Diane Gaston

The VANISHINGVISCOUNTESS

MILLS & BOON

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To Mallory Pickerloy,

a lovely reader whose name is worthy of a heroine

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

October, 1818

The gale roared like a wild beast. Under its savage attack, the ship creaked and moaned and begged for mercy. Shouts of the crew echoed the ship’s distress as men struggled to work the pumps and save the rigging.

Adam Vickery, the Marquess of Tannerton, or Tanner, as he was known to his friends, sat with the other passengers in the packet ship’s cuddy, awaiting his demise. He remained still, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, reviewing his life.

He found it wanting. He’d left no mark on the world, no son to inherit his title and lands, no child to carry on his bloodline. All he had done was maintain what his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and all the Marquesses of Tannerton had built. If he were truly honest with himself, he would say he’d not even done the maintaining. Other men did that work for him: his estate managers, men of business and secretaries. They toiled while Tanner enjoyed his gaming, his sport, his women.

A loud crack sounded and a thud on the deck shook the whole ship. A woman wailed. Tanner opened his eyes to see the woman clutching an infant and a small boy to her breast. The cabin was filled with many women like her, shaking in fear, and men, like Tanner himself, cursing their helplessness. There was no way to stop the storm, no way to calm the sea, no way to hold the timbers of the ship together.

His gaze fell on one woman who neither wailed nor cowered from the storm. With an expression of defiance rather than fear, she stood next to a Bow Street Runner, leather shackles on her wrists, obviously his prisoner. Only a few hours ago, at the beginning of this voyage from Dublin to Holyhead, Tanner’s gaze had been drawn to her, so dignified in her plight. What crime had she committed to warrant her escort from Ireland? He’d been too blue-devilled to bother inquiring about her, however. Now he wished he’d spoken to her, or at least smiled at her. She seemed every bit as alone as he.

When the winds began their fierce assault, the first mate had gathered all the passengers into this cabin. He’d told them they were close to the Anglesey coast. Of course, the Anglesey coast could be rocky and treacherous, although the man neglected to mention that part.

What could be worse? Tanner wondered. Plunging into the cold depths of the Irish Sea? Or being dashed upon some craggy rocks?

Either would mean death.

The first mate popped in a second time when the storm intensified. “All will be well,” he reassured them. None of the passengers believed him. Tanner could see it in their eyes. He felt it in his own soul. Tanner watched a man remove a miniature from his pocket and stare at it, a portrait of a loved one he would never see again, of someone who would soon be grieving.

Who would grieve for the Marquess of Tannerton? His friend Pomroy would likely drink a toast to his memory now and then. A mistress or two might consider him a fond memory. Perhaps the Duke of Clarence or even the Regent himself might recall him after the space of a year or two, but more likely not. Algernon, his fribble of a cousin, would be terrified at the prospect of inheriting the lofty title and its responsibilities. Tanner rubbed his face, regretting he’d never taken Algernon in tow and taught him how easy it all was. Algernon could busy himself with purchasing new coats or the latest fashion in boots or all the watch fobs and stick pins he fancied.

The Bow Street Runner began pacing, Tanner noticed, and the prisoner flashed the man an undisguised look of contempt.

Would she have anyone to mourn her?

She stood with her chin high and her startling blue eyes vigilant. He disliked thinking of what the sea would do to her, turning her body all bloated and white.

He glanced away, shaking that horrible image from his mind, but no matter where he looked, his eyes were drawn back to her.

She was tall and slender, with the same dark hair and piercing blue eyes of the woman who’d briefly captivated him a year ago. That was where the resemblance ended, however. Rose O’Keefe had made the right choice when she’d chosen Tanner’s former secretary, Jameson Flynn, over Tanner himself. Flynn had offered the Vauxhall singer marriage, something Tanner would never have done. Flynn had also loved her.

Tanner laughed inwardly at the irony of it all. The secretary preferred over the marquess. He could not muster any resentment, however. Rose had picked the better man.

He frowned and bowed his head. Tanner’s zeal had not been to love Rose, but to outwit another rival for her favours. Three people had died as a result. Three lives on his conscience because of his heedless selfishness.

Purchasing the Dublin theatre for Flynn and Rose did not make amends for the destruction Tanner had set in motion, but it did give the married couple the means to a new life. That was the very least Tanner could do. He’d travelled to Dublin for their opening performance, and now he was crossing the Irish Sea again, heading back to England on this Holyhead packet.

The ship had been scheduled to land hours ago, but the storm stalled them and now the day was late. He pulled his timepiece from his pocket. It was near nine p.m.

Another shuddering crash came from above. Tanner stuffed his watch back into his pocket and glanced at the prisoner. Her eyes flashed with alarm. Tanner could not blame her. Her life—and his own empty one—appeared to be edging towards the end.

The cabin door sprang open and the first mate, drenched and dripping on to the wooden floor, yelled, “Everyone on deck! To the boats. Women and children first.”

The death knell. The captain no longer expected the ship to remain intact. It was time to risk the lives of the women and children in the small boats.

There were quick anguished embraces as goodbyes were tearfully said. Panicked men tried to push in front of mothers clasping the hands of terrified children. Tanner rushed forward and pulled the men back. He used his stature and strength to keep the way clear. The prisoner was the last woman out of the door, her Bow Street Runner pushing her on, his hand firmly clamped around her arm. The man could have at least untied her shackles. What could it matter now? At least allow her to die free.

Tanner was the last person to come up on deck. As he stepped out into the air, the rain sliced him like knife blades, the wind whipping in all directions. The ship’s masts no longer stood tall and proud, but lay like snapped twigs on the deck.

The sails, now in tatters, resembled nothing more than rags flapping haphazardly in the tempest. Tanner stepped over pieces of wood, remnants of sails and other debris. A loose barrel rolled towards him. He jumped aside, nearly losing his footing on the slick surface of the deck. More than once he had to grab hold of whatever was near to keep from falling.

Tanner pushed his way through to where the women and children were being loaded into boats. Although he feared the effort futile, Tanner pitched in, helping lift women and children over the side of the ship to crewmen waiting in the boats. Lightning flashed, illuminating the shadow of the shore, so distant when the sea churned like a cauldron, violently pitching the ship. The boat’s fragile passengers would have a treacherous ride.

Let these people survive, he prayed.

He lifted a child into waiting arms and her mother after her. This was the last boat, and the crewmen manning it were already starting to lower it to the sea. Tanner reached for the woman prisoner, who, outwardly calm and patient, had held back so the others could go before her. Tanner scooped her into his arms to lift her over the side, but, at that same moment, the Bow Street Runner shoved them both, knocking them to the deck, jumping into the boat in her place. Tanner scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. The boat had hit the water, the crewmen rowing fast to get it away.

“Bastard!” Tanner cried. In the howling wind, he could barely hear his own words.

The prisoner’s eyes blazed with fury and fear. She struggled to stand. Tanner grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

“The ship’s going to break apart!” the first mate cried, running by them.

Tanner glanced wildly around. Some of the crew were lashing themselves to pieces of mast.

“Come on,” he shouted to the woman, pulling her along with him.

Tanner grabbed rope from the rigging and tied her to a piece of broken mast. He would be damned if that scoundrel Bow Street Runner survived and she did not. He lashed himself next to her, wrapping one arm around her and the other around the mast. The ship slammed into rocks, sending them, mast and all, skittering across the deck.

The vessel groaned, then broke apart in a cacophony of cracks and crashes and splintering wood. Their piece of mast flew into the air like a shuttlecock, the wind suspending them for several moments before plunging them into the churning water.

The impact stunned Tanner, but the shock of the needle-sharp cold roused him again. The howling of the wind, the hissing of the rain, the screams of their shipmates suddenly dulled to a muffled growl. The water was inky black and Tanner had no idea which way was up, but his arm was still around the woman. He had not lost her.

Their wooden mast began rising as if it, too, fought to reach the surface. Tanner kicked with all his strength, his lungs burning with the urge to take a breath.

When they broke the surface of the water, it was almost as great a shock as plunging into its depths. Tanner gulped for air. To his relief, he heard the woman do the same. She had survived.

Then a wave crashed over them and drove them forward. Tanner sucked in a quick gulp of air before they went under. Again they resurfaced and were pushed forward and under once more.

When they popped to the surface, Tanner had time to yell, “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she cried.

He tightened his grip on her as another wave hit. If the sea did not swallow them, the cold would surely kill them.

Or the rocks.

This wave thrust them further. Through the sheen of rain and sea, Tanner glimpsed the coast, but jagged rocks lay between, jutting up from the water like pointed teeth. Another wave pelted them, then another. The ropes loosened and were washed away. The woman’s grip slipped from the mast. Tanner could hold on to the mast or the woman. He held on to the woman.

Her skirts were dragging them down and her bound wrists made it hard for her to swim. Tanner kicked hard to keep them above the water, only to see the rocks coming closer. He swivelled around to see if other survivors were near them, but not a soul was visible. No one to help them. No one to see. Perhaps no one to survive.

The next wave drove them into one of the rocks. She cried out as they hit. Another wave dashed them into another rock. Tanner tried to take the blows instead of her, but the water stirred them too fast. He lost feeling in his arms and legs and he feared he would lose his grip on her.

Not another death on his conscience. Tanner could not bear it. God, help me save her, he prayed. Help me do something worthwhile. One last bloody something worthwhile.

He slammed into a jagged rock and everything went black.

When Tanner opened his eyes, he felt cold wet sand against his cheek. He could see the water lapping the shoreline inches from his face. Its waves sounded in his ears, and whitecaps seemed to wink at him. There was hard ground beneath him, however. Hard solid ground.

The woman! He’d lost her. Let go of her, damn him. Despair engulfed him as surely as had the Irish Sea. His limbs felt heavy as iron and his soul ached with guilt. He’d let go of her.

A light glowed around him, bobbing, then coming to a stop. Suddenly someone’s hands were upon him, rough hands digging into his clothes, searching his pockets.

He seized one of the groping hands, and his attacker pulled him upright, trying to break free. Tanner’s grip slipped and he fell back onto the sand. The man advanced on him, kicking him in the ribs. Tanner rolled away, trying to escape the blows, but the man kicked him again.

