Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

  ‘If I did indeed do so, I did it without intent or realisation.’

  * * *

  She provoked mayhem inside him. As they stood at the window it had taken an iron will not to haul her against him for that kiss he had promised himself. His eyes had been on the activity outside, but every other sense, his mind, all his attention, had been on Mary. He had felt her tremors and heard the fractured breathing that chimed with his own. Passion simmered in her depths, but she had made it clear she was no lady of easy virtue.

  And now she was quibbling over the use of his name. Lucas eyed her with exasperation. Why was she being so stubborn over such a small detail? He cast around for a less contentious subject.

  ‘I half-expected the doctor to call at the Hall this morning,’ he said. ‘I wonder if he might come later this afternoon?’

  ‘I do not believe so,’ Mary said as she sat down. ‘Robert arrived home as I was leaving and mentioned he had been called upon to visit a patient on the other side of the village. He told Jenny not to expect him home until late.’

  A shaft of pure jealousy impaled Lucas. Robert? He skirmished briefly with his inner demon not to voice that jealousy. He lost.

  ‘Robert?’ The abrasive voice sounded quite unlike his.

  ‘Doctor Preece, I mean,’ she said, a laugh in her voice and her eyes.

  ‘I know who Robert is! You call him by his name and yet, not two minutes since, you deemed it improper to call me Lucas. You barely know him. You spend many hours a day, and night, with me...’

  ‘And that is precisely why it is improper for me to call you Lucas.’

  Lucas held his silence. He did not understand.

  ‘It is because we are in such close proximity...in such intimate surroundings...can you not see? This—’ Mary swept an agitated arm aloft ‘—is not normal life. It is not real. It encourages...it invites...’

  She took a deep breath, pressed both hands against the arms of the chair and pushed herself up. Lucas watched as she paced the room. Her bosom heaved as her fingers twisted and untwisted. Finally, she halted at the foot of the chaise longue.

  ‘Can you not say something? I am persuaded you know exactly what it is I am struggling to say, yet you leave this...this wretched silence, in the hope I shall make a fool out of myself. Hoping I will reveal more of myself than I otherwise would.’

  She was right. He did use the silence in that way, although he had never wished for her to make a fool of herself.

  ‘You are right. And I do understand what you are trying to say, Mary. You believe the fact I am wounded and you are nursing me could lead to a false intimacy that might otherwise never have occurred.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mary’s voice rang with relief. ‘You do understand and that is why I cannot call you Lucas.’

  Thoughts chased each other around Lucas’s head. Did that mean she was developing feelings for him? Triumph surged through him, despair close on its heels. What did it matter? He knew she desired him, but had he not just articulated the very reason why any apparent emotional closeness was false? To his mind, however, it was the situation they were in that fostered such emotions, not whether or not they called each other by their first names. Whatever the truth of it, the sooner he was back on his feet and could return to his accustomed life, the better for them both. Then these yearnings would be exposed for what they were: base sexual urges he might satisfy with any lightskirt he chose.

  ‘I understand your point of view, but I do not agree with you,’ he said. ‘You would have me believe that, by using my name, you would be in danger of developing feelings for me that otherwise would not exist? I am sorry, Mary, but that does not make sense. Not to me.

  ‘I am tired,’ he added brusquely. ‘Do you mind leaving now? I need to rest.’

  The flash of hurt in her eyes stabbed at him, but he closed his own and kept them closed until he heard the door shut behind her.

  Chapter Eleven

  As she climbed the stairs, Mary wondered what mood she would find Lucas in this evening. Would he still be angry at what he clearly saw as her obstinacy over the use of his name? She was in need of congenial company, now the children were asleep, for they were the only occupants of the Hall who were not in a bad mood with her. She opened the door to his bedchamber, balancing a tray on one hand.

  ‘More infant pap?’

  The sardonic comment assaulted her ears before she had even set foot inside the room. Lucas sat in the wing chair by the fire, glowering at her, his legs propped up on a stool. Setting her teeth, refusing to be cowed by him, she crossed the room, pasting a bright smile on her face.

