A Most Unsuitable Man

by Mara

  “Merely amusement.”

  She looked at him, trying to see through his smooth facade. “How did you and Ashart come to save me?”

  “Omniscience. Rothgar knew you’d been summoned and asked Ashart to intervene.”

  “Thank heavens the dowager will soon leave.”

  He opened the door and she walked into the magnificent room, not surprised to find it deserted. Despite its gilded carving and painted ceiling, the Rothgar Abbey library was a sober, even demanding room. It could certainly never be described as cozy.

  No upholstered chairs sat by the crackling fire for the comfort of people wanting to read a newspaper or catch a nap. On the contrary, each window bay held a stern, medieval desk, and plain chairs were drawn up to the three tables running down the middle of the room, ready for those who wanted to consult a weighty tome.

  Would the scholars and philosophers painted on the ceiling cry out in horror to see people enter with mere conversation in mind?

  “Well?” Damaris asked, strolling toward one of the medieval desks as if fascinated by it, but really to put one of the long tables between herself and Fitzroger. He still had that stirring effect on her.

  “I, too, had an interview with Lord Rothgar.”

  She turned to face him. “Was he very angry?”

  “For bringing you back? Quite the opposite.”

  “I’m glad then. Perhaps he’ll become your patron.”

  A strange expression flickered over his face. “Perhaps he will, but that requires that I oblige him.”

  “What does he want you to do?”

  “Go to Cheynings with Ashart and Genova. Ashart wishes to escort his grandmother home, and of course his betrothed must go with him.”

  Damaris gave a short laugh. “Poor her. I visited in October and it was damp and frigid then.” But then she realized. “You’re abandoning me!”

  “I regret the necessity, but I suffer from a conflict of obligations—”

  “Is Ashart a child needing a nurse?”

  “Are you?”

  She jerked as if slapped and headed straight for the door. He intercepted her between two tables, blocking her way. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Please don’t distress yourself, sir. I release you from any obligation. Now that I have Lord Rothgar as my guardian, I don’t need—”

  A kiss stopped her words. She was too shocked to react, and it was brief, but still left her lips tingling.

  “Of course you don’t need me.” His eyes seemed stormy, as if he felt as staggered as she. “That doesn’t mean you have to be alone here.”

  “Then you won’t go?”

  “Alas, I must.”

  “Why?”

  “Once Ashart leaves, I have no place in this Malloren nest. How and why could I stay?”

  “To court me,” she snapped. “Who’d be surprised if a penniless adventurer overstayed his welcome in order to pursue an heiress?”

  “Damn you for a sharp-tongued virago.”

  She raised her chin. “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a virago.”

  “A shrew? A termagant?”

  “A woman who behaves like a man. A woman who speaks her mind, challenges errors, makes her own decisions, and pursues what she wants with all reasonable force. As I will do!”

  “You terrify me.”

  She pounced. “Good. Then you’ll have to stay to guard me, won’t you?”

  “I can’t.”

  She laughed with disgust and turned to escape around the table.

  He caught her wrist. “Don’t run away again.”

  Damaris froze, sparks shooting up her arm from that contact. “Leaving your pestilential presence, sir, is not running away.”

  “I suppose it isn’t.” He stepped closer and kissed the nape of her neck, nuzzled it, even. Shivers shot through her at this new sensation. “Of your kindness, sweet lady,” he murmured there, “stay.”

  She tried to cling to her invigorating rage, but when he turned her to face him, both hands on her shoulders, she couldn’t resist. His thumbs pressed through layers of cloth, circling in a way that sent her mind circling, too.

  “I have to accompany Ashart to Cheynings, Damaris. That obligation takes precedence over my promise to you. I regret this, for my promises are sacred to me.”

  “You’ll have to explain better than that.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What on earth are you talking about? State secrets?” An expression flashed across his face that made her stare. “At Cheynings?”

  “Don’t.”

