Loving Lady Marcia

by Kieran Kramer

  “We’ll know soon enough,” he replied.

  “I’ll know soon enough. Thank you for the ride, but we’ll say good-bye here.”

  “Very well, my lady.” He helped her down. “It makes perfect sense we walk in separately. But what a pity we must part.”

  “I’m perfectly amenable to parting,” she said with a polite smile. “Now I really must go, my lord.”

  “Splendid plan,” he said. “Of course, once you’re on the ballroom floor, you’ll be besieged with admirers. You haven’t been in London this age. Perhaps your brother Lord Westdale will come to your rescue and allow you the few minutes’ peace you’ll require to hunt down the viscountess. Or my brother, Finn, could assist you. Although I don’t think he’d be very interested in your scheme. Like all the other gentlemen inside, he’s more likely to want you to dance with him. Good evening, my lady.” He bowed and began to walk away.

  “Wait!” she called to him.

  Slowly, he turned. “Yes, Lady Marcia?”

  She wrung her hands. “In case I don’t see Gregory or Mr. Lattimore immediately, and I’m … besieged, as you say, please feel free to come over and … and—”

  “Rescue you?”

  Her face reddened. “I’d hardly call it rescuing me.”

  “That’s right. I’d have the pleasure of your company, so it would be no sacrifice for me, would it?”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” Somehow, her face reddened even further. “All I meant is that it could be”—she hesitated—“it could be that I might be able to use your help, after all. Just for tonight. For those few moments I need to speak to Lady Ennis. Then your guilty conscience will be clear.”

  He forced himself to delay answering a moment. “I’ll find you almost immediately and quite rudely sweep you away from whomever has gotten his or her talons into you,” he said. “You go in first.”

  Her face registered some relief. “Thank you, my lord.”

  It was easy enough to slip inside unnoticed. The receiving line had dissolved long before their arrival. Footmen carried heavy silver trays up and down the two sets of ballroom stairs. The strategic placement of orange trees and massive bouquets of flowers broke up dull stretches of open corridor and lent drama to the balcony circling the entire ballroom floor.

  At the top of the stairs, Duncan saw Lady Marcia on the other side of the balcony, standing next to an orange tree. Nearby was a door through which the occasional lady came in and out. It must have been a retiring room.

  Lady Marcia was deep in pleasant conversation with two young ladies, judging from the happy smiles on their faces. Another woman came out of the retiring room and joined them. It seemed a nice spot to linger on the upper level to gain a better view of the goings-on below and to admire two massive crystal chandeliers holding hundreds of blazing tapers.

  It wasn’t long, however, before a threesome of young men found their way to them.

  Ah. It was a regular party now, lots of feminine giggling and male laughter.

  She was trapped, just as he’d predicted. He saw a vague look of worry on her face, which she did her best to disguise.

  And then she saw him.

  He smiled. And winked.

  Her cheeks grew pink, and she looked purposefully away, resuming her conversation with a persistent young man, who took her elbow and bent low to say something to her.

  She shook her head, smiled gracefully, and shrugged. The young man managed the rebuff well, turning to the young lady on his other side, but then two more gentlemen approached.

  Lady Marcia looked over the shoulder of one of them directly at Duncan.

  He nodded. It was time to—well, to have the pleasure of her company. Silently, he strode around the perimeter of the balcony, his eyes focused on her curvaceous figure from afar. Up closer, he took pleasure in observing her lively, intelligent expression.

  “Lady Marcia,” he said, without waiting for a break in the conversation, which threatened to spill over from all sides. “That dance you promised me is upon us.”

  “She’s not dancing yet,” said the rebuffed young man.

  But Duncan ignored him. He wrapped Lady Marcia’s hand firmly under his arm and walked away with her.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she called over her shoulder to the young man.

  “Who does he think he is?” they both heard from the hurt suitor as Duncan led her away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Her hand, small and fine, gripped Duncan’s sleeve.

  “My pleasure. Have you had a glimpse of Lady Ennis yet?”

  “No.” Her lips were a thing of beauty, perfectly arched, prettily pink.

  He patted her hand. “You can do this. Don’t forget you have something to offer her.”

  She said nothing.

  “We really should dance,” he suggested.

  “No, Lord Chadwick, we shall not dance.”

  “But you can search for the viscountess that way without looking obvious.”

  “I’m afraid your shoulders are too broad for me to peer over them.” A blush crept up her cheeks.

  “But you can look to either side,” he replied. “Everyone will think you terribly bored to be dancing with me. Tempting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, if you put it that way, it is.”

  They began their descent of the ballroom stairs. For all anyone knew, they’d met for the first time that evening on the balcony.

  For a second, Lady Marcia froze. “There she is. To the right. By the garden doors. In copper satin.”

  “I see.” The widow was a pocket Venus and well aware of it, too, Duncan noted, judging from the way she appeared to be flirting with smug confidence with the gentlemen surrounding her.

  By chance, she looked up and caught his eye. She arched a brow at him, a distinct come-hither look if there ever was one. And then she apparently saw Lady Marcia. Her eyes narrowed dangerously before she looked away.

