Mary and the Marquis

by Janice Preston

  ‘They are fine bairns, Mary.’ He tweaked Emily’s cheek.

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Yes, Mary?’

  ‘What about your new family? Will your wife not object...?’

  Cranston threw his head back and laughed. ‘Object? Of course they willna object. Matilda will be delighted to welcome ye back home and the boys will enjoy their two new playmates. I sent word from Hexham to expect ye.

  ‘I suppose,’ he went on, ‘we must think about the practicalities? Might I impose on you, Rothley, and beg the use of your carriage to transport my daughter and grandchildren to Linburgh?’

  ‘Delighted to be of assistance, sir,’ Lucas said, still propped against the mantelshelf.

  Mary felt her heart shrivel. Was he truly so indifferent to the knowledge she would soon be gone?

  Cranston, wreathed in smiles, walked out of the room, saying, ‘Come along, then, lass. Bring the bairns.’

  Mary followed. ‘Come along, Toby, Emily.’ Pain stabbed at her until she could barely breathe. ‘Let us...’

  ‘Mary.’

  The deep voice pinned her to the spot. Her stomach somersaulted. She turned to Lucas, battling to conceal her emotions, and raised her brows in enquiry.

  ‘You and I—I believe we have some unfinished business.’

  A statement of fact. Not even a question. As if his interpretation of events was the only valid one. She forced the recall of every false accusation he had flung at her. She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

  ‘I believe all that needed to be said has already been...’

  Her words faltered as he strode across the room. Strong fingers enclosed her upper arms. Heat flared through her body, radiating from his touch. Her breath stalled, her knees trembled.

  ‘Mary?’ Her father’s voice came from the doorway. ‘Is everything all right, lassie?’

  Mary glanced up at Lucas. She did not care to listen to more excuses, or to yet more reasons why he could not offer her what she so desperately wanted, but the determination set in every line of his features persuaded her he would not rest until he had his say.

  ‘It is all right, Papa. Would you mind taking the children? I shall be with you in a few moments. Lord Rothley will not keep me long.’

  She heard her father’s footsteps retreat down the passageway.

  She was alone with Lucas.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She sat on the sofa, folding her arms. ‘What is it you wish to say?’

  Lucas stared at her for one long moment, his chest rising and falling as though he struggled with some internal dilemma. Mary forced herself to sit and wait. Finally, he swept one hand through his hair, spun on his heel and strode to the window to stare out through the glass.

  ‘I do not want you to leave. Please stay—you and the children.’

  Her heart missed a beat. Was he saying what she thought he was? His words from the night before echoed inside her head. Words she had not dared to believe: ‘You are only interested in money! Not in love! Not in my heart!’

  She fought to keep her voice low and steady. ‘Why?’

  He faced her, frowning. She did not relent. If he had feelings for her and if he did not admit to them now, he might never do so. And Mary could not live with that. If she was to entrust her heart and her children to another man, she must be certain he truly loved her. And he must be under no illusion either. If he could not trust her enough to share his fears and hopes and his true feelings—as well as his past—what future could there be?

  ‘I love you, Mary. You must know that.’

  The words she had longed to hear. Yet still her heart was breaking. Nothing had changed from the night before. What mattered had not changed.

  ‘But you do not trust me.’

  ‘Of course I trust you, sweetheart. I told you I know I was wrong about Quartly. I acted in haste. I accused you without reason. I knew it last night, the minute I left your bedchamber. I knew I was wrong. You are an honest, moral woman. I am sorry, more than I can tell you. I allowed my past to taint my judgement of you. I was wrong.’

  ‘You trust my moral judgement and my behaviour. Mayhap you trust that I would not cuckold you with another man. But do you trust me?’

  Lucas cocked his head, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead. Mary stood, crossed the room to look deep into his eyes. ‘Will you trust me, Lucas?’

  He took her by the shoulders. ‘Of course I trust you,’ he repeated, but she pulled away.

  ‘I do not understand, Mary—’ the words spilled out, his frustration clear ‘—what can I say or do to convince you? I love you. I want to marry you. I wanted to tell you days ago, but I decided to wait until your father came, until you knew you had an alternative if you did not wish to stay with me.’

  ‘You wanted to be sure of me?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘Yes...well, no...I did not want you to say yes because you had no choice. I wanted you to know you had somewhere else you could be safe and make your home.’

  His eyes searched hers. Not for the first time, Mary could see the vulnerability at his core. It was to do with Julia, she was certain, but she did not understand why. She needed to know what had happened, or he would retreat every time there was a difficulty or misunderstanding. She knew, intuitively, that if she could not coax him to bring his past into the sunlight it would continue to shadow their lives.

  His uncertainty was palpable. Instinct almost took over. It took every ounce of her will not to comfort him.

  ‘You said we had unfinished business, Lucas, but what you meant was you had unfinished business with me. I, too, have unfinished business with you. For instance: Julia.’

  His expression blanked. ‘Julia has nothing to do with you and me.’

  Mary held his stare in silence, before asking: ‘Do you honestly believe that, Lucas?’

  No reply.