“Your money,” the man snarled as he kicked him once more. “I want your money.”

Every English coast abounded with wreckers, people who flocked to the shore eager to see a ship founder, so they could seize whatever bounty that washed ashore. Tanner had never thought to meet one.

He curled himself against the onslaught of the man’s boot, as he struck again and again. A loud thwack sounded and the man collapsed on top of him. Tanner shoved him off and sat up.

The woman stood above them, a long piece of wood, part of the ship, no doubt, in her trembling, still-shackled hands.

Marlena Parronley stared at the prone figure, the brute who had so violently attacked her rescuer, the Marquess of Tannerton. She’d hit the villain with all her remaining strength.

Perhaps this time she really had killed a man.

Tannerton struggled painfully to his knees, staring at her, holding his sides, breathing hard.

Marlena had recognised Tannerton immediately when she’d first seen him on board ship, but he’d shown no signs of remembering her.

Thank goodness.

That first Season in London—her only Season—he’d attended many of the entertainments, but he was already a marquess and she was a mere baron’s daughter, a Scottish baron at that. He’d provided her and Eliza with some excitement in those heady days, however. They’d called him Tanner, as if they had been admitted to that close circle of friends he always had around him. They’d peeked at the handsome marquess from behind their fans, he so tall, his brown hair always tousled. And his eyes! They’d been in raptures about his mossy green eyes. She and Eliza had devised all manner of ways they might meet him, none of which they’d dared to carry out.

Too bad they had not thought of being caught in a gale on a ship that broke apart and tossed them in the sea.

We forgot that one, Eliza, Marlena silently said.

“Have I killed him, do you think?” she asked the marquess.

Tanner reached down to place his fingers on the man’s neck. “He’s alive.”

Marlena released a breath she’d not realised she’d been holding.

Tanner rose to his feet.

“Are you injured?” he asked, his breathing ragged.

She shook her head, sending a shiver down her body. He still showed no signs of recognising her. He pulled off his wet gloves and reached for her hands to work on the leather bindings. When she’d been on the ship they had chafed her wrists, but she was too numb to feel them now. Her teeth chattered and she started trembling all over, making his task even more difficult. He leaned down to loosen them with his teeth.

Finally the bindings fell to the sand and she was free. Marlena rubbed her wrists, but she could not feel her hands.

“We need to find shelter. Dry clothing.” He glanced around.

They were in a small cove, dotted with jutting rocks and a small patch of sand. Steep black cliffs imprisoned them as certainly as the walls of Newgate Prison.

Tanner touched her arm. “If that fellow managed to get in here, we can get out.”

She nodded, but suddenly any strength she’d possessed seemed to ebb. It was difficult to think. The cold had seeped into her very bones.

He rubbed her arms, then pressed a hand on his ribs and winced. “Come now. We’ll be warm and dry very soon.”

He picked up the man’s lantern and circled their prison walls. She could do nothing but watch. A huge wave tumbled ashore, soaking her feet again, but she could only stare at it swirling around her ankles. He crossed over and took her arm, pulling her away from the water.

He’d once danced with her, she remembered, although he never knew it. Lady Erstine had held a masquerade ball, a respectable one, and she and Eliza attended, having spent many agonising hours deciding what costume to wear. Tanner had danced one dance with Marlena without knowing who she was. Eliza had been green with envy.

“Stay with me,” he said, holding her firmly.

What looked like one massive black rock was really two, with a narrow corridor between them. He held her hand and pulled her through. They climbed up smaller rocks that formed a natural stone staircase. When they finally reached the top, they found flat and grassy farmland. The storm had passed at last, but in its wake blew a cool wind that made Marlena’s clothes feel like ice.

In the distance they spied one light. “A farmhouse,” he said. “Make haste.”

Marlena had difficulty making sense of his words. She liked his arm wrapped around her, but disliked him making her walk, especially so briskly. He made sounds with each breath, as if every step brought pain. Pain would be preferable to feeling nothing, Marlena thought. She was no longer aware of her arms or her legs.

The light grew nearer, but Marlena forgot what it signified. Her mind felt full of wool and all she wanted was to sleep.

She tried to pull away from him. “Rest,” she managed to say. “Sleep.”

“No.” He lifted her over his shoulder and carried her.

They came to a cottage with a lone candle burning in the window. Tanner pounded on the door. “Help us! Open the door.”

Soon a grizzled man in a white nightcap and gown opened the door a crack.

“Quick. I must get her warm,” Tanner told him.

“Dod i mewn,” the man said. “Come in, come in.”

Tanner carried her inside and made her stand in front of a fireplace. The dying embers on the hearth gave heat, but the heat felt painful after the numbing cold.

“Bring some blankets,” Tanner ordered. “I must warm her.”

The man tottered into another room, and Tanner began stripping her of her clothing, which seemed a very odd thing for him to do, but nice, because her wet clothes were so very heavy, and she wanted to feel light again.

Suddenly dry cloth covered her shoulders and Tanner made her sit in a chair close to the fire.

The old man threw more lumps of coal into the fireplace, and poked at it with the poker, which only made it hotter and more painful.

“M’wife and son are at the wreck,” the man explained.

Oh, yes, Marlena dimly remembered, as shivers seized her. She had been on a ship that had broken apart. She remembered the shock of the cold water.

A cat ambled by, rubbing its fur against her legs. “Cat,” she said to no one in particular, as her eyelids grew very heavy.

Marlena woke to find herself nestled in a nice warm bed with heavy bedcovers over her. She did not seem to have on any clothing at all, not even a shift. Next to her, also naked and holding her close, lay the Marquess of Tannerton.

Chapter Two

The woman felt warm against him, warm at last, when Tanner had thought never to be warm again. He slipped his hand down her smooth back, savouring the feel of her silky skin under his fingertips. He could still smell the sea on her, but they were both blessedly dry. And warm. He had saved her from the sea, thank God.

Thank God.

A shuffle sounded in the room and a murmur, and the woman pushed away from him with a cry.

He sat up like a shot.

The woman slid away to a corner of the bed, clutching the blanket up to her chin. Morning light shone through the small window and three pairs of eyes stared at them both, the wrinkled old man who had opened the door to them the night before, a wrinkled old woman and a younger, thick-chested man.

“What the devil?” Tanner growled.

The spectators jumped back. The old man gave a servile smile. “M’wife and son are back.”

Tanner glared at them. “You disturb our privacy.”

In actuality, he and the woman were the intruders. Tanner had given the old man little choice but to relinquish what was surely the bed he shared with the old woman. The night before all Tanner could think of was to cover the woman in blankets and warm her with his own body—and be warmed by hers. He’d left their clothing in a pile in the front room and carried her to the little bedchamber behind the fireplace, ordering the poor man to bring as many blankets as he owned.

The younger man—the farmer’s son, obviously—rubbed his head and winced, and the hairs on the back of Tanner’s neck stood on end. The son, he would swear, had been his seaside attacker. Tanner frowned. Their place of refuge suddenly seemed more like a lion’s den.

He quickly regained his composure. “What are you doing in this room?” he demanded again, checking his finger for his gold signet ring and feeling under the bedcovers for the purse he’d had sense enough to remove from his coat. He held it up. “Were you looking for the purse?”

The younger man backed away to where clothing hung by pegs on the plastered walls above two wooden chests.

“We merely came to see if you required anything, that is all.” The old woman simpered.

Tanner scoffed. “All three of you at once?”

The young man gave a chagrined expression and inclined his head.

Tanner glanced at his companion, still huddled under the blanket. He turned to the others. “Leave us,” he commanded.

The old man and woman scurried towards the door. Their son moved more slowly, his hand returning to his head.

“We require our clothing.” Tanner added.

The woman paused in the doorway. “Your things are still damp, m’lord.” She tipped her head in a servile pose. “I’ve hung them out in the sun and the wind. ’Twill take no time at all to dry.”

“Good.” Tanner’s tone turned a shade more conciliatory. “Treat us well and you will be rewarded.” He lifted the purse.

The son smiled. “What else do you require, m’lord?”

“Some nourishment, if you please.”

The man bowed and closed the door behind him.

“They thought they could nick my purse,” Tanner muttered, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He did not have the heart to worry her with his suspicions about the farmer’s son. “How do you fare, miss? Are you all right?”

She moved beneath the blanket as if testing to see if all parts of her still worked. “A little bruised, but unharmed, I think.”

Her eyes flicked over him and quickly glanced away. Tanner realised he was quite bare from the waist up. From the waist down, as well, but the covers concealed that part of him. He reached for a blanket and winced, pressing a hand to his ribs.

“You are bruised,” she cried, reaching towards him, but immediately withdrawing her hand.

He looked down at himself, purple bruises staining his torso like spilled ink. “Nothing to signify,” he said, although his breath caught on another pang of pain.

He glanced at her again and the humour of the situation struck him. It was not every day he woke up in a naked embrace with a woman whose name he did not know.

He gave her a wry smile. “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

Her eyelids fluttered, reminding him of shy misses one encountered at Almack’s. “No, we have not.”

He made a formal bow, or a semblance of one there in the bed only half-covered by a blanket. “I am Tannerton. The Marquess of Tannerton. Tanner to my friends, which, I dare say—” he grinned “—I had best include you among.”

The blue of her eyes sparkled in the morning light. “Marquess—” She quickly cast her eyes downward. “My lord.”

“Tanner,” he corrected in a friendly voice. “And you are…?”

He had the feeling her mind was crafting an answer.

“I am Miss Brown, sir.”

It was a common name, and not her real one, he’d wager.

“Miss Brown,” he repeated.

She fussed with the blanket, as if making sure it still covered her. “Do you know of the others from the ship? Did anyone else survive?”

He gave her a steady look. “The Bow Street Runner, do you mean?”

She glanced away and nodded.

He made a derisive sound. “I hope he went to the devil.”

She glanced back at him. “Did any survive?”

“I know nothing of any of them,” he went on, trying not to think of those poor women, those helpless little children, the raging sea. “We were alone on the beach, except for the man who tried to rob me.” The man who had just left this room, he suspected. “We made it to this cottage, and all I could think was to get you warm. I took over the farmer’s bed and must have fallen asleep.”

