Chapter 31

Andrew was having a lovely dream. It was nothing specific, just a sense of comfort and rightness. He also felt strangely…light, as if a pallet of bricks had been lifted off his chest.

Odd, that. Because not until that moment had he even noticed how heavy his heart had felt.

He opened his eyes and was temporarily disoriented. First, by the strange bed and slanted roof he could see above him.

And then by the small body that so tightly knitted to his.

Stacia .

He smiled just thinking the name and glanced down at the head burrowed into his chest. Her breathing was that of a person in deep sleep.

And she felt utterly delicious.

Unfortunately, he needed to use the chamber pot.

He also needed to begin working on the attic door, even though he hated the thought of damaging it. But…needs must.

Andrew kissed her head and carefully extricated himself from her tight embrace. He covered her with the blanket, turned toward the screen, and then almost leapt out of his skin when he saw a man in the wingchair he had begun to think of as his.

Chatham.

After a quick glance at the door—which was open—he searched for his drawers in the tangle of clothing on the floor, slipped into them, and went behind the screen to take care of business before washing his hands and face in cold water and facing his cousin.

The duke looked up at him without speaking, his expression weary in the light of the guttering candle.

Andrew dressed without speaking, donning everything except his cravat and boots. He shoved the former in his pocket and picked up the latter before walking quietly toward the door.

Rather than stand in the suffocating stairwell, he descended to the corridor below. The instant he stepped outside the linen closet he saw he was not alone. The duchess waited, arms crossed over her chest, her expression as unreadable as ever. When she pushed off the wall and strode toward the secret stairwell he shook his head.

"She is sleeping." He pulled out his watch. It was far earlier than he thought—barely two o'clock. "I will wake her shortly."

The duchess looked as if she wanted to argue, but gave an abrupt nod as the duke joined her.

Andrew bent to pull on his boot and asked his cousin, "How did you find us?"

"Kathryn told us."

Andrew's eyebrows shot up.

"Not voluntarily," the duke added.

"I assume the house has been in an uproar searching for us? Or did they assume we headed for the border?"

"Neither. Nobody even knew you were missing."

Andrew paused in the act of pulling on his second boot. "But… how ?"

"Kathryn is devious, I must give her that." Sylvester chuckled, received a look of disbelief from his wife, and then quickly smothered his amusement and said, "She made it seem that you'd gone to look at a horse somewhere and that Miss Martin was bedridden with a terrible cold."

"And nobody noticed or bothered to check on her?" His gaze slid to the duchess. "Not even her employer?"

"My mother is a hypochondriac and feared catching whatever had forced Miss Martin to take to her bed."

"So… nobody knows but you two?"

They both nodded.

Andrew gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Now there is an outcome I never anticipated."

Chatham frowned at him and Andrew could read the question in his cousin's eyes as clearly as if Sylvester had shouted it at him.

"It is not what you think," he said quietly, holding his cousin's gaze.

The duke's jaw worked—as if he wanted to ask something. After a moment, he gave an abrupt nod. "I hope so," was all he said.

"She will not marry me," Andrew said. "And I will not force her to."

Chatham inhaled until Andrew thought his chest might explode and then nodded grimly. "She is of age—four-and-twenty, Kathryn said"—Andrew nodded—"then the choice is her own." He glanced at his wife who nodded without hesitation.

"The choice is hers," she repeated firmly. "What of her family?"

"She has a maternal aunt who appears to have disowned her and, then there is a cousin who inherited her father's title and property." Andrew scowled as he thought about the man who'd essentially thrown Stacia out on her arse. "The reason she works is because of him. There is nobody else."

After a moment the duchess said, "Everyone except us is in bed. If you go and wake her, I will escort her back to her chambers. It will raise far fewer questions than if she is seen with either of you at this hour."

Andrew knew that was true, and yet it was hard to make himself agree. "Very well. Give me a quarter of an hour?"

The duke and duchess nodded.

And then Andrew turned and made the short journey back up the stairs.

***

"Sweetheart?"

Stacia smiled. She loved it when Andrew called her that. She snuggled deeper under the delightfully warm blankets, reaching for the big warm body she'd just been pressed against.

And frowned when she encountered nothing but bedding. "Andrew?" she murmured, unwilling to wake from her happy dream.

Gentle fingers carded her hair off her forehead and soft lips pressed far too briefly against hers. "Stacia, love. You need to wake up."

