Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

door. I must admit being required to wield a loaded pistol on Grosvenor Square doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Nor with me!” Jilly stood. “Is he still … around? This man you speak of?”

The butler shook his head. “No, he’s not. He made sure to tell me that he could easily have removed the pistol from my hand as he’d done so from many a pirate, but that he doesn’t like to break the arms of old men.”

Stephen. It had to have been he!

“He also told me not to worry, that he wouldn’t be back,” said the butler. “And he insisted that I not admit anyone else, either. He recommended, in fact, that the mistress of the house stay in her bedchamber and lock the door if a threat looms so large that I’m required to wield a pistol.”

“Oh.” Jilly could barely speak above a whisper. Slowly, she moved past the butler into the corridor, past a coat of arms hanging on the wall, then past a large mirror in the entryway which reminded her of the one in Hodgepodge, and to the right, into the drawing room. She pulled back the heavy red velvet curtains and saw what she dreaded—

Nothing.

The square looked completely empty, save for a bird which sat on a bush nearby.

She’d missed him.

It felt the veriest tragedy to be so close yet not see each other.

She had the overwhelming urge to run out the front door and go back to Dreare Street. Perhaps Stephen would be there.

But would he even speak to her?

And what would Hector do when he found her gone?

Both of those were questions she didn’t like to contemplate.

And then there was the matter of her excuse for not being on Dreare Street. Otis would have told her neighbors by now that she was attending to someone in the family who’d fallen ill.

She couldn’t afford for anyone to find out the truth.

She bit her lip. For now, she was stuck here on Grosvenor Square. She must resign herself.

The butler hovered at the door. “Madam? Perhaps the man was right. An aged man such as myself has no place protecting the house in the master’s absence. I think it would be prudent for you to retire to your room until he returns.”

Jilly blinked. “I—I’ll consider it. Thank you.”

“Perhaps a book from the library to take with you?” A worried frown creased his brow. He certainly was insistent, poor man.

Well, what did it matter where she went in the house? She had nothing to do. And if it made the butler feel more at ease, she would relieve his mind and go upstairs.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll find a book and retire to my room.”

The elderly servant moved back a discreet distance and let her pass. In the library, she spent a few listless moments searching the shelves then, with little conviction, pulled out an old history of London. As she flipped through its pages, she had another wistful thought about Alicia Fotherington and that missing diary.

She’d so wanted to finish it.

If she couldn’t be happy in her own life, she might as well seek out stories of people who had been.

Holding the chosen book close to her chest, she passed the butler again.

“Don’t forget to lock the door, madam.”

“I promise,” she assured him, a heavy ennui settling over her.

The air was stale as she ascended the stairs and walked down the plushly carpeted hallway to her bedchamber.

Boring was the word that came to mind as she passed silent, shut-off rooms. Her life was going to be very, very boring.

When she arrived at her bedchamber door, she sighed. The room was nothing special, although it did overlook a small garden. She opened the door and pulled it shut.

“Don’t forget to lock it,” a familiar voice said behind her.

Jilly froze.

Good heavens. She let the book fall from her fingers to the carpet. Stephen stood there—sweaty and dirty and the most glorious sight she’d ever seen.

She most certainly wasn’t bored anymore.

* * *

Stephen didn’t know what to think when Jilly turned to face him and let the book she held fall to the floor. Her mouth fell open and her brows arched high, but then her shock dissolved and her eyes filled with tears. Big, fat tears.

She put a trembling hand to her mouth and smiled.

“Stephen,” she whispered.

“Jilly.”

A beat passed.

Did she know? Did she know how his heart had been cut to pieces by her deception? Did she know that he loved her in spite of it? That he had to be near her—with her—even though …

Even though they could never be together.

She took a halting step toward him.

It was enough for him. He took three steps forward and pulled her into his arms. When she looked up into his eyes with such utter trust, such pleasure at his mere existence, he allowed himself the luxury of staring into her own violet-blue depths for no reason other than that she was his.

Whatever the world thought, she was his.

His alone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“I know,” he said low.

There were so many reasons he shouldn’t be there. Yet he couldn’t resist pulling a tendril of hair off her face and wrapping it around his finger.

“I bribed a stable boy to point out your window. Thankfully, the trellis held.”

She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I had to be,” he said simply.

“Will you let me explain?” She laid a palm on his cheek.

“No. I already understand. I knew as soon as I saw him.”

Her face softened even more then, and she let her hand slide down his cheek and fall useless to her side.

There was another silence.

And then he bent low—

And kissed her.

It was like coming home.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pressed her even closer. But it wasn’t enough. He picked her up—she didn’t resist—and laid her on the bed.

“Come,” she said, and held out her arms to pull him close again.

Without a second’s hesitation, he settled himself over her. He held her face in his hands a moment, and they gazed at each other again. Would they ever get enough of staring?

He didn’t think so. He could look at her forever.

There was so much between them, so much unsaid that needed to be said. But it was dwarfed by that important, unnamed thing between them—something he’d felt with no other woman—which demanded no thinking, which required nothing but their presence. The closest they could come to satisfying the yearning that the nameless thing created in them was through touching—and just being.

Being together, that is.

Together.

As one.