by Claudy Conn
Ruffled and yet inwardly conceding her points, he inclined his head. “Let me ask you this. That fellow, the good doctor, I suppose he was not remiss with his attentions. Does he fall into the same category as a rogue?”
He watched her expression change from amusement to irritation, her green eyes flashing at him. His heart skipped with the excitement she instilled in him as he waited for her response. He wanted to scoop her up and take her to his room. He wanted to tear off her clothing and bend over her and suckle at her full breasts. He wanted to drive his shaft home! It was all he could think of.
“How dare you, my lord, and once again, you are proving that friendship is not on our table. Dr. Bankes has behaved like a complete gentleman to me and has not been remiss with his kindness, and I most vehemently resent your insinuation.”
Bloody hell. He had just skewered himself. He felt a wave of jealousy rush through him full force. He hated that she saw him as a rogue and Dr. Bankes as a kind gentleman, for in this case he knew otherwise.
Suddenly and before he was able to retrieve himself in her eyes, she was on her feet. She put down the half-eaten sweet and said, “Sophy, I think I should be getting back to Netherby now. I have stayed too long.”
“Oh no, dear Sassy, you cannot go. Oh, do stay!” Sophy jumped to her feet and rushed to take Sassy’s hands. “We can go upstairs after everyone leaves and have a wonderful girls’ chat.”
“You are most gracious, but perhaps another time. I have lessons to prepare for tomorrow and a few things that need doing.” Sassy smiled warmly at her newfound friend.
“Oh, very well. I will ring for my carriage to return you, and—” Sophy started but was interrupted.
The marquis stood, and his voice was quiet and full with determination. “No need, I have my phaeton outside and ready. I will be happy to escort Miss Winthrop home.”
He saw Sassy’s mouth drop. He had her right where he wanted, for she would not be so rude as to refuse his offer of a ride. He could see her mind racing. What was she thinking? He laughed to himself, for he knew she would not offer him public insult or demand the Delleson’s trouble themselves on her behalf when a ride had been offered.
A few moments later, Sassy obviously stiff and aloof, allowed the marquis to hoist her onto the open seat of his phaeton before he went around to easily and athletically climb up beside her and take the reins.
Sassy looked around. “Where is your tiger?”
“Ah, on his way by stage to London.”
She said, obviously curious, “Oh?”
He smiled to himself and said, “Yes, you see when we made this trip we had not thought we would stay this long. In fact, just yesterday, we talked about returning to London next week.” He was surprised at the enormous gratification he felt when she looked at him sharply. He saw something in her eyes, those deep green eyes that spoke volumes. In spite of her cool rebuffs, she didn’t want him to leave. Interesting.
“But … I sense a but,” she said while touching the ring beneath her glove. She often touched it, he’d noticed. No doubt it was a sentimental gift from her parents. The ring stood out in his mind. Something about it caught his attention. He had seen that stone … but where, when?
“Indeed.” He smiled. “We sent him in a hired post chaise to fetch a few more things to allow us to extend our visit here.”
This left them with a comfortable silence as he noted Sassy watching him handle the reins. He felt his heart nearly burst idiotically when she remarked that she thought his hands quiet.
“A compliment, Miss Winthrop? Careful now—you don’t want to encourage me to think our relationship—whatever you may wish to call it—is improving.”
Sassy looked down at her hands, her cheeks red as she blushed and answered, “I-I simply stated a fact, my lord. I do not flatter people.”
“Do you know that you are the oddest woman I have ever come across? I am in a quandary as to whether you are an adorable innocent or an adventuress hoping to appear as one.”
* * *
Sassy couldn’t believe her ears. She knew that her mouth dropped as she turned to tell him in no uncertain terms what she thought of such a statement.
“I must take leave to tell you that your manners are insufferable. Adventuress? And am I supposed to find that at Netherby? I would have done better to stay with my Lady Margate and her odious son! An innocent? Faith, if my innocence hadn’t departed at the death of my dear mother, it was gone, all gone, when I lost my father, for all innocence was shattered then and thereafter! Do not dare to put me in a category, for I won’t stay there.”
During this diatribe, the marquis had pulled over to the side of the road, drawing his team and phaeton beneath the hangings of a large willow. “I quite agree,” he said softly. “You do not belong in a category, and you certainly don’t belong at Netherby.”
“Ah, I suppose you shall tell me then, just where I do belong?”
He could no longer restrain himself. He took her into his arms. “Here,” he whispered, “Like this …”
* * *
She gasped, for his meaning was not lost on her. He was asking her to be his mistress. She would have hauled off and slapped his face had he not had her ensconced neatly in his strong embrace.
Something happened then—her mana began whispering, soothing, urging her to take him, make him hers.
What? She couldn’t believe the voice in her head. What are you saying? Make him mine? How dare he do this … in broad daylight?
Her second thought as the voice of magic wound its way around her heart was, Ah … his arms … they feel so safe … so strong … so right.
Her third thought was, What am I doing? I am more than the magic inside me. I want more than … this!
Her fourth thought never found an opening to form, as his mouth was on hers, and then, then all she could do was feel.
