by Kelly Boyce
“And if I did not?”
Mother fell silent for a moment, then, “I will support whatever decision you make. I know what it is like to have that choice taken away from you and I will not do to you what my parents did to me. But I beg you to think long and hard. I will counsel Nicholas to avoid meeting with Lord Selward while he is here, to put him off. It will allow you more time to make your final decision.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca whispered, but the reprieve did not help her heart. Even if her mother absolved her of saving the land and property rightly their own, she could not deny Lord Selward’s proposal if it meant saving Marcus from persecution at Lord Walkerton’s hands.
Her only hope in this regard would be to convince him to return the watch. If he did that he would be safe, and if he was safe, perhaps she could convince herself to let go of the dream of saving the properties that had once upon a time belonged to Mother’s family. Maybe she could choose her future with an open heart and clear conscience.
Mother leaned in and pressed her lips against Rebecca’s temple. “Now, come. We must go if we are to make the party at a respectable time.”
Rebecca nodded her head in agreement, hoping Marcus adhered to her request and made an appearance. More importantly, she hoped he would agree to return the watch and save them both a future filled with misery and regret.
* * *
Rebecca had danced the quadrille and a reel, using each change and turn to sweep her gaze over the crowded ballroom in hopes of catching sight of Marcus. Her note had begged him to come, and stated that she had discovered information regarding his past. Would he heed her request? Would he give her the opportunity to change the course of their futures, to find the happiness they both deserved?
She hoped so, but hope had disappointed her too many times before for her to hold much stock in it.
The reel ended and she thanked her partner, Lord Mincer, who had done a miserable job of avoiding her toes throughout the dance. As she threaded her way through the crowd to retrieve her makeshift spear from where she had rested it near a potted plant, a hand reached out and wrapped around her arm.
“Come with me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rebecca spun on her slippered heel and came face to face with a pirate king. Her pirate king. The one who had filled her girlhood fantasies, with eyes so dark and deep, one glance and she was lost.
“Hurry,” he said, bending to whisper the command against her ear. A shiver slithered through her. She did not hesitate to obey. Together, they skirted the edge of the crowd, avoided the dancers who were taking their places for the next set and hurried out onto the balcony that wrapped along the outer edge of Lord and Lady Doddington’s stately home. They kept to the shadows, trying each door as they passed it, but all remained locked as if to keep the guests from disappearing for private assignations that might lead to scandal or ruination.
Rebecca cared little. She would risk both if it saved Marcus, though she suspected he might have a different opinion on the matter.
At the far end of the terrace they took a stairway that led down into the gardens beyond. Marcus’s hand slid into hers, interlacing their fingers, and they hurried downward into the shadows and darkness. With a quick movement, he pulled her to his chest and pressed her back into an alcove created by the house’s architecture and thick ivy where it crawled up the walls on either side of them. The small space left them cloaked in secrecy and, if discovered, scandal.
Moonlight sought them out and crept between the cracks and crevices of the ivy illuminating one side of Marcus’s face.
“A very dramatic escape,” she whispered, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and something else. Something indefinable she had come to associate with Marcus alone.
Marcus pushed his mask up, away from his face. “I believe the lady requested an audience. Have I satisfied your wishes?”
There was an edge to his voice she did not care for.
“You have.”
“Good.” Though he did not sound happy about his success. He released her from his arms and took a small step back. His hands came to rest on slim hips encased in black breeches. He wore no jacket, nor cravat, just his white shirtsleeves and midnight colored waistcoat. It was a daring ensemble even for the masquerade and she found it hard to marry it to the Marcus who embodied the epitome of respectability. Then again, there were many aspects of his personality that had surprised her of late so likely she should take this one in her stride as well, though it was not easy. Her gaze kept drifting to the shirt ties at his throat and the narrow V that gave her a brief glimpse of his chest when he moved and the moonlight flickered over him.
“Are you angry with me?”
“Angry does not begin to touch upon it. What in the name of all that is holy were you doing poking around in my personal business? Did you give any thought to what might have happened should your note to me be intercepted? Why must you continue to put yourself in jeopardy with such foolish actions?”
She winced at his words. “When have I ever—”
“The debacle at the park.”
She twisted her mouth to one side. “I can hardly be held accountable for the horse’s—”
He cut her off. “Jumping in the lake.”
“Fine. Two times, but—”
“Insisting I act as your besotted suitor or you would enlist some other gentleman and risk scandal should he decide to twist the situation to his own advantage.”
She huffed out a breath. “None of these are neither here nor there. I needed to meet with you. Lord Selward is threatening to speak to Lord Ellesmere, possibly even the authorities, about the watch. So I decided to speak with Mrs. Faraday about your parents—”
“You did what?” The whispered words came fast and harsh. He rubbed at his forehead.
“Mrs. Faraday was in Lord and Lady Ellesmere’s employ at the time you were born. I thought she might know something that could help you uncover who your parents were!”