  ‘Is Julia not the reason you accused me of negotiating a future with Sir Gerald?’

  Merely saying his name forced bile to her mouth. Mary swallowed convulsively. He was dead. He could not hurt or threaten her now. As she swept away her fear of Quartly, she watched Lucas pace the room, up and down. She moved to the sofa and sat down, transferring her gaze to the window, watching the clouds mindlessly, even as every nerve in her body screamed its awareness of Lucas: his agitated movements, the ragged sound of his breaths.

  She gripped her hands together in her lap, waiting.

  ‘You are right.’

  The words were grudging, but at least he had admitted it. Hope stirred in Mary’s breast.

  ‘Do you still love her?’

  It was probably an unwise question, at this point, but it spilled from her lips before she could stop it.

  Lucas rounded the sofa and sat next to Mary, clasping her hands in his. She drew in a deep breath, revelling in his unique, male scent. Desire coiled deep inside.

  ‘No. But I thought I loved her, once.’

  Mary waited, forcing herself to sit still, stifling the urge to move closer, to touch his face. She must allow him to tell her of his past at his own pace. Her future, so bleak one short hour ago, now held so much promise she was almost overcome. She blinked her suddenly prickling eyes. Happy tears, but she could not risk Lucas misinterpreting them.

  ‘I was young. I was green. A wild youth, let loose on the town for the first time. I ran with a reckless crowd: gaming, drinking, up to any and every debauchery known to man. Julia was a widow—vivacious, fun, beautiful, with golden hair and blue eyes of the exact same shade as yours. I fear, in my confusion and fever, I might have mistaken you for her a time or two. But never, dearest Mary, in your character.’

  Mary felt her brows shoot up. She bit back her smile. She could not resist her chance to tease. ‘Never?’

  Lucas shook his head at her, a slow grin stretching his lips. ‘Minx! Yes, I have been an impulsive fool at times—acting upon judgements made in haste, without clear thought. I will admit I have found it difficul
t to place my trust in another woman, even though, in my heart, I knew you had none of Julia’s selfish traits.

  ‘At that time—with the single-mindedness of youth—I believed her encouragement to be based on deeper emotions. I lavished her with gifts. I was persuaded I was in love.’

  He paused, staring down at their clasped hands, his thumb caressing her wrist, then looked up, his eyes searching hers.

  ‘I have never admitted this to another living soul, Mary. I was too ashamed. But this is what you meant, is it not? When you asked if I trust you? You meant, will I—can I—trust you with my past? My secrets?’

  Mary smiled. ‘Yes.’

  She freed one hand and smoothed his hair from his forehead, stroking his face with her fingers, feeling the scrape of his whiskers—unshaven, judging by the shadow on his jaw—against her skin. His eyes darkened and she leaned towards him, offering her mouth. He took her lips in a quick, bruising kiss, then drew back, a smile hovering.

  ‘Do not distract me, wench, now I have finally worked out what you want of me!’

  Mary laughed, light-headed. ‘Then hurry up and finish telling me so I may kiss you again.’

  ‘There’s not much left to tell. One afternoon, I discovered her in the arms of another man. A married man. A man I had thought to be my friend. I blurted out my love for her, but she rejected as worthless the offer of my hand in marriage.’

  Mary’s heart ached for the naïve young man Lucas had been.

  ‘Still I did not leave. I pleaded, protesting my love, but she laughed and I learned, for the first time, of my father’s vast debts. I remember her exact words: “You are deluded if you believe for one minute I would countenance an alliance with a near bankrupt estate such as you will inherit.” How could I believe her? My father still paid my brother and me generous allowances. And it was nigh on impossible to accept I had been so wrong about her love for me. I tried to change her mind. Then Henson, my so-called friend, joined in her mockery.

  ‘I lost my temper and, in my rage, I near to killed him. Then I came home to Rothley, to take my place alongside my father, determined to prove them both wrong about his debts.’

  He heaved a sigh. Mary squeezed his hand. She had seen for herself the state of Rothley Hall.

  ‘My father rejected my help. He swore there were no debts, called me a no-account wastrel and told me to get back to my dissolute life as that was all I was good for.’

  Mary lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his warm skin. She knew how parental rejection felt.

  ‘Why should I doubt him? I returned to London. I will not give you a disgust of me by detailing my every debauchery and vice, but suffice it to say they were many. It served its purpose for a time and numbed my feelings. But mindless pleasure palls eventually and, in time, I vowed to change my lifestyle. I stayed in Devon with an old friend, learning about estate management and agriculture, then I travelled on the Continent.

  ‘Two years ago, a letter telling me my father was gravely ill reached me in Italy. I travelled home straight away, but he died before I arrived.’

  ‘I am sorry you did not make your peace with your father before he died. You must have found that painful.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘It was not as painful as you might imagine. My father was a brutal man. I had no love for him.’ He shrugged, grimacing. ‘I respected him because he was my father, but I had no respect for him as a man. Hugo and I were petrified of him when we were boys.’

  ‘It can be no wonder you rebelled as a young man in London, but you proved your strength of character in the end. You amended your ways and now you have used what you learned to save the Rothley estate. You can be proud of that.’

