by Kelly Boyce
The snifter of brandy slid from Nick’s hand and hit the floor with a thud that echoed through the quiet room.
“As I said,” Marcus continued. “The story is far from over.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Rebecca!”
Rebecca started out of a sound sleep, the first one she’d had since the masquerade and one she’d fought hard to achieve with heavy helpings of warm milk and lavender, which Cook insisted would assist her in finding the escape she wished for. It had worked, and blessed oblivion was hers. At least until her brother arrived home and bellowed her name up the stairwell, heedless of the sleeping household.
She pushed aside the blankets and reached for her dressing gown at the end of the bed. By the time she’d shrugged into it her brother had reached her door and banged upon the other side until it rattled in its frame.
She crossed the room and yanked the door open, stopping her brother mid-pound. “Good heavens, Nicholas, do you mean to wake the dead?”
He straightened and pulled at the sleeves of his jacket, appearing only slightly chagrined. “No. Not the dead. Just you.”
“Well you have failed in your endeavor then.” Rebecca poked her gaze around her brother’s large frame to follow the voice that had joined them. Mother strode down the hallway, her dressing gown billowing around her like a specter and a stern expression on her face. A thick blonde braid curled over her shoulder. “What is the meaning of this, Nicholas?”
“Oh. Mother. Sorry, I did not mean to wake you.”
“It appears I was his intended target.” Rebecca turned back to Nicholas. “Have you been drinking?”
“No! Well, I mean, yes, but not in excess and I really do not think you are in a position to question my behavior.”
Her heart stuttered to a stop. “I beg your pardon?”
Mother let out an exasperated sigh, one she often used when Nicholas was behaving like a total boor. As he was now. “Nicholas, what are you about? You’re talking nonsense.”
Her brother pointed a finger in her direction and straightened. “Do you know what she has been up to?”
Good heavens! What did he know? Had Marcus—? But no, Marcus would never have…would he? A sinking doubt entered her mind. If Marcus was determined they not be together, what better way than to confess all to her over-protective brother. A few passionate kisses would be enough to make Nicholas whisk her away to the country and that would be the end of it.
Mother folded her arms and cocked her head to one side. “And what has she been up to?”
“She and Marcus have—” The finger that had pointed at her now swirled in a small circle. “That is, they’ve—”
“Fallen in love?” Mother added.
Both Rebecca and Nicholas looked at her in shock. How did she know?
“How did you know?” Nicholas echoed.
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, I am not blind,” Mother said. “Rebecca has harbored feelings for Marcus since she was a young girl.”
“Mother!” Rebecca could not believe what she was hearing. Her own truth, the one she had tried to deny for so long, had been obvious to all the entire time!
Mother’s expression softened. “Why do you think I have counseled you to put aside this notion you have of preserving your inheritance in favor of being with the man you love? The estates and the property, the income that comes with it is all well and good, but it won’t keep you company into your old age. It won’t fill your heart with joy. And you cannot put a price on joy, my dear.”
But what joy could she feel if it came at the expense of her own mother’s? “It isn’t as easy as that.”
Marcus had tried to tell her but she’d refused to listen. Yet over the past two days she’d been able to think of little else, wishing there was something more she could do, wracking her brain and exhausting her imagination, but every scenario she concocted had the ugly and unwanted stamp of improbability on it.
“She’s right, Mother,” Nicholas said.
Rebecca’s head snapped up and she stared at her brother. He knew. “What did Marcus tell you?”
Nicholas let out a long breath and his gaze moved between Rebecca and their mother. “He told me the Bowens are not his true parents.” Rebecca watched her mother closely, but instead of looking shocked she simply nodded.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
Rebecca narrowed her gaze. “What else do you know?”
Mother shook her head. “Nothing that will be of any help, I’m afraid.”
“Did you know Walkerton was the man who fathered him?” Nicholas asked.
Shock rippled across Mother’s expression then settled into something deeper, as if on some level she had known something without realizing it. “No.”
Nicholas turned his attention back to Rebecca. “I suppose that creates a bit of a conundrum for you.”
“One might say.” Choose one brother, save her inheritance and live a life of comfort and station. Choose the other and lose her inheritance, rob her mother of everything she’d once had and stand by while her father’s lover reaped the reward.
“Unless we can get Walkerton to acknowledge he is, indeed, Bowen’s father,” Nicholas said.
Rebecca’s shoulders slumped and she leaned against the doorframe for support. “Marcus said that wouldn’t work. I already thought of it.”
“Bowen looked at the language of the will,” Nicholas said. “He said you were right. All that is required is that your husband be either a titled lord, or the eldest son of a titled lord. Where no specific stipulation of legitimacy being a requirement is made, it cannot be factored in. All we need is to verify Bowen is indeed the eldest son of Walkerton, and have Walkerton admit as much.”
“When did Marcus see the will?”
“Just now. He’s downstairs in my study.” Rebecca pushed past her brother. “Rebecca! You cannot go down there like that.”
