Chapter Nine
Alyssia pulled the cloak tight around her before stepping up to the door, nodding at the butler.
You won’t ever lose anything again.
Those words had followed her into her sleep and had occupied every waking thought since then.
To make matters worse, she’d woken in his arms this morning, her cheek pressed against his chest!
Worse still, instead of being outraged or simply leaving the scene, she’d given into a deeply buried desire and soaked up the position.
And now she needed to get out of the house. Air. Sunlight.
“Where are you going?” a deep voice asked.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Giles, brow furrowed, and the Marquess of Knoxley.
You won’t ever lose anything again.
Wouldn’t she?
What about you, Giles? What about death? What if his uncle slipped through a crack and the entire affair ended in tragedy? What if he left her again, but this time, forever? How would she be able to bear it for a second time?
“Alyssia?”
Gah. She needed to purge herself of those thoughts!
“I wish to take a stroll,” she told him, careful to keep her voice steady, free of all notes that might give away her fear.
The lines between his brows deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. What if someone recognizes you?”
“That’s why I’m wearing a cloak.”
“Alyssia—”
“I think,” the marquess interrupted, “what the lady is trying to say is that she requires a change of scenery.”
Exactly. “At least someone in this house is astute.”
“Still,” Giles pressed. “It’s dangerous.”
“Perhaps,” the marquess started, “a turn about Hyde Park will do?”
“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Giles growled. Alyssia almost laughed at the sour look he sent his friend.
“What? You can take my carriage. Also,” the man looked to her, “I can collect your friend if you wish?”
Annabelle? Come to think of it, Annabelle should have come to call or sent a note in her absence. “Would that not be too much trouble?”
The marquess shook his head. “On the contrary, anything I can do to help my favorite newly wedded couple. You two take my carriage, I shall send for another one and call on your friend. We shall meet back here, or you can send word if you wish to meet at another spot.”
Alyssia snuck a look at Giles, who gave a reluctant nod. “Very well.”
The butler opened the front door and stood back, and a rush of chilliness beckoned her forward.
Giles’s hand came to rest at the small of her back, the warmth of his palm burrowing through the layers of her clothing, an infuriating reminder how distance was a lie when he could disarm her with a single touch.
How vexing.
She stepped outside, chin lifted, pretending not to feel what felt like a claim in that simple gesture. He didn’t remove his hand until she entered Knoxley’s carriage. Giles followed her inside, and she noted, at some point, he’d put a hat over his untamed hair.
Her gaze drifted to his stubble.
He hadn’t shaved again. She quite liked that.
Focus, Alyssia.
Unfortunately, closeness was inescapable.
He was inescapable. Detachment could not survive a carriage’s dimensions.
Or a bed’s, for that matter. But the bed had been at night.
One could hide beneath the cover of the sheets and even darkness.
This was full daylight. There was no hiding, only exposure.
“You’re not feeling well?” Giles asked. Outside, the marquess gave instructions, a tap on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she said sharply, perhaps too sharply. Alyssia inhaled a fortifying breath, and asked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He arched a brow.
Fine. “I’m merely feeling a bit . . . cramped.” And you in this carriage with me is not helping.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“It’s not your fault,” Alyssia said offhandedly.
Do not fall for that tone.
Stay strong.
Marriage of convenience.
“Nevertheless,” his knee brushed hers, “feel free to plot my demise.”
Plot his demise? As if she ever could. Alyssia parted the curtain and peeked outside, ignoring the shiver that started from her scalp and rolled all the way to her toes. “You flatter yourself.”
He tossed his hat beside him, dragging a hand through hair. “Then allow me this courtesy.”
Courtesy, heh? Ridiculous. And yet, despite herself, a bit of the stiffness eased from her shoulders.
Her lips twitched before she could stop them.
Blast him. He took up too much space, the faint spice of his cologne, his maddening confidence, the curve of his insufferable grin, all of it coaxing her pulse into betrayal.
She glanced back at him, and sure enough, both corners of his mouth were hooked up. “Fine, you’ll do what you want anyway.”
“But you enjoy that about me, do you not?”
She hated that he wasn’t wrong. “You’ll believe what you want, whatever I say.”
He chuckled. “Would you like to open a window? You wished for air, did you not?”
