A SINFUL SURRENDER: Spies and Lovers

by Laura Trentham

  “Mother won’t even allow you to call on me. You can’t protect me.”

  “That’s all true.” His voice was exceedingly calm. “I know of only one solution.”

  With her face still cradled in his hands, he leaned down and kissed her. Unlike the scorching wildfire of their last kisses, this one kindled a warmth that inched through her until she needed to shed a layer of clothes. She shuffled closer, craving the comfort and distraction he offered. She closed her eyes, and the world and her worries fell away, if only for a moment.

  “I apologize, Delilah,” he whispered against her lips.

  “For what?”

  A gasp and spate of laughter registered like the echo of a call, distant and muted. She blinked her eyes open and looked to the left. At least five matrons gathered in the mouth of the hallway. If she was lucky, none would recognize her.

  Lady Casterly elbowed her way through the group to stand like a general at the head of an advancing army, her cane planted in front of her. Delilah’s only saving grace was that there was no sign of her mother. Delilah took a step away from Marcus, even as her body tingled from his touch, and braced herself for a blistering set down from Lady Casterly.

  Lady Casterly didn’t even look at Delilah. She rapped her cane once on the floor, the noise quieting the titter of the ladies behind her. “Mr. Bancroft will expect a visit from you on the morrow, Lord Wyndam.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He executed a small bow.

  “Very good, my lord.” Only now did Lady Casterly direct her gaze toward Delilah, holding out her hand. “Time to find your mother, my dear.”

  As they walked side by side toward the ballroom, Delilah’s blush intensified with the number of eyes and whispers following in their wake.

  “I’m sorry,” Delilah whispered through her forced smile.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised. Lord Wyndam is a handsome, charming devil, and you’ve been enamored since the beginning. A match with Sir Wallace would have been more advantageous for you and your family, no matter that Wyndam holds an earldom. Dear Edward left a shambles for the poor boy.”

  The events in motion made her feel like the earth was spinning out of control. “It was only a kiss.”

  “A kiss in a dim, secluded alcove with a man whose reputation is tarnished will blacken yours. The only way to repair the damage is to marry him. At least it wasn’t a footman. You will be a countess, after all.”

  “Marry Marcus?” Her feet stuttered to a halt. “But… but…”

  Lady Casterly raised an eyebrow. “If you choose not to marry Lord Wyndam, the rumors will leave you ruined and your family as well, to a lesser extent. Not even my protection could save you then.”

  Protection. Was this Marcus’s plan to protect her? Ruin her so she was not welcome in Society? Perhaps he expected her parents to ship her off to the country. Would she be safe in Stoney Pudholme? A retreat from town wasn’t the worst idea, but she would have strong words for Marcus on his methods.

  Lady Casterly took her elbow and steered her through the crowd to the front door. Her mother waited in the entry, the brittle smile on her face reflecting pain and disappointment.

  Delilah couldn’t meet her eyes. “Mother, I’m—”

  “We’ll discuss matters with your father once we arrive home,” her mother said through clenched teeth.

  Once the three of them were cloistered in the carriage, her mother’s voice came from the corner, low and furious. “You’ve thrown your life away tonight. I hope you understand that, Delilah. The future I dreamed for you is no more.”

  “It was merely a kiss.” Delilah tucked her trembling hands under her legs. If her mother knew how close Delilah had come to losing her life tonight, would she be so upset? “My life isn’t forfeit. I’m alive and well.”

  “And ruined.”

  Delilah didn’t feel ruined. In fact, she felt more aware of her heartbeat and strength and fortitude than ever. “What will happen now?”

  Lady Casterly’s voice was calmer and more measured. “Wyndam will meet with your father in the morning to decide your fate.”

  Would Marcus offer for her? Would he even make an appearance? Delilah wasn’t so sure. “It’s my life. My future. Don’t I get to voice an opinion?”

  “You gave up that right when you succumbed to a rake’s advances.” Disgust had crept in to color her mother’s disappointment.

  “Marcus is—” A thump from Lady Casterly’s cane hastened a correction. “I mean Lord Wyndam is not a rake, Mother.”