  ‘As it happens, Mrs Lindley has prepared a stew for you this evening.’ The cook had handed it to Mary with a scowl and a muttered, ‘You can tell his lordship if it’s not up to my usual standards. I’m sorry, but I’ve been extra busy.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it makes a change from gruel and broth,’ he grumbled, but his eyes brightened and she recognised his frustration over his continued confinement.

  ‘You should be grateful she cares enough to tempt your appetite.’

  As Mary set the tray on a table next to Lucas, he murmured, ‘Are you chastising me, Mrs Vale?’

  Mrs Vale? Was this his attempt to prove to her that it made no difference which names they used?

  She glanced sideways at him. He had an unmistakable glint in his eyes and a teasing smile hovered on his sensuous lips. Her mouth dried and her pulse accelerated as their gazes collided. His hair was damp, the drier ends curling over his ears and she could detect the smell of soap over his customary male, musky scent.

  ‘I don’t know...’ Lucas heaved a theatrical sigh ‘...here am I, a poor invalid, and my nurse—my only comfort, I might add—needs must chastise and censure me the moment she steps into my bedchamber.’

  Mary pulled the table closer to his chair.

  ‘I am sorry to prove such a disappointing companion,’ she said. ‘You are clearly in need of more congenial company than I am able to provide. You can reach your food now. Should I leave you in peace? I could ask Trant, or Mrs Lindley, to bear you company this evening if you prefer?’

  ‘You shameless tease, Mary. You are in a mischievous mood tonight. You know very well I shall beg you to stay, if that is what you want?’

  Mary laughed. ‘There will be no need to beg, Lucas.’

  He stilled. ‘Lucas? Was that another unintended slip of your tongue, Mary?’

  Mary bit at her lower lip. She had thought long and hard about their earlier conversation.

  ‘No. I decided you were right and I was wrong. I will call you Lucas, but only when we are alone together.’

  He pretended to choke on his food. ‘Might I request that in writing?’

  ‘I beg your pardon? Request...what? That I have agreed to call you Lucas?’

  ‘No. That I was right and you were wrong. It is a most pleasing concept.’

  Mary laughed with him, then busied herself with plumping the pillows and straightening the bed.

  ‘Mary.’ The softly spoken word caught her attention. ‘Come here. Please.’

  He held out his hand, fingers crooked. Heart in mouth, Mary crossed to his side, but did not take his proffered hand.

  ‘Thank you. The matter of my name might have seemed a trivial matter to you, but my life is full of people who call me “my lord” and “sir.” It is nice, even for a short time, to have someone call me as an equal. To feel maybe we are friends.

  ‘I miss you when you are not here, Mary,’ he added, his voice deepening as he held her gaze.

  Mary’s nerves jangled. Her pulse—already unsteady—lurched into a mad gallop and her dress seemed to tighten, constricting her chest. Had she made a serious error of judgement? Was this not what she had feared all along?

  She stepped back, conscious of his sheer size and of his raw masculinity as he lounged at his ease in the chair. Desire smouldered, his words fanning the lick of flame into a conflagration. She fought to conceal her rea
ction, her eyes riveted to his as he studied her face.

  He smiled knowingly as he reached for the plate of stew. She took advantage of his distraction to watch the play of the firelight over his lean features as it accentuated the strong jut of his nose and the enticing curve of his lips. Her stomach performed a slow, sensual somersault as Mary relived the moment those same lips had caressed hers.

  A yearning ache, deep in her core, nagged at her as she watched Lucas chew his food and swallow, the movement of his throat intensifying the lump that unaccountably obstructed hers. Aware she was standing mesmerised, Mary gathered her wits.

  ‘You have had a bath?’ she asked. As soon as it left her lips, she knew the question would not serve to distract her. Her imagination ran riot as she conjured the picture of a naked Lucas in a bathtub: large, wet, glistening, the soap lathered all over his body. The same body she had no need to imagine. Her memory provided her with all the detail she cared to recall.

