Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle: Pickpocket Countess / Grayson Prentiss's Seduction / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady / Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss / The Viscount Claims His Bride

The solution was simple. She needed to leave. She dressed rapidly, thrusting legs into her breeches and arms through her shirt. Her hands fumbled on the buttons in her haste. She hoped her absence would send a message. There was no need for him to come looking for her and offering futile explanations for things that didn’t need to be explained.

Drat it, where was the other boot? Nora knelt on the floor and bent to peer under an armoire. There it was. She reached out and grabbed for it with a hand. But she was out of time.

‘As lovely as your derrière looks in those breeches, I am sure I can find something more suitable for my betrothed to wear.’ A familiar male voice broke the quiet of the room.

Damn that boot. If the boot had been handy when she was dressing, she would have been out the window. Now, she would have to face Brandon. From the sound of it, he was not pleased. The last thing she needed right now was a male caught up in some primal sense of protection for the woman he’d bedded.

‘Don’t get up.’ Brandon’s voice held a dangerous tone. ‘It’s the perfect position for spanking, which is what I’d like to do to you right now for even contemplating leaving.’

That was the sound of cold fury. Nora shut her eyes and took a deep breath before rising from her ignoble position on the floor. Her acerbic wit failed her, so she opted for silence, countering his anger with crossed arms and a defiant pose. She waited.

Brandon stared at Nora in disbelief. After Jack left, he’d come upstairs, expecting to find her still abed, still drowsy and on the brink of fully awakening. If he had waited a minute more, she would have been gone.

It was quite a blow to his ego to find that, while he was contemplating some level of serious commitment with a woman, the woman in question was contemplating escape out of a two-storey window. The whole scenario was worthy of a Drury Lane farce: an Earl, rich and handsome, able to have any woman, made sport of by the only woman he wanted.

Brandon shut the door behind him and met her stare evenly. He was gratified to see she was at a loss for words. ‘What did you think you were doing?’

‘We both know I’m not really your intended,’ she said at last.

‘We’re the only ones who know that.’ Brandon folded his arms and settled against the bed post, entrenching. ‘You cannot simply make such a claim in front of witnesses and then walk away, leaving me to clean up the mess. How am I to explain your disappearance or live down the scandal of broken nuptials? It’s hardly fair to me.’ He tried to sound cool, neutral, as if he weren’t furious at finding her in the midst of leaving.

‘I am sure you’ll think of something. Tell them you discovered I was a woman of loose virtue and that I misled you into believing I was something I was not.’ Her tone was punishingly devoid of any warmth. They could have been strangers for all that her tone implied. Brandon hated it.

‘I don’t lie well.’ Brandon pinned her with his gaze. ‘You are not a woman of loose virtue, but a woman of more honour than any person I’ve ever known. As for the bit about pulling the wool over my eyes, I resent the implication that I might be capable of being hoaxed. It reflects poorly on my manhood, to say nothing of being highly unbelievable. I fear Witherspoon and others would smell a rat. After all, I am the Cock of the North. I know my way around women, adroitly.’

Nora rolled her eyes. ‘Then it’s settled. We should definitely let people go on believing in our little deception for the sake of keeping your precious manhood intact.’

Brandon felt a smile crease his lips. This was better. He would rather joust with her wit than shadow-box her silence. ‘If there has to be any deception involved, I’d rather deceive others than deceive ourselves.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Nora fired back.

‘You want to walk out of here and pretend last night or the first night didn’t happen.’

‘For the record, I wasn’t going to walk out of here, I was going to climb. And pretending they didn’t happen is better than what you want.’ Nora bent to tug on her boot.

Brandon smiled wickedly and advanced towards her, making it difficult to look at him and put her boot on at the same time. ‘Tell me, what is it that I want?’

Nora gave up on the boot to meet him squarely. ‘You want to believe last night meant something, that you are under obligation to protect me.’

‘That is true enough. Protection is an issue we must consider. Witherspoon is set on capturing The Cat. We can’t risk him discovering The Cat’s identity.’

Nora interrupted, caution infusing her tone. ‘This is my fight. I will not have you entangled. The game has become too perilous.’

Brandon ignored her and forged ahead. ‘I will politely debate that point. The moment Witherspoon realises my betrothed and The Cat are one and the same, I am suddenly in the middle of a very tricky situation. I find myself in great need of guaranteeing your safety. The only way we can guarantee your safety is to stop the raids. Once the raids stop, people will lose interest in The Cat.’ He braced himself, knowing she wouldn’t like it.

‘You are asking me to give up my goals. How do I know you are not using the situation to get what you want? You want me gone so your investors won’t flee,’ Nora said shrewdly.

