'd never seen any reason to move to this suite. But then Richard had never had a wife either. A wife who had pointed out that the furnis.h.i.+ngs were sorely in need of updating. She had replaced the heavy, dark, centuries-old furniture with lighter, burled wood and carved pieces. He quite liked it, although, in truth, it scarcely mattered to him as long as the bed was comfortable and his wife was in it. He and Evie had separate bedrooms, of course, connected through adjoining dressing rooms, but as often as not, she slept in his bed. Their bed. Precisely as he preferred. ”Before my marriage, before my brother died, when I was free to do anything I wished, as you may recall, I did.”
”You did have an interesting life, sir,” Vincent murmured.
”A certain restlessness is to be expected in a man after two full years of eminently proper living,” Adrian said and wondered exactly whom he was trying to convince.
Vincent cleared his throat.
Adrian knew that sound. ”Well?”
”Well what, sir?”
”Well, tell me whatever it is you are thinking.”
”I daresay you won't like it.”
”I don't expect to like it.”
”Permission to speak freely then?”
”Because you haven't spoken freely up to now?” Adrian glared. ”I know exactly what you're doing, you know.”
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