Page 57 of A Gentleman's Wife

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thomas was kissing her again, to the extent that Marianne couldn’t breathe. The passion he exuded, with one hand holding her face and the other wrapped around her waist, his delicious lips pressed deeply against hers… it was all entirely divine. And the enrapturing heat of it all produced droplets of sweat tickling down her neck, bringing to life a burning in her chest. She was desperate to return his kiss, prove her affection to him, convince him never to stop, but she was beginning to feel lightheaded and woozy from the experience. She didn’t want to, but she needed to pause and take a breath.

Only when she opened her mouth, an unstoppable cough woke her from her dreams.

Over and over again, Marianne found she was unable to take a satisfying breath and continued coughing, to the point that she opened her eyes.

What she saw was like a nightmare from hell itself. Massive flames crawled out of the brick fireplace and over the wooden mantel, licking up the walls and burning the beautiful artwork framed above it. Black smoke billowed out, filling the room and making it harder for Marianne to breathe. She froze at the sight, gripped with fear, but then she was overcome with the urge to run. Without much thought, she pulled the sheet from the bed and covered her mouth with it before leaping from her bed and running toward the door.

The one that connected her room to her husband’s.

She couldn’t call his name, but with the sheet in her left hand, she banged with her right hand, then found the handle before tumbling inside to her knees.

“What the devil is going on?” Thomas’s voice sounded, but then he was instantly by her side. “Marianne!”

Finally able to access clearer air, she coughed in response. “Fireplace,” she was able to say hoarsely before dissolving into a fit of coughs.

His warm body left her side, and she leaned onto her back, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her mouth, wanting the sheet to shield her from the ever-present smoke. She heard him open his door and shout, “Collins! Mrs. Bamber! Eliza!”

When her breathing finally cleared, her chest still burned, but at least she didn’t have to cough. Marianne opened her eyes from the floor of Thomas’s room, which was lit by moonlight, and she could still see smoke swirling around the ceiling.

Suddenly, she was scooped up in his arms, and she felt the press of his lips against her forehead, almost too reminiscent of her dreams. When he gently laid her in the comfort of his bed, she had to blink hard and see if this was actually her reality.

“Are you hurt at all?” he asked, his voice low even though she couldn’t see his face.

Marianne quickly assessed her physical state, then shook her head, still unable to speak.

He let out a deep sigh, his bare hand gently squeezing her shoulder over her nightdress. “Stay here. I’ve called for Eliza to stay with you until we can fix this.”

Then, like a ghost, he disappeared into the darkness, closing the door that connected to her bedroom and putting an end to the billowing smoke. She wanted to look around the room and confirm where she was, but the confusion and the obscurity left her head spinning, so she leaned over and rested her head against the pillows.

She heard the opening of doors and windows and shouts of desperation in the corridor, but Marianne couldn’t bring herself up from Thomas’s bed. Here she was able to breathe something other than smoke, for the sheets smelled like him. Somehow both earthy and clean, and altogether masculine, making her feel completely safe.

“Marianne!” Eliza’s voice shook her dizzying thoughts, and Marianne leaned her head up.

“Are you all right?” the maid asked. “What’s happened?”

“The fireplace…” Marianne started, but her voice was still too hoarse.

“Shhh, don’t worry. Mr. Ramsbury will see it taken care of. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eliza had come with clean clothes and sheets, so Marianne changed into a fresh night dress and with the water pitcher and basin on Thomas’s dresser, she washed herself of the soot that had collected all over her arms and neck. Then Eliza brought in some tea, and though Marianne did not wish to drink it, she found it soothed her sore throat and helped her relax.

The flames in Thomas’s fireplace had dwindled to mere coals, the only other light in the room now a lone candle on the bedside table. The noise in Marianne’s bedroom had lessened but had not yet completely quieted. She wanted to go investigate, but her body was still too tired to respond. So she rested against the pillows and let her eyes flutter closed.

Marianne didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard the bedroom door again, and her eyes burst open. Eliza was nowhere to be seen, but through the darkness, Thomas’s figure slowly appeared. He wore black breeches, and his long white shirt bore spots of soot, as did his arms and face. Pressing his hands to his dresser, he leaned over and sighed, then pulled the shirt off over his head. Marianne stopped breathing instantly, knowing she should have spoken to keep him from undressing, but it was too late now. In the smoky moonlight, she could see the flawless skin and tight muscled frame of his back. Then she was breathing altogether too much as he used the same water pitcher and cloth rag to wash over his arms and shoulders.

The sight put her heated dreams to shame. It made her heart pound and her mouth go dry. Surely this was some scandalous sin she should be ashamed of, watching her husband bathe. But her mind tripped over those words:her husband. There was no shame in this, was there? Aside from the need to make her very awake presence known, her husband’s body was not something that would be a secret from her forever.

Then remembering the letter about the duchess’s condition, Marianne realized what had stilled her final question in Thomas’s study; someday, her body would not be a secret to him, either. It filled her with such fluttering fear and anticipation, somehow mingled with her own desires.

Hadn’t he treated her with nothing but respect since she’d arrived? In every sense, not just regarding her hand and her illness and her requests. He’d gone out of his way to provide for her, to care for her. Did that mean he could someday care for her the way she wished, the way she’d long hoped?

Thomas pulled a clean shirt over his head, then moved to his own hearth, placing a log on top and stirring the coals and embers. She was grateful. Though his presence had thoroughly warmed her, there was a slight chill in the air.

“Thomas?” she managed to whisper, and he jumped at the sound.

“Marianne! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake.” He replaced the poker and moved to sit beside her on the bed.

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