Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

  ‘The tables are turned, sweet Mary, are they not?’ he slurred, ‘for you are in bed and I am here to minister to you.’

  Brandy fumes wafted over her, catapulting her back to their first meeting in the woods, when she had dismissed him as a gentleman in his cups, until she had realised he was injured. He was not injured now, however. She grabbed at the bedcovers and tugged them up to cover her. He laughed, a mirthless sound.

  ‘You must learn not to be shy, my sweet. You will be expected to expose more than that monstrosity of a nightgown to Sir Gerald once you are installed as his mistress.’

  ‘You are wrong and you are insulting, sir, if you truthfully believe I would become any man’s mistress. You should know that, of anyone, for I would have accepted your offer.’

  He scowled. ‘Ah, but I could not provide the lifestyle you crave, could I? There would be no luxuries to be had at Rothley Hall.’

  Mary glared at him. ‘I think you mistake me for a lady of your past acquaintance, sir. I have never sought riches and, if you took the time to consider events with a clear head, you would know it. But, no! You needs must seek solace for imagined wrongs at the bottom of a bottle!’

  Lucas scowled down at her.

  ‘You are drunk, Lord Rothley. I suggest you go to bed and sleep it off.’

  ‘Hah! Nothing escapes you, does it, my dear?’

  ‘Very little.’

  He swayed again, then slumped on to the bed. The mattress sagged, causing Mary to tip towards Lucas. The second she touched him she pushed away, scrambling to the far side of the bed. He reached out, snagging her hand in a tight grip. She stilled, conscious of his strength, but she was not scared. Even drunk and angry, he would not hurt her. Unlike Quartly, she realised, who’d had no qualms about attacking her even though he was completely sober.

  ‘Why?’ Lucas banged the candlestick down on to the bedside table, causing the flame to dance. He flung her hand away as if her very skin was tainted, then leaned forward, his back to her. It was as though he could not bear the sight of her.

  ‘Why, Mary? I thought...’ He groaned as his head sunk into his hands.

  ‘What did you think?’ she asked after a couple of beats of silence.

  ‘That you were different. I wanted you to be different. Mayhap that is my trouble. I wanted it so much I persuaded myself it was true.’

  ‘Different to whom? To Julia? I am not her.’

  Lucas turned to stare at her, his eyes glittering. The air crackled between them, sending a jolt of pure energy through Mary. Her pulse raced and her heart hammered in her chest. Even after all that had happened, she still wanted him.

  He traced her lips with a tender fingertip, his eyes following the movement. Desire sped through her veins to pool—hot and urgent—between her thighs. The bed rocked as he shifted, pressing her back against the pillows.

  She felt the bedcovers lift and cool air fingered beneath. He laid next to her, half-covering her, warming her. She stroked his powerful shoulders, revelling in his hard, muscular body pressed full length against her. Long fingers tangled in her hair as her kissed her, his tongue probing at her lips until she opened to him.

  Mary drifted in a sensual haze as all her senses focused on the intense need burgeoning deep within her core. The neck of her nightgown was pushed aside and his mouth was on her nipple, his tongue flicking at the swollen bud as her body tensed with need, thighs taut, back arching.

  Then his lips were at her throat and, as the pain of her bruises registered, reality burst in. She pushed her hands between them, at his shoulders, shoving against him.

  ‘No!’

  Lucas froze.

  Bitter disgust at her behaviour flooded Mary, sweeping away her ardour. His words echoed in her head: ‘I am here to minister to you.’

  And she had colluded with him, had led him on.

  ‘No!’ She shoved harder.

  He reared back, eyes dazed, a puzzled frown on his face.

  ‘What is it? What is wrong?’ Then his eyes cleared. ‘Why have you stopped? You want this as much as I do. You enjoyed it last night.’

  Mary wriggled until she was no longer beneath him, tugging at her nightgown to cover her breast.

  ‘I did. But this is different.’

  Lucas scowled, turning away. ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘Well, I shall tell you why. You are meaning to punish me. That is not love. It is not right. I do not deserve that.’

