The Training of a Marquess

by Sandra Owens

  He turned to escort her back to the abbey, but she had disappeared. Bloody hell. The woman still hadn’t answered his question.

  He shook his head and grinned. She muddled his mind so easily that he wasn’t sure of his own name half the time. But, he vowed, he would get his answer before the day ended. Also, she still owed him two kisses. He was keeping count and it was one of the few things he was sure of.

  ****

  Chase stood still while Anders tied his cravat. A week had passed since the day Claire had agreed to go to London—a deuced irritating week. She had evaded him at every turn. His mother had apparently appointed herself Claire’s accomplice in the game of Ignoring Chase. If Claire wasn’t busy working with Harry, she and his mother were joined at the hip.

  When his mother bade him goodnight, Claire left with her. He had spent hours each night sitting on the wall of the courtyard waiting for her to make an appearance, but there had been no Claire.

  He had been sorely tempted to go to her room after everyone was asleep. So far, he had controlled the impulse. The only thing keeping him sane was the furtive glances he caught her giving him.

  “There, my lord, all finished. One of my best knots, if I do say so myself.”

  “You say that every time.”

  Anders picked up the velvet midnight-blue coat. “And each time it is true.”

  Chase held out his arms as Anders tugged the coat onto him and smoothed away the wrinkles. Tonight was the assembly and Chase dreaded it. He would have to drink weak lemonade and be fawned over. Claire had begged to stay home, but he refused to even consider it. If he had to submit to torture, then it was only fair she shared the pain.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he waited for the ladies. Footsteps sounded above. When Claire came into view alongside his mother, he almost shouted in anger. It took effort, but he thought he managed a normal voice. “Where the devil did that black gown come from, Claire? And take that ugly cap off.”

  She wrapped her arm around Lady Anne’s. “I told you he wouldn’t like it.”

  “You’re damn right. I don’t like it.” So much for controlling his anger.

  “Kensington, must I always have to remind you to watch your language?”

  “My pardon, Mama, but she knows how I feel about seeing her in black.”

  Claire reached the bottom step and stopped in front of him. “It’s either this gown or I won’t go. If I don’t wear black, Mrs. Fisherman will make sure everyone knows I put away my widow’s weeds too soon. I refuse to be the subject of gossip tonight.”

  She was right, devil take it, but he hated seeing her in black, supposedly mourning a man who had treated her like a piece of the furniture. The white cap, however, was another matter and he plucked it off. Her hair was styled in a neat twist low on her neck. In his opinion, entirely suitable for the occasion.

  “Very well. But, Claire, after tonight, never again. The first thing we’re going to do when we arrive in London is go shopping. There will be no blacks or lavenders allowed.”

  “Fair enough.” She gave him a grateful smile.

  Chase escorted his ladies to the waiting carriage. The ride into the village didn’t take more than thirty minutes. He spent the time listening to Claire give Lady Anne details of the village families expected to attend the assembly while completely ignoring him.

  Before the night ended, he would find out why.

  She and his mother had grown close. Although he was glad of it, he was ready for Lady Anne to go home so he could have his Claire back.

  His Claire.

  More and more, he was feeling possessive of her. How was he going to endure seeing her in a ballroom flirting and dancing with other men? She had said he was the only man she wanted, so he would hold onto that.

  The carriage stopped and his footman opened the door. Chase entered the assembly hall with Claire on one arm and his mother on the other. The villagers were arranged in a semicircle facing the door with the Fisherman family in front. Applause broke out and Chase wanted to groan—or flee. This was going to be an interminable night.

  For the first hour, Mrs. Fisherman planted herself by his side, guiding him and Lady Anne to every person in attendance for introductions. Claire had managed to slip away when Mrs. Fisherman nudged her way between them. With each presentation, Mrs. Fisherman made sure to mention how Lord Derebourne had asked her darling Rhonda for the first dance. Some of the looks sent his way at this news were speculative and others seemed to be amused.

  Where the devil was Claire? Her place was by him, not sitting along the wall in deep conversation with Miss Fisherman.

