The Notorious Marriage

by Nicola Cornick

  ‘Good evening, my love,’ he said, bending to kiss her lingeringly. ‘I am so glad to find you here and alone…’

  Beth returned the kiss in full measure but she did not put her book down and Marcus found himself ever so slightly piqued. Beth’s pregnancy had led to certain changes in their lovemaking but she had never been anything other than wholehearted in her enjoyment. He kissed her again, allowing his lips to drift along the line of her neck to the soft skin above the lacy edge of her dress. He slid one hand inside her bodice and cupped her breast.

  A moment later he felt Beth shift slightly and opened his eyes. She was reading her book over his shoulder.

  Marcus was outraged. He straightened up and fixed his wife with a glacial look. ‘I am sorry, my dear—was I boring you?’

  There was a guilty expression in Beth’s eye. ‘Oh no, indeed! It is just that I had reached a particularly exciting bit…’

  Marcus took the book from her and looked at the spine. ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman! Beth—’

  He did not miss the flash of amusement deep in her eyes. ‘Yes, my love?’

  Marcus dropped to his knee beside the sofa, took his wife’s chin in his hand and turned her lips up to his. This time he was really trying. After a moment he felt her lips soften and cling to his, a tell-tale quiver going through her. Marcus felt a surge of triumph. A particularly exciting bit indeed!

  He stole a hand beneath her skirts and started to stroke her leg above the silken edge of her stocking. Beth shifted obligingly, sighing beneath his mouth. Marcus’s fingers crept to the inside of her thigh. His own arousal was acute now and as he stroked he allowed himself to think about pulling up her skirts and…

  Beth straightened up.

  ‘No!’

  Marcus froze. He hauled himself up on to the sofa and sat down heavily, only to feel the sharp edge of the book digging into a tender part of his anatomy. He picked the book up and threw it across the room. ‘Beth, what the hell is going on?’

  Beth’s eyelashes fluttered modestly. She looked rumpled and pretty and very, very desirable. Marcus groaned.

  ‘I am sorry, my love,’ his spouse said sweetly, ‘but everything has its price! Until you settle this ridiculous feud you have with my cousin…’

  Marcus leant over and seized her shoulders. ‘Are you telling me that you will refuse to sleep with me until I acknowledge Kit Mostyn?’

  Beth nodded. Her eyes were bright with mischief. ‘Exactly, my love.’

  Marcus sat back and looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes narrowing on her face. ‘Beth, you will never succeed!’

  ‘Oh, yes I shall!’ Beth said. She smoothed her skirts down modestly, cast him one provocative look over her shoulder and got up to retrieve her book. She sat down again at the end of the sofa the furthest away from him.

  Marcus sat irresolute for several moments. Beth turned the page. She seemed engrossed.

  ‘God damn it!’ Her husband said furiously. He got up and went out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him. It was only when his footsteps had died away that Beth put the book down with a sigh of relief and went into a peal of laughter.

  Eleanor had also fallen asleep that afternoon, her borrowed copy of Tristram Shandy sliding off her lap as she dozed against the sofa cushions. It was only when she heard voices in the hall that she roused herself, wondering if they had visitors. Then she recognised Kit’s voice and wondered who was with him. She tiptoed to the drawing-room door and peered round, just in time to see Kit disappearing into the study with a gentleman that she did not recognise. Eleanor resumed her seat on the sofa and picked up the Ladies’ Magazine but she barely glanced at it. She was curious to know to know the identity of her husband’s mystery acquaintance.

  Little more than a half hour later, the study door opened again and the gentlemen emerged. Eleanor wondered if Kit would bring the visitor in—he must know that she was at home, after all, and it would be courteous to introduce them. However Kit ushered the man to the door and saw him off personally. It was evident to Eleanor, watching through the half-open drawing-room door, that they were great good friends and further that the man was indeed a gentleman and a very good-looking one at that. She heard the front door close and at the same time a stray draught pulled the drawing-room door from her hand—she had been holding it steady so that she could see what was going on—and slammed it with enough force to bring the house down.

  Eleanor whisked herself across the room and on to the sofa just as the door reopened to admit Kit. He was looking mildly concerned.

