She didn’t even bother to act surprised when she found him examining the shelves. “Most of the selections are quite boring,” she informed him.
Reginald tried not to turn and look at her, but the temptation was too strong. She had dressed for dinner in an appropriately low-cut gown that had kept him on the edge of his seat all evening. He had dined for years with ladies wearing less and had only given them a second glance when attracting attention had clearly been their purpose. He had also seen ladies with more assets to display than this one.
He could see no earthly reason why he should suddenly be so fascinated with a woman who held him in contempt, but his gaze wandered unerringly to the soft swell of ivory breasts in candlelight. Since he still held an open book in his hand, he hoped she would think his eyes were on it.
He forced his gaze to lift to her face. She was watching him with suspicion, but she really was too innocent to know what he was thinking. Reginald wondered what it would be like to teach her the power of her femininity, but he had a strange reluctance to teach her something she would only use on others.
He answered politely, “Boring, perhaps, but some are quite valuable. This one, for example. There is only one other known copy in existence.” He held out the book for her perusal.
It was in Greek. She looked at it with disappointment. “It is in very poor condition.”
“The entire library will be in very poor condition if changes are not wrought soon. There is damp in the walls, and without fires in the winter, I daresay the pages are becoming very brittle. I have a mind to seek your cousin out and make a bid for the collection.” Except that he would have no money with which to make a bid once he repaid the ladies the cost of their necklace. Reginald kept that to himself.
“Obviously, it would do better in the hands of someone prepared to take care of it, but I should think you would find very few buyers for as large a collection as this. Did you think to acquire it all for yourself?”
She had the mind of a shopkeeper. Reginald tried to remember his purpose here. “That is not to the point. I have decided we must return to town in the morning. I will begin transferring funds to your man of business as soon as the banks open. I know you did not wish to sell the necklace, but I think it can be arranged so that your mother believes the copy is the real thing. Once you have the worth of the necklace, you need not worry about funds for quite some while. I can advise you on how to invest them, if you wish. They should bring in more than adequate income for as long as you like and even provide dowries, if that is your wish. You need not go fishing for wealthy husbands any longer.”
There had been ample opportunity for Marian to consider his earlier offer, but her answer had not changed. As much as she craved the excuse he offered, she could not accept it. Pride would not allow her to take such an immense sum from any gentleman, and certainly not from this one.
She shook her head vehemently. “No, I cannot accept that. You cannot be made to pay for a favor that I asked of you. I know you think me a vulgar fortune-hunter, but please do not insult me in this way.”
Furious, Reginald slammed the book back on the shelf. “I am offering you and your sister an opportunity to seek affection instead of wealth. I would not have my friend suffer for your greed. Obviously, Darley is worth a great deal more than your necklace and he is titled, as well. Are you so greedy that you would make his life miserable in return for what he can do for you?”
“I have no intention of making his life miserable!” Marian’s voice raised an octave, and she glared at him. “He likes me, even if you do not. Why can you not see that he is happy and leave him be?”
“He is not happy!” Reginald roared. “He has a harpy of a mother and two for sisters. They tell him what to do night and day, and he is too good a fellow to say them nay. You will only add to his long list of nags and make his life hell. I will do everything within my power to prevent that happening!”
“Is that why you are forever tempting my temper? Do you think to expose me as a shrew and make him take a disgust of me? How very considerate a friend you are! Did you hope he would come upon us when you kissed me today? Is that what that was all about? I have wondered, you know, but I am not a complete fool.”
She was practically standing beneath his chin, daring him to admit the truth, and he could not admit it even to himself. Without a single coherent, logical thought, Reginald halted her tongue by putting his arms around her and clamping his mouth to hers.
He felt her start of surprise. Her hands pushed ineffectively at his arms. But her mouth was an unwilling victim that he tortured unmercifully until he felt her surrender. He would teach her there were more pleasant things to do with her tongue than wield it in anger.
Reginald had not meant things to go so far, but once she was in his arms, he could not seem to set her aside. Her lips learned his lessons quickly, eagerly. Her hands began to cling to his arms rather than push. She resisted the persuasion of his tongue at first, but as her breaths came rapidly, she could no longer fight him.
He felt the shock of his invasion ripple through her, and it drew him closer to taste more. He had never experienced a woman as innocent as this one. The pleasure of her response was greater than he could ever have imagined. He craved more, and his hand slid naturally up her waist, to the curve of her breast that had tempted him all evening.
She sighed against his mouth. Her breath was sweet and intoxicating, and Reginald pressed his hand upward that last little inch until his thumb rubbed the pebbly crest of her breast beneath layers of thin cloth. The jolt of shock rushing through her at his touch caused an equal throbbing in his loins, and he could not have separated himself from her now had he wanted. He pressed his kiss deeper and thrummed her sensitive nipple carefully, until she was melting in his hands. She had no defenses against him, and he wanted it that way.
