The Lady Who Came in from the Cold(17)

Yet despite all her success, the confidence she’d earned by right, she’d never lost her vulnerability with him. After every glittering ball she threw, she’d always ask him, a hint of anxiety in her eyes, “What did you think, Marcus? Did you enjoy it?”

The knot tightened in his chest. How could he reconcile the loving wife who’d dedicated herself to pleasing him with the devious ex-spy who’d been lying to him for the entirety of their marriage?

He… couldn’t. Perhaps it wasn’t possible.

Enjoy the bloody walk. Don’t think about it now.

Pushing aside his turmoil, he cleared his throat. “Who will we be expecting?” He asked not because he cared but because he wanted to prolong this domestic conversation. To linger for a little longer in this oasis of normality.

“The usual off-Season crowd: the Temples, Osterwicks, Knowles. Oh, the Hartefords will be there as well as Lady Helena is recuperating in Town.”

“Recuperating?”

“From childbirth.”

Marcus felt the resonance of sorrow and saw it in the trembling of his wife’s lips. Despite the three years that had passed since they’d laid their stillborn child into the ground, the memory of loss quivered between them. It was yet another reminder of the intricate connections that bound them, invisible threads spun by time and shared experience. It flitted through his head that grief as well as joy could cement the bricks of a marriage.

“From what I hear, Lady Helena is doing well,” Penny said quietly.

“I’m glad,” he said.

Lord Nicholas and Lady Helena Harteford were more acquaintances than friends to them, but this was due mainly to the fact that the couple spent most of their time at their country estate. Whenever he and Penny did see the other pair, conversation flowed easily as they had much in common. Both couples had married around the same time and shared the experience of raising little hellions. Indeed, the Hartefords’ three boys made James, Ethan, and Owen appear sedate by comparison.

“Girl?” he inquired.

Penny’s lips curved wryly, and she shook her head.

“Poor Harteford,” he said ruefully.

“Poor Lady Harteford. She’s entirely outnumbered.” His wife smiled at him.

At that moment, they walked into a patch of sun, the glow illuminating her. Diamonds of ice clung to her dark lashes. The ermine lining of her hood was no match for the downy perfection of her skin, the richness of her red coat setting off her vivid coloring.

God, but her beauty affected him, its impact as visceral as a fist in the gut. It had been this way from the start, and despite everything, he knew it would be this way until his dying breath.

Devil take it.

Tamping down the crazed urge to pull her into his arms, he cleared his throat, said gruffly, “Who else is coming?”

“I invited Carlisle as you requested. Both he and his brother Mr. Murray gave affirmative replies.” A furrow formed between her brows. “Carlisle’s not usually one for parties. I’m rather surprised that he agreed to come.”

Marcus wasn’t surprised. During his stay with his friend, it had become clear that there was only one way out of Carlisle’s financial dilemma. As the viscount had cynically put it, “I’ve got a title to sell off, and I’ll look for the highest bidder. It’s a business arrangement pure and simple. As long as that’s made clear, no reason marriage should interfere with my life.”

The man had a lot to learn.

“Carlisle’s turning over a new leaf,” he said noncommittally. “Who else?”

“The Ashleys. Lady Cora most definitely and her husband possibly.”

Marcus didn’t miss the edge to his wife’s tone. For some reason, she’d never liked the Countess of Ashley, in spite of the fact that she had been the one to lure Marcus away from the other—not that he’d needed much luring. One look at Penny had blinded him to other women. In the past, he’d secretly found his wife’s possessiveness amusing and not a little arousing, but now it struck an unpleasant chord in him.

What did she have to be jealous about? He’d never carried on in secret with Cora or with anyone. He’d kept his vows, been honest and fully disclosing for the whole of his marriage—unlike his wife who’d lied about her past, about her other men.

Just like that, peace fled him. His shoulders bunched, his blood pumping hotly.

“Papa! Over here!” Jamie’s voice penetrated his angry haze. His eldest son was waving at him, standing by the far edge of the park. “I think I’ve found a burrow of some sort. But I can’t be sure what kind of animal made it.”

Marcus drew a breath, glad for the interruption. “I’ll be right there, son,” he called. To Pandora, he said curtly, “I’ll go see what he’s found.”

