She couldn’t stop her smug grin as she laid the letter her husband had written her—one swearing he was only missing Reggie’s birthday because of an important vote in Parliament—beneath the letter to his mistress lauding his sexual prowess during the three days they’d spent in bed together.
With the letters the marquess had sent her, the ones he’d sent Agnes, and the gossip column mentions Jasper had meticulously compiled, they’d set the goal of establishing a thorough record of the lies and deceptions her husband had employed to keep Marigold unaware of his affair.
Archie crouched by her side and swept his gaze over her compilation of evidence. “Does it bother you to see this?”
A wry laugh escaped, startling Archie. “No, it doesn’t.” She realized she hadn’t stuttered once since they started their work. “I was silent for so long, I forgot what my voice sounded like. And now, I feel powerful. Like I can control at least this.” She gestured to the timeline and sighed, shaking her head. “Look at this one,” she said, handing him a letter from near the middle.
His eyes ran over the page before they narrowed, his nostrils flaring, and she knew what he’d read.
She’ll never know, my dumpling. If you ever heard her speak, you’d know she’s far too addlepated to understand us and what we share.
“He never believed I was smart enough to catch him.” She huffed out her breath. “I doubt he ever thought much of my intelligence.”
Archie put the paper down in its original position and walked to his desk, where a stack of unassigned pages remained. “When he called you those things… Did he ever talk about… an institution?”
She tensed, then lifted one of the gossip column articles mentioning acertain Marquess of C— spotted with a much younger chorus dancer. “No, he didn’t. Why do youask?”
His exhalation was audible. “Merely curious. What else do we need?” He motioned to her timeline.
She scanned the piles. “I wish we could catch him in a direct lie. Something unimpeachable, something he can’t talk his way out of.” Her attention caught on the most recent letter she’d put down. “Archie, can you find anything about when Parliament went on Christmas holiday last year?”
He flipped through the remaining pages on his desk for a moment. “It looks like the final vote was on the thirteenth of December.”
She huffed out a breath. “So the only reason he stayed in London and missed Reggie’s birthday was for his mistress.”
Archie’s lips flattened, and he rounded the desk to crouch by her side. “Marigold, I’m sorry—”
“I’m not.” She stood, and an incredulous laugh fell from her throat. “He lied. Read his letter, here.” She thrust the paper towards him and he came to her side, focused where her finger indicated and read aloud.
“Once again, I am not supporting a mistress, and you must stop questioning my whereabouts and whom I will see when I’m in Town to vote. These wild theories of yours make me question your sanity.“ He stepped back and made a sound like he might put his fist through a wall.
She laid her hand on his forearm to still him. “He denies the mistress, but then writes to her about visiting at the same time. There was no vote in Parliament. This proves I didn’t know about or condone an affair.”
He spread his arms wide, and his lips turned into that half smile that made her knees weak every time. “Brilliant. Well done, you.”
She took his open arms as an invitation and let herself fall against his chest, feel the heavy thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek. A shudder slid over her, and he pulled her close against him. He’d taken his collar out ages ago, and she pressed her nose to the triangle of exposed skin, that sliver of flesh so inviting and warm.
Thiswas where she felt strongest, not because he protected her, but because he held her up, bolstered her enough to stand on her own. She wasworthyof his faith in her, and the knowledge spread roots in her veins, dug into her bones and fortified her weak places, took the shattered pieces and created something stronger from her fragmented soul.
And Archie—she wanted him to see what lay beyond the broken woman she’d once been.
She pressed tighter against him, until no space remained between their bodies.
His hands flexed on her back. “Marigold, I’m not a strong man.”
“I’m strong,” she whispered, her lips brushing the divot of his collarbone, and she was so tired of being weak and afraid, of waiting for the next blow that would knock her to the dirt.
She longed to find the reckless woman she’d been the night they met, to set that Marigold free again. Her entire body, down to the tips of her toes, wanted him with a need she couldn’t satisfy with her hand in the safety of her own bed. He believed her to be brave, and so shewould be.
She swallowed her fear and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the notch at the base of his throat.
Archie growled, the sound vibrating against her lips like an elemental force being released from its cage, as he crowded her backwards until her bottom knocked against the edge of his desk. “I told you I wasn’t strong,” he grumbled, his hot mouth against her temple. “I can’t resist you, but you’ve known that from the day we met. Do you need me to resist you now?”
The surrounding air became taut, the tension so much sharper than it had been moments ago. Her skin was alive with electricity, the space around them shimmering with it.
“No,” she breathed, a tremor running through her as he dragged his thumb down her vertebrae to settle low on her spine, just above the curve of her backside. “I’m choosing this, you.”
“The consequences…” His lips caught the shell of her ear and brushed a kiss. “If someone discovered us, we could lose everything.”
