by Sandra Heath
As she gazed down, she suddenly heard steps on the ice behind her, and she whirled about to see Marcus walking toward her. She stiffened defensively, meaning to be very much on her guard with him, and to tell him what she thought of him if he transgressed by so much as a single word. But even now, when she knew him to be a philanderer, she was conscious of her pulse quickening merely at the sight of him.
Few men could have appeared more to advantage in the close-fitting clothes that were all the mode now, for he had the height and shape to carry them off superbly. In spite of the cold he had not donned a greatcoat, and the coat he wore was made of a deep-blue wool with a high stand-fall collar made of black velvet. His long legs were encased in cream corduroy breeches, his top boots boasted an immaculate shine, and his golden brocade waistcoat seemed to reflect the color of his hair. The front of his shirt was adorned with two precise rows of small frills, and his blue silk neckcloth was finished with a sapphire pin.
Afraid that he might read her thoughts in her eyes, she turned back to look at the garden. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said in a civil but far from inviting tone.
“Good morning.”
She surveyed the garden, and then the park beyond. “Do you really mean to sell Rainworth?” she inquired, determined to keep all conversation on a safe subject.
“It was a notion that passed my mind not so long ago, but now I do not think I will.”
She had to look at him. “Does that mean you will bring your bride here after all?”
“My bride?”
“Miss Bannerman.”
“Ah, yes. Miss Bannerman,” he murmured, brushing some snow from the stone urn.
“She is very beautiful.”
“From which observation I must conclude that you have seen her portrait in the library.” His tone was dry.
“Yes.”
“Such miniatures are interesting mementos, are they not?”
“Mementos?”
He nodded. “Of times past.”
She stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“That just as I once entertained a notion of selling Rainworth, so I also entertained a notion of making Constance my bride. Both notions have been consigned to perdition.”
Confused, she searched his face. “But you told us—”
“If you recall with any accuracy, what I said was that there was an element of truth in the below-stairs gossip you and Lady Isobel had heard,” he interrupted.
She lowered her eyes, for that was indeed what he had said. “Are you telling me that we formed the wrong conclusion?”
“Yes. Constance and I are no longer to be married, and with the benefit of hindsight I can see that if we had it would have been a considerable mismatch, just as I can tell that if you and Alexander marry, it will be a similar disaster.”
She drew sharply back. “Sir, I do not wish to discuss such things with you.”
“How very tiresome, for I intend to see that such things are just what you do discuss with me,” he replied tersely, catching her arm as she made to walk past him.
“Unhand me,” she breathed angrily, but even as she tried to remain on her dignity, she was aware of his closeness. Was there no refuge from his spell?
“You’re going to hear me out, Elizabeth, because I can no longer keep silent. I am a far from disinterested party in all this, indeed the only reason you and the others are here at all is because I want you. Is that sufficiently direct and to the point?” His blue eyes were arresting in the cold sunlight, and he still held her arm so firmly that she could not pull away.
But she didn’t struggle, for his words rendered her motionless. “What did you say?” she whispered.
“I said that I want you, Elizabeth, and I believe I have done so since the night I rescued you from the footpads.” He released her then. “When I saw you alighting from Alexander’s carriage in Grantham, I could not believe my eyes. After having given up all hope of ever finding out who you were, I found myself looking at you getting out of my old friend’s carriage. Then I saw him with Lady Isobel, and by their manner together, I concluded that she was the Mrs. French I had heard he was to marry. When I spoke to him, and he said that he and Mrs. French were chaperoning Lady Isobel Crawford to Southwell Park, I naturally believed that you were Lady Isobel, a free agent to whom I could pay court if such approaches were welcome. That was why I pressed Alexander to accept my invitation, and why you were taken to be your cousin when you arrived here. When I learned the truth, I tried to put you from my thoughts, but it was not easy, especially when I very swiftly perceived how things lay between Alexander and Lady Isobel, and when I also perceived that your feelings for Alexander were not what they should be if you were to marry him. And so I am now pressing my own suit, Elizabeth, for I know that I am the man for you, if you will have me.”
She stared at him, a million breathless emotions tumbling through her. “You…you seem very sure of me, sir,” she said in a trembling voice.
“I am.”
“How can you be? I have never said anything to make you—”
“True, you have never said anything, but are words always necessary?” He smiled a little, the blue of his eyes seeming to deepen. “I am sure of you, Elizabeth,” he said softly, “and I will prove it.”
He drew her toward him, pulling her into an embrace that seemed to envelop her very soul. His lips were urgent upon hers, and she met his kiss with all the passion that had been aroused the first moment she had glimpsed him in Hanover Square. Desire warmed her skin, and made the blood rush wildly through her veins. She clung to him, her lips parting beneath his, her heart pounding next to his. He crushed her close, as if he would devour her, and then he drew slowly back, cupping her flushed face in his hands as he looked into her eyes.
“I am sure of you, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his thumbs caressing her skin. “You’re mine, not Alexander’s, and I do not mean to let you escape, not until you have consented to be my bride.”