  Claire tried to keep her attention on Rhonda, but couldn’t stop her eyes from following Chase as Mrs. Fisherman introduced him to the village families. The poor man was obviously miserable. Even so, he was breathtakingly beautiful in his formal clothes. His blue coat stretched across broad shoulders, the color bringing out the gold in his hair.

  Then there were the parts of him hidden by his attire that she’d seen in all their glory. The muscular legs dusted by fine golden hairs, the dark arrow of hair leading to the most fascinating part of him, and don’t forget his feet.

  Merciful heavens, the assembly room was very warm. She opened her fan and waved it in front of her face.

  “I don’t know if I am more nervous or more excited,” Rhonda said from beside her.

  Claire forced her mind to pay attention to Rhonda. “Everything will go as planned tonight, Rhonda. There is no need to be nervous.”

  “Oh, I mean that I’m anxious about having to dance with Lord Derebourne but excited about marrying Bobby. I’m not nervous about the elopement because I know I’m meant to be with him. When does Lord Derebourne plan to talk to my father?”

  “As soon as the first dance is finished he will ask to do so in private. Remember, you are to wait ten minutes before you join them.”

  “What if Papa doesn’t agree?”

  “Look at Lord Derebourne. What you see is a man capable of arranging the world to his liking.” She patted Rhonda’s hand. “All will go as planned, I promise.”

  The musicians began the first strings of a country dance. “Oh heavens, here he comes,” Rhonda said.

  “Just relax, dear, he doesn’t bite.” Well, actually he does, Claire thought, and had to stifle a giggle.

  “Miss Fisherman, my dance, I believe.”

  The devil lord gave Claire a wink as he bowed over Rhonda’s hand. Claire waved her fan vigorously in an attempt to cool her heated face.

  Rhonda placed her hand in his and Chase led her to the dance floor. Claire longed to be the one in his arms. He was a superb dancer, and although Rhonda was stiff and uncertain of her steps, Chase expertly guided her down the floor. He said something to make Rhonda laugh and the girl relaxed a little.

  “I never thought we would get away from that woman.” Lady Anne sat beside her. “I had to stomp on Kensington’s foot once when Mrs. Fisherman hinted to someone that she expected an offer for her darling Rhonda’s hand very soon, and then looked pointedly at Kensington.

  “I thought he would end the game then and there. He looked at his foot and then at mine, then raised his brow at me as if to say, is that the best you can do? But the moment passed, so all is well.”

  They sat in companionable silence as the dancers twirled over the floor. Claire’s eyes strayed to Chase. What would Mrs. Fisherman say if Claire told her she had seen his manly part? Laughter bubbled up at the thought of how badly she wanted to say, “Yes, his manly part is magnificent. If you think wearing lavender too soon is scandalous, my dear Mrs. Fisherman, what do you think of that? Oh, and by the way, it’s mine and Rhonda can’t have it.” She grinned, imagining Mrs. Fisherman’s reaction.

  “What has you so amused? You’re staring at Kensington as if you know a thrilling secret.”

  Horrified, Claire wished the floor would open and swallow her. Did Lady Anne suspect her thoughts? Claire feared her cheeks were blushing bright red.
Bells in hells, she really was a wanton, and there was no hope of ever again being a proper woman now that she understood the pleasure he could give her. Would his mother still like her if she knew Claire coveted his manly part? Claire stared hard at the seam between two wood planks of the floor, willing it to open and swallow her.

  Lady Anne chuckled and patted Claire’s hand. “I was young once, my dear. Whatever it is you’re thinking of Kensington, I can only imagine, but being his mother, would prefer not to know. The dance is ending so you and I must now place ourselves in Mrs. Fisherman’s company and keep her occupied.”

  “She’s headed our way now,” Claire said. “She has a satisfied look on her face and most certainly wants to gloat. We must keep reminding ourselves that we are doing this for Bobby and Rhonda.”

  “Quite right. That will be our battle cry. For Bobby and Rhonda.”

  “For Bobby and Rhonda,” Claire repeated. When Mrs. Fisherman arrived, Claire stood. “Take my chair, Mrs. Fisherman. I have been sitting all night and need to stand a little.”

