Page 19 of Secrets of the Heart

It was a great relief, she thought, to have the situation solved so easily. She could always count on Michael. And the odd feeling inside her was not regret, of course, but simply leftover agitation from the long evening of worrying over the matter.

With a sigh, Rachel pulled the bellpull for the maid.

Michael walked quietly down the stairs toward the library. It had been one of the hardest things he had ever done to walk so calmly out of Rachel’s room. All evening he had been thinking about the night that lay before him—the long hours of lying only a few yards from where Rachel slept alone in her bed. He knew it would be a miracle if he got any sleep tonight; he would be thinking of nothing but Rachel’s soft warmth so close to him and how simple it would be to walk over to her bed and slide beneath the sheets.

He had every right; he was her husband. No one would think the worse of him; no one would even know. Except Rachel, of course…But then, she was all that mattered.

He would never do it, he knew. He had promised Rachel long ago that he would not, and the passage of time did not make his promise any less valid. He had hoped, of course, that she would change, that she would warm to him and welcome his touch, but that had never happened. He felt sure that she would be appalled if he came to her bed tonight.

He could not take advantage of the situation, which meant that he would spend a long, tiring and deeply unsatisfying night plagued by thoughts of her nearness. He was already thrumming with lust, knowing that as he walked to the library and looked for a book, she was upstairs getting undressed and brushing out her hair. This whole evening, he had been thinking of just how much he would like to send her maid packing and do the job himself. He had imagined unhooking the back of her gown and pushing the sides apart, touching the skin of her back, softer than even the satin of her dress. He had thought what it would be like to press his lips to that back, to slide his hands around to her front and up….

He had, quite frankly, heard almost none of the music the girls played and even less of what Miranda had said. His mind had been incapable of concentrating on anything except what he was firmly resolved not to do.

Inside the library, he turned the wick of his lamp higher and carried it with him to the far wall of the library, where books rose in shelves far above the top of his head. Michael meandered along, scanning the spines for something that would interest him enough to keep his mind off Rachel. He was finding it difficult to find such a book.

“Well, Michael…” A man’s voice spoke behind him, and Michael whirled around, startled.

The Duke of Cleybourne stood in the doorway of the library, arms crossed and a sardonic smile on his face.

“Cleybourne,” Michael said a trifle warily. “You startled me. I am surprised to see you here.”

“So am I,” Richard agreed, strolling farther into the room and closing the door behind him. “Frankly, I prefer to be with my wife at bedtime.”

“Then why are you here?”

The Duke grimaced. “Because I want to know what in the devil is going on. What have you gotten yourself into? Who was that fellow that stopped Rachel’s carriage?” As Michael opened his mouth to speak, Richard added, “And don’t try that ‘jest’ business with me. Obviously Dev and Rachel are in the dark, but I know about your secret life.”

Michael looked at him for a long moment. “All right,” he said finally. “The truth is, I’m not sure, but Rachel said he called himself Red Geordie, and he is a highwayman who has sold me information in the past. But I cannot imagine what he’s talking about. I presume he was hoping that I would give him some payment for that bit of useless knowledge.” He scowled, adding, “Something that I can assure you won’t happen again after I’ve tracked him down and let him know what I think of his stopping Rachel’s carriage and frightening her.”

“So Rachel knows nothing about your helping Bow Street?”

“No. Of course not,” Michael retorted. “She doesn’t even know about what I did in the war, let alone about Rob asking me to help on the Bow Street cases. Almost no one knows about it—only you and Rob and one or two friends from during the war. The fewer people who know the better—and, frankly, right at this moment I am regretting telling you.”

“Yes, but, good God, man, we’re talking about your wife! How can you hide something like that from her?”

Michael shrugged. “It isn’t that hard. Most of the time we are not together. She is in London and I am at Westhampton.”

“Or off haring about in one of your disguises.”

Michael shrugged. “At any rate, we are not together. It isn’t as if she sees me leaving the house and not coming back for a week or two.”

Richard eyed him doubtfully. “Yes, but hiding something like that from her—Well, I can’t think she would like it.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I don’t intend to tell her. Look, it isn’t as if I sat down and decided not to tell Rachel. But by the time she and I married, the war was long over. There was no reason to tell her about my helping Rob catch a few spies.”

“A few!” Richard snorted and shook his head. “You know, most men would have found impressing their new bride with their derring-do during the war reason enough to tell her.”

“Really, Richard…” Michael looked embarrassed. “It was hardly derring-do. More brainwork, actually. I would have felt a fool puffing it up.”

“Yes,” Richard agreed with a rueful smile. “I am sure you would have.”

Cleybourne knew Michael well enough to know what lay beneath his friend’s gentlemanly reluctance to reveal his heroism. Michael hated the idea that he was anything like his father, who had always been one to rush into the face of danger. The former Lord Westhampton had loved excitement—the thrill of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline at soaring over a fence on horseback, the challenge of facing an opponent at swords or fisticuffs. Michael had told Richard once in an unguarded moment that he feared it was his father coming out in him that made him choose to go into espionage during the war.

“All right, so you were embarrassed to let on that you were a hero during the war, saving us all from Bonaparte’s spies,” Richard conceded with a degree of sarcasm. “But why didn’t you tell her when Rob came to you and asked you to help him with the Bow Street case?”

Michael grimaced. “Well, I would have had to explain about how Rob and I had worked together during the war, and then no doubt Rachel would have wanted to know why I hadn’t told her. And everything I could think of to explain it made me sound like a fool. Besides, I thought it was going to be only the one case. It was merely a favor for a friend of Rob’s who was a Bow Street magistrate. I didn’t know that the Bow Street Runner himself would come back the next year wanting my help. Anyway, Rachel was in London and I was at Westhampton, and I couldn’t very well write it in a letter. It was over by the time she came home for Christmas, and then it just seemed like…I don’t know, braggadocio.”

Richard shook his head exasperatedly. “Of course.”