Chapter Fifteen

Nate woke to something cold and wet snuffling his ear.

He groaned incoherently as he flicked Penelope away from his face and that realisation alone startled him fully alert.

He'd fallen asleep.

He'd fallen asleep on a pastel pink coverlet in a distinctly feminine room awash with scents of vanilla and honeycomb while Blanche dosed on in his arms, her face pressed against his chest. A sigh escaped him while he adjusted to the dimness in her chambers, a quick glance at the glass doors on the other side of the room indicating the grey light of dawn beginning to fill the sky. It was already later than he had intended to stay asleep for, let alone in her bed.

Nate made a quick summation, estimated that at least four hours had passed since they had fallen asleep, possibly five. It was the most undisturbed sleep he had been allotted in several months. He rubbed his eyes while the lingering traces of bleariness still clung to them before he tilted back slightly to study the woman in his arms.

Blanche was curled into a tight ball, her knees almost tucked into her chest. One hand she had slid under her cheek that was pressed against the bulge of muscle in his upper arm, the other pressed against the centre of his chest. Her hair was sprayed out on the pillow behind and beside her, some of it had latched onto his arm and hand as he curled his fingers around her waist. Her lashes were dark and shadowed her softly rounded cheeks while she slept, her breathing deep and even. A sheen developed on her skin which was slightly flushed and he realised that it was rather hot, the places were their bodies were touching clammy and slick with their combined heat. He held, it seemed, a small furnace.

Surprisingly, he found himself averse to leaving her. He was enjoying simply holding her, the familiarity of their embrace, the closeness they had shared in the past few hours. Somehow, his need of Blanche had transcended from the mere physicality of her to something more. He wanted to hold her like this for hours while she slept, nuzzle the silken hair atop her head, stroke and touch her endlessly. It had been years since he had woken up beside a woman and he could not remember finding the experience as pleasant as this.

He did, however, have to prepare for the day ahead and so did she, especially before the household began to stir. Or worse, his body to her nearness... as if he hadn't been hard from the moment he had awoken.

Nate shifted against her, bringing his hand to settle over the side of her face to brush wayward dark curls from her cheek, before wandering over the top of her bare shoulder to cover the bruises at the top of her arm. Anger surged through him once more at the sight of them, a wave of protectiveness so fierce he almost trembled with it. Rawdon would be a dead man if it weren't for Blanche- the earl probably owed her his life, though little did he know it. Nate had not felt the sort of rage that had overtook him at the sight of Blanche yesterday since the day his father died, her eyes huge and terrified, with those red welts blooming against her skin like an ugly blemish of the action that had caused it. Christ, she was so unbelievably courageous- the secrets she had held close for over a month, enduring her pains alone, her clever little machinations that she had put in place. Alone. His arms tightened instinctively around her.

He brushed his lips against her forehead, flexing his finger gently into her waist. He wanted to murmur her name, to ease her awake, and he opened his lips against her damp skin-

"Blanche!" Nicola's voice was followed by three resounding knocks on the other side of the door, then the handle jiggled. "Open up, sleepyhead!"

The woman in his arms jerked awake suddenly with a gasp, her legs uncurling and coming dangerously close to unmanning him in the process. Wide, silver eyes met his briefly and then she lurched upright. "Go, go!" Blanche hissed, pushing his shoulders violently until he rolled onto his back.

"Go where, Blanche?" Nate asked dryly.

Penelope, excited by the activity, began to yip at the door where Nicola continued to hammer away at from the other side. Were there no personal boundaries in this damn household?

"I say, are you honestly not ready yet, the one morning I have decided to join you at this horrible hour to chaperone you?" Nicola's voice was terse now, impatient.

Blanche danced on the balls of her feet, her toes peeking out from under the hem of her nightgown. "I'm awake!" she called to the door as she grabbed his hand and tugged him viciously out the bed with a muffled grunt of exertion. "Just a moment!" He obligingly swung his feet off the bed and propped himself upright. Blanche continued to tug and yank him to the other side of the room towards the glass doors.

"Intend to throw me off the balcony?"

"Merely wait outside until I can get her to leave," she told him, giving him a wry look over her shoulder before she yanked the doors open and shoved him outside.

"Uh, Blanche?"

She was about to close them in his face and gave him a questioning look, impatient and bobbing her knees.