“Of course.”

The hurt returned to her eyes, but he couldn’t do a damn about it. Better to walk away than to let loose what was roiling inside him. He strode toward Jamie, fuming that the worst thing she’d done wasn’t just betraying his trust. No, it was that she’d made him doubt himself.

He’d always been a man who’d known his own mind. Hell, he’d commanded an entire battalion, made snap decisions that had affected the lives of countless others, and never faltered. Never wavered. Since Pandora’s revelations, however, his thoughts had been like a teeter-totter, going back and forth with galling ambivalence. His mood could shift wildly from one moment to the next, so much so that he thought he might be going mad.

He barely knew himself, and he hated it.

Shaking off his dour thoughts, he approached Jamie. “Now where’s this burrow?”

“Right here, Papa.” Jamie pointed excitedly at a hole in the snow by the base of a tree. “I think it may be a rabbit or possum—”

“Get down from there right this instant, Owen!”

Penny’s urgent words made Marcus spin around. His heart rammed into his chest as he saw his youngest son balancing on the branch of an oak tree, some fifteen feet off the ground.

“But Mama I can walk just like Madame Magnifique,” the boy sang, taking a step on the icy ledge. “Look at me—”

His words ended in a shriek as he lost his balance, tumbling, his arms flailing.

Marcus was already racing over, but Penny got there first, her arms outstretched. Their son plowed into her, and she took his full weight, falling backward with a thud. Her head hit the icy ground with a heart-halting crack.

He reached them the next second. With practiced swiftness learned on the battlefield, he ascertained that Owen was stunned but unharmed. He lifted the boy off Penny and parked him at his side, barking, “Stay here and don’t move.”

Owen nodded, his lips trembling. “Is Mama…?”

Pulse pounding, Marcus tore off his gloves and gently examined his wife. Her eyes were closed, but there was no blood. Nothing broken as far as he could tell. Her pulse was weak but steady.

“Penny, love,” he said urgently. “Open your eyes.”

Nothing. His gut clenched.

Pounding footsteps marked the arrival of Jamie and Ethan.

“Is Mama all right?” they blurted as one.

“She’ll be fine.” Hoarsely, Marcus said, “Wake up, Penny. You don’t want the boys to worry, do you?”

An eternity seemed to pass before her lashes fluttered up, revealing dazed violet eyes.

Thank God. Thank bloody God.

“Owen…?” she whispered.

Marcus forced the words through the fierce constriction of his throat. “He’s fine. It’s you we have to worry about.” With utmost care, he lifted her into his arms. “All right?”

“I’m fine. Just the wind… knocked out of me,” she said, her voice breathless. “I can walk.”

His heart knocking against his chest, Marcus carried her to the house, their sons following behind.





Chapter Thirteen



“Are you certain I can’t get you anythin’ else, milady?” Jenny said as she cleared away the breakfast tray. “Another pillow, more blankets—”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Penny assured the ginger-haired maid. “There’s no need to fuss.”

“Well, you gave us a fright, you did, milady. All o’ us. Waitin’ for the doctor to finish with you last night, I ne’er saw the young masters so still and somber like. And ’is lordship nigh paced a trench in the drawing room.”

Warmth unfurled in Penny’s belly. “He was worried for me?”

“Beside ’imself, ’e was.” Jenny smiled, her eyes brightening. “The kind o’ worry that puts water ’neath the bridge, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Penny wasn’t surprised that Jenny had noticed the rift between her and Marcus. After all, the maid was used to walking in and finding Marcus in Penny’s bed. His absence and the tension between them outside the bedchamber must have caused speculation, and Penny wondered what the staff thought of the chill between master and mistress of the house.

“Is there much talk below stairs?” she asked.

Through the years, the maid’s loyalty had proved unwavering. Penny trusted the other not only to be discreet but to tell her the truth. Jenny was worth her weight in gold.

“Some, milady,” Jenny admitted, “but ev’ryone knows ’ow much the master dotes upon you, so most think it’s a tiff. The kind that’s part an’ parcel o’ any marriage. And like I said, ’is lordship’s wearing out the carpet with ’is worry over you as we speak. ’E wouldn’t do that if is ’eart weren’t true, would ’e now?”