“We don’t have to fight to make love,” she pointed out.
“True. But you must admit that was rather vigorous,”—he waggled his brows—“even for us.”
Biting her lip, she ventured, “It wasn’t… too vigorous?”
“You can’t be serious.”
She didn’t know how to reply in a way that wouldn’t betray her true fears. In the next instant, she found herself on her back, caged by Marcus’ lean strength.
His eyes searched her face. “Pandora, you truly don’t know how good we are together?”
“I do. It’s just that…”I’m not who you think I am. I’m not good enough for you. I live in constant fear that you’ll discover the truth and hate me...She swallowed and settled for a part of the truth. “I don’t know if other wives get as, um, carried away as I do.”
“Probably not.”
Her stomach plummeted at his words.
“Which is why I pity their husbands and thank God in my prayers for bringing you to my balcony that night.” The tenderness in Marcus’ eyes, in his hands as they cupped her face, stole her breath. “In our bed, in our lives, I want us to be honest with one another. Always. No rule but love between us. You’re special, my own lucky Penny, and I want you exactly the way you are.”
“I don’t deserve you.” Her voice hitched.But I love you too much to ever let you go.
“Even if I’m a bacon-brained lummox?” He grinned at her.
“You’re the best of husbands, I adore you, and we’ll never fight again,” she declared.
He laughed outright. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, love. Why don’t we make a different pact? Even if we fight, we’ll never go to sleep angry with each other, nor will we sleep apart. No matter how bad it is, we’ll hash out our differences before we go to bed.”
She loved the idea. “And once we’re there—in bed, I mean—we’ll make up?”
His smile turned wicked. “Thoroughly, my love. You can count on that.”
Chapter Eight
October 1829
Penny tore her gaze from the flames in the hearth back to the half-written letter on the escritoire in front of her. The loops of ink swam, and she blinked away tears to focus on the words she was composing to her closest friend and confidante. A woman she hadn’t seen in over twelve years but who knew all her secrets, her dark corners, and who had, in truth, helped lead her into the light.
Dipping her pen into the inkwell, she continued writing. She used the old code that Flora—now known as Sister Agatha—had taught her all those years ago. To outsiders, the letter read as polite correspondence concerning a charity of which Pandora was a patron. Deciphering the code, Sister Agatha would find the following:
… I’ve done everything I can to please him. His favorite foods, tranquility at home, apologies… nothing is working. Despair fills me, and I wish you were here to tell me what to do, my wisest friend. How do I win back the heart of the man I love…?
A droplet fell onto the paper, splotching the ink.
Sighing, Penny completed and sealed the letter, addressing it to the humble manor in Oxfordshire where Sister Agatha, along with other godly women, carried out their good works. Once a convent, the site had lost its official title when King Henry VIII banned religious communities altogether. Yet the Society of St. Margery had continued to discreetly administer to the poor and needy under the guise of running a school; the place had been affectionately dubbed the Abbey by the locals. Now, with successive relief acts loosening the strictures on religious practice, the sisters were able to practice their faith and charity more openly.
Flora had joined the Abbey over a decade ago. After the death of Harry, she’d wanted nothing more to do with espionage, which she’d participated in purely for her husband’s sake. She’d longed to dedicate the rest of her life to doing good works and had her eye on the Society of St. Margery for some time. But she’d waited until Pandora’s future was settled before she made her announcement that she meant to end her old life in order to start a new one.
Pandora could still recall their last parting in Brussels. She’d gripped her friend’s hands, looked into the warm brown eyes that had been a source of comfort and wisdom since she was a ten-year-old girl and couldn’t help but plead for the other to change her mind.
“But you can’t join a religious society! You must come to London with me, Flora. You could play the part of my mama, which you are in every way but blood. You could chaperone me, help me win Marcus’ heart—”
“My darling girl, you don’t need my help for that.” Giving her a squeeze in return, Flora pulled free, walking to the window that overlooked the apartment’s small garden. Sunshine slanted over her handsome, weathered features. “If this Lieutenant-Colonel Harrington is half the man you say he is, he will be entirely smitten with you at first glance. He’ll have the good sense to snatch you off the marriage mart before any other gentleman has the chance.”
Pandora flushed. “I wish I had your confidence. But I don’t know how to be a lady—which I’ll have to be to woo a gentleman like Marcus. You come from theton,Flora. You could help me, be with me…” Her chest clutched at the thought of losing her only friend. “I need you.”
“What you need, dearest, is a husband. And seeing as you’ve already met the man of your dreams—although he doesn’t know it,”—Flora’s eyes had a mischievous sparkle—“you will soon have the fulfilment that you deserve. The kind that I had with Harry.”
Seeing that sparkle die, snuffed out by sorrow that two years hadn’t dulled, Pandora said softly, “I miss Harry, too. Every day.”
