Tender Torment

by Meadowes, Alicia

  Through occasional glimpses she dared to make in his direction, Marisa studied the man who had been designated to become her husband. His presence in the room was a commanding one, and she could not help admiring this black-browed stranger’s handsome appearance. A taut, lean, muscular body was plainly evident to her as she stole glances at his gleaming Hessians, buff pantaloons, and dark green jacket. Standing erectly in front of them, he seemed a towering figure of strength. He was truly a magnificent specimen of masculinity, Marisa thought. But under Straeford’s steady regard she felt uncertain of herself, and despite her determination not to reveal her nervousness she stammered whenever she addressed him directly. It was those penetrating green eyes, his hand placed squarely on his hip, his defiantly confident pose that caused her to wonder whether she was capable of any speech at all in his presence.

  Mustering her courage, Marisa struggled for any conversation that would relieve the tension she felt. “My father and I were admiring your property as we rode in, my lord. It’s magnificence is still quite apparent.”

  One of Straeford’s eyebrows arched sharply as he mocked her with his reply. “Yes, it is not unlike a beautiful virgin who has long since lost her innocence, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The Loftuses, as well as Lady Maxwell, stiffened, but it was Marisa, goaded by his sarcasm, who replied. “I am sorry to say that I find your comparison vulgar, and I do not understand the inference you are making by such a statement.”

  “You may make whatever inference you wish from what I have said, my dear lady; however, I do believe we are all aware of the true significance of your visit here today. We meet simply for one purpose, and that is to permit you and your father the opportunity to assess the worth of my estate and current holdings in order to determine whether a profitable business arrangement can be consummated through the coming nuptials. Now that should leave no one in this room with any misunderstandings concerning the matter.”

  Loftus’s face contorted in disbelief at this outburst. “My lord!” he exclaimed crossly as he observed his daughter crimson with emotion. But it was Lady Maxwell who reproached her grandson soundly for his unwarranted tirade. “Justin! Please remember that the Loftuses are our guests. This is totally uncalled for.”

  The dark fierce look faded at her reprimand. Perhaps he had gone too far. But it had helped to relieve some of the frustrations he was feeling. Did he or didn’t he want to go through with this bargain? His personal pride was being torn in two different directions; on the one hand stood the restoration of his family’s holdings, and on the other his betrothal to this merchant’s daughter. What was the correct course of action, he wondered, as he met Lady Maxwell’s indignant glare. He knew his remarks had embarrassed her.

  “Your reprimand is well deserved, my dear Grandmother,” he said, bowing deeply in her direction. “I do apologize to my visitors and hope that they were not unduly upset by my intemperate remarks. Now let me demonstrate that I can be civil. I believe luncheon awaits us. Miss Loftus.” He held out his arm to her, which she accepted reluctantly, and escorted her across the hall where a cold meal was served.

  The tense climate which Straeford’s remarks had created was alleviated only slightly during the luncheon by the gallant efforts of Lady Maxwell, who amused Loftus with some frivolous tales of her childhood. The earl, for his part, lapsed into silence while Marisa pushed her food about her plate and spoke in polite monosyllables when she was required to do so. She could not help but feel the lingering hurt of his earlier comments, and was truly worried about her future in the hands of such a man.

  Quite unexpectedly Straeford interrupted Marisa’s thoughts with an invitation to inspect the manor house. He had barely spoken to her at all during the meal and now this attempt at… what was it? she pondered.

  The earl’s hand rested under her arm as he guided her down lengthy corridors and passageways. His closeness to her caused Marisa to experience strange and conflicting sensations. Feelings of attraction warred with feelings of anxiety toward this temperamental man. A tightening of her stomach muscles confirmed her stressful state. She feared further antagonism from him and wanted to avoid it at all cost.

