Chapter Ten
Her legs still prickled from where Giles had caged them with his.
Strong, very strong legs. Gah. She’d tried to forget his touches and teasings, and then he’d gone and done that.
Not that she would ever complain. Given the unreasonable fear that had gripped her when she’d spotted Rafferty, his touch had been .
. . welcome, reminding her that she was safe.
However, that reminder came hand in hand with the other reminder—his suggestion of kissing.
Or teasing. Or whatever that had been. Which, quite unfairly, made her notice his lips.
And she did not want to notice her husband’s lips.
Husband. You called him husband.
That inner snip again!
She took an unnecessarily large sip of her port and decided she would not think about his lips, or his legs, or how the two were conspiring against her peace of mind. All that aside, his idea to come here had been a good one.
“There’s more, you know,” Giles said. “You can take your time. No one is going to snatch away your drink.”
She shot him a glare. “I’m merely enjoying the taste.”
“How come I feel I did something wrong but don’t know what?”
So astute! “It’s nothing. I must say, of all the things I imagined for a tavern, this one is not bad.” Old. Clean. Even a bit quaint. She could most certainly glimpse a woman’s touch. “Do you know who the owner is?”
He took a sip of ale and shook his head, then motioned to the door. “We can ask Knox.”
Alyssia’s gaze dropped to the smidgeon of foam coating his upper lip before grimacing and glancing over her shoulder.
Her friend and the marquess entered, saving her from spiraling further into wayward thoughts. She waved at Annabelle, arching a brow at Annabelle’s flushed cheeks and the marquess’s annoyed look—as if he’d been forced to endure a good scolding.
“Well,” she murmured, “there’s a story there.”
Giles chuckled. “There always is.”
“Alyssia!” Her friend bounded over, taking a seat next to her, as well as a sip from her port, glancing around, wide eyes. “I cannot believe we are at the Viking’s Rose!”
Giles rose and nodded to them. “Catch up. We’ll order some more drinks.”
Alyssia watched the men make their way to the bar and lean against the counter. “You’ve heard of the place?” she asked her friend. “How have I never heard about it?”
“Oh, pish, I’ve been speaking about it for eons. It’s infamous. You just don’t care, so you don’t remember anything I say about it!”
“My apologies then,” Alyssia murmured, stealing her port back. “Is all well? Did you and the marquess quarrel?”
“What?” Her friend’s brow furrowed before clearing. “Oh, no. He is annoyed, but not at me.” Her voice dropped even though there was no one to overhear. “I’ve been hounded by the gossipmongers of the town.”
Oh, no. “Because of me?”
“Of course not! Because of your marriage.”
“Annabelle.”
Her friend waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing. Since they can’t hunt you down, they’re hunting me down. Don’t fret, I’m holding the fort. However, Knoxley got caught in the bit in the gossip crossfire. No doubt all the sheets will be filled with rumors of courtship.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her friend shook her head. “Don’t be. I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Plus, you sent that fox to save me.”
Alyssia arched a brow. “Fox?”
“Doesn’t he remind you of one? Seemingly innocent but cunning as the devil.”
A rake seemingly innocent? Oh, God. “Annabelle, drat. I sent a rogue to collect you!”
Her friend waved a hand again. “All men are rogues. Besides, he might be a rake, but he hasn’t earned notoriety, so . . .”
“That’s where you draw the line? He’s a rake but not a notorious one?”
“Of course not! That’s where I’m tempted to cross it.”
Oh, lord. “You might be just as hopeless as I am.”
Annabelle grinned, unrepentant. “Utterly. But why are you hopeless?”
Alyssia stilled. “Oh, you know, just in the normal sense of the word.”
“Alyssia!” her friend exclaimed in a hush. “Do not give me vague evasions. How are you hopeless? Have you consummated the marriage?”
“No!”
“Then how?”
She glanced at Giles just as he turned to look over, their gazes locking. He blasted a grin aimed directly at her. She whipped her head back, cheeks heating.
“Ah,” Annabelle murmured. “I see.”