She was silent for a moment, but Tanner could see her breath quicken. He suspected she remembered the terror of it all.

“I believe I owe you my life, sir,” she whispered.

Her blue eyes met his and seemed to pierce into him, touching off something tender and vulnerable. He glanced away and tugged on the covers, pulling off a faded brown blanket. He wrapped it around his waist and rose from the bed. “Let me see about getting you some clothes. And food.” He turned towards the door.

“A moment, sir,” she said, her voice breathless. “Do—do you know where we are? Who these people are?”

“Only that we are in a farmer’s cottage,” he replied, not entirely truthfully. “There was a lamp in the window. I walked towards its light.”

She nodded, considering this. “What do they know of us?”

His gaze was steady. “I did not tell them you were a prisoner, if that is your concern.”

She released a relieved breath. “Did you tell them who you are?”

He tried to make light of it all. “Last night I only saw the old man. I fear I failed to introduce myself. My manners have gone begging.”

“Good,” she said.

“Good?” His brows rose.

“Do not tell them who you are.”

He cocked his head.

“A marquess is a valuable commodity. They might wish to ransom you.”

She was sharp, he must admit. Her mistrust gave even more credence to his suspicions. He had thought to bully these people with his title, but he now saw the wisdom of withholding who he was—as well as who she might be.

He twisted his signet ring to the inside of his palm and put his hand on the door latch. “I will not say a word.” Her lovely face relaxed. “Let me see about our clothing and some food and a way out of here.”

She smiled and he walked out of the room, still holding the blanket around his waist.

It took Marlena a moment to adjust when he left the room. The marquess’s essence seemed to linger, as well as the image of him naked. She and Eliza had been too naïve to speculate on how the Marquess of Tannerton would look without clothing, but she could now attest that he looked spectacular. Wide shoulders, sculpted chest peppered with dark hair that formed a line directing the eye to his manly parts. She’d only glimpsed them upon first awakening, but now she could not forget the sight. He was like a Greek statue come to life, but warm, friendly and flirtatious.

He might not recognise her as the notorious Vanishing Viscountess, subject of countless Rowlandson prints and sensational newspaper stories, but he did know she’d been a prisoner. He would, of course, have no memory of the very naïve and forgettable Miss Parronley from Almack’s.

She hugged her knees. As long as he did not recognise her, she was free. And she intended to keep it that way.

She had no idea what piece of shore they’d washed up on, but it must be closer to Scotland than she’d ever dared hope to be again. She longed to be in Scotland, to lose herself there and never be discovered. A city, perhaps, with so many people, no one would take note of a newcomer. She would go to Edinburgh, a place of poetry and learning. Who would look for the Vanishing Viscountess in Edinburgh? They would think her dead at the bottom of the sea.

She’d once believed she’d be safe in Ireland, in the ruse she and Eliza devised, governess to Eliza’s children. Not even Eliza’s husband had suspected. Marlena had been safe for three years, until Eliza’s brother came to visit. Debtors nipping at his heels, Geoffrey had come to beg his sister for money.

Marlena would have hidden from him, or fled entirely, but Eliza and the children had been gravely ill from the fever and she could not bear to leave. Geoffrey discovered her tending to them. He’d recognised her instantly and suddenly realised he could raise his needed funds by selling the whereabouts of the Vanishing Viscountess.

Geoffrey had long returned to London the day Marlena stood over Eliza’s newly dug grave in the parish churchyard, the day the magistrate’s men and the Bow Street Runner came to arrest her.

She swiped at her eyes. At least we nursed the children back to health, Eliza.

She rose from the bed and wrapped the blanket around her like a toga. The room was tiny and sparse, but clean. There was no mirror, so she tried to look at herself in the window glass, but the sun was too bright. She felt her hair, all tangles and smelling of sea water. It was still damp underneath. She sat back on the bed.

She must look a fright, she thought, working at her tangled locks with her fingers, still vain enough to wish she appeared pretty for the handsome Marquess of Tannerton.

Except for the bruises on his chest, he had looked wonderful after their ordeal—his unshaven face only enhancing his appearance, making him look rakish. She inhaled, her fingers stilling for a moment with the memory of how his naked skin had felt, warm and hard with muscle.

Her whole body filled with heat. It had been a long time since she’d seen a naked man and a long time since a man had held her. She tried to remember if she had ever woken naked in her husband’s arms. Perhaps she never had. He usually had fled her bed when he finished with her.

So long ago.

The door opened and the old woman entered, the scent of boiling oats wafting in behind her.

“Your gentleman says to find you some clothes, ma’am. Yours are ripped and would take too long to mend.” She handed Marlena her stockings, which had somehow remained intact. “I told your gentleman I’ve just the thing for you in here.” The woman rummaged through one of the wooden chests. “I’ve put the kettle on as well, and there is some nice porridge boiling.”

Marlena slipped on her stockings. Porridge sounded as heavenly as ambrosia at the moment. Until she’d smelled it, she’d not known she was ravenous.

“That is very kind,” she said to the woman. “What is your name?”

“I’m Mrs Davies, ma’am.” The woman leaned over the chest, still looking through it.

Marlena made her voice sound friendly. “Thank you, Mrs Davies. Where are we, might I ask?”

“At our farm, ma’am.” The woman looked at her as if she were daft. Her mouth opened, then, and she finally understood the question. “About a mile or so from Llanfairynghornwy.”

Marlena blinked. She had no idea where that was, nor did she think she could repeat its name. “Is there a coaching inn there?”

“There is a coaching inn at Cemaes.”

“How far is that?” Marlena asked.

“About five miles, ma’am.”

Marlena could walk five miles.

The old woman twisted around, leaning on the edge of the chest. “But if I think of it, you’ll want to reach Holyhead, not Cemaes.”

Holyhead was the port where the ship had been bound. “How far is Holyhead?”

“Ten miles or so the opposite way, to reach the ferry, that is. You’ll need a ferry to take you to Holyhead, ma’am.”

Marlena nodded. Holyhead would likely be where other survivors would be bound, making it the last place she’d wish to be.

The woman turned back to her rummaging, finally pulling out a shift and tossing it to Marlena, who quickly slipped it on. Next the woman pulled out a faded blue dress.

“Perhaps this will do.” She handed it to Marlena.

The dress was made of wool in a fine, soft weave that seemed nothing like a farm wife’s dress. Marlena stood up and held it against herself. The dress was long enough for her, although she was taller than most women and certainly a good foot taller than Mrs Davies. The dress would totally engulf the farm woman and would be big on Marlena as well.

Some other woman from some other shipwreck had once worn this dress. Marlena whispered a prayer for that woman’s poor soul.

“It will do very nicely,” she said.

The woman straightened and thrust something else at Marlena. “Here’s a corset for you.”

“Thank you.” Marlena smiled. “I am so very grateful to you.”

The woman started towards the door.

Marlena stopped her with another request. “I would like very much to wash. Would it be too much trouble to bring me some water?”

The woman looked heavenwards, as if she’d been asked for the moon, but she nodded and hurried out of the door.

Marlena inspected the corset. Its laces looked as if they could be tightened to fit her. She lifted the dress to her nose and was grateful that it smelled clean. She was eager to be clean herself, eager to wash the salt from her skin. What she would not give for a nice long soak in warm bathwater, but she would content herself with a quick wash from a basin. She paced the room, thinking, planning. She could easily walk to Cemaes this very day, but what would she do then? She had no money.

She must beg money from Tanner, she decided. It was her only choice. She was uncertain of him, although it was a good sign he’d not betrayed her to this farm family. If he discovered she was the Vanishing Viscountess, however, he would certainly want to turn her over to the local magistrate. It was best to slip away as soon as she could do so.

A knock sounded, and Tanner walked in with her basin of water, a towel over his arm like a valet. She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around the shift. He was dressed in what looked like his own shirt and trousers. His hair was damp. Marlena touched her still-tangled hair, envious that he had been able to wash out the salt and the memory of the sea.

“Your clothes are dry?” she asked.

“Dry enough.” He placed the basin on a small table in the corner of the room. “I thought you might like this.” He pulled a comb from the band of his trousers. “I’ve washed it, although these people seem clean enough.”

She took it from him. “Oh, thank you!” She immediately sat back on the bed and attacked her locks. “Have they told you anything of the shipwreck?”

He shook his head. “These people are a close-mouthed lot. The son left, but I hope it was merely to return to the beach. I gather these people are wreckers.”

Like the man who attacked Tanner. The man she hit on the head. She remembered that suddenly, but it was like a murky dream.

“The mother and son were out there during the storm last night.” He walked towards the door. “Is there anything else you need?”

“My shoes,” she replied. “But do not leave yet.”

He waited.

She took a breath. “I need to ask you—to beg you—to let me go.”

His brows rose.

She went on quickly, “Mrs Davies—the wife—says there is a town five miles from here with a coaching inn. You may go on to Holyhead, but let them all think me dead. Please. I want only to go home. That is all I desire.” Not all she desired. She needed money, but she’d make that request only if he gave his permission to flee.

He leaned against the door. “Where is home?”

“Scotland,” she said truthfully and an image of her Scottish home jumped into her mind. Parronley, home of her ancestors and her carefree childhood.

He peered at her. “You do not sound Scottish.”

“I was sent to school in England.” This was true, as well. At lovely Belvedere House in Bath, where she’d met Eliza. She’d been very keen to rid herself of any traces of a Scottish burr in those days, so eager for the other girls to like her.

He pressed a hand against his ribs. “Tell me why the Bow Street Runner was bringing you back to England.”

Marlena flinched, feeling his pain. Her mind raced to think of a story he would believe. She borrowed one from a Minerva Press novel she and Eliza once read. “I was a lady’s companion to a very nice elderly lady. I was accused of stealing her jewellery.”

His mouth twitched. “And you did not do it.”

“I did not!” She was not guilty of stealing jewellery or any other crime. “I was wrongly accused, but there was no way to prove it. Her son placed the jewels in my room.”

How she wished she had been accused of the theft of jewels. Far better that than standing over the bloody body of her husband and being accused of his murder.

She made herself face him with a steady gaze. “I ran away to Ireland, but they sent the Bow Street Runner after me.”

