She had been kissed once before but nothing like this. His hot, wet tongue tangling with hers made her stomach flip and her passage clench, pooling with warmth and dizzying desire. He deepened the kiss, his hands working into her hair, pulling it down, scattering pins. “Don’t fight me, Lydia. I can show you paradise if you’ll only let me.” When Marcus murmured those seductive words against her skin, she yielded with a muted whimper.
The kiss was uninvited, unexpected, and shocking…and Lydia found herself clinging to it for dear life.
Lydia tore away with a stifled cry, confounded how he managed to exert such a terrifying magnetic force on her with seemingly no exertion at all. Outrage mixed with self-recrimination, she gathered up her skirts and fled, nearly running smack into Mariah upon her reentry through the terrace doors.
“I was coming to find you,” Mariah said. “Lud, Lyddie!” She gaped at her cousin’s rumpled and bewildered appearance. “You look positively debauched! You mustn’t let anyone else see you like this.”
Mariah pulled her into the empty music room, where Lydia caught sight of herself in the gilt mirror poised over the mantel and gasped in horror. Her color was high, her eyes shone feverishly bright, and clumps of her hair hung in disarray.
“Did that vile scoundrel accost you?” Mariah asked.
Heat infused Lydia’s already flushed cheeks. “Sadly, no. Although I would like nothing more than to accuse Marcus of importuning me, the fact is I made not the slighted protest.”
“What did he do to you?” Mariah asked in an excited whisper.
Lydia’s lips quivered in outrage. “The worst thing imaginable. He has kissed me senseless.”
“Oh my!” Mariah’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my, indeed! He has deprived me of all reason.” Lydia’s hands shook as she pulled the remaining pins from her hair to repair the damage.
“Here, let me help you.” Mariah took them from her and tucked up the stray strands. “It’s a lucky thing you have natural wave, and even better that you wore most of it down. So what has happened? Do you mean you have reconciled with him?”
“Lud no! The man frightens me.”
“The beast did accost you!” Mariah hissed.
“No, dearest. What I meant to say is that my reaction to him frightens me witless. It’s as if I’m no longer myself with him, but some other…creature! One with no notion of time, or place, or even of decorum. I feared for my own lack of restraint!”
Mariah looked stunned. “But how could this occur from a simple kiss?”
“That’s just it, Mariah. There was nothing simple about it! I don’t understand it. I can’t even trust myself anymore. It’s as if he has cast some evil charm over me and turned me into a wanton!”
“You, a wanton?” Mariah’s eyes widened. “He must have bewitched you! Whatever will you do?”
Lydia clasped her cousin’s arm with a look nearing panic. “Mariah, under no circumstances must I be alone with him again.”
“A drink, Needham,” Marcus demanded. “Perhaps I should make it an entire bottle. I have great need of something particularly…numbing.” The two men repaired to the library where Marcus dismissed the footman and helped himself to a generous glass of whiskey.
“Sorry, ol’ chap. Though I suspected she would be more immune to your charm than you believed, I’d have never imagined you’d take it so hard.”
“Hard? An interesting choice of words,” Marcus said. “I can’t remember such a cock stand since you and I pooled our allowance to hire our first whore.”
Nicholas’ brows shot up. “I am uncertain how to interpret that very enlightening bit of information.”
“It means I want her, Nick. She has the body of Venus and the innate sensuality of Voluptus and I want her so badly my bloody teeth ache.” He emptied his glass in one long draught and refilled it again. He offered the bottle to Nick who demurred.
“But she still won’t have you, eh?”
Marcus regarded Nick with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, I think she’ll have me all right. She melted like chocolate and damned well tasted like it too.”
“So progress was made in your, er, negotiations?”
“Yes and no,” Marcus answered with a wry twist of his lips. “She’s responsive as hell, far more than I would have anticipated, but fighting it like the devil too. I think she’s scared of her own passion.”
“An interesting dilemma.”