  “I can’t believe her.” Lady Marcia withdrew her arm, opened her fan, and advanced a step below him on the stairs.

  “What?” he said. “That she makes it obvious she doesn’t like you?”

  “No. That she sent you such a warm look when I was on your arm.” She looked back up at him in exasperation. “Oh, heavens. You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “A gentleman never admits to knowing when a lady—” He stopped. She was giving him the perfect view of her gorgeous figure and the plump tops of her breasts.

  “Don’t,” Lady Marcia insisted. “Don’t look at me like that, and don’t say another word.”

  And she continued down the stairs.

  He grinned to himself.

  As promised, he fended off all her admirers with steely resolve and directed her to the dance floor. The musicians struck up a waltz, he took her waist and hand, and they joined the other dancers.

  Her lower back was delicately arched, and the light pressure of her hand upon his shoulder made him long to draw her other hand up about his neck, as well. Holding her in his arms, Duncan felt as if he never wanted to let her go.

  He especially enjoyed the fact that she was an excellent dance partner. He could feel her respond to the music against her will.

  “I can find Lady Ennis easily now in that copper gown,” she said on a spinning turn. “This isn’t necessary.”

  “Oh, yes it is,” he said. “You were born to dance.”

  She blushed. “I rarely get the opportunity.”

  “That’s a terrible shame for you and your prospective dance partners.”

  “I choose not to dwell on what I’m missing.” Her tone was prim.

  “Whereas I,” he replied silkily, pulling her a half-inch closer, “am dwelling on that this very moment.”

  “Lord Chadwick.”

  He ignored her admonishment and kept her close. “I’ve another reason you need to continue dancing.”

  “What is it?”

  “You don’t want Lady Ennis to think you care enough to see her right away.
And, by the way, let her seethe while you’re dancing with me. You may not believe it, but I’m considered a catch.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Indeed, it is.”

  Lady Marcia was lovely, lissome, and smelled of roses when he spun her about the floor. But beneath her grace and classic beauty, she was as skittish as a stray cat.

  “You should go now, my lord,” she said when the waltz came to a close.

  “Not until I see you safely by the widow’s side.”

  She was clearly about to protest when several matrons caught a glimpse of them and started her way. “Oh, dear. My mother’s friends.”

  And without protesting, she allowed him to steer her through the crowd until they saw Lady Ennis again, over by a table laden with savories, sweets, and a large crystal bowl of punch.

  “Look at her,” Lady Marcia said in a low voice. “She knows I’m coming.”

  Oak Hall’s benefactress had moved so that the backs of several fawning young men formed a wall around her.

  “She won’t be an easy foe,” Duncan murmured. “But the fact that she’s surrounded herself suggests she’s frightened of you.”

  “I was wondering that myself.” Lady Marcia lifted her chin a fraction of an inch.

  “Oh, my heavens,” a young woman behind them whispered loudly. “Do you see her gown? It belongs to her sister. I saw Lady Janice wear it last week at the Vance ball. Does she not have her own sense of style?”

  “Something went terribly wrong there,” another young lady chimed in. “She was supposed to be the premier debutante several Seasons ago. It’s a little late to try now, isn’t it?”

  And they laughed.

  Marcia looked at Duncan, and in her eyes, he saw all the hurt she probably disguised every day when she played her role as headmistress of Oak Hall.

  “Don’t listen to them,” he said quietly.

  She yanked her arm from his and made her way through the crowd, heading away from Lady Ennis, which meant—

  No. He wouldn’t let her give up.

  He chased after her.

  At the end of the ballroom, he caught up to her. He took her hand, keeping her fingers clasped in a firm grip, and pulled her into a small, plain corridor and then into the first room he could find.

  It was a small sitting room filled with leftover flowers from the ball, tied in bundles with straw and strewn about the desk and the sofa. Some were tucked into buckets in front of an empty fire.

  “Lady Marcia,” he said, and took hold of her other hand.

  She bent her head. “Leave me alone.”

  Her voice was filled with emotion, something more than embarrassment, that changed everything about her. It went bone-deep.

  But what was it?

  Duncan suspected he knew, but he couldn’t name it. It was a hollow, black thing that sucked away joy without any warning. He could see it in her eyes when she looked up at him again.

  It had taken away her spirit.

  Fury filled him again when he thought of Finn and how he’d made her open herself up to him and then abandoned her so carelessly.

  “I never thought you’d surrender to anyone,” he said, hoping to send strength to her through his hands.

  “I’m not that starry-eyed girl on the sailing packet anymore,” she whispered. “I told you that yesterday. Please stop expecting it of me.”

  They stared at each other a few seconds, and he was glad to see a spark of something in her eyes, even if it was anger at him.

  “I do expect it of you,” he said, pulling her close. “It’s who you are.” He felt her heart beat against his chest. Heard her suck in a deep, shaky breath. “It’s who you are,” he said again, softly this time.

  But did she believe him?

  Almost in a panic, he kissed her, if only to ignite that ember in her that should never dim. He held her tight and parted her lips with his own, a teasing, soft, lingering kiss. And like a blossom in the rain, she opened up to him. She was petal soft.