She glared at her friend. “What exactly do you see?”
“Your hopelessly softening heart. Not that I’m complaining. I’d rather you be happy than not.”
“My heart is just fine, thank you very much.” She peeked at him again. He leaned in to say something to the marquess, and the movement pulled at the lines of his shoulders, drawing and keeping her gaze entirely against her will. Her pulse tripped over itself.
“If you say so.”
“Not everything is always as it seems.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Alyssia glanced at her friend. “It’s too complicated.”
“Mm-hmm.” Annabelle cocked her head. “You were staring.”
“I was glaring,” Alyssia corrected.
“You’re glowing.”
“From outrage.”
Annabelle grinned. “If outrage looks like that, perhaps I should cultivate some. But do keep ogling your husband.”
“I am not ogling!”
“Then your face forgot to tell your eyes.”
Before Alyssia could retort, the men returned, Giles placing a fresh glass of port before her with an infuriatingly gentle smile. “Another for my wife.” He scooted away the moment the last word fell.
She clenched the stem of her glass.
Yes, run, you rogue!
Annabelle’s smirk was audible.
Alyssia lifted her glass, pretending her heart wasn’t beating as if it meant to leap from her chest. “Thank you,” she bit out.
“You’re welcome,” he said, voice throaty and filled with laughter.
Ah, lawd. The man unsettled her. He always had. Even when they were younger, he’d possessed this uncanny ability to unmoor her without trying. Now, with every grin and glance, he made her feel seen in ways she hadn’t expected, or wanted, to be seen.
And that petrified her more than anything.
More than Rafferty.
More than his uncle.
They could fight and defeat them.
She couldn’t fight and defeat this.
She’d spent years overcoming the vacancy inside her. Filled it with friendship, independence, and acceptance. To feel this warmth, real, bone-deep warmth, again was dangerous. It tempted her to forget why she’d kept her heart guarded in the first place.
She couldn’t afford to melt. Not for charm. Not for comfort. Not even for a man who made her believe, for one impossible second, that she no longer had to count only on herself for her future anymore.
Her pulse slowed as she forced her gaze away from him. She’d overcome far more than this. She merely had to find a way to stand strong.
Had he gone too far calling her wife?
He must have, for her withdrawal was swift, tangible. He felt it to the marrow of his bones.
Bishop, you fool.
She’d cautioned him time and time again, but he’d continued to push her boundaries since she allowed it.
This wasn’t like her usual retreat, those half-hearted scolds, the narrowing of her eyes that always promised she’d forgive him the moment he made her laugh again.
No, this time she’d drawn back fully. And that stung in a way he hadn’t been prepared for.
Was it because they weren’t alone? Because she needed to play the part of indifference before their friends? Perhaps. But something told him it wasn’t just that. She wasn’t pretending. Not this time.
She wasn’t ready to trust him.
Trust. Such a devilish little word. Too delicate to demand, too precious to lose. Every step forward felt like testing the ice on a half-frozen lake. One wrong shift, and he’d plunge through.
Still, damn him, he couldn’t stop trying. Every look, every soft word, every teasing nudge was a battle to prove he meant more to her than she cared to admit. And yet, the more he reached for her, the more she seemed to slip through his fingers even though she didn’t always push him away.
That wasn’t enough for him to stop fighting.
“How was the ride though Hyde Park?” Knox asked, settling into a chair.
Bishop shot his friend a curse through his eyes.
“There were unsavory characters out today,” Alyssia said before Bishop could change the subject.
Knox arched a brow.
He should have gotten something stronger than ale to drink. “My uncle.”
“Didn’t you pay him a visit already?” Knox asked, brows furrowing.
Bishop nodded. “Seems he is still eager to keep up appearances.”
“Shameless!” Lady Annabelle exclaimed. “And not in the good way.”
“This might be troublesome,” Knox said. “He might be ready to claim you an imposter.”
Bishop’s fingers tightened around his tankard. “He’d be a fool to try.”
“Fools with perceived titles have done worse,” Knox replied dryly. “And he’s had twelve years to weave his story into society’s good graces.”
