Wickedly Ever After

  Athena was stunned by her ladyship’s defense of Marshall. “You do him too much honor, surely.”

  “I do him no more than justice.”

  “I’m sorry. I did not think you would have opposed so vehemently my plan to help you.”

  “Had I my own interests at heart, I would not have. But the fact of the matter is that he does not love me. He loves you. And if you are the one he thinks will bring him happiness, then I will forgo my own in order that he may have his. It is a pity you do not think likewise.” She grabbed her diamond-encrusted skirt and strode off to the far end of the room.

  Alone in the corner, Athena had to catch her breath. She felt utterly ashamed of herself. Admiral Rowland, Justine, and now Lady Cordelia—each had made it perfectly clear how unfairly she had regarded Marshall. Was there something warped about her that prevented her from seeing him as others did?

  Her eyes scanned the room for him. There he was, talking with another man.

  He was everything these people had said. Proud, brave, loving. She looked at him and saw a bronze statue to the image of the gentleman. He preferred personal accomplishments to privileges; family to wealth. Athena to Lady Cordelia.

  He laughed then, a hearty sound that carried over the din of conversation, and it filled her with shame. Why was she always so hostile toward him?

  It wasn’t his deception. She was hostile toward him since the moment they met. Truth be told, he never even lied to her. It was she who had assumed he was someone other than he was. Yet she was always quick to shoot arrows, more inclined to verbal assault than verbal accord.

  She had called Marshall a Scottish thistle once, but the truth was that she was that terrible plant. No fragrance, no value, no real virtue . . . just an outlaw weed. No one ever picked them because they were so painful to touch.

  And yet he had stopped to pick her.

  Here he was, at their own engagement party, pronouncing her his bride before all the world. He deserved more from her. Why could she not show him what she truly felt in her heart?

  She took a swallow from Lady Cordelia’s forgotten glass, shutting her eyes against the awful pounding of her heart. There was only one word to answer that question.

  Fear.

  Not fear of him. Fear of losing him.

  Everyone she ever tried to love ended up gone. It was an immovable curse that plagued her since she was a child. Whoever she gave her heart to vanished from her life.

  Maybe, she thought, if she kept her heart her own—if she refused to give him her love—he might not vanish.

  But protecting her own heart was making her miserable. The thistle’s prickles hurt itself just as much.

  She rubbed her eyes with both hands. A locked chest. A darkened woods. A masked face. She had grown weary of secrets.

  The time had come to reveal.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  Marshall turned to look at Athena. Through the puzzled expression, she saw him . . . the man that everyone else saw, but she couldn’t. And it made her ache for his heart.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. No.” She was panting for air and didn’t know why. “I don’t know. Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”

  “Of course. Come with me.” He held out his arm, which gleamed with gold buttons and braiding. For some strange reason, everything about him gleamed. She preceded him out of the ballroom.

  He led her down a hallway to a door at the opposite end of the house. The din of music and chattering dimmed as he shut the door.

  She gave a cursory look around. They were in a study of sorts—his study. She turned to face him.

  “Athena, are you all right?”

  Look at him, she thought. Standing there, concerned for her. He was so beautiful, so perfect. There was so much she wanted to tell him.

  She started to speak once or twice, but no words came out. For once in her life, she was speechless. She couldn’t say what she wanted to. So she did it instead.

  She closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his chest.

  Her ear lay flat against his heart. Don’t disappear. Please don’t disappear. The navy wool was rough against her cheek, and the gold braiding pressed against her face. But she could not let go. She would not.

  His arms wound around her, though not as tightly. “What did you say?”

  She hadn’t realized the words came out of her mouth. But the secret was finally out.

  “Did you say, ‘Don’t disappear,’ Athena?” He pulled her away and looked into her face.

  Against her will, her green eyes began to mist over. “I—I love you.” It was the first time she admitted it, even to herself.

  The face that looked at her in curiosity softened to something sublimely beautiful. “I know.”

  “How . . . on God’s good earth . . . with all that I say and do . . . could you ever imagine that?”

  He smiled, his masculine lips stretching to a sheen. “What I want to know is why you took such pains to hide it?” He sat her down on one of the chairs and knelt before her. “That mask you wear, the one you think hides the scars. You try so hard to conceal them. But they’re what make you beautiful. Your paintings spoke it to me. Shouted it, even. What was hidden was buried treasure.”

  No man had ever been bold enough to see past her defenses. “Why only you? Why has no one else tried to see it but you?”

  He shrugged. “Must be the pirate in me. Always looking for buried treasure.”

  She chuckled wetly, but her face quickly sobered. “How can you look at me and see treasure?”

  Blue eyes met green. “When I saw you for the first time, the world as I knew it came to an end. Who I was or what I was after, it all ceased to be important. You changed what mattered to me.” He shifted uneasily. “I know I’m not doing a good job of explaining it. All I can say is that when I met you, I wanted to love you. It had nothing to do with a feeling or an emotion. I just felt the need to bring you the love that you had been denied. But then you changed and you began to know your own heart. And when your heart turned to mine, that’s when I fell in love with you.”

