“You will never persuade me that it’s a sound basis for marriage.” Lydia’s pink tongue flicked over her lips, clearly betraying her confident words.
“Is that a challenge, Lydia? Shall I prove it to you?”
“There is absolutely nothing to be gained by the effort.” Her convulsive swallow once more gave her away. She added with greater force, “Like a mountain, Marcus, I shall not be moved.”
Marcus relished the sudden apprehension in her wide eyes when his gaze slid down to her mouth and held there. “Fair enough, my pet. If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, let Mohammed go to the mountain.”
****
Lydia was transfixed, powerless under his intense stare, as if he’d put her under some wicked spell. Though she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His eyes—dilated pools of blackness—held her, spreading heat from her core to every tingling inch of her. Her pulse thrummed with the sheer awareness of his physicality.
She closed her eyes against the sensations but they only intensified, his sweet tangy scent thickening the air and causing her breath to come in short, quick rasps, his warm breath fanning her skin. His gaze fixed upon her mouth and his hand brushed over her cheek to cup her jaw. Ignoring her inner protest, her body acted on its own volition, upturning her face and softly parting her lips. Her whole body quivered in anticipation of this kiss.
Her breathing hitched when his lips met hers, at first brushing over them in a warm caress, then sliding, nipping, melding until he took utter possession. Her feeble attempt at protest gave him added purchase to take her lower lip between his teeth and gently tug on the soft flesh. His tongue followed, deliciously teasing, tasting her lips before sliding into her mouth.
She had been kissed once before but nothing like this. His hot, wet tongue tangling with hers made her stomach flip and her passage clench, pooling with warmth and dizzying desire. He deepened the kiss, his hands working into her hair, pulling it down, scattering pins. “Don’t fight me, Lydia. I can show you paradise if you’ll only let me.”
When Marcus murmured those seductive words against her skin, she yielded with a muted whimper. The kiss was uninvited, unexpected, and shocking…and Lydia found herself clinging to it for dear life.
Lydia tore away with a stifled cry, confounded how he managed to exert such a terrifying magnetic force on her with seemingly no exertion at all. Outrage mixed with self-recrimination, she gathered up her skirts and fled, nearly running smack into Mariah upon her reentry through the terrace doors.
“I was coming to find you,” Mariah said. “Lud, Lyddie!” She gaped at her cousin’s rumpled and bewildered appearance. “You look positively debauched! You mustn’t let anyone else see you like this.”
Mariah pulled her into the empty music room, where Lydia caught sight of herself in the gilt mirror poised over the mantel and gasped in horror. Her color was high, her eyes shone feverishly bright, and clumps of her hair hung in disarray.
“Did that vile scoundrel accost you?” Mariah asked.
Heat infused Lydia’s already flushed cheeks. “Sadly, no. Although I would like nothing more than to accuse Marcus of importuning me, the fact is I made not the slighted protest.”
“What did he do to you?” Mariah asked in an excited whisper.
Lydia’s lips quivered in outrage. “The worst thing imaginable. He has kissed me senseless.”
“Oh my!” Mariah’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my, indeed! He has deprived me of all reason.” Lydia’s hands shook as she pulled the remaining pins from her hair to repair the damage.
“Here, let me help you.” Mariah took them from her and tucked up the stray strands. “It’s a lucky thing you have natural wave, and even better that you wore most of it down. So what has happened? Do you mean you have reconciled with him?”
“Lud no! The man frightens me.”
“The beast did accost you!” Mariah hissed.
“No, dearest. What I meant to say is that my reaction to him frightens me witless. It’s as if I’m no longer myself with him, but some other…creature! One with no notion of time, or place, or even of decorum. I feared for my own lack of restraint!”
Mariah looked stunned. “But how could this occur from a simple kiss?”
“That’s just it, Mariah. There was nothing simple about it! I don’t understand it. I can’t even trust myself anymore. It’s as if he has cast some evil charm over me and turned me into a wanton!”
“You, a wanton?” Mariah’s eyes widened. “He must have bewitched you! Whatever will you do?”