"Forgetting something?" He gestured to his feet that were bare, his boots lying somewhere on the floor of the chamber. Evidence of her transgression should she forget they existed and Nicola entered. Truthfully, he hardly remembered toeing them off.

She made a little squeak of realisation, bolted back to the bed, the hem of her nightgown flying behind her, gathered his boots and shoved them gracelessly into his arms. Then she slammed the door in his face and yanked the drapes closed over them.

As it turned out, the small balcony was a veritable hive of flowerbeds. Well no, that can't be right. Flower pots. They were blooming in abundance, the only one of them that Nate could successfully identify being the lavender bush beside a low bench. He settled against the balustrade, casting a quick glance into the gardens to ascertain his solitude at this hour, before tugging on his boots.

Their faint voices reached his ears, both prattling on incessantly even at this early hour. God, if Blanche let him wait out here while the two of them had one of their endless conversations...

"I can't believe you are not dressed," Nicola was saying to Blanche, "and here I am ready to go!"

"Well, three days of early mornings and strenuous exercise have made me rather tired," Blanche told her dryly.

"Mr Southill will be put out that you have kept him waiting."

"Most assuredly." There was a sound of furniture being moved, a drawer opening and closing.

"I have convinced Jason to join us too!"

Perfect. Nate considered throwing himself off the balcony then. The last thing he needed to deal with was the Marquis of Northwick interrogating him about something he suspected Blanche and he were doing. He wasn't sure what he would do then- if Jason warned him off his sister. With Blanche's secret come to light, it changed things for Nate. She was no longer his protégé. He wasn't simply her coach or mentor. He shared her burden and he couldn't see himself as the sort of man to allow her to bear it alone. While Edwin's intentions remained festering, and until Nate could be sure that Blanche was safe, he would not leave Northwick.

If anything happened to Blanche, he would never be able to live with himself.

Which is why he needed her to come clean about her sister's husband, no matter how delicate the situation was.

Blanche was mumbling something in reply. Penelope had pushed back the drapes at the bottom of the door and was wriggling excitedly, clawing at the bottom glass pane while her adoring beady eyes gazed up at him. Ruined by a dog... that would be a first.

"Penelope!" Blanche hissed, the drape parting slightly for her to pick up the hound. Her eyes met his, panicky and... amused? The moment was fleeting, but as she turned away from him, he noticed that she was quite definitely without any clothes from the waist up, a pair of breeches covering her hips and legs.

He tilted his head back and repressed the urge to howl, that sordid little image would haunt him the entire day, having caught enough of the plump globe of the side of her breast, the tapered curve of her waist and the way her skin folded and stretched as she bent over to collect her dog.

"I'll quickly check on your plants," Nicola said, her voice coming closer and quickly interrupting Nate's daydream, "while you finish changing-"

"No!" Blanche screeched. "I mean, no really, they are fine! I'd much rather you procure us some coffee from the kitchens-"

"Really? Are you sure you are watering the agapanthus every week?"

"Yes, yes," Blanche said, clearly lying. "Please, I'll be two minutes and then I desperately need coffee."

"Ouch, alright! No need to push me! I'll go, I'll go!"

There was a mild objection, slight skirmish, and then the door sounded closed once more, the click of the bolt sliding home signalling a reprieve from this insanity. He pushed off the balustrade as Blanche yanked open the doors, her face beaming. "I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all as she moved forward to take his hand once more and drag him back inside. He was, he thought, being seriously manhandled by a woman half his size.

Mercifully, she had thrown a shirt on, the tails hanging loose over her thighs, and her hair had been bound into a haphazard knot at her crown. He forgot himself entirely, she looked so damn endearing and untameable, and with a slight tug he snatched her into his arms. She was smiling when she looked up at him, a confused frown drawing her brows together. "Nate?"

"Bee."

"What-"

"How about," he interrupted, dipping his head to kiss her nose, then softly brush his lips against hers, "we simply don't talk about it... for a change."

"Sounds perfect." She was laughing when she rose onto the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against his, briefly, and achingly sweet, but then he grinned and parted.

"Five minutes," he told her, disengaging entirely. "Bring me a coffee, too. Oh, and one of those croissants." He left her with a peculiar smile on her face, checking the wing for any signs of stirring humans, before leaving her entirely and hastily gathering the items he would need for the rest of the morning from his own chambers.