  Whatever was said to the rose to unfurl he was saying to her heart. She brought a hand to her trembling lips. “I’m so afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Her fingers trembled. “Making you go.”

  Now it was his turn to chuckle. “You can’t make me go. Unless you replace me, I won’t ever leave.”

  “It terrifies me still.”

  “Then give it to me, Athena. Give me your fear. Trust in me to take it from you.”

  She nodded stiffly. He leaned forward, and their foreheads touched. His hot breath fell on her lips as he whispered her name.

  A feeling flickered through her mind, like a forgotten dream traipsing across her dark memory. Though she couldn’t name it, she knew she wanted it. She turned her head, and their mouths met.

  A soft kiss grew into a desperate one. For once, she didn’t care if she was kissing him right, or using the proper technique. Her heart was begging her to show him how it felt, and she complied with that dire call. He gave it back to her, echoing her devotion. It was a sentence without end, an unfinished phrase that only promised completion but never gave it.

  For Athena, it was enough.

  TWENTY-ONE

  A clock in the hall chimed nine as a bewigged footman in morning livery carried the remaining breakfast dishes on a silver tray. He took slow, measured steps throughout the house, within which all evidence of the party the night before had been erased. The ballroom was empty, the hall quiet, the dining room clean.

  He set the tray down on a small table outside the breakfast room. A downstairs maid, who was on the floor lighting the fire in the morning room, nodded her head knowingly and cast him a warning look that said mind yourself.

  Silently he shrugged and, taking a deep breath, opened the double doors.

  The raised voices of Marshall and Aquilla fell to a hush
as the footman brought in the tray and set the dishes on the buffet.

  “Thank you, Horner,” said Aquilla, resuming her formality. “We shall serve ourselves.”

  “Very good, my lady,” he muttered, and effecting a curt bow, closed the double doors once more.

  Aquilla sat down at the table and pulled a slice of cold ham onto her plate. “When I think of you eternally linked to that . . . virago . . . It just won’t do.”

  “We’ve been through that already, Mother. Let’s not open old wounds.”

  Aquilla was undeterred. “Generally, a person is on her best behavior when you first meet her. She acted like a veritable vulgarian.”

  Marshall went straight for the coffee. “We have to make allowances for her northern provenance. I know her ways may seem sharp. But there’s a great economy to her. She says what she means.”

  “I’m not just talking about her manners. No fruit is found in her trees. She lacks virtue, modesty, decency, birth, beauty.”

  “I find her beautiful.”

  Aquilla heaved a deep sigh. “You’re a man. You’d find a cello beautiful if it put on a dress. We should have massacred all the Scots while we had the chance.”

  He set the pot down so hard some of the brown liquid sloshed out and stained the white runner. “That joke is in very poor taste and completely beneath you.”

  “No more than that girl is beneath you.”

  Marshall sat at the head of the table, raking a claw through his blond head.

  Aquilla schooled herself. “I’m not asking you to get rid of her. If you’re so drawn to her, then keep her for your own private pleasure. Marry Cordelia, and make the Scot your mistress.”

  Marshall’s blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on his mother’s. “I can’t believe you’re saying such a thing. Have you no consideration for Athena’s feelings? Or Cordelia’s?”

  “No. The only thing I care about is this family. And it would prosper all the more without Athena in it!”

  “Good morning.” Athena stood in the doorway, her hand frozen on the doorknob. Justine was right behind her. “Have we come at a bad time?”

  Marshall rubbed his face, its expression collapsed with embarrassment. “No, Athena. Please come in. Sit down.” He held out a chair for her.

  Gingerly, Justine gave her mother a soft kiss, as though the woman would explode from even the slightest movement. “Good morning, Mother.”

  Athena glanced uncertainly between Marshall and Aquilla. “It was a lovely party last night, my lady. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Aquilla sat completely erect in her chair, her light brown dress so stiff it seemed to be made of wood. “Miss McAllister, please don’t take personal offense at what I’m about to tell you. As you no doubt heard me tell my son, I do object to this marriage on several accounts, not the least of which is your lack of personal wealth. As any good mother does, I desire an advantageous match for my children, and you do not present the best candidate for his wife.”

  Athena unfolded a napkin and placed it on her lap. “My word. How refreshing to see romanticism thriving so well among the ton.”

  “You speak the language of sarcasm, Miss McAllister, but I speak the language of realism. Do you or do you not bring anything material to this union, which will augment the holdings of my son and his heirs after him?”

  Athena cast her eyes down onto her pale blue bodice. “We had an estate in Scotland—Tigh na Coille, in Ayrshire—but my father lost it. He sold all we had left to acquire some thirty acres in the Highlands . . . before he died.”

  “Arable land?”

  She bit her lip and gave a brisk shake of her head.

  “Am I to understand that your dowry consists of a few miles of mountainous crag in a remote region of Scotland? Is that what you’re offering my son?”

  Athena straightened. “That . . . and my love.”

  Marshall covered her hand with his. “Which is priceless.”

  “And worthless,” Aquilla added.