“Would they believe him?” Alyssia asked, concerned.
“I shall vouch for you,” Lady Annabelle said. “So shall my family.”
Alyssia nodded. “Your looks haven’t changed all that much. It’s not like it’s been twenty years.”
“Oh?” Bishop smiled at his wife. “Will I be unrecognizable eight years from now?”
“Perhaps.”
He chuckled. “I’m not all that worried. They can put me under questioning if they must. It’s not like I’m an imposter who knows nothing.”
“It might be best to end this as soon as possible, old chap. While your uncle is distracting the masses, he might be moving in the dark. I have no doubt his men are searching wildly for your whereabouts. Perhaps even your wife.”
Bishop nodded.
“What does that mean?” Lady Annabelle asked.
“Merely that my marriage announcement coincides with his return,” said Alyssia. “His uncle might have put them together.”
“Oh,” Lady Annabelle murmured.
“But you don’t have to worry,” Alyssia continued. “We are perfectly safe at the moment.”
“What about doing some spy work?” Lady Annabelle suggested.
Knox groaned.
“Spy work?” Alyssia asked, intrigued, and it was Bishop’s turn to almost groan.
Her friend nodded. “The Fennville masquerade ball. I believe the Countess of Fennville is friends with the faux Duchess of Winterbourne. We are bound to hear some things, plus, it’s a masquerade.”
Alyssia met his gaze. “It could be fun.”
Bishop wasn’t so sure. However, it might be prudent to glimpse what they could be up against peerage-wise.
He didn’t care. He’d endured years in the shadows, but she had been forced into them.
Alyssia deserved to step into her title without any—or much—scrutiny.
And after today, if the masquerade gave her even a fragment of purpose and enjoyment, he would see it done.
Still, the idea of her stepping into that pretentious den of vipers made his blood prickle. Masks or not, the risk was great.
“When is the masquerade? We’ll need to procure invitations.”
“The day after tomorrow,” Lady Annabelle said.
“I’ll handle that,” Knox said. “You can attend with me as friends from the country.”
“Would that not be suspicious?” Alyssia asked.
Bishop looked to his friend.
“Dare’s friends, then,” Knox corrected. “He’ll be only too eager to offer a hand.”
“Very well. Though not perfect, it should mask the scent a bit.”
“You mean the Earl of Dare?” Lady Annabelle asked. “The infamous rake who just married the infamous flirt?”
Bishop shrugged.
“The very one,” Knoxley said.
“Well, I never,” the lady said. “I always wanted to meet him, but Lance would never allow me to get close.”
“I’m surprised your brother didn’t get wind of today’s caller,” Alyssia said. “He is rather scarily well-informed.”
“He has his own spies.” The girl grinned. “But even spies must pause to take a rest.”
“I shall have to return home to retrieve more belongings,” Alyssia said.
The hairs on the back of Bishop’s neck rose. “That’s not wise.”
“I have to agree,” Lady Annabelle said. “You didn’t see the scores of people calling on me just to fish around as to whether I knew your whereabouts. There should be people watching your house as well.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” Alyssia argued.
Lady Annabelle shook her head. “Gossip columnists would take root in wind and rain. Ask me, I know one.”
Damn it.
He couldn’t take the disappointed look on her face. “If you wish to go, then let us sneak in. You have a servant you trust?”
Alyssia nodded, then grinned, and his world settled again.
“Our servants are discreet,” she murmured.
“Very well,” Bishop murmured. “Then we shall attend the masquerade ball.”
He didn’t miss the spark in her eyes when he said it, the excitement. It struck him dead center. Alyssia, his wife, his princess, his Liss—she didn’t just want safety, she wanted life again. And he’d be damned if the world, his uncle, Rafferty, or even himself took that from her.
Alyssia’s grin widened. Annabelle clapped softly. Knox only sighed, as if already regretting his offer. But Bishop’s attention was on his wife. She might wear a mask at the ball, but he swore to God no one would mistake who she belonged beside.