  Her voice wobbled and she dug her nails into her arm. She would not let him see her distress, only her anger and her disdain.

  ‘You have it wrong, Lucas. I was not negotiating with Sir Gerald.’

  He surged to his feet, spinning round to glare down at her. ‘Don’t lie to me! I heard you! You and Quartly! You were planning together. He was offering you everything I cannot give you. Things I cannot afford. You are only interested in money! Not in love! Not in my heart!’

  Love?

  ‘You have never offered me love! Not in the way I understand it. Physical love, yes, but your heart? When did you ever offer me that?’

  Mary rose to her knees on the bed, reaching for him as he backed away. ‘You are wrong! I do not want riches. I only ever wanted you.’

  ‘I do not believe you.’

  ‘What is love without trust?’ Mary asked in despair, but Lucas had already gone and her words bounced off the closed door.

  She slumped on to the bed. She was shattered. How could he imply he loved her, yet believe her capable of acting as accused? She could not bear another encounter with him, neither tonight nor in the morning. Mind made up, she got up and started to dress. She was already packed. Middle of the night or not, she would collect the children and leave immediately. But she would not go to the Dower House. She had thought of an alternative and no one at the Hall would know where they had gone. It might provide her with a short respite during which she must search for a solution to her quandary: a solution that relied on neither her father nor Lucas.

  She picked up the bag Mrs Lindley had loaned her and gazed around the room one last time. Setting her jaw, she shut the door behind her and headed for the children’s room.

  * * *

  By the time he reached his bedchamber, Lucas had thrown off most of the effects of the brandy. He stalked across the room to the window, throwing it wide. He leaned out into the fresh night air and inhaled, forcing the cold air into his lungs, clearing his head.

  Only to hear the echo of Mary’s voice. ‘You have it wrong, Lucas.’

  Was he wrong? He scrubbed his hand through his hair. He’d been wrong before. Sincerity shone in her words, but could he still trust his own instincts, despite what he had heard? He pushed away from the window and strode across the room to the bed, where he sat, tugging his neckcloth loose as he picked over all that had happened.

  The knowledge that Quartly was waiting, like a vulture, to pick over the bones of Lucas’s failure had plagued his life ever since his return to Rothley and now, when the end was finally in sight, he was back to torture Lucas some more.

  ‘You are meaning to punish me.’

  Had he meant to punish her? No. He could never use the act of love to inflict pain. He had been determined to make her understand what she had thrown away with such thoughtless disregard. But once his lips touched hers, instinct had taken over and all he had felt was the overwhelming urge to make love to her, as gently and as skilfully as he knew how.

  Mary.

  He ached for her. The sound of her name brought conflict to his thoughts and his feelings. Longing, love—even trust—warred against rage, betrayal and pain in his heart.

  He pulled his neckcloth from his neck and dropped in on the floor.

  Doubts beset his understanding of what had taken place in the library. Had the snippet of conversation he had overheard given the true meaning of Mary’s conversation with Quartly?

  He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

  He had sworn he would no longer act witho
ut reflection, yet here he was again.

  He began to unbutton his shirt.

  Did he honestly believe Mary would become embroiled with a man such as Quartly for the sake of an easy life? She had known him before. Surely she would not willingly set up home with him, let alone subject her children to such a life?

  As he stripped off his shirt he cursed his impulsiveness. Would he never learn? Why had he refused to listen to Mary, either this afternoon or tonight?

  Impatient now to put matters right between them, Lucas shrugged into his robe and strode to the door. Another apology was due. He would go to Mary and he would listen to what she had to say. Hand on the door handle, he hesitated. It was late. If he went to her bedchamber now, she would be defensive, believing he had come for another quarrel or, half-undressed as he was, to seduce her.

  He must wait until morning. He would beg her to stay. He would make her stay. His arms ached to hold her soft, warm body and his lips yearned to taste her again. What would he not give to be snuggled up to her right now?

  Her final words echoed in his mind: ‘I do not want riches. I only ever wanted you.’