The little capped sleeve slid easily from her shoulder. He knew just where to find the ties of her chemise. Reginald lifted her breast from its concealment just as he lifted her from the floor to bring her to the leather couch behind him. Marian clutched desperately at his neck as she lost her toehold to reality, but she sank gratefully into his lap when he sat down and wrapped her in his arms. If her head was spinning as much as his, they both needed to sit down.
The lamplight was dim, but Reginald used its small illumination to admire the breast he had freed from confinement. His fingers smoothed the skin and played a tune upon the crest that had her wriggling with small cries against his already aroused flesh. It was time to put a stop to this, he knew, but not without one more kiss. He could not remember when he had acquired more pleasure by the simplest of sight and touches. He could not release the moment completely just yet.
That was his mistake. Had he set her aside then, allowed her to whip him with her tongue, no one would have intruded. But the protracted silence after the earlier explosion had aroused too much curiosity. Unfortunately, Reginald’s mind wasn’t on anyone but Marian at the moment.
* * * *
A small hand grabbed Darley as he clenched his fist and prepared to enter the library. He had only the dim light of one lamp to shatter his illusions, but he had heard enough of the earlier argument to understand what was happening behind that chair back now. The hand closing around his arm caught him by surprise.
He looked down into the terrified expression of Miss Oglethorp. The hall was much better lit than the library, and light danced off her golden curls as she turned a pleading gaze to him.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered. “It is all my fault. I was supposed to be the one to make a great match, but I have been much too timid. Marian means only to take care of me.”
That was an extremely odd way of looking at what was happening in there. Darley couldn’t see the other couple in the distance very well, but it hadn’t precisely looked like a wrestling match when Montague had lifted the lady from her feet. He needed to move quickly, but he couldn’t just i
gnore Miss Oglethorp’s pleas. Her timidity had caused him to overlook her more than once, but in these last days he had come to understand and respect her a little better. One did not completely ignore a lady’s requests.
“I am not blaming Marian. I blame Montague. Go back to your mother. We will be there directly,” he whispered, trying to keep one eye on what was happening in the library.
“But you heard what they said. Let me go in there. Marian never meant to hurt anybody, I know it.”
Her voice was breathless and hushed and Darley wished he could shove her aside, but she was the only voice of reason in a vacuum of pain. He was having difficulty sorting his feelings out. His very best friend was making love to the woman he wished to marry—in order to protect him. He wanted to kill them both, but he wanted to weep for the loss of what he thought he’d had. He was being torn in two, but violence presently had the upper hand. He could cry when he was done with them.
But he could do nothing in front of Jessica. “I will do nothing to harm your sister. It is Montague I mean to kill. He has done this deliberately.”
A look of alarm flashed across her face. “You cannot! You will have to leave the country. Please, do not. We will think of something. There must be some other way.”
“Before he ruins your sister completely? I think not,” But a plan was already forming in his head, one that almost made him chuckle if he were not hurting so badly. Montague had never wished to marry. His friend had frequently pronounced he had no desire to have his independence crippled by a woman. He was just about to have his words thrown in his face.
To Darley’s surprise, just as he pushed his way past Jessica and stepped into the room, an unfamiliar voice spoke from the distant wall by the fireplace. Both figures on the couch leapt apart at the sound.
“I thought perhaps I ought to put in an appearance so you could make your offer before the fact instead of after,” the strange voice said dryly.
All eyes turned to the far shadows where a tall, lanky male figure leaned against a shelf, twirling the large world globe at his fingertips.
Reginald recovered first, leaning over Marian and adjusting the sleeve of her gown discreetly, returning her to the couch while keeping his eye on the stranger. He felt her shivering uncontrollably, and he kept his arm around her, even though his own heart was pounding madly—more from nervousness than fear. The situation looked very bad.
“I don’t believe we have been introduced,” he answered coldly, refraining from using so much as a “sir” to this stranger who had walked in on them like this.
The man gave the globe one last twirl and stepped forward to light a lamp on a desk. The flare of fire gave a twisted shadow to his form, and Marian gasped and sank farther into his arms. Reginald held her protectively while knowing his best choice was to put all the distance in the room between them.
The light of this new lamp flickered over a tall form garbed in a loose coat without tails, trousers that did not pull taut over his legs, and a pair of boots that looked as if they had seen better decades. Nonetheless, he stood there in perfect arrogance, arms crossed over his broad chest, as if he were the marquess himself.
Marian gasped as her gaze reached his face. He was the marquess himself. The features were almost exactly the same as the man in the portrait that was her father, only her father would have been nearing fifty now and this man could scarcely be thirty, the same age as the man in the portrait twenty years ago.
A twisted version of a smile crooked his lips as he watched Marian’s recognition. “Very good, little cousin. I have been admiring your intelligence, although I have cause to doubt it under current circumstances. The man you are clinging to is a rascal who needs to be shown how to behave.”
He bent his head in Montague’s direction. “I believe your customs here are similar to ours, but as I have no friends in this country, I request that we dispense with seconds. Would you prefer pistols or swords?”
The gasps from the doorway behind them had Marian and Montague swiveling in a different direction. With a reassuring pat, Reginald stood up and faced this new audience.