  Claire stood in front of Mrs. Fisherman, blocking her view of the room. It wouldn’t do for her to notice Chase leaving with Mr. Fisherman.

  “Oh, did you see, Lady Kensington?” Mrs. Fisherman gave a satisfied sigh. “Lord Derebourne and my dear Rhonda made such a lovely couple on the dance floor.”

  Claire refrained from rolling her eyes. “For Bobby and Rhonda,” she muttered as Chase escorted Mr. Fisherman out of the room.

  ****

  Chase ushered Mr. Fisherman onto the terrace. He had mentioned to the vicar that he needed some fresh air and the man had made it easy by agreeing that he, too, would like to step out of the hot assembly room for a few minutes. Chase took his cheroot case out of his pocket, offering one to Mr. Fisherman.

  The man’s eyes lit up. “The wife doesn’t allow me these, my lord.” He hastily took one. “But I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Chase struck his flint and lighted their cheroots. “There’s not much time, so I’ll get right to the point. Your wife is set on my marrying your daughter. I’m sorry to disappoint Mrs. Fisherman and possibly you, but it’s not going to happen. Please don’t be offended. Miss Fisherman is a lovely girl, but I would make her miserable. Also, she doesn’t want to marry me.”

  Mr. Fisherman lifted his cheroot and stared at the glowing tip. “I have no reason to be offended, my lord. I told the wife she was reaching too high.”

  “It’s not that, sir. If I loved your daughter, I would marry her. Miss Fisherman loves someone else, however, and I am beginning to believe there is someone I want.”

  “Lady Derebourne,” the vicar said.

  Apparently, his surprise showed on his face because the man chuckled.

  “You would be amazed what one learns when everyone thinks one is taking a snooze. The day I accompanied my wife to your home, I saw how you looked at Lady Derebourne and knew then Mrs. Fisherman was reaching for the moon. What is a man to do, I ask you, when he only wants peace in his home, but married to someone as determined as Mrs. Fisherman? Take a good snooze and hope someone else shows her the error of her thinking, eh?”

  “What of your daughter’s happiness? You know she’s in love with the blacksmith’s son?”

  “Yes, and as soon as you do me the favor of dashing Mrs. Fisherman’s notions, my daughter will be free to marry Bobby.”

  Chase was beginning to like this crafty man. “No, that won’t do. Miss Fisherman is leaving tonight for Gretna Green with Bobby.”

  Mr. Fisherman’s brows shot up. “Is she?”

  “Yes, Papa, we are.” Miss Fisherman and Bobby stepped out of the shadows.

  Mr. Fisherman’s eyes lifted to the moon his wife had been reaching for. Chase could see that a debate was going on in the man’s mind.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “I imagine it would be for the best, daughter.”

  Miss Fisherman launched herself into her father’s arms and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Papa. Bobby will be a good husband, you’ll see.”

  He placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “I know that, child.”

  Bobby came forward and held out his hand to the vicar. “Thank you, sir. I promise I will always take care of her.”

  The two shook hands before Bobby led his bride-to-be away. Mr. Fisherman had tears in his eyes, and Chase busied himself with his cheroot. Relieved this had been easier than expected, he glanced at the vicar to see he had regained his composure.

  “Let’s give them an hour before we go dashing your wife’s notions, Mr. Fisherman.”

  “Then you are going to have to stay out of sight, my lord. If Mrs. Fisherman thinks Rhonda is with you, she won’t go looking her.”

  “Send my mother out and tell your wife Miss Fisherman is sitting on the terrace with me and Lady Kensington. Do not fail to mention that my mother is with us.”

  The vicar nodded, his eyes devoid of guilt. So, Mr. Fisherman wasn’t aware of the compromising position in which his wife hoped to catch a marquess. Chase liked the man even better.

  “Sounds like a plan, my lord. I haven’t danced with Mrs. Fisherman in years, but I suppose it would help if I did so tonight. Won’t hurt to keep her occupied, you see,” he said with resignation.

