Page 45 of The Thorn and the Rose

“Marie—” he began, annoyed with himself for his clumsiness. Why did this woman make him feel so off balance?

She shook her head, and he saw the way she gathered herself, saw the mantle of pride and defensiveness settle into place.

“You’re right, of course. That is enough. You have taken enough for one day, and I have nothing more I can tell you. If there is a price to pay for being here, you had best tell me what it is I owe you now. Do the liberties I have allowed you cover my board for last night? Is it enough for tonight too, or am I underestimating the value of your protection?”

Thorn took a step back as though he’d been slapped. “You think I…?”

He could not get the words out, but why should she not think so? This was the kind of man her brother had told her to expect, after all.

“You owe me nothing,” he said evenly, careful to say no more than that.

He needed to get away from her before he said or did something he would regret. His emotions seemed all too close to the surface when she was near him, and he did not know whether he would lose his temper or give into the need to kiss her until she melted against him once more. Despite her furious words, he knew instinctively she would not resist him; that was probably why she was so angry with him. He doubted she had ever experienced desire before, had ever realised the power of an attraction that would make one do things that seemed unbelievable when reassessed in a cooler state of mind. Thorn was no stranger to desire, but he had never had to fight so hard to keep it at bay.

“Stay as long as you wish. You need not see me again if the idea is so distasteful to you, but you may send for me if you decide you wish to talk sensibly. Good day to you, Marie.”

The words were cool and clipped, another faint echo of the marquess lingering as he fought to keep his emotions battened down. He gave her a curt bow and stalked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Chapter 15

Thorn,

It was good to hear from you. I go on well, thank you, much the same as usual. Better now that bastard has stopped sending children to smash my greenhouses and rip up my plants. If he’d only get men to do his dirty work – as he hadn’t the balls to do it himself – I’d have the satisfaction of knocking their heads together. I can’t raise a hand to some poor brat earning a few coins from an unprincipled git, though, even if I could catch the little devils, for they’re each as slippery as a greased pig. After all, it could have been me once.

It seems Lady Catherine is taking the ton by storm, so much so the news has even reached me. I’m glad to hear your sister is finding her place in the world again. I do not mix in those circles, as you well know, but it cheers me to know she has returned and is the rightful queen of society once more. Please, give her my fond regards when you speak to her next. I have thought of calling on her, but you know I am not one for social niceties and I feared I would only put my foot in my mouth and embarrass her.

How goes things with your mysterious lady? I could see a dangerous look in your eyes the last time I saw you, and knew you were not about to let it rest. Have you got yourself into an unholy tangle over her yet? Let me know if I need to come and break you out of a cellar when she takes you hostage again.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Hartley De Beauvoir, (adopted son of Mr Inigo and Mrs Minerva De Beauvoir) to The Lord Thomas Barrington (younger son of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

14th February 1847. Primrose Hill, Camden, London.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Thorn demanded furiously.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but I thought my meaning was pretty clear,” George said, with an insolent shrug. “Elmira went up to see her yesterday morning, and she weren’t there. Bed ain’t been slept in neither, so we reckon she went late afternoon the day before. She said she weren’t feeling quite the thing and was going to bed and not to disturb her until morning.”

“Hell and the devil!” Thorn exclaimed with feeling. “And why am I just hearing this now?”

“’Cause I ain’t at your beck and call, my lord, and I didn’t have time to come afore now,” George said, giving him a hard look. “And it seems to me she took to her heels after you went stalking out of the house with a face like thunder, leaving her with tears in her eyes and flushed cheeks. Even if I hadn’t walked in on you, I’d have had a pretty good idea what had gone on.”

“If you have something to say, George,” Thorn said evenly. “I suggest you spit it out.”

“Ain’t my place to—”

“To hell with your place, George! If you think I’m the kind of man to force my attentions on—”

“Oh, come down off your high ropes,” George said, swiping the cap from her head, which she had neglected to do on entering his rooms. “I ain’t accusing you of nowt ungentlemanly. She didn’t seem to mind you kissing her like your life depended on it from what I saw. It just seems you might have said something afterwards to make her take to her heels. By accident, p’raps,” she suggested.

Thorn groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, dammit, you were right the first time. I behaved badly, but… but she… Good God, I’m losing my mind!”

George snorted with amusement and sat down so Thorn did likewise, sinking gratefully into an armchair and staring gloomily into the fire in the grate.

“Reckoned as much,” George said with satisfaction. “I could see the way you looked at her, and what with her as jumpy as a flea in a frying pan.”

Thorn regarded her with disfavour. “You have quite a turn of phrase, George.”

George merely shrugged. “She got a lift with old Mr Braddock when he delivered our firewood, by the way. He said he took her as far as The White Hart, so she’ll have picked up the stagecoach there, I reckon. Want me to see if I can find out where she went?”

Thorn shook his head. “No, I have a rough idea and the destination of the stagecoach won’t get me any closer.”