  Or was he? Perhaps Marcus made a habit of seducing women he met over dead bodies. A hysterical, desperate laugh threatened to pop out. She stifled it. Barely.

  “If not a rake, then a fortune hunter. All he could possibly want from you is your dowry.” Her mother’s assessment made Delilah’s shoulders slump.

  A heavy silence accompanied them the rest of the way to their elegant town house. Lady Casterly led the way inside, the clack of her cane like the striking of a clock heralding a hanging. Was Lady Casterly to be a witness in her defense or prosecution?

  Delilah’s father lay his book over his lap and removed his spectacles when her mother swept over the threshold of his study. When Delilah tried to follow, her mother blocked her. “Go to bed,” she said and slammed the door.

  Delilah stood for a long moment, staring at the closed door. How could a mere kiss cause such an uproar? And why did Society deem a woman tainted afterward? She was the same person she’d been before the kiss. Nothing she could say would convince her parents, Lady Casterly, or Society in general of her innocence. Finally, she understood Marcus’s frustration.

  The unfairness of it all made her want to kick something, but that too would be unladylike. She stomped across the marble entryway, her slippers making it less than satisfying, and ran up the stairs to her room. A timid scratch on the door signaled her maid. “Come in.”

  Millie entered, her eyes wide and curious. “Quite an uproar downstairs.”

  While Delilah wished she had someone to confide her trouble to, she wouldn’t put the girl in danger. As Millie worked to help Delilah undress, she asked the maid how old she was.

  “Eighteen, I believe, miss.”

  “You believe?”

  “I was raised up in an orphanage.”

  Delilah half turned and lay her hand over Millie’s. “I’m sorry.”

  Millie seemed taken aback at her sympathy. “It was a fine home, miss. Run by a church, it was. They were good to me. Taught me my letters and got me this job. I’m right grateful for it, I am.”

  “Is this what you want to do with your life?”

  “There’s worse things. Walking the streets, for one. That’s a hard life for a woman.” Millie shrugged, speaking with a matter-of-factness earned through facing challenges. “I reckon a warm bed, plenty of hot food, and waking up alive every morning is all I need.”

  Millie smiled and slipped out with no inkling she had left her mistress feeling off-balance. Delilah climbed between the sheets and let her mind wander. Waking up alive wasn’t even a given now she’d been identified by the killer.

  For a few hours, she dreamed of a simpler world. The one before she’d found Quinton dead on the library floor and had never met Marcus. She woke with a bittersweet feeling in her heart.

  Chapter 9

  Marcus hopped out of the hack in front of the Bancrofts’ town house, straightened his collar, and smoothed a hand over his best frock coat, which wasn’t saying much. He would be judged on his clothes as much as his character, and neither were in the best shape.

  O’Connell poked his head out of the window. “Ach, laddie, are you certain this is what you want?”

  “My honor demands it,” Marcus said.

  O’Connell had stood by him throughout the tribulations of the past year and had lent Marcus confidence when he was bereft. Marcus trusted him. He looked over his shoulder at the old man. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

  “She’s got grit,
I’ll give her that.” O’Connell’s assessment made Marcus smile. “But your future is far from settled, lad. A wife will only make things more difficult.”

  The understatements made him wonder at his recklessness the evening before, but while he wasn’t looking forward to what was sure to be a well-deserved dressing-down by Mr. Bancroft, the thought of marriage to Delilah didn’t fill him with dread. In fact, something akin to the excitement of acquiring a quality horse lightened his step up the stoop.

  Not that he planned to admit such to Delilah. Likening a woman to a horse had never worked out well for him, even when he considered it the highest of compliments.

  It was unforgivably early for a social call in normal circumstances, but he would be expected. He patted his pocket and felt the crinkle of the special license tucked inside his jacket. Rousing the archbishop at dawn to provide it had presented its own challenges. Luckily, the archbishop and his father had been friends, and he had provided the license with minimal grumbling. The outlay of coin had cut deeply into his meager savings, yet he could summon no regret.

