Martha’s fingers tightened around the handle of her pistol as she battled with everything inside that said to send him on his way. Because, Lord forgive her for being weak when her son deserved strong, she could not bring herself to move the hammer back—even if this man intended to end her. Swallowing a sob, she let her arm fall. She backed away as he entered and closed the door behind him.
“We failed you,” he said quietly, unexpectedly. But then, he was a master at treachery.
“Never tell me? You didn’t know that all my father’s monies had to be forfeited for his crimes? Or that my cottage was purchased out from under me? Or my name bandied about?”
“None of it. Until now.”
Martha scoffed. “I’d be a fool to believe that.”
“Yes. And even with that, it is true.” He pulled off his black leather gloves, a midnight shade to match his cloak and hair, and he was the devil. She’d known it the first time he’d come upon her son and begun peppering him with questions about Martha’s father. “After the case involving your father, I retired.”
It was an enticing dream where one no longer had to struggle and was able to simply enjoy the fruits of his labors. “Congratulations,” she said crisply.
A smile grazed his lips. “Thank you, but I was explaining why you experienced a change in your circumstances. Following my retirement, the gentleman who replaced me—”
“Decided a bigamist from High Town was undeserving of supports and the promises made me?” she interrupted.
He inclined his head. “Actually, yes. That is precisely what was decided.”
That honesty knocked her off-balance. If he sought to wheedle his way past her resentments and suspicion, he’d not acknowledge that or any other mistake.
“What is known is that your secrets have come to light. That violation was not made by me, or any… connected to me.” His wife or his wife’s family.
How odd to be taking assurances from a man married to the woman who’d also been the rightful wife of Martha’s… husband.
“You have every reason to doubt my word and motives.”
“I do.”
“But there is a real concern your secret will be soon circulated… more widely.”
It had been inevitable. At first, Martha had deluded herself with the tantalizing dream that a widow in High Town could remain just that. Until the secret had been unveiled by some unknown foe—very possibly the man before her now—and she’d accepted that all the world might as well, and would, eventually know. But… “In London?”
“Among Polite Society,” he elucidated.
“Who amongst the ton would do that?”
“That is the question we’ve only just begun to try to find an answer to.”
“Either way, why should anyone wish to harm me for it?”
He clasped his hands behind him. “And has someone? Wished you harm?”
Martha searched his face for a hint of falsity. But there was nothing there. Not even concern. He might as well have been wearing a mask. “You saw the door. There was an arrow in it. And also…”
He nodded once.
“A matching arrow nearly struck me when I was outside.”
The graveness of his expression was more terrifying than had he uttered a response. With a shaky sigh, Martha wandered over to the hearth. She rested her gun atop the mantel and then caught the stone edge in her hands, staring into the dancing flames. “What do you want?”
“To see you safe.”
“And what does that mean exactly?” she asked impatiently, facing him once more. “You made a similar promise, and then you failed.”
He bowed his head. “It was my belief that if your secret was kept, that would be enough. That you could live a life of obscurity amongst the town where you grew up. And I trusted, given the promise I received, that your funds would be left intact.”
“Wrong. Wrong. And wrong.” On every score.
Then, shock of all shocks, Lord Exeter blushed. “The mistake lay in not having someone specifically assigned to remain here with you. There should have been an agent reporting back on your well-being and affairs.”
“Spying on me,” she said bluntly.
“That would have ensured that your circumstances were discovered when they deteriorated.” He waved his hand. “Either way, I’ve since learned from the mistakes I made surrounding you, and I’m asking that you allow me to rectify them. For the benefit of your son and daughters.”
Just like that, he came out a victor over her determination to send him on his way. Martha closed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“For you to come to London,” he said automatically. “This time, you’ll have a guard assigned to you until we ferret out just who disseminated your secrets and ensure you are safe.”
How simple he made it all sound. “And… after that?”
“Then I’d like to provide you funds—”
“I don’t want your pity,” she cut him off. “And I’ll not take money like a beggar.”
“Then we will find you some form of employment, so you can have security for your family.” His answer came so automatically, he’d clearly anticipated her rejection of the offer he’d made.
Security. It hung there, a mere word dangling in the air, a promise, an ideal that had seemed unattainable. She was likely mad for trusting him yet again. What choice did she have at this point? The decision was ultimately about her children. “Very well. I’ll join you.”
“We’ll leave tonight. Before we do, I’d discuss your arrangement with you and the gentleman assigned to you and Frederick.”
“Arrangement?”
There they were… the bells of warning. Tinkling at the back of her mind like the old church on Sunday.
Lord Exeter went to the door and drew the panel open.
A figure stepped inside. Tall, a black fine wool cloak about his person, an elegant Oxonian hat atop his head.
Martha shook her head. It wasn’t him.
He just… looked like Graham. The dark strands, however, were shorter. There was none of the usual growth on his cheeks at this hour. His eyes… She could not make out the color with the space separating them. She was seeing him everywhere.
