"You can open your eyes now," Marshall said softy.
Evelyn did and caught a quick glimpse of die bed before he set her down in the middle of it. She glanced up at him, unsure what to say, and found herself spellbound by his reassuring smile. He turned up the gas lamp sitting on the table. The room went from almost dark to pleasantly dim. Knowing she wasn't alone had her feeling stronger already.
Marshall stared down at her for a brief moment. Her hands were knotted in the carriage blanket, her eyes swollen from crying, her face pale. But none of those things kept him from seeing the beauty beneath the distress, the elegant cheekbones and small, straight nose, the sweet swell of her bottom lip.
"I'll start a fire," he said needing something to do before he sank down on the bed beside her. The fire grate had been swept and cleaned the rack newly blackened and a neat stack of dried wood waited to be lit.
Evelyn sat in the middle of the bed and watched him build a fire. Even with his back to her, he was an impressive man. The longer she was with him, the more she wanted to ask him why he was being so kind but she sensed he didn't want to talk.
Afraid that she'd be caught staring, Evelyn looked around the room. It was larger than she had expected with a tall chest of drawers, a chair, and a vanity table. An interior door led to another room. Evelyn leaned to the side and stretched her neck just enough to see around the corner. A brass tub! Oh, how she wanted a bath. With lots of hot water to wash the memory of the jail wagon and Clerkenwell from her body.
Once the fire was blazing to Marshall's satisfaction, he turned around to find Evelyn exactly as he'd left her. There were circles under her eyes where the skin was the most delicate. She'd been in jail for only a few hours, but the time and fear had left its mark. She looked like a blue-eyed angel who had accidentally misplaced her wings.
A knock disrupted his thoughts. Marshall opened the door to reveal the inn's proprietor. The widow handed him a tray with a teapot, an enameled sugar caddie, and two cups. "It'd be a while yet 'fore the bathwater is boiling," she told him.
Marshall thanked her, then waited until she had closed the door before carrying the tray to the table beside the bed. He poured the tea, passing the cup into Evelyn's waiting hands.
Evelyn looked at him. wondering what he was thinking. She'd been nothing but trouble to him since she'd spilled sewing pins all over the floor. His gaze intensified and for a moment she wasn't sure if she should stay or ran. She held her breath when he sat down beside her, stretching one arm over her lap and resting it palm down on the faded coverlet. The glow from the gas lamp lit his strong features: the angle of his nose and jaw, the firm mouth and piercing eyes. It was a handsome face, one that showed both intelligence and strength.
He smiled then, and Evelyn felt her heart swell inside her chest.
"A cup of tea should settle your nerves," he said. "Then—"
"A bath," she blurted out. She wanted one so badly.
"A bath, then." He laughed. "Then something to eat, then a good night's sleep."
"You're being so kind," she whispered. "I. . ." Her voice broke.
Marshall took the teacup before her shaky hands upended it. He wasn't sure what had started her to crying again. Setting the cup aside, he pulled her into his arms and held her against his chest, rocking her as he would a child. The silent tears gradually turned into broken sobs that shook her whole body. Every protective instinct he possessed came into play as he held her close, pleased that she'd turned to him instead of away.
She cried and cried as if once started she couldn't cease until every drop of moisture had been wrenched from her body. Marshall began to fear that the tears would never stop.
When the sobs finally subsided, he wiped her face with his handkerchief, then hooking a knuckle underneath her chin, tilted her face up. She was pretty, her features delicately boned. Feminine yet strong. There was no shadow of deception, no guilt, in the teary depth of her eyes, only a reflection of exhaustion and an innocence that touched his heart. His hand slid around her neck as he lowered his head to claim the kiss he'd wanted all day.
Evelyn let her eyes close as his lips came to rest ever so gently upon her own. His breath felt warm, his arms even warmer. She hadn't expected him to kiss her, but she knew it was what she wanted had wanted ever since he'd smiled at her in the dress shop. When his lips pressed more firmly against hers, she yielded to the unnamed desire. When his hand pressed against the small of her back, she melted against him.
Marshall held her in place as he drank at her mouth, tasting salty tears and soft, gentle woman. His mouth pressed harder, and hers opened, letting him explore. And explore he did keeping the kiss gentle but thorough. He licked at her lips, then probed between them, entering slowly then retreating, building the excitement of the intimacy.
Evelyn sighed with pleasure. The marquis felt wonderful, smelled wonderful, tasted wonderful. His kiss was everything a kiss should be, warm and passionate, gentle but dominating. It drained the last ounce of willpower from her body. She leaned against him, shyly returning the kiss, unsure of what she was doing but willing to let her instincts guide her. Her heart began to pound as a sweet euphoria filled her body.
When she found herself pressed back against the pillows, his body half covering hers, all she could do was cling to his shoulders. His arm moved underneath her, lifting her, arching her upper body into his, holding her safe and secure, chasing the fear and uncertainty away until there was nothing but warm, tingling sensations.
