How I Married a Marquess

by Anna Harrington

  His mouth smothered the soft cry at her lips as she fell limp against him. Undulating waves of pleasure sped out from where his fingers lay buried inside her, all the way to her fingertips and toes. She clung to him as he slowly pulled his hand from between her legs, then encircled her in his strong arms and held her close, so tight that she could barely catch back the breath he’d stolen. As if he didn’t want to let her go.

  He tenderly kissed her temple. “But you’re an impossible choice for me, Josephine. Because your capture means my freedom.”

  Her heart lurched painfully even as pleasure still pulsed dully through her. How could she reconcile it, that the same man who made her enjoy laughing and waltzing with him and who had just made her blood boil with such primal need was the same man who held the power to destroy her? “Thomas, I don’t under—”

  “Shh,” he warned quickly. He froze as he listened, but all she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat and the rush of blood through her ears, the shallow panting of her breath.

  She trembled. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s coming.”

  Just as suddenly as he’d grabbed her into his arms, he released her and stepped away, flipping down her skirt to cover her legs before putting the distance of the room between them. She shivered at the loss of his heat as he turned his back to her with apparent disinterest, leaving no visible trace that she’d just shattered so scandalously against his palm beneath her dress.

  Too stunned to speak, she could only stare at him, blinking with confusion, and trying unsuccessfully to process all that had just happened as the back of her hand pressed against her lips, still hot and wet from his kisses. Instinctively she knew the intimate caresses he’d given her were only the beginning of what he was capable of doing, that there could be so much more pleasure with him just waiting to be enjoyed.

  If she was brave enough to let herself take it.

  “Thomas?” she whispered breathlessly, her face growing hot with humiliation and rejection, tears stinging at her eyes. She didn’t want him on the other side of the room. She wanted to be back in his arms.

  Without warning the door opened behind her. Turning, she gasped.

  Simon Royston.

  Oh God. If he’d heard what they’d just discussed, if he knew what they’d done—her reputation ruined at the very least, her life ended at the gallows at the very worst. Her hand went to her throat as her breath strangled with fear.

  Across the room Thomas lounged casually against the windowsill, as if they’d done nothing more scandalous than discuss the weather. Yet despite the cool, calm exterior he showed the earl, Josie could see the heat of desire still burning in his eyes.

  “Royston,” Thomas called out jovially, claiming the earl’s attention before he could see Josie and giving her a precious few moments to collect herself. “Thought you were out fishing with the men.”

  “God no. I despise fishing.” Royston’s voice was clipped as he muttered, “I’ve been hunting for you.” Then his gaze flicked across the room to Josie. “Miss Carlisle.”

  “Your lordship.” Her legs trembled as she gave a quick curtsy.

  But with a dismissive glance, he quickly passed over her presence as unimportant. From his irritated expression as his eyes narrowed once more on Thomas, he obviously couldn’t have cared less that he’d found her in the compromising position of being alone with the marquess.

  Yet somehow Thomas had known the earl was coming, which was why he’d released her as quickly as if she’d scalded him with her body. Now that he sat there, so cool and collected, his calm presence worked only to make her even more aware of the embarrassment and arousal that must be showing so clearly on her flushed face.

  “Well, it seems you’ve found me.” He grinned at the earl, but Josie knew him well enough now to know that the smile was forced. He was no happier to see Royston than she was, but he hid his irritation with the ease of the spy he was. “What can I do for you?”

  Royston nodded toward the hallway. “A game of billiards, if you don’t mind.” Not a request but an order.

  Josie knew Royston wasn’t interested in playing billiards. From the way his body stiffened, Thomas knew that, too. Still, he nodded his acquiescence, and with a parting glance in her direction that she couldn’t decipher, he trailed out of the room behind the earl.

