She sighed and dropped in a discouraged slump onto the window seat. “I like Elias. I like Marianne. She needs a chance to discover who she really is. Her father’s brought her up to be the feminine ideal. Quiet. Calm. Biddable.”
A smile tugged at Jonas’s lips. “You make her sound a complete bore.”
Sidonie didn’t smile back. “I fear if she marries Desborough, boredom is all her future holds. You have to admit she was amazingly brave when Cam married Pen.”
“Cam and Pen are meant for one another. They always were. Even a thickheaded fellow like me can see that.”
“But in finding one another, they hurt Marianne.”
He shifted to sit beside her. “You want everyone to have a happy ending.”
This time she did smile and when he took her hand, she leaned her ruffled dark head on his shoulder. Her sweet scent filled his senses and he kissed her crown.
“Of course I do.” She paused. “Do you really want me to ask Elias to leave?”
“You could.” It was his turn to pause as he stared into the pretty room, his mind working through strategies and consequences. “Now you’ve set up your pieces, my love, let’s leave the game’s outcome to fate.”
“Thank you,” Sidonie whispered, placing her hand on his heart, the heart that was eternally hers. “I wonder what on earth Marianne will think when she sees Elias.”
* * *
Marianne thought that a malicious fate was set on tormenting her into screaming insanity.
What in the name of heaven was Elias Thorne doing in Wiltshire? Astonished, she glared at him. She’d hoped that awkward, humiliating encounter in London meant an end to this torture. Seeing him was so unfair when she’d finally put aside all her forbidden hopes, when she’d steeled herself to reject his proposal, when she’d struggled so hard to reconcile herself to becoming Lady Desborough.
“Lord Wilmott,” she said, her voice chillier than the air in this isolated copse. Inside, she wasn’t cold at all, but furious. How dare he pursue her to the country when he must know he was the last man she wanted to meet?
A break in the weather had allowed her to escape the house. She’d been frantic for some privacy, particularly from her father. He hadn’t taken today’s news of her delay accepting Desborough well. He’d hectored her and played upon her affection until her head ached and she was tempted to give in purely for the sake of peace.
She’d wandered disconsolately through Ferney’s woods before curiosity had drawn her onto the grounds of Barstowe Hall. Now she wished she’d stayed home with her embroidery, despite the prospect of another parental lecture.
Here her other bugbear leaned against a beech tree, wearing an elegant blue coat and looking as smug as a well-fed cat. Temper had her brandishing her closed umbrella before him like a weapon. She was so heartily sick of the male of the species that she didn’t care if she looked unhinged. Even males whose sheer beauty set her wayward heart somersaulting.
Why must this scheming rogue possess that flashing masculine appeal that turned women silly? She strove to recall that this morning she’d thought Lord Desborough an attractive man. Unfortunately, his distinguished air couldn’t compete with Elias’s dark fascination.
“That’s a poor greeting for an old friend,” Elias said without shifting from the lichen-covered trunk. He was the most remarkably malleable man she’d ever known, fitting himself with feline grace against anything upright and solid. She bit back a waspish demand for him to stand up straight like a Christian.
“An old friend would know when he’s not welcome,” she snapped, breathing slowly in a futile attempt to calm her heart’s mad gallop.
A smile played with his mouth. “Old friends are always welcome.”
Her stare was sour. “Then clearly we’re not friends.”
With a theatrical gesture, he clapped one long-fingered hand to his chest. “You wound me.”
Reluctantly she lowered her umbrella. Paragons of behavior did not batter annoying gentlemen, no matter how much they might like to. “What do you want?”
His amusement receded, leaving in its place a disturbing intensity that set her belly clenching in dread. “You know what I want.”
“My inheritance,” she retorted, refusing to betray that he made her nervous. He wouldn’t hurt her, but if he touched her, she didn’t trust herself to resist. And they were a long way from Ferney. “You’re not getting it so you may as well go back to where you came from.”