  ‘Is everything all right, my dear?’ he enquired. ‘I heard the door slam and wondered if you had injured yourself.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Eleanor was feeling flustered and thought that it probably showed. ‘I was asleep…’

  ‘You are looking a little dishevelled, my love.’ Kit’s gaze, warm and ever-so-slightly disturbing, roamed over her and lingered on the curl of hair in the hollow of her neck. ‘I was only concerned because I saw you standing behind the door and thought you might have trapped your fingers when it closed…’

  ‘You saw me?’ Eleanor was mortified. She felt herself colouring a deep rose-pink. ‘Oh, Kit…’

  ‘Do not worry!’ Kit said cheerfully. ‘I merely thought that you were curious about my visitor and were spying on me again! Really, my love, you have the most lively interest in my private affairs!’

  Since this was exactly what Eleanor had been doing she found it difficult to demur, but she did her best.

  ‘Yes, well, I was only wondering if you would bring your visitor to meet me, Kit, and I was worrying in case I looked untidy…’

  ‘You look delightful, Eleanor,’ Kit said, smiling. ‘As for Harry, I would have introduced him but he had a pressing engagement elsewhere. You will meet him tonight at Lady Knighton’s ball.’

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Captain Henry Luttrell. He is an old comrade of mine with whom I was recently in Ireland, but of course…’ Kit checked himself ‘…you do not wish to know about that!’

  Eleanor was trapped. She wished to know quite desperately and had been feeling like that for the best part of two weeks. She looked at Kit, who looked back at her, brows raised quizzically.

  ‘Perhaps I would like…’ Eleanor began hesitantly. ‘That is, perhaps we are now at that stage in our reacquaintance when I might ask…As we are friends again now…’

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Kit said courteously. He gestured to the sofa. ‘Shall we sit down together, then?’

  Eleanor sat down, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. Now that the moment of truth was upon her, she felt nervous and vulnerable and not at all sure that she wanted to know. Yet they could not continue as they had been doing, with so much lying unspoken between them. Perhaps it would be better to know everything and have done with it.

  Kit did not hurry into speech. He sat looking at her with the same searching directness she had grown accustomed to seeing in his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Perhaps it would be best to start by saying that I spent the five months that we were apart in Ireland,’ Kit said, at length. ‘I was never in Italy, and certainly not consorting with any opera singers, whatever the rumours!’

  ‘Oh, I know that!’ Eleanor’s nervousness made her loquacious. ‘It is the least well-kept secret in London! Why, the servants have been telling me this age that you have been in Ireland and that you were about government business!’

  Kit looked slightly winded. ‘Have they? Good God! But how did they know?’

  Eleanor almost giggled at his appalled expression. ‘I do not know, Kit! Perhaps you are not as discreet as you think yourself!’

  ‘Perhaps not!’ Kit thrust a hand through his hair. ‘It is a good job that the business is concluded and I am to take on no further work for Castlereagh, for it seems I am utterly incapable of keeping a secret!’

  ‘That must mean that you were a spy, Kit.’ Eleanor frowned. ‘I confess that I do not like
the idea!’

  Kit laughed. ‘Oh, I was no spy—never more than a glorified messenger boy, I assure you! It only came about in the first place because I travelled such a great deal! This last job was by way of a favour for Castlereagh, and a more mismanaged, farcical affair it could not have been!’

  ‘Tell me!’ Eleanor said, suddenly desperate to know.

  Kit looked at her. She could read nothing in his face but a rather bleak unhappiness.

  ‘The summons came on the very day that we were married,’ he began. ‘You may remember that I told you I had to attend to a matter of business—I went to the meeting place in the tavern, intending to explain that I had been married only that morning and wished to delay my departure.’ He sighed, sitting back against the cushions. ‘Unfortunately we had previously agreed that I should be knocked on the head in a tavern brawl—to cover my tracks, you understand! And I was, as soon as I walked in! By the time I was in any fit state to explain anything, I was ten miles out to sea in company with a gang of pressed men…’ He sighed. ‘It would have been comical had it not been so desperate.’