Nay, she was simply seeing him because she’d thought of him so often.
“Hello, Miss Donaldson.”
But it was his voice. God help her. Martha’s eyes slid closed. That slightly husky, melodic baritone could melt the damned winter snow with the heat of it that now washed over her.
“What game are you playing?” Martha whispered. Angling away from Graham, she stalked over to Lord Exeter.
“There is no game, Miss Donaldson. Lord Whitworth is a member of the Home Office.” Had he shoved her in the chest and knocked her on her buttocks, she couldn’t have been more upended by that revelation.
“What?” She directed that faint question at Graham… Lord Whitworth. Whatever his bloody name was. All the while he’d been living here, he’d been working for the Home Office?
It was never a game, then. It was a lie… But it wasn’t a bored nobleman toying with you.
Martha shoved aside the pathetic defense of what he’d done.
“I was to report on your circumstances, Miss Donaldson,” he said coolly. Nay, matter-of-factly, and the indifference stung all the more.
Miss Donaldson. Not Martha. Just formality existed between them.
“Lord Whitworth has been assigned to watching over you in London until your case is resolved.”
She whipped her gaze between both men. “Him? You expect…? Surely…” Martha shook her head. The Fates must be laughing uproariously at even the idea of it. “Absolutely not.”
“May I speak to Miss Donaldson?” Graham asked quietly. “Alone.”
*
In all his thoughts of Martha, Graham had wondered after her, had mourned the lost bond they’d shared, and wished for more time with her. Never, however, had he believed he’d see her again. As such, he had no words pr
epared, nothing well-thought-out, for a time when they did one day meet again.
And that moment was now.
After Lord Exeter left, Martha stood there, stiff. She eyed Graham warily.
By a code of the Brethren, he should keep her off-balance. Prevaricate with words to further upend. That was, as his mentor had explained, the path to most victories.
But Martha Donaldson was not most women… and he didn’t want to lie to her. Not anymore.
Graham clasped his hands behind him. “I did not want to come.”
She winced.
“Not this time,” he clarified. “This time, I wanted to be here.” With a wistful smile, he took in the modest cottage that had felt more like home than the almost-palace he’d spent most of his life in. His grin faded. “I wanted to see you.” And Frederick. Graham withheld that name. As mistrustful as she was, Martha would believe his mention of her son was nothing more than a ploy to weaken her defenses. “But the first time,” he murmured, drifting over, and she didn’t retreat. It was the smallest of victories, but powerful in the hope it fueled. He made himself stop with several paces between them, wanting her to close the divide between them, unwilling to force his presence on her. “I wanted nothing to do with you or your son, Martha,” he said with a blunt, raw honesty that he’d wished to speak with her from the start. “Or this assignment.”
“And yet, you came anyway.”
He tried—and failed—to make out what she was thinking or feeling from that statement. Regret? Resentment? Hate?
“I came because I had no choice,” he said flatly. “When I spoke to you about wanting to have a life with purpose, it was in truth. This, however, represented that purpose. My work for the Home Office. Except, I was newly hired to my post. You were my first assignment. Even so… I fought it. I wanted something meaningful and craved something more.” He began to pace. He hadn’t known what he’d searched for forever. Until her. She had been the “more.” He just hadn’t realized… couldn’t have realized that there was a woman like her… or a child like Frederick. “It was supposed to be a fortnight, and then I would be gone. An information-gathering mission that yielded nothing… until it did.” Graham stopped and held her stare. “It yielded you and Frederick.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she whispered, clutching at the neckline of her night wrapper. That same garment he’d freed her of a week earlier when they’d made love, and he’d learned there was, in fact, love and emotion in what had previously been only a physical ritual.
“I’m telling you this so you know that I care about you and your son. If you wish for someone to replace me in my current role, because of our past, that agent will serve as a capable guard. But I would lay down my life to protect both of you, not because of any assignment, but because I love you.”
She gasped.
Graham’s mind stalled and then resumed movement with a rush of nothing but jumbled confusion.
He didn’t love anyone. He didn’t even like himself. He’d missed Martha. He enjoyed being with her. He’d missed their every talk and working alongside her in the stables. He…
Loved her.
He had from the moment she’d faced down a room of lesser people who’d taunted her and called them out for the bastards they were.
“I love you,” he repeated quietly, letting himself say it again. She’d cared for him when she’d thought him something other than he was—a servant. Yet again, she’d proven different than most any other woman, having preferred Graham when he’d been a mere stable master, even as every other lady of his acquaintance had sought a connection with him because he was a duke’s son.
The air came to life with an energy that crackled and sizzled between them.
“Oh, Gra—” She cut off, his name hanging there as a question mark. “I don’t even know what to call you anymore,” she whispered.
“Graham. That is my name, Martha. It is the name I prefer.” And the only one he wished to hear from her lips.
Martha linked her fingers and stared at the charcoal-stained digits.