Sensations charged through her body like a stampede of horses, waiting for nothing and not caring what was in their path. His mouth was on hers, his tongue made love to hers, and it was intoxicating and delicious beyond anything she had ever imagined.
His kiss exploded into another, and in that moment her magic took her body under its wing and guided her, whispering the answers to questions she didn’t know she had, revealing a portal of secrets her inner magic had only hinted at in the past. She was who she was, yes, but she was also a white witch, and that part of her deep inside wanted this one man, told her he was the one.
And even so, she was strong enough to break away and say in a quiet voice, “I know not what I have done to elicit such disrespect, my lord, or is this what you call friendship?”
The marquis frowned and inclined his head. “I beg your pardon. Please forgive me. My only excuse is I find you irresistible and tempting, and I beg you overlook my bad behavior. I certainly did not mean to offend you. I will not touch you again without your leave.”
“And is that what you expect,” she cried, “for me to give you leave?” It was exactly what her magic wanted her to do. She put up her chin, as angry with him as she was with herself, for she knew this was not all his fault. “If I were not alone in this world, you would not have taken such a liberty.”
“I think, my beauty, had you a father and ten brothers, I still would have forgotten myself and been moved to kiss your sweet lips, but I do promise you I shall not do so again, without your leave!”
She looked into his bright blue eyes, and that voice whispered again and again, You will give him leave, you will take him to your bed and make him your own. You will share him with no other, and your magic will be his, as his will be yours.
She almost put her hands to her ears to stop the ravings of her inner self and her mana. She would not give in to a force that made her less than who she was. And what did the voice mean? His magic? Was it speaking metaphorically?
He saw her home in silence. As he helped her down from his phaeton, she could not, would not look at him. Without a word, she turned and rushed
up the steps, leaving him staring after her.
Oh, but she had to escape him and the voice—she had to.
She made it to her room unobstructed, but a moment later a knock sounded, and she called out to find it was Molly, come for a lesson.
Thankfully she opened her door, and for the next hour put the Marquis of Dartmour’s face out of her mind!
* * *
The marquis drove his pair back to the Delleson residence, where he meant to collect Percy. He had to think.
Sassy had brought him to the brink of something he did not want to face. He lusted for her, ah bloody hell, he did, but not in the usual fashion. She was becoming an obsession. He needed to look into her eyes, those speaking eyes. He wanted to watch the flitting expressions move across her face. He wanted, no, needed to make her smile.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Since Sassy Winthrop had entered his world, he had scarcely been able to think of anything else.
He had always enjoyed playing the seducer with the experienced women he took to bed. He enjoyed being the conqueror, and they enjoyed being conquered. But this, this was so damn different in every way.
He had no idea why he had allowed her to think he was offering to protect her as his mistress—and it was clear that was what she thought. He had not meant it. He damn well didn’t have a clue what he meant. He only knew he had to hold her, kiss her …
It was as though something dark inside him, something he had always repressed, had urged him to move in fast and hard, to take her. The word mate was being shouted in his brain by a voice that was oddly enough his own.
He had made a royal mess. He had hurt her, and that was the furthest thing from his mind. How he had allowed a mild flirtation to go that far?
He thought back to the time when he was a second son with an expectation of a moderate though respectable income. He had been, he thought, in love with the neighbor’s daughter, a country lady with higher expectations than a second son. She had been four years older than he, but he hadn’t cared. He had thought she was a goddess to be won and treasured.
However, she wasn’t interested in anything but climbing the social ladder. In the end, his first love’s hand had gone to a local but wealthy squire who had neither the wit nor the heart to keep her.
A year later his father, who had been arguing with Justin’s mother, had driven off in a rage and was killed in a carriage accident. Not all the potions, prayers, or other unusual remedies he had desperately tried on him had been able to save him. His father’s lungs had been punctured, and he hadn’t lasted the day.
In that same year, his brother had found himself in an illegal duel over a woman. Being the man he was, too kind, too just, he had refused to use his blood-right skills, his powerful magic that was a blend of Dark and Light. He thought it should be a fair fight, so what must his dear, adored brother do but delope. His opponent had shot him through the heart and, instead of winning the woman in question, ended up in prison.
Justin had watched his beloved mother dive into hell and came home one day to find that she had shot herself with her small gun.
Justin began to see the emotion of ‘love’ as something to be avoided at all cost.
Now, here he was drawn to this beauty whose magic was white and yet undeniably strong. He might have doubted earlier, but he knew after he kissed her that she was filled with bright, powerful magic. It felt untouched by Dark. He knew one thing else for certain: Sassy Winthrop touched something deep inside him, something dangerously tinged with Dark mana, something that fed on itself, something he had long ago denied.
She had brought all of it to the surface.
He had been fighting it all his life, refusing to be what his father and brother before him were, and now—would he bury it again, or would he revel in it as his ancestors had?
~ Twelve ~
THEY TOOK THEIR leave of the Dellesons and climbed into the marquis’s phaeton. He and Percy both were inattentive to one another, as they were deep within their own thoughts.
It was Percy who broke the silence with an expletive. “Bloody damn hell!”
