“I think we need a tree gathering.”
“A what?”
She laughed. She put her hand on his arm, and he felt the heat of her touch through his coat. “To gather round a Christmas tree. That’s the safest way to speak to Lord Douglas without drawing attention. He owns the Scottish ship, apparently. Unfortunately, we had a bit of a tiff the last time I saw him, and I suppose I’ll need to apologize. Which is why I can’t simply call on him. He’s a bit notorious, too, and such a call would be noticed all over town.” She gave his arm a light squeeze and let go. “Leave it all to me.”
This was utter madness. “I can’t leave it all to you.”
“Then leave at least this to me.”
He ought to say no before this went too far. He imagined that after a good night’s sleep, he’d be kicking himself for having said anything at all. But at present, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that might deny him the opportunity to see her again. He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles, lingering a moment too long, letting the scents of soap and rosewater fill him. Her skin was smooth against his lips. He thought of all her skin, and what he imagined would be the softness of her inner thighs, and her abdomen... He lifted his head and opened his mouth to tell her that he couldn’t leave this to her, but what came out of his mouth was, “My given name is Marek.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lady Dammer of Belgravia was delivered a healthy baby girl last Saturday. The child has, at the time of her birth, a dowry estimated to rival that of the children of the queen. The long line for her tiny hand may commence.
At a private supper this week, it is reported that the King of Wesloria was taken ill and rushed from the room by his ministers. As he appeared the following afternoon at a tea, we may all be hopeful that his health has returned to him, although many noted the shadows under his eyes. Perhaps the stress of brokering a peace agreement that has resulted in a severe disadvantage to his country has taken its toll on the monarch.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
HOLLISFELTMOREalive than she had in a very long time. She bounded up the steps to Donovan’s room, found him sleeping deeply, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. In his sleep, he frowned.
She retreated to her master suite and glanced around the room. She was holding herself, she realized, as her arms were wrapped around her body in a hug. Of course she was! She’d pulled Marek Brendan’s extraordinary secret from him and was holding it in herself.
She wanted to help him. Poor man—what a burden he’d carried all these years! She guessed, giving what she knew about Weslorian history, that he was thirty-one or thirty-two years old now. Which meant he’d been keeping this secret for about half of his life, and with no one to talk to. She couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been for him.
No wonder he was such a mysterious man—a darkly handsome, mysterious man who had suddenly appeared in her life from half a world away.
She was captivated by him.
THENEXTMORNING, Hollis brought tea to Donovan’s room. He was sitting up, dressed in trousers and a shirt. His face was red from the exertion and the pain it had caused him.
“You should stay in bed.”
“I’m fine,” he said, wincing.
She sat down on a chair beside his bed. “What happened?”
“Hollis...you know our agreement.”
“Our agreement is that I won’t ask, but I agreed before you were beaten.”
He slowly gained his feet, testing his weight and taking a few wooden steps. “The authorities, or ruffians—I don’t know who they were—were waiting outside of a particular establishment.”
He meant a molly-house, where men of all feathers flocked together. Percy had told her about them once, and it didn’t take much imagination to know that the reason Percy knew of them was because of Donovan. “Were they waiting for you?”
He laughed, and it caused him to suck in a sharp breath. “Not for me, love, but anyone. Lying in wait, looking for a fight. They might have left me for dead, too, but a gent who holds a seat in the Commons was unfortunate enough to exit the establishment after me. They went chasing after him. My friends helped me home.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d not have brought it to your door if it were up to me. But I wasn’t thinking properly.”
“You must always come here, Donovan. But...is it necessary to go to such places?”
He sighed. “If it were possible to change my nature, I would have done so a long time ago. It’s not easy to be what society abhors. But I can’t change it and I won’t fight it. You know that.”
They’d had this conversation once before, shortly after Percy had died. He’d told her then that he’d not apologize for who he was or hide it from her. Hollis had been so grief-stricken that the thought of losing him had been more than she could bear. She’d never regretted it, but she did worry for him. And for herself, honestly. There were many in Mayfair who would make a pariah of her if they knew Donovan’s true nature. It was odd to her—they would titter and laugh over the idea that she was sleeping with her butler without much regard for the morality of it. She was a young widow, after all. But that her butler desired other men was something she knew many would never forgive. She knew this crowd well—two years ago, a man was hanged for the crime of buggery. “Donovan, I—”
“Where are you off to?” he asked, cutting off what more she would say about last night. He was not going to tell her more than he had.
She suppressed a sigh of exasperation. “To call on Beck.”
“At this time of the morning?” Donovan looped his neckcloth around his collar. “He won’t have had his breakfast.”
