“Love?” Marcus turned his head and gazed into her eyes. “How much did you eat? Tell me you didn’t drink it!”
Rescue and Revelations
“Love? Love? How much did you drink?” Marcus’ face was so close that even without her spectacles, she could see the worry etched in his forehead and the pain behind his gaze. Hints of new whisker growth.
When she’d landed on the floor, the wind had been knocked from her lungs by the impact. She wasn’t sure if this was even real.
Was she hallucinating?
Was it really him?
Was her husband calling herlove?
And then his hands were cradling her face and his lips were trailing kisses from the corners of her eyes to her jaw.
At last, she could inhale. Air. Blessed air. “Marcus?” Her voice sounded weak in her own ears.
Marcus clutched her against his chest. “Love, how much did you drink?”
With her face tucked into the fresh masculine scent of his cravat, Emily vaguely shook her head. “Drink?”
“Did you drink it?” He held her away from him, awaiting her answer as though it was a matter of life and death.
Which, as she came to her senses, she supposed it was… sort of. “None. I’m not a fool, you know.”
She felt a tremor run through this man she’d never get enough of.
“You’re certain? You’re quite sure?” His voice carried both relief and hope.
“He poisoned it, of course. Although I was awful thirsty, Marcus, I couldn’t risk it.”
And then his mouth was on hers. Claiming her. Reassuring them both. Perhaps she’d been knocked unconscious again. Marcus wouldn’t call her love.
And then he removed the warmth of his lips.
“We need to get you out of here.” Marcus stood and drew her up along with him.
Emily blinked her eyes, doing her best to keep him in her sights.
He glanced around the room and then turned back to her questioningly. “You were attempting to climb out of that window?” He shook his head and chuckled. “Only you, Emily. Even if you could have managed to fit through there…” Then he just smiled and took hold of her hand.
“Ouch!” She winced in pain.
He didn’t drop her hand as she expected, but instead cradled it tenderly and leaned his face into her neck. “God. Woman. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” And then, still holding her hand protectively, he led her down the stairs and out the opening where the door had once been. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Emily could hardly believe her ears.
“Not so fast.” Quimbly’s voice drew them to a halt. Emily assumed the blurry form standing in their way to be Quimbly. “I won’t allow it to happen again.”
“What are you talking about?” Marcus asked through clenched teeth as he stilled them both.
“I won’t allow another betrothal to be broken.” What was Quimbly going on about?”
“The old duke. Not your father. His father,” Quimbly supplied in a rasping voice. “He was betrothed to my grandmother. And nobody said a word against him when he jilted her on their wedding day. Not one word. I’ll not allow history to repeat itself. You’ll marry my daughter, Blakely. And the death of this homely chit will be on nobody’s hands but your own.”
Had she heard correctly? He’d kill her over a grudge that was decades old? Did the man not realize that if the old duke hadn’t jilted his grandmother, he himself would never have been born?
All the things she’d wanted to say to him before he’d had her dragged away from Candlewood Park tumbled unchecked past her lips.