  The soft warning silenced her but set her thoughts spinning. State secrets at Cheynings? It made no sense, but every instinct cried danger, and not the elemental danger of man and woman. It should have warned her off, but instead she thrilled at the idea.

  “What is it? Spies? I wish I were going with you, then.”

  “Then come. You could be a companion for Genova.”

  “What?” She pulled free of him. “I’m the last person she’d want, and I have no intention of being locked in with her and Ashart for a week or more.”

  He closed the gap between them. “You’d be locked in with me, too.”

  Sinful ripples ran up and down her core. “At Cheynings,” she pointed out, retreating. “Musty, damp, niggardly, and icy.”

  “We can find ways to stay warm.”

  Her back hit shelves. “The place will be freezing. We’d catch pneumonia first.”

  He put his hands on either side of her and leaned closer. “You’re stronger than that, and you have those lovely, thick furs.” He drawled out the last few words, turning her thoughts to mist.

  Because of his height, she felt surrounded, but she didn’t mind, especially when his soft, deep voice made her skin stir as if brushed by those furs.

  “Come,” he tempted. “It ensures victory. After today you’ll have convinced everyone here that you’re heart-whole, and you can leave with flags flying.”

  She loved the image of that. “Kiss me,” she whispered, “and perhaps I will.”

  His lips pressed against hers and she relaxed into delight. She’d wanted this since their kiss in the coach. She reached her arms up around his neck and tilted her head to savor him the more, astonished at how a kiss, how lips to lips, could stir her whole body into pleasure.

  She pushed away from the wall to be closer, and his arms came around her, molding her to him, exactly as she wished. She would fuse with him if she could. She’d never known such bliss, never known it existed. She turned her head, seeking to be closer, opening her mouth wider to explore him, the heat and taste of him, so special, so right....

  He eased them apart and she opened her eyes. “You look startled,” she said, smiling. How could she help it?

  “Terrified, more like. But you’ll come to Cheynings? You set a kiss as your fee and I paid it.”

  She pushed him away, but he grabbed her arms. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “You seem to say a great many things you don’t mean!” she snapped.

  “Only with you.”

  She ceased her struggles. “I think I like that.”

  “Virago,” he said, but with warmth in his eyes. “It does make sense, Damaris. You don’t want to stay on here.”

  “But Cheynings... ?”

  “And me.” He moved his hands to her waist and she put her own on his shoulders, playing her fingers there. “Cat,” he said. “Keep your claws sheathed.”

  She knew her tilted eyes gave her the look of a cat.

  Until now she’d thought that a bad thing. “Won’t it be improper? Ashart and Miss Smith? You and me?”

  “And the dowager. And Lady Thalia will be there, too. She is fond of Genova. And she wants to visit her childhood house.” He began to drop kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her lips again. “You’ll come?”

  “Satan,” she muttered, trying to think.

  The bleak house. The dowager. Ashart and Miss Smith, sick
eningly in love.

  Fitzroger. Mysterious Fitzroger, whom she wanted to explore. More kisses...

  With Ashart and Miss Smith sickeningly in love, and their chaperones two elderly ladies who would need naps, wouldn’t there be considerable time alone with him? A wise woman would avoid that as if it were the plague, but how could she be wise when his lips played softly against hers?

  There was so little time until she had to be sensible. Before London, and a suitable husband...

  She shifted away, feeling her clothing brush against her sensitive skin. Temptation warred with sense, and sense did not entirely lose. She captured his face in her hands. “Will you promise not to seduce me there?”

  His eyes widened, but then became steady on hers. “I promise not to seduce you anywhere, Damaris. Not because my baser nature wouldn’t like to, but because my honor won’t permit it. And also,” he added ruefully, “I have a healthy instinct for self-preservation. My apologies if it seems paltry, but I would not care to make Rothgar my deadly enemy.”

  Damaris took a deep breath, feeling as if it were the first in a long time. “Then by all means, if Genova Smith can bear it, I will accompany you all to Cheynings.”

  He stepped back. “Good.”

