Chapter Six
She’d made two gross miscalculations.
One, that the storm had passed. Certainly, it had. But another had immediately started to brew in its place. And two, that she was safe. She was most decidedly not. But the danger that gathered here was a danger of another kind. Both the storm and danger had one name.
Giles Bishop.
Which was why she had to reaffirm some things. She’d half expected the man to hunt her down, but he hadn’t. Never mind.
She didn’t bother to knock.
She breezed into his room, adjacent to hers. And stopped short. Steam rose from where he lounged in a bathtub. Steam wasn’t the only thing that rose. The man did, too, startled, leaping to attention.
“Alyssia?”
Lawd.
Her gaze tracked down the wide expanse of his chest, the muscles that contracted there before stopping at his manly bits. It didn’t lower from there, couldn’t lower, really, although she did register that he also had strong thighs while she was gaping at his that-section.
Hands covered his unmentionables.
Her gaze slowly retraced their journey back up his chest. Only then did she notice two nasty scars on his torso and several lighter ones on his arms. Their eyes locked.
One of his brows arched. “Had your fill?”
Heat burst across her cheeks. “You could have locked the door!”
“You could have knocked,” he countered smoothly, water sliding over his shoulders as he slowly sank back into the tub. “Was there something urgent you wished to discuss or did you come for the purpose of admiring your husband’s body?”
“Admiring? I most certainly was not!”
“That’s a shame, really. I was hoping you might.”
“And why would I do that when what we have between us is a marriage of convenience only?” Alyssia countered.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy pretty sights.”
Arrogant man, calling himself a pretty sight. She refused to dignify such an outlandish statement with a response. Did he think to scandalize her? Did he believe she’d run off in simpering fashion because she’d laid eyes on the figure of a man?
What nonsense.
She strode over to his tub, lips hitching up when his eyes widened even though it was only for a mere second. She leaned in, unapologetic, and cast a deliberate glance into the water. A hand obstructed her view. Still a rather breathtaking view.
“Alyssia,” he snarled.
She chuckled. “What? Can tease but cannot be teased?” She retracted her gaze, hoping he couldn’t hear the sound of her heart threatening to jump right into that tub with him. “We have matters to discuss.”
“Then I’ll join you afterward.”
“I don’t know,” Alyssia said, her gaze ran over his chest. “It seems the perfect spot to ask about your plans.”
His face went blank for a moment before his eyes narrowed. “You mean our plans?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you wish to call them.”
He dragged a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back only for the ends to cling rebelliously to his temples, droplets tracing a slow, distracting path down the curve of his neck.
“Plus,” she added, “we should probably discuss expectations while we’re at it.”
That earned her another raised brow. “Which do you want to discuss first?”
She didn’t have to think, but she did retreat a few steps.
“Plans.” That was the most pressing and would keep her mind from wandering to places it had no right to wander.
“As for mine, Annabelle will leak it to the gossip rags that I’ve wed to smother any rumors and start new ones in that direction. ”
“Smart.”
“What about you? I gather that I’ll have tons of callers as a result.
” They could all rot in perdition though.
One only had to go through a rough patch to see who one’s true friends were.
“However, I don’t much care for that. And I’m sure you’d rather stay out of sight.
I’ll have the household say we’re enjoying our honeymoon. ”
He nodded. “Where do you wish to stay until my affairs with my uncle are settled? Here, or do you wish to go home?”
“Let’s remain here. If news of my sudden wedding spreads and your uncle learns of your return, he might correctly assume that we’ve honored the arrangements of our parents.”
His eyes narrowed on her a second, staring, before nodding. “Smart. I hadn’t thought of that.”
He sounded so surprised, Alyssia almost rolled her eyes.
“I’ll pay a visit to my uncle in the morning.”
Now that surprised her. “Do you think that is wise revealing your presence to him so boldly?”
“It’s only a matter of time before he discovers the truth. I’d prefer to shove it down his throat.”
Well, it was his choice.
“No doubt my uncle will call on his cutthroats,” he added. “It’s better to get rid of the entire nest.”
Ah. A moment of silence followed before her gaze dropped to his chest. “Those scars . . . are they from that time?”
“My parents’ accident?” He rubbed a hand over the most prominent one. “Yes.” He grinned at her. “Why? Do you feel sorry for me? If you kiss them, they won’t hurt anymore.”
Urgh. “You’re impossible.”
“Frequently,” he said, chuckling.
“Absurd,” Alyssia muttered.
Another low chuckle. “Shall we make a set of rules?”
“We aren’t children anymore,” she countered. He’d always done that for everything when they were younger. “There is only one rule. This marriage shall never be more than convenience.”
“Noted.”
He didn’t sound very convinced. “What about you? Do you have any expectations?”
“Only to be scolded by you,” he said easily.
Curious about something, Alyssia asked, “Why didn’t you return sooner? I imagine you could have ended this matter years ago.”
“Time has a way of creating the sort of distance that makes one master the art of self-justification.”
Those dark eyes bore into her. Touched her in a way only he ever could. No. No. This was exactly what could not happen. Granted, they were married now. That, however, made any future mishap worse. They were bound. Connected. Drawing a clear line and honoring that line would be for the best.
The safest.