  “Mother!” exclaimed Marshall. “Athena is to be my wife. Not because she can augment my holdings or because she can add a lofty branch to our family tree. But because I love her and she loves me. I know you can’t bring yourself to comprehend this concept, but marriage is more than a union of assets. Or rather, it should be,” he said, glancing at Athena. “On balance, I’d rather be happy than wealthy. So please, Mother . . . either celebrate together with us, or be miserable by yourself.”

  The silence was broken by Justine’s unsteady voice. “Marshall, I’m very happy to hear you say what you just did. About marriage, I mean.” Athena tensed. She threw an anxious glance at Justine, wordlessly shaking her head, but Justine plodded forward. “Because there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’d like your blessing to marry.”

  “Whom?” Aquilla exclaimed.

  Justine’s nervous gaze wavered between Aquilla and Marshall. “Elliott Keane.”

  Aquilla bolted out of her chair and faced the window. “Preposterous.”

  Marshall heaved a profound sigh. “Justine—”

  “Preposterous,” repeated Aquilla, facing Marshall. “Do you see what you’ve started? A girl worth twenty thousand a year . . . married to a stable servant? The answer is no.”

  “We shall talk about it,” Marshall stated with finality.

  “It’s bad enough my eldest is bringing shame upon this house. I won’t have both my children humiliate me.” Aquilla swung open the doors and let them slam against the wall. The footman, who’d been dutifully waiting to be summoned outside the room, gripped the vibrating doors and closed them softly.

  Athena gripped his forearm. “I’m sorry, Marshall.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. That is my mother. She buzzes about like an overturned beehive.”

  “Yes, but I’m the one who poked at the beehive with a stick.”

  “I shouldn’t worry about her. She’s always been more concerned with what people might say about her family than how we actually feel. If I walked in here after a lion had mauled my arm off, she’d say, ‘Just look at the state your coat’s in.’ ”

  Athena giggled.

  “As for you,” he said, turning to Justine. “You picked a fine time to bring your news, didn’t you?”

  Justine shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound?”

  He nodded. “Hmm. More like ‘people who live in greenhouses,’ eh?”

  “Something like that,” she said, her pale face coloring.

  “I shall want to know more about this Keane fellow. But it shall be your job to pacify Mother.”

  She walked round the table and gave her brother a hug from behind. “Thank you, Marshall.”

  “Go, before I change my mind,” he quipped.

  Once they were alone, Athena stared at him across the table. “Justine was right. You really have changed, haven’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Not so much changed as . . . enlightened. By a very good teacher.” He took her by the hand and reeled her in until she was sitting on his lap.

  If ever there was a moment she wanted captured in time, it would be this one. Blue eyes that glowed brightly with declared affection, a sly grin edging his mouth with sensual awareness, arms that embraced her tightly against the firmness of his own body. These were not mere visions, but feelings she could not capture except in her heart. He was more than she could see. He was more than money and titles and good looks . . . he was kind and funny and disciplined, a brave adventurer with the scars to prove it. Even if she could attempt his likeness, she knew she would fail. He was more than the length and breadth of her canvas—he was the depth behind it, that which she could not paint or conceive, only discover.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  He raked his eyes across her mouth. “One or two ideas do suggest themselves.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I meant what will you decide about Justine’s marriag
e?”

  His eyebrows drew together, but the smile never left his lips. “Justine’s? I haven’t even made up my mind to marry you, yet.”

  “I suppose you think that’s fun—” Her words were smothered in a hot kiss that caused a hum of arousal in her.

  His freshly shaved skin smelled of lime-scented water. Everything about him was clean and pressed and starched, and yet her fevered brain could only imagine him standing in the middle of the art room without a shred of clothes.

  Dangerous. He was a man she couldn’t control. What’s more, she even lost control over herself when he was around. Now he was kindling erotic sensations that she knew to be ungovernable.

  “Stop,” she said when he finally freed her lips to kiss the hollow of her throat.

  “No.” His voice was round and deep, seductive and powerful. His lips wandered across her chest, and she began to melt into his embrace. There was no way she had enough discipline for both of them.

  “Mmm. Strawberries and cream.” His lips vibrated against the slope of her breast, and his golden hair tickled Athena’s own lips. One more kiss, and she would have to have him.

  “Oh, dear,” came a voice from the doorway. Athena’s eyes flew open, and saw Hester looking flustered. “I’ll come back.”

  “No, no!” said Athena, scrambling off his lap. “Come in. We were just . . . That is, we were about to . . .”

  “Have breakfast?” he offered.

  “Yes,” she said, smoothing out her skirt. “Have breakfast.”

  “I see,” Hester said, gingerly stepping inside the room. “What is being served?”

  “Strawberries and cream,” he said.

  Athena whacked him on the shoulder. “Sausages. I smell sausages. Shall I serve you or will you help yourself?”

  “Sausages,” repeated Hester. Marshall chuckled while Athena’s face colored even more. “No, I think I shall content myself with the ham.”

  Athena sat on her own chair and buried her burning cheeks in her cool hands. “Yes. I think I shall join you.”