  As they arrived in front of the large double doors of the library, he flung them open. It was an attractive room with high ceilings and shelves lined to the top with leather-bound books. French doors opened onto a veranda where a garden was visible. Drawn to this setting, Marisa was about to cross the room for a closer view when she felt the earl’s steel-like fingers clamp tightly around her arm preventing her from going any farther. Her eyes closed in pain and then slowly opened to look at his somber face. Boldly, she stared directly into his disturbing green eyes in search of some indication as to the significance of his actions.

  “You have no objections to my viewing this room or your gardens, do you?” she asked pointedly.

  He regarded her warily for a moment and then released her slowly and nodded. “None whatsoever. After all, the residence will soon be yours as well as mine; however, the library is in a sad state of disrepair, and I would hate to see one of those shelves give away and come tumbling down about your head.” His tone was mocking and sardonic. “Come, let me escort you to the ballroom.”

  When they reached that room, Marisa stopped on the threshold and asked archly, “I take it that I am allowed to enter this room.”

  Through narrowed eyes he regarded her before grasping her arm firmly and guiding her forcefully across the inlaid wooden floor, their footsteps echoing distinctly.

  The large spacious chamber with its long windows covered in faded red and gold brocade draperies still had an air of opulence about it, and Marisa instantly recognized its potential. “Why, this room could easily be restored to its original beauty,” she said enthusiastically. “It will be grand to entertain in such an elegant setting.”

  “Will it indeed?” he drawled. “I presume you intend to do a great deal of entertaining?”

  Her blue eyes with their heavy lashes opened wider. “I should think that would be largely your decision, my lord.”

  A flash of anger went through the earl, and he glowered at her during a long moment of silence. Why did she have to look at him like that? Her innocence was almost ingenious, he thought. He’d like to slap her lovely face just to see if that innocent look were real or feigned. Instead, he folded his arms imperiously and countered with a dare. “But, of course! And if I do not wish to entertain at all, you will oblige me, naturally?”

  “I surely hope that will not be so,” Marisa replied cautiously, “but if that is what you wish…”

  “You play the ingenue very well,” he sneered, “but I’d prefer an honest coquette, my dear. Come with me. I think it is time we had a heart to heart talk before this farce goes any further.”

  Brusquely he led the way back to the drawing room and seated her in an armchair next to the fireplace. As he stood in front of her preparing to speak, Marisa noticed the striking resemblance between Straeford and the portrait of his mother which appeared above the fireplace mantel.

  “You look so very much like her.”

  “How observant of you, but I prefer not to be reminded of the resemblance I bear… the former countess.”

  “Why ever not? She was beautiful.” As the words left her mouth, she remembered Lady Maxwell’s warning and wished she had remained silent.

  “You need have no fear of her beauty.” The earl’s voice was oddly hollow. “You possess enough beauty to rival hers, I’m certain. Just think, another comely Lady Straeford! It makes me wonder. Will you have as many lovers—or more?”

  Marisa gasped and started to rise to her feet.

  “Sit down!” he commanded. The dark violent look on his face held her prisoner. “You have no need to fear me provided that you adhere to the marriage agreement we are about to make. Have you and your father discussed the conditions that are attached to this agreement?”

  “I… well, yes, to some degree.” But now she began to won
der.

  “That is well, for I expect your complete fidelity until I have an heir for Straeford. If you can remain faithful to me that long, then I shall look the other way afterward.”

  The matter-of-fact delivery of these slanderous words not only stunned the girl seated before him but left her momentarily bereft of speech.

  “We do understand one another I trust,” he added after a pause.

  “No!” Marisa lurched to a standing position on shaky legs. “No, I am afraid I do not understand… what you are proposing here at all. In fact… I am deeply offended!”

  “What’s this? A little maidenly protest to salve your conscience?” A taunting smile crossed the earl’s lips.

  Fearlessly, Marisa faced him, and he noted the bewilderment in her eyes was now replaced by anger.

  “How can you speak like this? This is a dreadful, loathsome mockery of a marriage you are proposing. My father and I had no idea that you…”

  “I doubt that, my dear,” he scoffed in a manner which consumed her with rage.