Keeping himself in check, Marshall slowly deepened the kiss, teaching her what he liked. She was weakened by the day's events, but she wasn't a frail female. She was a woman full grown with more passion than she realized. His fingers found a wayward strand of hair and played with it at the same time his mouth played with her senses. God, she felt good. Just how he had imagined she would feel, all soft and pliable, warm and womanly.
Finally he had to stop kissing her for fear that he'd soon go beyond the limits of what she could tolerate in her current condition. For now, he'd have to be satisfied with knowing that he could arouse her.
Evelyn's eyes opened as he lifted his mouth. She had no idea what to say, especially when he smiled down at her as if she'd just given him a gift.
"I'll leave you to your tea and bath," he said leaning down to brush the lightest of kisses across her forehead.
Then, with her senses whirling, he left her lying on the bed.
Evelyn stared at the closed door for the longest time, her mind grappling with the fact that she'd just been kissed by a marquis.
Four
Evelyn awoke to see the pink flush of dawn staining the sky and the marquis silhouetted against it. He stood at the window, his back to the bed where shed lain sleeping for hours. She blinked away the drowsiness and stared at the marquis, doing her best to see the man and not the aristocrat, but they were too intricately woven together, too inseparable for her to see anything except a peer of the realm.
She pulled the coverlet up to her neck. After she'd bathed last night, she'd used what was left of the hot water to wash out her things. Then, thinking the marquis had returned to his home, she'd climbed into bed and fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Marshall heard the slight creaking of the bed and turned around. He smiled at the provocative image Evelyn made with her hair cascading about her bare shoulders and the coverlet clutched to her bosom like a shield of armor.
He had retired to the main parlor of the lodge after kissing her, leaving her to the privacy she required for a bath and a hot meal of soup and bread that had seemed to satisfy her appetite. When he'd returned to the room, close to midnight, she'd been sleeping. A quick inspection of the small premises had alerted him to the fact that she was naked under the sheets. Her clothing was draped over the edge of the brass tub, left to dry after being scrubbed.
"Good morning," he said, thankful that she hadn't slept the day away. There was much to be done, but he'd stayed, wanting
to reassure himself that she had recovered from her ordeal before leaving to meet with Druggs.
"Good morning, my lord" she replied shyly.
Marshall wondered how deeply she'd blush if she knew that he'd seen quite a bit of her lovely body during the last few hours. She'd slept, but restlessly. He had dozed in the chair where he'd positioned himself after returning to the room. Twice during the night he had walked to the bed to tuck the covers neatly around her. Although she hadn't tossed and turned enough to completely throw off the linens, he had seen her bare shoulders and pale back, the graceful length of her arms and a slender foot. He'd even brushed a tendril of hair away from her face, letting his fingertips savor the softness of her skin at the same time. Once, the last time he'd seen to her comfort, he'd allowed himself the pleasure of kissing her again. A soft touch of his mouth to her lips, nothing more, but enough to arouse him again.
Just before dawn, he had left the chair and moved to the window where he had watched the sun rise. Sometime during those silent moments, he had stopped questioning his intentions to take a shop girl, charged with theft, as his mistress. Once the decision had been made, it didn't disturb him in the least, regardless of the unorthodox manner in which he'd reached it.
"I shall inform the Widow Reardon that you are awake and in need of a cup of tea," he said moving toward the fireplace.
The room had taken on a chill, so he stacked more wood on the grate and prodded the embers until the fire was blazing once again. Satisfied that Evelyn would be comfortable when she left the bed to retrieve her clothing, Marshall turned to face her. "Are you hungry? Perhaps some jam and bread to go with the tea?"
"That is very kind of you," Evelyn said. Had the marquis spent the night in the room with her? His clothing was wrinkled and his face, although still uncommonly handsome, displayed a certain fatigue.
She grew increasingly uncomfortable as he continued to look at her. "Jam and bread will do nicely," she finally said.
"Then I shall leave you for a while."
Evelyn breathed a shaky sigh of relief when she was alone. She climbed out of bed shivering as the air touched every bare inch of her. Hurrying into the small room that served as both bathing and dressing area, she gathered up her clothes. Her skirt was still damp, but her undergarments were dry, along with the white blouse that wasn't suited for anything but a cleaning rag now.
She got dressed then walked to the window and shoved the shutters open, letting the bright rays of the morning sun flood into the room. The sky was filled with translucent pink and gold streaks, the air cool and exquisitely clear. She had no idea where she was, other than an establishment owned by a widow who had been pleasant to her the previous evening. She hadn't asked the proprietor any questions, fearing that she might trigger unpleasant inquiries in return.
From what Evelyn could see from the window, the lodging house had a side courtyard where carriages and coaches could be tended while their occupants ate or lingered over a drink before either going about their business or renting a room for the night. Beyond a thin cluster of trees, she could make out the rooftops of other buildings, but not enough to see if they were businesses or residences. She hadn't had enough presence of mind the previous evening to determine if the carriage had moved north or south. The only thing that had mattered was that the driver had quickly put Clerkenwell behind them.
