Marooned With a Marquis

by Murdoch, Emily

  It was only as she said those words that the memory of him carrying her flooded back into her mind, and Adena’s cheeks, flushed before due to rage, now flushed from heated embarrassment. There had been so much strength in his arms, she had never felt more securely held, or more safe. How could a man that she had only just met give her such a feeling?

  Trying to put aside the pleasant feeling of security and safety, Adena glanced at the man once more, and was suddenly overtaken when she noticed his wet shirt clinging to his chest. The flush deepened, and he smiled at her.

  “My dear lady, if I had not plucked you from the waters, you would have undoubtedly drowned. There is a deep ravine just a few yards before you that would have prevented you from walking, and,” taking a step towards her and smiling, “I do not think with such an elegant gown you would have been able to swim.”

  “Ravine? Here? Surely not.” Adena took an automatic step backwards as he came towards her.

  The man’s smile deepened. “You could say that I saved your life.”

  “Are you expecting me to thank you?” Adena shot back, more bravely than she felt. Why, she was completely at this man’s mercy.

  The man tilted his head slightly and looked her up and down. “You look like a gentlewoman, and so yes. I would expect some sort of gratitude.”

  It was most infuriating, Adena decided silently, that this odious man was so handsome. It was all too easy to be charmed by him, she was sure, but she would not allow mere good looks to dazzle her.

  Still. If what he was saying was true, she certainly owed her life to him. How provoking.

  “I suppose,” she said, ungraciously. “Thank you. Now tell me, when does the tide go out?”

  The man hesitated, and then said, “Hours. Eight or nine?”

  Adena’s shoulders slumped, and she bit her lip. Well, there was nothing for it then.

  “We have nowhere to go,” she said quietly. “We are both stuck here – and you should know better, I would say, by your knowledge of the tides – but there is nothing else for it.”

  The gentleman raised an eyebrow.

  “We will have to stay here overnight,” explained Adena with a wry smile. “I hope that you do not mind having me as a companion?”

  For a moment, it looked as though he was going to retort that he very much minded. He stared at her, as though attempting to commit her features to memory, and Adena found herself all of a sudden very conscious that her damp gown was clinging rather scandalously to certain parts of her body that probably did not need additional emphasis.

  And then that winning smile appeared on his face again, and he bowed. “Luke…Northmere, at your service.”

  Adena rolled her eyes. You would have thought, in the circumstances, that they could have dispensed with the ceremony, but society’s rules had to be obeyed – even if civilisation was a long way off.

  She dropped into a deep curtsey, and murmured, “Adena Garland.”

  When she rose, she found that Mr Northmere had taken another step forward. Her eyes widened and she tried not to show her surprise.

  “Northmere,” she repeated slowly. “I know that name.”

  That certainly seemed to startle him. He stopped abruptly, and the seemingly ever present smile disappeared from his face.

  “Have you?” He said, rather roughly. “All good things, I hope?”

  Adena was trying desperately to think where she had seen the name before, and then she remembered. “Is not your brother getting married soon? I am sure that I saw the notice of it recently, in the paper.”

  The tension in his face relaxed, and he nodded briefly. “That is correct, my brother George.”

  It was quite evident to Adena that he was neither cheered nor pleased with this remembrance of hers. So, he was not in favour of matrimony then? Well, that was at least one thing that they had in common.

  “Pardon?”

  Adena flushed. Had she said that last part aloud? It certainly looked that way. Mr Northmere was staring at her with a slightly confused expression on his face, but there was the threat of a smile there also. Did this man ever stop smiling?

  “I simply thought – ‘tis of no matter,” she said hastily, and tried to smile. Something about the way that he was looking at her, or perhaps it was his close proximity to her, was starting to unnerve her. “I hope that you will not miss the nuptials due to your imprisonment by nature here.”

  He stared at her, and Adena felt a rush of heat flow through her again – but this was not embarrassment. He looked as though he could undress her with his eyes, and she was horrified to find that she was slightly enjoying it.

  “Well then, Miss Garland,” Mr Northmere said, smiling. “Best foot forward.”

  * * *

  Luke attempted to control his gaze as they walked slowly along the beach, but it was difficult. Now that Miss Adena Garland was out of the water, it was impossible not to notice three things.

  Firstly, that she was not wearing any shoes, and the brief flashes of ankle as her gown moved was starting to distract him.

  Secondly, that the fiery hues of her hair were just as present in her temper, and he was startled to find that he revelled in provoking her.

  Thirdly, that she was the most intoxicatingly beautiful woman that he had ever met, and his body was not letting him forget it.

  Even in the silence that they were walking in, his body was crying out to him to reach out to her, to take her arm, to hold her hand, to do anything that would bring his flesh in contact with hers.

  No. He would have to control that particular desire: he may be a man with few morals in that area, and he may have bedded a few women in his time, but not like this. Not when she was helpless, protectorless, and trapped on what she thought was an island.

  A smile of pleasure crept over his face. By God, he would have given his back teeth for an excuse like this with Miss Garland – the perfect opportunity to act as protector, guide, and finally, lover.

  “…do not you think?”