Bishop fought to keep his mind focused while his body entertained a different idea—hardening.
If this continued, his brain would soften soon.
Damn it. He’d asked for a bathtub filled with cold water.
What they’d given him was one as hot as the image of Alyssia naked with him in it pumping through his blood.
“You mean excuses?” she murmured, crossing her arms, an action that seemed to have become synonymous with her reactions to him.
“I suppose that term is not entirely incorrect.” A lot of nuances were carried within that one word. Admittedly, looking at Alyssia now, no self-justification seemed all that justified. Time and distance were truly comrades in arms.
She scoffed. “So devil-may-care.”
That amused him. “Now you sound like Crane.”
“Your employer? Was he the reason you remained away for so long?”
She had an uncanny way of getting to the heart of every matter. “I owe him my life,” Bishop admitted. If not for the duke, he’d have perished in a ditch on his property. That was how far he’d managed to run before collapsing.
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “I’m afraid that life is not a debt anyone can repay.”
Bishop shrugged, thinking about Crane and the woman he loved, how they had found each other once more after she had saved the duke as a boy, and how they’d married.
Had it not been for Bishop, who had nudged the duke in her direction, that might not have been the outcome.
“I believe that debt has been repaid, which was one of the reasons I chose to come to London now.”
“How loyal.”
He chuckled. “Why so prim, Liss?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“I would, but I’m afraid it just slips off my tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
“Urgh, have you always been this impossible?” She pivoted to leave. “Let us end this conversation here.”
“Wait,” he called, resistance surging like a cannon blast at her retreat. “You haven’t asked me.”
She faced him again. “Asked you what?”
“How I survived.”
There was a slight hesitation before she said, “I thought it might be a sensitive topic.”
A sensitive topic like you and that arse Rafferty. “You can ask me anything. There is nothing I won’t tell you.”
She nodded. “I shall remember that.”
Bishop sank lower in the water, letting the heat sting his skin in punishment. He couldn’t help the disappointment curling in his chest. He wanted her to ask, to be curious about the years they’d spent apart, just as he was near dying of curiosity about hers.
Patience.
The word had become his creed and his curse.
She didn’t trust him, understandably so, and he’d have to rebuild that first, brick by brick.
Clearly, she wanted parts of her to remain hidden.
Just like he’d hidden himself. He could not fault that.
He’d been so deuced close to asking her about Rafferty, but he’d managed, barely, to hold his tongue.
He wouldn’t force her to talk, but he’d be there when she did.
And in the meantime, he might just beat the truth from Rafferty himself.
The man had been his friend.
Not all people change for the better.
Deuced right, that.
She’d called his self-justifications excuses.
In some matters, that was truer than others.
If he had to be honest, returning to London for Crane and looking into his uncle’s current matters, while true, had also just been a form of excuse.
For twelve years, Bishop had lived as a man stripped from his former life.
A man with no home. Witnessing Crane’s happiness had nailed that into his gut.
He wanted a home.
And now he was married, and to Alyssia, no less.
Some would call that a dream come true.
She represented the last uncorrupted thread tying him to the person he used to be.
Tying him to home. And he wanted more. He wanted everything.
Everything he had lost out on. He couldn’t bring his parents back, but he could do them proud.
All of which made him determined to turn this marriage of convenience into a true one.
If he couldn’t manage that, did he even deserve it? And what of his uncle? What if he was forced to take more drastic measures? What if he ruined the one good thing left untouched by the past?
But was it truly untouched?
Would the matter with Rafferty have happened to Alyssia if he had still been here?
“Your mind is racing.”
He blinked, and her features pulled back into focus. She stared at him, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, and brows furrowed. Christ, he loved the sight. He loved every sight of her. “It will do that when my beautiful woman glares at me like she’s planning my demise.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What? Teasing?”
“Crossing boundaries.”
Boundaries. It was one of those words with a hundred nuances. She could draw a thousand. He’d cross every last one if it meant she stayed his. All within her boundaries, of course. Every line she drew only made him want to step closer.
Bishop grinned and motioned her over. Her eyes narrowed even further, and with a put-upon huff, she crossed the few steps back to the tub, each one as reluctant as an innocent man marching to the gallows.
She leaned down, offering him her ear.
Bishop leaned in and audibly sniffed. “Ah, so I wasn’t mistaken. You have a smell about you, Liss. Perhaps you should join me in the tub and wash it off.”
Her body whipped back up, and she glared daggers at him. “You seem to forget this is a marriage of convenience at every turn!”
“Is it not convenient bathing together?”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and her indignation was a sight to behold. Bishop couldn’t bite back a laugh this time. God help him, her fury was charming. She could scold him straight to perdition, and it would be music to him.
“You see?” he added when she didn’t scold him. “I haven’t forgotten about our marriage and what we agreed upon.” He could feel his grin turning wicked. “I didn’t, however, agree not to tease you.”
“Could this even be considered teasing at this point?” she countered. “You must be mocking me!”
“I’ll never mock you, Liss. Come now, forgive me, please. Press your nose against mine and I’m sure I’ll remember never to do it again this time.”
“Incorrigible!” She turned and strode from the room. “I don’t believe you! And don’t call me Liss!”
He laughed.
Yes, you shouldn’t believe me . . . princess.