The muscle beneath his eye twitched. “You are a menace,” he said in a rumbly thick tone of encroaching desire. A long swallow, and a longer hesitation, as if he struggled to hold the thought in his head. At last he managed, “A shrug is not an answer.”
Mercy swallowed back a laugh. “Do you really want to discuss this now?” she asked lightly, and turned her head to nibble on his earlobe. “At this very moment?”
A shudder slid down his spine. His hand, which had come to rest over the curve of her bottom, grew heavy and proprietary. “No,” he admitted begrudgingly, as he rolled her to her backonce more. “But wewilldiscuss it,” he added.
“Later,” she said as she settled into the curve of his arm and smoothed the affected sternness from the pinch of his brows with the tips of her fingers. Much, much later.
Epilogue
Kent, England
November, 1831
Shoes?”
Mercy grabbed fistfuls of her skirts, lifting them to reveal her feet, which were—for once—properly shod. “Shoes,” she said. “Can we go?”
“And you’ve had breakfast?” Thomas asked, with an arch of one brow, as she had not put in appearance at the breakfast table for the morning meal. Which was not a problem in and of itself, except that their countryside estate was a great deal larger than her father’s London house, and it sometimes created a bit of chaos when the servants were tasked with tracking her down in one of the many corners of it to deliver a tray to her.
But the routine they had established, comprised of notes left in the areas where she would most benefit from them and reminders provided by him and the staff as necessary, had thus far worked out splendidly. Mercy might lose herself in an activity which had dominated her attention, but she no longer missed meals or important engagements. Those tasks which were beyond her ability to focus on for longer than a few minutes at a time had simply been relegated to someone else.
There would always be chaos—but it had become a more controlled chaos, he thought. One that gave her the freedom tobe who she was, absent the shame for those things with which she had often struggled. Little modifications, in the grand scheme of things, which had produced large differences.
“I did,” she said, practically wiggling with excitement. “Bacon, toast, and poached eggs. Thomas, can wego?”
“You’ll want a pelisse. It’s chilly this morning,” he said.
Her brows lifted. “You’ve been out already?”
“Of course,” he said. “I would not have suggested it if I hadn’t made myself entirely certain that we would all be safe.” The November air was brisk and bracing, but the breeze had been only a light one.
“You’ve beenupalready?” Her lips pursed into a pout and she planted her hands upon her hips, nudging her chin upward in sulky petulance.
“Only for a few moments,” he said. “In fact, I had to fight the footman off only to seize a chance. More than a dozen men volunteered to anchor the ropes for us, in exchange for the opportunity to go up themselves. We won’t be in a free flight,” he said, “but, as the last time you went up in a balloon, you crash-landed—”
“A controlledcrash!”
“Onto me,” he said, though he felt his lips quirk up just at the corners at the resurgence of what was now an age-old argument between them. Probably they’d still be bickering about it well into their eighties. “And this time, I’m going up with you, so you cannot rely upon me to break your fall from below.”
Mercy heaved a sigh and gave a roll of her eyes as she reached for the pelisse hanging upon the coat rack. “I suppose if I fell upon any of the footmen, they’d resignen masse,” she acknowledged, cramming her arms into the sleeves of the garment.
“I hadn’t considered that,” he said. “But I have enough experience with it to know that the men you fall onto have anunfortunate tendency to fall in love with you.”
“Unfortunate! Oooh—you’ll be lucky if I don’tpushyou out of my balloon,” she said, spinning for the door.
Thomas jammed the toe of his boot down upon the hem of her skirt, and she pulled to a stop, casting a glare at him over her shoulder. “I count myself extremely fortunate,” he said. “But I’d have to make certain that anyone else would regret it, you understand. I don’t relish the thought of fisticuffs—” He paused, considered. “On second thought, in this particular circumstance, I just might.”
Her shoulders quaked as she smothered a laugh in her hand. “I cannot imagine you in a fistfight. But I think I’d like to see it, just once.” She yanked on her skirts, pulling them out from beneath the toe of his boot. “Let’s go,” she said, as she turned for the door. “I cannot wait—”
“A moment,” he said. “We’re not yet ready.”
Mercy took stock of herself. “Shoes,” she said absently. “Breakfast. Pelisse. What have I forgotten?”
“Nothing,” he said. “But we’re to have an additional traveler with us.”
There was the sound of footsteps in the hall, and the soft, infant babble of a baby. A moment later, the nanny swept into the room. “Here she is,” the woman said, in a singsong voice, as she passed the baby into Thomas’ arms. “Had a bit of a fuss, poor dear. Not one for swaddling, this one.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “But it’s chilly, and she’s a bit small yet for a proper coat.” He peeled back his coat and tucked his daughter up against his chest beneath the shelter of it, holding her securely with one arm, her head tucked up against his shoulder. “She can share mine for now.”