  It was time to tell her the truth of how he felt about her and the fear it invoked within him. It was time to tell her he loved her. He must hope she would listen with a more open mind than he had shown to her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  At first light, Lucas—fully dressed, for he did not want Mary to think he had any other purpose than talking in mind—knocked at her bedchamber door. He waited, but there was no response. He knocked again.

  Louder.

  Then turned the handle and walked in. Sick dread churned his stomach, chilling him. The house loomed silent around him.

  She was gone. The bed was stripped. No item remained to suggest she had ever been in the room. He slammed out of the room, ran up the stairs two at a time to the children’s room.

  Empty.

  He whirled on the spot and raced to the kitchen. Mrs Lindley and Ellen were both at the table, at breakfast. They scrutinised him with identical expressions of scorn. He barely noticed.

  ‘Where is Mrs Vale?’

  ‘Gone. And the bairns. As you ordered. My lord.’

  ‘Where?’

  Mrs Lindley shrugged her massive shoulders.

  ‘No!’

  He ran from the room. He would get Sultan. He wouldn’t rest until he found her. He had thought he was being considerate, not going back to her room last night. Leaving her in peace. Instead, he had given her time to slip away and go to Quartly.

  Didn’t you decide you were wrong about her going to Quartly?

  Where else would she go? To her father’s? Linburgh? Yes! Well, maybe. But what if Quartly happened to see her on the road? He felt certain now that the words he had overheard had been Mary trying to appease Quartly. Dunwick Manor was en route. He might as well call in as he passed. Wherever she had gone, he would get her back. He must persuade her to come home. The Hall was colder and lonelier than ever. No children playing, no laughter, no prospect of bumping into Mary at odd times of the day, lifting his mood and heating his blood with her simple presence.

  At the stable yard there was no sign of either Shorey or Hooper and there was no time to delay. He grabbed Sultan’s saddle and bridle and tacked him up at record speed, then stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg across the horse’s back. A protest from his recently healed thigh gave him grim satisfaction. He deserved to suffer.

  * * *

  As he rode through the gates of Dunwick Manor all appeared still and quiet. No sign of Mary or the children. A brisk trot up the drive to the front of the modern Georgian house elicited no response. He hesitated, then turned Sultan to ride around the back, to the stable yard.

  As he reached the yard entrance, two dogs bounded into view, barking and snarling. Sultan spun round, presenting the dogs with his rear end, ears flattened as he lashed out. Lucas fought to calm him, smoothing his neck and murmuring to him. A shout from inside the yard gained his attention.

  ‘Hi! Get back ’ere!’

  The dogs stopped their snapping and snarling and Lucas turned his mount to face the owner of the voice. His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins, causing Sultan to back a step in response. Both dogs stood at the man’s heels, but Lucas had eyes for only one of them.

  A collie.

  Slowly, unbelievably, parts of the puzzle began to slot into place. The half-black, half-white face, the distinctive merle ruff and, more tellingly, the odd-coloured eyes, propelled him straight back to the day he was shot. There was no mistake. It was the same animal. He looked at the man, who was staring at him with a belligerent expression.

  ‘Will! Abel! Get out here now. Help me with these dogs.’

  Lucas held his stare, feeling his eyes narrow and jaw tighten. The man did not need help with the dogs, which were now quiet. His reinforcements, one of whom held a pitchfork, emerged from the stables and flanked the first man. Lucas scanned all three. Were they his attackers? He could not swear to it. He had not seen enough of their faces to be certain, although their builds were about right. But the dog... The dog was all the proof he needed.

  ‘Surprised to see me, boys?’

  He watched them closely. The two older men brazened it out, but the youngest of the three stepped back half a pace, flushed and fidgety.

  ‘Sorry, milord. Never seen ’ee before.’ It was the first man who spoke, evidently the senior of the three.

  ‘Yet you know to call me by my title? Try again.’ Lucas nudged Sultan forward. ‘My memory is sharper than yours, for I recall all three of you very clearly. You might like to know the magistrate is on his way. Will you claim to be doing your master’s bidding that day, I wonder? If so, you might escape the hangman, but it will still be deportation for the lot of you.’