“Barstowe Hall?”
Horror flooded her. When she’d first seen Elias, she’d assumed he’d ridden from London. She’d been too flustered to realize that if he had, he’d traveled all night through driving rain, yet somehow emerged perfectly dry. “Did you break in?”
His laugh held an edge. “No, my lovely goose. Sidonie invited me.”
She bristled, wishing he wouldn’t address her as if he was genuinely fond of her when they both knew he wasn’t. “Why in the world would she do that?”
“I’d hazard a guess that she thinks you and I belong together and she’s willing to take measures to achieve that end.”
Marianne was famous for her unshakable poise. Now she was angry, angry enough to growl and start pacing, digging the point of her umbrella deep into the mud with every stride.
“What unforgivable interference.” She raised her head and scowled at Elias. “I don’t know what you’ve told her—”
As her agitation grew, Elias only became calmer. Beneath her rage lurked panic. Icy, clawing panic that she could relent, that despite Elias pursuing her for her fortune alone, she might yet take him. Pride alone held her firm. She refused to spend her life eating her heart out over a man who didn’t want her. That way lay toxic bitterness.
But it was so much easier to remember that she couldn’t marry Elias when he was several counties away than when he stood before her in all his louche elegance.
“Actually I’ve told her nothing.” He went on even as Marianne sucked in a relieved breath. “She’s a perceptive woman. She’s seen that I can’t keep away from you.”
“I’d think my father’s response to your proposal would do the trick. Don’t imagine he was bluffing about cutting me off without a farthing if I marry you. He’s a stubborn man.”
“He loves you, that’s clear.”
“Yes, he does, but he loves having his way more.” She stopped, appalled at what she’d said, however true. “Blast you, Elias. You lure me into indiscretion.”
This time he smiled properly and her poor heart lurched into a drunken canter. She could spend the rest of her life basking in that smile. If only he wasn’t a fortune hunter.
“I’d certainly like to.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “And at last you’ve called me Elias.”
She plastered on what she hoped was an indomitable expression. “That’s another indiscretion. We’re not intimates.”
“Yes, we are.” He raised a hand to cut off the argument even she admitted that she made for propriety’s sake. “Don’t try to say anything else.”
She stared at him in helpless despair. “Stop this.”
“I’ve known you’re the woman for me since we met. Last Christmas, I hoped…I believed you felt the same.” He looked more serious than she’d ever seen him. The determination in his features was more frightening than his barely leashed passion in London. She regarded his hard jaw and steady eyes and questioned her ability to withstand him.
“Don’t.” She faltered back. Her hand clenched on the ivory umbrella handle to the point of pain. If he told her again that he loved her, she’d strike him.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Do you remember that afternoon we spent walking through the snow? I felt like I’d met the other half of my soul. Tell me you didn’t feel like that, too.”
How this hurt. How she cursed Sidonie for bringing Elias here to persecute her. “I might have been carried away for a few hours in the pleasure of finding a kindred spirit.”
His mouth flatt
ened with impatience. “More than that, surely.”
“Less than that if you intend to badger me.”
To her surprise, he didn’t react with rage. Instead, compassion softened his black Thorne eyes and he stepped toward her. “Oh, hell, I should have realized.”
She regarded him warily and backed off to maintain her distance. “Realized what exactly?”
“How much Cam hurt you, devil take him.”
She frowned at Elias and raised the umbrella like a lance. “Of course I loathed all the gossip.”
“I thought that was all it was.”
“All?” she asked on a rising note.
“I know your pride revolted at what happened. Now I see you fancied yourself in love with him.”
Shock held her silent for a beat. “Are you mad?”
He knocked aside the umbrella’s frail protection and took her arm. “I’m so sorry. No wonder you find it hard to trust me.”
She shook free and regarded him with dislike. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t.” He didn’t touch her again, thank goodness, but he was far too close. “If you’re marrying Desborough because the man you want is out of reach, think again.”