  ****

  Traveling back to Hillcrest, melancholy settled over Claire. Likely due to the excitement of Rhonda’s elopement being over, she supposed. Tomorrow she would begin packing for her trip to London. Chase had dimmed the lamps putting his face in the shadows. Even so, she sensed his attention on her. What was he thinking? Did he really mean to go through with his idiotic plan?

  A strange tension seemed to shimmer in the air between them. She wanted to crawl onto his lap and hear him whisper in her ear that he was putting an end to his mad scheme. His foot came to rest alongside hers. When he pressed against her shoe, she knew it was no accident.

  “You should have seen Mrs. Fisherman’s face, Claire, when Kensington told her that her daughter had eloped,” Lady Anne said, breaking the silence. “She was livid with the poor vicar for allowing it to happen when Lord Derebourne had clearly taken an interest in the girl. Kensington told her there was not a chance of a marriage between him and Miss Fisherman when the girl was clearly in love with another.”

  “Not a chance in hell,” Chase muttered.

  “Your language, Kensington. Anyhow, when she finally calmed down enough to listen to reason, Kensington suggested she and the vicar put it about that the couple eloped with the blessings of both sets of parents.

  “She may be an annoying woman, but she’s not a stupid one. By the time we left them, she was concocting a story of love and romance. Even now, I’m sure she’s busy spreading her story to those still at the assembly. It didn’t hurt that Kensington promised a generous donation to the vicarage to compensate for their troubles.”

  “This elopement was deuced expensive.”

  By his grin, Claire knew he enjoyed teasing Lady Anne.

  “Your language, Kensington. You should have seen Mrs. Fisherman’s eyes light up when he said that. I believe they are honest people, but I would not be surprised if in a week or so, she turns up wearing a new gown and bonnet. She will feel Kensington owes her something for not seeing the brilliance of a match with her daughter.”

  “The devil. It would have been worth a hundred dresses to extract myself from her clutches.”

  Lady Anne gave a theatrical sigh. “Your language, Kensington. So, as they say, whoever they are, all’s well that ends well.”

  “That would be Shakespeare, Mama.”

  “Well, he always was clever with words, if you ask me. Have you seen Romeo and Juliet on stage, Claire?”

  “No, but I would love to. I have read the story.”

  Even though she’d just said she had read the story, Lady Anne decided Claire should hear it again. Chase had apparently slipped his shoe off as his stocking-clad foot slid up her leg. She didn’t hear a word his mothe
r said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chase followed his mother and Claire up the steps to the house. He leaned forward and whispered in Claire’s ear. “Meet me in the courtyard in one hour.”

  She didn’t respond, so he placed his palm against her back and gave her a warning. “One hour, Claire, or I will come to your room.”

  Chase paced along the wall in the courtyard. There wasn’t a clock to see the time, but he estimated more than an hour had passed. The woman was making him daft. He walked to the table where he had placed a bottle of wine and two glasses. Filling one of the glasses, he drained the wine in one swallow.

  He had been aware of her all night at the assembly, had wanted to tuck her next to him and keep her there—hideous black gown and all. Let the bloody gossips gossip. He refilled the glass, then filled the second one. If she didn’t show, he would drink it all. Could one get drunk on wine? He had never tried, but had a mind to find out. At least, that would be one question he would get the answer to.

  Just as he brought one of the glasses to his lips, the back of his neck prickled. She was here. Setting the glass back on the table, he slowly turned.

  Christ in heaven, she took his breath away. Her pale hair flowed straight down her back and over her shoulders. He let his gaze roam down her, taking in the white silk, then down to her bare feet. She said nothing, only stood still under his perusal.

  Raw aching need went straight to his gut, but there was also anger. Anger at seeing her in the black gown, anger at being ignored for the past week, anger at the thought of the weeks to come and having to stand aside while men surrounded her, vying for her attention. He was up to his eyes in anger.

  With a primitive snarl, he advanced on her, his strides long and furious. On reaching her, he pulled her against him, covered her mouth with his and unleashed the raging beast inside him.

  Let him see her ignore this. The kiss was wild and demanding. A small piece of his mind tried to warn him to be gentle and not hurt her. He attempted to ease the kiss, but she wasn’t having it. She dug her fingers into the back of his neck and pulled his bottom lip between her teeth.