by Regina Darcy
As the butler looked on in shock, and Jason beamed, Honora found herself enveloped in the muscular embrace of the Marquess who was not content to merely hug her, but brought his lips to hers in the sort of kiss that Honora had only supposed existed in novels or among lecherous Europeans.
His kiss was a searing exploration of her lips, daring and exciting and quite as intoxicating as if she were imbibing too much wine. She knew that it was improper for a lady to return such kisses from a man to whom she was not wed—in fact, Honora was not at all certain that such kisses were proper even between married spouses—but she could not restrain herself from responding to his ardour.
“Michael!’ proclaimed a woman’s voice. “What are you doing? You are violating a nun!”
The Marquess reluctantly released Honora.
“She’s not a nun, Aunt Eleanor.”
“I beg to differ, I know a nun’s habit when I see one. You forget that I was educated in France before the rabble took power. Now, what are you up to?’
“This, Aunt, is Lady Honora, of whom I have spoken.”
“You did not tell me she was a nun,” his aunt scolded sternly.
“She is not a nun, Aunt. She has been staying at the convent, but that is for her own safety.”
“Not safe enough, it would seem, from you,” his aunt said in acid tones. “Come, my dear,” she said to Honora, “you must not fear. Michael is . . . sometimes a gentleman.”
“Aunt, I told you that Lady Honora was at the convent to keep her safe. I told you that she is hiding from the Duke of Ivanhoe. I did make myself very clear on that point,” The Marquess interjected looking exasperated.
“Yes, Michael, but you did not tell me that she was a nun.”
“She is not a nun!” Michael said loudly.
“Blake, will you have the kitchen send up something? This poor girl looks quite faint and I’ll wager she’s had nothing to eat but communion wafers and wine since being in the nunnery. Nothing too extreme, we must nurse her back to health. My dear, what would you say to some bread and perhaps a bit of meat—oh, perhaps you are not allowed meat—cheese, then, yes, that will be good. And an egg, I think? Blake, tell Cook. My dear, would you—I’m so sorry. Is your order sworn to silence? I have not heard you utter a sound, although no doubt Michael has quite frightened the speech from you. Shame, Michael, for taking advantage of a nun in orders who has sworn to silence. And to chastity, I remind you!”
“She is not a nun, and the only reason she has not spoken, Aunt Eleanor, is because you have not given her a chance to!”
But his aunt, her arm around Honora, was leading her into the drawing room.
“My lord?”
The Marquess let his gaze settle on his butler, who looked decidedly flustered.
“Yes, Blake?”
“Shall I do as Lady Eleanor has instructed my lord?”
“Certainly, Blake. Lest my Aunt prevail in the notion that I have taken to abducting holy virgins and starving them until they succumb to my wicked desires.”
“Er—very good sir. Perhaps, my lord, some sherry for the sister?”
“She is not a sister!” the Marquess roared. Then, contrite, he said, “Sherry will do very well for her, thank you, Blake.”
“Now then, Jason, acquaint me with the evening’s adventures, for I perceive that you have a tale to tell.”
“I do, my lord. There was a chap skulking about the grounds of the convent, but he didn’t see me, not even when I came up behind him and knocked him on his crown. Down he fell and out, sir, although he’s likely back to himself now.”
“You didn’t kill him, I hope? The Abbess would not be pleased with that.”
“Oh, he’s not dead, sir. Just knocked out is all. He’ll come round but I didn’t want him to do so whilst I was bringing the milady to you. She come out the gate, sir and put on my cloak until we got here, and off we went. A very proper sort she is, my lord, and very genteel.”
“Yes, but I can see that the sooner I get her out of that nun’s habit, the better.”
The Marquess grinned at the wide-eyed expression on his footman’s face. “Not in that manner, you rogue!” he said, his good humour restored. “I meant that she must return to her customary wardrobe or I shall never persuade Aunt Eleanor that I have not turned to kidnapping nuns for a lark.”
“Very good, sir. If you’ve no further need of me, then?”
