A Marquess' Forbidden Desire (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Lucinda Nelson

  “We are,” she said, with a soft smile. “But the friendship is new.”

  “What changed?”

  “I suppose Bath changed us. Before Bath, there was always this distance between us. I had not known how insidious an effect rank can have on two people until I realized how much I adored someone living right under my nose.”

  She was staring at Becky from across the grounds as she spoke. “How could I have overlooked her? I often ask myself that.”

  He turned his face so that he could watch Marianne. And as he looked at her, he remembered every moment they’d spent together. From the fair to the grove to the very spot they stood on. He felt overwhelmed by her.

  Alexander had to stop himself from reaching out and touching her.

  Earlier, he’d asked her if she thought Miss Cole would change her mind. Now he asked her a question that felt much more important. “Do you hope she changes her mind?”

  Marianne looked at him and he was struck again by the unique pigment of her emerald eyes. “If he is able to love her well, then I want nothing more than for them to be together.”

  With that, she walked ahead of him towards the estate.

  He followed her, until they reached their friends.

  Julius bowed when he saw Marianne. “Lady Marianne. It is so good to see you.”

  “And you, my Lord.” She curtsied.

  Miss Cole and Marianne shared a look, which Alexander couldn’t read. Then Marianne turned to face Alexander and said, “Thank you for bringing me the letter, my Lord. I wonder… if I were to write a reply, could you deliver it to my father?”

  “Of course,” he said, as he too bowed.

  “You are wet, my Lady,” Miss Cole observed.

  From his bow, Alexander peeked up at Marianne, with a lopsided smile. She was blushing.

  “Good day, my lords,” Marianne said, hurriedly, instead of addressing Miss Cole’s remark. She then took Miss Cole by the arm and led her inside.

  Alexander could see Miss Cole frowning at her.

  Chapter 34

  Lady Marianne Purcell, Daughter of the Baron of Westlake

  “My Lady…” Becky said, slowly. She was pulling a comb through Marianne’s wet hair, while she stared dazedly out the window. Her eyelids were heavy and she was smiling a little.

  “Mmm?” She answered.

  Becky hesitated to speak again, which drew Marianne from her daze. She looked back over her shoulder at Becky. “Is everything alright?”

  “I only wonder…” Becky said. “Where is your slip?”

  Marianne blinked. Becky had unbuttoned her gown, but hadn’t taken it off just yet because Marianne had asked if she might brush her hair first.

  “Oh…” She’d left the slip by the lake. Sopping wet. Her cheeks went a little red. “Well… I decided to go for a swim in it,” she explained.

  “And that was where Lord Redmond happened upon you?” Becky asked, sounding rather shocked.

  Marianne nodded. “It was.”

  “Did you…”

  “Did I change in front of him? Certainly not. He turned around. I only forgot the slip.”

  Becky nodded and continued brushing.

  “How was your afternoon with Lord Blackwood?” Marianne asked, to distract Becky from asking anymore questions about her and Lord Redmond.

  “Pleasant enough,” she answered, dismissively.

  Marianne thought about what she’d said to Lord Redmond, about how much she adored Becky. How rank had kept them separate, but that she wouldn’t allow it to continue to do so.

  She resolved that she wouldn’t allow Becky to hide from her. Not on this subject. Because Marianne was perhaps the only person in the world that Becky could speak to about a Marquess she’d fallen for.

  She lifted a hand and touched the brush to stop her. Then she turned in her seat to look up at her friend. “Be candid with me,” Marianne pressed. “Are you having second thoughts about your decision?”

  “My decision?”

  “Your decision to decline Lord Blackwood’s offer of marriage.”

  Becky looked down and away. “It doesn’t feel very much like a decision, my Lady.”

  “What can you possibly mean by that?”

  “A maid can’t choose to marry a Marquess.”

  “She can if he has asked!” Marianne was growing frustrated now. Like Lord Redmond, Becky was choosing to prioritize what others might think over her own happiness. And Marianne couldn’t stand it. “He loves you, Becky.”

  “How can he love me?”

  “Because he has good sense! He has kept coming back here. Everyday. Because he won’t give up.”

  “But he should give up, my Lady. I wish he would.”

  Marianne balked at this. “You can’t mean that.”

  Her friend didn’t answer, but nor did she meet her eye. “Look at me,” Marianne said. Becky’s eyes lifted, hesitantly, so that they were looking at one another. “Do you love him Becky?”

  She didn’t answer her. Just pursed her lips. Marianne took her hands in hers and gripped them. “Do you love him?” She asked again.

  Becky pried her hands free of Marianne’s. And, with a steady countenance, she said, “I have things to do, my Lady.”

