Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “I only accept kisses.”

  “Come here.”

  Her eyes lifted to his to see if they were serious. They weren’t; he was teasing.

  Wasn’t he?

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I thought you were going to kiss me.”

  Shock hit her again, but instead of asking if he were sure, she took action.

  She moved forward, slowly. Clive didn’t. His position made it so she had to lean over him almost entirely. She placed one hand on the armrest to balance herself and the other on his shoulder.

  She leaned close but didn’t want to crowd him.

  His hand came up, grabbed her hip, and yanked her down.

  She gasped as she landed on him.

  His hand burned through her skirts, yet he did nothing further.

  If the kiss was going to happen, she would have to do it.

  His breath was warm against her mouth. His natural fragrance was a familiar comfort. His eyes still held humor, but now they also held heat.

  He wanted this kiss just as much as she did.

  So she kissed him. She almost expected him to remain still, but he didn’t.

  First, his mouth opened and then his hand cupped the back of her head and pulled her in.

  He was the best thing she’d ever tasted. He was nourishment for her starving soul. She was not at all surprised by the tears that spilled from her eyes.

  He pulled away. “Have I hurt you?” His hooded gaze was at her mouth.

  “Yes.”

  His tilted his head until their eyes met. “How?”

  “I’ve waited for you for so long,” she whispered. “And for so many years. I mourn for every year we were apart.” She smiled. “But my heart celebrates in vibrant color this moment.”

  His other hand gripped her skirts and pulled her closer before his hand slid up her body and pressed down on her lower back.

  She shouted at the feel of his hardened manhood.

  “My body celebrates this moment as well.” He captured her mouth and flipped them and laid her on the couch.

  Irene’s arms went around him.

  A cry from her maid had Clive shoving away from her.

  No! Irene’s mind cried.

  The maid was weeping. “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t know…”

  Irene turned and looked at her. “It’s all right, Maria. Lord Fawley didn’t hurt me.”

  “I know he didn’t, my lady, but I am a good Christian woman.” Maria wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I cannot work here if this... debauchery is what I am to expect. I’ll go pack my things.” Maria rushed from the room.

  Irene sighed and turned back to Clive. He sat on the other side of the couch and was lounging just as he’d been before she kissed him. “Where did you find her?”

  “Next door,” Irene said, resting on her elbow. “She’s truly a sweet girl. Her mother is lovely as well. I hate to think of what she’ll say when Maria tells her what happened.”

  “I’ve compromised you,” Clive said. “We should wed.”

  Irene blinked and then sat up. “I’ll go get you a painting.” She wouldn’t even bother to address his last statement. She wouldn’t think about how much she’d wanted the words to be true and how glad she was that he’d only been teasing.

  She couldn’t marry him.

  “Just one?” he asked.

  “What?” She stood and straightened the pillows on the couch before she started for her bedroom door.

  “I only get one painting?” he asked.

  “One kiss. One painting.”

  He grinned. “How many are there?”

  She smiled. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 2

  * * *

  Clive stood at Irene’s door with two paintings in his hand. He’d earned both. When she’d offered him a chance to earn another, he’d known it was time to leave. His hands gripped the frames as he took in her saucy eyes. She said nothing, but her gaze was an invitation he was fighting hard to refuse.

  He had no illusions of the fact that she would grant him entrance to her body, which was why he had to go, but little did she know this was not goodbye.

  “We’ve not discussed why I’ve come here tonight.”

  She rested her hands over his and squeezed. “Why have you come?”

  His mind blanked and was then filled with the image of her crawling onto his lap and touching her mouth to his, but the words she’d spoken had shaken him and made him harder than ever. He’d been so ready to take her. If her maid hadn’t interrupted…

  The thought of the maid brought to mind their issue.

  “You’re not staying here alone.”

  “Then put down the paintings and come to bed.”

  In his mind, they did just that. He flung them across the room, gathered her in his arms, and carried her to the tiny confines she called the bedchamber. He likely wouldn’t mind the fact that he’d feel caged by the walls if he were inside her.

  She grabbed the back of his neck and began to pull him closer.

  He cursed and fought to think. Why did she tangle his thoughts?

  “Put the paintings down,” she whispered.

  “You little minx,” he growled.

  She laughed.

  He wanted to taste that. He wanted to taste her laugh.

  “Stop,” he said before their mouths could touch.

  She did.

  “Pack a bag. You’re not staying here tonight.”

  Her fingers were still threaded in his hair when she asked, “Where are we going?” Hope shone in her eyes.

  He couldn’t take her home. He wasn’t sure he’d ever let her leave if he did. That thought was disturbing, almost as disturbing as the fact that he hadn’t been completely teasing when he’d offered to marry her.

  But he couldn’t marry her. He’d have to tell her the truth about her brother’s death if he did and that would never happen.

  Guilt efficiently quieted his lust.

