Page 154 of To Catch a Viscount

He tensed. “You are certain DuMond and his men did not harm you?” Because if they had, he’d end each of them, viciously, painfully.

“I wasn’t hurt by Mr. DuMond or his men,” she assured him. “Atbrooke’s man was the only one who harmed me.”

His gaze went to her swollen cheek. “You were hurt by that cur…” His throat worked. “And by me.”

Anything could have happened to her, because of Andrew. Terror sluiced through him all over again.

Marcia glanced down at the remaining piece of biscuit she held, and when she spoke, she directed her softly murmured words at it. “I went to speak with my mother this evening.”

To ask if she could come home? Of course, Lord and Lady Wessex would allow it. And in so doing, they’d steal his every joy. His chest hitched painfully. He couldn’t form a response. Not a single one.

Marcia looked up. “My father asked for me to come home… to stay. For good.”

As in forever. As in, leave Andrew.

He took a draw from his cheroot, letting the acrid smoke fill his lungs and then exhaling a white plume. “Is that what you want?” Ah, God. How was he able to get that question out in a voice so steady? How when he was splintering apart inside?

Marcia moved closer. “Is that whatyouwant?”

He wanted her. He knew that now. He could be honest enough with himself and acknowledge that he wanted her in his life, and though his mind and soul shied away from the wordlove, he’d gone half-mad when he’d imagined her hurt… or worse. But he proved himself less selfish than he’d believed.

“I want whatever it is you want,” he said quietly. It was a lie. Selfishly, he wanted her in his life, always and forever. But he wasn’t so selfish that he’d insist she remain with him. He’d give her up if that was what she wished. Sucking in a ragged breath, Andrew took another draw of his cheroot. He slowly exhaled.

Marcia pulled pieces off that slice of bread, doling them out to the pair of birds, who eventually tired of the offering and took flight with their last crumbs. Dropping the remainder of her biscuit onto her plate, Marcia dusted her palms together. “Were you unable to sleep?”

“No,” he said. Andrew dumped the ashes at the end of his cheroot onto the graveled path.

Marcia followed his movements and then wordlessly reached for that smoke.

He frowned as she rescued it from his fingertips and studied it for a moment.

Marcia held his gaze and took a draw from the cheroot and then promptly dissolved into a choking fit. Tamping down a grin, he thumped her lightly between the shoulder blades. “You don’t want that,” he said, slipping the scrap from her fingers. “It’s vile.”

“You smoke them.”

“You’re not me, Marcia.”

She was good and pure and innocent.

And you’re corrupting her.

Her being abducted and now being out here smoking cheroots with Andrew were proof of that.

“Do you want to return to your clubs?”

“No,” he said with a rapidity that came only from truth. Somewhere along the way, it had all become tedious. Empty.

But he’d also spoken with a speed that apparently left her disbelieving. “I could continue to join you,” she said with more of that hesitation. “As I have done before. If that is what you want.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Not anymore. Tonight, having nearly lost her had proven how empty and miserable his life had become. He paused. “Is that what you want?”

Her eyebrows came together. “I…”

“What do you want, Marcia?” he urged when that sentence meandered off to that place where other incomplete thoughts went to die.

“I really haven’t given it much thought,” she confessed, glancing down at her hands. “I’d not really thought beyond…” The clouds parted overhead, allowing the half-moon to claim a spot in the sky, and a soft light descended over her face, illuminating her blush.

“Beyond?” he prodded.

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