“It’s a lovely room,” Anne said once they reached the drawing room.
“Thanks to your hard work.” By the subdued light of a pair of candelabra and the blazing log fire, the peeling plasterwork and any shortcomings of housewifery were unnoticeable. Without curtains the tall windows revealed a vista of unrelieved black, with the pounding rain a soothing counterpoint to the warmth and light within. Marcus moved a small table and a pair of chairs over to the hearth. “Let’s play cards.”
“I won’t be much of an opponent.”
“What games do you know?”
“I used to play piquet with my grandfather. I’m not very good at it.” She eyed him with suspicion. “I won’t play for money against you.”
“We’ll play for love.” Damn. He shouldn’t have said that.
“Good. Because you’ll beat me to flinders.”
“I think you may be surprised.”
She was right. She wasn’t very good and it didn’t matter at all. Despite unwise discards and failing to save the right guards, with such spectacular cards the merest novice couldn’t fail to win. Not that he played his dismal cards with great skill given the distractions on offer: her slender, unpracticed hands fumbling a little as she sorted her cards; the way she bit her lower lip as she pondered her choices; a funny little sound in her throat when she won a hand.
“I capotted you,” she crowed when she brought the rubber to a triumphant conclusion by taking every trick. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that.”
“Congratulations.”
She looked up sharply. “Did you let me win?”
“No. You did it on your own.”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I find it surprising that you have made your living as a gamester. Though perhaps the luck did fall my way.”
“My dear Anne, the luck was completely with you, or rather against me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a chance.”
“There’s no need to boast.”
“Let me show you something.” He pulled a coin from his pocket. “Heads or tails?”
“Heads.”
He tossed the coin and caught it on the back of his hand. “Heads it is,” he revealed. “Again.”
“Heads.”
“Heads it is. Again.”
A dozen times she called heads, a dozen times she won. “This is unusual, isn’t it?”
“It’s against the mathematics of probability. I haven’t been able to win at any game since I left Italy. I’m in the middle of the longest, most spectacular run of ill luck a man has ever suffered.”
“No wonder you wanted to catch an heiress. You were desperate.”
“I wouldn’t have to be desperate to pursue you.” As he spoke he gathered up the scattered cards. “The Camber fortune,” he said with calculated callousness, “is far beyond the possible winnings of the most successful gamester.”
“I see.” He’d hurt her and it was better that way. “You told me you wanted to give up gaming and find a different profession.”
“The truth, just not the whole truth.”
The fire crackled and silence fell heavily between them while she scrawled aimlessly on the score sheet. He should send her to bed to dwell on that truth. And he? He would stay downstairs and get as drunk as was possible on nothing but small ale. By God, he wished there was brandy in the house.
When finally she looked up, though, she appeared more alert than upset. “I’m curious,” she said, sweeping her glorious hair back with both hands. “Couldn’t you cheat? You must know how.”
He couldn’t blame her for the unflattering assessment of his character. “I decided a long time ago that I would always play straight. My father was a cheat and it got him into constant trouble. I prefer a peaceful life and a whole skin. As they say, honesty is the best policy.”
Her brow creased as she digested his statement. “I’ve always thought that an odd proverb. Surely honesty is a matter of morality, not policy.”
“That’s easy to say when you’ve never wanted for anything. I haven’t had that luxury. I don’t object to cheating, or for that matter lying and stealing, if it suits my aims. And if I won’t get caught. It happens that fair play is my choice, my policy. Morality is not an issue.” Saying these things made his heart plummet but it was no more than the truth and Anne, at least, he owed honesty.
“I do not believe morality is a luxury of the rich.”
“Nor is dishonesty confined to the poor. You haven’t been entirely honest in your dealings with me.”
“I am truly sorry that I made you spend so much money. I know now that you could not afford it and I see how much you need it for the Hinton estate.”
He hated to hear her sounding like a guilty child when her sin had been so slight. “Don’t blame yourself. It was no more than I deserved. My point is that no one is ever entirely honest. However, I am probably the greatest scoundrel you’ve ever met, or ever will.”
She stood up and walked around the table. In his clothes she was more desirable than any raving beauty in a fashionable gown designed to entice. That was it, then. Instead of leaving the room at once, she stood over him and he made himself meet her eye, expecting condemnation. As she regarded him gravely, her cheeks grew pink, and her lovely mouth twisted into an odd smile.
“Marcus,” she said, so close that her heat and scent teased him. She leaned in, and her breath was warm on his face. “Will you kiss me?”
Anne waited, dizzy with longing as she had been all evening. When he explained his shocking moral code she heard and understood the words, but her body seemed divorced from her brain and was crying out for Marcus. Dismissing his past and any thought of the future, she summoned her courage and demanded what she wanted.
He sat with his feet planted to the floor, folded his arms, and frowned. “Not a good idea, Anne. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You told me before, if I wanted a kiss I should ask for one. I’m asking.” She dared to reach for him, caressing his cheek with a trembling hand, his chin a little rough beneath her palm.
“Why do you have to remember every little thing I said?” he bit out. “I say some damn stupid things.”