“A bloody frustrating one.” Marcus took another drink. “I’ve tried reason. I’ve tried charm. She still wishes to call it off. It’s time for more drastic measures.”
Nick gave him an inquiring look.
“I’ll ruin her, Nick, and when I’m done, she’ll be too damned sated to care. All I need is to get her alone.”
Chapter Five
“My moment has come at last,” Marcus said to his mother when he called again at Russell House.
“What do you mean, Marcus?”
“The Duke of Bedford is leaving the Admiralty to become the Secretary of State for the Southern Department and it’s rumored Lord Sandwich will be awarded his vacated seat—if a suitable replacement can be found to complete the peace treaty.”
“But that would be you!” Lady Russell exclaimed with delight.
“Not quite, I’m afraid. I am of several Secrétaires d’ambassade under consideration, a number of whom have considerably more experience than me. While I have every intention of playing up to my advantage, I’m also not the only one with a blood connection to the Ministry. Edward Montagu, as you know, claims a close kinship with Lord Sandwich.”
“Then, dearest, you must simply work to put the others out of consideration. What do you know of them? If you are to succeed, you must learn to exploit your adversaries’ every weakness,” Lady Russell declared with a ruthless ferocity that made Marcus’ brows shoot upward. “That advice may even apply to some who only imagine themselves your adversary.” She gave a very telling grin.
“I need no further guidance on that score, Mama. I am quite able to handle the lovely Lydia without your further meddling.” Marcus chuckled and kissed his mother’s cheek. “But my dear, I assure you I am only too glad to have you on my side.”
* * * * *
“My dear girls, I have quite the surprise for you,” Lady Russell beamed with self-satisfaction when Lydia and Mariah came to the solar for tea. “Marcus has just brought us an invitation to Woburn Abbey.”
Lydia looked blank.
“It’s the country seat of the Dukes of Bedford,” Lady Russell explained, pouring steaming hyson into three delicate cups of the finest Chelsea porcelain.
“What manner of invitation?” Lydia asked.
“Why, a house party, of course. After spending a king’s ransom on renovations to the manse and half again as much on his parterre gardens, the duke is eager to show it all off.” She handed the tea cups to Lydia and Mariah. “The main event, however, is a very important political dinner that Marcus must attend and we are to accompany him.”
“We?” Lydia asked, incredulous. “What has this to do with us?”
Lady Russell smiled indulgently. “You do have much to learn of politics, my dear, but I shall endeavor to teach you.” She took a sip of tea and then continued matter-of-factly. “The political world is built completely around personal alliances. Although Marcus is fortunate enough to have in the Duke of Bedford, one of the Ministry’s most powerful and influential men, as his chief patron, he cannot presume wholly upon this family connection. Marcus must build his own sphere of influence, and as his betrothed, you must help him.”
Lydia looked aghast. “But I have no intention of becoming his wife. How can I do such a thing when you know I wish to end our betrothal?”
Lady Russell smiled. “Would you really refuse this small boon when Marcus is in need of a beautiful and charming woman to help pave his way?”
Uncertainty marked Lydia’s face.
“Forget Marcus then,” Lady Russell
pressed on. “Go for your own benefit. The exposure to such people can only do you credit and elevate you in society.”
Lydia still hesitated.
“Very well, my dear. Should you condescend to do this one tiny favor for me, you have my solemn word that Marcus will be completely amenable to your wishes.”
Lydia sighed. “My lady, you make it impossible for me to refuse.”
“Precisely, my dear,” Lady Russell said. “And it would behoove you greatly to learn from my example. Now,” she set her cup down decisively in its saucer, “let us see to the packing.”
* * * * *
The convoy departing for Woburn Abbey comprised Lady Russell’s immense traveling carriage, followed by Marcus’ lighter post chaise, trailed by the baggage train. Once all was determined ready for departure, Marcus handed Lydia up into his mother’s coach, and then turned to assist Mariah, whose first step upward was accompanied by a jerk backward and the sharp sound of renting taffeta.
