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“Of course.” Anna stood and straightened her skirts. “He’s just through that door. Dae ye want me tae order ye a bath?”

Helen’s hand flew toward her hair. It felt matted and harsh to her fingers. Oh, God! She probably looked terrible. Tears sprang to her eyes. She was in a glittering castle, with a girl who looked like an angel before her, and she probably looked like a forest witch from the old fairy tales. “Yes. Please.”

Anna gave a slight nod and turned away. “It’ll be here shortly.”

Helen slowly stood and walked toward the adjoining door. Her knees creaked, shooting an aching pulse through her body. She opened the door and stared into the darkness. The heavy drapes covered the windows so well that not an inch of light was streaming into the room. Helen could see the outline of the huge four-poster bed but nothing more. There was a soft snoring coming from the bed. Poor Ian must have been incredibly tired.

Two days, Anna had said. They had been here for two days. And he hadn’t slept during that entire time. She needed to leave him be, take a bath, and pull herself in order before seeing him.

He had introduced her as his wife.

Helen swallowed, as the warmth unfurled inside her chest. It was complicated. Extremely, utterly, impossibly complicated. But she had to admit that she enjoyed the feeling of being called his wife. It felt right somehow.

Except she knew that their marriage would be short-lived. So it would be better to end it even sooner. As soon as they could.

Chapter 21

Something tickled the tip of Ian’s nose. He grimaced and shook his head to get rid of the feeling, but it didn’t help. On the contrary, it made it even worse.

He opened his eyes, and his lips instantly split in a lazy smile.

Helen was lying beside him, her head tucked against his chin, her hair tickling his face. She was curled up like a babe, her arms crossed against her chest, her knees drawn up close to her stomach.

He slowly swiped a stray lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her skin was no longer hot to the touch. Her cheeks were still rosy and had a few dry flakes on them, but it was much better than before. That, and the fact that she had crossed her room and climbed into his bed unaided, indicated that she was feeling better.

So her illness had eased away, which meant that Ian could breathe a sigh of relief.

He burrowed his nose in her hair and breathed in. It was incredibly soothing to have her scent in his nostrils again. Her hair was still a little damp from a recent bath, the scent of lavender soap—not her usual scent—permeated the air, but beneath it, her natural, clean scent still made its way to the surface.

He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and snaked his arm around her waist. Her body was wrapped in a silk dressing gown, probably belonging to Annie.

What had transpired during the time while Ian was sleeping? Had Helen found out that he had introduced her as his wife to his family? Did she know the implications of this? If she did know and she was angry at him, surely she wouldn’t crawl beside him onto his bed.

But she was still weak, and he was the only person she knew. So perhaps she did come to give him a piece of her mind but got too tired of waiting for him to wake up and fell asleep.

And if she wasn’t angry, there was still an issue with the Shadows, her cousin leading the hunt, while also raising her daughter.

Their relationship was complicated either way. So he tried to enjoy the moment of pure bliss, just holding Helen close to his heart.

There were a few inconsistencies with the Shadows and the entire ordeal with the murders and the blackmails that Ian couldn’t untangle. The note he had uncovered in St. John’s study only served to confuse matters further instead of clearing things up.

Was Ian targeted just like the other lords who had visited the brothel? Or had they figured out he was spying on St. John and sent the note as a warning to the viscount? There was also a possibility that St. John had sent the note himself, just to catch Ian in the act.

This seemed quite probable, considering that the handwriting on this note and the previous blackmail notes didn’t match.

He couldn’t return to England without finding the truth. Though he loved Scotland, home held little appeal. He needed to get back to London as soon as he could.

Helen needed to get back to her daughter, too. And the circles of his worries whirled around and around in his mind.

Helen moved and Ian eased away, looking at her just as she raised her head to his face.

And then she smiled.

And all Ian’s worries disappeared.

The next moment Helen frowned and rolled away from him, her gaze raking over her state of undress. “I must have fallen asleep,” she said with a sleepy, hoarse voice.

Ian sat up and took a pitcher of water from the bedside table. He poured a drink into a glass and handed it to her.