His eyes probed her. They were still that lovely shade of mossy green she remembered from those giddy assemblies at Almack’s. “They went to a great deal of trouble to capture you.”

She gave a wan smile, but her mind was racing to recall the details of the novel. “Not all the jewellery was recovered. My lady’s son sold the rest. He made it look as if he was trying to recover it all, going so far as having me tracked down in Ireland for it.” She glanced away from Tanner, and her voice came from deep in her throat. “He placed the blame on me.”

In truth, it had been her own cousin who contrived to have her blamed for Corland’s murder, and her cousin Wexin had once been a member of the Marquess of Tannerton’s set. That had been seven years ago, when Marlena and Eliza had had their first Season, but for all Marlena knew Tanner could still count Wexin among his friends.

In that lovely Season, when she and Eliza had been so full of hope, she’d begged Wexin to present them to the handsome marquess. Wexin refused, although she and Eliza had been undaunted.

“Who were these people who employed you?” he asked.

“I cannot tell you,” she replied truthfully again. “For all I know, the son may be one of your close companions.” Like Wexin had been. “You would believe them and not me.” She fixed her gaze on him again. “Let me go, I implore you. Let me disappear. Let them think I am dead.”

He stared back at her, not speaking, not moving. Panic spread inside her like a wild weed.

“You have no money. How will you get on?” he asked.

She took a breath. “I would beg a little money from you.”

He gave her a long look before speaking. “First wash and dress and eat. We shall both leave this place, then we will decide what to do next.” He opened the door and walked out.

Her nerves still jangled. He had not precisely agreed to help her, but he had not sounded as if he would turn her in, either. She had no choice but to wait to see what he would do.

Marlena washed and dressed and managed to get her hair into a plait down her back. When she walked out of the bedchamber in her stockinged feet, the smell of the porridge drove all other thought and emotion away. She sat in a plain wooden chair across from Tanner at a small table. The old woman set a bowl of porridge in front of her. Marlena’s hand shook when she dipped her spoon into the steaming bowl. The first mouthful was too hot. She blew on the next spoonful and the next and ate as quickly as she could. Tanner ate as hungrily as she.

The old farmer and his wife watched their every move.

When they finished, Tanner turned to them. “Bring the rest of my clothing, my boots and the lady’s shoes. The lady also needs a cloak. You will undoubtedly have a cart. I should like you to take us to the nearest town.”

“Holyhead?” the farmer asked. “You’ll need a ferry to reach it.”

Tanner reached into the sleeve of his shirt where he had tucked his purse. He opened it and took out a sovereign. “Very well.”

The farmer’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the coin. Both he and his wife sprang into action, leaving Tanner and Marlena alone.

Marlena gave him an anxious look. “I will not go to Holyhead. Just leave me, I beg you. I will not even ask you for money.”

He shook his head. “I’ll not leave you.” He leaned closer to her. “But I have no intention of going to Holyhead either. Let them think that is where we are bound.”

Warmth spread through her, and she did not think it was from the porridge. She wanted to throw her arms around him in gratitude. Instead she composed her emotions. “Mrs Davies told me Cemaes is five miles from here in the opposite direction from Holyhead.”

“Then we shall go to Cemaes.” He smiled.

Mrs Davies brought Tanner’s coat, waistcoat, boots and Marlena’s half-boots. She rose and took her shoes from the woman’s hands. They were still damp and the leather tight, but she did not care. Tanner was going to help her to get to Cemaes.

Arlan Rapp sat in front of the fire in the inn at Llanfwrog, sipping hot cider, waiting for his clothes to dry through and through. He puzzled what he should do next.

All he really wanted was to return to London and get paid for his work, but he’d better not do that until he discovered if the Viscountess Corland had been lost with most of the other passengers and crew, or if she had by some miracle survived.

The Vanishing Viscountess had vanished again. That would make a good story for the newspapers, he’d wager, but he’d rather it not be widely known he’d been the one to lose her.

He stared into the fire and pondered the choices he’d made. He refused to feel guilty about taking her place in the last boat. She’d been as good as dead from the moment he first put her in shackles. He would have taken her back to a hangman’s noose, nothing less. The Vanishing Viscountess had killed her husband in a jealous rage. Everybody knew her husband rutted with any female he could find. The Viscountess had been caught red-handed. Her cousin had discovered her standing over Viscount Corland’s dead body, bloody scissors in hand. There was no doubt that she’d committed the murder.

She had escaped, however. The guilty always ran away if you gave them half a chance.

She’d escaped again, Rapp thought, rubbing his face. He hoped drowning was an easier death than hanging by the neck.

He took another gulp of cider. A log sizzled in the fireplace. He glanced around for the serving girl, who seemed to have disappeared. Rapp’s stomach growled, ravenous for breakfast. He was also bone weary from being up all night, pulled out of the sea by local folk and sent to this inn in a wagon with the handful of other survivors.

Rapp bowed his head, thinking of the women and children in his boat. They had not been strong enough to hang on when the wave washed over them.

Rapp suddenly wanted to hurry home to his wife and children. He wanted to kiss his wife, hug his two sons, hold his baby girl. It was only right that he’d seized the chance to survive. His wife and children needed him.

Only eight passengers survived, as far as he knew, and a few more crewmen. The Vanishing Viscountess was not among them. If her body lay at the bottom of the sea, it might never wash up on shore. Rapp cursed the storm. Wexin would not pay him without proof that the Viscountess had perished.

He’d have to investigate, make absolutely certain she was among the dead. He was a Bow Street Runner. It should be a simple matter for him to discover who survived the shipwreck.

The serving girl finally set down a plate with bread and butter and thick pieces of ham.

He nodded his thanks. “Bring me paper, pen and ink,” he asked her.

He’d pen a letter to Wexin, reporting the shipwreck, and one to his wife, as well, telling her he loved her, but that he must delay his return to London until he had searched up and down the Anglesey coast.

Chapter Three

By the time Mr Davies’s old horse pulled the cart to the front of the cottage, Tanner was more than ready to leave this place. He had no wish to tarry until the son returned.

Tanner pressed a hand to his still-aching ribs, remembering the strength of the man’s boot. He had no wish to meet young Davies again.

He stepped aside for Miss Brown to walk out ahead of him. The red cloak the old lady had found for her was threadbare, but Tanner supposed it would keep her warm enough. His lack of a top coat did not worry him overmuch. The temperature was not that harsh and would keep him alert.

Mrs Davies trailed behind him. “You promised us payment, sir.”

He turned to her. “I will pay when your husband delivers us where we wish to go.” He strode on.

She skipped after him. “How do we know you will pay? Your lady is walking away wearing my clothes. We can’t afford to give our possessions away. Times are hard.”

He stopped again and the old woman nearly ran into him. “You will have to trust my word as a gentleman, will you not?” He walked over to where Miss Brown waited next to the cart.

He did not know how much of her story to believe, but he’d be damned if he’d turn her over to a magistrate. No matter what she had done, she’d paid for it by what that deuced Bow Street Runner made her endure, leaving her to die while he saved himself. As far as Tanner was concerned, that alone should give her freedom.

Saving her life absolved him, in part, for the other deaths that weighed on his conscience. He would see her safe to help repay that debt.

He touched her arm. “I will climb up first, then assist you.”

His ribs only hurt mildly as he got up next to the old man. He reached for Miss Brown’s hand and pulled her up. As she settled next to him, he wanted to put his arm around her. He wanted to touch her, to keep fresh the memory of their naked embrace. He remembered the feel of her in his arms as he lay between sleep and waking. Her skin, soft and smooth and warm. Her curves, fitting against him as if tailored to him.

“Let us go,” he told the farmer.

Mr Davies snapped the ribbons and the old horse started moving.

“You make him pay, husband!” Mrs Davies shouted after them.

The old horse pulled the cart past the vegetable garden, colourful with cabbages and kale. Wheat was already planted for the winter crop and a rook swept down and disappeared into the field of swaying stalks. The cart rolled at a slow speed finally reaching a road, leaving the cottage some distance behind.

At the road, Tanner turned to Mr Davies. “Take us to Cemaes.”

The old man’s head jerked in surprise. “Cemaes is north. You’ll be wanting to go south to the ferry to Holyhead.”

“We wish to go north. To Cemaes,” Tanner said.

Mr Davies shook his head. “You want to go to Holyhead, I tell you.”

Tanner felt a shiver crawl up his back. He’d wager the old man had some mishap planned on the road to the ferry. He held up the sovereign, which glittered in the sunlight. “If you wish to earn this coin, you will take us to Cemaes.” He returned the coin to his pocket. “If not, we will walk from here.” Tanner began to stand.

The farmer gestured for him to sit. “I’ll take you to Cemaes,” he grumbled and turned the horse and cart north.

The road, still muddy from the rains, wound past more farmland and other small cottages like the Davies’s. Sometimes Tanner could glimpse the sea, looking calm this day, like a slumbering monster that had devoured its fill. The old man kept the frown on his face and did not speak. Miss Brown gripped the seat to steady herself as the cart rumbled along, but she, too, was silent. The cart jostled her against him, from time to time, keeping Tanner physically aware of her.

Her face was obscured by the hood of the cloak, and Tanner missed watching the play of emotions on her face. He’d seen her angry, earnest, frightened and relieved. He would enjoy hearing her laugh, or seeing passion light her face.

He also wished to discover her real name and the names of the people from whom she had supposedly stolen jewels. If she confided in him, he could help her. Even if she was guilty of the theft, he could make her troubles disappear. Money, power and influence overcame justice most of the time. If he repaid the son for the jewels, he’d wager the theft would be totally forgiven.

Tanner could not gaze at her without being obvious, so he settled for the warmth of the sun on his face, the scent of the fresh sea air and fragrant fields, and the sight of the peaceful countryside. It was not precisely an Arcadian paradise, not with men toiling in the fields and cottages too small for comfort, but it was solid and timeless and vastly preferable to the cold, fickle sea.

As the sun grew higher in the sky, they passed a windmill spinning in the breeze, and a standing stone placed there by Celtic people long erased from history. Tanner guessed the time to be about noon. He dug his fingers into his pocket for his timepiece. It was no longer there.

His head whipped around to the old farmer driving the cart. The old man had gone through his pockets, he’d wager. “I wonder what time it is,” he said.

