Chapter Fifteen
Alyssia rested against the steady rise and fall of Giles’s chest behind her, her head resting beneath his chin, surrounded by steamy water.
She could still feel him everywhere—her body digesting the memory of his mouth, her core deliciously tender, deliciously alive.
If wickedness possessed a flavor, it would be the honeyed ruin he left shimmering on her tongue.
He had not been in any hurry the second time.
Oh, no. Her rogue had turned patient. Maddeningly so.
Every inch of her had been explored at a torturous pace, each kiss and brush of his fingers deliberate, unhurried, and so tender she’d nearly wept from the soul-deep want.
When she’d thought she could not bear another moment of his teasing, she’d threatened to kick him from the bed.
Naturally, that had only made him laugh, and then prove, in wicked detail, that he had every intention of staying exactly where he was.
Now, she was grateful he had.
Her limbs floated, sated, and she had no notion of how long they’d been like this, only that she never wished to move from this bath. A bath, she might add, he’d gone in search of servants to prepare. Her face flushed at the thought.
Utterly shameless, this man.
It’s their job, he’d said.
Very well, fine, but they weren’t really their servants, were they? They were the Marquess of Knoxley’s!
Urgh. How embarrassing.
It also didn’t slip her notice how she’d ended in the very bath she’d avoided their first night here. Somehow, near impossibly and beyond her expectations, the world had given Giles back to her.
What if he hadn’t returned? What if she’d married one of the other men at that table in the Lyon’s Den?
The thoughts surfaced before she could stop them—dark and uninvited.
No, she blocked off the questions before her heart locked onto them.
She refused to live in the what ifs. The past had already taken enough from her; she wouldn’t let imagination steal more.
“What are you thinking?” Giles murmured against her ear, his voice rough and laced with contentment, making her smile. His hand drifted over her thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles that drew her right back into the present—his present.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true. We’re always thinking about something.” He rubbed his cheek against hers. “You tensed.”
She had? “Irrelevant things,” she murmured after a moment. “Nothing worth noting.”
“Do you know what is worth noting?” he asked teasingly.
Dare she even ask? She didn’t need to, for he answered anyway.
“What’s between us is no longer a marriage of convenience.”
She should have known. “I don’t know about that. I dare even say I beg to differ.”
He squeezed her leg. “And how is that, Liss?”
“Well, tonight was rather convenient.”
“You mean making love?” He chuckled. “It’s much more than convenient. It’s a necessity.”
Alyssia laughed softly. “A necessity? That sounds terribly self-serving of you.” Though, could she really argue?
He hummed behind her. “Oh, I assure you, I’m thinking of us both. Convenience may have started this marriage, but I intend to build something inconveniently permanent out of it.”
She tilted her head enough to glimpse his face. “Sounds ever so convenient.”
He kissed her mouth. “Yes, so you’re not allowed to rescind.”
“Oh, I’m not the sort of woman who rescinds.”
“Liss: changed but also very much the same.”
“That’s what happens when you age.”
He chuckled. “Well, if this is aging, I welcome it.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry to welcome it, please. Let age take its time.” She dropped her head back. “What are you going to do about your uncle?”
He tightened his arm around her, his breath stirring the damp tendrils at her neck. “First thing tomorrow morning I’ll settle the matter.”
“House of Lords?”
He nodded. “I wanted to fish out his cutthroats before that, but it serves no one to draw it out further.”
“You’re doing it for me, aren’t you?” She hated but loved it at the same time.
It seemed so foolish how she’d clung to her resistance before, but honestly, a part of her had known she didn’t stand a chance against this man’s charms, and no matter how much time they had together from here on out, every moment was worth any risk.
Imagined risk. Right. Imagined. She’d rather focus on what was real from now onward.
“I’m doing it for us,” he said solemnly before nipping at her shoulder.
“Will there still be danger?” she asked. “Not that I mind. I’m merely wondering if we will remain here for the foreseeable future.”
“We can go wherever you want,” Giles said. “We could rent for the time being before purchasing another house.”
“What about your family home?”
That silver tongue did not hesitate. “Where you are, there is my home.”
“Be serious, Giles. It’s your family home.”
He sighed. “And it’s been sullied. It might take a while to remove the stench.”
Ah. Well, she could understand that. They could take their time renovating the home to their taste. There was no rush. “In that case, no matter where we are, I don’t care.”
“Yes, we should scandalize each inch of this house before we leave.”
Alyssia laughed. “And what a fine blackguard you turned out to be.”
“The finest.” He hugged her tight. “Now, no matter what, annulment is impossible.”
Oh? “Wasn’t it impossible before?”
“Yes, but now it’s impossible in the truest way.”
Lawd. Had it bothered him that much? “Just forget the word.”
“Impossible until I meet your father.”
Alyssia sighed. That would be a slight inconvenience.
Not Giles. She suspected her father might be elated.
But the fact that she had sought out Mrs. Dove-Lyon and not him.
She missed her family, but she was excited for the new addition to it.
Perhaps that was what reclamation truly was: finding space for new warmth beside the old.
Giles had filled that space seamlessly.
“My father would never demand such a thing from you.”
“Still, I’d feel much better once I’ve had a talk with him.”
