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She shuddered and glanced at Tanner, so gloriously alive, so masculine even as he slouched in his chair.
His expression had sobered. “What is it?”
She blinked. “I do not understand what you mean.”
He gestured towards her. “You were thinking of something. Something disturbing, I’d wager.”
She averted her gaze. “Nothing, I assure you.”
When she glanced back at him, he frowned, and the peaceful, intimate feelings she’d had a moment before fled.
All she need do was think of Corland and clouds thickened.
There had been a time when she blamed all her woes on her husband. He was to blame for many things—his gambling, his debts, his affairs—but he would never have done to her what her own cousin had done. Who could have guessed Wexin was capable of such treachery?
Was Wexin still among Tanner’s friends? she wondered. If she had so difficult a time believing what her cousin had done, surely Tanner would not believe it.
“Do not be angry with me, Tanner,” she murmured.
His brows rose in surprise. “I am not angry.” He gave her a very intent look. “I merely wish you would tell me what cloud came over you. Tell me your secrets. Trust me. I know I will be able to fix whatever is wrong.”
She shook her head.
“Then at least tell me your name,” he persisted, putting that teasing tone back into his voice, but still looking at her with serious eyes. “Tell me your given name. I gave you mine. Adam. When we are private together, let me address you with one name that belongs to you.”
She stared back at him.
Would he know the Vanishing Viscountess by her given name? Would her name be enough to identify her as Wexin’s cousin, Corland’s widow, the young girl who’d had such a tendre for him at age eighteen that she blushed whenever he walked past her?
Marlena had been named for a distant French relative who’d died on the guillotine in the year of her birth. She had been Miss Parronley to everyone, save childhood friends and family and Eliza. And Wexin, of course. Even the newspapers after Corland’s death and her flight had never printed her given name. She could not think of a single instance when Tanner would have heard of the name Marlena and, if he had, would never associate it with the Vanishing Viscountess. She opened her mouth to speak.
Tanner stood, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Never mind.” He ambled over to the window. “Forgive me for pressing you.”
The moment to tell him had passed. Her body relaxed, but she grieved the loss of the easy banter between them.
“I asked Mr Gwynne about coaches,” he said, still looking out of the window. “I told him we were travelling north.” He turned to her.
“Yes, I wish to travel north,” she said.
“To Scotland, correct?”
She nodded.
“Well, Mr Gwynne’s recommendation was to take a packet to Liverpool.” He looked at her intently. “Where in Scotland?”
She bit her lip.
He made a frustrated sound and turned away.
“Edinburgh,” she said quickly. “I wish to go to Edinburgh.”
He turned back, lifting a brow. “Is Edinburgh your home?”
She hesitated again.
He waved a dismissive hand. “I ought to have known not to ask.”
She turned away, her muscles tensing. “A ship.”
“Could you bear it?” His voice turned soft.
She faced him again and saw sympathy in his eyes. “If I must.”
“It sails in the morning.”
“I will be ready.” She would get on the packet, in any event, no matter if her courage accompanied her or not. She stood, but was hesitant to approach him. “What will you do?”
His brows rose. “Why, accompany you, of course. It would look odd otherwise.”
She released her breath. The ship would be a little less terrifying with Tanner at her side.
Liverpool would certainly be big enough a town for her to pass through unnoticed. From there she could catch a coach, perhaps to Glasgow first, then on to Edinburgh.
So close to Parronley. Her estate. Her people. One place for which she yearned, but dared not go.
She was Baroness Parronley, a baroness in her own right. The Parronley barony was one of the few that included daughters in the line of succession, but Marlena would have preferred not to inherit. It meant losing her dear brother Niall and his two little sons. Her brother and nephews perished of typhoid fever. So unexpected. So tragic.
Marlena had been with Eliza in Ireland when they read the account in a London newspaper that Eliza’s husband had had sent to him. Marlena could not even mourn them, her closest family. She could not wear black for them, could not lay flowers on their graves.
With the shipwreck she would eventually be pronounced dead, the end of a baroness who had never had the chance to claim her title, the end of the Parronleys. Wexin would inherit. Her people, the people of Parronley, would be in the hands of a murderer.
Another knock on the door sounded, and Mrs Gwynne herself brought in their supper on a big tray. Two steaming meat pies, a pot of tea, and a tall tankard of ale.
Tanner took the tray from the woman’s hands and set it on the table. “Ah, thank you, Mrs Gwynne. You even remembered ale.”
She beamed and rubbed her hands on her apron. “After all these years, I ought to know what a man wants.”
He smiled at her. “You knew what this man wants.” He lifted the tankard to his lips and took a long swallow.
After the woman left, Marlena picked at her food. The camaraderie she’d shared with Tanner had disappeared. They ate in silence.
As she watched him finish the last of the crumbs of the meat pie’s crust, she blurted out, “You do not have to travel to Liverpool with me, if you do not wish it.”
He looked up at her with a mild expression. “I do not mind the trip.”
She sipped her cup of tea. “If it were not for me, you would probably be headed for London tomorrow.”
“Probably,” he responded.
She regarded him. “I do not even know if there is someone in London awaiting your return.”
His eyes clouded. “The usual people, I suppose.”
She flushed, embarrassed that she had not considered what his life might be like now. He had been the marquess of her memory, dashing and carefree and unmarried. “Forgive me, but I do not know if you are married. If you are—”
“I am not married,” he replied, his voice catching as he pressed his hand to his side. “A delay in my return should not inconvenience anyone overmuch. My affairs are well managed and rarely require my attention.”
