He halted on the other side of her worktable, his gray felt hat in his hands. She looked into his face, and the moment she did, all her efforts to seem nonchalant proved vain, for the moment their gazes met, she blushed all over again. Beneath his intense observation, she felt a painful vulnerability like nothing she’d ever felt before, and she had a sudden, overwhelming desire to run away, but she forced herself to remain where she was.
“I realize I am intruding upon your work,” he said, “but I wanted a private meeting with you, one in which we would not be interrupted, and this is the only time of day I could be sure of achieving that objective.”
“A private meeting?”
“Yes. What happened between us the other night demands it.” He drew a deep breath. “I must accept responsibility for my ungentlemanly behavior.”
She remembered that ungentlemanly behavior quite well, and how it had made her feel. Maria bit her lip and lowered her gaze to the table. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire.
Of course he noticed. “I realize I am causing you embarrassment by discussing such things,” he said, “and I regret that, but it cannot be helped.” Turning away, he began to move about the kitchen as if too restless to stand still. “First, let me say that in offering you my carriage, my primary concern was your health and safety…” He came to a halt and cleared his throat, but he did not look at her. “At least at first.”
“I don’t think you offered your carriage,” she felt compelled to point out. “You dragged me inside.”
Such precise hair-splitting was ignored. “But these concerns were soon displaced by ones I am ashamed to say were far less honorable. Even now, I cannot fully explain my actions.” He looked down at the hat in his hands and gave a short laugh. “Such undisciplined conduct is not at all like me.”
She was inclined to agree, but he gave her no opportunity to say so. “A man of my rank,” he continued as he resumed pacing, “would demonstrate such amorous inclinations toward his mistress, or perhaps his wife, but not to an innocent woman. You are not a demimondaine, nor are we married, and for me to have taken such liberties was unpardonable.”
Maria stared at him, dismayed. He had come to apologize for the way he had kissed her and touched her? Perhaps she had a terribly careless disregard for propriety, but the idea that he was about to express regret for something that had seemed to her quite wonderful was rather deflating. “Phillip, there’s no need—”
“Miss Martingale, please allow me to finish. I realize that my…amorous advances upon your person are without excuse and I shall make none. But I must be allowed to express the deep and impassioned desire I feel for you.”
Her lips parted in surprise. That Phillip had developed an inexplicable attraction to her was obvious enough after the events of the other night, but that he would confess to such feelings aloud was astonishing.
“In such circumstances as these,” he went on, “you must agree that marriage is the only honorable alternative.”
Her astonishment deepened into complete and utter shock. She tried to speak, but the idea that Phillip seemed to be proposing marriage to her was so absurd that any sort of reply proved beyond her.
He seemed to take her silence for acquiescence.
“Since you have no family, we should be married from London, for you do have friends here in town to stand by you. I realize that long engagements are in vogue, but under the present circumstances, such a course is impossible. Three weeks, I believe, is sufficient time for banns, a license, a discreet announcement in the newspapers—”
“Wait, please!” she implored, holding out one hand, palm toward him, rather like a policeman halting traffic. “You want to marry me?”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she began to laugh. She couldn’t help herself, for it was such an outrageous notion.
“I did not realize the offer of my hand would be so amusing to you,” he said with dignity.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, forcing herself to regain control, sensing she’d hurt his pride. But really, this was so absurd, how could she take it seriously? When she looked at his face, however, she knew he did not see the matter quite the same way she did. Giving a little cough, she lowered her hand and sternly took command of herself. “Forgive me,” she said. “It’s just that a proposal of marriage from you was the last thing in the world I expected.”
“That is understandable, I daresay. Given my conduct and the difference in our social positions, I’m sure you thought I had come to make a far more unsavory proposal. But regardless of your status or mine, I cannot allow my dishonorable behavior towards you the other night to be without honorable consequence.”
She frowned, bewildered. “So you feel compelled to marry me out of a sense of obligation?”
“Yes. No. That is…” He broke off. “What I feel for you is something that I fear is out of my control. As much as it pains me to say it, I cannot promise that what happened in the carriage will not happen again. As I said, you are an innocent woman, and I cannot vouchsafe that you will remain innocent should we find ourselves in similar circumstances again.”
“You could not allow your brother to marry me twelve years ago, yet you now wish to do so?”
“Yes.” His grimace of distaste was hardly flattering. “I have saved him from an imprudent marriage only to fall prey to one myself. There is irony in that, I suppose.”
She was uninterested in the irony of it. She was still trying to get over the shock. “So…so you are in love with me, then?” Even as she asked the question, she could not credit it, especially given their argument about love the night he’d kissed her in this very room. And yet, she found herself holding her breath as she waited for an answer.
“Love?” He tilted his head toward the ceiling and gave a laugh that did not seem in any way amused. “I believe one might more accurately describe it as a madness.”
She felt a keen and inexplicable disappointment, but her pride refused to let him see it. “Yes, I recall that you admitted to a certain mental instability in regard to me a few weeks ago.”