“I am so very sorry, child.” Her ladyship looked painfully contrite at having trod on Mariah’s hem. “’Twas unforgivably clumsy of me! Let us have a look.” Mariah stepped back down to reveal a six-inch tear in the back of the skirt.
“Botheration!” Lady Russell cried. “I suppose there’s naught to be done now but to change your gown or to attempt to repair the damage.”
Marcus interjected, “Mama, I can hardly afford the delay.”
“But we shan’t be more than an hour,” Lady Russell replied.
“I’m sorry but I must be off at once. I cannot give Edward Montagu any more advantage over me than he already has. We are both vying for the position of Lord Sandwich’s First Secretary for the upcoming Peace Congress.”
“I suppose you are right. While ladies are generally allowed certain license in these matters, it would not do at all for you to arrive late. There is only one answer. You and Mr. Needham must proceed ahead of us in the chaise. Mariah, Lydia, and I will follow anon in the coach.”
“That will never do, Mama. I would never allow three ladies to travel unprotected. Nicholas will stay behind to accompany you.”
“But the vehicle will not hold us all. Someone must go with you, Marcus.”
Lady Russell looked to Lydia, who cast Lady Russell a panicked look. “But why me?”
“My dear, Marcus is right. The roads are so unsafe these days with brigands in the most unlikely of places. Mariah and I will have need of Mr. Needham’s escort for our safety.”
Marcus masked a smile at his mother’s complicity.
“But wouldn’t it be altogether improper for me to travel alone in the chaise with Lord Marcus?” Lydia appealed to Mariah for reinforcement, but her cousin only looked to Lady Russell with a helpless shrug.
“One would hardly judge it improper for an affianced couple to journey on a day trip, but of course Sally will ride along with you,” Lady Russell said.
“But there is only room for two passengers in Lord Marcus’ vehicle,” Lydia protested again.
“Easily remedied, child,” Lady Russell reassured her. “The baggage will simply follow with ours.” At a wave of her hand, a footman removed Marcus’ trunks from the rear of his post chaise to place them upon the baggage coach. “There now, a perfectly decorous arrangement for a ride of only a few hours.”
Having now made accommodation for a third passenger on the back of the chaise, Lady Russell bustled Mariah off to attend to the torn gown. Lydia’s gaze darted between Marcus and the trailing figure of Lady Russell with a growing suspicion.
Marcus offered Lydia his hand to help her into his equipage. “Please,” he soothed. “You have no need to fear my attentions, if that is your worry. With a veritable mountain of official correspondence to attend to before we arrive, I’ll be completely absorbed in my work.”
“Very well,” she said. “But understand this—I only agreed for your mother’s sake.”
“But of course,” Marcus gave her a sardonic smile. “You have yet to give me any reason to presume otherwise.”
* * * * *
For the first few leagues of the journey, they punctuated the silence with random pleasantries, but once the topics of weather and scenery were exhausted, Marcus burrowed into his correspondence. His purpose in attending to official duty was twofold—to actually catch up on his work before meeting with his superiors, and to encourage Lydia to drop her guard.
While he hoped to see some of the tension abate from Lydia’s rigid shoulders, she disappointed him with a ramrod spine and primly folded hands. This ambition thwarted, he turned more fully to his work, but by the third letter, cursed the absence of his secretary. “Bad enough it’s written in French,” he mumbled, “but it’s nigh indecipherable too. I don’t know how Needham ever manages to make out the marquis’s damnable hen scratch!”
“The Marquis de Puyzieulx?” Lydia asked.
Marcus regarded her, stupefied. How the devil had she pronounced the impossibly unpronounceable name? It was ridiculous that she could be in any way acquainted with a French diplomat, a marquis no less.
“I know the French ambassador only by reputation, of course,” she explained. “I do try to follow the news press and Papa has always been generous with The Gentleman’s Magazine.”
“How liberal of him,” Marcus remarked dryly. Shaking his head, he turned back to his correspondence only to find himself stymied again.