  The library door opened, and they both turned as Ashart strolled in. “Rejoice! I’m still in one piece. Does Miss Myddleton agree to come with us?”

  Damaris stared at Fitzroger, shockingly hurt. He’d just kissed her into agreeing with an already established plan. Why couldn’t he have simply told her? And why, now she came to think of it, was Ashart speaking as if she weren’t even here?

  “Miss Myddleton does,” she snapped, which at least made Ashart look at her.

  Warily, she noted with satisfaction. She wasn’t proud of her recent behavior, and given the opportunity she’d wipe it out. But she liked the fact that the powerful Marquess of Ashart was nervous of her.

  He bowed. “My apologies, Miss Myddleton. And apologies in advance for the discomforts of Cheynings.”

  “I have been there, my lord.”

  He frowned for a second before saying, “Ah, yes.”

  Damaris’s teeth clenched. Did the pestilential man not even remember? He had been there, paying charming attentions to her. Or rather, to her money.

  “It will be even more uncomfortable now,” he said, and she realized he’d be pleased if she refused to go. Well, good. She’d enjoy being a constant thorn in both his and Miss Smith’s consciences.

  “I will survive, my lord. I was not raised in indulgence.”

  He shot her an unfriendly look, and Fitzroger intervened. “At the fencing, Ashart will be Genova’s favored champion. Will you be mine?”

  He picked up her shawl, which must have slid off during their kiss, and came toward her. Damaris snatched it and wrapped it tight around herself. She knew it would harm her cause to object to this latest plan, but she was furious with him.

  “Very well,” she said. “Does that mean you and Ashart will fight each other?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I hope you kill each other,” she said sweetly, and left.

  “Tiresome shrew,” Ash said.

  Fitz controlled a desire to pound his friend to a pulp, not least for interrupting and saying the wrong thing. “She’s had a hard time of it, and you bear some of the blame.”

  “I never offered for her.”

  “The dowager made promises on your behalf, and you didn’t object. Before you met Genova—after you met Genova!—you intended to marry Miss Myddleton’s money.”

  Color flared in Ash’s cheeks. “No longer—so why is she agreeing to tag along to Cheynings? Rothgar’s her guardian now.”

  “You’ve clearly had an interview, too.”

  “A brief one. I was sent to rescue her and informed of the plan. I hoped she’d refuse.”

  “I had to talk her into it. She’ll be better away from here. She’s not part of the family and has no true friends here. And I don’t want to abandon her.”

  Fitz wished he hadn’t said that. A great many faculties seemed to be slipping out of his control.

  Ash’s brows rose. “Have you hopes? Good luck to you, but don’t count any chickens. She’s after the highest title she can buy. By the way, Rothgar has a strange request.”

  Fitz welcomed the change of subject. “What?”

  “He asked if there were documents at Cheynings relating to Betty Crowley. You know—my great-great-grandmother?”

  “One of Charles the Second’s many mistresses, and thus source of the royal blood supposed to run in the Trayce veins? I believe the dowager might have mentioned her once or twice.”

  Ash laughed, for his grandmother made sure to mention the “royal connection,” as she called it, as often as possible, though heaven knew, descendants from the Merry Monarch’s liaisons weren’t rare.

  “What’s Rothgar’s interest?” Fitz asked.

  “He’s Betty’s great-great-grandson, too. Perhaps he’s filling in his family tree. It seems an innocuous request, and I’ve decided that peace between us would be wise.”

  “Thank heavens. Are there any documents?”

  “There must be. Though Betty married Randolph Prease, she bore only the one child, the royal one. He went by the name Charles Prease and later became Lord Vesey. His only surviving child was Grandy, so the title died with him and Storton House was sold. She was then Marchioness of Ashart, so the Prease papers were removed to Cheynings. I believe they were stored in the attics. I said I’d check while we’re there.”

  “You,” Fitz asked, “or me?”

  Ash grinned. “You can’t expect me to neglect Genova. Recruit Miss Myddleton to help you, and make love to her over the musty papers. Just make sure she doesn’t harass Genova. I won’t have her made unhappy.”