  The first man snarled and stepped forward, snatching at Sultan’s bridle. Lucas reined the horse around, freeing one foot from the stirrup, ready to kick out.

  ‘Rothley? What are you doing here?’

  Lucas glanced over his shoulder. Quartly strode towards them, his face mottled with anger. Behind him, Lucas could see Dr Robert Preece, medical bag in hand. Never had he been so pleased to see his old friend. He breathed a touch easier.

  Quartly had passed where Lucas sat on Sultan and now stood between him and his men. He glared up at him. Robert had halted to one side, putting his bag on the ground. He looked on with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Good morning, Quartly. I was merely renewing my acquaintance with your men here. And your dog.’

  Lucas gestured at the collie, which was now snuffling around the doctor’s bag. Robert glanced down at the dog, then stiffened, his eyes seeking Lucas, a clear question in them. Lucas gave a slight nod and Robert’s lips thinned as his gaze switched to Quartly.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense! Since when do you trouble yourself with stablehands?’ Quartly blustered. ‘Why are you snooping around?’

  ‘Snooping? My dear man, I do not snoop. I rode up your drive quite openly—as will the magistrate, who is on his way.’

  ‘Magistrate?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. Did you actually think you would get away with it, Quartly? Stealing a man’s stock? Murdering him?’

  ‘That wasn’t the plan! You weren’t...!’ Quartly’s mouth snapped shut. He looked back at his men. ‘Get him!’

  Only the youngest of three stirred and that was to shuffle backwards again.

  Quartly’s complexion darkened, sweat standing on his upper lip. ‘What are you waiting for? That was an order!’

  The man in the centre hawked, turned his head and spat on the ground. ‘In front of the doctor? After what you did to Molly last night? Keep your job. I’m getting out of here.’ He looked at the others. ‘And so will you two, if you know what’s good for you.’ He turned to go, passing the youngster, now frozen to the spot. ‘Well?’ He grabbed his shirt, tugging at him. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  All three melted from sight. Lucas f
rowned but, with the imminent arrival of the magistrate a fallacy, he was not inclined to try to detain them. They were on their home territory and had already shown their disregard for the law and for human life. There was Robert to think of, as well as himself. Besides, Quartly was the real culprit and he was going nowhere.

  And he still needed to find Mary.

  Lucas dismounted and tethered Sultan to a ring in the wall. He faced Quartly, whose breath rasped loudly in the silence of the yard, his chest visibly heaving. From a deep red, his complexion had leached to sickly grey. Robert grabbed his bag and stepped forward.

  ‘Let’s get him to the house.’

  One either side, they supported Quartly, walking him slowly to the house. As they arrived at the door, however, he shrugged them off.

  ‘I can manage!’

  Lucas and Robert exchanged glances as he lurched through the door. Rob tried to take his arm again, but it was snatched away. Quartly made his way slowly along the hall. Lucas and Robert followed.

  ‘Mary! Bring us refreshments!’

  Lucas slammed to a halt, but the face that peered around a door in response to Quartly’s shout belonged to a round-faced, dark-haired woman in middle age. Not his Mary. Breath juddered from his lungs as he suppressed a shaky laugh. Just being in this house reinforced the impossibility of Mary ever colluding with Quartly. He was a fool for ever believing such nonsense. And now he was on edge, restless to get on his way. Every minute he delayed felt as though Mary was moving further out of reach.

  He must deal with Quartly first, however.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he whispered to Robert as they followed Quartly into a drawing room.

  Robert glanced at Quartly, who had flopped on to a sofa, taking no notice of the other two men.

  ‘I was called for one of the housemaids. Molly,’ he added with emphasis and Lucas recalled the stableman’s words.

  ‘Quartly beat her?’

  ‘And the rest. Poor girl. I had quite a job to stop the bleeding.’

  ‘Tell her she can come to me for a job,’ Lucas said on impulse. ‘She shouldn’t have to stay here with him.’