She felt a disquieting sense of sadness from him. Still, that once innocent, hopeful débutante brightened.
He was not married.
Their meal struggled on with even fewer words spoken until Mrs Gwynne again knocked. Tanner rose stiffly.
“I’ve come for your dishes, lamb,” she said as he opened the door. “But first I have something for you.” She placed folded white garments into his hands. “Nightclothes for you.”
“Thank you,” Marlena exclaimed, surprised again at the woman’s kindness. She placed their dishes on the tray.
“That is good of you, Mrs Gwynne.” Tanner took the garments and placed them on the bed. “Might we purchase them from you?”
The woman waved a hand at him. “Oh, I hate to ask you for money after all you have been through.”
“I insist,” he said.
Mrs Gwynne gave him a motherly pat on the cheek. “Then we will settle up tomorrow, Mr Lear. Is there anything else you might require?”
“I can think of nothing.” He turned to Marlena.
She shook her head and handed Mrs Gwynne the tray full of dishes. She walked over to open the door for the woman.
Marlena stopped her before she crossed the threshold. “Wait.” She glanced over to Tanner. “Would it be possible for someone to launder my—my husband’s shirt? He would so like it to be clean.”
Mrs. Gwynne brightened. “It would indeed be possible. I’ll see to it myself and dry it in front of the fire.” She stepped over to Tanner again. “Give it over, lamb.”
Tanner glanced at Marlena before pulling the shirt over his head and draping it over Mrs Gwynne’s arm. “Thank you again.”
The innkeeper’s wife smiled and bustled out of the room.
Tanner turned to Marlena. “That was thoughtful of you.”
His skin glowed gold in the light from the oil lamp and the fireplace, but he was no less magnificent than he’d appeared that morning or as he bathed. Just as one is tempted to touch a statue, Marlena was tempted to run her fingers down his chest, to feel his sculpted muscles for herself.
She resisted. “No more thoughtful than you asking for my bath. I would say we are even now, except for the matter of you saving my life.”
His mouth curved into a half-smile. “We are even on that score, as well. Do you not recall hitting Mr Davies-the-Younger over the head?”
“I am appalled at that family, the lot of them.” She shook her head.
He smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score.”
He picked up one of the garments Mrs Gwynne had brought them and put it on, covering his spectacular chest. “I’ll walk down with you to the necessary, before we go to bed.”
Go to bed repeated itself in her mind.
The sky was dark when they stepped outside to the area behind the inn where the necessary was located. Marlena was glad Tanner was with her. The darkness disquieted her, as if it harboured danger in its shadows.
When they returned to the room, he said, “Spare me a blanket and pillow and I will sleep on the floor.”
“No, you will not,” she retorted, her voice firm. There was no way she would allow the man who had rescued her to suffer through such discomfort. “Not with those sore ribs of yours. You must sleep in the bed.”
He seized her arm and made her look at him. “I’ll not allow you to sleep on the floor.”
Her heart pounded as she looked directly into his eyes. “Then we must share the bed.”
Chapter Five
Marlena’s heart pounded as Tanner stared at her. He said nothing.
She must have made a terrible mistake, must have mistaken the meaning of his almost-kiss. Surely he would give her some sign of wanting to make love to her after her brazen invitation. Not this silence.
She felt the rebuff as keenly as she’d once felt those of her husband. Corland, however, had voiced his disgust at her wantonness. She’d believed him, too, thinking herself some unnatural sort of wife to desire the lovemaking, until she discovered that Corland had no such disgust of other women bedding him.
Tanner’s reaction confused her all the more.
Perhaps she was not a temptation to any man. She’d not really had the opportunity to find out while playing governess to Eliza’s children.
“I—I ought to speak more plainly,” she prevaricated. “I meant we ought to share the bed, which is big enough. I was not suggesting more.”
He swung away from her, so she could not tell how this idea—outrageous all on its own—had struck him.
He finally turned back to her. “You wish only to share the bed.”
She nodded, wishing she had merely insisted upon sleeping on the floor and been done with it.
“I will turn my back while you undress, then.” He faced the chest where the water and bowl were.
Marlena undressed as quickly as she could, although her fingers fumbled with the laces of her corset. She slipped the nightdress over her head and noticed the comforting smell of lavender lingering in the fabric. She laid her clothing over one of the chairs so that it would not wrinkle.
She crawled beneath the covers. “I am done.”
He’d been so still as she undressed, adding to her discomfort, but he moved now, removing his boots and the coat he’d donned over his nightshirt when they’d gone below stairs. She peeked through her lashes at him, watching him unfasten the fall of his trousers and step out of them, the nightshirt preserving his modesty.
He walked towards the bed and climbed in beside her. The bed shifted with his weight. When he faced away from her, she wished it could have been as it had been that morning, his arms around her, bare skin touching bare skin. She was certain she would never sleep a wink the whole night, but soon after his breathing became even and rhythmic, she drifted off.
The dream came. She’d not had the dream in ever so long, but now, with all the fear and danger, she dreamt it like it was happening all over again.
She’d been restless, unable to sleep that terrible night. Corland and Wexin made plenty of noise when they returned from their night of debauchery. Wexin often slept off the effects of their entertainment in one of the bedchambers, so it did not surprise her that he stayed the night.
When she finally dozed, a woman’s cry woke her. Earlier in the day the housekeeper had warned her that her husband had his eye on Fia Small, the new maid, a girl Marlena had hired mostly because she came from near Parronley and was so very young and desperate for employment. A light shone from beneath the door connecting her husband’s bedchamber to hers.
