Page 57 of Along Came a Rogue

But he answered simply, “I’ve never met another woman like her.” And as he took a gasping swallow of whiskey, he knew he never would again.

Grey glanced at his best friend, not surprised to find the look of a protective bulldog on his face, because he was certain he wore the same look on his. Emily was wrong to think that Thomas had ever stopping caring about her. The bruise he’d be sporting for the next week certainly proved that.

Thomas leveled his gaze on Grey. “Do you plan on marrying her?”

The unexpected question pierced him like an arrow to the heart. Marry the brat?

He’d never thought of marriage as a possibility for his life. Marriage was a fine institution, perfectly noble for other men, but for him it had always meant the end of his freedom. Yet for once, the thought of domestication didn’t terrify the daylights out of him. And he’d even considered it briefly that morning at the inn when he’d watched Emily sleeping in the bed they’d shared, dreading the moment when he would have to leave her.

But marriage, even to Emily, would be impossible.

She wasn’t wrong when she’d acknowledged how different they were. Within days, she’d be welcomed back into the bosom of society, invited to lavish dinners and soirees, and feted as the center of attention in drawing rooms across Mayfair. His reputation, both as an army officer and a rake, would only interfere with that.

Further, he was due in Spain. Past due, in fact, and he was already wearing Bathurst’s patience thin with his delays. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass by when it was everything he’d spent his life working to achieve. If he proved himself in Spain, he could expect another promotion and reassignment, this time perhaps back in London at Whitehall itself, an administrative role instead of fieldwork. And with that, he would reach the pinnacle of his career.

Choosing Emily meant having to give up those dreams, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that, especially when he had no guarantee that she’d choose him in return. He’d seen how much she’d enjoyed being with him, and he’d felt the way she’d given herself so completely when she lay naked in his arms. But he’d also seen the panic on her face when Lady Gantry saw them together at the inn. Emily might need him now, but what would she do when the immediate need disappeared? Or if the baby she delivered was a boy, born into a marquessate? Which would she choose then—her proper position in society or the rake she couldn’t be seen with in public?

Need was a far cry from love. If choosing Emily meant giving up the War Office when she might yet choose society over him, then need simply wasn’t enough.

“No, I cannot marry her,” he admitted soberly. “And she knows that.”

“Then I suggest you two keep your hands to yourselves from now on.” Thomas swirled the whiskey in his glass, the force of his warning masked by a trace of sarcasm as he added, “It’s damnably dull having this same conversation with you every five years.”

With a chagrined grimace, Grey took his words to heart. Thomas might have been joking, but the underlying message was wholly serious. “At least this time you didn’t threaten to shoot me.”

He dryly arched a brow. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

And at that, Grey knew his friendship with Thomas was still intact, if slightly fractured, although how he’d managed not to find himself at the end of Thomas’s pistol this time he hadn’t a clue. Unless that was because of the other truth he also knew—that Thomas loved Emily and would never do anything to hurt her, including hurting him with anything more than a punch. Even the past two years apart hadn’t dulled the special bond between them. Grey only hoped she realized that, as well as how much she could trust her brother. Because the niggling instinct in his gut that had kept him alive as a soldier and a spy told him that the worst was yet to come.

Grey set down his empty glass and pushed himself away from the billiards table. “You need to talk to Emily. She has quite a bit to share with you.”

Thomas rose carefully to his feet, his hand over his side. “About what?”

Grey shook his head. “She has to be the one to tell you.” And hopefully, resolve the rift between them. “And I’ve lingered here too long as it is. I need to check in at Whitehall, now that I’m back.”

“You’re still leaving for Spain, then?” Thomas’s face darkened at the possibility.

Grey hated seeing that look after all Thomas had gone through, but leaving was for the best. Emily had her brother again, and he had his new position waiting for him. He nodded. “Within the fortnight.”

“Stay, Grey,” Thomas urged quietly, placing a brotherly hand on his shoulder. “Just a few weeks more.” Then he added a bit grudgingly, and Grey knew it cost him a great deal to say it, “In case she needs you.”

A hard tug pulled from deep in his chest, and rashly, he yielded to it. “All right,” he agreed soberly, hoping he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Although after seeing Emily appear so utterly desolate and wretched when he left her, how could he have done otherwise? But the War Office certainly wouldn’t like this new delay, and as Thomas walked him slowly downstairs, he was already trying to think up a new excuse for Bathurst.

As they reached the foyer, Jensen opened the front door, and the Duke of Chatham strode into the house. He handed his coat, hat, and gloves to the footman.

His eyes landed on Grey, then slid dismissingly away to his son. “Where’s your sister?”

“Chatham?” Mary Matteson scurried into the foyer, with Emily treading more slowly behind. The duchess saw her husband’s face, and her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Emily looked up and saw Grey, her eyes widening with surprise to see him still there. Taking the distraction of her father’s entrance to slip away, she moved to stand between him and Thomas.

Grey’s chest panged painfully for her, hating to see her looking so alone, even when surrounded by family. He didn’t know much about her relationship with her parents, but he knew they’d never been close, a rift that his kissing lesson from five years ago certainly hadn’t helped. Yet he surreptitiously brushed his fingers against hers as her hand dangled at her side, to reassure her as much as possible.

“Emily, there you are.” Her father turned to her, and Grey felt her stiffen next to him as her hand jerked away from his. “I’ve just heard the news and came as quickly as I could to tell you, since it directly affects your dower at Snowden Hall.”

“What news?” she half whispered, holding her breath.