“No, I’m all right.” She’d rather keep this air than let the outside steal a breath of it.
You’re so hopeless!
Fine, she was hopeless.
Fortunately, he didn’t know that. She could just imagine how he might attempt to provoke her if he did.
He already looked smug enough without confirmation that she’d fallen headfirst into his absurd charm.
The reason she wished for a marriage of convenience was not to be swayed in any way by her husband.
Not her heart. Not her body. Not her mind.
And if it had been any other man, it would not have been so hard.
However, she could not change her mind.
She had to protect herself no matter what.
So she schooled her features, turned her gaze primly to the window, and willed her heart to stop doing that ridiculous fluttering thing.
“Did he manage to kiss you?”
Her head whipped to him. “What?”
“The man who tried to trap you. Did he? Manage to kiss you?”
Her brows furrowed. “Why are you asking me that right now?” She’d rather not rehash that.
She hadn’t even meant to part with as much as she’d parted with the previous night.
Perhaps that was one of the reasons she’d felt closed in.
It wouldn’t take much for him to discover the man behind the story.
In fact, as Annabelle had said, he might already know.
The words last night, however, had come of their own accord.
His question now, on the other hand, made her think her friend might be right.
Anyhow, she blamed Annabelle and all the talk of conversation.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t appropriate to ask last night.”
“It’s not appropriate right now!”
He tilted his head, eyes fixed on her with an unnerving focus. “Humor me.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Please.”
Alyssia sighed and shook her head. “He did not. I remain blissfully unkissed.”
“Good,” he said smoothly, voice soft but edged with something darker. Possessiveness, perhaps. Or relief. She couldn’t tell which unsettled her more. All of them. In equal measure.
The carriage lurched over a rut, knocking her knee against his. The brief touch should have ended there, but it didn’t. His leg stayed where it was, and every turn of the wheel reminded her of it. The man had a way of making every inch of air between them feel dangerous.
You’re not pulling away either.
Alyssia decided to ignore that inner snip.
“We could always change that, too.”
For a moment she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly! Had he just implied they should kiss? At his grin, she knew, the teasing was back. She glared at him. “You should really stop talking.”
“That would be impossible.”
Urgh. “Then just stop saying things that make me want to throw myself from this carriage.”
“Ah,” he murmured, lips curving, “at least you are affected.”
“By irritation,” she remarked crisply.
“Affected is affected.”
She gave up. There was no winning with this man. She’d known that, of course, but it was truly inflaming to be reminded of it with each conversation while he remained maddeningly unruffled.
He leaned more comfortably into his seat, his knee still resting against her leg, the smug satisfaction practically radiating off him.
Still, she didn’t inch away.
Hopeless. She was absolutely hopeless.
He couldn’t draw this affair out.
The thought of toying with his uncle had promised a grim sort of pleasure, but one glance at Alyssia on her way for a walk, her pensiveness, and that satisfaction turned hollow. All he wanted now was to end the matter, and his uncle, with finality.
He wanted her happy. Relaxed. Carefree. Words that seemed to have no place in his life at this moment and yet somehow had begun to define his every thought.
Of course, he hadn’t helped by asking her about that damned kiss.
He shouldn’t have asked. The question had slipped out before he could stop it, bitter as iron on his tongue.
The thought of another man’s mouth anywhere near hers .
. . Hell and damnation all at once. The mere thought made his blood turn.
Irrational, yes. Possessive, assuredly. Entirely unreasonable, of course.
Bishop studied her.
She was looking out the window, distant again, and he wanted to draw her back.
But he resisted, granting her the space she seemed to require.
Pulling back the corner of his curtain, he noticed they’d entered the park.
All along the path, the parade of vanity unfolded in full swing.
Carriages rolled at a crawl so that every smile, every new feather might be properly admired or envied.
Ladies displayed themselves at their best while gentlemen preened beside them.
He’d forgotten how absurdly civilized scandal could look in daylight.
“Well, this is rather refreshing,” Alyssia observed.
“The drive?”
She glanced at him. “The reminder.”
“Then we are of the same thought.”
“Really? It must look different for you since you never got to be part of these things fully.”
Bishop shrugged. “From the looks of it, I didn’t miss all that much.”
