Virtue chuckled. “I suspect Lady Deering may find other reasons to harangue you.”
“Yes,” he agreed, kissing her cheek. “I am infinitely harangue-able.”
“I am reasonably certain that isn’t a word.” She kissed his ear.
How he liked this easiness between them. He didn’t know if it was the calm of the darkness, the intimacies, or something else which had brought down her protective walls. Whatever the reason, he was grateful.
“Perhaps I shall invent it and lay claim to the definition,” he said, smiling as he kissed the hair at her temple. “Harangue-able: needing correction by the willful females in one’s life. The word is said to have originated with the sixth Duke of Ridgely, who was frequently harangued by his sister and wife.”
She tugged at his hair. “I don’t harangue you.”
He raised a brow, even though she likely couldn’t see his expression in the darkness. “No?”
“Well, not often,” she amended, giving his hair another playful tug. He’d had it cut, but Virtue still managed to find enough to grasp. “Only when you steal my books and sell my home.”
“I promise to never do either of those things again,” he said wryly.
In fact, it had occurred to him that there could be a way to ameliorate at least some of his sins where Virtue was concerned. He had instructed his man of business to investigate whether or not the new owner of Greycote Abbey might be persuaded to sell the estate again. This time, to Trevor. He hadn’t the slightest wish to attend a crumbling estate in Nottinghamshire, but he found himself astonishingly willing to do anything that would make his wife happy. He didn’t wish to mention it now, however. Certainly not until he knew whether or not the new owner would be amenable to selling.
“Is the danger to you gone, then, if this man is gone as well?” she asked suddenly, tearing him from his thoughts. “Is there any proof the dead man is the same person who attacked you before?”
He sighed and buried his face in her throat, inhaling her scent. “We can’t be certain yet. I haven’t an inkling why a man I’ve never met would be so determined to kill me.”
“Not a jealous husband, surely?” she asked, but there was no censure in her voice. Only genuine concern.
“I suppose it is possible,” he conceded. “Though again, I haven’t been involved with anyone since before your arrival, and as far as I am aware, the missing actor was an unmarried gentleman.”
Trevor and his last mistress, the widowed Countess of Carr, had parted ways just before Virtue’s arrival in London. Adelina had been growing increasingly possessive and jealous, and he’d had neither the time nor the inclination to allay her unfounded worries. Her congé had been in the form of a diamond necklace for her and an untold amount of relief on his behalf. But Adelina had made it clear that she was aiming for a new husband rather than a protector, and a scarcely known actor would not possess wealth or clout enough to suit her aspirations.
“It frightens me,” Virtue said, “the thought that someone could still be out there who wants to harm you.”
He didn’t want to dwell on his mortality any more than he wanted to return to the dreams that had been plaguing him since that night. He found her nose and kissed the bridge, then the corners of her lips. “Take care, darling, or else I shall grow even more conceited than I already am, thinking you are concerned for my welfare.”
It was easier to tease. To make light of desperate situations. To laugh instead of allow himself to grow mired in the darkness. It always had been.
“Why do you insist upon making jests when the circumstances are so serious?”
He heard a frown in her voice, and he could picture how it would look, turning down the corners of her lips, crinkling her brow. He cupped her cheek, his thumb traveling over her silken skin, absorbing her heat, her vibrancy. How impossible it seemed that this fiery woman should have become the center of his world. And yet, she had.
“I suppose for me, it’s easier to face seriousness with laughter. To battle darkness with light.” Trevor thought for a moment. “I am pleased you care enough to worry, though not to be the cause of your apprehension.”
“Of course I care.” She turned her head and kissed the pad of his thumb. “I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if I did not.”
That, too, was gratifying.
He smiled. “I thought it was because I promised you ten libraries.”
She sighed. “Oh, Trevor.”
He kissed her again before she could take him to task. “You see? Harangue-able.”
She gave a small chuckle he suspected was inadvertent and then she was kissing him. “Please stay safe. That is all I ask.”
He could have told her that it would require an army of would-be assassins to keep him from her side, from her bed. But he wasn’t prepared for such weighty admissions just yet.
“I shall,” he said instead. “I promise. Now, then. As much as I love having you naked in my bed, I fear we ought to at least emerge for dinner, lest Pamela send one of the servants to find us. Besides, you must be quite hungry.”
Lord knew he was, but not necessarily for dinner. Plenty of time for that later, however. They had the rest of their lives.