“You had no right to involve her in this. You had no right to involve yourself!”
Rebecca took a step forward until she stood toe to toe with him. Heat radiated from his body and she wanted to envelope herself in it. Wrap her arms around him and hold him close. Protect him. Protect herself.
“You involved me, if you’ll recall. You told me about the watch and the journal. And Lord Selward involved me when he indicated he meant to speak with Lord Ellesmere. I managed to hold him off with the promise I would try to convince you to return the watch to him—”
“I will not.”
Oh, why must he be so stubborn!
She reached out a hand and placed it against his solid chest. Beneath her palm, his heart beat a steady rhythm. The sensation of it reverberated down her arm and calmed her at the same time it excited her.
“Is it worth your ruin not to? You do not need it. Mrs. Faraday confirmed that to the best of her knowledge Lord Walkerton is your father.”
Marcus stilled and his muscles tensed. “How does she know this?”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’m uncertain. She would not say. Nor could she give a definitive answer on the identity of your mother, though she alluded to having her suspicions. But don’t you see—now that you know the identity of your father—”
“Walkerton is not my father.” The words cut into the space between them, sharp and dangerous.
“But, Mrs. Faraday said—”
“Edmore Bowen was my father. Walkerton is nothing to me but a man who laid with my mother and abandoned her.”
Rebecca could think of nothing to say to refute his claim. Given what Mrs. Faraday insinuated with respect to Walkerton’s character, she understood Marcus’s need to distance himself from him.
A narrow slice of moonlight cut across his cheekbone and she reached a hand up to touch the lit skin. The hint of stubble scratched against her fingertips and a small muscle in his jaw twitched.
“You may well be right,” she said. “But you know t
his now and so there is no reason to keep the watch. Be rid of it, and be rid of Walkerton if you so choose. Lord Selward indicated if it is not returned, his father will likely set the authorities upon you. You will be ruined, Marcus. Or worse. You do not have the protection of the House of Lords. You could be sent to gaol. I could not bear it!”
“Why? What would it matter?”
What would it matter? Did he think she didn’t care? That she had no regard for him at all? Was he that blind?
“How can you ask such a thing?”
“You will continue on with your life, become Lady Selward, then Lady Walkerton, raise your children, and attend your parties. Whatever happens to me is immaterial to all of this.”
He spoke the words so plainly and yet each one carved into her until the hand that touched his face fell away and her fingers curled into a fist to hit upon his chest. “Of course it is material! I do not care about parties or Lord Selward. I care about you!”
His hand came up to hold hers in place. “Do you?”
She bit down, the words that had rushed out so easily only seconds before now lodged like a lump in her throat.
“Yes.” And there it was. All the emotions they had danced around. All of the feelings she had bottled up and tried to find a sensible place for. But there was no sense to this. It simply was what it was. She could no longer deny her feelings, or the sentiment behind them. “Very much.”
He tilted his head to one side, studying her as if she were a new species just discovered. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it is very so.” She peered up at him through her lashes. Starlight danced along the angles of his face. He returned her gaze, steady but unreadable. She took a deep breath and with that, forged ahead. “I don’t want to pretend any more. Do you?”
The hint of a smile glimmered on his lips. His hand lifted and his fingers entwined in a lock of her hair, following it to where it curled over her breast. A deep ache pulled at her. “You’ll be the death of me one of these days, Rebecca Sheridan, I swear it.”
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but since he did not seem overly distressed by it, she took it as good news. And, given their past, she could not fault his reasoning.
He gave a light shrug. “I suppose there are worse ways to go.”
“I don’t want you to go anywhere, especially not to gaol. Will you please return the watch?”
“And then what? Will you go on to marry your lord, protect your inheritance, live your life as you had planned?”
“No.” She couldn’t. Standing here with Marcus, his touch upon her, she could no longer deny what she had spent a fortnight—longer even—dancing around. She had tried to deny it, to do the right thing. She had failed. She could not marry Lord Selward, not when she loved another.
“You should.”
His fingertips traced a line along her jaw, down her throat. The ache between her thighs increased. Deepened.
“I can’t. I love—”
“Don’t say it.”
His words startled her. Did he not want to know? Did he not share her feelings?
“You don’t feel the same?” She had been so certain. She could feel it, like this ethereal string that bound them together and refused to be broken.
He closed his eyes and tension furrowed his brow. “It does not matter what I feel. Nothing can come of this. I will not be responsible for you losing everything, nor allow you to be ruined by marrying the bastard son of some lord.”
The bastard son of some lord. The words drove into her, demanded she pay attention, but to what? She did not care who Marcus’s parents were; it did not change her heart.
“Would you prefer I marry a man I do not love? To be consigned to a future of unhappiness? Do you think me well-suited to Lord Selward?”
“He can give you what you deserve. I cannot.”
“What do I deserve? You accused me of not knowing what happiness is, so tell me. Is this happiness?” She lifted onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently against the hollow beneath his cheekbone and felt the swift intake of his breath. She stayed but a heartbeat before lowering herself back down.
