The Captain's Lady by Louise M. Gouge Page A

covered him. He sat on the tapestry seat of the ornately carved white chair and felt around the edges of the drawer. Quince said it was well known among the staff that this desk had a secret compartment where the earl stowed his latest missives from the king. In fact, Jamie had seen such a hiding place in the desk of Bennington’s youngest son in East Florida.
    Underneath the drawer, toward the back of the desk, he felt a latch and tried to open it. Locked. But a small bit of paper stuck out through the tiny slit between the compartment and the drawer. Jamie eased the sheet through, careful not to tear it, and slipped it under his waistcoat. He felt again to see if he could unlock the latch. A click echoed throughout the room, but instead of coming from the desk, it sounded from across the library. The wide door opened slowly, and a dark form entered, eerily lit from behind by the hallway candles.

Chapter Eleven
    J amie eased down in the chair, rested his head against the carved back and stretched out his legs. Surely no one would believe he’d chosen this place to sleep, but he had no other option but to pose that way.
    As if in a familiar place, the person moved to the center of the room without bumping into any furniture.
    “Jamie?”
    He bolted to his feet. “Lady Marianne?”
    She hurried to the desk and found a candle to light. “Mr. Highbury said you were ill.” The flame revealed her lovely face pinched with worry. The scent of flint blended with her jasmine perfume.
    He ached to comfort her, to reassure her, but shoved away that impulse. “And so he sent you instead of your father or brother or a servant?” Jamie thought he might strangle Highbury.
    Lady Marianne laughed softly, but a little catch in her voice cut it short. “No. I asked him if he had seen you, and he told me you came in here to rest.” She lifted the candle high. “Do not be alarmed. No one knows we are alone.”
    His heart pounded as if it would leap from his chest. If they were discovered, all would be lost, especially if the paper in his waistcoat was found. “And we shouldn’t be alone, so I’ll just say good-night, my lady.” He strode toward the door.
    “Jamie.”
    He stopped, all senses heightened by his near discovery. But he would not turn back to face her. “My lady?”
    “How long must we pretend?” Her voice thick with tears. “My love for you did not diminish in your absence. It has grown stronger with you here.” The sound of her soft footsteps on the Wilton carpet drew nearer. “And I believe you love me still.”
    Her tears had ceased. Jamie wished that gave him more relief than it did. But her words shattered the last of his reserve. “Yes, I do love you still.” He still would not look at her, though at this moment he could cast his entire future to the wind just to proclaim that love to the world. No. One of them must be strong.
    She touched his arm, and he covered her hand with his—an instinctive gesture he could not undo.
    “Jamie.” Her voice caressed his name.
    He turned and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head. Ah, the comfort of her responding embrace swept through his entire being, even as his heart ached for their impossible situation, even as he feared she might notice the crinkle of the stolen letter.
    A soft, shaky laugh escaped her. “Will you kiss me?”
    Shoving away every thought of intrigue, he pressed his lips against her smooth white forehead. “My beloved.”
    “But I meant—”
    He cut her short, bending to kiss her lips gently, then firmly. “Will that do?”
    Another shaky laugh. “Yes. It tells me what I wished to know.” She moved out of his embrace and took his hand, leading him to the settee in front of Bennington’s desk.
    And now he sat there holding her white-gloved hands and thanking the good Lord they both had a strong measure of self-control. But it was those very hands that made marriage impossible for them. If he took her back to East Florida,