by Wolf, Bree
Thorne shrugged. “It’s the bird’s name. Why ever not?”
“It’s such a silly name for a bird!”
“What would you call him then?” Thorne regarded the bird curiously, who in turn seemed to be regarding them with just as much interest. “What does one call a parrot?”
“I don’t know.” Christina threw up her hands. “Biscuits? It seems the only thing that blasted bird eats are almond biscuits.” She leaned forward in her seat, a most serious expression coming to her face as she lifted her right forefinger. “But mind you, if they are just a tad too brown, it won’t touch them!” Again, throwing up her hands, she sank back into her seat.
King Arthur turned his head from side to side and regarded Christina with a curious frown. “Biscuits!” He squawked. “Biscuits!”
Thorne laughed. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should rename him.” He glanced at Christina. “Do you think your sister would mind?”
“You honestly want to call him Biscuits? I was jesting!”
Thorne shrugged. “I cannot help but think that he likes the name. Perhaps he simply feels misunderstood.”
“He’s a bird! He can’t feel mis—”
“Biscuits! Biscuits!”
Thorne laughed. “There you have it. I think he likes Biscuits.”
Christina slumped back in her seat. “Very well. If you insist.” She cast a pointed look at him. “He is your responsibility. I will not feed that thing.”
Crossing his legs at the ankles, Thorne regarded her curiously. “Why do you dislike him so much?”
“You would, too, if you had to live with him these past few weeks.” Sighing in a rather exhausted fashion, she briefly closed her eyes. “Of course, Harriet does not keep him in that cage all day. After all, a bird needs to spread its wings. And for reasons I cannot fathom that blasted bird always somehow ended up in my chamber.” She sat up, her jaw slightly dropped as she stared at him, once again lost for words as she no doubt pictured the havoc Biscuits had wreaked upon her bedchamber. “Feathers everywhere! Honestly, the blasted bird should be bald. Where does he keep them? He shredded my best gown, and then he destroyed my—” Quite abruptly, Christina broke off. Her jaw tensed, and her gaze dropped from his as though she had been about to say something she did not wish for him to know.
Thorne frowned. “What did he destroy?”
Sighing, Christina shook her head. “Nothing. It was nothing.” She cast him a forced smile and then turned to look out the window.
Although wishing to ask, to press her for more information, Thorne did not. He could tell from the way she had turned away that she would not volunteer anything further. Clearly, what had happened had deeply upset her. Yet Thorne could not imagine what the bird could possibly have destroyed that would have cemented Christina’s opinion of him in such a way.
It had to have been something very, very dear to her.
But what?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Pinewood Manor
For the remainder of the day, they spoke little. Christina continued to look out the window as the carriage rumbled along, determined to ignore not only the bird, but also her husband. She was not truly upset with him, but his questions had unnerved her. She could not help but think of Aunt Francine and of what her aunt had given up in order to pursue her passion.
Christina knew she could never do so, and so she had decided long ago to pursue her passion in secret. Of course, her sisters knew of her fondness for writing stories. Yet her husband would not understand, would he?
By nightfall, they stopped at an inn, and Christina was relieved to see that Thorne procured them two rooms. Unfortunately, though, he carried the blasted bird’s cage not into his own, but into hers.
“What do you propose I do with it?” Christina asked, tapping her foot in an annoyed gesture. She was well aware that she was overreacting; yes, wherever the bird was concerned she could not seem to help herself. Why on earth had Harriet insisted she take it? Was her little sister trying her absolute best to destroy her marriage before it had even truly begun?
Offering the bird a biscuit, Thorne then turned to grin at her. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Talk to him perhaps.” He stepped closer, his eyes seeking hers. “Or you could talk to me.”
Christina avoided his gaze, afraid that he would see too much. “About what? There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve never liked my sister’s pets, and she knows it.”
His hand settled upon her shoulders, warm and teasing at the same time. “There’s something on your mind,” he whispered, his eyes once more seeking hers. “I can see it. Tell me, and I’ll listen.”
Christina shook her head and tried to step out of his embrace, but his hands remained upon her shoulders, keeping her in place.
“You can trust me,” her husband whispered, and this time she did look at him.
“Can I?”
His gaze narrowed slightly as though he had not truly expected her to ask that. “Yes, you can. If there’s anything on your mind that troubles you, please, share it with me. Is that not what family is for? Looking at yours, I know it to be true. As do you.”
Christina could not deny that his words pleased her. She wanted to trust him, and she suspected that a part of her already did. Only this was a secret she had been keeping for a long time, a secret she had never intended to reveal to anyone outside of her immediate family. It carried a heavy weight, and she was not certain if he might not crumble under it. “I am tired,” she finally said. “I wish to go to bed.” She offered him a smile, feeling regret for failing to answer his request. He had sounded so honest, and yet Aunt Francine had once probably thought the same about her own husband as well.
Only to find herself to have been severely mistaken.
His hands fell from her shoulders; however, as she turned away, his hand caught hers and pulled her back—closer than before for his arms circled around her middle, reminding her of the night before.