“You are having some difficulty? Perhaps I can assist? Papa also had atrocious handwriting.”
Marcus gave a dubious laugh when she took the page from his hand.
“The Compris d’Arbitage?” she read with a gasp. “Why these are the articles of arbitration! Have you indeed won the peace for us, Marcus?” Her eyes sparkled with an excitement that took his breath away. He was amazed at the heady sensation he felt to be, only for a moment, elevated in her esteem.
“In actuality, it is only the Modus Vivendi,” he said. “The articles were decided at the Congress of Breda last year, but are yet to be ratified by Spain and Austria. It matters little, however. Britain and France are the primary antagonists in this war and ‘tis no secret we’re both on the verge of bankruptcy because of it. Both sides wish an end to the war, thus it is now only a matter of securing such a peace on advantageous terms. We hope to do so at the upcoming Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle.”
“You have already secured a preliminary agreement, surely the peace will follow.”
“Just so.” Marcus quirked a brow at her. The French delegate’s name she might have heard before, but she had just correctly interpreted Latin. The official diplomatic documents, however, were penned exclusively in French. “Vous avez une certaine connaissance de la langue Française?” he asked.
“Bien sûr. Je parle couramment,” she responded just as fluidly. “I pride myself with a working command of French, as well as a smattering of Italian. You may have already guessed that I read Latin. I have studied most of the classics in the original tongue. I am particularly fond of Ovid,” she remarked and averted her face back to the window.
“Ovid.” He frowned. “How extraordinary.”
“Not really, my lord.” He heard her deep intake of air. After a pause she released it in a long rush of words. “I wasn’t idle you know. For the six years of your absence, I applied myself with sedulous energy to geography, politics, and foreign customs. I took up French, knowing it the primary language of diplomacy, and even struck up a correspondence with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, to learn how she had served her husband in his diplomatic travels.” She faced him again with eyes ablaze. “I once thought it would be useful to know.”
Touché. Marcus felt the sharp stab of reproach. If words could physically injure, he’d be maimed and bleeding by hers. “Damn it, be fair, Lydia! You were a child of seventeen and I had only just come into my majority!”
Her gaze still spit fire. “I can pardon a year or even two, but six?”
Marcus scowled. “You have no idea of the reality of a diplomatic life,
Lydia, or the inherent dangers of foreign travel, especially in times of war. Even had I been inclined to wed early, which I confess I was not, I never would have packed up an innocent girl and taken her abroad in such times as these.”
In all honesty, when he’d departed for the Foreign Service he’d intended to sow his oats while giving her time to mature, but as more time passed, the harder it had become to face her. Then his guilt had driven him to avoid her completely.
“You have made it abundantly clear you never gave me the first consideration. Dreams, aspirations and adventure are not exclusively male prerogatives, Marcus. I had them too.”
“Did you?” He looked surprised.
“I did. I still do,” she answered.
“And what were they?” he asked softly.
“I once thought I might do some good as Lady Mary has.”
Sitting back against the squabs, Marcus regarded Lydia as if he had never seen her before. “I had no idea.” Guilt needled him once more. Did he really know her at all? Perhaps not. Only now did it fully strike him what a complete ass he had been. Hoping his expression was suitably contrite, Marcus claimed her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Ma cœur, je ne savais pas. Je suis désolé, mon chou.”
“Because you never made me your business to know.” She jerked her hand back. “And I am not your cabbage.”
Damme! What woman didn’t melt with French endearments? Matters were far worse than he thought. One step forward, two steps back. It had become an exceedingly dull dance. As if to further confirm these thoughts, Lydia shifted closer to the window.
Marcus suppressed an exasperated groan. Charming her had failed dismally. Perhaps it was time to try another tack. Maybe his mother was right about exploiting his adversaries’ weaknesses. One chink in Lydia’s armor was obvious pride in her intellect. Perhaps this could be used to his advantage. Marcus returned his attention to his work with a stifled curse. “I begin to think this an impossible task.”
A Breach of Promise Page 5