“The reason you can’t go to the meeting with Roscoe is the same-if anything, even more so. If you were seen entering or leaving his house, regardless of the circumstances, your reputation would be shredded irretrievably.” That caused her frown-the quality of it-to change. His eyes on her face, what he could see of it, he strolled slowly on. “Roscoe lives in Pimlico, in well-to-do affluence. If Gallagher was unlikely to pose a physical threat, Roscoe is even less likely-that would be totally and comprehensively uncharacteristic. Roscoe would think it beneath him to resort to violence of any sort.”

He drew breath, then quietly said, “So you don’t need to worry about me when I go to see him.”

She didn’t say anything, simply kept walking by his side. Then she glanced at him, quickly read his eyes, then once more looked ahead. And sighed-tightly, but a little of her dangerous tension slipped away. “I know it’s irrational-you don’t have to tell me, I know. I didn’t feel this way-well, not so strongly-before, when you went away to war, but now…” She gestured helplessly. “I can’t help how I feel. And what I feel-and when I feel…”

“It affects you strongly.” Raising her hand, he kissed her fingers. “I know. I understand.” She wouldn’t feel so powerfully unless she loved him even more powerfully.

He knew those feeling irrational fears couldn’t simply stop. And in her case, before, his “going into danger” had indeed been the prelude to something disastrous happening in her life; small wonder that she reacted badly to any such situation now.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to see Roscoe with Dalziel and Justin in the morning, then I’ll come back-directly back-and tell you what happens, what he says, what we learn-what the status is regarding the sale of the company.”

The telltale tension that had kept her ramrod stiff beside him ebbed step by step. Eventually she glanced at him, met his eyes. “You promise you’ll come directly back?”

He smiled slightly, turned her around and started them back toward Piccadilly. “Word of an Allardyce.”

She nodded and looked ahead. “Good.” After a moment she added, “I’ll be waiting.”

But that was for the morrow. That night they met at his aunt Cordelia’s house, first in her drawing room, then later they sat side by side at her long table while a highly select company dined.

It was primarily a political gathering, a renewal of contacts before the autumn session got under way; discussions ranged widely. Now he was Dearne, and fixed once more at home, Christian knew he would need to take a more active interest. Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered Letitia was more than qualified to advise him.

When he cocked a brow at her-Randall had held no seat in either the Commons or the Lords-she shrugged. “I act as Papa’s surrogate of sorts. I keep an eye on events, and if I tell him his vote is needed, he’ll grumble but come down to cast it. These days Justin could do the job, but with their falling out, the task has remained with me.” She glanced around the table. The ladies had yet to retire, primarily because they were, one and all, too deeply involved in the discussions going on. “It’s at events such as this that one hears the true story. Not just what the news sheets say, not just what the Prime Minister might decree, but the true nature of affairs underlying the decisions, or forming the basis for those yet to come.”

She looked back at him. “Do you plan to be active in Parliament?”

He met her gaze. “Until I know more, I can’t say, but…if one holds a seat in the Lords by virtue of one’s birth, it seems incumbent on one to do what the job requires-just like any other part of the duties of a marquess.”

She considered him for a moment, then nodded. Looking about the table, she murmured, “In that case, you might want to consider…”

Over the next twenty minutes, she gave him a concise political history of those about the table, the ladies included. With the discussions still raging, Cordelia dispensed with the customary separation and the whole company rose and adjourned to the drawing room.

They circulated, then Cordelia swooped, captured Letitia and bore her off to clarify some point with two other ladies-leaving Christian to fall victim to Lady Osbaldestone.

Watching Letitia’s back-wondering if, once they left, he could persuade her to walk across the square rather than around the corner into South Audley Street-he didn’t even know that terrifying dame had him in her sights until he felt something strike his foot. Glancing down, he discovered it was her cane; he looked up and met her eyes, blacker than night, sharp and shrewd.

“You could do much worse,” she regally informed him, “than to follow what is clearly your inclination. Indeed, there are many of us who view Letitia’s previous marriage as a regrettable if unavoidable aberration, one that should be wiped from the collective conscious of the ton.” Her eyes bored into his. “We’re counting on you to accomplish that task. See you don’t let us down.”

With that, she inclined her head and moved on to her next target.

Letitia reappeared moments later. “Lady Osbaldestone said you were looking for me.”

He’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Indeed. I think we should leave. There’s something I should tell you, but not here.”

She agreed readily enough. They took their leave of Cordelia-who to Christian’s alerted eyes looked far too satisfied-then walked out into the night.

Once they’d gained the pavement, Letitia wrapped her shawl more snugly about her shoulders. “What did you want to tell me?”

Christian took her hand and drew her to walk beside him. He crossed the street and headed around the deserted square; the gates to the park in the center were locked at sunset. “Did you know that some of the ladies-who exactly, I don’t know, but Lady Osbaldestone at least-suspect you had some…for want of a better word, ulterior motive for marrying Randall?”

He glanced at her, saw the face she pulled. “I always worried they might-they’re so sharp-eyed, nothing much escapes them-but while Randall was alive, they kept their suspicions to themselves. I’d hoped they would continue to do so.”

“They are, they will…I think.” They would as long as he did as they wished.

