Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

And she left the room looking for the first time like a mother concerned about her child instead of a vain flirt.

“Well,” said Lord Smelling a moment later, smoke curling around his head, “what’s your answer, Arrow? Shall you sell me your house?”

Stephen considered him, triple jowls, florid face, and all. The man was offering him a substantial amount of money for a house the earl didn’t care for … a house he was going to use to make his wife and mother-in-law miserable.

Should he accept? He’d be able to leave Dreare Street and start life over with his pension and a substantial amount of money in his pocket if he did.

He stood, strode to the window with his cheroot, and looked out at the black night and the fog. No matter how much he strained to see, everything was hidden from view, which was a disappointment. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he’d enjoyed looking out the drawing room window at Hodgepodge.

He would miss Dreare Street. Much had happened to him here. He’d fallen in love. But if he remained without his favorite bookshop owner nearby, he’d feel lost. Looking out his drawing room window would become painful.

It already was.

He inhaled once on his cheroot and blew out a plume of smoke. As he did so, he realized with great certainty it was time to go.

He turned around to face the men.

“I’d like another day to consider it,” he said, surprised—nay, shocked—at his own answer.

Where had that come from?

A large furrow formed on Lord Smelling’s brow. “Are you certain?”

“Don’t think you can get him to offer more by playing coy,” Sir Ned said nastily.

Stephen felt his intense dislike of Sir Ned bubble over. “It’s best that you leave tomorrow,” he told him. “I’ll let you stay until I give Lord Smelling my answer, and then you’ll have to find a hotel to stay in if you care to remain in London. I agree with your daughter—you’re a rude miser. I want you and your opportunistic wife gone. By the way, your daughter deserves better parents. At least your wife is attempting to be one now by speaking with Miss Hartley. You should join them.”

Sir Ned’s mouth fell open. “How dare you speak to me this way! Why, you’re nothing but an earl’s by- blow!”

“Better that than a fool,” Stephen said back, still feeling a twinge of shame to have been so deceived by his mother, her peers in the village of his birth, and by Earl Stanhope himself. “Now douse your cheroots, please, sirs, and retire for the night.”

There was much muttering from Sir Ned and actually very little objection from Lord Smelling. He looked at Stephen meekly on his way out. “Now, don’t let this small misunderstanding spoil our deal,” he said.

“I told you … I’m still considering it,” Stephen replied, feeling prickly. He didn’t like Lord Smelling, either, and was rather discomfited by the fact that he was still considering his offer.

But he needed the money.

He needed to leave Dreare Street.

But he needed Jilly more.

I’m here if you ever need counsel. It’s hard to fathom, I know, but I’ve got experience now in matters of the heart.

Harry’s words, spoken at the ball, came back to him. Stephen couldn’t believe it, but he did need his friend’s advice. Tomorrow, he’d seek him out. Until then, he’d simply go by instinct.

* * *

A small tap came at Jilly’s window.

She closed her eyes.

Could it be?

She looked over, and—

She’d recognize that chin and that golden brow anywhere. Stephen was gazing at her from the window, his face only partially visible through the fog. She raced over, opened it, and he clambered through.

She could hardly believe he was there. “How did you find me in all this fog?”

He winced and grinned. “It wasn’t easy.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She pressed herself against his chest. “What a day.”

“When you disappeared like that without saying good-bye—”

She pulled back and looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I simply couldn’t stay. Everyone was staring. The street fair was ruined, and then Lady Tabitha…” She trailed off with a little shudder.

“I wonder how she found out?” Stephen wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her lower back with his hands.

“I don’t know,” Jilly said, delighting in the sensation. “But it probably wasn’t very difficult. She could have spoken to the previous owner of Hodgepodge. I signed documents under my true name, but then the seller moved to Kent, so I thought I was safe. Perhaps she followed one of us here and did some snooping among the servants. Or she might even have talked to Hector.”

“Who knows?” he said. “The damage is done.”

Jilly lowered her eyes. The humiliation of being thrust into the open with her lies, in front of all her Dreare Street neighbors, was still very strong in her. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I can’t go back. Hector says we’re returning to the village very soon.” She paused and swallowed. “I might never see you again.”

“I would hate for that to happen.”

It was such a simple statement—but it said everything.

There was a beat of silence. She saw her own pain reflected in his eyes. And in those seconds of grief at what would soon be, the most natural thing in the world to do, Jilly intuited, was to breach that sad place with a kiss.

Stephen was already reaching for her when she moved toward him. She luxuriated in the heavenly feel of his mouth against hers, and then she took him by the hand to the rug in front of the hearth. She sank to her knees, and he did the same. They stripped each other of their garments, loving care obvious in every pull of a tie or push of cloth back to reveal warm, scented flesh.

But when it came time for their coupling, they were both fierce, clinging—

Desperate to have each other.

To be each other.

To meld as one.

When it was over, although limp with satisfaction, Jilly didn’t feel content in the least.

Neither, apparently, did Stephen.

She’d rolled to her side to look at him. He was her favorite view, after all. He was staring at the ceiling, but when he saw her watching him, he reached over and caressed her hip.

It was lovely. Intimate.

But no peace came.

The ormolu clock on the mantel chimed the hour—it was midnight. Heavy fog and a thick silence lay over the house, over London.

There was only this room with its one flickering candle, and them—

And no place left for her feelings to hide.

“If I have to be wrenched away from the life I want,” Jilly blurted out, “I might as well truly leave.”

Stephen’s hand stilled at her waist. “What do you mean?”

So this is what had been building in her!

“I could live in another country,” she said. “No one would ever know I’m a married woman.”

It was so simple. She wondered why she’d never thought of it before this moment.

Abruptly, Stephen sat up on his side, leaned on his elbow, and faced her. “Another country?”

She nodded. Bit her lip.