  He pulled away from her fingers— they lightly clutched him in the end, which brought his lust back to life— and then managed to straighten and move away from her. “Will Cecilia allow you to sleep at her home again?”

  “I won’t impose on Cecilia again,” she said. “Her husband has just returned home from the Continent. I wish to give her and her family some time together.” Her eyes showed her decision on the matter was decided and she would not be swayed.

  Therefore, Clive decided he would not argue with her and instead come up with another solution.

  “You can stay with Kent,” he said, knowing his friend would not refuse him.

  “I’m staying here.”

  “You’re not. It’s not safe. Your footman doesn’t live here, which baffles me, and your maid has left you. How will you manage on your own?”

  “I’ll manage.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll find a way.”

  “And what about your nightly visitor? You said he comes when there is no one else around. Are you purposefully trying to put yourself in harm’s way?”

  “You should go. It’s late,” she said.

  He put the frames down. “I’m not leaving you alone. I’ll stay.”

  He was surprised when she looked troubled. “You can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not right.”

  He frowned. “You were just begging to get me to stay a moment ago.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She crossed her arms.

  Women.

  No, this was more than the usual whimsical nature of the softer sex. There was more here. “Do you want the assailant to come after you?”

  She turned away. “Good night, Clive.” It was a blow to his gut.

  He grabbed her arm and turned her around.

  She gasped. “I told you not to handle me—”

  “Is there more to this assailant than what you’ve told me?” Maybe he’d gotten rough with her in bed. “Are y
ou lovers?”

  * * *

  Irene snatched her arm away as fury and worry burned in her belly. “I’ve never taken a lover.”

  “You tried to get me to stay,” he said with heavy accusation.

  “I love you!” she cried. “There is a difference.”

  His eyes grew round.

  She frowned as her body began to tremble. She hadn’t meant to say it. Before now, she’d thought to save it for the perfect moment, but once she set herself on a path to avenge the world of her father’s destruction, she’d known she could never say it. She didn’t want him pining for her after she was gone. She’d been given enough in life. Her family had taken joy from others in order to give it to her. She’d been far happier than she deserved. Even Clive being here tonight had been more than she deserved.

  When he continued to look stunned, she said, “Do not pretend as though you do not know, as though you haven’t known all along. I have loved you for years.”

  His gaze softened. “Irene…” He said no more.

  A part of her had hoped he’d say it in return. It was another reason she’d waited. He wasn’t ready. He’d been through so much. She’d yet to show him how safe he was with her.

  That he didn’t respond in kind now hurt.

  “You should go.”

  “I’m not leaving you anywhere that man can get to you.”

  But now she wanted him gone for another reason. Her heart was in pain. “You can’t make me leave, and I’m no longer inviting you to stay.” She moved around him, grabbed the door handle, and closed her eyes. “You have to go.” She opened the door and looked back over her shoulder.

  He was gone.

  She listened and heard noise in her room.

  She started for the bedchamber, which was more like a closet, and watched him move in the lamplight.

  “Excellent.” He picked up her blue woolen bag with the gray frieze. “You already had a bag packed.”

  It was the bag she’d taken to Cecilia’s.

  “You may proceed me to the carriage,” he said.

  She frowned. “I just said I’m not leaving.”

  His eyes were as hard and potent as blue topaz stones. “Either you can come down like the civil young lady that you are, or I can take you over my knee and then you can come down.”

  She was amazed by his audacity. “Not even my father ever took me over his knee.”

  “It shows.” He held out his free hand for her to lead.

  “You will not take me over your knee.”

  “I will. In fact, few things would give me greater pleasure than placing my hand on your bottom.” The topaz blue changed to a lapis hue.

  Irene grew so hot and heavy that she was surprised when she didn’t melt into the floor. She could say nothing. She could do nothing.

  He took three steps and then he was right in front of her. “Am I taking you over my knee?”

  She licked her lips. “Are you?” It had sounded fairly indignant before, but now…

  He cupped her cheek. “You may be fine with putting yourself in danger, but I’m not.”

  Her lips parted.

  He placed his finger over her mouth to keep her silent. “Whenever you feel the need to argue about this, remember that you said you trust me with your life.”

  She had said that. “Yes, but—”

  “You chose me,” he reminded her. “A thousand men in London and you chose me.”

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered against his finger. “But—”

  He leaned in. “This is what happens when you chose me. I don’t know everything you’re facing, but I already vowed to handle it.”

  “Clive—”

  “We’re not arguing.”

  “But we are,” she said as she moved his finger away. “We do not agree on what should happen—”

  “Is this all you need?” He heaved the bag in reference.

  She looked down at it and then looked up again. “Where are we going?”

  “My home,” he said.

  Her eyes widened. This was an opportunity she would take. “Give me five minutes.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  2 3

  * * *

  Clive’s old butler gave no reaction as he opened the door.

  Irene looked around the grand space with wonder and faint amusement. “It’s beautiful.”