  “Genova can hold her own. And I’m sorry if this will dent your pride, but I doubt Miss Myddleton lusts after your title and grandeur anymore.”

  “She said as much to the dowager, and I liked her better for it.”

  “She is likable, Ash. She’s no gentle, blushing maiden, but she has spirit.”

  “You are smitten! I thought you planned to make your future in Virginia.”

  “I do.” Fitz walked toward the door, hoping to escape. “We should prepare for the fencing. How’s it to be arranged?”

  “You, I, Rothgar, and Lord Bryght, along with any other gentleman who cares to take part. Each to fight the others.”

  “There’s thirty or so men here. It could last all day.”

  “Given Rothgar’s skill, I doubt many will try their blade. Lord Bryght’s good, too. Should I have asked if you wanted to take part?”

  Ash was clearly remembering that Fitz’s performance at fencing had been unimpressive.

  “Oh, I don’t mind.”

  “Why are you looking wolfish?”

  “I haven’t exactly shown my full range of abilities. I’m hoping to beat Rothgar.”

  “ ‘Struth! You think you can?”

  “I’ve never seen him fight, but yes, it’s possible.”

  Ash laughed. “Why hide your light under a bushel?”

  Fitz shrugged. “I’ve preferred not to draw attention, but this I cannot resist.”

  “Then I hope you do beat him. A blow for the Trayces.”

  “My apologies, but it will be a blow for the Fitzrogers.”

  “Perhaps it will win the heart of the heiress and make her forget the hunt for a coronet. I tell you, Fitz, I don’t like the look of things in the colonies, and here you’ve a fortune ripe for the plucking.”

  “Zeus, Ash. I’ve no profession, no home, a scandal stuck to me like pitch, and a family I’d rather not bring into contact with anyone I cared for. If Damaris Myddleton offered herself to me on a plate, I’d have to refuse.”

  Ash looked as if he’d been hit on the head. “Do you want me to find you a position? As estate manager, perhaps? Or something in government?”

  The offer was g
enerous, but pointless. Employment had never been raised before, but at this point it was the least of Fitz’s problems. He ended the embarrassing moment by leaving the room.

  Fitz went to the bedchamber to tidy himself for dinner, which would follow the fencing. He did so quickly, preferring to avoid Ash for now, then whiled away some time by wandering the corridors of the great house making plans for a safe journey tomorrow.

  At least, he tried to. His mind persisted in returning to Damaris Myddleton.

  Why had he not realized that flirting her into going to Cheynings would be so dangerous? Fire blazed when they touched. If he were free to do so he might woo her, but he wasn’t. He’d spoken the truth: He’d bring no person he cared for into the mess of his life.

  Temptation prickled all the same. Her fortune might enable him to save his mother and sisters from his brother, Hugh. He couldn’t do anything directly about Hugh, but with money he could afford to take Libby and Sally with him to America and protect them there.

  He pushed trepidation away. He doubted it would work, and he’d not abuse any woman by marrying her for a reason like that.

  Chapter 6

  At a quarter to two Fitz went to Damaris’s room. He knocked and she opened the door herself, glowing in a gown the color of flames and indeed looking ready to run him through. He had to suppress a smile of pure pleasure at her straight shoulders, firm chin, and challenging eyes.

  “Come in,” she commanded.

  He obeyed, noticing only when she shut the door that her maid was absent.

  “You shouldn’t have tried to trick me into agreeing to go to Cheynings,” she stated. “You should simply have told me it was arranged, and why.”

  “But that wouldn’t have been nearly so delightful.”

  He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be teasing her, not when they were alone. He simply couldn’t resist.

  Her color almost matched her dress. “You will not do anything like that again.”

  “Kiss you like that?”

  “Try to persuade me like that! And kiss me.”

  “Damaris, you asked me to kiss you.”

  “I admit it, but you used it.”

  “I also enjoyed it. I wanted to kiss you. As I do now. You look quite ravishing in that shade.”