She snatched back her hand. “You don’t want to kiss me.”
“Hell and damnation, Anne! You stand over me in my clothes showing off the longest, loveliest legs ever owned by a woman. Your breasts peep out of my shirt and I can’t take my eyes off them because I want to see them and touch them when you’re not freezing to death. As for your hair, I want to wind it round my naked chest and discover if it’s as soft and silken as it looks. And yes, I want to kiss you. Do you think I’m made of stone?” Her mouth fell open. Never had she heard anything so alarming or so wonderful. “So, my dear, unless you’re ready to risk getting a lot more than a simple kiss, you’d better sit down. Better still, get out of the room.”
She wavered, poised for flight, then stiffened her resolve. Marcus wasn’t lying. This might be her only chance in her whole life to discover what it was like to kiss a man who found her truly desirable.
Her breeches made her brave. “I want to kiss you, Marcus, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Giving him no chance to object, she grasped his shoulders and swooped in. She’d only once felt his lips on hers but the sensation was instantly familiar. Heart pounding, she reveled in an experience unlike any other. She closed her eyes and sank into the touch of warm flesh beneath hers, until she realized something was wrong. The awkwardness of pressing her attentions on a man who remained utterly still sapped her confidence. Still she persevered, yearning for shared pleasure, encouraged by an acceleration in his breath. In bold desperation she parted her lips and ventured to dart her tongue out to trace the seam of his mouth.
His response almost made her lose her balance. But he caught her, pulled her down onto his lap. Muttering a profanity, he took possession. The kiss became hot and wet as his breath filled her mouth. The stroke of his tongue induced a blissfu
l humming in the tender flesh within, eliciting a gasp from her, a momentary retreat on his part.
“You asked for it,” he muttered, his soft growl tickling her lips. “Last chance to stop.”
Refusing the offer of escape, Anne took his head in her hands and pulled him back to her. After that there was no more quarter requested or given on either side.
She wondered hazily how people willingly gave this up once they’d discovered it. She could become addicted to sharing space and air with a man. She’d thought a kiss was a finite thing but this one had no end. It continued without cessation, growing only deeper and hotter. Accustomed as she was to the cool politesse of her well-guarded life, the raw intimacy threatened to explode her brain. Carnal. The word floated through her mind. An experience of the body, the flesh.
Her thin shirt was no barrier to the heat of his hands caressing her back, her shoulders, the tender privacy of her ribs and belly. Her breasts ached for attention too, and he seemed to know it. An incoherent groan of protest arose from her throat when he traced them through soft linen, just for a moment. Then melted into a purr of happiness as he slipped through the opening at the neck of her shirt and cupped them, skin to skin. She arched into him, wanting more and receiving it.
Still they kissed, his particular taste flooding her senses in accompaniment to the magic of his touch. Then he stopped.
“Don’t stop!”
“Hush. You’ll like this.”
He slipped the leather braces from her shoulders and pulled the loose shirt down, exposing her halfway to the waist. Dazed, she peered down. Surely her nipples weren’t usually so pink or so pointed.
“Do you remember me telling you about wild strawberries?”
He was talking about food? Now?
He drew her backward in the cradle of his arm and took one of the stiff peaks into his mouth, licking and sucking and sending a line of sensation straight down her torso and into the secret area beneath her breeches. As her pelvis gave a little buck he laughed softly. “In a while.”
She had lost the power of mobility and the will to reclaim it. She let him do what he would and yearned only for what he’d do next, where he’d take her, wherever that might be. His clever hands seemed to find every sensitive spot of skin: the nape, the shoulder blades, the curve of her waist. Who knew that her navel longed to be touched? He did.
He could do anything to her, anything at all, and she would welcome it. She yearned for it and surrendered joyfully to thralldom.
His mouth took hers again and the kissing was too good to protest, even as her swollen breasts regretted its loss. As his taste flooded her senses and their tongues tangled, a fever arose in her, a desperate, aching heat. His hand slid lower, crept beneath the loose waist of her breeches.
Oh Lord oh Lord oh Lord! He was going to touch her there. He wouldn’t, surely, but please God let him. She wanted it. Needed it. A small, sane voice in her head told her she was on the road to ruin and a louder shriek said she didn’t care. She closed her eyes tight to exclude the murmurings of discretion and envisioned Marcus’s long finger penetrating the forbidden place. As wish turned to fact she shrieked, thrust furiously, and tumbled off his lap.
“Ow!”
“Sorry.” He sounded strained. “One of the perils of attempting seduction on a plain chair. Given the dilapidated state of this house and its furnishings, we should count ourselves lucky it didn’t break.”
On hands and knees she looked around the room, eager to continue. “Where would be best?”
“A more capacious chair, bed, a sofa, or a soft carpet on the floor,” he said, reaching down and caressing her head through her wild cloud of hair. She nuzzled into his touch.
“The sofa here is quite comfortable,” she offered.
Abruptly he withdrew his hand. “No. It’s just as well I dropped you before things went any further. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt. You want to stop?” she asked incredulously.
