He needed her beside him…whoever she was…wherever she had come from. She was his wife and nothing else mattered to him.
But it mattered to her.
Despite his presence beside her, he saw that her sleep was not as peaceful as it could have been. She tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. “Syd, love. Your fretting won’t help anything. Try to rest.”
“I’m trying, but it is hard to fall asleep when I don’t know who I am.”
“You are my wife, that’s who you are. No matter your lineage, you are the woman I love and nothing is going to change that.” He set aside his book and simply held her, stroking her hair and caressing her until she finally drifted off, her body half sprawled atop him.
Yes, she was his to love and protect.
Would her parents tell them the truth when confronted tomorrow?
CHAPTER 20
OCTAVIAN TUCKED SYD’Sarm in his and placed his hand over hers for extra reassurance as they stood in front of the Harcourt townhouse the following morning awaiting the inevitable confrontation. Not that she needed him to hold her hand, really. Her flood of tears last night had not been about her mother’s hurtful words, but about her fear of losing him because of those accusations hurled by the woman who had not a trace of maternal feeling in her.
Now that Syd was assured their marriage would endure, she seemed to be back in fighting spirit. However, she was still uncertain that itshouldendure because of the damage she feared to his family and his Admiralty career. For this reason, she continued to behave like a martyr. All morning long, she had insisted on his needing to give their situation more thought. “No thought needed, Syd. My mind is made up,” he had told her every time she brought it up. “You are my wife and the only woman I want beside me. That is an end to it.”
“You do not know all the facts yet,” she would counter.
“Nor do you. Stop trying to save me when I am not in need of rescue.”
“Perhaps you need rescuing from yourself.”
He did not want martyr Syd.
Martyr Syd was going to sacrifice her happiness to protect his good name when he couldn’t give a fig about what others thought of him. Martyr Syd was going to run off and hide somewhere because she did not want to be a burden to him when she was actually the light in his life and eased the weight on his shoulders.
Nor would his brothers care for any supposed stain she might attach to the Thorne family name. How could anyone consider it her fault when she had been an innocent newborn when taken by the Harcourts?
“Good morning, Stanford,” she greeted the Harcourt butler when he opened the door, her smile sweet but her chin pointed upward in defiance.
“Good morning, Lady Thorne. Captain Thorne.” He tried to maintain a stoic facade even though he was clearly surprised to find them standing in front of him at this early hour. But it was not all that early. Syd knew the schedules each parent kept and had mentioned her father would be up by now. It was shortly after ten o’clock and who really cared whether it was socially acceptable or not to call upon them when dealing with a situation of this importance? “Neither Lord Harcourt nor Lady Harcourt has come down yet.”
Syd did not appear in the least put off. “That’s too bad, but we shall await them in the parlor. It is a most hideous room, is it not Stanford?”
“Yes, m’lady. Without a doubt.”
She cast him another warm smile. “Which is why I hope they will not keep us waiting. Tell them they have ten minutes to get down here or Captain Thorne shall bodily remove them from their beds and haul their miserable personages down the stairs.”
Stanford stared at her in dismay.
“Forgive me if I’ve shocked you, Stanford. But I’m sure you overheard more than you ought yesterday and know what this is about.” Syd pointed to the large clock in the corner of the entry hall. “Time is wasting. Do not bother to show us into the parlor. We know the way. But do send in refreshments. Our visit may take a while.”
Since she already had her arm wrapped in Octavian’s, she now tugged him along. The drapes were drawn and the roomwas dark even though it was a bright morning. Syd marched to the windows and drew the heavy damask drapes aside to allow in a flood of sunlight. “Much better,” she muttered as dust filtered into the air.
She settled on the settee beside him. “But it is still a hideous room.”
He readily agreed. “Syd, I am not going to march upstairs and drag your parents down here.”
“Then I will do it,” she said with a stubborn look on her face. “But you are the big ox, not me. My mother will probably push me down the stairs if I were the one to do it. Is it bloodthirsty of me to want to poke her in the nose? My father deserves a poke in the nose, too. He really does. Do you think they are the most incompetent parents ever to exist? I am going to tell them so.”
“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear it,” he said dryly. The situation was serious and he should not be grinning, but Octavian could not hold back. Syd hopped back and forth between behaving like a martyr and behaving like a hellion.
He had gotten to know and love the hellion.
If it were up to him, he would declare the martyr banished.
