Cloudy with a Chance of Marriage

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

When Jilly woke up that morning, her first thought was of Stephen. Did he miss her at all? Or did he hate her so much for her deception that he’d already put her out of his mind?

She was entirely miserable recalling the events of the day previous. There was no denying she’d hurt him—badly. She felt guilt, but even more she felt overwhelming sadness.

They could never be together.

Why couldn’t she accept that fact and move on?

With a sigh of despair, she swung her legs out of bed. She had no choice but to endure.

Yes, she was miserable and lonely, but on the bright side—if she could call it a bright side—at least she wasn’t afraid of Hector anymore. She’d lost too much already to be afraid of a paltry man like him.

As she dressed, she wondered what Otis might be doing at the moment, not only Otis but the rest of Dreare Street.

A thought which reminded her of Stephen.

Everything always came back to him.

She felt a hitch in her throat, the kind that signified imminent tears, but she choked them back. A moment later, she was thrilled to descend the stairs to the breakfast room to find Hector gone already.

“Did he say where he was going?” she asked the butler, who’d turned out to be a kindly old gentleman.

“No, madam, he didn’t.”

She bit into a piece of toast, surprised that she felt any appetite. But she did, a slight one. Her heart felt a tiny bit lighter without Hector near.

She took a sip of good, strong tea. “Did he say when he’d come home?”

The butler shook his head. “Sorry, madam.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, but her heart sank just a little. It was awful to be trapped here in the house, unsure of her husband’s whereabouts. She felt a bit like a bird in a cage, which is exactly what he’d hoped she’d feel like, she remembered now.

The butler cleared his throat. “Mr. Broadmoor said you’re to receive no visitors. But a man came by a few moments ago while you were still upstairs.”

Jilly put down her cup. “A man?” Her heart beat hard. “To see me in particular?”

The butler nodded. “He was very angry when I told him no.”

“What did he look like?” She could barely breathe.

Had it been Otis?

Or Stephen?

“He was distinguished,” said the butler. “Quite handsome.”

“Young handsome or older handsome?” she blurted out.

“Young. But he was covered in plaster and sweat. I told him to leave the premises immediately, or I’d pull out my master’s pistol.”

He lifted his coat to show Jilly he meant what he’d said.

She gasped. “Why would you threaten anyone with a pistol? That’s ridiculous!”

The butler appeared rather uncertain. “I don’t like it myself. But Mr. Broadmoor demanded I be armed at the 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.

For several minutes, he saw, felt, needed nothing but Jilly’s face, her lips, her skin, soft against his own.

There were a few quick, passionate tugs on clothing, yanking off of shoes, interspersed with hot, hot kisses.

And before he knew it, they were both naked, and he was kissing her breasts, suckling them, running his tongue and teeth over them. She moaned and threw her legs wide, and he teased her with his fingers while she caressed him to the hardness of steel.

And then in the midst of warmth, softness, hardness, exquisite sensation—and bursts of color from tossed pillows, a scrunched emerald gown, ebony hair, and ruby lips—he thrust into her.

She cried out.

He immediately stopped, his chest constricting. “What is it?”

She swallowed. “Hector couldn’t do this,” she whispered.

“Oh, my God,” Stephen said, understanding. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” she said. “Don’t be. I’m glad … it was you.”

“Jilly.” He kissed her forehead with tender care, feeling the enormity of the trust she’d placed in him.

She encouraged him to continue by arching her back, kissing him madly, and caressing him all over with her hands, even with her thighs and calves, which she rubbed with great tenderness against his own legs and back, twining herself close to him, like ivy wrapped around a railing.

When she cried out with satisfaction, he kissed her, and her moans subsided in his mouth. It wasn’t until then that he took his own pleasure, and her attention was both hot and sweet, entrancing him more than he thought possible.

When they were finished, he collapsed to the side of her and took her in his arms.

“I love you—” he said.

“I love you—” she said at the exact same time.

He chuckled, and so did she.

But then her expression, still soft, grew serious, too. She ran a finger down his cheek. “I’ll carry you in my heart for the rest of my life,” she whispered.

“And I you,” he said. “Forever, actually.” He smiled.

“Wait,” she said with a matching smile. “I meant forever, as well.”

“Good,” he said gruffly. “I couldn’t bear it otherwise.”

She gave him a slow, tender smile then and closed her eyes. She snuggled close, and Stephen wrapped his arms around her, his eyes on the ceiling.

Jilly fell into a light doze, and still he cradled her.

He didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that he had to do it. He wasn’t himself anymore. He was himself and Jilly.

Yet they couldn’t be.

So what was he to do? Walk around the rest of his life with a heart severed in two by her absence?

She was married.

He closed his eyes, choosing not to think, to remain instead with that important thing that connected them.

He chose to remain with Jilly.

He shook her awake a quarter of an hour later.

“I need to go,” he said. “It’s just after noon.”

She sat up and leaned back on her hands. “I didn’t even think of Hector—”

“It’s all right.” Her breasts were full and beckoning to him with their pert tips. He caressed them with his palm, missing them—missing her—already. “Your door is locked. It’s easy enough to get out of here through the window.”

She bit her lip. “You’re quite resourceful.”

“Once a man has climbed rigging to the top of a mast on a heaving sea, scaling a wall a few stories high is nothing.”

They grinned together.

And then he kissed her.

When he pulled back, he saw it in her eyes, the wistfulness he felt.

“Oh, Stephen,” she whispered.

He looked at her unblinkingly. “Don’t think about it,” he said gently.

She swallowed. “I’ll miss you. Can you come back?”

He stopped breathing for a moment. “I’m not sure I can. We were very fortunate this morning.” He slid out of bed, pulled on his breeches, and felt the world closing in again.

“I’m going to be there tomorrow,” Jilly piped up almost gaily. “At the fair.”

He paused in his dressing and smiled. “That’s what Otis tells me.”

She nodded. “I’ll find a way.”

“What if Hector comes, too?”

She winced. “That won’t happen.”

“All of London will know about the fair, if Prinny’s claims are true. And how do you expect to escape here?”

She jumped up, completely naked, and came to him. Pressing her hands on his chest, she said, “Don’t worry.”

He took her wrists. “I can’t help but worry about you with that—that dog.”

She reached up and kissed his lips. “That sweet thought alone will sustain me until I see you again.”

He took her face in his hands and kissed her one last time. “Take care,” he whispered.

Saying good-bye was not an option.

She hovered over him as he opened the window and crawled out. He found a foothold on the trellis and clung to the window sash for a few more precious seconds.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

He winked. “Don’t worry. Now go. Otherwise, you’ll serve as a wicked distraction and I’ll fall to my death.”

“Oh, no.” She put her hand to her mouth. “We can’t have that.”

He waited patiently for her to retreat.

It was the saddest thing he’d ever seen, when her face finally disappeared from view.

Because who knew when he’d see her again?