Reckless Desire (Saved By Desire 6)

“Do you think so?” she whispered.

Joe leaned toward her. “Why else do you think he left that body upstairs?”

Marguerite went cold and rubbed her arms against the chill.

“Do you have a warm cloak?” Joe asked suddenly.

Marguerite nodded.

“Put it on. Where is your bag?”

Marguerite squinted at him while she tried to remember. So much had happened that it was difficult to believe she had only re-entered the house a couple of hours ago.

“I dropped it in the garden, I think.”

“Good, then Marcus and Ben will have picked it up and put it into the carriage,” Joe replied. “Go and put your cloak on. It is as cold as Hades outside and drizzling again.”

Marguerite hurried to the closet and fetched one of her father’s most voluminous cloaks. Draping it around her shoulders staved off the worst of the chill. She snuggled into it gratefully as she followed Joe out of the house and stood back to study the gardens while he carefully locked the door.

“Let’s go,” he murmured. “Stay close to me and don’t speak unless you have to.”

He didn’t think about what he was doing when he captured her hand in his and led her down the garden.

Marguerite had never felt so protected in her life. This was the first time she had ever held a man’s hand, and it felt wonderfully protective. She had a greater connection to him now and it helped to ease her doubts about what they were doing. She knew then that she would follow him anywhere.

It was odd, really, because she still didn’t know him all that well, but personal details aside, she knew instinctively that she could trust him-and would.

Once at the gate at the end of the garden, Joe paused at looked down at her. Carefully tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, he cupped her face in his hands for a moment. Placing a tender kiss on her startled lips, he ignored her gasp and studied the overall effect of her appearance.

“Stay close to me. Keep your hand in mine, and try to look loving, or at least as though you are engaged,” Joe advised as he tugged the edges of her cloak closer to protect her from the worst of the elements.

“How does one look engaged?” she murmured teasingly. In that moment she would have done anything he asked of her and felt something within her melt beneath his instinctive tenderness when he took care of her.

Joe shrugged and grinned at her ruefully. “Just look as though you don’t hate me like you did with the Count. That should convince the man, and the magistrate, that we are together.”

Marguerite gasped. “Did I? Did I look as though I hate him?”

Joe nodded.

No wonder he was glaring at me, she mused. But then, she did hate him. The more she came into contact with him the more she found about him to dislike. If she did look upon such an odious creature with little enthusiasm then who could blame her? He was bad mannered, uncouth, rude, arrogant, and a liar. As far as she was concerned, he could think whatever he liked about her, her father, and Joe, as long as left them all alone.

Somehow, she had to find a way to persuade the crook to do just that, and if staying close to Joe helped, then what else could she do?

“Ready?” Joe asked.

“Ready,” Marguerite replied with a firm nod.

As she followed him out of the gate and closed it carefully behind her, she realised that she wasn’t as afraid anymore.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Joe tensed when they rounded the corner at the end of the path. He knew immediately that something had gone wrong, horribly wrong. There was no sign of his colleagues, even though the carriage was there. The door was wide open, and the horse clearly agitated about something. Although the fog was still embracing everything, the streets were eerily deserted which, for London, was rare. His instincts, carefully honed from all of his years within the Star Elite, warned him that danger was still afoot.

“We have a problem,”

he whispered as he slowed his pace to allow Marguerite to walk beside him.

“What is it?” Marguerite glanced at the swirling mist warily. It was difficult to know where they were, even though she knew the area. If there was one thing nearly every Londoner hated, it was the fog. It was cloyingly thick, hindered anything but the slightest movement, and reduced everyone’s world to one of gloom and doom. Today, she empathised with them because she hated it too.