Hollis was ready to move on with her life. She’d been ready for a time, she could see that now. She fell backward onto the bed, her arms splayed wide. “Have I mourned enough, Percy?”she whispered. “Say I have and let me go.” She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting away.
But she wasn’t thinking of Percy in those final moments of consciousness. She was thinking of Marek. She imagined herself on the farm he’d described, tending his animals. Or baking bread. She imagined writing a book or taking long walks with a dog. She imagined sitting next to him instead of Donovan before a fire.
She imagined a lovely, simple life with Marek.
He was so different from any man she’d known. He was taciturn and solemn and surprising in so many ways. She had the feeling there were so many more parts of him she had yet to discover.
Somehow he’d made her feel vibrant and necessary again. He’d made her want again.
Hollis drifted to sleep with want wrapping around her like an old, familiar blanket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The heavy rains that have battered Britain for the last fortnight have made some roads to the north impassable. It is expected that some family Christmas celebrations will be dampened as well, as travelers are advised to remain in London rather than attempt the roads.
Mr. Copperstone at Leadenhall Market has said he will have goose in good quantities in time for Christmas, as well as apples suitable for wassail.
Mrs. Compton of Green Street is taking orders for her famous twelfth-night cake. Mrs. Compton said each cake will serve eight persons, or ten if one is frugal, and may be purchased for the luxurious price of one pound, fifty pence.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
MAREKWANTEDNOTHINGmore than to leave the Green Hotel, but naturally, Dromio caught him before he could to inquire what he was doing. “You look a bit piqued, Brendan,” he observed as he studied his face.
“I am perfectly fine, my lord.”
“Did you perhaps have a bit too much to drink last night?” Dromio asked. “Or...” He made a very crude gesture to mimic copulation.
Marek said nothing. Then asked, “How did you find the king?”
“Hmm?” Dromio said absently. “Oh, a bit muddled, I’m afraid.” He sighed and looked at his hand. “He could not be swayed, unfortunately.”
“From?”
“From giving away so much,” Dromio said, still looking at his hand. He dropped his hand and looked at Marek. “Where are you off to this morning?”
“To take in the sights.”
“What sights?”
“Museums.”
“Museums!” Dromio laughed. “Never occurred to me that a man so interested in numbers and goats would appreciate a bit of artwork. Good day to you, Brendan. Try not to look so piqued when you return.” He laughed at his joke and slapped Marek’s shoulder before turning and walking away.
That man, Marek decided, was perhaps the biggest jackass he’d ever known.
He walked on, to the front doors, but just as he was stepping out, he noticed Lord Osiander sitting alone near a window, his scowl fixed on Dromio. Marek didn’t know the man, had hardly exchanged more than a few words with him in the weeks they’d been in London. But it was apparent to him that Osiander didn’t trust Dromio any more than Marek did. Which was to say, not at all.
He continued on, out into a dreary, wet day. The air felt heavy around him, and he pulled his cloak tighter to him as he walked.
In spite of the weather, he was feeling buoyant. It was remarkable to him that he was as eager as he was to see Hollis again. At least as remarkable as the kiss he’d given her beneath that mistletoe. Marek had spent so much of his life in the shadows, so fearful of being discovered, that he’d learned to retreat from any male instinct like that. He couldn’t recall that he’d ever been so audacious or immodest, but Hollis... Lord that woman had managed to bewitch him. She’d made him feel like the kiss was imperative, like the evening could not end without it. He’d departed that house on Upper Brook Street having laughed as hard and as long as he had ever done. He’d hardly evensmileduntil she had blown her way into his life.
Now that these feelings had been unleashed in him, he didn’t know how to tame them, or even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to examine them too closely—he didn’t want to think too much.
He just wanted to see her again. Consequences be damned, it was as simple as that.
When he arrived at her house, the rain was driving across the street in sheets. He banged on the door, and moments later, Donovan opened it and gestured Marek inside. He shook off the rain from his cloak and removed his hat, eyeing Donovan’s face and the fading bruises as he did. There would be a scar on his brow, but it didn’t seem as if any other marks would be visible. “You look well enough, all things considered,” Marek said.
“Aye, so do you,” Donovan said. “New coat?”
