Chapter Eight
A few hours, her arse.
A few hours were two or three. It had been nearly twelve, and Giles hadn’t returned yet.
When had he said he’d confront his uncle?
She couldn’t recall and blamed all his teasing!
Perhaps he meant for it to distract. Every creak in the corridor had her glancing up from the pillows of her bed, her heart giving a ridiculous leap before disappointment settled again.
Every time she lay back down, she told herself she wasn’t worried.
Merely annoyed.
Entirely, thoroughly annoyed.
The doorknob to their adjoining room turned softly. Her breath caught. She shuffled to her elbows as Giles slipped inside, a block of relief melting into her body. He looked tired, dangerously tired, and far too at ease given said tiredness as he crossed to her bed without a word.
He was also bare-chested. Bare-chested and vexingly unbothered about it, only a pair of trousers hanging low on his hips, his hair wild and unruly as though he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
Her relief promptly transformed into indignation.
Do not explode, Alyssia.
She wouldn’t let his lack of attire once more distract her. She sat up straighter, dragging the sheet higher over her nightdress, as if linen could shield her from his sheer audacity.
“Where have you been?”
“Knox,” he said simply.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You didn’t go see your uncle?”
“I did.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered when his knee settled on her mattress, tipping her slightly toward him. She scrambled back an inch, clutching the sheet tighter.
“I’ve come to sleep,” he murmured, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, already pulling back the coverlet.
“Then go to your own bed!” she hissed. Had he gone entirely mad in the hours he’d been gone?
He slid in beside her, his big body invading her cocoon, his foot brushing hers. Lawd. This close, she could feel every breath he drew.
“But I can’t sleep when I’m not by your side.”
This man! “Don’t lie.”
He turned his head toward her, eyes half-lidded, voice low. “It’s a recent development, princess. I believe they call it being besotted with one’s wife.”
Princess. Besotted. Wife.
Blast him. And blast her pulse for racing so. Did the man have no mercy? Her mind scrambled, her pulse rioted, and not a single sensible thought survived the word assault. “How many times must I remind you we’ve a marriage of convenience?”
“It’s cold tonight. Is it not convenient to borrow my warmth?”
She turned on her side to glare at him, which only put them nose to nose. Foolish move. Heat rolled off him, and she could smell something darker, brandy, on his breath. “Have you always been this insufferable?”
“Don’t you remember?”
She snorted, flopping back onto the mattress.
“What does it matter what I remember or not?” It would be best just to ignore his presence in her bed, wouldn’t it?
It was no use quibbling with him when it was clear she’d only be wasting her breath trying to chase him off.
Let him stay. Let him sleep. If he insisted on being impossible, she would be sensibly indifferent.
“It matters,” he said softly.
Gooseflesh broke out across her skin. “You said, and I recall vividly, that all your intentions toward me have only ever been good.”
“I said that?”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “Are you going to deny it?”
“I must have lost my mind.”
On that, they were agreed. “It’s good that you know.”
“Well, my intentions still aren’t bad. How can a husband attempting to seduce his wife not be good, eh?”
Seduce?
Her brain threatened to stumble to a halt again. “I also recall you saying you wouldn’t dream of trying to charm me.”
“Is using charm seducing?”
Would you not know that better than me? “Have you turned into a rogue?”
“Perhaps I’ve always been one, I just turned into an adult.”
“Once again you seem to have forgotten this is a marriage of—”
“Convenience, I know. However, I didn’t agree to not attempt to seduce my wife. You’re too much of a temptation for that.”
Her breath hitched at his blunt admission. “How did you turn into such a rogue?”
“Perhaps Crane brushed off on me?” he suggested, as if he was just as stumped by the idea.
“Your recluse employer?”
“The very one.”
All of England knew the man to be a hermit, which would make Giles part-hermit. A hermit unleashed.
How terrifying.
She turned onto her back, staring at the canopy, inhaling a deep breath to steady her heart before daring the question. “Did you confront your uncle today?”
He didn’t answer at once, and she turned her head to stare at him. His gaze was still fixed on her.
“I did,” he said finally.
“And?”
“And the worst is over.”
She couldn’t place his tone, but she could understand the sentiment. The moments before confrontation were always worse than the confrontation itself. And more often than not, less satisfying than envisioned.
She pressed, “Are you relieved?”
His gaze dropped before lifting again. “I don’t know.”
“It’s fine if you’re not. It’s even fine if you’re disappointed. You should be. What your uncle did was unimaginable.”
“What I wanted,” he said, his voice thickening, “and what I feel are two different things. It should have felt like justice. Instead, it feels like a loss.”
She understood that. It was the same hollow aftertaste she’d known with Rafferty.
That aftertaste hadn’t fully left, even now.
Though, since their marriage, it had lost a lot of its punch.
But that didn’t mean the hurt disappeared.
In fact, at times, it made her even more angry that he hadn’t gotten his comeuppance.
“Because he is still in your old house? I’m surprised you didn’t drag him off.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Because he is still breathing.”
Her chest tightened. Without thinking, she reached out beneath the sheet and found his hand. He froze, but his fingers closed around hers, warm and steady. “I’d want him dead, too,” she murmured. “There is nothing wrong with that.”
He let out a soft laugh. “We’re a pair of rogues, then.”
She surprised herself by answering with a grin that felt dangerously like admission. “Some rogues do the world a service.”