  He rapped on the front door and was greeted by the sour-faced butler who hadn’t allowed him entrance the last time he’d called on the Bancrofts. This time, the man had no choice and led Marcus into a narrow study. A set of windows provided murky light from the gray day outside.

  The bespectacled man behind the desk rose and leaned onto his fists. While Mr. Bancroft wasn’t a large man, Marcus was suitably intimidated by his flinty expression.

  “Lord Wyndam, I presume?” His voice was spare and unwelcoming.

  “At your service, sir.” Marcus dipped his head in deference. “May I say—”

  “No, you may not. I will speak first.” Mr. Bancroft gestured to the chair across the desk. Once Marcus was seated, he continued. “No doubt, you are aware Delilah is in possession of a considerable dowry and made it your mission to ruin her.”

  “No, sir, that’s not at all what happened.”

  “Then enlighten me, I beg you.” Mr. Bancroft chopped his hand down to bang his desk.

  Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it and cleared his throat. The truth of what brought them together could not be shared, but he didn’t want to outright lie, either. “Your daughter is a remarkable woman, sir. She is brave, headstrong, intelligent, and I’ll be a better man with her by my side.”

  His answer flummoxed Mr. Bancroft, who cleared his throat and shifted before crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair. “Be that as it may, Delilah will bring no money to your union.”

  Marcus hadn’t considered marrying Delilah would bring him much-needed coin—he’d been more concerned with keeping her alive—but he also hadn’t considered how Delilah would feel about living in reduced circumstances. “And if we don’t wed, what will happen?”

  “Sir Wallace is willing to take her as wife by special license.” Mr. Bancroft’s gaze slid away from Marcus’s.

  “For an additional bride price, I assume?”

  A brusque nod was his answer. “Or she can retreat to our house in Suffolk for a time until the scandal is forgotten. Perhaps I can find her a vicar to marry.”

  A vicar? Never. “Or she can marry me,” Marcus said.

  “From the tittle-tattle I’ve managed to gather, your father was a traitor, and to say your circumstances are reduced is being kind.”

  Marcus stood. “My father was not a traitor, as I will prove.”

  “And your circumstances?”

  The back of Marcus’s neck heated. “Will improve. I have a plan.”

  “There is no guarantee your plan will ever bear fruit. My daughter deserves more.”

  What Delilah deserved was to not have her future hashed out without a say. “I propose you allow Delilah to decide her fate. It’s the only way she’ll be happy, and isn’t that both our goals?”

  Bancroft regarded him, his forefinger stroking his bottom lip. This was a man who did not make rash decisions, and whose mind was not easily swayed once on course. Marcus let him mull over the wisdom of his proposal.

  “Ever since Delilah almost died two years ago, she has been weak in body and spirit. I’m not confident her nerves can handle such a serious decision,” Mr. Bancroft said.

  Now it was Marcus’s turn to be flummoxed. Weak in body and spirit? The woman had scaled a town house, faced a series of dangers that would have left most men in vapors, and fought off a man twice her size with a few turnips. He couldn’t help but smile quizzically. “Are we discussing the same lady?”

  Bancroft’s face was a blank slate. Finally, he nodded, rose, and pulled a bell cord. The butler popped his head in the door.

  “Kirby, fetch my wife and daughter to the study.”

  Marcus and Bancroft waited in a tense silence. Delilah entered at a skipping run, a pretty blue dress swirling around her ankles and a barely suppressed energy vibrating the air around her. Mrs. Bancroft followed as if walking a funeral dirge.

  Delilah’s wide brown eyes met his with questions only she could answer.

  Mrs. Bancroft did her best to ignore Marcus’s existence. “Is everything settled satisfactorily?”

  “Wyndam believes Delilah should have a say in her future,” Mr. Bancroft said.

  “No! He must depart and never return.” Mrs. Bancroft still didn’t favor him with so much as a glance.

  “As it happens, I tend to agree with Wyndam on the matter.” Mr. Bancroft gestured Delilah over and took her hand. “First, let me say your mother and I only want the best for you, my dear.”

  Delilah shot a look toward Marcus but nodded at her father. “I know.”

