She turned and started walking.
Octavian’s words followed her. “Marriage and love aren’t for you, Pompeia. You’re going to lose everything if you walk out that door.”
“It’s worth the risk.”Marcus is worth any risk.
Yanking open the door, she walked out of the study and toward her future which, God willing, would include the love of a good man.
Chapter Eighteen
November 1829
Awakening, Marcus blinked into the dark canopy above his bed. His first thought was that he had the devil of a head. His temples throbbed, and his mouth was drier than sandpaper. Remnants of some horror-ridden dream frayed the edges of his consciousness.
A nightmare.
It had been a long time since he’d had one. After the war, they’d plagued him, but they’d gradually gotten better with Penny sleeping by his side.
Penny.It all returned to him. What he’d done to her.
His stomach lurched, and this time it had nothing to do with the ungodly amount he’d imbibed and everything to do with the look of devastation on his wife’s face. The look that would be branded upon his idiot brain until his dying day.
How could he have been such a bloody moron?
He lifted a hand to rub his face—and froze at the unexpected clinking. When he moved his arm, he heard it again. Metal against metal, like the links of a…
What the devil?
His eyes adjusting to the dimness, he saw with shock that a metal cuff circled his right wrist. Bolting upright, he yanked his arm, and shock gave way to disbelief when he discovered that a length of chain held him captive, securing him to one of the posters of his bed. Hold up, this wasn’t his bed. What in the blazes…?
Shoving aside the thick bed hangings, he stumbled to his feet. Made it two steps before the chain pulled back, stopping him from getting any farther. Heart hammering, he scanned the dim room—a bedchamber. The hearth was lit, the flames giving off enough light to see the shape of a door at the far end of the room, shuttered windows along another wall. The place was oddly familiar, like a dream or a nightmare…
Fragments exploded in his brain. Shrapnel of what he’d thought had been dreams but which now took on the shape of… memories? White powder tasting of oblivion. A jolting carriage ride, his swaying consciousness, a hand brushing across his brow.Sleep a while longer, my love.More powder. Darkness.
“What in the devil is going on?” he snarled.
The door opened. The concentrated light of a single taper momentarily dazzled his pupils, but no way in hell could he mistake the woman holding it. Her raven tresses tumbled wild and free over her red satin dressing robe, and her eyes, glinting violet, locked with his.
“I see you’re awake,” his wife said.
~~~
Taking advantage of her husband’s surprise, Penny set the tray down on the table between them. As she did so, the candle upon it flickered, chasing shadows over the room and Marcus’ stern features. Her pulse raced. For once, he was unkempt: his hair was disheveled, a scruff emphasizing the hollows and hard edges of his face. His shirt was untucked and open at the collar, revealing the hard-carved ridges of his chest.
God, he was beautiful.
And furious.
Which was to be expected.
She stepped back, beyond his reach, and gestured to the tray. “I’ve brought you some refreshment. You must be hungry and thirsty.”
“What thehellis going on?” His eyes blazed, his anger filling the room.
She wouldn’t let herself get intimidated. She was beyond fear and, in truth, as angry as he was. The image of him kissing Cora Ashley scorched through her, bolstering her resolve.
Meeting his gaze squarely, she said, “What is going on is that I’m done with you steering our marriage. I agreed to let you take the lead because I’d wronged you and because you said it would help rebuild trust between us. Well, at the ball, yourmethodof reestablishing trust,”—her voice quivered with emotion—“left much to be desired.”
“That wasn’t what it seemed,” he said curtly.