Evelyn stared out the window, her smile fading as the ramifications of the previous day's events began to unfurl within her mind. She had to face the facts, the unpleasantness of her current situation. Although she was innocent of the charges Lady Monfrey had so hurriedly placed against her, she had no way of proving it other than the simple fact that the brooch hadn't been discovered upon her person or in the shop. Madame La Roschelle had somewhat supported her cause by arguing with the constable, but she was too earnest of a businesswoman to take the side of a shop girl over that of an influential lady of London. The ladies of society weren't likely to patronize a shop if one of the employees was thought to be a thief.
She had some money saved but that would be quickly exhausted if she was forced to find lodgings with no guarantee of obtaining another position. Another shop on Bond Street was out of the question. Everyone on the avenue had seen her being hauled away in the jail wagon. It wasn't a sight they'd soon forget.
That left the marquis.
He did seem earnest in his desire to help her, but was the gesture based on gentlemanly chivalry or true compassion? Or something else?
Evelyn couldn't forget the way he had kissed her, or the way she'd felt afterward. He had still been there this morning watching over her. She was almost certain that he had spent the night in the room. But why? He could afford another, or he could have returned to his home or his club. Yet he hadn't. He'd stayed with her.
She felt a rush of excitement over his obvious concern. He'd behaved like a footman this morning, stirring the fire, going downstairs to fetch her breakfast, and yet one had only to look at him to know he was a man of quality. He wore his birthright with an aura of solid British respectability. His posture, his clothing, his faultless manners, all attested to his highborn status. There was nothing frivolous or bohemian about him. He was distinguished but not ostentatious.
He was, Evelyn concluded with a heavy sigh, very nearly perfect.
She turned away from the window, but left it open. The more light she shed on her surroundings, the more likely she was to remember that the marquis could desert her at any time.
Without the aid of a comb or brush, she managed to get her hair pulled back and secured in a bun at the base of her neck. It would have to do until she could think of some way to retrieve her belongings from the dress shop. She dreaded the upcoming confrontation with Madame La Roschelle.
Evelyn allowed herself a brief smile of recognition when the marquis returned to the room. She had already tidied up the bed thinking the whole time that he could have easily stretched out beside her.
Seeing two cups, she immediately went about filling both of them with strong, hot tea. The aroma lifted her spirits. He thanked her, then carried his cup to the window where he had been standing when she'd awakened earlier. The sound of his voice made her smile again. He glanced at her, and she felt herself blush.
"Don't be shy," he coaxed her. "Please, eat your bread and jam. Enjoy your tea."
A confusing and contradictory thought flashed through Evelyn's mind as she spooned sugar into her cup. Why should she trust the marquis? She'd seen enough of noblemen and their high-handed ways to know the man must have more than a compassionate constitution fueling his concern. The unwelcomed thought linked with another. What if the marquis thought her a thief? What if he had offered her his protection, provided her sanctuary, only because he wanted her to be obligated to him? Did he think to use that obligation to make her his servant, a woman who would do his bidding because she had no choice?
A small internal voice warned Evelyn to proceed with caution.
Marshall saw the change in her expression and knew the morning had brought a whole set of new thoughts with it. His lovely ward was no doubt putting two and two together.
"You are not to worry," he said after taking a sip of tea. "Although there are some things we must manage before the day is out, I want you to rest and trust me to see after matters."
"Why?" she asked. "I am grateful, my lord as I shall always be for your generosity and understanding, but regardless . . . I mean to say, it doesn't make much sense to me. One doesn't require a Cambridge education to know that gentlemen of your rank do not go about London rescuing shop girls from prison."
He smiled at her candor. "Make sense of it all, you ask. I fear I cannot. As to the why of things, the only answer I can give you at the moment is to say that I find you charming and in need of a friend."
Evelyn studied him with open curiosity. She wanted to believe that he was what he appeared to be, a man of conscience who realized that she had been falsely
accused and was offering his help, but she knew she would be foolish if she discounted the possibility of there being more to the marquis's charity. He had called her charming, but she'd gotten a good look at herself in the mirror and knew she looked more like a waif who had slept in her clothes than the sort of lady he was accustomed to greeting on a late spring morning.
"I can't stay here," she told him.
"It won't be for long," Marshall said glancing about the room. "A day or two, no more. By then I will have made other arrangements. I don't think returning to Bond Street is the right thing for you. Not yet."
"Other arrangements, my lord?" Evelyn's instincts stirred in warning. "May I again ask why?"
"My lovely Miss Dennsworth, you may ask me anything you like. And please don't 'my lord' me to death. I think we have progressed enough for you to call me by my first name. It is Marshall, after a great uncle my father held in high regard. And I shall call you Evelyn, in private, of course."
"In private? Then, you expect us to be spending a great deal of time together."
"Yes, I do," he replied honestly.
"You must forgive me, my lord but I can't help but think that your kindness stems from more than a generous disposition."
Marshall laughed. "Amply put and rightfully questioned Miss Dennsworth." He regarded her for a moment, unsure of how honestly he should answer her. Deciding a lie would serve no purpose, he tempered his reply with a smile. "I find no gratification in exploiting innocent women. I also admit to finding you attractive. But then, I'm sure you have already reached that conclusion. I am not in the habit of kissing women who do not appeal to me."
He Said Yes Page 5