The old man’s jaw flexed.

Tanner coughed and winced as the pain in his ribs kicked at him again. Miss Brown looked over at him with concern in her eyes. He returned a reassuring smile, before glancing back to the old farmer.

He ought to deprive the man of the sovereign he’d promised, glad he’d had the presence of mind to hang on to his purse after he’d peeled every piece of wet clothing off his body, making a sopping pile on the cottage floor. Miss Brown had been shivering so violently, Tanner had been desperate to make her warm.

Mr Davies flicked the ribbons and glanced at Tanner nervously, fearful, no doubt, that Tanner would challenge him on the theft of his timepiece.

Tanner glanced back to the road. Let the man keep the watch, he said to himself. As payment for his bed. Tanner would have given the man anything for that warm bed. For her. To save her from the killing cold as he had saved her from the killing sea.

Two slow hours passed and Tanner suspected they could have walked faster than the old horse moved on the muddy road. Finally rooftops and a church bell tower came into view.

“Cemaes,” said the old man, lifting his chin towards the town.

Miss Brown leaned forward. What was she thinking? Tanner wondered. What plan was she making for herself?

They came to the first houses, gleaming white, edged with chrysanthemums and marigolds. Up ahead the buildings became thicker and Tanner could see people walking about.

Miss Brown put her hand on Tanner’s arm. “May we stop here?” She gave him that earnest look again.

He drank it in for a moment, then turned to the old man. “Mr Davies, you may leave us off here.”

The old man’s bushy brows shot up. “It is no distance to the inn.”

“Good!” Tanner responded in a jovial voice. “Then it shall be only a short walk for us. Stop, if you please.”

The farmer shrugged and pulled on the ribbons, halting his horse. Tanner climbed down and reached up for Miss Brown. Putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her down to the road and was reluctant to let go of her. He fished in his pocket for the sovereign and handed it up to Mr Davies, who grabbed it quickly, as if fearing Tanner would change his mind. Without a word of farewell, the man flicked the ribbons again, and the old horse clopped its way into town, to the inn and some refreshment for them both, Tanner suspected.

“You gave him a sovereign.” Miss Brown said in a disapproving tone.

Tanner kicked a pebble into the street. “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Too much?”

“I dare say,” she responded. “Half that amount would have been generous.”

He tilted his head, somewhat chagrined. “Especially since the man also stole my watch and I highly suspect his son was the man you hit over the head.”

Her jaw dropped. “Tell me it is not so.” Outrage filled her face. “How shabby of them to take such advantage.”

This was an odd reaction for a supposed thief, Tanner thought. “Well, it is done…” He glanced around him, at the cobblestones in the street, at the tidy houses. “Why did you wish to be let off here?”

The sun illuminated her features and made her eyes sparkle like sapphires. He felt momentarily deprived of breath.

“I wanted a chance to talk with you.” She gazed at him intently. “To prepare.”

It took a moment for him to respond. “Prepare for what?”

She frowned in concentration. “I cannot enter that inn saying I am Miss Brown off the shipwrecked packet from Dublin, the prisoner escorted by a Bow Street Runner. I must think of some fiction to tell them.”

Tanner nodded. He’d not thought much beyond being rid of Mr Davies and finding an inn with good food and a comfortable bed, but, then, he was not much accustomed to thinking ahead while travelling. The next meal, the next bed and the final destination were all he considered, and half the time they were arranged by his valet or his secretary.

She went on. “And I cannot walk in as the companion of the Marquess of Tannerton.”

He felt a bit like a rejected suitor. “Would that be too scandalous?”

“It would be too foolish.” Her expression turned patient, as if speaking to a dull child. “The Marquess of Tannerton is sure to create a great deal of interest, especially if the marquess almost drowned. If I am seen with you, I will become an object of curiosity as well, and that I cannot have. I must slip away without anyone noticing me.”

This woman must never look at herself in a mirror, Tanner thought. Surely she could not go anywhere and not be noticed.

“I see.” He nodded, trying not to be distracted by his vision of her. “What do you propose?”

Her expression gave the impression of a mind turning like the intricate gears of his stolen watch. The road forked a few paces away and led to a stone bridge over a stream. She gestured for him to walk with her. They strolled to the bridge, where they stood side by side, leaning on the wall, gazing into the stream, swollen and brown from the previous day’s storm.

She turned to him. “I—I must be on my way. The sooner I leave Anglesey, the sooner I will be forgotten. I want it thought that I drowned in the shipwreck. If they think me dead, no one will search for me.”

Tanner disliked hearing her speak of being “on her way.”

“Where will you go?” he asked. “Scotland is a big place.”

She searched his face for a moment before turning her gaze away. “It is best for me not to say.”

He frowned, unused to anyone refusing an answer to his question. Her mistrust wounded him when she so clearly needed a friend.

She turned back to him, her voice low and desperate. “I need some of your money.”

He stared at her.

Nothing would be easier for him than to hand over the entire contents of his purse. He could get more money for himself later, on the mere strength of his name. Even in this remote place someone would extend the Marquess of Tannerton credit, enough to arrange for a post-chaise to carry him back to London. He could return to his townhouse in a matter of days.

He usually solved his difficulties by handing over money and letting someone else take care of it. Ironically, one of the rare times he’d taken it upon himself to solve a problem, three people died.

Perhaps he ought to leave her here in Cemaes.

Suddenly some of the colour drained from her face and her breathing accelerated. “Forgive my foolish request,” she whispered. “You have done more than enough for me. I do not need your money.”

She spun away from him and started to walk away.

He seized her arm. “Wait.”

His conscience could not let her go, even with his purse in her hand. He knew he could help her. His name and influence—and his money as well—could save her from the hangman’s noose or transportation or whatever fate might befall her if she was caught again.

“I have another proposal.” He spoke in a low voice. “Come to London with me. Let me use my influence to help you. Whoever has caused you this trouble is not likely to have friends as highly connected as my friends, nor as much money as I possess. I am certain I can settle this matter for you. My power and influence are considerable.”

She stepped away from him. “No!” She took a deep breath. “No,” she said more quietly. “I thank you, but—but—you are mistaken. My trouble is—” She clamped her mouth shut on whatever it was she had been about to say.

He kept his gaze steady. “No matter what your trouble is, I assure you, I can help.”

She shook her head. “You cannot know—” Again she stopped herself from speaking. “It is safer for me to run. No one will look for me, because they will think me dead. They will forget me, and I may start my life anew.”

She gazed at him with such intensity Tanner felt the impact resonate deep inside him. He moved towards her. What made her think he could forget her? What made her think he could let her be dead to him now when he’d refused to let her die in the sea?

“Surely you cannot travel alone,” he tried.

“Of course I can.” She glanced away, and he could sense her mind at work again. “I might be a governess travelling to a new place of employment. Who would question that?”

He did not like this idea. Some men would consider an unescorted governess fair game. “Someone would ask who employed you, for one thing. They would ask where you were bound.”

“Then I would fashion answers.”

She was slipping away. He remembered that horrible moment when he’d woken up on shore and thought she had slipped from his grasp. He did not want to let go of her now any more than he had wanted to then. True, he might easily return to his comforts, the diversions of London, the hunting parties he and Pomroy planned to attend, but how could he be content now if he thought her adrift, alone?

He glanced away, his mind whirling, as he’d fancied hers had done. All he could think to do was delay.

He gripped her arm, holding on to her like he had done in the sea. “I’ll give you the money.” He made her look into his face. “There is no obligation to pay it back. It is a trifling amount to me, I assure you, but listen to me. I am afraid our taciturn Mr Davies is at the inn this very moment loosening his tongue with a large tankard of ale.” He glanced in the direction of the inn. “He will tell everyone we are husband and wife—that is what he and his wife concluded about us and I did not correct their impression. Did you?”

She shook her head. “I did not.”

He went on, “Davies will tell them we are from the shipwreck, a husband and wife from the shipwreck. If we act as strangers now, we will increase suspicion about you, not reduce it.”

She considered this. “Yes, that would be true.”

His spirits rose. He held on to her still. He took a breath. “In this town we must also be husband and wife.”

“Husband and wife?” She stared at him, a worry line forming between her brows.

Acting as husband and wife meant sharing a room. Tanner longed to hold her again, longed to again wake with her in his arms, to know he had kept her safe.

He looked into her face, suffused with reluctance, and realised she might not be as thrilled at the prospect of sharing a bed with him as he was with her.

“I will not take advantage of you,” he said in as earnest a tone as he could muster, although his body pulsed with desire for her.

She glanced away, and again turned her eyes back to him, eyes as blue as the sky behind her. “Very well. Tonight we are husband and wife.”

He heard the unspoken end to her sentence. Tomorrow they would part. Still, his spirits soared. He would have this brief time with her and maybe wherever they were bound on the morrow would reassure him she’d be safe.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we prepare? We must concoct a story for ourselves, must we not? Names. We need to have names, and, to own the truth, I do not think Brown is a good choice.”

“Why?” she asked.

“It is the sort of name a gentleman gives to an innkeeper when he does not wish his identity known.” He winked.

She gave a light laugh. “Is that so?

“It is.” He smiled. “Select another name.”

“Smith?” A corner of her mouth lifted.

He rolled his eyes, playing along with her jest. “You are not good at this, are you?” He put his mind to the task, but the only names he could think of were ones too connected to him. Adam. Vick. Tanner. “I am hopeless as well.”

“I have an idea,” she said. “How about the name Lir? Lir is the god of the sea in Irish mythology.”

He peered at her. “You know Irish mythology?”

“I lived in Ireland.” She cast her eyes down. “I read about it in a book there.”

“How do you spell it? Like Shakespeare’s King Lear?” he asked. “Because I know how to spell that Lear. The Irish always use—well—Irish spellings.”

She gave him a look that mocked the one he’d given her. “You know Shakespeare?”

He laughed.

Her eyes twinkled. “We can spell it like King Lear.”

He smiled back at her, his heart gladdened at her mirth. Their first night together had been full of terror. This one ought to be peaceful and happy. He vowed he would make it so.

“I shall be Adam Lear, then. Adam is my given name.” He waited for her to tell him her given name—hoped she would say it, so he might have that small piece of her to keep for himself.

