Page 19 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“I don’t know.” She was whispering now, her voice barely more than a breath managed between her wild exhales.
“Tell me where, love,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. His fingernails dug violently into the carpet.Control. Control.“Where did you leave him?”
She buried her face in his neck and he bit back a sound in his throat. Christ, she hadn’t been this close to him since . . . since the night of their wedding. That had been the last time she had trusted him to hold her like this.
Four years ago.
“My bedchamber,” she said. When he jerked in surprise, she only huddled closer. “He was going to take me somewhere. I don’t know where. I’m sorry about your man’s death.” Her tears wet his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”
“Shh,” Thorne said again. He gathered Alex into his arms and helped her into the nearby leather chair. “Sit here.” But when he moved away, she grasped his shirt to keep him close. Thorne stroked her cheek. “Give me a moment, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere, all right?”
She nodded, and Thorne rang the service bell for O’Sullivan.
Moments later, the factotum gave a discreet knock and opened the door. When he saw Alex in Thorne’s chair, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Taking the night off?”
Thorne ignored the question. “I’m going to need a clean up,” he said. “The Earl of Kent’s residence in St. James’s. Two bodies—and have the lads do a sweep. I wanna know if anyone’s hanging around who shouldn’t be. Tell ‘em to be quick and quiet, then take the corpses to the docks. Stage a scene, call the coppers. Pay them not to ask questions.”
O’Sullivan’s expression sharpened. “O’Malley? He was watching her, wasn’t he?”
Alex made a soft sound, and Thorne reached over to grasp her hand. “It’s all right, love.” Then, to O’Sullivan: “Have Samuel tell O’Malley’s widow the news. Make sure she knows she’ll be taken care of.”
“Fuck,” O’Sullivan breathed, allowing himself one show of emotion before straightening, all business. The factotum was used to cleaning up messes for other men. Back when they were lads, it was his job.
“And Mrs. Thorne? Would she like anything?”
Thorne answered for her. “A bath, please. And some of our best brandy. Send it up to my suite.”
Once they were alone, Alex murmured, “I don’t like brandy.”
“You don’t have to like it to need it.” He buttoned up Alex’s cloak to hide her night rail. The last thing he needed was a maid seeing her like this. Thorne helped her to her feet, but her legs were unsteady. “I’m gonna carry you to my suite, all right?”
After a short hesitation, she gave a nod.
Thorne swung her into his arms and started down the hallway. Alex rested her forehead against his neck with a sigh that made him want to pause and check her over again. Hold her closer. Never let her go.
But he only mounted the stairs and asked, “You tired?”
“No.” She sounded exhausted.
Thorne made a soft noise. “You telling the truth?”
“Maybe.”
He stroked a hand across her shoulder and asked her, very quietly, “You afraid to sleep?” She didn’t answer, and for a moment he wondered if she’d already passed out. But when he looked, he found Alex staring up at him with an expression full of uncertainty. Aye, she was afraid. “What if I promised I’d stay by your side tonight?”
“I don’t believe your promises.”
Nick held back a flinch. He deserved that one. “Then I won’t promise. You know my reputation?” The flicker across her face indicated she did. “Then I’ll put out the word. Anyone else tries to hurt you, their life is mine.”
Either she heard the conviction in his voice, or she was too weary to argue. By the time they reached his suite, she was already asleep.
Thorne held her as the maids filled the copper tub in the mosaic bathing room and set out a decanter of brandy. He stroked her cheek, careful not to mar her skin with blood that transferred from her clothes to his hands. He wasn’t certain why—she could clean it off, and he ought to have grown accustomed to sullying her by now—but this single act seemed important. Even while masquerading as Nicholas Spencer, he had never felt clean enough to touch her. Didn’t matter how often he bathed, or how well he scrubbed, it wasn’t good enough.
Hewasn’t good enough.
Fancy clothes and a fake accent couldn’t change a man’s past.
When the maids finished, Thorne dismissed them and gently shook his wife. “Alex. Wake up, sweetheart.”