  “As far as I am concerned,” she said, wheeling to exit the room, “you may consider our… our betrothal at an end!”

  The earl’s strong arms locked around her waist, and even though she struggled against his grasp, he whirled her about to face him and pinned her tightly against his chest. She was powerless in his grip, and she raised her head to demand that he let her go. Ignoring her remonstrations, his mouth descended slowly upon hers and held her lips in a searing kiss until her senses began to reel from lack of breath. When he finally released her, a devilish light gleamed in his narrowed green eyes and he appraised her triumphantly.

  “How dare you!” She raised her hand to slap his arrogant face. Instantly his eyes grew glacial, and he captured her wrist in midair.

  “Don’t ever raise you hand to me again, woman!” He released her after a long, threatening glare.

  Trembling, she backed away from him. “You… you’re a devil,” she managed to say through quivering lips. Turning quickly, she fled from the room and disappeared into the corridor in search of her father.

  Loftus was unconcerned when Marisa revealed what had happened. He stubbornly refused to heed the anguished pleadings of his daughter to do away with the marital agreement. The contract offer had been accepted and, but for a petty squabble, his most cherished ambition was about to be realized. At this point in the game, he was not at all disposed to let anything thwart his plans—especially not his own hysterical daughter nor that conceited toff.

  “Look here, Marisa,” he cajoled in his gravel-pitched voice, “this ain’t no love match, y’ know.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Well, then?”

  “He’s suggesting that I… I’ll take… lovers.” She was blushing painfully at having to discuss such a topic with her father.

  “But, my dear, that’s to ease his own conscience, I’m telling you.”

  The bewildered look on his daughter’s face told him he would have to be more explicit, and he was truly vexed at having to be so blunt with his own child. “I mean he’ll probably have a… a mistress. Most men do, you know. And he expects you to look the other way.”

  Marisa stared blankly in response as she tried to grasp the full meaning of what her father was telling her. He had never before spoken to her in this way, but she realized now that he was satisfied with the marriage even though everything in her cried out against such an arrangement.

  “There’s something more,” she said, still hoping to persuade her father to reverse his decision. “I think he hates me. I can’t say anything to him without arousing his ire. And the way he looks at me… I… I thought he was actually going to strike me. I don’t want to go through my life with a man who feels that way about me. Please, Father, don’t make me do this!”

  “Now child, you’re overwrought, just imagining things. Don’t ruin a good thing for yourself and for me. Listen to me, my dear. I’ll have a talk with him and get this straightened out. You’ll see,” he said patting her hand, “it’ll all work out, and some day you’ll be grateful to me for bringing the earl into your life.”

  “But, Father, I don’t…”

  “That’s enough, I say! I said I’ll have a talk with the man and that’s that!”

  Marisa knew that further protest was futile. Her father was blinded by his own ambition and meant to have his way in this matter. Her objections fell on deaf ears, and she lacked the courage to withstand his demands. None of his children could, none of them doubted he would make good his threat to throw them out of his home—penniless—if they did not bend to his will. Fear of poverty was a powerful force in the whole family’s behavior. It had been drummed into them by their mother at an early age. Jennifer Loftus had lived intimately with that fear as a very young girl, and she had instilled a respect for wealth in her own children. “The rewards of poverty are severely limited, and the virtues of being poor nearly always go unrecognized,” she reminded them frequently.

  Loftus, of course, had always supported his wife’s attitude in this and reinforced her teaching through the use of vivid examples. One time he forced his own off-spring to walk through the streets of the Rookery in order to witness firsthand the squalid conditions which the poor were compelled to face every day of their lives. The wretched spectacle of toothless, ragged men and women, filthy children, and screaming, undernourished infants burned in Marisa’s memory.