He tightened his hand once more, and she could almost, almost, forget her own rules she’d set for this marriage. In that moment, holding his hand felt perilously close to temptation. The truest inconvenience when it came to this man, and the exact opposite of her aim.
He could breathe again.
Ever since he’d walked from his uncle’s house, despite the satisfaction of watching their faces blanch, there had been a hollowness that no triumph seemed able to fill.
It had begun as a small, ignorable pinch and, over the hours, grown into a pressure that settled on each of his temples in a pounding throb.
The moment he saw her, all that pressure lifted, and the pain all but disappeared.
Some rogues do the world a service.
She hadn’t changed all that much. This was something the old Alyssia would have said as well. Only the tone with which she said it had changed. Life had taken a girl and sharpened her. She still challenged him. Could still ruffle him with a look. Could still make him question his every life choice.
And he couldn’t stop from wondering about hers.
He should have kept abreast of her doings these past years. That was his second biggest regret in life. The thought tightened something in his gut. Without thinking, he leaned in, close enough to feel her breath hitch, and brushed his nose against hers. Just a touch. Just to know she was real.
For a second, she froze, before she reared back, her hand yanking from his.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, rubbing her nose. “Are you still a little boy?”
“All men are little boys,” he countered with a grin. “Well, parts of us. And this is our thing, isn’t it?”
“Was our thing, and it doesn’t count if we don’t mutually agree to do it!”
“Mutually?” He arched a brow. “You make it sound like a treaty we signed.”
“It may as well be one,” she shot back. “Boundaries exist for a reason, Giles, which you probably don’t know since you are so bad at keeping to them!”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “And yet, every time I find one of yours, you redraw it closer.”
Her mouth fell open. “I do not!”
“You do,” he said, the last of his earlier mood vanishing. “You just moved this one an inch closer to my nose.”
She swatted his shoulder. “You’re impossible! Get out of my bed!”
“But I’ve grown quite fond of this bed.” He grinned, unrepentant. “How could I ever leave it?”
Her glare turned feral before she scoffed and turned on her side, back to him. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“Ah, come now, princess.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Liss, then. I’m also partial to wife.”
“Shouldn’t you be focused on more serious things, like what your uncle might do now that he knows you are alive?”
“That is serious,” he agreed. “But not as serious as our marriage.”
“Of convenience,” she muttered.
Bishop grinned at the back of her head. “Did you have many suitors, Liss? Someone you might have been partial to before things took a turn?”
Her answer came swift. “No.”
He shouldn’t have felt so relieved as he did. But he did. The thought of her being hurt by Rafferty was already deuced enough to send him into a rage. He didn’t want to pile unreasonable jealousy onto that.
“I . . .” she added, then trailed off. “I’ve rather grown fond of the idea of becoming a spinster.”
A what? Truly? Alyssia as a spinster?
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” her grumble came.
“I just—I could never envision you as a spinster.”
“Why not? All it means is that I’m not wed. What is so un-envisionable about that?”
“Nothing.” He propped himself on an elbow, watching the way her hair tumbled over the pillow. “I suppose I merely cannot fathom you in a life of solitude. It’s rather lonely life if you don’t have a partner.”
“I had a partner, if you recall.”
Christ. He deserved that. Bishop dropped his voice to a whisper, “I’m here now, aren’t I?” And he’d spend his life making his absence up to her.
She gave an indelicate snort. “Then you must be particularly resilient. Unmatched. Which, I suppose, is a good thing. Not good for boundaries, however.”
“I’m simply determined.”
“Your determination is misplaced.”
Bishop chuckled, undeterred. “I think not. Be forewarned, Liss, I’m saving my best efforts for when you least expect them.”
“Then save them forever.” She sighed. “And I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize to me, Liss.”
“No, I do. You didn’t have a choice in leaving. Your parents also died. You did what you needed to do. So did I, so I understand.”
“Do you wish to talk about it?” Bishop asked softly. “What happened to you, Liss?”
A short silence, and then she said, almost detached, “It’s not such a wild tale. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and met them in a place I shouldn’t have, and got caught by people I shouldn’t have. A common enough tale as far as compromising positions go.”
But not as simple.
And she’d almost gotten trapped into a marriage with Rafferty.
“You make it sound as though the moment didn’t hurt.”
“Hurt? I was more shocked than anything else. A man tried to kiss me, I pushed him away, and I still lost in the end.”
Damn Rafferty.
“You didn’t lose, Liss. He didn’t get what he wanted. Did you slap him at least?”
“Of course,” she said loftily. “I even kicked him where it would hurt most.”
Good girl.
“But the entire event was orchestrated,” she continued, “so nothing would have stopped the rumors. Even though that arse didn’t get what he wanted, neither did I.”
Bishop chose to not take the last part personally.
There was no worse feeling in the world than having your choice stripped away.
He could attest to that. One of the small mercies in his life had been the fact that he hadn’t watched his parents die.
Not the final act. But he’d known it in his heart even as he ran from the scene at his father’s orders—the hopelessness of not being able to help them.
What hopelessness must she have felt as well?
“I daresay you won in the end, Liss. You won’t ever lose anything again. Not if I can help it.”
She didn’t respond.
Bishop didn’t push any more questions on her either.
He simply waited for her breathing to turn even before sliding up to her and gathering her into his arms. There would be a future in which their days were filled with laughter, foolish quarrels, and more happy moments than bad ones. He would make sure of that, too.