“Don’t—”
She lifted again and this time teased the corner of his mouth. Just for a brief second, a little taste of heaven. A sinful temptation. His arm slipped around her waist and held her tight.
“Rebecca. I cannot—”
She kissed the other corner, not wanting it to feel left out. Heat pulsated through her, demanded she do more, go farther, but she held back, just a little. Just enough.
“Yes, you can. We can. Mother prefers I marry for love. I tried to deny it, but she is right. I cannot marry Lord Selward. I love you.”
Something in those words, a strange bit of magic, wound around them, protected them from their past, their future, and allowed them their present, this moment. She kissed him fully this time, sealing her words and showing him everything that lived in her heart.
At first, he did not move. Tension threaded through his muscles and she sensed the inner war that waged beneath his skin. But in the end, even his good sense and his need to do the right thing could not conquer the truth.
“Rebecca.” He whispered her name against her lips and she did not think anything had ever sounded so sweet or felt so complete until he kissed her, and she remembered that there was. There was this. And it was wonderful. Heady and exhilarating, it whisked away all her fear and worry. It erased their past and burned the obstacles to their future until they were nothing but cinder and ash.
His hands cradled her face and his body pushed her back, farther into the alcove until cool stone met her back. Desire raged through her and she hated the barrier of silk and wool and linen that kept her from feeling him, all of him. She relished his kiss, but wanted so much more. She wanted all of him, and she wanted to give him all of her.
But all too soon it ended, the glorious dream of what could be. Too soon he pulled away and allowed reality to creep in and spoil the rosy glow his kiss had created.
Marcus’s chest rose and fell with each breath and his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes shut tightly against the night.
“We cannot do this. I will not drag you into whatever it is I must face.” He lifted his head away from her and Rebecca hated the distance even those few inches created. She wanted to go back, back to the kiss, back to the vision of their future it had built. “I will not have you tarnished by it. I am not a lord. I’m a bastard, for chrissakes!”
And then it hit her; even before she could refute his claim. The words in her father’s will. How had she not seen it before?
She gripped the front of his shirt and fisted it in her hand. Excitement shot through her and victory seared her veins. “You are Walkerton’s eldest son!”
He looked down at her, confusion mixed with the remnants of passion. “What of it?”
“Father’s will stated I must marry a titled lord or the eldest son of a titled lord. Don’t you see? We can be together and I will not lose anything!”
Marcus shook his head. “I am not his recognized son. I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“But the will says nothing about that, only that it be a titled lord’s eldest son. You are several years old than Lord Selward, and therefore the eldest.” Why was he not as excited about this as she? It was the answer to all their problems! She’d been a fool not to see it before.
He smiled at her, but the gesture held no mirth, none of the happiness or relief she’d experienced at the revelation.
“Walkerton has not recognized me as his son and therefore, neither will the law.”
“But—”
Marcus shook his head. “It is a fine idea. But not one that will bear fruit, I’m afraid. I have lived amongst the ton for over twenty years, and at no point has he ever come forward to claim me. Even now, when I am in possession of this watch, there has been no overture to exchange acknowledgement for its return.”
Hope
—damnable hope!—crashed around her.
“Is there nothing we can do?” The plea whispered out of her, laced with desperation. She could not let him go. She could not stand here and watch him walk away, taking every hope and dream she had for the future with him.
His fingers touched her face, tipped her chin upward to meet his lips. He kissed her gently but when she tried to deepen it, he pulled away.
“I will not drag you into this.”
And then he stepped away, robbing her of the heat from his body, his kiss.
“Marcus—”
“No.” One word. One word to end the last shred of hope she had within her. “Go,” he said, pointing toward the staircase that led up to the terrace. “Keep to the shadows then slip back inside. I will follow in a few moments.”
She took a step toward him but he took two back. He would not allow her to touch him, to pull them back into the lie the hope had been.
It was over. Tears lumped in her throat, dense and painful. She stumbled from the alcove, unable to feel her legs, or anything else for that matter. When she reached the staircase, she turned.
“Tell me one thing,” she whispered. “Do you love me too?”
He stood silent but something in her question had wounded him in such a way not even the dark and shadow could hide it. She thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he did, and she’d almost wished he hadn’t.
“More than my own life.”
And yet it still wasn’t enough.
Chapter Seventeen
“Will you not reconsider and join us at Lakefield Abbey? Surely you can carry on business from there, Bowen,” Spence said, taking a sip of the aged brandy.
Marcus shook his head as he bent over the billiards table and lined up his shot. Nick and Spence had convinced him to join them at the Devil’s Lair as the guest of the notorious Lord Hawksmoor who owned a controlling interest in the gaming hell. The man was an old friend of Nick’s acquaintance and one of the few he’d kept from his life before he’d unburdened himself of his scandalous past and married Abigail. Marcus had not wanted to go. He had not wanted to do much of anything but stare out the window and brood.