  Marianne was loathe to release her, but she wouldn’t wrestle her into submission. She expelled a soft breath and let go. Becky turned away and started folding some clean clothes.

  Sinking back into her seat, Marianne wondered why she’d pushed Becky so hard. It wasn’t like her. Perhaps she’d been needing to ask Alexander a similar question. A question she couldn’t ask him. Do you love me?

  Perhaps it was naïve of her, but she felt that if she could just get him to say yes… then he would no longer be able to deny what was between them.

  Her sister had always called her naïve.

  With a soft exhale, she wondered if he would come back again tomorrow.

  And indeed, he did. And the next day, and the next day.

  One day, Alexander found her in the gardens again. This time she was lounging on the grass, with a book about Celtic folklore.

  “What is that you’re reading?” He asked.

  They sat in the grass together, but she hesitated to show him the book. When he first came towards her, she’d closed it suddenly and held it against her chest.

  That had clearly done nothing more than pique his interest.

  “It’s nothing of interest,” she lied. It was of great interest to her. But Eliza had always teased her about the sort of books she read, which made her blush at the prospect of Alexander seeing.

  “I expect that it is of great interest if you are reading it,” he said, in such a kind voice that it made her chest ache with want of him. “May I see?”

  With the utmost hesitation, she handed him the book.

  She watched him open it and flick through the pages. “Folklore?” He said, with a quirked brow.

  “Celtic folklore,” she said, in a jittery voice. “I suppose you think it’s rather childish.”

  He didn’t look up from the book. He smiled when he reached a page with a picture. This mortified her most of all. To read a book with pictures. Her mother called it drivel.

  “I like this picture,” he said. He put his finger against it and followed the path of a stream. “It reminds me of a place I used to visit as a child.”

  “You don’t think it silly?”

  “Not in the least,” he said, as he looked up from the book. “We are visual creatures. And why shouldn’t we enjoy what we see?”

  As he said this, his eyes dropped lower. Then he cleared his throat and quickly looked away. She wondered if she’d imagined it.

  “You said this reminds you of a place?”

  He nodded, smiling again. “One of my favorite places in the world.”

  “Where is it?” She wondered. She found herself leaning against his arm so that she could look at the book too. He was so wonderfully warm.

  “It’s just beyond t
he grounds at the Riversdale estate, where I was raised. I went there almost every day.”

  “Beyond the grounds?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were the grounds not pretty enough?” She wondered.

  “Not peaceful enough,” he said, with a smile. “My father was a difficult man to evade.”

  “Why did you try to evade him?”

  “He had expectations that I couldn’t meet. Though I tried to.”

  Marianne’s brow furrowed. She was so close to him that she could stare down the dive of his jaw. And when he turned his face, she felt his breath scatter along her chin.

  “What kind of expectations?” She wondered.

  “Hunting.Riding. Marksmanship. Fencing. All manner of things.” As he spoke, he looked down at the book and continued to turn the pages.

  She frowned. They all seemed rather normal to her. “Don’t most boys like those sort of things?”

  He nodded and lost his smile. “Most boys do. And I think I would have liked them too. Only I couldn’t do them without becoming terribly ill. I was a very sickly child, you see, ever since the measles.”

  “The measles? How awful. How old were you?”

  “Four when I got it. And I was lucky to survive. Even once it passed, I didn’t entirely recover for well over a decade. I felt like it was in my bones. If I went out in the cold or exerted myself too much, I risked being taken by it again.”

  This horrified Marianne. “And your father pushed you regardless?”

  “You have to understand,” he said, with a sad smile. “All he’d wanted was a son who would do those things with him. He didn’t know how to bond with me without those things.”

  Her heart went out to Alexander, who looked as if he’d come to terms with it years ago. Before she could respond, he touched another picture and said, “I like this one too.”

  It was so viciously sad that it made her want to cry. But she didn’t press the subject any further, at least not in words. But it continued to lurk in her mind, making her want to hold him. She leaned closer to him and looked at the picture. “It’s lovely,” she murmured.

  Marianne looked up at his face, though he continued to look down at the book. “You’re lovely,” she added, with a small smile.

  Alexander looked up at her, blinking in surprise.

  And then, in a moment governed by thoughtlessness and longing, she kissed him. It was the lightest of kisses. The faintest brush and then she drew back, nourished by that small sip from his giving mouth.

  And it had been giving. Soft and unresisting. When she looked at him, her cheeks were pink. “I wish I could say sorry sincerely,” she whispered. “But I can’t. I’ve wanted that for such a long time.”

  Alexander’s countenance didn’t change, which made her heart sink. Had he not liked the kiss? Was he disgusted by her behavior? When she opened her mouth to explain herself, in whatever way she could, the breath was stolen from her lips by his own.