I’ve never even seen her work… Not the art she’s created now… I know she loves it… And there was so much more he wished to know about her. Everything. He wanted to know everything about her and what brought her joy and to be the one to bring her that happiness.
“I don’t know what to say,” she confessed.
Say you love me, too.
But neither did she hurl his profession in his face, and her eyes no longer sparked with hatred, and he took hope from that.
“I… understand why you were here and appreciate that you came to look after Frederick and me.” At last, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “But there can’t be anything between us. Not truly.”
Why not? Why couldn’t there be?
It took all he was to keep from asking those questions. She was coming to London with him. It was there in the softening at the corners of her previously tight lips. That was enough. It would have to be—for now. “I didn’t tell you because I expect you to return those feelings.” But he wished it. “I did so that you know that my reason for being here was a lie, but everything else was true. And as long as I’m with you and Frederick, you will be safe.”
Martha drifted over to the hearth and stared into the flames. Thirteen ticks of the old longcase clock passed before she spoke. “Very well.” She turned. “But when it is determined Frederick and I are safe, I’ll return to my life… and you yours.”
He inclined his head.
Graham went to the door and allowed Lord Exeter to enter.
“I’ve agreed,” Martha said after Graham closed the door behind the older gentleman.
“You and your son will reside with Lord Whitworth,” Lord Exeter said, as if there had been no break in their previous discourse. “London is largely quiet for the holiday season, with most lords and ladies visiting their country properties. To protect your reputation, you’re advised to remain inside until it is all…” Sorted out.
Martha folded her arms at her middle. “I’m to be a prisoner, then?” God, she was magnificent, unafraid to go toe-to-toe with any man.
“The more you venture out, the more likely your reputation is at risk.”
“And if the lady is discovered with me?” She’d be ruined.
“The assumption will, of course, be that she is your mistress.”
Fury snapped through Graham. The other man spoke of Martha’s reputation as a throwaway concern.
“I see no other way to explain how or why a rake would keep company with a young woman, other than the reason given,” Lord Exeter explained.
A muscle leaped in Graham’s jaw. “How easily you speak of her ruin.”
Martha balled her hands. “It is fine…”
“It is not fine,” he gritted out, whipping around to face her. She still did not see her worth. “You deserve to be treated respectfully and honorably, and your living alone with me threatens both.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Oh, Graham. My reputation was ruined long ago.” Martha gave all her attention to Lord Exeter. “I’ll come. Frederick and I, we’ll join you.”
With a last little peek in Graham’s direction, she hurried to her room.
As he waited in silence alongside Lord Exeter, Graham considered Martha… and a future with her. She insisted there could never be anything more, but while she lived with him, he had two missions: one to see that she and her family were safe, and two, to show her he was worthy of her and that it was safe to love.
Chapter 20
In the days that followed, Martha’s life wasn’t her life.
It was a surreal daydream, and most times she felt as though she watched it from afar. Staring from the outside at a pretend world that she’d somehow become physically part of.
Now, Martha was curled on a window seat that overlooked an outdoor garden below. With a slick coating of ice upon the snow-covered terrace, Graham’s gardens had the look of some mythical ice palace, resp
lendent with a tall, three-tiered fountain. The water pouring down had frozen, adding to the sense of majesty of this place.
His was a home grander than any she had ever, or would ever again, set foot in. Graham would one day share this palace with some rightful lady born to his station. And Martha despised the tableau that unfolded in her mind even as she knew she had no place in it.
Laughter pealed around the room with thirty-foot ceilings as her son raced across the floor in his stockinged feet. “Mama, look!” Frederick cried out, having slid back and forth across the gleaming mahogany floors so many times she’d lost count. “That was my farthest yet. I went… one, two, three”—as he counted, he stepped on each plank he’d crossed—“six.”
“Very nearly seven,” she said with a smile. Her chest was light in unfamiliar ways, having known only the weight of stress and fear and pressure before.
“Yes, yes, you are right,” he replied, puffing his chest out, proud. His eyes lit. “I’ll try again!”
As Frederick rushed back to his makeshift starting point, Martha laughed, the feeling so freeing and healing, and she wanted to know this peace for—
She stopped.
He hadn’t said Mother. Or you. But rather, he’d used that beloved affectionate term by which he’d once always referred to her—Mama. Happiness exploded in her heart.
“Are you watching?” he called out, and she blinked back through the glassy veil of tears.
“I am,” she managed past the tears stuck in her throat, not wanting to shatter this moment with his questions.
“One, two…” Frederick took off racing before he’d finished his usual three count and slid. “Awww,” he groaned.
“That was even closer to seven,” she consoled.
He propped his hands on his hips and did a turn, glaring at the marquetry side tables and massive console with its red marble top. The pieces were finer and more costly than any of the items that had been carted off from her family’s property. “There’s too much furniture here. He’s got tables and chairs and sofas.”
Her lips twitched. “It is a parlor, Freddie.”
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