She said nothing.

He took a deep, disappointed breath. “I believe I need an occupation as well.”

Marlena enjoyed their short walk to the inn, and their creation of a story to tell about themselves. The Marquess of Tannerton became Mr Adam Lear, stable manager for Viscount Cavanley, Adrian Pomroy’s father, although they agreed it would be best to avoid mentioning Pomroy if at all possible.

Pomroy was another name from Marlena’s past, from that one London Season. She had not thought of Pomroy in her four years of exile in Ireland or really even three years before that, not since her Season. She remembered him as a most ramshackle young man. She and Eliza thought Pomroy was a relentless flirt, devoid of even one serious bone in his body. They’d laughed at his antics behind their fans, but neither she nor Eliza mooned over him the way they mooned over his good friend, Tanner. Even though they had been very green girls then, they knew an attachment to Pomroy would be a foolish one.

It was unfortunate that Marlena’s judgement of character had not been that astute when it came to Corland, but then, her husband had disguised his true nature. Pomroy had been as clear as glass.

As Marlena walked at Tanner’s side, she almost again felt like that carefree girl who’d enjoyed every moment of her Season. Tanner made her laugh again, something she’d not done since Eliza took ill. Marlena feared she was much too glad she would be spending another night with Tanner.

Imagine it, Eliza! she said silently. I will be married to the Marquess of Tannerton. Very briefly, however. In name only, and a false name at that.

She remembered then how warm his skin had felt, how firm his hand on her body. Her skin flushed with the memory.

She spied Mr Davies’s horse drinking water from a trough at the inn, and the truth of her situation hit her once more. She was the Vanishing Viscountess, trying desperately to vanish once more. She was not the wife of the Marquess of Tannerton nor plain Mrs Lear. She was not even Miss Brown. She was a fugitive, and if Tanner was caught aiding her, he would face the same punishment as she faced, the hangman’s noose.

She and Eliza had not known that fact when Marlena had fled to Ireland with her friend and became her children’s governess. Once in Ireland, they had read a newspaper that described the penalty for aiding the Vanishing Viscountess, but Eliza had refused to allow Marlena to leave.

Tanner squeezed her hand as they walked in the door of the inn. “How are you faring, Mrs Lear?”

“A bit nervous, Mr Lear,” she replied. At the moment, more nervous for him than for her. She stood to earn life from this masquerade. He risked death.

“We shall do very nicely,” he said.

She pulled him back, “Tanner,” she whispered.

He gave her a warning look. “It is Adam.”

She bit her lip. She must not make such a mistake again. “Do not act like the marquess.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Do not order people about,” she explained.

He tilted his head, appearing very boyish. “Do I order people about?”

She nodded.

The innkeeper approached them. “Good day to you! Are you the lady and gentleman from the shipwreck?”

Mr Davies had indeed been talking of them.

“We are,” said Tanner, his affability a bit strained. “And we are in need of a room for the night.”

“If we may,” added Marlena.

“If we may,” repeated Tanner.

The innkeeper smiled. “We will make you comfortable, never fear. If you are hungry, we are serving dinner in the taproom. We have some nice pollack frying. You must let it be our gift to you for your ordeal.”

Marlena was touched by this kindness.

“We thank you,” said Tanner. He laughed. “I confess, a tall tankard of ale would be very welcome.”

The innkeeper walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “Ale it is. For you, m’lady—?”

“Lear.” She cleared her throat. “Mrs Lear. I should like a glass of cider, if you have it.”

“We do indeed,” said the innkeeper.

Soon they were seated, drinks set in front of them. Marlena glimpsed Mr Davies, who gave them a sidelong look before slipping off his chair and walking to the door.

A woman wearing a bright white apron and cap walked over. “I am Mrs Gwynne. Welcome to our inn. My husband said you had arrived. From the shipwreck, are you?”

“We are.” Tanner extended his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gwynne.”

“You poor lambs.” She clasped his hand.

“Have you heard of any other survivors?” Marlena asked.

The woman clasped Marlena’s hand next. “Not a one, but if you made it, others may have as well, God willing. Now, what can we do for you? Besides giving you a nice room and some food, that is. What do you need?”

Tanner rubbed his chin, even darker with beard than it had been that morning. Marlena suppressed a sudden urge to touch it.

“All we have is what you see,” he told Mrs Gwynne. “Is there a shop where we might purchase necessities?”

She patted his arm. “There certainly is a shop; if you tell me what you want, I will purchase it for you.”

“That will not be necessary. I will visit the shop.” Tanner glanced at Marlena and back to Mrs Gwynne. “I have thought of something else you might do, however.”

“Say what it is, Mr Lear. I’ll see it done.”

His gaze rested softly on Marlena. “A bath for my wife.”

Marlena’s mouth parted. There was nothing she could more desire.

Mrs Gwynne smiled again. “I will tell the maids to start heating the water.”

She bustled away and soon they were brought a generous and tasty dinner of fish, potatoes and peas. After they ate, Mrs Gwynne showed them to their room, a chamber dominated by a large, comfortable-looking bed. There was also a fire in the fireplace and a nice window looking out at the back of the inn. The best part, however, was the large copper tub half-filled with water.

“There are towels next to the tub, and a cake of soap. The maids are still bringing the water, and one will assist you if you like.” Mrs Gwynne folded her arms over her considerable chest.

“Thank you,” Marlena rasped, her gaze slipping to Tanner.

“I’ll leave you now,” the older woman said. “Mr Lear, when you wish to go to the shop, either my husband or I can direct you.”

“I will be down very soon,” he said.

After the innkeeper’s wife left, Marlena walked over to the tub and dipped her fingers into the warm water.

“Am I sounding like a marquess?” Tanner asked.

She smiled at him. “You are doing very well.”

He blew out a breath and walked towards her. “That is good. I confess, I am uncertain how not to sound like a marquess, but if I am accomplishing it, I am content.” His eyes rested on her. “I should leave, so you can have your bath.”

She lifted her hand and touched him lightly on the arm. “Thank you for this, Lord Tannerton.”

“Adam,” he reminded her, his name sounding like a caress.

“Adam,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened and he seemed to breathe more deeply. He glanced away from her. “What ought I to purchase for you?”

She thought the bath more than enough. “A comb, perhaps? A brush? Hairpins?”

He smiled. “I shall pretend I am an old married man who often is sent to the shop for hairpins. Anything else?”

She ought not to ask him for another thing. “Gloves?”

“Gloves.” He nodded.

There was a knock on the door and he crossed the room to open it. It was the maid bringing more water.

She poured it into the tub. “I’ll bring more.” She curtsied and left.

“I will leave now, as well.” Tanner opened the door and turned back to her. “Save me the water.”

Marlena crossed the room to him. “Forgive me. I did not think. You must have the water first. I will wait.”

He reached up and touched her cheek. “You first, Mrs Lear.”

By the time she could breathe again, he was gone.

Arlan Rapp trudged down the Llanfwrog road to the blacksmith shop. A huge barrel-chested man, twice the Bow Street Runner’s size and weight, hammered an ingot against his anvil. The clang of the hammer only added to the pain throbbing in Rapp’s ears. He’d walked from one side of Llanfwrog to the other, but few villagers were even willing to admit to knowing of the shipwreck. He’d recognised plenty of them from when what was left of his boat washed up to shore. The villagers had grabbed crates and barrels. A few had been good enough to aid the survivors. He’d been whisked off to the inn, he and the others who had washed up with him.

He waited to speak until the smithy plunged the piece of metal into water. “Good day to you, smithy,” Rapp said.

The man looked up. “Do you require something?”

Rapp smiled, although his fatigue made him feel anything but cordial. “Only a bit of information.”

The blacksmith just stared at him.

Rapp cleared his throat. “I am from the packet ship that was wrecked last night.”

No understanding showed on the smithy’s face, but Rapp doubted anyone in Llanfwrog was ignorant of the previous night’s bounty.

He went on. “I am searching for survivors, specifically a woman who had been my companion.”

“I know nothing of it,” the man said.

“Perhaps you have heard talk,” he persisted. “Perhaps someone told you of survivors. I am most eager to learn her fate.”

The blacksmith shook his head. He took another piece of glowing metal from the fire.

“I would pay for information,” Rapp added, although he much preferred not to part with his still-damp money.

The smith placed the hot metal on the anvil and picked up his hammer. “Bodies wash ashore sometimes.”

That was a grisly thought, but if the Viscountess’s body washed up on shore, he could cease his search and go home to his wife.

“Where would bodies be taken?” Rapp asked, but the smithy’s hammer started again and its din drowned out his words. He gave up.

No sooner had he walked out of the blacksmith shop than a smudged-face boy tugged on his coat. “I can show you bodies, if you want to see ’em.”

Rapp squatted down to eye level with the little eavesdropper. “Can you now?”

The boy nodded energetically. “About ten or so.”

Rapp took a breath and stood, squaring his shoulders. “Excellent, my good fellow. Take me there now.” A few minutes of unpleasantness might mean he could be in London within a few days and still receive his reward.

“It’ll cost you tuppence,” the boy said.

Smart little cur, Rapp thought sourly. He fished the coin from his pocket and showed it to the boy. “Take me to the bodies and a tuppence you shall have.”

Chapter Four

Tanner’s shopping expedition proved to be a novel experience. He’d never shopped for ladies’ hairpins before, nor any of his own necessities, for that matter. He typically sent his valet to procure things like razors and shaving brushes and polish for shoes and combs and toothbrushes. He dawdled in the shop for as long as he could to give Miss Brown time for her bath. The shopkeepers and two other customers were full of questions about the shipwreck, unknown to this village before Davies brought news of it. He practised being Mr Lear, although he could answer few questions about how much salvage had washed ashore.

When he left the shop and stopped for another tankard of ale in the taproom, the patrons there had more questions. The extra alcohol made him mellow and, while he talked, a part of his mind wandered to how Miss Brown might appear in the bath, how slick her skin would be, how scented with soap.