The man she wanted was out of reach, for all that he currently stood mere inches away. “You don’t truly think I’m wearing the willow for Camden Rothermere, do you? He and Pen are perfect together. I knew it the first time I saw them.”
She couldn’t mistake his vast relief at her uncompromising response. “I’m glad. I hate to think of you being unhappy, Marianne.”
The irony of that statement left her gasping. “Then why chase me down here? That’s hardly likely to put a smile on my face.”
“Neither is marrying Desborough.”
She stiffened and sent him a dismissive look. “Good afternoon, my lord. I hope your journey back to London is dry.”
A fine misty rain had started to fall, turning his black hair to slick curls. The only really dry thing in the whole dripping gray world was his tone. “You won’t get rid of me merely for the asking, my lady. I’m not giving up the contest.”
She hid a flinch. Seeing him was so painful and she could tell by the stubborn line of his mouth that nothing she said would make him leave. Hiding her distress behind composure was second nature to Marianne. Why was it so cursed difficult with this one man? “There is no contest. Or at least not one where you’re in the running. Last week, I refused your proposal. You should have the good grace to retire from the race.”
His eyes slitted in a way that sent apprehension slithering through her like a snake, colder than the winter air around her. “Oh, no, my lovely. This particular runner is vying for the prize and intends to win it.”
Despite her vow to appear unshaken, she took an unsteady step backward.
She gasped as her heel slipped in the mud. With lightning swiftness, Elias moved to seize her arm and save her from an embarrassing tumble.
“Careful,” he said, but she hardly heard.
All she felt was the heat of his touch through her blue sleeve. All she saw was the glitter in his black eyes. The breath jammed in her throat as he loomed nearer, tall, magnetic, oh, so, tempting. While he’d never kissed her, the promise of kisses had hovered behind every word they’d ever spoken to one another.
Her lips parted and she trembled in his grip, although what little common sense she retained screamed for her to run and not to stop until she was safely back at Ferney.
Nearer he leaned and nearer. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent. She could smell him too and it astonished her how familiar his essence was. Soap and clean skin and something rich and male that made her want to rub up against him. The primitive reaction stripped away her pretensions to control. She could only stand here, praying that he kissed her before she perished with need.
The delay extended. To her shame, a smothered whimper escaped her. When she edged forward in helpless encouragement, unholy satisfaction gleamed in his gaze before his thick eyelashes swept down.
So quickly that she staggered, he released her and retreated. That fraught moment of unbearable awareness might never have existed. If her blood didn’t pound in her ears like an earthquake. If her skin didn’t itch with longing. If his potent scent didn’t lure her greedy senses.
What on earth had they been talking about? The frigid air stung her hot cheeks. She’d dearly love to appear as if that nasty little piece of teasing left her unaffected, but his knowing eyes told her that he was fully aware how badly she’d wanted his kiss.
She swallowed and made an effort to sound like her usual self. She almost succeeded. “I’m not a prize, Lord Wilmott.”
He studied her as if he saw right through her hard-won tranquility to all the shameful secrets lurking in her soul. The most shameful secret of all, of course, was that she wanted him despite everything she knew about him.
“I beg to differ, Lady Marianne.” She flinched at the way his deep voice caressed her name. “You are a prize. When you realize that, you’ll be ready to fight for your happiness.”
“My lord—” she stammered, stricken.
He bowed and stepped back. “Good day.”
Only as she watched him stride through the trees and out of sight did she note the irritating fact that he’d left her, while she lingered behind. She’d dearly love to have flounced away from him with her pride intact.
After that disturbing encounter, pride and tranquility lay in ruins. More perturbing, she had no idea how to repair either.
She wished she’d clouted him with her umbrella.
