A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(82)

After a moment’s thought, he suggested, “With pride?”

She laughed into her pillow.

“I’m serious. You were perfect.”

“You have such a wicked sense of humor. You always make me laugh at the most unlikely moments.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a wonderful thing.” She propped her chin on his chest. “It’s one of the things I love most about you. And it’s what assures me we’ll be happy together. We’re neither of us perfect people, but we can laugh together and admit our mistakes. And there’s this.” She eyed the mussed bed linens, blushing.

There was “this” indeed.

“After what we just did,” she said, “I don’t suppose I could have a single secret from you.”

“I pressed you too far just now. It’s your first time. I should have been more tender, more—”

“Please. Don’t apologize for giving me unfathomable pleasure. It’s just . . . for a fantasy girl, I didn’t even do much of anything.” Smiling, she touched his flagging erection. “I’d like to help with this part next time.”

A hoarse chuckle lifted his chest. “That can be arranged. Shortly.”

“Do we have a little time to talk first?”

He sat up in bed, pushing a hand through his hair before reaching for his flask. “A few minutes, at least. I’m not a youth anymore.”

At her chirping call, Badger abandoned his quilt and leaped onto the bed. The pup circled a good five times before finally wedging into a space between them. His tail whipped furiously.

“There we are,” she said. “Just like a little family. We’ll be very cozy in America.”

Thorne took a casual draught off his flask. Best not tell her that with those simple words she’d gone and made his wildest, most depraved and outrageous fantasy come true. He’d keep that information to himself. Until after a few more rounds of pleasure, at least.

She dropped her gaze and picked at an edge of the bedsheet. “I’m legitimate.”

He choked on his mouthful of whiskey. “What?”

“Evan and the solicitors found a marriage record. It seems Simon and Elinor—my parents—were married in secret. And the housekeeper from Ambervale identified me by my birthmark. So it seems I’m not just a Gramercy, I’m . . .”

Oh, Jesus. Don’t say it.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m a lady.”

The room tilted. Then the walls began to spin around him.

A lady.

“Please don’t look so overset,” she begged. “It won’t change a thing between us.”

A cloud of frustration blurred his vision. She was the legitimate daughter of a marquess. A lady. How could that not change everything?

God damn it. It was as though every time he dared to reach for her, some cruel, vengeful deity pulled her just a little further out of his grasp. If he found a way around this hurdle, what would be next? She’d be revealed to be a princess? A mermaid?

“We’re still going to marry and go to America,” she said. “That’s all I want, is to be with you. To be your wife.”

A marquess’s legitimate daughter, living as a trapper’s wife in a humble, rough-hewn cabin. In Indiana.

Lady Katherine of the Prairie. Right.

“You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“Angry with you? Why would I be angry with you?” Even as he spoke the words, he was aware that they sounded . . . well, angry.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and then exhale slowly.

She was right; it didn’t matter. Not after what they’d just shared. They must marry, whether she was a charwoman or a fairy queen. He couldn’t waste time feeling worthless or counting all the ways he wasn’t good enough for her.

Whatever sort of woman she was . . . he had to be the man she needed.

Thorne scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to fit his brain around the notion.

“Of course you’re a lady,” he said finally. He reached for her hand. “You always were, to me.”

“They haven’t told anyone yet,” she said. “Only the family and the solicitors know. Evan’s made arrangements with Sir Lewis to host a ball at Summerfield next week. It’s supposed to be the Gramercys’ parting gift to Spindle Cove, but they secretly plan to introduce me as their cousin that night. From there, we were meant to go to London.” She reached for his hand. “But I’ll explain to them that we’ve reconciled and plan to marry, as soon as possible.”

He held up a hand for silence and listened. “The rain has slowed. The hour isn’t even that late. We can dress, and I’ll take you down to the rooming house. Then I’ll explain matters to Drewe.”

She paled. “Oh, no. We can’t go to him like this. Not tonight. He has a famous temper. There’s no telling how he’ll react if he knows we’ve—”

“If he’s any sort of man, he’s out searching for you already. They could be pounding at the door any moment.”

“Then I must go.” She scrambled from the bed, wrapping one of the sheets about her torso for modesty.

He rose from the bed as well—making no such modesty attempts. “Katie, I won’t let you walk home alone.”