  Luke started as Miss Garland’s words cut through his thoughts, and he shook his head as though ridding his water from his ears to try and concentrate on her words.

  She had stopped and was staring at him. “Have you been listening to a word I have said?”

  Luke decided on brutal honesty. After all, it was not as though they would ever meet again after this night. “No, I am afraid not, Miss Garland.”

  She visibly bristled, and he found a delicate rush of pleasure echo through his body. My, but it really was too easy to infuriate this woman – and what a shame for her that her beauty only heightened in her frustration.

  “I said,” glaring at him with emphasis, “that as the sun’s rays will almost certainly be gone in the next twenty minutes, do you not think that we should find some shelter, and light a fire?”

  Luke glanced around him. The idea of snuggling up with Miss Adena Garland was definitely a delicious prospect, but he doubted that she had the same intention.

  “There are a few trees here,” he said decidedly. “And my pocketknife. Let us see what we can make of them.”

  Miss Garland rolled her eyes. “How very intrepid of you. Come on then.”

  It took them but a minute to reach the scrub and trees, and Luke could see by her face that she was downcast.

  “There is enough here for firewood,” she said quietly, “but not a shelter.”

  “Oh, I would not say that,” Luke found himself speaking with an encouraging air. “You sit there, Miss Garland, and hum a ditty under your breath. I shall be back shortly.”

  She glared at him for a moment, as though attempting to catch him in irreverence, but seeing as she could do little else, she dropped to the stony sand.

  Luke frowned to himself. It was all very impressive of him to rescue her from the sea, and a very clever thought of him to hide the fact that the ‘Isle’ was still attached to the mainland, but they were both damp, and likely to get colder as the night went on. What had he
been thinking? Did he think that she would throw herself into his arms the moment that they reached the shore, kiss him passionately as thanks, relinquish herself to his desires, and then happily trot back to the mainland with him as he ‘discovered’ the way home, all in time for brandy by ten o’clock?

  “And what are you going to do?” Miss Garland’s voice once again interrupted his thoughts, but this time they were softly spoken, and there was no anger in her eyes.

  “I,” said Luke decidedly, “am going to surprise you. Stay there.”

  There was nothing for it now, after all, Luke decided. They could discover the way home together in the morning, and it wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening: with a beautiful woman, huddled under a shelter together.

  Luke swallowed. He would have to be far more controlled in reality than in his thoughts.

  It took him only five minutes of searching to find what he was looking for. A heavy branch, covered in leaves, had fallen from its trunk not two weeks past, by the look of the seaweed clumped around it. Luke could almost remember the storm that had lashed on London window panes. Heaving it over his shoulders, and cursing slightly at the ruined shirt that he was sure would never recover from sand, salt, and now soil, he half carried, half dragged it back to where he had left Miss Garland.

  She was sitting knees hugged to her chest as she glanced round to watch him approach.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Shelter,” Luke panted, slightly disconcerted at the strain that he was having to put in to pull the heavy branch towards her.

  Leaping up, she moved out of the way in the growing gloomy darkness, and stared as he pulled the branch and leaned it carefully against two trees that had grown against each other.

  It was not perfect, and Luke would have been the first to admit that. But it was shelter, of a sort, and Adena crept underneath it with a small smile.

  “I must admit, I am impressed,” she said, glancing up at him. “Who would have known, to look at you, that you had such ingenious ideas up your sleeve?”

  “All the more impressive when you learn that I was not born for this manual life,” said Luke breezily, dropping down beside her and finding to his own astonishment that he was but three inches from her.

  At first, she had shrunk back, but seeing that he was going to move no closer, Miss Garland relaxed and looked at him curiously. “What sort of life were you born for, then?”

  He did not answer immediately. Instead, he took in the blazing red hair flowing down her back in waves; it contrasted beautifully with her green gown, which was still damp and clung alluringly across her breasts and hips. She sat there, as though unaware of her beauty, and the very tangible effects that it was having on his own body.

  Well, there was no point in hiding it.

  “You may have heard of me by another name,” Luke said with a devilish smile. “At least, I almost hope you have. I am Luke Northmere, but I am also the eldest son of the Duke of Northmere, making me, the Marquis of Dewsbury.”

  If he had a particular response in mind, hers was not it. Miss Garland’s eyes widened, and then she smiled wryly. “Well, that is something. Do I need to curtsey again, or will my former effort suffice?”

  Luke was not a vain man: not compared to most of his station, anyway. But he was accustomed to a little more deference shown when his title was revealed, and in some cases, coquettish smiles, and tilts of the head, and a stretch of the body to show off one’s waist.

  Not this ironic grin that he was faced with now, as those green eyes stared at him mercilessly.

  “Yes,” he managed, “I mean, no. I just thought you ought to know, that was all.”

  But Miss Garland was not going to let him get away with it that easily. “No, you wanted a response, did you not, my lord? For that is how I must address you now, as you well know. Did you hope for a blushing sigh? A gentle lean,” and here she moved closer to him, and his breath caught in his throat, “so that I could be closer to you?”

  Luke opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Really, this was stupid: he was hardly a fresh faced boy of sixteen!