Her breath caught. “Your bride?”
“Nothing less will do. I want you, body and soul I want you.” He bent his head to kiss her tenderly on the lips again. “Say yes, Elizabeth,” he murmured. “Just say yes, for I know that you love me as much as I love you.”
Ecstasy swept her along. Everything she had yearned for, but which she had thought must be denied, was now hers. This man was hers… “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I will marry you.”
He gathered her into his arms again, and she raised her lips to meet his.
* * * *
As Elizabeth acknowledged her feelings for Marcus, Isobel was seated in the chair by the fire in her room. Her dark-chestnut hair was brushed loose about the shoulders of her daffodil-yellow wrap, and there was a blanket over her knees. She was waiting for Alexander, to whom she had sent an urgent message. Her eyes were sad, and the bruise on her forehead looked livid against her pale, wan little face.
There was a tap at the door, and Isobel’s maid hurried to answer it. It was Alexander, and as he entered, the maid went discreetly out, closing the door and leaving them alone together.
He hesitated for a moment, waiting until he heard the maid’s footsteps die away along the passage, and then he went to Isobel, bending to kiss her on the cheek, but she averted her head so that his lips brushed her hair.
He straightened, his eyes concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?” He bent toward her, taking her cold hands in his.
She twisted them free again. “Please, don’t, for I cannot bear it,” she whispered, her voice quivering with unhappiness.
“Have I said something wrong? Have I done something to offend you?”
“You? Oh, no, not you!” she replied quickly, meeting his anxious eyes. “Please do not think that it is your fault, for I know that if I had not behaved as badly as I did, none of this would have happened. Oh, Alexander, I feel so ashamed, for I have conducted myself very improperly.”
> “Please don’t say that, for it isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? Alexander, I have been quite shameless. I set my cap at you and I pursued you in a way that was unbecoming to say the least. I decided that I had to have you for myself, and I set about achieving just that. I even went so far as to deliberately turn your differences with Elizabeth to my own advantage. And then yesterday, oh, yesterday I was almost on the verge of embracing you right in front of her, just embracing you, and making it plain to the world that I was taking you from her.” Tears wended their way down her cheeks. “I feel wretched, Alexander, and I wish with all my heart that I had not done any of the things I did.”
“It takes two, you know,” he said softly, putting his hand to her cheek.
“You would never have glanced at me if I had not forced myself upon you. You were as in love with Elizabeth as it was possible to be, but things were just a little wrong between you, and I made the most of the situation. I made myself fascinating, and I used every trick and wile I could think of in order to win you.”
“And you have won me. We both know it to be true, and to pretend otherwise is pointless.”
“No, it is not pointless, Alexander, for we must pretend otherwise. I have to right the wrong I have done to Elizabeth, for I cannot bear to know how badly I have treated her. She has been so kind to me, indeed no one could have been more kind, and now I cannot live with my conscience. We must stop everything, Alexander.”
“You cannot mean this,” he cried, straightening and running his hand through his dark hair.
“I do mean it. You and Elizabeth are to be betrothed soon, and that betrothal must go ahead as planned. You must forget me, just as I must forget you.”
“Isobel, I wish you would reconsider, for I love you.”
“You belong to Elizabeth, and I will not be the instrument of breaking her heart. I would despise myself forever more if I persisted with this now. Go back to her, Alexander. Please, I beg of you.”
He fought away tears.
She sat forward, looking urgently at him. “You do still love her, in spite of what you feel for me.”
“Yes, I love her, and I always will, but it isn’t the love I feel for you.”
Her lips trembled. “I…I will not change my mind, Alexander. I am ending things between us, and nothing on earth will alter it. Promise me that you will be all that you should be to Elizabeth.”
He took a long breath to steady himself. “If that is what you truly wish?”
“It has to be.”
“Very well.” Unable to bear it a moment longer, he turned and hurried from the room.
The moment he had gone, Isobel hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept. It had been the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, and the greatest sacrifice, but her honor demanded nothing less. Her honor? Oh, better to find it late than never to find it at all.
She lowered her hands, striving to control the sobs that still rose so miserably in her throat. Her glance fell upon the volume of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, which her maid had that very day unpacked and placed on the little table by the fireside chair. Suddenly she loathed the book, loathed it so much that she could not bear to see it. If it had not been for her infatuation with Lord Byron’s odious hero, none of this would have happened. Snatching the volume up, she flung it on to the fire, watching as the flames licked eagerly around the elegant leather binding.
* * * *
Shortly afterward, Elizabeth awaited Alexander in the library. She had sent Violet to find him, to tell him she wished to speak to him on a matter of some urgency and importance, and the library seemed a suitable place for a meeting that she knew was going to be awkward. Marcus had wanted to be with her, but she had insisted upon being alone when she told Alexander that she no longer intended to proceed with their match. She did not think that Alexander was going to be displeased with what she said, for she was sure in her heart that he now loved Isobel, but she knew that he was going to be surprised to learn of her love for Marcus.