Chapter Five
* * *
The rain had become a downpour before Marianne made it back to Ferney, distraught and angry after confronting Elias. The umbrella that had proven no use in keeping him at bay saved her from the worst of the wet, but she arrived at the Hillbrooks’ lovely house breathless, cranky and with her skirts and half-boots leaden with freezing water.
When Desborough proposed and Elias appeared out of nowhere to plague her, she should have realized this day was cursed. Even the weather turned against her. Fate’s malign sense of humor was again in evidence when she rushed into the high, airy hall to find it heaving with boisterous young men.
Including Lord Tranter, to whom she hadn’t devoted a thought since leaving London.
“Lady Marianne,” he exclaimed in unfettered pleasure, hurrying toward her. The haughty butler’s removal of Marianne’s cloak and dripping umbrella frustrated Tranter’s attempts to take her hands. The interval of fumbling comedy gave her the chance to control her surge of irritation at his intrusion. And at the proprietorial note in his light tenor voice. He’d greeted her like a lover.
She made no attempt to mirror his effusive welcome. “My lord, we didn’t expect to see you.”
Her lack of enthusiasm didn’t deter him. “I’d come down to see old Fitzherbert over there and realized how close you were. Couldn’t miss the chance to pay my respects.”
The black and white tiled hall resounded with vigorous male voices. A pack of young bucks accompanied Tranter. Sidonie was busy making arrangements while her enigmatic, scarred husband watched silently from the first landing. Despite Jonas Merrick’s presence at that happy gathering last Christmas at Fentonwyck, he still made Marianne uneasy. Right now, Lord Hillbrook looked like Lucifer presiding over Hell’s revels rather than a country gentleman accommodating unexpected guests. Two steps below him, Richard Harmsworth’s dog Sirius sat like a shaggy brindle familiar.
“Did you hear me, Lady Marianne?” Tranter asked. She caught brief pique in his clear blue eyes before he resumed his guileless expression.
Who could blame him if he was fed up with her? In his company, she had a habit of drifting off. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Marianne, please forgive the chaos,” Sidonie said, bustling up. “The weather makes it impossible for our visitors to go home. The rain looks to worsen and the Salisbury road is flooded.”
Marianne’s heart sank. A short visit from Tranter was annoying enough. His inclusion in the house party cast a pall on a day that already proved thoroughly depressing. “Have you got room?”
Sidonie made an airy gesture. “Oh, we’ll fit everybody in somewhere.”
“We’ve inconvenienced you, Lady Hillbrook,” Tranter said. “We should have timed our call better.”
Something in his tone made Marianne wonder if he’d timed his call perfectly for his own purposes. No doubt he’d heard gossip about Desborough’s intentions and he arrived to stake his claim. That isolated alpine convent became more appealing by the minute. She turned to Sidonie. “Can I help?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Tranter looking irritated that he no longer had her attention, no matter how wandering.
“Oh, would you? Bless you. I need someone to speak to Chef about the five extra guests and head off a tantrum.”
“Done.” Marianne headed for the kitchens, only remembering as she went downstairs that she never did find out what Tranter wanted to tell her.
* * *
Elias dropped full length onto his makeshift bed in Barstowe Hall and stared gloomily up at the ancient oak beams crossing the ceiling. Every attempt to break through Marianne’s reserve ended in frustration.
Never in his life had he had such trouble with a woman. Flirtation had always come easily to him, although unlike his brother Harry, he’d never been called a rake. But then, none of those ladies had engaged his heart and dalliance had been an enjoyable game.
A game was a million miles from his turbulent courtship of a lady determined to see him as a money-grubbing scoundrel. When he’d never been so sincere in his life.
What a cruel irony that he could flatter and persuade when his emotions weren’t involved, while in the presence of the woman he loved, he could hardly put two words together without causing offense. He cringed to recall Marianne’s contemptuous reaction to his declaration of love. He’d set his heart out before her and she’d kicked it.
Three Proposals and a Scandal: A Sons of Sin Novella Page 4