Page 82 of Gone with the Rake

She waved his declaration away. “I made that all up! I needed something believable to say in the letters without raising suspicion. Do you want to know the truth? I had no choice but to watch the stars—I had no roof over my head for years. You don’t know me. We have nothing in common.”

His face twisted in pain, his eyes falling closed for a moment. “Yes, we do. We both love to read. We have a similar sense of humor—if those letters are any indication. We’ve both suffered without each other for the past decade. We make each other laugh. We understand each other’s pain. You make my hurt disappear just by being near me.”

“And that’s enough for you to marry me?” Lydia whispered. “To make me your future marchioness? I am no lady. I have no talents. I will not fit in.”

“Yes, you will,” he countered. “You already do. And maybe you have no useless talents like dancing or painting—although I would love to watch you do the latter and cover yourself in paint—but you do have a talent for survival. You fit in anywhere, even in a place as rigid as London society. You tricked the stuffiest ballrooms in London into accepting you. You pick up on social cues easily, and you make people comfortable in your presence. All these traits are important in a marchioness.

“You know the life of a struggling commoner. You know the life of an aristocrat. You can be of help to me, to the people on my estates.

“And yes, you are a talented thief. You stole my heart. And there is no getting it back.

“I loved you as Lily. I love you as Lydia. And I will love you as the Marchioness of Wakefield or any other iteration of yourself. I am not about to let you out of my sight. Not again.” His tone softened. “And if your love for me has passed… then I’ll just have to remind you.”

Warmth unfurled inside Lydia, and she stood frozen, unable to speak or move. Damn if this man wasn’t already winning her heart back.

“Besides”—Thorn turned on his heel and walked toward the dressing room—“we have forever to get reacquainted.”

* * *

I don’t know if I love you.

Her words sliced through him, cutting deep, leaving him gasping for air.

All those years he had spent searching for her, waiting for her, mourning her—he had never once considered that her love for him might have faded.

His love for her hadn’t. So why would hers?

When they had finally reunited, when he had felt her passion, he had been certain she still loved him. Hell, she had written it in her note!

But perhaps it had only been a farewell. An excuse to leave him.

Thorn shook the thought from his mind and refused to entertain it further. He meant what he had said—if she didn’t love him now, she would by the end of their journey.

He helped Vlad collect his necessary belongings and asked the maids to pack food for the road.

Looking through the valise Thorn had retrieved from her carriage, Lydia frowned. “Should I perhaps wear a wig?” She pulled out a beautiful dark brown one.

Puzzled, Thorn raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because you say you’re being followed. There’s a good chance they’re still watching the house. If they saw me here, they might be waiting for me to leave so they can… well, do whatever it is they intend to do.”

Thorn grimaced. He didn’t want to think about what they might want from Lydia, and he’d rather not find out. “Then perhaps a wig won’t help either. They must know there aren’t any other women in the house.” He tapped his lips in thought. “I have an idea. Do you have a cloak?”

“Yes.” She pulled it from her valise.

He flashed a quick smile. “Wait here.”

With a wink, Thorn took both the cloak and wig and left the room. He ordered Lydia’s driver to set off immediately and wait for them at a small inn just outside of London. Then he ordered a curricle to be prepared. After that, he had a brief conversation with Vlad before returning to the bedchamber.

Lydia watched expectantly as Thorn laid out a livery outfit belonging to his tiger, then tossed a white powdered wig onto the bed and spun a hat on his finger with a flourish.

Lydia raised a brow. “Is that for me?”

“Yes,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. “I arranged for the only lady currently present in this house to leave with all haste, wearing a dark brown wig and your cloak. In the meantime, I will take a jaunt in a curricle to a nearby inn just outside of London with my tiger.” He waved the hat toward the clothes.

Lydia laughed. “Very clever.”

“Clever enough to make you fall back in love with me?” Thorn joked, though his heart clenched at the words.