“Not at all. You’ve done an excellent job at protecting Lady Honora, Jason, and I am in your debt. Now go to your bed, you’ve earned a good night’s sleep after your endeavours.”
As he went into the drawing-room, Michael thought of what he had said, and of his footman’s incredulous countenance. “But eventually,” the Marquess promised himself, “I shall get her out of that habit, and out of the clutches of the Duke. And into my arms.”
His aunt gave him a reproachful glance when he came into the drawing room, where Lady Honora was laying upon the settee, the folds of her habit, now less pristine than before after her travel through the forest, draped around her.
“Don’t you think it’s time to take off that ridiculous headgear?” Michael suggested.
“Michael! You must not be so irreverent. The poor child has been through a frightening experience.”
“She’s been through several, haven’t you, milady?”
“Michael! If she’s taken a vow of silence, we must respect it. It will make communicating rather difficult, but you must not mind, my dear,” Lady Eleanor assured her, patting Honora’s hand. “We shall manage admirably. We shall communicate by notes. Although,” her round face sobered. “Not all of the maids can read. Well, no matter, we shall devise a way.”
“Lady Eleanor, I am quite able—” Honora sat up.
“See what you have done, Michael! She’s broken her vow of silence! Oh, dear, I’m sure that the Abbess will understand that you were coerced into speech and will forgive you. Perhaps . . . perhaps you can light candles in atonement? Isn’t that what people of your persuasion do? You could light a candle here; I’m sure it would be just as effective. After all, a candle is merely a candle. Michael, bring—”
“Lady Honora hasn’t taken any vows,” Michael said, torn between exasperation and amusement at his aunt’s misunderstanding of the situation. “I shall explain later. But first, please help her remove that monstrosity from her head. It makes her look as if she hasn’t any hair.”
Honora was already removing the item, and as she did so, her splendid raven locks appeared in view.
“Oh, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said, enraptured, “a young woman with hair of that splendour should never, ever cover it up, even if God says too.”
“It’s quite all right,” Honora said. “I won’t need it.”
“I’m sure they’ll give you another one, but . . . will they take you back? I should think they would frown on novices who take refuge in the homes of men with my nephew’s reputation.”
Honora’s eyes widened revealing alarm. The Marquess shot his aunt a glaring look before he sat down on the chair opposite the settee.
“Lady Honora, will you please tell my aunt that I have not taken you away from a vocation as a nun.”
“Lady Eleanor,” Honora began. “I’m a member of the Church of England.”
“Oh, my dear, how very sweet. But the Church of England does not have nuns. I am not, perhaps, as dutiful a Christian as I should be, but I am quite sure of that.”
The Marquess shook his head in exasperation. He did not have the patience or inclination to correct his aunt’s erroneous assumption.
“She is not a nun. She does not wish to be a nun. She has never intended to be a nun. She was at the convent for her own safety,” the Marquess exclaimed sounding suitably vexed.
He might as well have been talking to himself. His aunt continued her monologue as if he hadn’t uttered a word.
“Michael, go to the kitchen to see what is taking so long with this poor girls sustenance.”
> “Blake probably had to rouse Cook from her bed at this hour.”
“I would go, but I cannot leave you unchaperoned,” Lady Eleanor pointed out with an arched eyebrow.
“I am not going to ravish her, Aunt Eleanor,” the Marquess muttered. “At least, not yet,” he added and then winked at her mischievously.
“Michael! This poor girl is not familiar with the sort of discourse that passes among members of the beau monde. You must not say such things.” Her visage covered with concern she turned to reassure her new charge. “Don’t be troubled, my dear. He doesn’t mean it.”
But Honora had seen the intensity in the Marquess’ vivid blue eyes. She had felt the heat of his gaze as it caressed her features, she was not at all sure that Lady Eleanor’s words could be relied upon. What was even worse was that Honora was not at all sure that she would want to resist the Marquess if he were to attempt to ravish her.
Blake entered then carrying a tray and the hot tension between Honora and the Marquess was interrupted.