  ‘A bath of sorts,’ he replied, between mouthfuls of stew. ‘Unfortunately, Trant is as unbending as you when it comes to what he considers appropriate for an invalid. He wanted to wait to ask the doctor if a bath would damage the wounds. In the end we compromised. I stood in the bath whilst he soaped me down...’ He paused, then directed a provocative look at Mary as she stood, transfixed. ‘I suggested he might leave the task of bathing me to you, as you are my chief nurse, but my pleas fell, I am sad to say, on deaf ears. Pity.’

  Mary felt her face flame as her fevered imagination conjured up an even more potent image of his lordship, standing upright in his bath, his lean body gleaming as water cascaded down his torso and legs. She battled to suppress her mounting desire, tearing her eyes from his face, desperate to distract herself from her salacious thoughts and rampant urges. The strength of her desire for him took her unawares and it both horrified and enthralled her.

  It was not what she wanted, not what she had intended, not what she had planned. She felt the shackles of despair close ice-cold jaws around her heart. It was clear she must leave Rothley Hall soon if she wished to retain her pride. She had never been in love before and she could not tell if her growing obsession with Lucas was the first green shoots of that emotion, or merely lust, but suddenly she was unable to consider the prospect of never seeing him again without feeling the urge to weep. No, she could not stay. She could not risk her heart, or her children’s happiness and future, by becoming embroiled in a relationship that could have no happy ending.

  Gritting her teeth, she battened down her emotions, casting around for an innocuous topic, keen to avoid any of the numerous contentious subjects between them.

  ‘It must be a relief to have some real food to eat, after all that gruel,’ she commented, her voice sounding, to her own ears, cold and strained.

  She didn’t wait for his reply, but bustled around the room: drawing the curtains, refuelling the fire and tidying the dressing table. She doggedly avoided eye contact and made no effort to speak again, vowing to take her cue for any conversation from Lucas and to keep any ensuing subject impersonal.

  * * *

  As he ate his supper, Lucas watched Mary fuss around the room, sensing her mood had changed, but not sure why. Her burgeoning desire had been clear to see, but a shutter had now slammed shut and the view through the window of her eyes was obscured. He frowned, thinking back. What had he said to cause her withdrawal? Had he gone too far, too quickly? After all, it would not be the first time his teasing had caused her abrupt retreat.

  He held his tongue whilst she drew the curtains and added logs to the fire, but when she began to straighten the items on his dressing table—items that were kept meticulously neat by Trant, who had left the room only minutes before—his impatience got the better of him.

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ he bit out, ‘stop fussing and come and sit by me.’

  Mary flinched and Lucas immediately regretted his harsh tone. His confinement had given him time to think, for the first time in many months, if not years, and the conclusions he had reached about himself were not pleasant. Deep down, and with a mounting sense of shame, Lucas knew he had been guilty of increasing carelessness in his treatment of others. Would he never learn? The last thing he wished was for Mary to be wary of him.

  He kept his attention on his food as, from the corner of his eye, he saw Mary sit on the chair next to his, smoothing her skirts as she did so. When she had settled he noted the slight blush staining her cheeks as she avoided eye contact. He had seen her passion and her growing desire, but now all he could read was fear. Of what, though? Him, for his brusque manner? Or of her body’s response to him? But why should a widow fear what was, after all, a natural urge? Fearful she was, though, and he cautioned himself to moderate his tone of voice.

  ‘I was teasing, Mary, about the bath.’

  Her cheeks reddened further. Lucas decided to confront her.

  ‘Are you afraid of me?’

  A muscle at the side of her jaw bunched. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you certain? This is not the first time you have flinched when I have spoken. I am sorry if my words sounded harsher than they were intended.’

  Mary did not look convinced. ‘You have a ready temper,’ she said. ‘That is undeniable. How am I to know if you are liable to lash out?’

  Lash out? Where would she get such an idea? He had never...

  What about Henson? his inner voice whispered. You half-killed him.