  ‘You, Mary Vale, are a very wise woman.’

  Mary glowed at his praise. ‘Is your decree you will not allow children at the Hall because of your father and your childhood?’

  ‘For a wise woman, that question was phrased badly.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You should have said, Was your decree you would not allow children. It is consigned to the past, Mary. But you are right, it was because of my father. I heard the words “You are just like your father” so many times during my youth that I believed it.’

  ‘You feared you might become a violent bully?’

  ‘I was convinced of it, particularly after I attacked Henson. It is only recently I have questioned that blind belief and for that I have you, Toby and Emily to thank. I understand now people meant I look like my father.’

  Mary laid her hand against his cheek. ‘Your father must have been a very handsome man.’

  Lucas threw his head back and his laughter echoed around the room. ‘You shameless flatterer, Mrs Vale.’

  He shifted sideways on the sofa to face her, holding her hands, his face now serious.

  ‘I love you, Mary. Can you find it in your heart to forgive the way I treated you? My doubts in you? Can you trust me?’

  Mary searched his eyes, elated by the intensity and the love that shone in their depths.

  ‘I cannot promise I will never again jump to the wrong conclusion, but I will promise you—faithfully and wholeheartedly—I will always listen to you and try to keep an open mind. When I went to your room this morning and you had gone, I...’ He paused, his hands tightening on hers. He smiled ruefully, shaking his head. ‘I never want to feel that way again, Mary. I was so afraid...’

  ‘As was I,’ Mary whispered. ‘So afraid I would never see you again. I could not bear that you thought so ill of me. My heart was full of lead, my future darker than I’ve ever known even though I have been through some dreadful times.’

  Lucas gathered her into his arms, pressing her cheek against his chest. She could hear the fast, strong beat of his heart—comforting, secure.

  ‘You need never be afraid again, sweetheart.’ His voice was husky. He tucked one finger beneath her chin and tilted her head to gaze deep into her eyes. ‘I love you with all my being, Mary Vale. Will you marry me?’

  There was one question she needed to ask. ‘The children?’

  ‘Will be loved as my own, I swear. How could I not love them when they are part of you?’ He stroked the wayward strands of her hair away from her face, his eyes full of tenderness. ‘And when we have a child...’

  Mary pulled her head back and stared, wonder coursing through her. ‘You want us to have children?’

  ‘Yes.’ No hesitation in his voice or in his ebony eyes. ‘As soon as possible. I have wasted too many years of my life being someone I was not, boxing myself into a corner, surrounding myself with messages from the past and the opinions of others. I have broken free. I am ready to live my life, with you by my side, if you will have me?’

  ‘Oh!’ Mary flung her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his. ‘Yes, Lucas. My answer is yes.’

  She felt his strong hands encircle her waist and then she was on his lap, his lips covering hers.

  Mary braced her hands against his chest, pushing with all her strength. Lucas stilled. He drew his head back until he was gazing into her eyes, sudden doubt clouding his own.

  ‘There is one thing I have not yet told you, Lucas.’

  She kept a straight face, holding back her smile, as she let the silence stretch, relishing the chance to tease him for a change. His fingers tightened on her waist. A muscle bunched at his jaw.

  She tilted her head, then let her smile fly free. ‘I haven’t yet told you I love you. With all my heart.’

  She laughed joyously at the relief and delight in his expression.

  ‘You are a little minx.’

  His fingers tangled in her hair as he took her mouth in a scorching kiss. Her heart beat a hectic tattoo as fire sizzled in her veins and desire consumed her. The urgent thrust of his tongue rocked her to the core and she squirmed, his arousal beneath her bottom taunting the aching need between her thighs—a need that threatened to spiral out of control.

  Oh, how she wanted him.

  She
met the challenge of his kiss thrust for thrust. Their tongues entwined as he stole the very breath from her body. She threaded her fingers through his hair, cleaving her body to his until she hardly knew where she ended and he began.

  Finally, he tore his lips from hers, lifting her from his lap and putting her from him with a groan. Her knees trembled and she would have fallen but for his strong hands at her waist. She clutched at his forearms as dazed ebony eyes searched hers. Slowly, she emerged from the sensual haze enveloping her. Their mingled breathing was the only sound in the quiet of the room, until a child’s distant squeal intruded, bringing reality into focus.

  Lucas studied her, a bemused expression on his face.

  ‘I need to make you my wife as soon as possible, Mary Vale, or you will be the death of me.’

  She smiled, finally secure in his love. She leaned over him, bracing her hands on his broad shoulders. She nipped at his earlobe and blew gently into his ear, revelling in his sharp intake of breath and his involuntary shiver. Taking her time, she lowered herself back on to his lap and wriggled around until she was comfortable, savouring his pained expression.

  ‘Yes, Lord Rothley,’ she said, in her very meekest voice, then wound her arms around his neck and caressed his smiling lips with her own once more, tasting him, loving him.

  * * * * *

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  ISBN-13: 9781460337165

  MARY AND THE MARQUIS

  Copyright © 2014 by Janice Preston