Blake apologised for the delay. The fire had to be made up, he explained, for the tea. He placed the tray in front of Honora and poured tea into her cup, then poured it into the cups that he had placed for the Marquess and Lady Eleanor.
“Blake, you are such a treasure,” Lady Eleanor said fervently as she clasped the cup in her hands.
“Thank you, milady.”
Without being asked, Blake approached the decanter on one of the matching tables in the room and poured some of the amber liquid into the Marquess cup.
“I echo my aunt’s words, Blake,” the Marquess said as the aroma met his nostrils. “You are indeed a treasure.”
Thank you, my lord. If you need anything more,” Blake bowed in the direction of the bell ring.
“You may retire for the night, Blake. We shall manage.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“He won’t, you know,” Lady Eleanor said admiringly after the door closed behind him. “He shall wait until we are in our beds and then he shall tidy up everything. I’m sure that, by now, he has a room ready for you and a fire going, my dear.”
“Am I to stay here?” Honora asked.
The Marquess’ long legs stretched out before him. He was seated on a chair that was ridiculously unsuited for a man of his height, but it was the one closest to the settee and that was why he had chosen it. “You shall be quite safe here.”
“Of course you are safe,” Lady Eleanor said, giving her nephew a warning glance as if he were the threat to her charge’s comfort. “I assure you that Michael is a gentleman.”
“I am not afraid of my lord,” Honora said, sipping her tea. “But . . . I ought to return to my family.”
The Marquess rose from his chair and went to the secretary in the room. Unlocking the drawer, he removed a sealed letter and handed it to her.
“Yes, I expected you to say as much. When I was in London, I met with Lady Tesley. She gave me a letter for you.”
“She knows that I am in Twickendale?” Honora was horrified at the thought that her presence should be made public and expose her whereabouts to the Duke.
“No. I told her that if you came to the county searching for the Duke’s estate, that I would be her courier. She wants you to know that your parents are concerned for your wellbeing and they want you to return home. Which is not at all surprising.”
Honora was reading the message scribbled in Lady Tesley’s less than legible hand. She raised her head.
“She says that the Duke is threatening to sue my parents! I must return home without delay.”
“I am sure that your father has a perfectly good solicitor who can explain to the Duke, with all the suitable terms of the law, that it would be most unwise, given the Duke’s somewhat shadowy past, to pursue a case. What you must do, however, is to write a brief message to your parents explaining that you are safe and that, at this time, you do not wish to reveal your location.”
“Why can she not tell her parents that she is here?” Lady Eleanor asked curiously.
“Because they will pressure her to marry the Duke of Ivanhoe and she does not wish to do so.”
The Marquess sat back down in the chair, grimacing at its uncomfortable dimensions.
“Oh.”
“That is why Lady Honora is to be our guest.”
“Of course. You are certainly welcome here. And safe, too,” Lady Eleanor said with a meaningful glance at her nephew.
“But . . . what if the Duke finds me?”
“That is unlikely, as the Duke is seldom in these parts.”
“But if he did, he would insist that I marry him. He is reputed to be a swordsman of great skill. I should not wish for you to be hurt because of me.”
“Oh, my dear, have no fear of that. I don’t know about the Duke of Ivanhoe’s sword-arm,” Lady Eleanor said, “but I do know that my nephew is uncommonly adept. There is no one who can surpass him.”
The Marquess’ eyes met Honora’s.
“Have no fear, my lady,” he said softly. “You are safe here. I give you my word that you will not be forced to marry the Duke. But first, you must tell me everything that has transpired between you and the Duke and what you know of him. I was in London these past few days, as I told you I would be, and I spoke with Ivanhoe’s cousin, Summersby. It seems that the family dare not question Ivanhoe on the exact manner of his late wife’s death. In fact, they do not question him at all, so forbidding is his manner. If his own family will not bring up the subject, I do not see how one defenceless young woman could hope to do so.”
“I wish I were not defenceless,” Honora said, her voice low and intense. “I should like to be as a man is, and able to protect myself with a sword if I were threatened.”