  Angus Loftus’s object lesson was quite effective. He had early awakened his children to the evils of being poor because his own humble beginnings had kindled his present driving ambition. He took deep personal pride in the fact that he was a self-made man who had risen from a shopkeeper’s apprentice to become a successful businessman with a variety of far-reaching interests. All of that was achieved through hard work, sacrifice and singleness of purpose. If a man could be measured by his achievements in life, as Angus Loftus believed, he had accomplished much and was entitled to be respected accordingly.

  Respect was very important to Angus Loftus. He had demanded it from his wife and now he demanded it from his children. As an employer, he was known as a fair but exacting man who expected nothing short of total fidelity from his workers and rewarded them generously when it was forthcoming. That was a virtue he had carefully cultivated, and he was firmly convinced that it was the basis for his success. The notion of respect due nobility for mere accident of birth galled him. Loftus admired a man of action, a doer, the type of man he had fashioned himself to be, but he was painfully aware that the ultimate road to recognition and honor was not through his own capabilities. He and his family would be forever denied access to that kind of esteem and distinction unless he could make this alliance between the earl and his daughter work. He was determined that it would.

  He found his future son-in-law lounging in the drawing room with a cigar in one hand and a snifter of brandy in the other, a classic picture of the leisured class he despised.

  “Well sir,” the earl said cynically, as though he had been fully anticipating Loftus’s arrival, “have you come to join me in a gentleman’s drink or have you come to inform me that you have had second thoughts regarding our mutual contract?”

  Loftus struggled to control his temper before replying. “Look here, my lord, did you wish to scotch this whole thing by being so… so blunt with the girl? You know how women are.”

  “I daresay I know what any man needs to know about them and probably more than most. Your daughter’s no child. She’ll survive.”

  “Humh, you’re a hard-hearted man, you are. I had a devil of a time convincing her not to jump the hoop.”

  “But you did convince her.” The contempt in the earl’s voice almost caused Loftus to reconsider.

  “I believe she’s willing to listen to reason. But may I suggest that a word of kindness would go very far in facilitating matters?”

  Straeford sighed in resignation and heaved himself off the divan. “Very well. Where shal
l I find her?” He knew quite well that if he did not soften his attitude he might lose Loftus’s daughter, and that would mean he would have to find another heiress—and soon. Straeford decided he had to comply.

  Loftus had discerned the reason for the earl’s quick capitulation but refrained from saying so. “I’ll send her to the garden, my lord.”

  While Marisa paced about the garden, she tried to allay her inner turmoil by taking several deep breaths. Doing so, the fragrance of the flowers attracted her attention, and her eyes swept over the lush vegetation surrounding her. Mixed shades of delphiniums grew along a crumbling wall and clinging roses cascaded gently over its edge. Nearby white sundrops and candlestick lilies mingled together amidst the tall grass and uncut shrubs. The stone benches scattered in the small garden were virtually covered by green moss and tangled undergrowth. At this instant all she wished was to be left alone to drink in the beauty of this moment in time.

  As she singled out a flower to inhale its scent, she suddenly became aware of his presence behind her. His catlike movements gave him the ability to come upon his victims unaware, she thought irreverently. It was going to be difficult to face him again after the way he had humiliated her earlier, but straightening her shoulders and promising herself not to be intimidated, she slowly turned to meet his gaze.

  “Am I intruding? I was told I’d find you here,” the earl said in a tone she hopefully perceived as conciliatory.

  “You do not intrude, my lord,” she said seating herself on one of the small benches. “I was just admiring the garden and enjoying the flowers. It’s quite lovely here.”

  “Unfortunately it is in quite a state of disarray.” He pushed aside some stray branches with the toe of his boot and crossed in front of her, his hands behind his back. “And the same applies to the whole place,” he said in disgust. Marisa did not reply, fearing that anything she might say would trigger another nasty scene. Plucking a flower from pne of the bushes, she pulled at its petals absentmindedly as he stared unseeing at the garden. The earl shifted his feet nervously during an awkward moment and then turned toward her with a look on his face which Marisa had never observed before. She sensed he wanted to apologize and make amends, but his pride made it difficult for him to do so.