Brandon nodded. ‘You need assurances of my trustworthiness and you already have them. I have had opportunities to turn you in and I have not. Instead, I played out your ruse. Those are not the actions of a desperate man who could take the easy way out.’

Nora crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I have to leave at once if I want to live to fight another day.’

Brandon’s tone turned sharp. ‘There will be no more fighting for you. Consider yourself retired.’ He was close enough to touch her.

He reached for her. She let him draw her into his arms, but he could feel the tension of her reluctance. ‘Nora, when I said “protection”, I meant permanent protection. If Witherspoon doesn’t catch you, someone else, somewhere, will. You can’t play The Cat indefinitely. The only way to be safe is to stop being The Cat altogether.’

She was ready to bolt and Brandon knew he was on tenuous grounds. ‘Nora, don’t be The Cat. Don’t be Eleanor Habersham or any other bit of fiction you can dream up. Stay with me and let me keep you safe.’

‘What did you say?’ The pallor of her face did her credit. Her shock was real.

‘I said, stay with me.’ He felt her tense for a protest. He put a finger on her lips. ‘Shh. You can talk in a moment. You told me Christmas Day that you could never stop being The Cat because there would always be the fear of arrest for a past burglary. With me, you would be protected from that. No one would dare challenge you while you are under my care.’

Nora’s chest heaved, indicating she wanted to break into the one-way conversation. Brandon shook his head. ‘I’m not finished. I haven’t forgotten your other reasons. You won’t have to give up your cause. All my funds, all my political connections, will be at your disposal, Nora, to do with as you wish. You already know I share your concerns. You know I support the Reform Act. Nora, we would be splendid. Stay with me and know that your fears have been laid to rest.’

Brandon found himself slightly out of breath. He could not think of anything more compelling to add. He watched her face for signs of acceptance. There were none.

‘Brandon, all you say is true. It’s a good offer. But I won’t stay with a man so that he can fulfil an obligation of honour and for other reasons. Please let me go and don’t ask any more of me.’

‘You cannot expect me to let you go without a reason, Nora, not with the possibility that we’ve had two opportunities to create a child.’

He had not wanted to push things that far, to use conception as a trump card, but his hand had been forced. He’d not expected her to leave. He’d expected her to stay with him and they’d be able to face that eventuality if it arose in the natural course of time. But Nora had not done the expected. As always, she’d done the opposite.

‘Tell me what it is that would drive you away and I will fix it.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘You can’t fix this, child or not, Brandon. You can’t jump down off the wagon box and throw your fortune at it.’ It was said with sorrow, without any mocking at his actions on Christmas Day.

Brandon felt a finger of fear move down his spine as he watched her eyes harden. She was steeling her resolve. He was suddenly seized with the desire to retract his statement. He didn’t want to know.

But the decision was in motion. She was going to tell him. He knew with distressing certainty it would be like hammering the final nail into a coffin. He swallowed hard.

‘Brandon, I am married. I will not stay with one man while I am legally bound to another.’

Brandon took an involuntary step backwards, a hand covering his mouth, his other hand groping for a chair or a bed post, anything with which to steady himself. His world was reeling. The coffee and toast he’d eaten with Jack threatened to come back up.

At last he choked out the word. ‘Married?’ This was worse than being on opposite sides of politics and even the law. This was about losing Nora. An Earl could do a lot of things, but he could not be a bigamist. The jealousy he’d so adamantly denied to Jack raised its green head. He did not want to share her with anyone from the past or the present.

‘Yes. At least I think so. I haven’t seen my husband for seven years.’

A glimmer of hope, then, Brandon thought, as morbid as it was. The rotter might be dead. Deuce take it, what was he coming to when the possibility of someone’s death brought him a surge of joy? This whole situation was becoming more ludicrous by the moment.

A knock sounded at the door of his chambers. Brandon had no further opportunity to pursue this latest twist. The present and all its implications reasserted itself.

‘This is not over,’ he said sternly, waving Nora into the dressing room where she would be out of sight. It wouldn’t do to have his servants see her in The Cat’s garb.

‘Enter,’ he called when Nora was hidden away.

‘My lord, I have come to inform you that the dressmakers you called for earlier this morning have arrived and are downstairs awaiting your pleasure,’ the valet said.

‘Excellent, tell them we’ll be down shortly.’ Brandon reached for a waistcoat and jacket. Shrugging into them gave him time to regroup. When Nora appeared in the doorway from the dressing room, casting him a questioning look, he felt back in control of himself. He had a meagre plan, a delaying action, really, but it was all he had time to come up with as he finished dressing.