  But Mary could not know about that shameful episode. It was years ago. He had worked hard to put it behind him, to avoid treading the same path as his father, who had used his fists whenever life did not go his way. Since Henson he had never even come close to physical violence, no matter how angry and frustrated he had become with his life.

  ‘Why on earth would you think I might lash out at you? Or anyone? What in the world have you been told to believe me such an ogre? Do not think I haven’t seen you when you recoil from me. When have I given you cause to fear me?’

  ‘I do not fear you. I—’

  ‘Do not lie to me. I have seen it in your eyes. More than once. Why, Mary? What is it you think me capable of? Why are you so wary around me? You kissed me...’

  Her gaze shot to his face, her blue eyes burning in their intensity.

  ‘I did not kiss you! You kissed me; you took me by surprise. What kind of woman do you think I am?’

  ‘You are a widow, Mary, not a naïve virgin. It was only a kiss.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am well aware of that,’ Mary hissed as she surged to her feet and glared at him, her small fists clenched at her sides. ‘For you, it was only a kiss. It was nothing, it meant nothing...less than nothing, for that matter.’

  Mary’s voice shook with rage and Lucas stared at her aghast. Where had this wildcat come from, slashing at him with unsheathed claws? What had happened to Sensible Mary?

  Oh, but she’s magnificent when she’s angry.

  ‘I cannot stay. I must...’

  Mary started for the door and, without volition, Lucas’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. She gasped and twisted her arm, trying to free herself. Lucas pulled her closer. Her thighs bumped against his.

  ‘No!’ She twisted, trying to break free. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You’re wrong, Mary, that kiss did matter. It meant a great deal.’

  He stared up at her distressed face, his gut wrenching at the sheen of tears in her eyes. ‘Don’t go, Mary, not like this. Please.’

  Lucas tugged until she sat with a bump in his lap. He winced as pain stabbed at his thigh, but he did not loosen his hold. One arm was wrapped around her waist and, as she slapped and pushed at that arm, he captured both her hands in his much larger fist. She froze. She sat rigid on his knee, her ragged breathing loud in the quiet of the room, her whole body quaking.

  ‘Mary?’ His voice was a harsh whisper.

  She kept her face averted.

  ‘Please, let me go,’ she whispered.

  His mood swung insta
ntly from exasperation to guilt. What on earth did she think he was going to do? The answer came with an explosion of shame. She thought—she really thought—he was capable of taking her against her will? Abruptly, he released her hands and took his arm from around her waist.

  ‘I am sorry, Mary,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. Again.’

  She remained seated on his lap, but twisted to face him. The wary expression was back.

  ‘And you were right, too,’ he said, with an attempt at a self-deprecating smile. ‘It was I who kissed you, not the other way around. And it mattered enough for me to long to kiss you again, but you must trust me when I tell you I will never take anything from you that is not freely given.’

  Mary’s eyes searched his. The caution had retreated, their blue depths now dark and luminous as he felt her stiff body relax.

  ‘Do you trust me, Mary?’ he whispered, staring at her lush, moist lips as they parted. Blood pooled, hot and heavy, in his loins.

  Her lids lowered as she swayed towards him. His skin tingled as her hand rose to caress his cheek. He responded without conscious thought, his arm wrapping around her waist as their lips met, his wits scrambling to catch up with this change.

  Passion ignited, exploding between them as she melted against him, winding her arms around his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. Her mouth was all soft, moist heat, her lips moulding sweetly to his. Their tongues tangled as he cupped the soft fullness of her breast, his thumb flicking at the hard bud of her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

  Impatient for naked skin, he slid his hand inside her neckline. The weight of her breast, her satiny-smooth skin, her heat and the unique feminine scent of Mary fanned the flames of desire. The throb of his arousal, trapped and tortured beneath her squirming bottom, drove him mindlessly on. He tore his lips from hers and nudged under her chin, seeking the sensitive skin of her neck. He pressed hot kisses to the delicacy of her collarbone, then traced a path to her ear, licking and nibbling at the lobe before pushing the tip of his tongue inside, eliciting a gasp from the writhing woman on his lap.