“I’m certain it will pass, once it has been…has been…”
“Sated?” she supplied.
“Yes.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “God, at least I hope so.”
Maria decided she’d heard enough. “Thank you for your explanations regarding the other night. I believe I now fully comprehend your feelings.” She met his gaze with a hard one of her own. “What you really mean is that you wish to bed me, and you can’t think of any way other than marriage to manage it with your honor intact.”
He stiffened at those words, and his face took on an expression she knew quite well, the cool, inscrutable mask of the well-mannered gentleman. “This is not about my wishes, Miss Martingale. What I feel for you is something I never wished for, nor did I welcome it when it came over me. Could you expect me to do so?” he added as she made a sound of outrage. “You worked in my family’s kitchens as a girl. You are the daughter of a chef, the granddaughter—if I remember your pedigree correctly—of a wine merchant. Your mother was related to a squire, but the connection is so tenuous as to be meaningless.”
“Thank you, my lord, for that summary of my bourgeois bloodlines.”
“I only point these things out because we are talking about my wishes, and my wish would have been to marry a woman of rank equal to mine, for to marry well is one of the primary duties of my position, and by offering you my hand I am abandoning that duty. Furthermore, by giving in to my desire for you I am subjecting myself and my family to ridicule and social ostracism. And, most galling of all, I am doing this because I cannot master my own passions. Believe me, Miss Martingale, my wishes have nothing to do with this.”
“Honor has nothing to do with it either,” she shot back. “A marquess doesn’t need to marry the kitchen maid in order to bed her.”
“Damn it, Maria, I have never, ever, thought of you as a servant! Nor have I ever treated you as
one. On the contrary, I have allowed an ease and familiarity between us all our lives that no other man of my position would entertain for a moment. As for the rest—” He swallowed hard. “You force me to admit the carnality of my feelings for you. I wish I could deny it, for it galls me to admit I possess emotions I cannot control, but as a gentleman, I must allow honesty to overcome shame.”
“These gentlemanly codes of honor are so romantic. How could a woman not be swept away by them?”
He pressed his lips together, perceiving her sarcasm. “I realize that you might regard this offer of marriage as less than eloquent, but I have never been an eloquent man.”
“You underestimate your abilities, my lord. You have expressed your feelings quite well today. I fully comprehend the nature of them. How could such perfect clarity not be eloquent?” She gave him no time to answer that question before she went on, “But it does not necessarily follow that I am persuaded by your skill at self-expression. In fact, I am not.”
“Maria, do you not comprehend what almost happened in my carriage? I would like to say your virtue is safe in my company, but it is not. I tried to stay clear of you by evicting you, but as my brother pointed out, that would have been an action unworthy of me. And even if I had done it—” He broke off and made a sound of frustration. “I am sure it would have been futile, for I cannot stay clear of you, no matter how I try. Despite the inferiority of your position, despite the incompatibility of our temperaments, despite how unsuitable a match between us would be, despite the scandal and social disapproval that will no doubt ensue, I know a marriage between us is the only honorable option.”
“And that is supposed to persuade me to accept?” she cried. “Do you really believe I would agree to marry a man who feels only lust for me, and even that against his will and the dictates of his conscience? Do you think I would marry a man who had so little consideration for me that he severed our friendship without a thought, and later parted me from the boy I wanted to marry because I wasn’t good enough? A boy, I might add, who had a genuine regard for me–”
“Genuine regard?” he interrupted, and made a sound of derision between his teeth. “Lawrence was seventeen. His regard for you was based primarily on the fact that you wore skirts.”
“And your regard is based on something deeper?”
His head moved slightly to the side, almost as if she had slapped him. Just now, Maria wished she had.
“I have already admitted my weakness where you are concerned,” he said stiffly. “Must you throw it in my teeth? At least I am a mature man of thirty-one, not a boy of seventeen. I know the ramifications of my decision.”
“A decision that takes mine for granted!”
“And you think that a conceit? In my defense, I can only remind you of my rank. By marrying me, your future and that of our children would be wholly secure. You would be elevated to a position of wealth, title, and status any woman would envy. Forgive me for being aware of my worth as an eligible parti.”
“I don’t care a fig how many other women want to marry you, Phillip! The point is whether or not I want to marry you. So far, I am not persuaded.”
“Because I have not confessed love? Because I have offended your romantic sensibilities?”
“No!” she fired back. “Because you believe me to be beneath you!”
He opened his mouth as if to protest this conclusion, but then, he closed it again, saying nothing.
“I see that you don’t deny it,” she said, and the words left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“There is no point. You are beneath me. Your position is far below mine.”
“Oh!” she cried, thoroughly outraged. “There are times when I truly hate you! You are such an arrogant, haughty, condescending snob!”
“What?” He seemed astonished. “Now that I can and do deny! I am not a snob!”
“Oh, yes you are. You believe I am inferior to you.”
“I do not believe you are inferior to me!” he shouted. “I believe your position is inferior to mine. There is a wealth of difference between the two.”