  Miss Garland laughed, and leaned back. “I apologise, my lord, I can see that you are not one to be teased. But really, when you have moved in society as I have, you start to weary of dukes and lords and titles. Why, I am here hiding from my very own future title!”

  At those words, she clapped slender fingers over her lips, and her eyes widened.

  Luke grinned. “Ah, now we get to the truth of it: you are engaged to be married, then, and to a gentleman of rank!”

  There was something in her expression that told him she had not meant to impart such information, but she bore it well, and said nothing more than, “Never you mind. At this moment, all that concerns me is that I am marooned with a marquis.”

  Chapter 3

  The laugh that Luke managed did not ring true to his ears, but Miss Adena Garland seemed satisfied. Her gaze slipped off him, and moved to the now almost invisible ocean that they could hear slowly crashing against the shoreline, but could barely see in the evening twilight.

  Luke coughed, and shifted himself on the soil. If he was honest with himself – and it was not a position that he liked to be in, to be sure – he would have to admit that he was now starting to care a little too much about Miss Garland’s opinion of him.

  Sweeping her off her feet in the sea, winning smiles, building a shelter: his attempts to show off were juvenile, and his face flushed in the growing darkness when he considered his actions.

  He would expect just such silliness from a pup of eighteen, about to attend his first ball and desperately hoping to secure the card of the most eligible lady in the room.

  Not from Luke, Marquis of Dewsbury and contented bachelor.

  “Marooned?” He said in what he had hoped with a joking tone, but there was a little quiver in it as he tried not to glance over at the woman beside him. “Yes, I suppose we are. ‘Tis rather like an adventure novel, do not you think?”

  There was no answer but a shrug from his companion.

  Attempting to make light of the situation and her comment had not worked. Luke felt the searing heat of jealousy flow into his heart as he saw her complete non-interest in his words. Of course she would not, he told himself. She is engaged to another, and does not have the time nor the inclination to favour you with her smiles.

  Luke could not help it. He tilted his head slightly so that he could look at Miss Garland; the curve of her neck as she stared out towards the ocean, the way she had buried her feet into the sandy soil, the red hair, curling even more now that it was starting to dry.

  What was he doing, allowing himself to – what, feel something for this woman? It was ridiculous to feel jealous of a man whom he did not know and possibly had never met.

  And after all, had he not decided against marriage? Was it not his constant irritation, these last few weeks, that the great and the good of his acquaintance were succumbing to the temptations of the marriage bed without any thought for the decades of trials and tribulations to come?

  A seagull squawked overhead, and Miss Garland looked upwards, a smile breaking across her face. Luke’s stomach twisted horribly, and yet it sent a jolt of heat towards his pelvis.

  What was he getting himself into?

  Luke jumped up. “I am going to see what improvements can be made to our shelter,” he said hastily.

  Miss Garland barely looked round, her eyes were still transfixed on the sky seeing if she could espy the bird above them.

  Luke cleared his throat. “Miss Garland, I will be leaving you for a short while.”

  Why did he care so much for her response? Why did it matter to him so much that she noticed his leaving, that she was interested in his actions – perhaps, responded to him?

  “I will be back shortly,” he said in a brusque voice, and turned away before he heard the reply he realised he was desperate for.

  “And I am going for a short walk,” said a gent
le voice, with none of the ire remaining in it. “I feel the need for a little stroll, and I hope that my gown will dry a little with the movement.”

  It struck Luke that the quickest way to dry out the gown was to remove it, and suspend it over a fire, but he was not going to spark the anger of Miss Garland with such a suggestion.

  “That is an excellent idea,” he said instead, but as he watched her rise in the night air, he added, “Miss Garland, you must take this. Here.”

  Luke shrugged off his greatcoat, and held it out to her. If he had known her well – if she had been a friend of the family, perhaps, or a woman that he had known for many years in society – then she would have stepped towards him, turned with a coy smile, and allowed him to drape the greatcoat over her shoulders. There would have been a moment of intimacy, of flirtation, of suggesting what could be.

  Not so with Miss Garland. She outstretched a hand to take it from him, and refusing to take a step closer, could not reach it.

  Luke smiled, stepped forward, and allowed her to take it from him. For a split second, their fingers touched.

  Her gasp was masked by his own, as heat and sparks seemed to move between them as her delicate skin touched his. It was like two magnets finding their home with each other; unlike anything Luke had ever experienced.

  Throat dry, heart racing, his eyes moved from his fingers to her face. He saw in her expression the answer to his own: shock, surprise, and a little curiosity as to what could cause such a strong reaction.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, eyes not leaving his own.

  Luke coughed, and nodded. “You are quite welcome, Miss Garland.”

  The first true smile that he had seen from her emerged slowly, and then she took a step forward and handed back his greatcoat.

  “Perhaps you would be so good?”

  He had never felt this way about a woman before him, Luke thought as he gently placed the greatcoat over her shoulders. His heart almost stopped beating, and he could hear his breathing heavy in his ears as he gently and almost reverentially gathered her hair together, placing it outside the greatcoat so that it fell, fire-like down her back.