  Eleanor stared at him. ‘You mean that you never had the opportunity to explain our situation…’

  ‘Precisely.’ Kit’s expression was bitter. ‘When I finally woke up it was too late.’

  There was a silence. Eleanor could feel Kit’s gaze upon her but he did not say anything else, and a part of Eleanor recognised and appreciated the fact that he chosen to tell her everything so plainly. He had made no appeal to her emotions and she suspected that this was not because he did not care but because he felt it would be unfair to her. She shivered a little. Now that she knew, she could see how simply such an accident had occurred. How simple and how unlucky. She did not really know how to feel.

  ‘I see. But you wrote to me to explain?’

  Kit shifted slightly. ‘I wrote several times. The first letter was sent as soon as I reached shore. I cannot conceive how my letters went astray. All the time I was hoping desperately that you had received them and would understand what had happened! I even suggested that you should seek Charlotte out so that you would not be alone—’ He broke off, evidently not wishing to pursue that.

  Eleanor shook her head. It was too late for recriminations now, too late to say that Charlotte had been away and instead she was forced to return to Trevithick House and the Dowager’s vengeful accusations.

  ‘Maybe your letters were lost, Kit,’ she said. ‘Where did you direct them?’

  ‘To Trevithick House,’ Kit said. ‘I did not know where to find you, and I thought that at the least they would be waiting there for you, but…’ He shrugged again. ‘It is a mystery. But there is something more that I must tell you, Eleanor.’

  Eleanor waited.

  ‘My work itself took very little time. I was in a fever of impatience to return to you, but then something else occurred, something that kept me in Ireland far longer than I had intended. And that…’ Kit paused ‘…is a matter that I fear I cannot disclose, Nell. It is not my secret to tell.’ He took her hands in his, in a strong grasp. ‘Please do not imagine that it is because I do not trust you. The reverse is true. But I gave my word of honour that I would not speak until the person concerned gave me their permission. I believe that the matter will be resolved soon, and when it is you will understand…’ His gaze sought hers. ‘Forgive me! It is a difficult matter…’

  Eleanor wrinkled her brow. ‘It is difficult for me too, Kit! If you do not tell me—’

  ‘I know!’ Kit’s grip tightened on her hands. ‘I have asked so much of you already and yet now I have to ask you to trust me further—for a little while longer. Can you do that, Nell?’

  Eleanor did not look at him. She felt utterly bewildered. She had no doubt of the truth of what Kit had told her and she believed that whatever his secret, he must be keeping it for the most honourable of motives. Yet her heart cried out that it was not fair to ask more of her. The anger and bitterness his absence had created had not yet vanished and still she did not know the whole truth…The warm touch of his fingers in hers only served to confuse her further. She was not indifferent to him—she could not pretend that she was—and yet she did not want him to draw any closer to her. Any suggestion Kit might make for them to be married in more than name only had to be repudiated.

  Eleanor shrank a little. ‘Thank you for telling me this, Kit. I will think about what you have said—’

  ‘Wait!’ Kit held on to her when she would have pulled away. ‘There is but one more thing, Eleanor!’ He drew her resisting body closer until he had an arm about her. ‘I should have said this long ago. I should have said it first! I am so very sorry for what happened. You must know now that it was never my intention to leave you, and I will never stop regretting it—’

  ‘Oh, do not!’ Eleanor could not bear any more.

  ‘Say that at the least you believe that of me—’

  ‘Of course! Of course I do!’ Eleanor pulled away from him a little. ‘But it is not so easy for me, Kit! I had a truly terrible time of it whilst you were away! Yes, I understand it was none of your intention and in time I am sure I can forgive—’ Her voice broke. ‘Pray do not ask any more of me for now!’

  ‘Very well.’ Kit loosened his grip and she stood up shakily. She could see the vivid disappointment in his face and the difficulty with which he mastered it. His tension was palpable.

  ‘I must go and get ready,’ she said uncertainly. ‘We shall be late for the ball—’

  ‘To hell with the ball and everything else!’ Kit stood up. ‘Eleanor…’

  He swept her into his arms, holding her ruthlessly whilst his mouth plundered hers with merciless skill. Eleanor tried to free herself but he held her still. It was violent and frightening, yet beneath her fear, Eleanor felt the pull in her blood as her body answered his. When he finally let her go they were both breathing hard and she could not tear her gaze away from the compulsive heat of desire she saw in his eyes. He did not apologise for his actions.