The Marquess’ blue eyes flashed with regard. “Would you, indeed?” he stated.
“Yes, I would!” she insisted, thinking that he was amused at her words. “A man has no notion of what it feels like to be so powerless in the face of a threat.”
“I am not at all sure that your parents would approve of this conversation,” Lady Eleanor said. “Daughters are taught the sorts of things that ladies need to know.”
“Who is to say that a lady does not need to know how to defend herself?” the Marquess challenged.
“I have never heard of such a thing. But no matter. Michael often talks nonsense, my dear; you must simply disregard his words. You must eat, my dear girl. You must be quite starved after all the fasting.”
Honora began to protest that she had not been subjected to fasting at the convent but the Marquess, a faint smile of amusement upon his lips, shook his head slightly. He knew that it was useless trying to remove a thought from his aunt’s steadfast belief that something was as she thought it.
“Please,” he said, “tell us what you know of the Duke, and how you came to decide that you could not marry him.”
“I told you some of it,” she said. “After you took me from the constable’s house.”
“The constable’s house!” Lady Eleanor exclaimed. “Michael, what have you been up to?”
“Aunt Eleanor,” her nephew said wearily, “will you listen? You shall come to know as much as I know, would you but allow Lady Honora to speak.”
“I am sure that I am not impeding her,” Lady Eleanor said with injured dignity. “My dear girl, tell us as much as you can but if the telling troubles you, it will wait until you are stronger. You must eat and gain back your strength.”
Between bites of her meal, gasps of disbelief from Lady Eleanor punctuated by reminders to eat and drink, and expressions of exasperation from the Marquess at his aunt’s intrusions into the narrative, Honora was able to tell him all that she knew.
“You found his wife’s diary,” Michael commented. “That sounds a most damning bit of writing.”
“No wonder he was burning it,” declared Lady Eleanor. “He would not want his second wife to find the evidence of his brutality.”
“It’s very peculia
r,” the Marquess agreed. “Summersby says that his cousin was a changed man after the death of his wife.”
“So I should think. Michael, do you think he took an axe to her as well?” Lady Eleanor asked, aghast at the thought.
“It is best not to speculate, Aunt,” the Marquess said. “We have so little to go on. And it is late. Lady Honora has had a very tiring day. I propose that we all get our rest.”
“I shall take you up to your room, my dear,” Lady Eleanor said, “and make sure that you are snug and safe in your bed for the night.”
Honora realised that she was very tired, but it was reassuring to know that she was safe here. Lady Eleanor’s fussing only showed that she was a caring and gracious hostess. And Michael─
It was odd, Honora thought when Lady Eleanor left her bedroom, that she could feel such dual emotions about the Marquess.
She felt safe in his company. She knew that he would protect her; he had already proven that. At the same time, she was less safe than she had ever been before in a man’s presence, for entirely different reasons. The Marquess summoned feelings in her that she had never experienced before and she found herself enslaved by a strange and restless longing that she did not understand. His searing kiss that evening . . .
Honora touched her lips as if the remnants of the kiss might still be there. Could flesh truly burn with desire? Her lips felt as if they were still ignited by the passionate mouth upon hers and the commanding embrace that had held her, enslaved her and liberated her to desires she had not previously known. If the Marquess sought to be more than her protector . . . if he sought to be her lover, would she be strong enough to resist?
NINE
Honora was still awake, brooding upon the magnetic pull of the Marquess when she heard a soft knock upon her door.
“Lady Honora? Are you awake?”
It was the Marquess!
Honora wrapped the bed linens closer and pulled the bed curtains open.
“Yes, my lord?”
“May I come in?”
He should not come in.
To have a man in her bedroom was a refutation of every convention of breeding by which she had been raised. A reputation could be ruined, a woman deemed unmarriageable, a future entirely shattered if word got out that Lady Honora, the daughter of the Earl of Winterhaven, had allowed a man into her bedchamber without a chaperone present.