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Chapter Ten
The single chime of the clock beside him brought Marcus out of a dream of Nell, her hands drifting across his body, her lips warm on his skin, her hair flowing, murmured words of love on her lips…
He turned his head on the pillow. Quarter past four. It was important to wake up early, he knew that, but why?
Against his side, someone stirred, soft, warm, curling round his body. You idiot, Carlow. What the hell had he been thinking last night? Not thinking at all, he decided grimly, just going with his feelings and his instincts, which now, in the cold dark of dawn, were obviously wildly awry.
Nell was no dream; she was here, in his bed, where he had
put her when she had been in no state to know what was right or wrong, when she was vulnerable. She was now, for all the utter innocence of their behaviour, completely compromised.
Or she would be, if she were a lady. But Nell was a milliner, a working girl. She was no less ruined for that, but his position was completely different. The son and heir to an earldom did not marry a milliner, not if he had any care for the family name, for his duties and responsibilities to his inheritance.
But she was his responsibility now, more than ever. He lay there trying to think through all the ramifications of this. Getting her back to her own bed was the priority. Then removing all traces of her from his, making sure Allsop kept his mouth shut, finding an excuse for her head injury to satisfy his mother and sisters, explaining it all to his father, putting an effective guard on the house…
Hell. Double hell and damnation. What if she clung to him, thought that after last night he should—what? She wasn’t really ruined, not if no one knew. She was not a virgin after all. He mentally kicked himself for that thought. Crass. But a week ago he would have concluded, without a twinge of conscience, that a woman in her position should be grateful to be paid off. But this was not just any woman, this was Nell, and besides, a painfully stirring conscience was telling him that his previous attitudes were nothing to be proud of.
Against his side she moved, snuggling closer, disturbing the covers so the scent of warm, sleepy woman filled his nostrils like a drugging incense. It sent his body into a state of instant arousal that did nothing for his already guilty conscience. With a muttered curse Marcus slid out of bed, found her wrapper and threw back the covers.
‘Nell.’
‘Mmm?’
‘Wake up, you’ve got to go back to your own room.’ Slippers, had she had slippers? He found them, averting his eyes from the sight of Nell cuddled in his robe, while she sat up rubbing her eyes.
‘Ouch,’ she complained, then seemed to realize where she was. ‘Oh.’ Her face was a picture. If things had not been so serious, he would have smiled at the combination of feminine embarrassment and the dissipated appearance of the lop-sided bandage. ‘Oh, dear.’
Marcus schooled his face into studious neutrality; she did not need him appearing to laugh at her. ‘Oh, dear, indeed.’
‘I should not be here.’
‘Quite,’ he said, with some emphasis, controlling a quite inappropriate urge to grin. She coloured up. ‘Do you think you can walk or shall I carry you?’
‘I am certain I can walk, thank you,’ she said, her voice suddenly cool. ‘I had better put my own robe on.’
He handed it to her, turning away while she got out of bed. There was a soft sound as his own robe landed on the covers. Marcus turned round to find her pulling on her slippers. ‘Ready?’
‘I can go by myself, thank you.’
‘But your head—’
‘Aches. Probably as much as yours does.’
‘Mine?’
‘I assume you were drinking last night or I would not have ended up in your bed, my lord,’ she said crisply.
‘You asked to stay, Miss Latham.’
‘I had just been hit over the head,’ she retorted. ‘I think I was hardly responsible for my own actions at that point. You, on the other hand, had not been hit on the head. Who are you going to tell about this?’
‘That you spent the night in my bed?’ This was not how he imagined the conversation this morning would go. This was certainly not the clinging, fragile young woman he had been braced to deal with.
‘No.’ The look she sent him was scornful. ‘About the intruder.’
‘No one except my father. Allsop is highly discreet.’
‘Excellent. I shall tell Miriam that I slipped last night and hit my head on the dresser.’