Justin gazed at him inquisitively. “Things not going well with Sophy?”
“That puppy is asking for a facer, Justin. Mark me, on this, he needs a set-down.”
“On that, I am heartily in agreement,” the marquis returned with feeling.
“He baits me, and at this point, I don’t even think his courtship is in earnest. For one thing, he is too young and has an eye for the ladies! I have witnessed him picking up that damned quizzing glass of his and flirting outrageously when he thinks Sophy is not looking! And well he should. He is just a boy—what, twenty years old? He shouldn’t be setting about looking for a wife.”
“Aye, the wonder is that she doesn’t see it.”
“Oh, mark me, Justin, she does. That is just it. She can barely stand to be in his company, but her mother is forever throwing them together—like today, when her mother cunningly sent her off in his carriage.”
“Yes, it did surprise me when Sophy asked Miss Winthrop to accompany her. I may have been a bit too cynical about your Sophy?” the marquis mused out loud.
“Dash it, man, of course you were, but that has nothing to say in this matter. How am I to get Mrs. Delleson to accept my suit?”
“Isn’t for you to do that, I am afraid. It will come down to Sophy,” the marquis said.
“Poor darling. I don’t know how she can stand up to the woman—a veritable tyrant!” He sighed heavily. “Do you know what? I need a drink! Let us stop at a tavern in Bristol before retiring to our lodgings.”
“Deuced good notion,” agreed the marquis.
A few minutes passed before the marquis pulled his team up at a tavern that looked lively. The marquis gave the reins over to a livery boy with instructions to undo the harness and stall the horses with hay and water, as they would be awhile. With this off his mind, the marquis and his friend strode jauntily inside the tavern, determined to have a good time. Well, at least Percy was. The marquis had other matters on his mind.
Tables were occupied for the most part by locals and seafaring gentlemen. A few sporting gentlemen were talking horseflesh and hunting, and everyone seemed to be in a rollicking good mood.
Percy looked around and frowned. “I say, Justin, this place looks more than a little shabby and a bit … disreputable, don’t you think?”
“I do, but here is where we need to be,” the marquis said enigmatically as he pulled up a high-backed stool at the worn oak counter. As he sat he gazed thoughtfully at the proprietor and waited for the short, stout man to take notice. Oblivious to this, Percy pulled up a similar stool and sighed heavily while he waited for service.
A pretty young woman whose breasts were too large for her scoop-necked gown got up on a round table at this point, hiked up her skirts, and began to dance to the lively music to which the men around her were swinging their tankards.
Ale had been served, and Percy picked up his drink and took a long drag. He then held up his pewter mug to the woman and shouted out to her that she was a beauty.
The marquis eyed him quizzically and shook his head in amusement, for that was not his friend’s style. However, as Percy joined in the revelry with his fellows all singing with the woman, the marquis spoke to the tavern keeper behind the counter. “Sir, a moment of your time.”
The man sidled over and said, “What, sir, a shot of whisky to go with yer ale?”
“No, but I will take another of this very excellent ale, and you appear to me to be a man who knows his business and might be able to provide me with … information.”
The tavern keeper wiped the counter vigorously, nodding his head, and silently poured a tankard of the foaming brew. “Now whot information I could give ye perplexes me, it does.”
“I have only just come in from London, and while my friend here is courting a lovely, I am not, and the truth is I need a bit of er … fun. My tastes, however, are somewha
t particular.”
“And how can I help ye with that?” the stout man asked warily.
“Use your noddle, man! I was told by a mutual friend, a Mr. Delawar, that you were the man to see when I was in Bristol. He told me you could find what I need,” the marquis said, brushing off an invisible speck of lint.
“Well now, covey, I disremember any flash by such a name, but we do have pretties to set your heart afire, aye, that we do, jest cast your famble out, and one will be pleased to keep ye warm.” The tavern keeper smiled broadly with this announcement.
“Stubble it!” the marquis returned impatiently, using flashhouse cant. “It seems you have chosen not to understand me or don’t have the wit I thought you had.” The marquis looked at a few pretty ladies and pulled a face. “I could have any one, two, or three of those. I don’t need you to tell me that. I don’t have to go to a filthy dive to get some of that.” He shook his head. “Not what I am here for.” He lowered his voice. “Listen carefully, and you will be rewarded. What I want, what I know you can supply, will get you more, much more than a coin or two.”
The stout tavern keeper played with the stubbles on his round face, obviously vacillating between the desire to grab the pouch the marquis had set on the counter and the wariness and rules he had set for himself.
“Right then … no need to get hipped over this. I was just trying to figure yer fetch before I showed m’phaz.” He took the pouch and buried it within the wool vest he wore over his filthy white shirt.
“Right then—don’t keep me waiting,” the marquis replied quietly and with a sure warning in his tone.
“Right. I’ll need to know yer direction, and someone will contact ye,” said the stout man after looking behind himself.
“Very well. I am the Marquis of Dartmour and am presently residing at 10 Northwell Road in Bristol. But mark me, this is private matter, and if anyone hears of my doings, be certain I will come for your neck first.” The marquis eyed him darkly.