  Groaning softly, Josie sank into a nearby chair, her head hanging in her hands and her body still trembling and aching. Thomas swore he would arrest her if he had to, yet she still wanted him, and not just for the remainder of the party. And not just for the way he made her body shiver with pleasure. She wanted so much more than that, so much that hot tears formed on her lashes as she ached with bittersweet longing for that impossible dream…the dream of having him with her always, this man who made her feel so beautiful and wanted, who made her feel safe and secure in his arms, and to whom she’d entrusted her deepest secrets.

  But he was also the same man who would never trust her. Not without the proof she didn’t have. And it was that lack of trust in her that had just sent him running after Royston.

  Yet she knew the larger truth. Even if she somehow found her proof and he believed her, nothing would change between them. In only three days, he would leave, most likely never to give her another thought. After all, he was destined to be a duke, while she—

  A choking sob tore from her. She squeezed shut her eyes and gulped in mouthfuls of air to keep back the tears.

  While she had already lost her heart.

  * * *

  Thomas kept his face stoic as he followed Royston into the billiards room, with no trace in his expression of how his chest burned with self-recrimination at having to leave Josie like that. But perhaps it was better that they had been interrupted. His anger that she was so foolishly endangering her life had led to arousal, and that pulsing arousal still had him half-hard even now. A few more minutes alone with her, hearing those soft sounds of pleasure on her lips, feeling her body shatter around his fingers like that, and he would have done exactly as he’d warned—carried her to his room and seduced away her innocence, this woman who made his blood boil with equal parts frustration and desire.

  And whom he didn’t trust.

  Ludicrous, that she would believe Royston capable of using an orphanage to gain political favors. An earl, for God’s sake. Yet she believed it, and to the point that she risked her life to secure retribution.

  One of them was lying, and his return to the War Office now hung in the balance. Which one was he supposed to believe—the man who had been loyal to his family or the woman who brightened the darkness?

  Royston turned on him. “Well?” he demanded impatiently, clearly agitated, as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “What have you learned about the robbery last night?”

  “I’ve been talking with the constable and investigating the robbery site.” He carefully dodged the real answer. The one that would send Josephine Carlisle swinging by her pretty little neck.

  “Has the highwayman been found?”

  “He got away.” For the moment. Until he could figure out a way to stop Josie from committing any more robberies and convince Royston to give him that recommendation without his actually having to produce the highwayman in the flesh.

  “Damnation, Chesney,” Royston bit out beneath his breath, his fingers pulling at his cravat, as if the knots choked him. “I invite guests here to my home, only for them to be robbed. What the devil is going on here?”

  Thomas shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over one of the chairs, then reached for a cue stick from the collection hanging on the wall rack. “What’s going on, Royston, is that you’re being targeted.” He held the cue in his hands as if judging its weight and balance. “What we need to figure out is why.”

  “We know why. Money.”

  “I’m not so certain.” Treading carefully, knowing he had to prove Josie wrong without tipping his hand, Thomas circled the table and scattered a few
balls across the red felt. “According to the constable, the highwaymen made off with less than one hundred pounds, and all the robberies have been similar.” He lined up his shot, but even as he judged the alignment of the cue stick, he kept a close watch on Royston from the corner of his eye. “Whoever is responsible isn’t interested in money.”

  “So why is he robbing my guests, then?”

  “You tell me.” He slid the stick forward smoothly and connected with the cue ball to send it spinning across the table. The object ball dropped into the corner pocket with a quiet thud. “Who are your enemies?”

  “I don’t have enemies.”

  “Everyone has enemies,” he corrected casually. The old axiom was true. If you wanted to know a man, know his enemies. Josephine Carlisle was this man’s enemy. And Thomas certainly wanted to know a great deal more about her.

  In frustration Royston snatched up the cue ball from the table. “Have you made any headway at all? Do you know anything about who’s behind this?”

  “I know how the robberies are being committed,” he evaded skillfully.

  “With horses and guns,” Royston scoffed. “I knew that much myself.”