  It was a beautiful home. It was the sort of home she should reside in and never an apartment like the one she was currently renting.

  He turned as his mother came into the foyer. She was dressed for bed and wore a long robe. Her dark hair was braided. Her gray eyes were round. Her shocked expression put a touch of fear in Clive’s blood.

  Irene stiffened at his side.

  “Clive?” Angelinii moved forward.

  “He is gone this week, isn’t he?” Clive asked, stepping forward. “I haven’t mistaken the time, have I?” he asked in low voice. If his mother sent him away, he didn’t wish Irene to hear it happen.

  Angelini shook her head and then she smiled. “No, you’ve not mistaken the time. I just… didn’t expect you at such an hour.” She touched his shoulders and then lifted to place a kiss on his cheek. When she settled back down, her smile was open and filled him with happiness. Her smile reminded him of a million colors bursting into the sky. Like a firecracker. Like Irene.

  He turned to Irene, who still stood by the door, waiting. Her expression of awe hadn’t changed. He’d shocked her. He purposefully hadn’t told her where they were going.

  This was not where he lived, but the rent was paid by him every year, had been since he came into his money. When Lord Edmund had heard about Clive’s wealth, he’d threatened to move his mother and sisters to a smaller place, one like the place Irene lived. Clive couldn’t allow it.

  He paid the rent every year for the townhouse on St. James and yet hadn’t been inside its walls in years. He wouldn’t stay for long.

  “We have company,” his mother said, indicating Irene. “I should change.”

  “No, Mama. You are fine as you are. I would like you meet Lady Irene.”

  He did the introduction and Clive frowned as his mother brightened through her embarrassment.

  But then he noticed Irene looking embarrassed as well.

  “We’ve met before,” Irene said.

  “Have you?” Clive asked.

  “Forgive me for not looking proper, my lady,” Angelini said before he could ask any more questions.

  “No, it is your forgiveness I need,” Irene said. “When Clive said… I didn’t know we were coming here.”

  “Irene needs a place to sleep. She gave her home to charity. It’s an orphanage now.”

  Her mother gasped. Everyone knew the Van Dero estate. “Truly? My lady, how kind of you.”

  Irene looked down, sadness making the corners of her mouth grow tight. “It was the least I could do.”

  “It will only be the night,” Clive said. “We’ll find her another place to stay in the morning. I hope that’s all right?”

  “Of course,” his mother replied.

  Irene gasped up at him.

  “Don’t argue,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Irene said.

  “Then simply agree with my assessment on the matter and all will be well.”

  Irene glared at him.

  Angelini laughed and then turned to a maid to have a room prepared for Irene. Then she looked at Clive. “We’ll take care of your…” she paused so that Clive could finish the statement. When he didn’t, she said, “… Irene for you.”

  He bowed and then turned to Irene. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “I shall speak to you before you leave,” Irene said with an amount of sweetness in her tone that made him cringe.

  Clive kissed his mother and then started for the door.

  Irene stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I thought you were taking me to your home.”

  “This is my home. One of them.”
r />   “You lied to me.”

  “Did not.”

  She was smiling. He realized then that she had been since they reached the door.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’ve brought me to your mother’s home.” Her smile turned into a smirk.

  He swallowed. “It’s my home.”

  “Is there any reason you wished for me to spend time with your mother?”

  “Good night, Irene.”

  She sighed wistfully. “One day, you’ll admit how you feel, and you’ll feel better for it.”

  He doubted that.

  Then he wondered what feeling he had to doubt. He didn’t love Irene. He cared for her, but most of what he felt for Irene was guilt. She reminded him of his mother. Vulnerable and open to predators. One mistake could change her life forever. He would protect her from making such a mistake, starting with making certain her nightly visitor did not approach.

  “This is a safe place. There are people, therefore your visitor will not show.”

  “Would you like to earn another painting before you go?”

  He shook his head. He did, but he would not kiss her in front of his mother. “Good night, Irene.”

  He spoke to the butler before the man closed the door behind him.

  Clive stayed outside for a time and checked the street before leaving.

  * * *

  Irene shot up in bed and stared across the room at her assailant. He’d come for her. He sat by the fire. The lower half of his face was covered. A cloak was thrown over his body, hiding his form. She only knew the lean body that lay under it because he’d once thrown himself on her.

  Her heart had just begun to slow when he said, “Where’s the book?”

  “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

  “I believe you,” He looked over at her. “After what you did for those children at the shipyard, I believe you.”

  His words would have reassured her, but once her blood was pumping, it would not slow down.

  “You wanted me to stop what happened at the shipyard, and the silk merchant ship, and the factory, didn’t you?” she asked. “You wanted me to save the children.”

  He looked into the fire. “I don’t care about the children. They could all die for all I care.”

  Her throat closed. Her voice was barely a whisper, “I don’t understand. Why did you—”