Page 40 of The Thorn and the Rose

Silently, he tugged her gloves on, and she thought there was anger in the sharp movements. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Marie,” he said, and the words were matter of fact rather than soothing, caressing, and perhaps it was for that reason she believed him, for now at least.

Thorn looked down as Marie’s head settled against his shoulder. She had fought sleep with grim determination, but the motion of the carriage and the wine she’d drunk won out in the end.

She did not look comfortable.

Well, she was alone with a man in a closed carriage. She’d come this far, she may as well be comfy. He reached for the ribbons of her bonnet and tugged them free, tossing the bonnet onto the seat opposite. She started and looked up at him.

“You were crushing your bonnet and giving yourself neck ache,” he said.

She stared at him, and the look in her eyes gave him pause. It was unguarded, that look, stripped bare. Marie looked up at him with something like longing, as if he held all the answers and could rescue her from her fate. Well, perhaps he could, but not when he didn’t trust her an inch. Yet those hazel eyes were soft, hazy with wine and drowsiness. Regret tugged at his heart. If only he could believe in her, trust that she wasn’t playing games with him, dancing to her brother’s tune, or perhaps her own.

“Just like the hero in a fairy story,” she murmured.

Thorn snorted at that. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed if you go expecting some chivalrous knight of old to slay dragons for you,” he said dryly. Yet she looked as though she wanted exactly that, needed it, and he could not resist the desire to reach out and touch her. She had told him she missed talking to him. Thorn had missed that too, the way her eyes had lit with fascination as he’d described the theatre, or some lavish ball he’d attended. It had made him want to take her to those places, to show her for real so she did not have to imagine it. She had been so interested, not just in him but in the world she had not yet experienced, eagerness shining from her as she demanded he tell her more. Thorn stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, pushing her windblown hair from her face. She sighed and closed her eyes, turning into his touch like a cat. The way she kept turning to him was increasingly hard not to react to. Desire shafted through him, and he withdrew his hand as if she’d burned him.

“Sleep now, Marie. It’s a long way. I’ll keep you safe, that much I do promise you.”

She sighed, allowed him to settle her against him, and fell asleep within moments.

He watched her sleep, admiring the sweep of thick lashes against her cheek, the soft tumble of dark hair. Turning his attention to what she had told him, he considered who her brother could be thinking of when she spoke of them hurting someone he loved. She had admitted that she had been told one of the Sons had seduced the woman with whom her brother had been in love. This, then, was the heart of the vendetta. But who could he mean?

Whilst the idea of taking stock of every woman Thorn and his friends had dallied with, and every mistress they’d ever kept, was rather a daunting prospect, there was one undeniable truth that reassured him. They never seduced innocents. The women they dealt with were shrewd and worldly and adept at striking deals that were profitable, and the Sons of Hades were well known for their generosity. Widowed ladies were often the first to vie for the position of mistress to those of them with titles or titled fathers, knowing it gave them a certain cache, and entrée into a world they might otherwise not access. Ashton had parted very amicably with his last lady after she had received a very advantageous marriage proposal, due entirely to an introduction Ashton had made. Of course, Ashton had known exactly what he was doing when he’d made the introduction, having grown weary of the lady’s company. But he went out of his way to see her well settled, as he was fond of her and considered her a friend. This was the way of their world. They all knew the rules and how to play the game. So who on earth was Marie’s brother speaking of?

At least it was a starting place, as was the fact Thorn suspected she had not come far from her home to their meeting place this morning. It ought not be too difficult to discover gossip about a gentleman imprisoned for debt recently… for there was no denying Marie came from a good family. Her manners, her way of speaking, and her dress—at least when they had first met—had all screamed quality and breeding.

He would get to the bottom of this mystery if it was the last thing he did, and he would discover who Marie really was.

Rosemarie woke with a start as the carriage jolted over a pothole. The arm that held her firmly in place tightened, and then relaxed, and Rosemarie’s breath caught as she realised Lord Thomas was holding her.

The interior of the carriage was lit by a lamp that cast a soft golden light around them, and Rosemarie discovered to her surprise that she was not frozen to the bone, but pleasantly cosy. There was a brick beneath her feet, which, whilst no longer hot, still held some trace of warmth, and a thick blanket covered her. More to the point, she was lying back against another body, one that seemed to radiate heat like a furnace.

“Don’t take a pet now, Marie,” came a drowsy voice. “You’ve been here for hours so it’s a little late to protest, and I’m comfortable.”

Rosemarie didn’t move, rigid with shock yet on the verge of being seduced by a very real desire to remain precisely where she was. Here was that dangerous illusion of safety, held in the protective circle of his arm, and she had not felt safe for a very long time. The desire to believe the illusion was so fierce, tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away, focusing instead on the fact that her mama would pitch a fit if she saw her like this, and as for Mrs Mills… Well, she’d be appalled by her behaviour. Neither of them knew where she had gone, or why, and she doubted the reassuring note she had left them would cut much ice when she went home. Mills would ring a peal over her and no mistake. Rosemarie flushed hotly just thinking about the things the redoubtable woman would say, but still she did not move away. She wanted to hold tight to this moment, to him, to bury into his warmth and never let go. He smelled of shaving soap, clean linen, and the outdoors, and she fought the desire to turn her face into his chest and breathe in the scent, to remember it always.

Perhaps sensing her rising tension, Lord Thomas’ voice was reassuring.

“Don’t worry. No one saw you, and no one will. Your reputation is quite intact.”

“Thank you,” she said, aware the words were a little breathless.

“Relax, Marie. Go back to sleep. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

The words were those she longed to hear and wanted so badly to believe in. They were also the ones Everett had told her she would be given. Too tired to fight her own desires, Rosemarie gave into her longing to remain in embrace and let out a sigh as she relaxed against him.

“That’s better.”

It was. So much better. But did the embrace mean anything, or did he take it for granted a woman who was alone with him would end up in his arms with no fuss? Did he think she was in love with him? Perhaps he took it for granted that her wishing to go to Gillmont meant she would be his next lover. Would that be a temporary position, or would he think to install her as his mistress? She wondered what it might entail, being mistress to a man like this. He would certainly wish to bed her, and whilst she was a little hazy about the details, she understood the mechanics of the act. The thought of his hands on her bare skin made her heart thrash about in a confused tangle of curiosity, terror, and need.

“Is it much farther to Gillmont?” she asked in a desperate attempt to refocus her wayward thoughts. She needed to remember why she was doing this, remember the people she sought to protect, to avenge.

“Perhaps an hour.”

“Tell me about it.” Anything to keep her mind from wandering down dangerous paths, which seemed the only kind available when his warm, hard body was pressed so close to hers and her own longed to press back against it. How easy it would be to put her mouth to his, to allow him the kind of liberties Mills had warned her never to give.

There came the sound of a smothered yawn which rather dashed any hopes of being ravished, or that his passions were even a little inflamed by her proximity. “You’ll see when you get there, but it’s a nice place. Comfortable. You’ll be quite safe. You’d be a deal safer if you told me who your brother was, so I could sort this mess out, though.”

Rosemarie shook her head, having a fair idea of how her brother would be sorted out. Though she could have quite happily hit him repeatedly with a blunt object herself, she was not about to give him over to men who would certainly mean him harm.