  With a gentle moan, Marianne closed her eyes.

  It happened so quickly. She felt the freshness of the grass beneath her as he pushed her back and the tugging of his hands at her skirt.

  And then, oh, the perfect leanness of his hips pressing between her legs as he pried them open. Marianne threw her head back and gasped, which afforded Alexander the opportunity to kiss her neck.

  She felt his frantic kisses like a pull on her soul, reeling it in like a fish on a hook.

  “Alexander.” His name poured out of her mouth, because she could feel his fingers on her thighs. There was something beastly about him. A side of him she’d never seen before that made her flush and sweat with lust.

  And then, as if it hadn’t even been real, he was gone.

  Marianne lifted her head and opened her eyes, suddenly feeling cold. Alexander was sitting up against the tree with his face in his hands. He was clutching at his own hair and breathing heavily.

  Marianne could have comforted him then. They could have talked about it. But as she approached him, slowly and carefully, she saw how his chest heaved and his face was pulled into a frightened grimace.

  Frightened.

  She’d been reaching for him, but her hand fell back to her side heavily. Marianne didn’t know why he was frightened. Perhaps it was his father’s influence. Perhaps it was shame. But as she sat beside him against the thick tree trunk, she chose not to speak of what had just happened.

  She cleared her throat, which felt thick and hot, and picked up the book.

  Alexander lifted his face from his hands and looked at her as she sat quietly beside him, resuming her reading.

  She heard him release a shaky sigh. After a while, he asked her if she’d read to him. She smiled at him and said yes.

  Marianne read to Alexander for a long time about fairies and knights. After a little while he put his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

  When an hour had passed she put the book down in her lap and looked up at him. He looked so peaceful. “Alexander?” She whispered, but he didn’t answer.

  He was sleeping.

  With a small smile, she put the book aside and rested her cheek very gently against his shoulder. She closed her eyes. And slept.

  Chapter 35

  Lord Alexander Anthony Redmond, Marquess of Riversdale

  When Alexander opened his eyes, it took him a long time to gather his bearings. He frowned up at the sky, where branches and leaves blurred into a deepening blue. It was night.

  He blinked to try and clear the haze from his vision. He looked around. He knew he was in someone’s garden. But he couldn’t figure out whose.

  Then he heard a soft sigh and looked down at the girl sleeping on his shoulder.

  Marianne.

  He stopped looking around. With a small smile, he just looked at her. He gathered that he was on Lady Lilia’s grounds, but he didn’t care anymore. He could have been anywhere and he would have been happy.

  What he’d done came flooding back to him. The way he’d pushed her back into the grass and bunched up her skirts. How he’d kissed her in a frenzy and acted like a damned cad. It made his stomach stir with guilt, but he couldn’t muster the goodness to regret it.

  And she’d given him no cause to regret it. When he’d thrown himself away from her, she hadn’t reprimanded him. She hadn’t even questioned his behavior. She’d just picked up her book and sat quietly beside him.

  As she slept, he looked down at her mouth. He touched her lower lip with the pad his thumb and recalled how it had felt beneath his tongue.

  Looking down at her, it was too easy to pretend that she was his. That she’d always been his and Eliza didn’t exist. He exhaled unsteadily, with a tight feeling in his chest.

  “Marianne,” he whispered.

  She stirred a little, but didn’t wake.

  Alexander touched her cheek softly and said her name again. “Marianne.”

  This roused her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him with a groggy smile. “Marianne,” she echoed.

  His smile grew. “Yes, that’s your name,” he said, amusedly.

  “You never call me that,” she mumbled, sleepily. She hadn’t lifted her head from his shoulder. “And you’ve called me many things.” She sighed happily. “I thought Fairy Queen was my favorite, but I think I like Marianne better.”

  He didn’t move her. She closed her eyes again, but didn’t seem to sleep. Just rested with the top of her head nuzzled into his neck.

  “I imagine we look rather like a knight and a fairy right now. Sleeping in a secret woodland.” Such a simple thought, but it seemed to make her so very happy.

  “I imagine we do,” he agreed.

  Her hand curled around his inner forearm. He could feel the soft motion of her thumb against his skin. “Will you continue to call me, Marianne?” She asked. “When we are alone.”

  It was a general rule of propriety that one only called their closest companions, or their lovers by their first names. It was an odd th
ing for her to ask him, but then it seemed even stranger that he’d continued to call her by her title for so long.

  He nodded. “If you will call me Alexander.”

  This made her smile anew. She looked up at him again, as if she meant to say something. But then she saw the sky and her smile slipped away.