“What are you doing?” Christina asked, trying her best not to succumb to that unexpected pull she was slowly beginning to expect whenever he stepped closer.
Her husband dipped his head no more than a fraction and looked into her eyes. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” He caught her chin between two fingers and urged her to lift her head. “May I kiss you?”
Christina knew what she wanted her answer to be; only she wondered if it would be wise. The day had been full of emotional challenges. She still felt close to tears whenever she thought back to her farewell to her family. Perhaps it would be wiser to—
“Kiss you! Kiss you!” the blasted bird suddenly squawked.
For a moment, they both tensed as though a shot had been fired nearby. Then her husband began to laugh. “I must say I like that bird. He sounds most intuitive.”
Christina slapped him on the arm. “Oh, you’re only saying that because you want to kiss me.”
“Guilty,” Thorne replied without hesitation. His eyes burned into hers, and his arm around her back urged her ever closer.
Christina sighed. “Oh, very well. But only one kiss. No more.”
He chuckled, slowly lowering his head to hers. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this as much as I do.”
“Well, I don’t,” Christina insisted, her voice ringing with insincerity even to her own ears.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you—”
“Oh, would you just kiss me?” Christina snapped, reaching up to pull him down to her.
“Happy to oblige,” Thorne whispered against her lips.
“Kiss me! Kiss me!” the bird squawked again.
They both broke out into laughter. “I find the bird only repeats the most important things in life,” Thorne remarked, casting a quick glance at the animal in question. “Good boy, Biscuit.”
“We’re not truly going to call him Bisc—?” Her question was cut short as her husband’s mouth closed over hers.
Instantly, everything else vanished: all the sadness over her farewell to her family; all the annoyance with the bird; all the uncertainty that remained in her heart.
Her knees turned to water, and she sank into her husband’s arms, allowing him to kiss her as he wished. As he had the night before. As she hoped he would for all the days to come.
Lifting his head, Thorne looked down at her, then once more brushed his lips against hers. “I love kissing you,” he murmured then lowered his head once more.
“One kiss! One kiss!” Biscuit squawked. “No more! No more!”
Stilling, Thorne closed his eyes before a slow smile began to spread over his face, giving him a disbelieving look.
Christina laughed. Yes, she would not have objected to another kiss. Far from it. Still, she loved the yearning expression in her husband’s eyes even more. “I could not have said it better,” she remarked, trying her utmost to regain a more serious expression.
Nevertheless, the smile upon her face would not be denied.
Thorne looked up and glared at the bird. “And after everything I’ve done for you, now you stab me in the back?” Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to her. “And you? Have you suddenly come to like the bird?”
Grinning, Christina shrugged. “What can I say? I suppose he’s not as bad as I thought.”
Thorne pinched her chin. “I remember you saying something quite similar about me not too long ago.”
Christina shrugged. “I stand by what I said.” She looked up at him and held his gaze, daring him to…
Do what?
She wasn’t quite certain.
Exhaling a slow breath, Thorne slowly released her. He took a step back, and once more glanced at the bird. “Then I will leave you,” he said with a smile. “Until tomorrow.”
As the door closed behind him, Christina could not help but feel a stab of regret. She had wanted him to stay, and yet she had wanted him to go. He had honored her wishes, but, in truth, she had wanted another kiss. Still, she preferred it this way.
If in doubt, a gentleman would always act honorably, would he not?
Christina paused, remembering the countless times she had told her husband that he was, in fact, not a gentleman. When had she started to think of him thus? She could not deny that he did possess all the most admirable qualities of a gentleman. He might be of humble birth, but the respect and consideration he showed others could have fooled anyone.
Even her.
Christina smiled because she was glad for it, and that night, she slept a lot better than she would have thought.
The following morning, their journey continued in a more pleasant manner. Somehow, that ease between her and her husband had returned, and not even Biscuit’s squawks managed to upset her as they had before. In fact, it often seemed the bird was on her side, repeating words and phrases rather to her husband’s disadvantage than hers.
Still, when the carriage finally pulled into the drive of Pinewood Manor, Christina could not help but think that the look on her husband’s face spoke of dread. He had seemed so eager before to show her the place he had bought for them; now, however, a dark cloud seemed to linger above his head.
“Are you all right?” Christina asked as he offered her his arm to help her alight from the carriage. “You seem…distraught.”
He inhaled a deep breath, and then met her eyes. “Truthfully, there has been something on my mind I need to speak to you about; though, I could not seem to find the words nor the right moment to do so.”
Christina felt something inside her tighten, like a noose around her neck slowly cutting off her ability to breathe. Was this what she had been waiting for? What she had dreaded to discover about her husband? That despite everything he had said and done, there was a part of him she ought not have trusted?
“Then tell me now,” Christina urged him, knowing that it was always better to know than to be left in the dark.
Swallowing, he nodded, then turned to her and reached out to take her hands into his. “I told you that I had no family. That is true in a certain way. However—”
“In a certain way?” Christina interrupted, the noose around her neck growing tighter. “How can it be true in a certain way?” She pulled her hands from his.