“I have to stop. We have to stop. I apologize for getting carried away.”
She prepared to argue but as the sensual spell faded, she reluctantly admitted he was right.
She shifted to a sitting position on the floor, hugging her bended knees. She wanted him, liked him, was perhaps even in love with him. If she gave herself to him fully she’d have to marry him. An alluring idea, but contrary to inculcated notions of duty to her position and her own common sense. Once she’d considered wedding Marcus, when she only suspected him of being a rogue. Now she knew he was, and she feared he was irredeemable.
Not wholly irredeemable, surely. He could have had her tonight, probably still could. If he set his mind to it, she doubted she’d resist. Yet he refused to take advantage. She glanced up to find him still seated, gazing down at her, his fine cheekbones flushed, green eyes troubled. Then she noticed something else, visual evidence of the hardness she’d scarcely noticed under her bottom when her senses had been otherwise occupied.
“I think I understand now what Milton meant when he wrote of ‘carnal desire inflaming,’ ” she said.
“I never read him.”
“Are you all right?”
“Anne. Please go to bed.”
“Where?”
“Take my room. And no, I will not be joining you. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”
She stood up, sad the evening had come to an end. It was the most enjoyable she’d ever spent and one she’d remember when she returned to her proper Brotherton life. “Thank you, Marcus.”
“You have nothing to thank me for.”
“Yes,” she said. “I do. For many things.”
“What—” He cut off his question and shook his head. “Good night, Anne.”
Chapter 19
They ate breakfast together in the kitchen while Travis labored away at the never-ending laundry.
“Why are you still wearing breeches?” Marcus asked. “Your gown is dry.”
Anne swallowed a mouthful of ham and put down her knife and fork. “I like these clothes. They’re much easier to move in. I have the rest of my life to wear long skirts. Or perhaps I’ll become an eccentric and ride around Camber astride, shocking the neighbors.”
She seemed remarkably cheerful this morning. Apparently she hadn’t spent the night tossing with thwarted lust. Of course she’d had the bed, while he had reason to know that the comfort of the drawing room sofa was overrated. He finally managed to drift off to sleep, only to be woken by the frigid atmosphere and a strange silence. The fire had died to embers and the rain turned to snow.
“What are we going to do today?”
“You stay here and keep warm while I check on my tenants and look into the prospects for getting the bridge repaired.”
“Is there no other way out of the estate?”
“Two or three miles downstream there’s another bridge, which may not have survived the dam burst. There’s also a path over the downs, but since Jasper has the gig it’ll be a long slog to get back to Hinton that way. We have enough food for a few days so I’m not inclined to try it unless things get desperate.”
“That’s right. Mr. Bentley came that way. Can I come with you to see your people?”
His people. He’d never had people, but now he supposed he did and he was responsible for them.
“Better not. While we can’t hide the fact that you are stranded in my house, let’s keep the gossip to a minimum by not having you jaunt around in my company dressed like that. I intend to put it around that you are prostrate with shock from the storm, and from the appalling fact of being forced to remain in my disreputable company.”
She grinned. “Tell everyone I’m suffering a prolonged attack of the vapors.” She took a healthy bite of toast. “What shall I do while you’re gone?”
Marcus played his cards close to his chest, literally and figuratively. Reserve was a necessity of his profession that he carried over to the rest of his life. Contrary to every instinct, he trusted Anne.
&nb
sp; “There is something. I’ve been searching the house.”
“I noticed. What for?”
“I don’t know. For something that may not even exist.”
Anne listened intently as he described his father’s letter. “What was in the trunk we found in the attic?”
“Nothing of importance,” he said. “I’d dismiss the whole affair as nonsense, except that someone searched the house before I arrived here.”
“The ghost,” Anne said at once, clever lady.
“I suspected Jasper of playing the ghost to scare away the other servants but I don’t see him searching the house so thoroughly. It’s more likely that someone else knew what my father left here.”
“Who would he have told?”
“I don’t know. My father was not given to confidences. Every word he spoke was intended to deceive.”
“You’re not at all like him.”
Marcus searched for sarcasm in the offhand statement and detected sincerity. He decided not to argue with the deluded girl.
Anne fell silent. “He entrusted this thing to Mr. Hooke, you say,” she said after prolonged thought.
“Without telling him what it was.”
“So it’s either disguised, or it has a significance that a stranger wouldn’t recognize.”
“Which gets us nowhere.”
“So let’s think of it from Mr. Hooke’s point of view. Where would he hide an apparently worthless treasure? Remember the hidden cupboard in the drawing room? Perhaps there are others like that.”
“If you would like to devote some time today looking for them, I’d be eternally in your debt.”
“It’ll give me something to do.”
“I’ll tell you where I’ve already looked.”
“No, don’t. A fresh pair of eyes may see something you missed.”
Marcus left the house whistling. Maybe there was something to the notion that a problem shared was a problem halved. He returned in a dark mood. Only the news that she’d stumbled over a cache of pure gold could relieve the gloom induced by the state of his property.
Miranda Neville Page 18