“The reason for your disdain does not make it more palatable to me. With my low position in the world, I wonder that you can think to marry me and sully your family tree!”
“It is not disdain to acknowledge facts. I am a marquess, the seventh Marquess of Kayne. My family has been one of the most prominent in Britain for six hundred years. Every king and every queen of England has dined at Kayne Hall since Henry the Second. Among my ancestors are prime ministers and princesses. I can claim acquaintance with heads of state all over the world. To fulfill my duty to my family, I am expected to marry high—the daughter of a peer, at the very least. You can hardly expect me to be happy that a woman of no consequence inflames my passions, controls my will, and overpowers my reason to such an extent that my only honorable alternative is to marry her?”
“It is not an alternative! Not for me. I have no intention whatsoever of accepting your proposal. Forgive my bourgeois sensibilities, my lord, but I believe people who marry should have mutual respect and affection, and it is clear we have neither. What you offer me is not matrimony. It is enslavement.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “I believe I am the one enslaved, madam. And though it has cost me every ounce of pride I possess, I have admitted it to you. The power in this situation rests wholly with you.”
“And this…this desire to which you confess is your basis for a permanent union between us? A desire you define as a madness? A fleeting madness, at that? When it cools, what will take its place? Not liking or affection, nor even respect, for though I had those feelings for you when we were children, they are well and truly gone. And though you may be quite proud of your aristocratic position in the world, I have never given a damn about your station, your title, your wealth, or any other measure of your character, except the way you have treated me. And since we are now on that subject, let me say that the way you have treated me has been abominable.”
“I have already admitted as much,” he muttered. “The other night—”
“For the love of heaven, I’m not talking about what happened in the carriage!” she cried in exasperation. “That night was the most wonderful, romantic thing that has ever happened to me, although why that should be so escapes me at this moment.” Her voice cracked at that humiliating admission, and she paused to take a steadying breath. “You are asking me to be your wife, and yet, the only tenderness and affection you have displayed toward me was in that carriage.”
“Not only then,” he corrected. “What about what happened in this very room? Was that not a display of tenderness, Maria?”
The reminder of the night he had first kissed her only made her more angry. “Based on a desire for me you confess is only physical. In every other respect, you have behaved with no consideration for me whatsoever. You cast aside my friendship, avoided my company, and imparted the worst possible motives to my conduct. You separated me from Lawrence by playing upon the weaknesses of us both. You knew he would cast me aside to keep his income and your regard. And you knew I would take the money, for my father had just died, leaving me nothing. You paid me off as if I were some pregnant, disgraced kitchen maid, and yet you say you’ve never treated me like a servant? And you never once stopped to think of the pain your actions caused me. You behaved like an utter cad then, and there is no force on heaven or earth that would impel me to marry you now!”
Something crossed his face, a queer spasm that might have been guilt. Or anger. It might even have been pain. But he lowered his head before she could be certain, staring down at the hat in his hands.
“You have complimented my eloquence,” he said, “but you, too, have been remarkably eloquent today.” He looked at her again, and any pain he might have felt was hidden behind that mask of composure he could don so easily. “I have confessed my feelings, and in return, I have been rewarded with yours. A most enlightening conversation all around.”
Breathing h
ard, she stared at him, too angry to think of a single thing to say in reply and too hurt to care about anything he might be feeling.
“Since we have both expressed ourselves so well,” he added, “there seems to be nothing further to say. I will not impose myself upon you again, although I think it would be wise if we did our utmost to avoid each other from now on. I bid you good morning, Miss Martingale.”
He bowed and departed, and she watched him through the window as he began to ascend the steps to the street, and when he had vanished from view, she tried to return to her work, but the moment she picked up her spoon, she slammed it down again and turned away from the worktable.
She began to pace the room, but as she walked back and forth across the kitchen, the things he had said echoed through her mind, and her agitation grew.
Do you honestly think I should be happy that a woman of no consequence inflames my passions, controls my will, and overpowers my reason to such an extent that my only honorable alternative is to marry her?
She stopped, clenching one hand into a fist and grinding it against the palm of her other hand with a sound of fury. To think this morning, she’d been getting all dreamy-eyed about him. What on earth had she been thinking?
By marrying me, your future and that of our children would be wholly secure. You would be elevated to a position of wealth, title, and status any woman would envy. Forgive me for being aware of my worth as an eligible parti.
Maria resumed pacing. There were women, she supposed with a sniff, who would envy her because she had received a marriage proposal from a marquess. Those women would call her a fool for refusing the suit of a man so far above her in station, a man who was also handsome, powerful, and enormously wealthy. Had she accepted, there would have been a scandal, to be sure, and some members of society might never have accepted her, but she would have been the wife of one of the country’s highest-ranking peers, with no need to work ever again. She would have had beautiful clothes, beautiful homes, and the ability to move within the same social circle as Pru and Emma, her two closest friends. And she would have been able to have children.
Secret Desires of a Gentleman Page 18