“You mean excuses?” she murmured, crossing her arms, an action that seemed to have become synonymous with her reactions to him.
“I suppose that term is not entirely incorrect.” A lot of nuances were carried within that one word. Admittedly, looking at Alyssia now, no self-justification seemed all that justified. Time and distance were truly comrades in arms.
She scoffed. “So devil-may-care.”
That amused him. “Now you sound like Crane.”
“Your employer? Was he the reason you remained away for so long?”
She had an uncanny way of getting to the heart of every matter. “I owe him my life,” Bishop admitted. If not for the duke, he’d have perished in a ditch on his property. That was how far he’d managed to run before collapsing.
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “I’m afraid thatlifeis not a debt anyone can repay.”
Bishop shrugged, thinking about Crane and the woman he loved, how they had found each other once more after she had saved the duke as a boy, and how they’d married. Had it not been for Bishop, who had nudged the duke in her direction, that might not have been the outcome. “I believe that debt has been repaid, which was one of the reasons I chose to come to London now.”
“How loyal.”
He chuckled. “Why so prim, Liss?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“I would, but I’m afraid it just slips off my tongue like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
“Urgh, have you always been this impossible?” She pivoted to leave. “Let us end this conversation here.”
“Wait,” he called, resistance surging like a cannon blast at her retreat. “You haven’t asked me.”
She faced him again. “Asked you what?”
“How I survived.”
There was a slight hesitation before she said, “I thought it might be a sensitive topic.”
A sensitive topic like you and that arse Rafferty.“You can ask me anything. There is nothing I won’t tell you.”
She nodded. “I shall remember that.”
Bishop sank lower in the water, letting the heat sting his skin in punishment. He couldn’t help the disappointment curling in his chest. He wanted her to ask, to be curious about the years they’d spent apart, just as he was near dying of curiosity about hers.
Patience.
The word had become his creed and his curse. She didn’t trust him, understandably so, and he’d have to rebuild that first, brick by brick. Clearly, she wanted parts of her to remain hidden. Just like he’d hidden himself. He could not fault that. He’d been so deuced close to asking her about Rafferty, but he’d managed, barely, to hold his tongue. He wouldn’t force her to talk, but he’d be there when she did. And in the meantime, he might just beat the truth from Rafferty himself.
The man had been his friend.
Not all people change for the better.
Deuced right, that.
She’d called his self-justifications excuses. In some matters, thatwas truer than others. If he had to be honest, returning to London for Crane and looking into his uncle’s current matters, while true, had also just been a form of excuse. For twelve years, Bishop had lived as a man stripped from his former life. A man with no home. Witnessing Crane’s happiness had nailed that into his gut.
He wanted a home.
And now he was married, and to Alyssia, no less.
Some would call that a dream come true.
She represented the last uncorrupted thread tying him to the person he used to be. Tying him to home. And he wantedmore. He wanted everything. Everything he had lost out on. He couldn’t bring his parents back, but he could do them proud. All of which made him determined to turn this marriage of convenience into a true one.