  He wanted every part of her. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’re perfect, the way you are right now.”

  She gave a little moan in her throat. He ran his hands down her hips, kneaded her bottom, and pulled her up to him.

  Close.

  So close.

  But not close enough.

  She pulled back. “Lord Chadwick, we mustn’t.” There was a raw edge to her voice he’d never heard before.

  He pulled a curl off her cheek. “Why not?”

  She looked away, and he pulled her chin back around with a gentle finger.

  “You should be kissed,” he said. “Every day. By a man who adores you.”

  She stood mute. And in her eyes, he saw uncertainty coupled with pain. Just a flash of it. It was gone so quickly, he thought he might have imagined it.

  He dared to kiss her again, cradling the back of her head with both hands now, his mouth teasing hers open. Her passionate response, the way she clung to him and kissed him as if the world was about to end, was everything a man could wish for.

  But she pulled back when the clock on the mantel chimed daintily.

  She gave a nervous laugh and looked at him through thick lashes. “You’re very clever. You took my mind off my worries.”

  He didn’t deny that had been his initial intention. But then he’d lost control of the kiss, hadn’t he? She’d imbued it with her own fire that had him wanting more.

  She slipped away from him, picked up a bundle of flowers, and inhaled their scent. “I need to get back to the ballroom,” she said lightly, and placed the bouquet on the desk.

  He liked seeing how her lips had gone from pink to dusky rose because of him. “You’re going to speak with the viscountess, after all?”

  She nodded. “I’ll say good-bye to you here. And if you wouldn’t mind”—she paused—“I’d appreciate if you left the ball.” She bit her lip.

  “Leave?”

  “I’ll be distracted by you. And start getting upset with myself that I kissed you. I won’t be able to think.” She exhaled a breath. “And it will be all your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “Yes. Yours.” And then she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him full on the mouth, her own open and teasing.

  She was like a bowl of sugar.

  When she was through, he had such lascivious thoughts, he knew he’d be up all night thinking about her.

  “See?” she said.

  “Good God, you’ve got some nerve,” he said, annoyed that she’d made her point very well.

  “As headmistress, I learned I can’t be reluctant to speak my mind. But I also had to maintain a warm relationship with my staff. Otherwise, why should they respect me or listen to me?”

  “That kiss of yours was certainly warm,” he said dryly.

  She refused to appear guilt-ridden, merely waited, an intensity about her that suggested she was being patient with him, indeed.

  “Very well, I’ll go,” he said. “Of my own accord, wholly uninfluenced by your demands or that kiss.” He paused. “All right, perhaps I was influenced a tad by that kiss. Will you go home with your brother? I saw him in the card room.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you let me know what happens?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I’m afraid not. This must be the end of our temporary alliance, Lord Chadwick. Any debt you feel you owe me has been paid in full tonight.” At the half-open door, she looked back at him, a solemn, determined look on her face that made his heart turn over.

  “Wait,” he said, and pulled a flower stem from a bundle on the desk. Clumsily, he broke off the blossom, walked a few steps to meet her, and placed it in her hair, over her right ear. “There. Now those women won’t have anything to say, will they? You’ve a kissing flower.”

  He stood back to admire it and her.

  “I’ll keep it,” she said briskly, “only because it would be poor manners to refuse.” She nodded at
him, her neutral mask back in place, then she quickly shut the door behind her.

  A kissing flower. He liked the sound of that. Perhaps he’d write a song on the pianoforte with that title. Then he remembered that Lady Marcia Sherwood was driving him mad and left the room, going the opposite direction down the corridor until he found a remote exit onto the street. The fresh air knocked so little sense into him, he came up with the entire first verse and chorus of the song by the time he returned home.

  Chapter Ten

  Marcia focused on the fact that she had something to offer the rude Lysandra. The flower in her hair, although it came from a man entirely too involved in her life, gave her a boost of courage. She ignored the stares of the women who looked haughtily at her. Smiled at the ones she knew were genuine friends of Mama’s and Daddy’s. Even hugged two girls who were old classmates from Oak Hall.

  As for the men, she didn’t make eye contact with a single one.

  There was one man on her mind, and that was Duncan Lattimore, Lord Chadwick. She was mortified that she couldn’t stop thinking of their brief interlude in the room with the flowers. There’d been nothing lofty about those kisses, nothing that made her feel dreamy and free, the way she’d been with Finn.

  Lord Chadwick’s kisses pulled her down, anchored her to herself in a way that reminded her that she had one life, one body—and God save her if she thought they weren’t enough.

  As if she needed any more tormenting, Finn emerged from a crowd of young men. He was a little bit lopsided, his grin pasted on at an odd angle.

  Good God, he looked horrible. Her insides flipped over at the sight of his swollen jaw and his cut lip. “What happened to you?”

  “A quarrel between siblings.” He swayed only slightly, but it was enough. He was obviously in his cups.

  “You and Lord Chadwick?”

  “Yes.” He leaned in, his injured mouth still beautiful. “Over you. About an hour ago.”

  “You’re jesting,” she said, shocked to the core.

  Finn didn’t lean back. “Nope,” he said near her ear.