Because he had little information about the shipwreck, interest in him waned quickly. He drank more ale in solitude, if not peace. There was nothing peaceful about imagining Miss Brown in the bath. When he eventually carried the packages up the flight of stairs to the room he would share with her, his eagerness to see her made it difficult for him to keep from taking the steps two at a time. He walked down the hall to the door and, balancing the packages in one arm, knocked.

“Come in,” she said.

He paused, took a breath, and opened the door.

She was dressed and seated in a chair by the fireplace, pressing a white towel to her long mahogany brown hair. He inhaled the scent of soap and wanted nothing more than to embrace her, soft and warm and clean.

“You are back,” she said in a breathless voice.

He felt equally as robbed of air. “I tried to give you ample time.”

She twisted the towel around her hair. “I fear you have waited too long. The water has gone quite cold.”

He smiled at her. “It cannot be as cold as what we’ve already experienced.”

She shuddered. “No, it cannot.” Her eyes lifted to his and held him there.

He mentally shook himself loose from her. It was either do that or do something foolish. “The packages,” he said, carrying them over to the table in the corner. He unwrapped one and brought it to her. “I suspect you would like these now.” He handed her the brush and comb he had purchased.

They were crafted from simple tortoiseshell. Tanner thought of how many sets of silver brushes and combs he’d had his former secretary, Flynn, purchase for his mistresses. There was nothing so fine in the Cemaes shop, but Miss Brown’s eyes glowed with excitement when she took the items from his hands.

“Oh, how wonderful,” she cried. “I can comb out the tangles and brush my hair dry.”

No gift he ever gave a mistress had been so gratefully received. He grinned, pleased he had pleased her. She was too busy working the comb through her hair to see.

Tanner strolled over to the tub and felt the water, now on the very cold side of tepid. At home, his valet would be hovering with pots of hot water to add, making certain his bath remained warm from start to finish.

She rose from her chair, still holding the comb. “I could ask Mrs Gwynne for more hot water.”

They faced each other over the tub and it took Tanner a moment to remember to speak. “You cannot go out with your hair wet.”

“I shall put it in a quick plait,” she assured him. “I will need to go out anyway so that you can bathe.”

He could not help gazing at her. It took time for him to compose another thought, that thought being he did not wish her to leave. “Will not the Gwynnes think it odd that Mrs Lear walks to the public rooms with wet hair?” He reached over and fingered a lock, marvelling at how it already shaped itself in a curl. “They would not expect you to leave your husband merely because he bathes.”

She held his gaze, and he fancied her mind working again, mulling over this latest puzzle.

“I believe you are correct.” Her eyes were large and round. “I shall position my chair so that my back is to you, and I will comb my hair with the lovely comb you have purchased for me.”

With resolution, she marched back to her chair and set it to face the fireplace. Tanner watched her pull the comb through her hair, wishing it was his fingers doing the task.

He shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and laid them on the bed. Sitting next to them, he removed his boots and stockings. As he pulled his shirt from his trousers, he watched Miss Brown totally absorbed in combing her hair.

He laughed.

Her comb stilled. “What amuses you?”

He had not realised he’d laughed aloud. “Oh, I was merely thinking that when I’m in the company of a woman, undressing is usually a quite different prospect.”

She paused for a moment and then began combing again. “Have you been in the company of so many women, Tanner?”

He faced her, naked and aroused and wishing she would turn and see the evidence of his desire for her. He wished she would come to him and let him make love to her right at this moment, to the devil with bathing.

Such thoughts were dangerous. He’d promised her he would not touch her. “I have known enough women, I suppose,” he mumbled instead, padding over to the tub, cringing as he tested the water again.

Again she hesitated before speaking. “I suppose you have lots of mistresses.”

He frowned at her assumption of him. “I assure you I am quite a success.” His attempt at a joke fell flat to his ears. Truth was, he tended to be involved with only one woman at a time, and none but the briefest of encounters in this last year. At the moment he was wondering what the appeal had been in any of them.

She cleared her throat. “Are there towels folded nearby? And the soap?”

He walked around the tub to see them. “I’ve found them.”

Bracing himself, he put one leg in the water, which was as cold as he expected. He forced himself to put the other leg in and began lowering the rest of him, making the water splash loudly in the room.

“Ye gods!” He shot up again when the water hit the part of him most sensitive to temperature. “Ah!” he cried again as he lowered himself a second time, but now it was because his ribs hurt from jumping up so fast.

“It is too cold,” Miss Brown said. “I knew I ought to have sought hot water.”

“It is tolerable,” he managed through the pain and the chill.

He picked up the soap and lathered himself as quickly as he could, grateful for having had the foresight to do a fairly decent job of washing his hair that morning. In his rush, the soap slipped out of his hand and fell into the water. He fished around for it, making a lot of noise doing so. When he finally caught it and lifted it out of the water, it slipped from his hand again, this time clattering to the floor and sliding too far away to reach.

“Deuce,” he muttered.

“You’ve dropped the soap?” she asked from her seat facing the fireplace.

“Yes.” This was a damned odd conversation to have when naked with a woman. “It is of no consequence. I believe I am clean enough.”

She stood. “I will fetch it for you.”

“It is not necessary, I assure you.” he told her.

“I do not mind.”

Before he could stop her, she turned to face him. Their gazes caught, but she lowered her lashes and searched for the soap, picking it up and bringing it to him. He quickly glanced down to see how much of himself he was revealing at this moment. The water was too cloudy to see anything.

“There you are.” She placed the bar of soap in his hand as calmly as if she’d been handing him his hat and gloves. After wiping her hand on a nearby towel, she returned to her chair and resumed combing her hair.

Tanner guessed he was as claret-faced as she’d been unflappable. “You are not missish, are you, Miss Brown?”

“Mrs Lear,” she corrected. “And you are correct. I am too old to be missish.”

“Old,” he repeated. “How old are you exactly?”

She chose another lock of hair to work the comb through. “Now that is a question no woman wishes to answer.”

He shot back. “As old as all that, then?”

She turned her head to him and smiled. “I am twenty-five.”

“Good God,” he cried in an exaggerated voice. “You are in your dotage!”

She laughed. “And you, sir, are teasing.”

He liked the sound of her laughter. He also liked that she was not prone to blushes and foolishness like that. He never could abide the young misses who flocked to London during the Season, looking for husbands when they’d barely been let off leading strings. Miss Brown was ever so much more interesting.

He turned back to his bathing, frowning at what it might mean that she was not missish. What was her experience of men, then?

He realised he was merely sitting in the water, which was turning him into gooseflesh.

“I warn you, I am about to rise from this bath and stand up in all my glory.” He started to rise, but stopped. “You may wish to look, seeing as you are not missish.”

He tried to make it sound like a jest, although he wanted her to look at him with a desire matching his own of her.

Because of the cold water, however, a part of him was not showing to its greatest advantage. In fact, it had no glory at all.

“I’ll look away,” She kept her back to him while he dried himself and donned his shirt and trousers.

“It feels glorious to be clean, does it not?” she said.

“Indeed,” he agreed, pressing his hand to his ribs. “But I would be happier if I had a clean shirt.” He picked up one of the packages and walked over to the bureau upon which sat a mirror, a pitcher and a bowl.

She switched to the hairbrush and turned around again. “It must be wretched wearing the same shirt.”

He smiled at her. “It is not that bad. It merely smells like the devil.” He rubbed his chin. “I suppose I shall have to shave myself. Now that is a wretched prospect.”

He unwrapped the package and took out a shaving cup, brush and razor. She picked up the soap and brought it to him, her long dark hair falling about her shoulders in soft waves. He wanted to touch it again. In fact, he wanted to grab a fistful of it.

Their gazes caught for a second when she handed him the soap. She lowered her eyes and walked back to her chair.

He took a deep breath and started to lather his face. “It is a fortunate thing my valet developed a toothache on the day we were to leave for Dublin.”

“I meant to ask you if anyone accompanied you,” she said in a sober voice.

“No one.” Thank God, because he did not wish to have more lives on his conscience. Chin and cheeks lathered, he turned away from the mirror to look at her.

“I am glad of it,” she murmured.

“I am as well,” he responded.

He turned back to the mirror and scraped at his beard. “Pomroy and I once went two weeks without shaving.” He made another stroke with the razor. “We went to one of my hunting lodges, but it rained like the devil. There was nothing to do so we drank great quantities of brandy and grew beards.”

She giggled. “I wonder you had the energy for it.”

“We wagered to see who could grow the longest beard in two weeks.” He smiled. “I won it.”

“Who was charged with measuring?”

“Our poor valets.” He laughed. “We made them switch.” He twirled his finger for emphasis. “Pomroy’s valet measured my beard and my valet measured Pomroy’s. It made the two men very nervous.”

He scraped at his cheek some more until his face was nearly clean of soap, except for tiny lines here and there. He rinsed off with the clean water and dried his face.

He presented himself to her. “How did I do?”

To his surprise, she reached up to stroke his face. “You did well,” she murmured.

The part of him that had retreated during his bath retreated no more. He leaned closer to her, so close he saw the lines of light and dark blue in her eyes. Her hand stilled, but her fingers still touched his cheek.

He wanted to breathe her name into the decreasing space between them, if only he knew it.

There was a loud knock on the door.

“Deuce,” he murmured instead.

He walked to the door. “Who is it?”

“It is Mrs Gwynne, lamb. If you are finished with your bathing, we’ve come to fetch the tub.”

He glanced over to Miss Brown. She nodded.

“You may fetch the tub.” He opened the door.

Removing the bath was almost as laborious as filling it had been. The maids had to make several trips. The towels were gathered up for laundering and, when all this was accomplished, Mr Gwynne appeared to carry the copper tub out of the room. Mrs Gwynne remained the whole time, chatting in her friendly way, pleased, Tanner suspected, that she had made her guests so happy.

“Now,” the innkeeper’s wife went on. “If you would care to come to the taproom, we have a nice supper. We also could give you a private parlour for dining. Or, if you prefer, we’ll bring the food to you here.”

“It shall be as my wife desires.” He turned to Miss Brown.

As his wife desires, Marlena repeated to herself, her heart pounding at the way his voice dipped low when he spoke the word wife. He spoke the word softly, intimately, as if he had indeed kissed her as he had been about to do. Her whole body tingled with excitement.

“I should like to stay here,” Marlena responded.