"Just a little longer," she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer.

His low chuckle warmed her. "I would love to crawl in beside you, but the door is open, and we must make haste to return you to your chambers while we have the opportunity."

Stacia's eyes flew open, and she scrambled upright, her head swiveling toward the attic door, which was indeed open. "You opened it!"

"Not exactly." Andrew stood and the mattress shifted dramatically with the loss of his weight.

Stacia squinted up at him. "You are dressed. How long have—"

"Not long." He gestured to the foot of the bed. "Your clothing is all there—a bit wrinkled, I'm afraid, but that cannot be helped. I found several hairpins and put them near the wash basin along with the brush and comb from the trunk. There is already hot water waiting for you in the basin. We have enough time for a quick cup of tea before we go."

Stacia swallowed at his crisp tone and hurried to comply, realizing that Andrew must have lighted some candles while she'd slept because she had no trouble making her way to the screened area.

Her mind whirled while she washed her face, brushed and re-plaited her hair, and then dressed in everything except her boots, which must still be by the settee, where she'd shucked them so she could prowl around Andrew's body quietly.

Stacia shoved the memory aside as she stepped outside the screen.

Andrew was already seated and setting out cups and saucers. He smiled up at her when she took a seat on the settee.

"Good news," he said.

"Oh?" she asked, bending over to slip on her boots and button them.

"Our captor managed to keep our disappearance secret."

Stacia's eyes widened. " What ? How?"

He handed her a cup and saucer. "Drink your tea while I tell you what happened.

Stacia listened in stunned silence as Andrew explained her illness and his sudden trip to…somewhere.

"Nobody else guessed?" she asked.

He took a sip of tea. "Only Sylvester and the duchess and that's because they saw Drake in his stall."

"So that means the servants know."

"Only the stable lads—which is who Kathryn bribed to move Drake from his stall whenever Higgins did his inspection. Oh, and the maid, Dora."

Stacia gave him a mocking look.

"What?" he asked.

"I keep forgetting that most people of our class have no idea what goes on below stairs," she said dryly.

"Are you saying the entire staff knows?"

"I am guessing all but the uppermost servants. If Davis or Mrs. Nutter had known they would have told their employer."

He nodded slowly and pursed his lips. "I see." He cocked his head at her. "I don't suppose you would change your mind about marrying me?"

"My reputation is intact. There is no reason to marry." She set down her cup and saucer with a clatter.

"Your reputation is not the only reason I asked, Stacia."

She stared at him, trying to see beyond his beautiful eyes and charming smile to the man inside the body. But he was as polished and charming as ever.

He was lying—being a gentleman.

Stacia shook her head. "I cannot."

His eyebrows rose. "I suppose that is better than I don't want to ."

Stacia snorted. "Is there a young woman in England who doesn't want to marry you?"

"You, apparently."

She sighed. "You don't want this, my lord. And I do not want a husband who has been forced by circumstance—or conscience," she hurriedly added when he opened his mouth to argue.

He stared at his half-full teacup for a moment and then looked up, no longer smiling. "I have enjoyed my time with you more than any woman in over a decade. When I asked you to marry me, it was for me ." He smiled, and it was…wistful. "You won't believe me because I don't recall meeting you before—not just once, but evidently dozens of times—and because, in your heart, you cannot forget how I described you that night in the conservatory."

Stacia wanted to deny it, but it was part of the reason she could not marry him, if not the most important part, which was far too humiliating for her to lay out for him.

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to change your mind?"

Tell me you love me.

"Do you hesitate because you have given your heart to another man?"

Stacia's head whipped up at his question.

"If that is the case, I will not bother you further," he said when she didn't immediately answer.

Here is your chance to put an end to this. Once and for all.

"I do not love another man," she said.

Was that relief on his face?

"Then I reiterate—is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

She tried to force out the word no , but it wouldn't come. It was too final—too painful—no matter how badly she needed to say it.

Coward that she was, she said, "Come find me in a year. If you still feel the same way, I will say yes ."

"A year," he repeated.

She nodded.

"Are you saying that because you think I won't remember who you are in a year?"

Something about his glittering gaze was dangerous.

"No. I believe you will remember me this time." And she meant it. "I am saying you will feel differently once you have had time to consider the foolishness of your offer." And she meant that, too.

His jaw flexed, but he nodded, soundlessly set down his own cup and saucer, and stood. "We should not keep the duke and duchess waiting any longer."