“I gather she spoke to you-what did she say?”

“In her usual inimitable fashion she was cryptic, but I gathered she and they, whoever ‘they’ encompasses, were not at all happy about you marrying Randall.”

“They weren’t. But now he’s dead, so…” She shrugged. Frowning, eyes down, she kept pace beside him.

They’d reached the other side of the square. He led her up his steps, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for his latch key.

Only when they halted before the door did she look up and realize.

“This is your house.” Letitia looked at Christian.

He shrugged. “My bed’s bigger than yours.”

An unarguable point.

When he simply held her gaze, and waited, she inwardly shrugged. She waved to the door. “All right. Just as long as you remember to wake me up in time to walk me home.”

He smiled and opened the door. The truth was, she felt more comfortable there, in his house, than she ever had in Randall’s. And she had far greater faith in Percival’s discretion than she had in Mellon’s.

As it transpired, Percival wasn’t there to greet them.

Christian noticed her looking down the front hall. “I told Percival not to wait up.”

Of course he had. She caught his gaze as he drew her to the stairs. “You planned this-bringing me here.”

“Of course.” He looked ahead as they started climbing. “I told you there was something I wanted to tell you, and I can only tell you that here. Upstairs.”

She arched her brows, but he didn’t meet her gaze again, didn’t add anything as he led her to his bedroom.

He didn’t, in fact, say another word. Not for a very long time.

Instead he spoke with actions, more persuasive than any words could ever be. Both in the way his hands drifted over her body, reverently, worshipfully, in the way he reined in his desire enough to let her take the lead, for her to take her time stripping the clothes from his large frame, unwrapping him-discovering anew the heavy muscles, the strength, the hardness, the heat.

The solid reality of him, a male of her kind, in his prime-and he wanted her.

He’d never made any secret of that, yet that night when he reached for her, she sensed there was more. That this was what he’d wanted to tell her, as his lips moved on hers, as his tongue filled her mouth, as skin to naked skin his body claimed hers and his hands grasped, held while she clung.

I love you.

I need you.

Please be mine.

The litany replayed over and over in Christian’s mind. Love was a word that long ago had come very easily to them both. Now…now he knew what the word meant in all its pain and glory, he couldn’t simply say it-couldn’t let it fall from his lips like any other word.

Powerful, dominant, all-consuming. Love now burned, a strong, steady flame within him, and using a single, simple four-letter word to encompass all it was wouldn’t do.

Love had to be seen, felt, experienced.

To be fully expressed, love had to be let free, had to be allowed to burn, to claim and consume, to rack and then, in benediction, suffuse them with its gold and silver glory.

Love required surrender to be fully realized.

So he surrendered.

And let her see.

Love ruled him in the here and now, and into his future, just as it had for the past countless years, ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. Love between them was a reality that wouldn’t be denied, not by years of separation, not by Randall and his machinations.

That night, he told her. Told her he loved her with all his being-his heart, his body, his soul.

And when at last they lay in a tangled heap, racked, unable to move, satiation a heavy blanket weighing them down, he knew she’d heard, knew she understood.

Chapter 18

The next morning, as he’d promised, Christian woke Letitia in plenty of time to walk her back to South Audley Street before their respective households stirred. As they strolled arm in arm through the pearly predawn light, she wondered at the serenity, the tranquility, that held her.

The certainty. The blissful conviction.

Yesterday…rather than dismiss her fears for his safety as irrational, and therefore inconsequential, he’d accepted them. Even though he hadn’t stated it, unlike most men of their class he’d acknowledged her feelings as a consequence of her regard for him, and dealt with her and them on that basis.

Although she hadn’t intended it, that moment had been a test-one he’d passed with flying colors. If they were to have a future together, then him accepting her and her love as it was-fears and all-was crucial.

That moment in Green Park, she felt, had been a sign.

As for what followed…from the moment he’d joined her in his aunt’s drawing room to now, the past night had possessed an almost dreamlike quality. Standing by his side at an event like the dinner, then leaving with him and returning to his house, his bed-all of it had been just as she’d imagined, just as she’d dreamed long ago.

Not one moment, not one word, had marred the match between expectation and reality.

But this was now, no long-ago dream.

No turning back of the clocks, but a stepping forward onto the right path at last.

She now possessed the conviction she’d earlier lacked. Now she believed-in their future, in the resurrection of their dreams.

Glancing at him as, assured, at ease, he strolled beside her, she wondered when she’d find the courage, and the right moment, to broach the matter-their future-in words. She knew he was waiting, giving her time and space to find her own feet, to come to her own determination while simultaneously giving her ample, unstinting evidence of his regard for her.

He might not have said the words-not verbally-but given the sort of gentleman he was-a nobleman for whom vulnerability was a sin-expecting a declaration was unrealistic-and anyway, actions spoke much louder, much more surely and convincingly than any words.

Over the past twenty hours he’d convinced her.

She was the expert at setting a stage; she knew he’d been doing essentially that-constructing the position he wanted her to fill, and placing her in the role, presumably hoping she’d notice how well she fitted.

Her lips quirked. Last night had been all about that-and more. But what he perhaps hadn’t realized was that in setting his stage and playing his part, he’d naturally filled the opposing role.