  Thomas ignored that. The man was too agitated over the most recent holdup to realize that every robbery had a signature as distinctive as the criminal who committed it. Even a thoroughly aggravating, impossibly alluring criminal with stormy green eyes and thick chestnut hair.

  At least Royston didn’t suspect Josie, that much was clear from his comments. But then, why on earth would he? A baron’s daughter who kept falling off her horse? The damn woman really had covered her tracks amazingly well. His chest would have warmed in admiration at her cunning if he didn’t want to shake her for so recklessly risking her life.

  “Who are your enemies, Royston?” he pressed, circling casually back to the only lead Josie had given him. If it was true that Royston was using the orphanage for political favors—and he couldn’t bring himself to believe it, knowing the man as well as he did—then perhaps the earl was being blackmailed into it by someone else. He foolishly hoped against hope for that, because it would mean he’d be able to both save Josie and get his recommendation, after all. He could stop whoever was blackmailing Royston, and then Josie would no longer have any reason to keep being the highwayman.

  “I told you. I don’t have any,” Royston ground out, his irritation flaring to the surface. “And why are you playing games? My reputation is at stake, and you’re plunking balls around the damned table!” He threw the cue ball down onto the felt.

  Thomas calmly met Royston’s gaze. “We’re standing in a billiards room.” A spy always had to blend into his surroundings, no matter how out of place he felt. And Thomas felt damnably out of place at that moment as uncertainty tore at his insides. “If anyone should happen to observe us, we should look as if we’re playing.”

  Royston blanched. “You think the robbers are among my guests or servants?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he answered, which was certainly the truth. Which one of them did he believe? Thomas had known Royston for years. He was an earl of the realm who had always been a loyal friend to the Matteson family, while Josie was a criminal. She’d broken the law, no matter how altruistic her motivations, and she deserved to be arrested. And damnation, he deserved to have his life back. But at what cost—Josie’s life or his?

  He had no choice but to keep prying at both of them until he found answers. Although he suspected deep in his gut that by the end of this conversation he’d have proven Royston innocent of the implausible allegations of which Josie had accused him.

  “A man doesn’t reach your standing in Parliament without angering people for not supporting their causes.” Thomas set his cue aside and leaned back against the wall, watching Royston closely. “Or their political appointments.”

  Royston’s face darkened. “What are you talking about?”

  “Political appointments,” he repeated calmly. “And favors.” Those were the reasons Josie gave for the orphanage’s existence. But he wanted to hear Royston’s version, compare the two, and try to sort fact from fiction. “Now that the wars are over, there are new opportunities for ambitious men in Parliament.”

  “Yes, there are,” Royston agreed. “I need friends if I’m going to build influence and power. You of all people should understand that.”

  You of all people. Royston was sadly mistaken about that. Thomas had never wanted power or influence; he didn’t care if he never received any credit for the service he’d given his country from the Englishmen whose lives he’d undoubtedly saved by risking his own. He’d been an agent because he wanted his life to matter, because he wanted to be more than just a placeholder in the long line of Chatham dukes. He wanted purpose. Meaning.

  “But at what cost?” he asked quietly, giving voice to his worst fears.

  “I’ve done nothing illegal,” Royston replied confidently. “Lord Liverpool is aware of all my actions.”

  “There’s a fine line between illegal and unethical.” Thomas calmly stepped to the table, took only a moment to line up the shot, and sank the last ball. “Especially if you haven’t been entirely transparent in your ambitions.”

  “Are you accusing me of committing criminal misdeeds?” Royston demanded coolly.

  “Of course not.” Then, coming too close to Josie’s secret for comfort, yet having no choice but to dance on the razor’s edge, he explained, “I am suggesting that whoever is targeting your guests might be doing so because he suspects you are.”

  “Absurd.” Royston laughed with an assured smile. “I’ve never done anything that would be considered unethical or illegal.”