She was nervous as she waited, and she could not sit down, but paced a little, pausing every now and then to look at the shelves of handsome book spines. Oh, please hurry, Alexander, she thought, for the suspense was quite dreadful. She wished it all to be over and done with, and she hoped with all her heart that the conclusion would be what they all four really wished. A fitting ending to their own private cotillion here in the Nottinghamshire countryside.
As she paced, her foot brushed against something on the floor. She glanced down and saw that it was the letter Marcus had been writing the night before. She stared down at it, for although it was crumpled into a ball, she could still make out some of the words. My very dearest Constance…
Slowly she bent to pick it up. No, please don’t let this be… She didn’t want to read the letter, but knew that she must. Her hands shook as she smoothed the paper.
My very dearest Constance,
Forgive me for having delayed so long in writing to you, but as you may imagine, I have had a great deal on my mind since arriving here. I have been sorely missing our private moments in the summerhouse, and I long for your laughing eyes and happy society. I cannot write more without coming directly to the heart of the matter, by which I mean our marriage plans…
It was here that Marcus had discarded the letter, and thrown it away for its incriminating words to expose him now. She had been taken for a fool, oh, what a fool! He had lied to her about Constance, and his only possible reason was that he still had mere seduction in mind for gullible Elizabeth French.
Her hands were shaking so much that she could barely screw the hated letter into a ball again. He wasn’t going to succeed in his vile intentions, for she was a fool no more.
Footsteps approached the door, and she whirled about in dismay, praying that it was not Marcus, for she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not yet. But then she recognized Alexander’s tread.
Chapter 16
The letter slipped from her fingers, and her hands were still trembling so much that she had to clasp them before her. The things she had planned to say to him suddenly fled from her head, and for a moment she was all confusion and near panic, but then she took a grip on herself. The fact that her foolishness had brought her close to disaster did not make any real difference to what she must say to Alexander. Any thought of a contract between them would be a dreadful mistake, and she had to release him without any further delay.
He entered, pausing in the doorway for a moment. She thought he looked a little drawn, and even at a moment such as this she was conscious of the wry reflection that his pallor and looks did indeed bring Childe Harold to mind.
He closed the door quietly. “You wished to see me, Elizabeth?”
“Yes, for I think it is time we spoke frankly to each other.”
The ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Surely it was frank speaking that brought us to this pitch.”
“We have both been at fault, I think.”
He nodded, coming toward her and taking her hand, enclosing it in both his. “I am so sorry for some of the things I’ve said to you. I swear that I will not behave so badly in future. It is most definitely time to call a halt.”
“Yes, it is.”
“There must not be any further misunderstandings.”
“I agree.” She smiled.
“Our future together is far too important and precious to throw it away because of foolish disagreements,” he went on.
She stared at him. Their future together? She had thought he was speaking of ending their match, but instead it seemed he wished it to continue!
He looked at her in concern. “Is something wrong?”
“I… Alexander, I did not think, I mean, I thought…” She couldn’t find the words, for she had been so sure that he would want to withdraw.
“What did you think?”
She gave a half-laugh. “I thought you wished to end our match.”
“End it? No, of course not
. Oh, I realize that some of the things I’ve said may have pointed to such a course, but I did not mean it. Everything has seemed so uncertain and difficult recently, and I am afraid that I have not been dealing with it as well as I should. For that you must forgive me.”
She searched his face. “Alexander, when you came in I said that I thought it was time for a little frank speaking. May I therefore be frank with you?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I will tell you that I really expected you to wish to withdraw because you now feel more for Isobel than you feel for me.”
He met her gaze squarely. “There is nothing between Isobel and me, Elizabeth. We are friends, good friends, but that is all there is to it. Please believe me.”
“But, I was so sure.” She turned away, completely confounded by his words. “I would have sworn on oath that Isobel was in love with you, and although I was never quite so sure about your feelings for her, I had come to believe that you were indeed becoming more and more drawn to her. Are you telling me that I have been wrong in every way?”
He hesitated. “I—er—I think you may have been right about Isobel, at least for a while. I believe she was a little impressed with my so-called resemblance to Byron’s wretched creation, but when she realized that I did not in any way match up to Childe Harold, she soon ceased to be impressed. It was a fleeting fancy, no more than that, and it never meant anything. She would be very embarrassed and ashamed if she thought you believed her guilty of any misdemeanor.”
Elizabeth pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to sort her scattered thoughts. “And this is the truth?”
His gaze was still steady. “Yes, it is the truth. I do not wish to end our match, Elizabeth, and I hope that we can put all this behind us.” He smiled, putting his hand to her cheek. “Let us take each day at a time, and then we will be able to slowly mend the damage. What we have is too good to discard without a struggle. Maybe we are not the world’s greatest love match, but we do love each other, and if it is not a love of towering passion and breathless ecstasy, it is still more than sufficient for us to be very happy together. I want you to be my wife, Elizabeth. Please say that you wish the same.”