Lydia clasped her cousin’s arm with a look nearing panic. “Mariah, under no circumstances must I be alone with him again.”
****
“A drink, Needham,” Marcus demanded. “Perhaps I should make it an entire bottle. I have great need of something particularly… numbing.”
The two men repaired to the library where Marcus dismissed the footman and helped himself to a generous glass of whisky.
“Sorry, ol’ chap. Though I suspected she would be more immune to your charm than you believed, I’d have never imagined you’d take it so hard.”
“Hard? An interesting choice of words,” Marcus said. “I can’t remember such a cock stand since you and I pooled our allowance to hire our first whore.”
Nicholas’ brows shot up. “I am uncertain how to interpret that very enlightening bit of information.”
“It means I want her, Nick. She has the body of Venus and the innate sensuality of Voluptus and I want her so badly my bloody teeth ache.” He emptied his glass in one long draught and refilled it again. He offered the bottle to Nick who demurred.
“But she still won’t have you, eh?”
Marcus regarded Nick with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, I think she’ll have me all right. She melted like chocolate and damned well tasted like it too.”
“So progress was made in your, er, negotiations?”
“Yes and no,” Marcus answered with a wry twist of his lips. “She’s responsive as hell, far more than I would have anticipated, but fighting it like the devil too. I think she’s scared of her own passion.”
“An interesting dilemma.”
“A bloody frustrating one.” Marcus took another drink. “I’ve tried reason. I’ve tried charm. She still wishes to call it off. It’s time for more drastic measures.”
Nick gave him an inquiring look.
“I’ll ruin her, Nick, and when I’m done, she’ll be too damned sated to care. All I need is to get her alone.”
Chapter Five
“MY MOMENT HAS COME AT LAST,” Marcus said to his mother when he called again at Russell House.
“What do you mean, Marcus?”
“The Duke of Bedford is leaving the Admiralty to become the Secretary of State for the Southern Department and it’s rumored Lord Sandwich will be awarded his vacated seat—if a suitable replacement can be found to complete the peace treaty.”
“But that would be you!” Lady Russell exclaimed with delight.
“Not quite, I’m afraid. I am of several Secrétaires d’ambassade under consideration, a number of whom have considerably more experience than me. While I have every intention of playing up to my advantage, I’m also not the only one with a blood connection to the Ministry. Edward Montagu, as you know, claims a close kinship with Lord Sandwich.”
“Then, dearest, you must simply work to put the others out of consideration. What do you know of them? If you are to succeed, you must learn to exploit your adversaries’every weakness,” Lady Russell declared with a ruthless ferocity that made Marcus’ brows shoot upward. “That advice may even apply to some who only imagine themselves your adversary.” She gave a very telling grin.
“I need no further guidance on that score, Mama. I am quite able to handle the lovely Lydia without your further meddling.” Marcus chuckled and kissed his mother’s cheek. “But my dear, I assure you I am only too glad to have you on my side.”
****
"My dear girls, I have quite the surprise for you." Smiling, Lady Russell poured steaming hyson into three delicate cups of the finest Chelsea porcelain. "Lord Marcus has just sent us an invitation to a house party at Woburn Abbey."
"Woburn Abbey?" Mariah repeated blankly.
Lady Russell paused with her hand on the sugar bowl. "It's the country seat of the Dukes of Bedford. Do you take sugar, Mariah?"
"No, thank you, my lady," Mariah answered. "Cream will suffice."
"And you, my dear?" she asked her goddaughter, Lydia.
"Yes, please," Lydia answered, "but no cream."
Lady Russell handed the first cup to Mariah and the second to Lydia before continuing. "After spending a king's ransom on renovations to the house and gardens, the duke is most eager to show it all off."
Lydia's brows met in a frown. "But I am not even acquainted with the duke and duchess. I don't understand why we would be invited."
"Because Marcus wishes to make the most favorable impression, of course," Lady Russell replied.
"I still don't understand what that has to do with me," Lydia said. "Has Marcus not told you that I wish to end our betrothal?"