Darley finally broke free from Jessica’s grasp and marched into the room, his face a mask of anger. “If anyone challenges the bastard, it will be me. Marian, leave the room, and take your sister with you.”
Jessica darted between the two men and placed her hands on her hips. “Stop it. This is silly.”
As an argument, it left much to be desired, but as a deterrent, her action worked. Darley halted, and Marian had time to recover herself sufficiently to rise, although she kept her arms wrapped around herself as if fearing she would shatter at any moment.
Although sensing her approach, Montague kept his eyes on Darley. “It would be better if you went to your room, Lady Marian. I’m quite capable of dealing with this.”
“No doubt,” she said dryly behind him. “But entertainment here has been lacking until now. I do not wish to leave just when it is becoming interesting.”
Reginald wanted to laugh. He could almost see her expression as she spoke. He might be fighting for his life within hours, but Marian’s irreverent tones made it all seem quite reasonable. He just feared his laughter would stir Darley to greater lengths.
The man behind him had no such fears. The marquess’s chuckle came closer as he walked up to this little tableau. “I am beginning to think I like my little cousin too much to saddle her with a loose screw like you, Montague. Where I come from, we don’t always wait until dawn to level these things out. There’s a set of pistols over the mantel. Let’s just check them out now, shall we?”
“Who in hell are you?” Unaccustomed to being ignored quite so obviously, Darley shoved Jessica behind him. He would have done the same with Marian could he have reached her, but she was currently standing between Montague and the stranger, glaring at them both.
“Lord Darley, I believe I ought to introduce you to my cousin, the Marquess of Effingham. Unfortunately, I cannot give you his name since he has not seen fit to introduce himself to his family, but I think we could settle on something obvious, like Bumble-headed Ninnyhammer.”
Marian’s scathing tone brought another smile to the stranger’s face. He made a slight bow to the surprised company, “Gavin Arinmede Lawrence, Eighth Marquess of Effingham and all that other rot, at your service, sirs.” He straightened, and his smile was gone. “And now you will all get out of here while I straighten out this ruffian.”
He grabbed Reginald by the coat collar, jerked him backward, and slammed a fist into his jaw.
* * *
Chapter 17
As dramatic action, the punch was quite credible, Marian decided as she shook off Darley’s hand. But Montague wasn’t completely cooperative. Instead of staggering backward and falling when the marquess released his collar, Reginald lunged forward, slammed his fist into her cousin’s abdomen, and sent his attacker into the bookshelves. Marian was forced to sidestep hurriedly.
She would have been forced to leave just to remove Jessica from danger had not Reginald immediately stepped back, dusted himself off, and halted the fight before it really started. Taking his cue from the Englishman, the American marquess straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Not bad from a spineless womanizer. Shall we move on to pistols now?” the marquess inquired.
Marian lost her patience. “That is quite enough! You have no right to come in here after twenty years and make claims to a family you have never bothered to know. I am quite capable of looking after myself, and I will thank you not to interfere. For my mother’s sake, I ask that we be allowed to remain the night. We will be gone in the morning and you need not concern yourself over us anymore.”
For the proper dramatic exit, she ought to grab Jessica’s arm and sweep out of the room, but drama and intelligence weren’t always related. Marian knew better than to leave until she had the promise of the men that this would go no further. F
rom their resounding silence, she could see that she had more work to do.
The marquess lifted a mocking eyebrow. “You may stay the night. Now get out of here so we may continue our conversation in private.”
“Conversation? Is that what you call it in America? Your drawing rooms must be vastly amusing of an evening.” Unable to rely on any of the gentlemen at the moment, Marian glanced over her shoulder to her sister. “Jessica, can you climb up over that mantel and retrieve the pistols? Then we can leave the gentlemen to their ‘conversation’.” She drawled the last word in imitation of the marquess.
As Jessica obediently drew a heavy Jacobean chair toward the mantel, Darley stepped back into the picture. “This has gone entirely too far. Jessica, leave that chair alone before you hurt yourself. Sir,” he glanced at the marquess, “the insult has been to the lady I wish to marry. It is my place to call Montague out.”
Reginald gave a gutteral groan, threw up his hands, and crossed the library to pull Jessica down from her precarious perch. She squealed when he lifted her down to the floor, but she made no protest as he reached for the pistols and put them in her hands.
“Take them to your mother. And take your damned sister with you, if you can. I promise not to kill anybody if you do.”
Marian noted Montague was speaking to her sister but not to her. That was a pretty kettle of fish after what he had done, but she wasn’t going to quibble with his tactics for the moment. She just wanted the situation defused and her questions answered.
She turned to the damnable marquess. He really didn’t seem particularly angry. In actuality, she thought he was laughing at all of them. His eyebrows quirked as he caught her gaze, and he waited to hear what she had to say. Marian wondered if her father had been that annoying. She shouldn’t wonder that her mother would have wished him to an early grave, if so.
“I think you should present yourself to my mother, sir. She has been most apprehensive of this visit. We’ll promise not to tell her you’ve been lurking in the woodwork if you’ll promise to behave.”
The Genuine Article Page 14