“Let her be.” Mother’s words echoed behind her but she had already reached the steps and had no intention of stopping. Hang propriety. She needed to see him, to hear the words from his own mouth.
Her feet flew down the steps, barely touching them. She hung onto the banister when she reached the end and used it to propel her around the corner and down the hallway where she found him exactly where Nicholas said he would be. She stopped short.
Papers were strewn about the flat surface of Nicholas’s desk where Marcus poured studiously over them. He’d divested himself of his jacket and cravat and his sleeves were rolled up, as if he meant to wrestle the words of the will into submission and not stop until he’d won.
He’d never looked more handsome to her than in that moment. This man, who even when the odds were stacked against them and they stood on the sharp edge of ruin or rescue, refused to give up. Her errant knight. Her pirate king.
The candle flame in front of him wavered and he glanced up. Surprise registered in his expression and then something else. Something deeper, something that drew her into the room. To him.
“Rebecca.” He rose from the chair and looked past her as if expecting to see someone else.
“Nicholas is upstairs,” she supplied. “Mother made him stay.”
“Your mother?”
Rebecca smiled. “It is a long story. Suffice to say, she knows a thing or two about love.”
She stepped farther into the room, her walk quickly turning to a run. She vaulted into his arms that opened to accept her and clung to him tightly, afraid to let go. Afraid if she did, she would wake up and discover it was nothing but a dream brought on by too much warm milk and lavender.
His lips pressed into her hair and his embrace tightened, as if he shared the same fear.
“It’s a long shot,” he whispered, the heat of his breath against her ear sending shivers down her spine.
“I don’t care.” She lifted her head and gazed up at him, seeing the resolve in his eyes. “We’ll find a way.”
He touched her face, brushing aside the stray tendrils
that sleep had dislodged from her braid, letting them tangle around his fingers. “I told Spence and your brother.”
“I know.”
“About everything.”
“Everything being…?”
“The kiss. Well, kisses actually.”
“We do seem to have a habit of doing that, don’t we?”
A smile tugged at his lips now and she desperately wanted to kiss him, but a smile from Marcus was such a precious thing she did not want to miss it.
“I would like to do it now,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.
“I would like that too.”
He needed to stop. They were in her brother’s study, for God sakes, even if Rebecca’s mother had instructed Nick to stay put. But he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t. Rebecca’s nearness did not allow him to consider consequences, to weigh out the pros and cons. When he held her in his arms, he could think only of her, of having her in his life, fully and completely. Forever.
He touched her face, letting his fingers trail over its delicate structure and gentle valleys. She was pure perfection. Even the barely discernible scar that edged her top lip was exactly as it should be. His thumb brushed over it and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss there, as if some long forgotten hurt remained.
That one small contact was not enough. He needed more. So much more. He kissed her slowly, an exploration of light kisses, nibbles and bites, teasing until the passion that had burned low for so long roared to life and raged hot, scorching everything in his path.
He’d lived his whole life being careful and his caution had served him well—to a point. But the point had now been reached where careful did not suffice. This was a moment of risk, a time to step beyond what was comfortable and safe. He could hide in the background no more. If he wanted her, boldness must prevail, no matter the danger involved.
One hand slid to her curved buttock and he pulled her fully against him until the softness of her body pushed against his cock through the thin fabric of her nightdress. A low moan echoed in his throat when she shifted her hips and pressed against him with more force. He grew hard in an instant.
His fingertips made a slow, torturous trail down the length of her throat and heat pulsated throughout his body, pooling in his groin, demanding more. He palmed her breast and his thumb brushed the nipple. Her hips pushed forward again as she gasped into his mouth.
Dear lord, how would he ever survive this?
He wouldn’t. He understood that now. It would change him, forever. There would be no going back. Everything would have a different cast to it, a different meaning. Nothing would remain untouched.
And if he failed?
He closed his eyes, resisting the thought, the voice in his head that still counseled prudence, restraint. But the voice refused to quiet, refused to allow him this moment. Not now. Not yet. Damn it!
He lifted his head, his breath coming hard and fast. “We need to stop.”
Rebecca shook her head and reached for his mouth again. “We have Nicholas’s blessing. And Mother’s.”
Marcus let out a short laugh. “Not for this.” For this, Nicholas would flog him in the middle of Hyde Park. Her tongue teased the crease of his lips. It would be worth every bloody strike. He took in a shuddering breath. “We need to wait.”
“For what? Marriage?”
He nodded. Words eluded him as her nimble fingers unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat and shoved it off his shoulders. Sweet Jesus. His head fell back as her mouth pressed against his neck, and the buttons of his shirt met the same fate as his waistcoat. When her lips pressed against his hot skin he stumbled back against the edge of the desk, bringing her with him.
His cock strained against the front of his trousers and God help him, if she went any farther down with her exploration he’d embarrass himself like a green boy.
“Stop.”
But she did not listen. He gripped her hands as they rested on his hips and hauled her up to face him, turning her swiftly until her soft little rump nestled between his legs and he learned the true meaning of exquisite torture. Learned it could kill a man for certain when she wiggled against him.