"He has mentioned it, of course," Lady Russell replied dismissively. "But he also assured me that this rift between you will soon be repaired."
Philomena, Lady Russell, was a force of nature, and very accustomed to getting her way. It was growing clear that the lady was not about to give up either her political or matrimonial ambitions for her son, Marcus.
"I am sorry he has misled you, my lady," Lydia replied, "but Marcus is quite mistaken, as I have no intention of becoming his wife."
"But, my dear, you act in such haste!"
"Six years is hardly haste," Lydia remarked wryly. What self-respecting woman would wait six years on a man?
Lady Russell heaved a martyr's sigh. "I suppose I must shoulder some of the blame for not prodding Marcus. He was so single-minded to establish himself with the diplomatic service that I feared pressuring him to marry would only have caused resentment. But I fear breaking with him at this critical juncture would irreparably damage his prospects. Although Marcus is fortunate enough to have the Duke of Bedford as his uncle and chief patron, he cannot presume wholly upon this family connection. At this juncture in his career, my son must forge his own alliances. In this endeavor, a beautiful and charming wife will be an invaluable asset."
"That may be," Lydia sniffed. "But Lord Marcus's career is no longer my concern."
"My dear girl, could you not wait just a short while before making your decision known? At least until the delegates are chosen for the forthcoming peace treaty? He is my youngest son, and I wish him to secure his future." Lady Russell continued in a cajoling tone, "Would you truly refuse me this small boon when your mother and I were so very close?"
A stab of guilt at mention of her mother made Lydia pause. "My lady, I still cannot carry out such a ruse purely for Marcus's gain."
"But Marcus is only half the reason for you to attend. You and Lady Mariah must go for your own benefit as well. The exposure to such influential people can only do you both credit and elevate you in society."
"I suppose that much is true." Lydia's gaze flickered to Mariah. Her will was faltering. Although she continued to fight, it seemed the dowager was about to win her way. "Mariah could certainly benefit. She has never even had a proper come out."
"No, I did not," Mariah said sadly. Her London season had been all arranged, but then her father suffered a sudden apoplexy. She looked wistful, but then shook her head. "I could not go, Lyddie. You know I cannot leave Mama alone to manage Papa. She frets so when I am not at home."
"Aunt Eustacia can certainly manage without you for a few more days. She has a veritable army of servants. Don't you think it's time you considered your own marriage prospects? You will never meet anyone suitable while buried at Morehaven."
"Lydia is right," Lady Russell chimed in. "This is the perfect opportunity for you to mix with good society without the pressures of a London season."
"Please, Mariah. You must come with me," Lydia cajoled.
Mariah capitulated with a sigh. "You make it impossible for me to refuse. Perhaps I could go just for a short while."
"It's settled, then.” Lady Russell set her cup down decisively in its saucer. "You will write your mama that you are going with us to Bedfordshire while Lydia and I see to the packing."
****
The convoy departing for Woburn Abbey comprised Lady Russell’s immense traveling carriage, followed by Marcus’ lighter post chaise, trailed by the baggage train.
Once all was determined ready for departure, Marcus handed Lydia up into his mother’s coach, and then turned to assist Mariah, whose first step upward was accompanied by a jerk backward and the sharp sound of renting taffeta.
“I am so very sorry, child.” Her ladyship looked painfully contrite at having trod on Mariah’s hem. “’Twas unforgivably clumsy of me! Let us have a look.” Mariah stepped back down to reveal a six-inch tear in the back of the skirt.
“Botheration!” Lady Russell cried. “I suppose there’s naught to be done now but to change your gown or to attempt to repair the damage.”
Marcus interjected, “Mama, I can hardly afford the delay.”
“But we shan’t be more than an hour,” Lady Russell replied.
“I’m sorry but I must be off at once. I cannot give Edward Montagu any more advantage over me than he already has. We are both vying for the position of Lord Sandwich’s First Secretary for the upcoming Peace Congress.”