  Or anything that would cause someone to blackmail him into using the orphanage for favors. Thomas’s last hope for an easy solution vanished like smoke. “I didn’t think so,” he replied, forcing out a smile he certainly didn’t feel.

  “You know how your father is,” Royston assured him. “Honorable beyond measure. Would Chatham take me as a political ally, or a friend, if he suspected I had done anything even remotely questionable?”

  “No, he certainly wouldn’t,” Thomas agreed, conceding the point. But his chest didn’t lighten with relief at knowing Royston was innocent of the crimes of which Josie accused him. Because it meant that she was entangled in an even bigger mess than before. One from which he might not be able to free her.

  Turning his back to the earl to return his cue to the wall rack, Thomas rested his hand on the handle of the cue and drew a deep breath. This was the decision point. The moment when he would have to choose between Royston and Josie, between a respected member of the peerage who had never been anything but proper and dignified in all his public dealings and a woman for whom deceit and distrust were second nature. Between securing a recommendation to the War Office that would effectively erase the past year and give him his life back and saving the woman who had captured him the way no other woman ever had.

  Christ! He didn’t want to arrest her. He couldn’t bring himself to arrest her, in fact, now that he’d experienced the contradictory calm she brought to him at the same time that she made his blood boil with desire. Yet his future didn’t lie with her; it lay in his past, with a brilliant career as a spy still ahead of him, a sense of purpose instead of nightmares and fear. The last thing he needed—the very last thing, damn it!—was a woman in his head and heart to distract him from the life he had always been meant to live.

  He closed his eyes briefly, silently cursing his own selfishness. “I’ll stop your highwayman, I promise you.”

  “Thank you.” Royston clapped him affectionately on the back. “I want this matter settled by the time the party ends.”

  In only three days. “It will be,” he answered grimly, remembering Josie’s refusal to stop the robberies. He was left with no choice now but to force her to stop. “One way or another.”

  Royston nodded, satisfied with Thomas’s answers and oblivious to the guilt churning
inside him. As the earl turned toward the door, Thomas sucked in a deep, shaky breath and scratched at his wrists.

  They left the room and walked down the hall toward the stairs, but Thomas wasn’t breathing any easier. His progress report was done, and his evasions and delay tactics had bought Josie a brief reprieve. But he’d only delayed the inevitable. He would have to make a final decision soon, and God help them both when he did.

  In the meantime he needed to find a way to keep the frustrating woman from committing any more robberies. He’d lied to Royston. The highwayman robbed coaches precisely for the money, risking her neck to keep the orphans in the best home possible.

  If only the orphanage had enough money, then the robberies would be unnecessary, and perhaps she’d stop. If she could have the money all at once, instead of one purse at a time—

  The idea hit him like a lightning bolt. There was a way to get her the money, and if Royston himself provided the blunt, perhaps she’d even let go of her accusations against him. If he could talk the earl into increasing his patronage.

  “When I was in the village,” he commented offhandedly, yet very carefully approaching the topic, “I saw a little orphanage there.”

  “The Good Hope Home.” Royston nodded as they reached the top of the stairs. “And?”

  Thomas noted the sudden coldness in the earl’s voice. “I know that you and the countess are patrons.”

  “We help however we can,” he replied dismissively.

  “I’d like to help myself. Would you mind if I visited to see if there was anything I could do for the children while I’m here? Perhaps look through its accounts and books?”

  Royston hesitated, pausing at the top of the landing. Then he forced a smile and continued down the stairs. “Of course not. But I’d rather you found the highwayman first.”

  Thomas’s heart skipped. Royston hesitated. So briefly that it had barely been perceptible, yet he’d noticed—the pause taken in mid-step, the silence as loud as a canon shot.

  Suspicion jolted through him, sending his heart into his throat and spinning confusion through his mind. Yet he forced himself to keep his face impossibly blank even as an instinctive sickening clenched in the pit of his stomach. Good God…could Josie be right after all? Was Royston truly using the orphanage for his own gain?