She did not want to break this spell, this camaraderie between them, this atmosphere that had almost led to a kiss.

“We are commanded, Mrs Gwynne.” Tanner smiled at the woman.

Marlena enjoyed Tanner’s teasing manner. She and Eliza had not known of his good humour all those years ago, something that would undoubtedly have given them more to sigh over. Now his light-heartedness made her forget she was running for her life.

Mrs Gwynne said, “We shall be back directly.”

After she left, Marlena asked, “Did you truly agree, Tanner? With having supper here in the room?”

He walked back to her, and lowered himself in the chair adjacent to the one she had been sitting in. He winced as he stretched out his long legs. “I wanted to do what you wanted.”

She did not miss that his sides still pained him.

“It is just that my hair is not yet dry,” she rattled on. “And I do not wish to put it up yet.” And also that she liked being alone with him in this temporary haven.

“You do not have to convince me. Your desire of it is sufficient.” His eyes rested softly upon her.

Her desires had never been sufficient for her husband to do what she asked. Early in her marriage she’d learned that Corland’s desires took precedence and that she must do what he wanted or he would be in a foul mood. Later in their three-year marriage, she had not cared enough to attempt to please him.

It occurred to her that she had been on the run for as long as she had been married. In a way, Corland still directed her life. It was a mystery to her why Wexin had killed Corland, but because of it, she was on the run.

Marlena fiddled with the brush in her hands, disliking the intrusion of Corland and Wexin in her time with Tanner.

How would it have felt if Tanner had, indeed, kissed her?

It had been so long since a man had kissed her. Corland’s ardour for her, mild at best, had cooled after the first year of their marriage, after her money had dwindled and his debts increased. After she discovered his many peccadilloes. Actresses, ballet dancers, their housemaid.

Her last sight of her husband flashed into her mind, lying face up on the bed, eyes gaping sightlessly, naked body covered in blood.

She shuddered and glanced at Tanner, so gloriously alive, so masculine even as he slouched in his chair.

His expression had sobered. “What is it?”

She blinked. “I do not understand what you mean.”

He gestured towards her. “You were thinking of something. Something disturbing, I’d wager.”

She averted her gaze. “Nothing, I assure you.”

When she glanced back at him, he frowned, and the peaceful, intimate feelings she’d had a moment before fled.

All she need do was think of Corland and clouds thickened.

There had been a time when she blamed all her woes on her husband. He was to blame for many things—his gambling, his debts, his affairs—but he would never have done to her what her own cousin had done. Who could have guessed Wexin was capable of such treachery?

Was Wexin still among Tanner’s friends? she wondered. If she had so difficult a time believing what her cousin had done, surely Tanner would not believe it.

“Do not be angry with me, Tanner,” she murmured.

His brows rose in surprise. “I am not angry.” He gave her a very intent look. “I merely wish you would tell me what cloud came over you. Tell me your secrets. Trust me. I know I will be able to fix whatever is wrong.”

She shook her head.

“Then at least tell me your name,” he persisted, putting that teasing tone back into his voice, but still looking at her with serious eyes. “Tell me your given name. I gave you mine. Adam. When we are private together, let me address you with one name that belongs to you.”

She stared back at him.

Would he know the Vanishing Viscountess by her given name? Would her name be enough to identify her as Wexin’s cousin, Corland’s widow, the young girl who’d had such a tendre for him at age eighteen that she blushed whenever he walked past her?

Marlena had been named for a distant French relative who’d died on the guillotine in the year of her birth. She had been Miss Parronley to everyone, save childhood friends and family and Eliza. And Wexin, of course. Even the newspapers after Corland’s death and her flight had never printed her given name. She could not think of a single instance when Tanner would have heard of the name Marlena and, if he had, would never associate it with the Vanishing Viscountess. She opened her mouth to speak.

Tanner stood, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Never mind.” He ambled over to the window. “Forgive me for pressing you.”

The moment to tell him had passed. Her body relaxed, but she grieved the loss of the easy banter between them.

“I asked Mr Gwynne about coaches,” he said, still looking out of the window. “I told him we were travelling north.” He turned to her.

“Yes, I wish to travel north,” she said.

“To Scotland, correct?”

She nodded.

“Well, Mr Gwynne’s recommendation was to take a packet to Liverpool.” He looked at her intently. “Where in Scotland?”

She bit her lip.

He made a frustrated sound and turned away.

“Edinburgh,” she said quickly. “I wish to go to Edinburgh.”

He turned back, lifting a brow. “Is Edinburgh your home?”

She hesitated again.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I ought to have known not to ask.”

She turned away, her muscles tensing. “A ship.”

“Could you bear it?” His voice turned soft.

She faced him again and saw sympathy in his eyes. “If I must.”

“It sails in the morning.”

“I will be ready.” She would get on the packet, in any event, no matter if her courage accompanied her or not. She stood, but was hesitant to approach him. “What will you do?”

His brows rose. “Why, accompany you, of course. It would look odd otherwise.”

She released her breath. The ship would be a little less terrifying with Tanner at her side.

Liverpool would certainly be big enough a town for her to pass through unnoticed. From there she could catch a coach, perhaps to Glasgow first, then on to Edinburgh.

So close to Parronley. Her estate. Her people. One place for which she yearned, but dared not go.

She was Baroness Parronley, a baroness in her own right. The Parronley barony was one of the few that included daughters in the line of succession, but Marlena would have preferred not to inherit. It meant losing her dear brother Niall and his two little sons. Her brother and nephews perished of typhoid fever. So unexpected. So tragic.

Marlena had been with Eliza in Ireland when they read the account in a London newspaper that Eliza’s husband had had sent to him. Marlena could not even mourn them, her closest family. She could not wear black for them, could not lay flowers on their graves.

With the shipwreck she would eventually be pronounced dead, the end of a baroness who had never had the chance to claim her title, the end of the Parronleys. Wexin would inherit. Her people, the people of Parronley, would be in the hands of a murderer.

Another knock on the door sounded, and Mrs Gwynne herself brought in their supper on a big tray. Two steaming meat pies, a pot of tea, and a tall tankard of ale.

Tanner took the tray from the woman’s hands and set it on the table. “Ah, thank you, Mrs Gwynne. You even remembered ale.”

She beamed and rubbed her hands on her apron. “After all these years, I ought to know what a man wants.”

He smiled at her. “You knew what this man wants.” He lifted the tankard to his lips and took a long swallow.

After the woman left, Marlena picked at her food. The camaraderie she’d shared with Tanner had disappeared. They ate in silence.

As she watched him finish the last of the crumbs of the meat pie’s crust, she blurted out, “You do not have to travel to Liverpool with me, if you do not wish it.”

He looked up at her with a mild expression. “I do not mind the trip.”

She sipped her cup of tea. “If it were not for me, you would probably be headed for London tomorrow.”

“Probably,” he responded.

She regarded him. “I do not even know if there is someone in London awaiting your return.”

His eyes clouded. “The usual people, I suppose.”

She flushed, embarrassed that she had not considered what his life might be like now. He had been the marquess of her memory, dashing and carefree and unmarried. “Forgive me, but I do not know if you are married. If you are—”

“I am not married,” he replied, his voice catching as he pressed his hand to his side. “A delay in my return should not inconvenience anyone overmuch. My affairs are well managed and rarely require my attention.”

She felt a disquieting sense of sadness from him. Still, that once innocent, hopeful débutante brightened.

He was not married.

Their meal struggled on with even fewer words spoken until Mrs Gwynne again knocked. Tanner rose stiffly.

“I’ve come for your dishes, lamb,” she said as he opened the door. “But first I have something for you.” She placed folded white garments into his hands. “Nightclothes for you.”

“Thank you,” Marlena exclaimed, surprised again at the woman’s kindness. She placed their dishes on the tray.

“That is good of you, Mrs Gwynne.” Tanner took the garments and placed them on the bed. “Might we purchase them from you?”

The woman waved a hand at him. “Oh, I hate to ask you for money after all you have been through.”

“I insist,” he said.

Mrs Gwynne gave him a motherly pat on the cheek. “Then we will settle up tomorrow, Mr Lear. Is there anything else you might require?”

“I can think of nothing.” He turned to Marlena.

She shook her head and handed Mrs Gwynne the tray full of dishes. She walked over to open the door for the woman.

Marlena stopped her before she crossed the threshold. “Wait.” She glanced over to Tanner. “Would it be possible for someone to launder my—my husband’s shirt? He would so like it to be clean.”

Mrs. Gwynne brightened. “It would indeed be possible. I’ll see to it myself and dry it in front of the fire.” She stepped over to Tanner again. “Give it over, lamb.”

Tanner glanced at Marlena before pulling the shirt over his head and draping it over Mrs Gwynne’s arm. “Thank you again.”

The innkeeper’s wife smiled and bustled out of the room.

Tanner turned to Marlena. “That was thoughtful of you.”

His skin glowed gold in the light from the oil lamp and the fireplace, but he was no less magnificent than he’d appeared that morning or as he bathed. Just as one is tempted to touch a statue, Marlena was tempted to run her fingers down his chest, to feel his sculpted muscles for herself.

She resisted. “No more thoughtful than you asking for my bath. I would say we are even now, except for the matter of you saving my life.”

His mouth curved into a half-smile. “We are even on that score, as well. Do you not recall hitting Mr Davies-the-Younger over the head?”

“I am appalled at that family, the lot of them.” She shook her head.

He smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score.”

He picked up one of the garments Mrs Gwynne had brought them and put it on, covering his spectacular chest. “I’ll walk down with you to the necessary, before we go to bed.”

Go to bed repeated itself in her mind.

The sky was dark when they stepped outside to the area behind the inn where the necessary was located. Marlena was glad Tanner was with her. The darkness disquieted her, as if it harboured danger in its shadows.

When they returned to the room, he said, “Spare me a blanket and pillow and I will sleep on the floor.”

“No, you will not,” she retorted, her voice firm. There was no way she would allow the man who had rescued her to suffer through such discomfort. “Not with those sore ribs of yours. You must sleep in the bed.”

He seized her arm and made her look at him. “I’ll not allow you to sleep on the floor.”

Her heart pounded as she looked directly into his eyes. “Then we must share the bed.”

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