“I suppose you are right. While ladies are generally allowed certain license in these matters, it would not do at all for you to arrive late. There is only one answer. You and Mr. Needham must proceed ahead of us in the chaise. Mariah, Lydia, and I will follow anon in the coach.”
“That will never do, Mama. I would never allow three ladies to travel unprotected. Nicholas will stay behind to accompany you.”
“But the vehicle will not hold us all. Someone must go with you, Marcus.”
Lady Russell looked to Lydia, who cast Lady Russell a panicked look. “But why me?”
“My dear, Marcus is right. The roads are so unsafe these days with brigands in the most unlikely of places. Mariah and I will have need of Mr. Needham’s escort for our safety.”
Marcus masked a smile at his mother’s complicity.
“But wouldn’t it be altogether improper for me to travel alone in the chaise with Lord Marcus?” Lydia appealed to Mariah for reinforcement, but her cousin only looked to Lady Russell with a helpless shrug.
“One would hardly judge it improper for an affianced couple to journey on a day trip, but of course Sally will ride along with you,” Lady Russell said.
“But there is only room for two passengers in Lord Marcus’ vehicle,” Lydia protested again.
“Easily remedied, child,” Lady Russell reassured her. “The baggage will simply follow with ours.” At a wave of her hand, a footman removed Marcus’ trunks from the rear of his post chaise to place them upon the baggage coach. “There now, a perfectly decorous arrangement for a ride of only a few hours.”
Having now made accommodation for a third passenger on the back of the chaise, Lady Russell bustled Mariah off to attend to the torn gown. Lydia’s gaze darted between Marcus and the trailing figure of Lady Russell with a growing suspicion.
Marcus offered Lydia his hand to help her into his equipage. “Please,” he soothed.
“You have no need to fear my attentions, if that is your worry. With a veritable mountain of official correspondence to attend to before we arrive, I’ll be completely absorbed in my work.”
“Very well,” she said. “But understand this—I only agreed for your mother’s sake.”
“But of course,” Marcus gave her a sardonic smile. “You have yet to give me any reason to presume otherwise.”
****
For the first few leagues of the journey, they pu
nctuated the silence with random pleasantries, but once the topics of weather and scenery were exhausted, Marcus burrowed into his correspondence. His purpose in attending to official duty was twofold—to actually catch up on his work before meeting with his superiors, and to encourage Lydia to drop her guard.
While he hoped to see some of the tension abate from Lydia’s rigid shoulders, she disappointed him with a ramrod spine and primly folded hands. This ambition thwarted, he turned more fully to his work, but by the third letter, cursed the absence of his secretary. “Bad enough it’s written in French,” he mumbled, “but it’s nigh indecipherable too. I don’t know how Needham ever manages to make out the marquis’s damnable hen scratch!”
“The Marquis de Puyzieulx?” Lydia asked.
Marcus regarded her, stupefied. How the devil had she pronounced the impossibly unpronounceable name? It was ridiculous that she could be in any way acquainted with a French diplomat, a marquis no less.
“I know the French ambassador only by reputation, of course,” she explained. “I do try to follow the news press and Papa has always been generous with The Gentleman’s Magazine.”
“How liberal of him,” Marcus remarked dryly. Shaking his head, he turned back to his correspondence only to find himself stymied again.
“You are having some difficulty? Perhaps I can assist? Papa also had atrocious handwriting.”
Marcus gave a dubious laugh when she took the page from his hand.
“The Compris d’Arbitage?” she read with a gasp. “Why these are the articles of arbitration! Have you indeed won the peace for us, Marcus?” Her eyes sparkled with an excitement that took his breath away. He was amazed at the heady sensation he felt to be, only for a moment, elevated in her esteem.
“In actuality, it is only the Modus Vivendi,” he said. “The articles were decided at the Congress of Breda last year, but are yet to be ratified by Spain and Austria. It matters little, however. Britain and France are the primary antagonists in this war and ‘tis no secret we’re both on the verge of bankruptcy because of it. Both sides wish an end to the war, thus it is now only a matter of securing such a peace on advantageous terms. We hope to do so at the upcoming Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle.”
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