Alyssia sighed. So would she. “Perhaps it’s my turn to go into hiding.”
Bishop chuckled. How damn adorable was his wife? “No, you’re not allowed.”
She scoffed. “Don’t start exerting dominance now that you’ve lured me into your bed. You’ll be in danger of being locked out.”
“I have trust in my charm.” He held her snugly against him as if the world might try to pry her away.
That word again. Danger.
Damn it.
Bishop would rather not be reminded of that. He had to put some things into place after tomorrow. He’d hire protection for Alyssia while he sorted out the aftermath of tomorrow. But right now, nothing could pry him away from his wife.
“You are much braver than me, Alyssia.” He rested his head against hers. “When you were pushed into a corner with no way out, you found one and took action. Me? I remained hidden for far too long.”
“You are far too severe upon yourself, Giles. I didn’t have the option of retreating without harming my family. That’s the difference. Believe me, I would have if I could. You, like I, did what you had to do. If I faulted you before, I certainly do not now.”
Bittersweetness to his ears.
He wished he could unwind time and find her again sooner.
“You are perfect, Liss.”
“Not so perfect.”
“Let’s agree to disagree,” Bishop murmured. “Can I transfer my belongings to your bedchamber now?”
She snorted. “Why would you do that? I shall require the entirety of the wardrobe, if you please.”
“Not even a small space?” Bishop pressed. “I’m quite attached to the image of my breeches next to your drawers.”
“Giles!”
He chuckled. He’d find a way to make this small dream come true.
A sudden, muffled thump shuddered through the floorboards, sending tiny ripples across the bathwater.
Both of them stilled.
“What was that?” Alyssia murmured, glancing back at him.
Bishop wasn’t sure. These old townhouses carried every noise, and whatever that had been, had come from the room below them. A drawing room, if he was not mistaken.
“A servant, perhaps?” she wondered.
“Not at this hour,” Bishop murmured, and doubt tightened the back of his neck. Servants did not drop things often. And hadn’t it been loud enough for them to feel it up here? Also, at this time of night, past midnight, servants would be in their quarters.
He pricked his ears, listening for any other sound.
Nothing.
“Gi—”
A hand covered her mouth. “Shhh,” he murmured. “Let’s listen for a moment longer.” He didn’t have a good feeling, and he trusted his gut.
He’d drawn a hell of a lot attention at the masquerade pummeling Rafferty, and he’d been distracted with Alyssia, so he hadn’t considered possible consequences. He hadn’t halted to assess the whereabouts of his uncle.
Had his uncle seen him?
Recognized him?
Was he being overly cautious?
But bloody sure enough, another sound came, softer this time, almost like . . . a muted footstep? His legs tightened instinctively around her. Upstairs, noises would carry, but downstairs noises were more difficult to discern.
“Damn it.”
“Perhaps a window caught in the wind,” she offered, though she sounded uncertain herself.
“No wind tonight,” he replied quietly.
He glanced toward the closed chamber door. There was nothing for it, he wouldn’t be at ease until he inspected the house thoroughly.
Bishop’s jaw flexed.
He loosened his legs around her. “I’ll investigate.” Bishop rose from behind her, stepping from the bath and retrieving a pair of trousers.
She rose as well, reaching for a towel. “I’ll join you.”
“No, stay here. If there is something, I don’t want you to be near it.”
“And I don’t want to let you investigate alone.”
“Alyssia.” His tone brooked no argument. He would give in to almost anything, but not at the cost of her safety.
“Fine, but be quick about it or I will come after you.”
Damn it. “Promise me you’ll stay in the chamber.”
She’d found his robe and shrugged it on, tying the belt tightly across her middle. He’d have ogled the sight if it were any other damn time. “No promises. You have fifteen minutes to investigate, or I’ll come after your hide.”
He wanted to curse again but a laugh tumbled out instead. “Very well.” He’d have to do a thorough, but quick, search. He gave her a quick kiss on the temple before striding from the chamber. “Keep your pretty derrière right there. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Bishop didn’t waste another second. He slipped into the corridor, waiting for his eyesight to adjust before making his way toward the stairs, water cooling on his skin. When he reached the stairs, he was careful to take them one at a time and as stealthily as possible.
When he reached the last one, he heard an unmistakable curse. Bishop halted, every muscle taut. Definitely a person in their house who shouldn’t be there.
He cursed his uncle to perdition. It was his man.
Of that, he had no doubt. He should never have let his guard drop at the masquerade; Rafferty had been the distraction, not the threat.
His uncle would seize any sign and form of weakness, and newly wedded contentment was “weakness” enough.
Alyssia was upstairs, alone and vulnerable.
The thought twisted something in his chest. This house was his at the moment.
This woman was his. And no man would touch either.
No one was allowed to invade their sanctuary.
His hands fisted, and he strode over and pushed the door open. The window stood wide, curtains whipping with the cold. A small table lay overturned, prints of muddy soles stamped across the rug. One intruder knelt on the sill, grunting as he tried to haul another blackguard through.
The larger man straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow as he turned to Bishop. Cold eyes. Broken nose. A face used to winning fights. His uncle certainly hadn’t held back. This man was immense. Broad as a doorway.
Every instinct in Bishop flared.
The giant’s mouth curled into a grin.