Perhaps Mrs. Blackmore was able to rest her lovely head on her pillow and drift off into the arms of Morpheus, but Allan spent more than an hour tossing and turning in a bed that felt more and more uncomfortable by the minute until finally he gave up.
He must have been the only one haunted by visions of disaster, for the other bed chamber doors were firmly shut. Perhaps he should move his personal possessions down to the lower tower.
Other items, too. The brothers had long since chosen furniture, as well as mattresses and pillows, from the lower rooms to furnish the two levels the marquess knew about. Most of it could stay where it was, but there were a few items he’d like to keep secure from any rampage his lordship might instigate when he found them missing.
The living area he and his brothers had shared for so long looked strangely empty, though Allan tried to tell himself that it was the same every time the marquess’s henchmen visited, andthe brothers cleared away anything they didn’t want the men to see. He could not convince himself.
Most of the brothers had removed their bits and pieces from the main room before they went to work last night. Allan had noticed but had thought nothing of it. Only when they had spoken to their respective brides did they drop their collective bombshell, but they must have been sure of the answer, for when he looked into their rooms, each of them had taken down any artwork from the walls or items from their shelves or drawers, packed a trunk or a box, and even stripped their bedclothes.
Zero, discomposed by the kerfuffle, had taken refuge on the wardrobe in Donald’s chamber. Allan hoped that Donald would be able to catch him when he returned to collect the rest of his things.
Frank’s chess set was no longer set up near their usual chairs. Cornelius had already moved all his personal possessions to the home of his aunts-in-law.
The travelers must have finished packing their own items, or at least taken them into their rooms, for the violin and flute were both gone, the harpsichord was shut in its box, and the box that held their sheet music had also disappeared.
Allan was going to be alone. So alone.
He couldn’t stand the gibbering wreck he wanted to turn into.You will have your daughter and your brother-in-law, he told himself sternly. Not yet, though. He could not risk the marquess finding them. The plan called for him and those brothers who remained in London to take their battle with the old tyrant into the public eye, and the evil bastard would not hesitate to use Lydia as a weapon against Allan.
At least the eight of them would spend much of their time together—even Cornelius was determined to remain for the fight. His wife and her aunts agreed, Cornelius said. Infact, all the wives were indignant for their husbands’ sake, and determined to help.
As long as Allan could keep them out of the line of fire. Mrs. Blackmore thought the public nature of their planned offensive would be some sort of protection. Allan could not quite believe it.
If only he could talk Mrs. Blackmore out of being involved, but she argued that the fight was hers, too. That those close to her had suffered at the marquess’s hands. That her cousin’s long separation from Cornelius could be directly attributed to his wickedness.
She was correct. And if she was determined to oppose the man, surely she was safer doing so as part of his team. He shuddered to think of the risks she had taken, facing him alone, protected only by her disguise, her charm, and her subtle threats.
You could protect her even better if you married her. It was not the first time the thought had occurred to him.Melody.Even her name was appealing.
She won’t have me.While other women might chase him for his family and their fortune, Mrs. Blackmore—he was convinced—did not care about such things.
She, more than anyone, does not care about my empty rank, and she has every reason to hate my future title as much as I do.
As for Allan, the man, he was confident that Mrs. Blackmore was not impressed by him. If anything, he annoyed her, though she schooled even that reaction in order to reach her goals. Except that, now and then, he had seen a spark of very female interest—eyes that lingered, a slight flush, a huskiness in the voice. Could he…
He gazed down at the floor, imagining he could see through it to her door, and beyond the door to the bed upon which Mrs.Blackmore currently slept, curled around herself, snuggled into her pillow and her blankets as he had seen her this morning.
He whispered a question that expressed both his objective and his new plan. Could heseduceMrs. Blackmore into being his wife?