“Marcus, please! It aches.”
He stilled. “What aches?”
“I—me. Deep inside. Please.” She shifted against him, agitated, the fever raging through his veins invading hers as well. His forehead fell against her shoulder. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Then, “Make it stop.”
He squeezed his eyes shut then felt her hand move and he reached for it as she pressed it against the juncture at her thighs. And he was lost. Lost in want and need and lust and love. Everything about her consumed him and he did not know how to make it stop. How to set it aside so he could think straight and do the right thing.
But what was the right thing?
His muddled mind could not find the answer and when it tried, his body simply ignored it and went on about its business of holding and caressing her and letting her move his hand to replace her own. Her heat seared his skin through the thin cotton and he wished for all the world they were not leaning against the desk in her brother’s study, her family one floor above, and she still an innocent he had no right to. Not yet.
As if she sensed his hesitancy, she placed her hand over his to hold it in place. “If you make the ache stop and I won’t ask for anything beyond that. Please, Marcus. I only want—” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want, but you know, don’t you? You know what will make it stop?”
She pushed into his hand and he shut his eyes and nodded. He could not give her everything he wanted, everything she wanted. But he could give her this. “Lift your nightdress,” he whispered.
She complied, inching the light material upward bit by bit, gathering it in her hands until it was bunched around her hips.
“Now what?”
“Spread your legs a little and lean your weight against me.”
Again, she did as he bade, trusting him. He kissed her neck and tried to ignore the burgeoning erection as her backside pressed into him. An impossible task. He reached around her to the thin pair of cotton drawers. His fingertips slipped beneath the hem at her thigh and teased her skin. Her breath caught and she threw her head back against his shoulder. The candle on the desk wavered, its light licking her ivory skin. She was the most remarkable creature he had ever encountered. Equal parts beauty and intelligence, warmth and courage.
“That’s making it worse.”
He smiled, kissed the rim of her ear then teased her inner thigh until she squirmed against him and he risked losing himself if he she didn’t stop. His fingers found her moist heat and slid slowly inside. Her body stiffened in shock.
“Oh!”
He waited. The seconds ticked by on the clock above the mantle, each one a slow torment until her body accepted his touch and relaxed once more. “Do you want me to keep going?”
“Oh, yes.” The words came on a breath.
She was slick with wanting as he slid his fingers through the folds of her innocence. She arched her back and one hand released her skirts and reached for him, attempting to find purchase as his hand moved back and forth in a slow, torturous motion. He applied the pressure of his palm against the nub at the base of her womanhood with each stroke until she writhed against him, words coming from her, nonsensical and interrupted as she gasped for breath. She was close and it killed him that he could not share it with her. But this was enough. He would take care of himself later, alone, with the memories of this moment ripe in his mind.
He shifted her slightly, giving him more access and slipped a finger through the folds and let it be enveloped in her wet warmth. She gasped then pushed against him. He withdrew then did it again, mimicking the movements he wished another part of his anatomy made. She moved against him, lifting herself up and down just enough, thrusting her hips against his hand with increasing fervor, lost in the sensations that coursed through her body. She no longer made any sound, just breath and movement and he
let her be, holding her tightly to him with one arm as he pleasured her.
Her movements became shorter and her body stiffened, the muscles pulling in on themselves as she convulsed around his fingers, her head thrown back against his chest so he could watch her expression of pleasure and surprise. As her climax came to an end, he withdrew his fingers and pressed his hand against her one last time, then let her nightdress fall down to cover her shapely legs.
Her breath came deeply as he held her.
“Are you all right, my love?” Did she regret what she asked of him?
“Oh, yes,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her words. The relief was short-lived as worry and guilt charged in. He should have waited. Put her off. There was much left to be settled and they may still fail at the task set out before them.
Rebecca turned in his arms and cupped her hands to his face. “You are a most astonishing man, Marcus Bowen. I had no idea you could do such things.”
He thought to tell her that likely any man worth his weight in salt possessed the same knowledge as he in this regard, but he did not want her thinking about other men and what they could do and so he held his tongue.
“You should return upstairs before Nick decides your Mother is mad for allowing us to be together alone.”
Her cheeks glowed from the pleasure she’d found at his hands. “I do not wish to leave you. I want to help.”
He lifted an eyebrow and any number of images rushed through his mind as to what help she could give that would alleviate the pressure in his groin.
She laughed lightly as if sensing his thoughts. “I mean with getting Lord Walkerton to claim you are his son.”
“No. I do not want you involved in this. There is no assurance this will turn out well and I will not have you adversely affected if things do not turn out well. Walkerton is unpredictable. Nick is taking you and your mother to Sheridan Park on the morrow and I am traveling to Cornwall.”
She pushed at his chest until he reluctantly released her. “Cornwall? Why?”
“Because it is where I was born and there may be evidence yet to support my claim. If so, I need to uncover it. I won’t be gone long. When I return, I will take up residence at Northill Hall.”