  ‘I must go,’ she said again, shakily, and after a second Kit moved to hold the door for her with scrupulous courtesy.

  Eleanor ran up the stairs, feeling the trembling in her legs at every step. Her thoughts were whirling and her senses scarcely less so, and uppermost in her mind was that she was going to have to be much more determined and strong-minded if she were to thwart Kit’s intentions in the future. He was undermining her resolution at every step and what was worse was the fact that part of her did not care. Part of her wanted Kit’s lovemaking very much, and it was only the memories and the fear that held her back.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Marcus is in a very bad mood this evening,’ Eleanor whispered to Beth, as they sat out a dance together at Lady Knighton’s rout. ‘Why, he snapped my head off when I asked how he was earlier, and when we danced the boulanger he spoke no more than half a dozen words! Whatever is the matter with him?’

  Beth raised her eyebrows expressively and Eleanor smothered a laugh.

  ‘Oh no! No wonder he is so cross-grained. He and Mama make a matched pair tonight.’

  Beth shrugged lightly. ‘I’ll confess he was not best pleased when I refused him!’

  ‘It has not made him relent yet,’ Eleanor said. ‘I saw Marcus turn his back very deliberately when Kit passed him in the card-room. You will just have to try harder!’

  She looked across the room to where Kit was standing, deep in conversation with Henry Luttrell. She had been introduced to the dashing Captain now and had had two dances with him. Naturally they had made no mention of Kit’s recent sojourn in Ireland, but it was uppermost in Eleanor’s mind—along with the discussion, and the kiss that had followed.

  Beth nudged her.

  ‘Nell, do you know the gentleman Kit is speaking with? Is he an old friend?’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘I believe so,’ she said, a twinkle in her eye. ‘That is Captain Luttrell. But what are you planning, Beth?’

  Beth got to her f
eet. ‘I must go and speak to Kit—and his friend. That will give Marcus something else to think about!’

  Eleanor shook her head, smiling slightly. ‘I think you have upset him enough for one evening!’

  Beth smiled. ‘I have a waltz with Marcus the dance after next. It should provide the ideal opportunity to torment him a little further!’

  She swept away, pausing to exchange a few ostentatious words with Kit as he came up with an iced sherbet for Eleanor. Eleanor bit her lip. She could see Marcus watching them with a face like a thundercloud, and when Henry Luttrell bowed charmingly over Beth’s hand Eleanor thought her brother would explode. She devoutly hoped that Beth and Charlotte knew what they were doing with their ultimatum.

  Kit slid into the seat next to her and handed her the glass. ‘There you are, my love! I do not believe it much melted, though it is very hot tonight. Are you enjoying the ball?’

  Eleanor dipped her spoon into the ice. ‘It is quite pleasant, my lord, although rather too hot for dancing. What do you think?’

  Kit slid his arm along the back of her chair in a gesture that Eleanor found both proprietorial and rather pleasing. She was very conscious of his hand resting close to her shoulder. ‘You know that I prefer the country to the town! I fear I find all these endless social events unconscionably boring!’

  Eleanor giggled. ‘Pray do not let the fashionable hostesses hear you, my lord! There are any number of people who make doing nothing a fine art form and would take offence at your words!’

  Kit smiled at her. His gaze was warm as it rested on her face and Eleanor felt herself blushing a little.

  ‘You should know that I would like nothing so much as to leave London for the country,’ he said slowly. ‘My aim is no grander than to live peaceably at Mostyn Hall with my family about me—children, perhaps…Maybe we could talk about it, Eleanor?’

  Eleanor could feel his gaze intent on her, though she could not meet his eyes. She felt as though she was suffocating. Ever since Kit had kissed her earlier she had been pushing such thoughts away. She had wanted him then, wanted to feel his arms around her, wanted to forget all the bitterness between them. But there were some things that she simply could not give him…A stray breath of wind from the terrace made her shiver convulsively.