The older woman nodded and all three of them left the dowager’s bedchamber as quietly, or maybe more so, than when they arrived. Philly crossed the corridor to her bedchamber and disappeared into the room while Moreham held tight to Gillian’s hand and escorted her back to the sitting room door and their escape route.
Only when they were once more in their bedchamber did Gillian draw an easy breath. Moreham’s business was not for the faint of heart.
Before she could say a word, he slipped his arm behind her knees, swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the massive bed. He settled her gently under the bedcovers before joining her. The gesture was the stuff of dreams. She had never been so caught up in a moment as she found herself at that instant.
This man, her husband possessed her heart though he had no notion of the fact. On top of the quest to clear her uncle’s name and find the traitors, she now had to keep her newly realized affection for her husband of all people from being revealed. However, was she going to do such a thing?
From the moment they’d left Gillian’s bedchamber through the secret staircase, Moreham had focused all his attention on protecting Gillian. All concern for capturing the conspirators planning to meet at the old abbey fled from his mind as he held her hand and slinked off to his mama’s bedchamber. During that journey, he had cared not one whit whether they ever found Percy Arnold’s accomplices as long as his wife was safe.
Moreham forced his breathing to slow down. How like Gillian to fall asleep the moment her head touched the feather pillow on her side of the bed. He, on the other hand, was fully awake with sleep nowhere in his future. Only now, did the risk he had taken with her well-being hit him full force. He tightened his hold on her as the importance of his thoughts shook him. He had never cared as deeply for any woman as he did at that moment for Gillian.
“I thought we agreed sleeping together would help us sleep,” Gillian mumbled from her side of the bed.
“I’m thinking. I’ll doze off soon. Go back to sleep, little one.”
“I like it when you call me special names like little one or sweetness. I feel special. Should I not admit such to you?” Gillian rolled over toward him.
“I like calling you such as well. Maybe, this marriage business will not be so badly done for us both.” He reached out then ran a finger down her cheek.
Gillian took hold of his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. Moreham closed his hand into a fist as if to keep hold of the kiss.
He leaned back from her. “Dearest, close your eyes. Sleep. Morning will be here far too soon for either of us.”
“Moreham, I want you to know I do trust you to keep me safe.”
With her words, Gillian smiled up at him before rolling back to her side of the bed. He wished she had stayed in his arms. Maybe one day soon, they would be able to sleep thusly.
Reconciled to his current sleeping arrangement, Moreham closed his eyes and listened to Gillian’s breathing ever so slow. Those little puffs of air were the last he knew until he felt the morning sunlight on his face hours later.
“His Grace’s coach is at the gates, my lady.” Perkins called out to Gillian.
Relief coursed through her veins at the news of her uncle’s imminent arrival. The butler had sent for her when one of Uncle’s grooms arrived ahead of the caravan of traveling coaches to alert the household of its master’s arrival. Mrs. Osgood hurried from room to room calling out orders to the staff.
Gillian stood back out of the lady’s way. Her work was done. Bedchambers had been aired and cleaned, ready for the guests. Philly and Lady Sylvia had done a splendid job of assigning bedchambers so they could keep an eye on each guest. She knew Aunt Isadora would be most put out with her for making the changes. There was nothing the duchess could do with her guests arriving hard on her heels.
Moreham and Cross had ridden out to the abbey ruins earlier. To her distress, the two men had returned to spend the rest of the day in the library. She tried to discern what they were planning, but every time she joined them, they stopped talking.
“You have done a wonderful job of seeing to the details of the house party, my dear.”
She turned to Lady Sylvia and Philly. “Thank you for saying so. I hope Aunt Isadora is pleased as well.”
“Never doubt that for one minute. I can put her in her place with little effort, can’t I Philly?” The dowager turned to her friend for confirmation.
“Don’t fret, child, Sylvia has been a force to be reckoned with more years than you have been alive. She is fairly prancing in the traces to have a go at Isadora. The duchess needs to be reminded occasionally she is human like the rest of us.”
The dowager frowned at Philly and muttered, “Not that many years, Philly.”
Gillian smiled at the two ladies, thanking them for their help. From the look the dowager was giving Philly, retreat was the best recourse for Gillian.
All too soon, the staff lined up in the entryway, and Moreham appeared at her side on the front steps of the manor. Uncle’s black traveling coach with its gold gilt trim and ducal crest appeared with the horses running full out toward the front door. John Coachman expertly pulled back on the reins at the exact moment to bring the lumbering coach to a stop dead center of the front steps.
Gillian waited for the footman to open the coach