  “I heard from Sir Wallace this morning.” Bancroft turned and picked up a missive from his desk. “He is willing to wed you by special license this very afternoon.”

  Delilah’s shoulders squared. “What enticement did you offer him?”

  Mrs. Bancroft wedged herself between Marcus and Delilah, touching her daughter’s arm. “Sir Wallace loves you, darling.”

  Delilah barked a laugh. “No, he doesn’t. Did you have to double my dowry? Triple it?”

  Red burnished Bancroft’s cheeks, and he stared at the letter. “It matters not. He offers an honorable union.”

  “It matters to me,” Delilah said, lifting her chin. “What are my other options?”

  “You can leave for Suffolk and live quietly until this incident is forgotten,” Bancroft said.

  “And how long would that be, do you think?” Delilah asked.

  “Lady Casterly thinks you could perhaps reenter Society in a few seasons,” Mrs. Bancroft said.

  “Years? Years of exile because of a kiss?” Delilah sounded aghast. “What else?”

  When her parents remained silent, Delilah shifted to Marcus, bitterness flavoring her snapping brown eyes. “Are you presenting an option for my future as well?”

  “I most humbly offer myself in marriage as an alternative to banishment and Sir Wallace.” Marcus held up a hand when Delilah opened her mouth to speak. “However, your father has made clear that if you choose me, you will not come with a dowry.”

  Delilah’s gaze never left his as she murmured, “May I have a moment alone with Lord Wyndam, please?”

  Her mother sputtered out a nonsensical protest.

  “The damage has been done, has it not?” Delilah asked sharply. “I need to speak with Marcus. Alone.”

  Mrs. Bancroft called out as her husband herded her out the door. “We’ll be right outside if you need us, dear.”

  Once the door closed, Delilah went from quietly still to a whirling dervish in a blink, slapping him on the arm. “How could you?”

  He rubbed his stinging biceps. “I’m doing the honorable thing by offering marriage.”

  “Why didn’t you do the honorable thing last evening and not kiss me in front of half the ball?”

  Dammit. He hadn’t let himself examine the whys and wherefores of his behavior. Unlike Delilah, he had been more than aware of the danger of being caught. In
fact, he’d counted on it. This was the only way he could protect her. The only way he could be by her side day and night.

  “I apologize profusely, but a killer is on your trail, and heaven knows who else is part of this terrible business.” Hesitantly, he took her hand and was gratified she didn’t pull away. “I couldn’t bear to see you hurt on my account.”

  “You had nothing to do with me stumbling upon a murder or leaving my fan behind. I’ve brought this on myself, and there’s no need for you to sacrifice yourself.”

  He squeezed her hand until she glanced up through her lashes at him in an unconsciously alluring way. “Marrying you would require no sacrifice on my part, Delilah. In fact, we are quite compatible in many ways.”

  “How do you suppose?”

  “Unless I’m gravely mistaken, you enjoy kissing me.”

  Her face turned pink, but her gaze held steady on his, and he almost smiled. “You enjoy kissing me as well,” she said accusingly.

  “Indeed, I do. Which leads me to believe our marriage bed will bring pleasure to us both. Unless you’d prefer Wainscott in your—”

  “No!” She pulled her hand from his and stalked to the fireplace, staring into the empty grate. “I suppose it was always my fate to have my future decided for me by my parents, by my future husband, and by Society itself.”

  His heart ripped in two. One-half lifting at the words “future husband,” the other crashing to the floor at the dejection in her voice.

  “I have an estate, such as it is, and an earldom. I also have plans ready to be put into motion. You’ll have freedom, and I hope we’ll come to—” Love seemed too much of a presumption considering their circumstances, “—care for one another.”

  “You would take me without a dowry?” she asked.

  “Yes, but you should be aware, if you accept my suit, I won’t be able to provide you with a cadre of new dresses. Not yet, at any rate. The estate needs attention.” Marcus tensed at the understatement.

  The silence stretched, broken by the tick of the clock as it wound toward his fate.

  “Fine. I choose you.” She whirled, her face reflecting determination but no happiness. “Mother. Father,” she called. “You may come in now.”