She chuckled. “You did not.”
But he had missed out. He’d missed out on her. And he could not turn back the clock. However, he would spend the rest of his life making up for it. She deserved better than to be fodder for anyone’s amusement.
Her leg jerked against his, and his eyes narrowed, following her gaze fixed on the window. He parted the curtain again and heat flared in his chest, sharp and swift.
Rafferty.
Keep your cool, Bishop.
For Alyssia’s sake, if nothing else.
His gaze caught on another familiar figure perched atop a horse alongside a few others. Was that his damn uncle? What the devil was this? The blackguard had the audacity to strut about after yesterday? Not frightened enough to go into hiding but parade in Hyde Park?
Bishop’s fingers itched.
Alyssia must have caught a glimpse of him as well for she stiffened even further, the curtain slipping from her fingers, shutting them out from the outside world. “Ignore him.”
He blinked at her, then said softly. “I should be the one saying that.”
About Rafferty and his uncle.
She contemplated him for a moment, then she suddenly laughed. “The world truly is the strangest place, is it not?”
“I have to agree,” Bishop muttered, accepting her evasion of his comment.
Still, his pulse thundered like exploding barrels of gunpowder.
He kept his gaze locked on Alyssia, forcing his hands to remain still, when what he truly wanted was to stop the carriage, drag Rafferty and his uncle from their horses, and finish what should have been done long ago.
His calm existed by her grace alone.
Bishop cursed under his breath and shifted, sliding his legs alongside hers until they pinned hers together.
Those villains outside didn’t matter. They’d get what was coming to them in due course.
Today, this moment, they were irrelevant.
What mattered was Alyssia and him. The fact that they’d found each other was a miracle in itself, and he’d be damned if the likes of those blackguards ruined this outing.
“What are you doing?” she asked, half amused, half reproving.
“Distracting you.” He grinned. “Is it working?” It certainly worked for him.
She gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “Of course, it’s entirely inappropriate, so it’s working.”
Bishop laughed at that. “So only inappropriate things are distracting? What of appropriate things?”
“Is that even possible with you?”
“I suppose not,” Bishop admitted. “Not when it comes to you.”
“Yes, so I’ve noticed.”
He squeezed his legs against hers. “Do you wish to return home or perhaps meet your friend at another place?”
Her brows raised in intrigue, and some of the fury tapered off. “Where did you have in mind?”
“A tavern. Have you ever been to one?”
She pulled a face. “Filled with drunk, smelly men? No thank you.”
“This one isn’t.” He watched her closely as he spoke. “It’s run by a woman. Knox and I were there yesterday. Quiet, good food, no nonsense. It’s small and honest.”
“What if someone recognizes me?”
“The chances are almost zero.”
“Like meeting in the Lyon’s Den?”
She had him there. “Let’s not worry about that. If someone sees, they see. If they don’t, they don’t.”
“What about your plans with your uncle?” she pressed.
Bishop leaned forward. “If you have not realized yet, I don’t have much in the way of a plan. The method had always been simple: step back into the light.”
“But you haven’t,” she murmured.
Bishop shook his head. “I haven’t decided how, but that detail is becoming less and less important and only necessary that I do. Besides, my uncle knows. Would I have enjoyed playing with the mouse more? Certainly. But that’s not what’s important here.”
“I don’t know.” She smiled at him. “Seems pretty important to me.”
“You’re the most important, Alyssia.”
Her eyes widened.
“Don’t believe me?” he teased. He simply couldn’t help himself. “Even if you insist on a marriage of convenience for a lifetime, you’ll still be the most important presence in my life.”
His gaze followed as she scratched the tip of her nose. “I’m not sure if you’re serious or teasing.”
“Both.” He tipped closer, until their noses almost touched. He chuckled when she reared back until her head bumped against the back of the seat. “So, to tavern or not to tavern?”
“Tavern.”
Bishop’s grin widened, slow and utterly self-satisfied. “Excellent choice, princess.”
“Alyssia.”
“Liss.”
She rolled her eyes, though her lips curved faintly. “If you call me that in public, make sure I don’t have wine in my hand, or I shall pour it over your lap.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll consider it worth the stain.”
She snorted. “You would.”
Yes, yes he would.