The look upon his face fell as she retreated; yet she could see the determination to finally tell her the truth bright as ever in his eyes. “There is someone who—”
“Father! You have returned!” came a bright young voice that reminded Christina of Harriet’s many, many years ago.
Shocked by the word she had heard, Christina slowly turned toward the front entrance and found a little girl of about five years rushing down the steps toward them. Her blond curls bounced up and down, and her green eyes shone as bright as her father’s.
Christina staggered backward until her back was pressed against the side of the carriage, her eyes wide as she continued to stare at the little girl.
“Father! Is that her?” The little girl asked with a sideways glance at Christina before she threw herself into Thorne’s arms. He hugged her tightly and lifted her into the air, swinging her in a full circle before setting her down once more.
“Sam, I want to introduce you to someone,” Thorne said to the girl, holding one of her small hands in his. Then he straightened and turned toward Christina, and she could see the tension that once more marked his features. Despite the joy and ease with which he conversed with the child, dread still lingered. What did he fear she would do? Return to her family? Refuse to accept the child?
All these thoughts raced through Christina’s head, and she was not quite certain which one of them broke her heart in that moment. She had dared to trust—despite her better judgment, despite all the rumors and whispers she had heard—and now she found herself burned.
“Sam,” her husband said as he escorted the girl toward Christina, “this is my wife, Christina.” He looked down and smiled at the girl before raising his gaze to Christina’s. “Chris, this is my…daughter Samantha.”
“Do not call me that!” Christina hissed, needing something, some reason to lash out at him without addressing the true issue that now stood between them. After all, the child was not at fault for her father’s lies, and she would not say anything that might wound the girl.
“Welcome home,” Samantha said, beaming up at her in a way that made Christina’s heart ache even more.
Gritting her teeth, Christina tried to smile at the child, but knew that the expression upon her face was no doubt some kind of grotesque grimace. “Thank you,” was all she managed in that moment before her eyes returned to her husband, aiming an accusatory stare at him—one he rightly deserved.
Kneeling down beside the child, Thorne took her hands and pulled her around to face him. “Sam, Christina needs a moment to truly arrive. It has been a long journey. We brought you a friend.” He rose to his feet and then fetched the cage from inside the carriage. “This is Biscuit.”
The girl squealed in delight and all but flung herself at the cage. “Oh, Father! He is beautiful! Can we truly keep him?”
Thorne nodded, then gestured to a matronly woman standing up on the stairs, one Christina had failed to notice before this very moment. “Mrs. Huxley, would you escort Samantha inside, please?”
The stout woman came forward and with a somewhat apprehensive look took the cage from Thorne’s hands. Then she held out her other hand to the child and they vanished inside.
The moment they were gone, her husband turned to her. “Christina, I need to explain.”
“Yes, you do!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
An Overdue Confession
Thorne could have kicked himself. Of course, she was angry. She was angry and hurt. Anyone would be. Of course, he had known that this would happen, and yet he had remained silent. He had been a coward to not speak to her before now. It had been a mistake, a grave mistake.
Now, though, there was no changing that.
“I suggest we
step inside.” He moved toward her but took care not to step too close. “Then I will tell you all you wish to know. I promise.”
Doubt remained in her blue eyes. For a moment, they lingered upon his face as though she was seeing him for the very first time. Then she gave a curt nod of agreement before stepping past him, ignoring his proffered arm and heading into the house.
Rushing to catch up with her, Thorne guided her into the drawing room, then closed the door. He was aware that she kept her distance from him, and he was surprised by how much it bothered him.
Yes, he ought to have told her. He had had countless chances, and yet he had not. In the beginning, he had been afraid that she would change her mind, despite her words, and refuse to marry him. Then, last night as well as this morning, Thorne could not help but think that if he told her now, she might not leave London with him. That she might return to her family who would no doubt grant her sanctuary.
Even from him.
Even from her own husband.
Of course, they would be right to do so. He was the villain in this, was he not?
Raking a hand through his hair, Thorne tried to find the words to say what needed to be said. His gaze moved to hers, and he found her watching him through narrowed eyes. “I can see that you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be. But—”
“Where is her mother?” Christina snapped, her gaze moving to the door as though she truly expected another woman to burst in at any moment. “Is she here? In this house?” Her gaze narrowed even further as her jaw seemed to drop another fraction. “Is she your wife?” Her own words seemed to slam into her, and she took a staggering step backward, her eyes widening in shock.
In all honesty, Thorne had not expected this. These questions. “I have no wife,” he blurted out stupidly, then shook his head. “I mean, of course, I do, what I meant to say was—” He broke off and inhaled a slow breath, trying his best to calm the wild hammering of his heart.
Lifting his chin, he took a step toward her, not daring to take another, and met her eyes, urging her to believe him. “You are my wife,” he said softly and slowly. “You are the only wife I’ve ever had, and I ever care to have. There has never been another. I give you my word.”
