“The bath and more?”
A soft chuckle. “Definitely a bath and more. If you are not in a hurry, though...”
“Rest,” I say. “We had a long and treacherous evening, and I am not about to expect you to start hauling hot water to a tub.”
“It is not that. I would like to talk first, now that we are safe and fed, and I have had a bit of brandy to loosen my tongue.”
I snuggle into him. “Talk all you like.”
“I know I have been teasing about... where we go from here. About marrying you or taking you to Martinique with me, and I may be demonstrating a disappointing lack of my usual confidence, but I must ask...” He takes a deep breath. “Would you like me to continue pretending that I am entirely teasing?”
I stiffen. I don’t mean to, but I do, and he nods.
“That is what I thought,” he says. “You are comfortable with it as teasing.”
“It’s not that,” I say. “There’s something... There’s something I must tell you.”
I expect him to tense or to look confused, but he only nods again.
“I thought there might be,” he says. “That was my impression, at least. I have been trying to decide what it might be, and I have begun to suspect there is a reason you joked about not wishing to marry. You are already married, are you not? Unhappily wed to one of the men who has proven such an inadequate lover?”
“Certainly not.” I sit up. “If you think that my lack of virginity means I am clearly married, or that my lack of interest in marriage clearly means the same—”
He presses a kiss to my lips. “I only thought it was a possibility. I know there are men and women who find themselves in such a situation and lead separate lives, which I thought might be the case.”
“I am not married. I was never married—or even engaged—to the lovers I have had, and while I am not adamantly opposed to marriage, I do not feel it is the necessary institution that society claims. I believe in unions of a deeper sort, and while I have seen happy marriages—my parents and my sister—I have also seen ones that are cages rather than places of love and safety.”
“I do not disagree, and I am sorry if you are insulted by my supposition, crécerelle.”
“I am touchy on both matters, as you can see, and I did not mean to snap.”
His arms tighten around me. “Yet that leads us back where we were before I interrupted. You have something to tell me?”
“I do.” I straighten in his arms. “I did not mean to keep it a secret, but it is not an easy thing to explain. Three days ago, in this very room, I said that I knew you were about to die on that road. I pretended I could see into the future because that is more believable than what I am about to tell you.”
His brows shoot up. “The gift of prophecy is more believable? Now you do have my attention, crécerelle.”
“What I need is not merely your attention but your trust. As far-fetched as my story may sound, allow me to finish my explanation before you question my sanity.”
“I would never question—”
The front door rattles, cutting him short. We both glance over. All has gone still and silent again.
Nicolas lifts me from his lap, sets me on my feet and buttons his shirt as he creeps toward the front door. While I pick up my dress, the knob turns one way and then the other.
I slide the dress over my head. It does not fit well without the petticoats, but right now, my only concern is being covered in case the current Lord Thorne should walk in. As that knob turns again, I know that is not about to happen. Someone is trying the locked door with great care so as not to alert those inside.
We have not bothered to keep the house in darkness. Lanterns are lit. Smoke pours from the chimney. Nicolas said that the current Lord Thorne has many friends who are welcome to use his home, and so the villagers will not send up a mob if they see someone in residence. Could they be concerned, though? Or could it be a thief come to rob us? Wearein the time of highwaymen.
There is, of course, another obvious scenario. Yet I do not leap to the assumption that Norrington has found us. We escaped on horseback and then on foot, with no one in pursuit. His first thought will never be to check the home of his distant neighbor in case Nicolas knows the family and has permission to use the house.
And yet we cannot dismiss that possibility, can we? The possibility that someone saw us. Or that Norrington’s men encountered someone who spotted lights on at Thorne Manor.
Nicolas stands poised at the door with his head cocked. I position myself along the wall, where I am hidden and can both listen and watch him. When the next sound comes, it is at the back door, and I tense, my mind leaping to that broken door.
No, the door is broken inmytime, underthatLord Thorne, and here, the intruder can only twist the knob this way and then that.
Nicolas drops to a crouch and creeps to the front window. Being careful not to ripple the drawn drapes any more than necessary, he opens a peeping hole. One look, and he’s pulling back fast.