Every fiber in her exploded with sensations. The heat of his body scorched hers. Her hands splayed across his chest. Mary’s first instinct was to push him away, but the wall of his chest bunched beneath her fingers, and she marveled at the sinewy muscles as they moved against her hands. A bolt of lightning shot through her veins, causing her heart to pound and her body to quiver. The sensation paralyzed her, even as she reveled in the joy of being in this man’s arms.
"Mary, I'm in love with you," he said, and her heart leapt in her chest. "I do not want to marry one of those soulless women my mother is throwing at me. I can't. I won't. Because I want to marry you. Someone who is alive, and intelligent, and makes me want to be a better man."
Slowly, she looked up at him and saw the determination in his eyes. And as unbelievable as it was, he really was asking her to marry him. Unbidden, her body relaxed into his, and the tension she had seen in his face vanished and was replaced with a brilliant smile that promised to illuminate the midnight sky.
Peter turned them around and eased her back onto the bench. Once settled, his head lowered to hers, and after a brief hesitation, his lips covered hers, and her world collided with the fantasies she had been having of him doing this very thing. His lips were firm, but soft and agile. They pressed against hers and nibbled at her closed lips. Then his lips parted, and his tongue licked the seam of her mouth, asking for something she didn't understand.
Then he spoke softly, erotically against her lips. "Open for me, Mary. Open for me."
Mary had been kissed before. By both the butcher’s son and by the footman that had wanted to marry her. But neither of their kisses were anything like this one.
She had of course heard of kisses like this. Kisses that involved the meeting of tongues in some kind of erotic dance. But until now, she had never experience one.
Slowly she parted her lips, and Peter moaned deep in his chest. It vibrated through his body and into hers, causing another shiver of excitement to course through Mary. It settled at the apex of her legs and made her feel warm all over. Mary’s knees grew weak, and she was grateful they were sitting down. She clutched tightly to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. His tongue flicked hers, and then retreated and returned, dancing and playing with hers.
Faintly, she heard a moan, and then another, and she realized it had been she who had moaned and Peter who had answered it with one of his own.
After an eternity he pulled away, and she opened her eyes, only then realizing that she had all but climbed onto his lap during the earth-shattering kiss. And what she found in his eyes convinced her that this incredibly beautiful man was actually asking her to marry him. And that he loved her, maybe as much as she loved him.
Not more than a dozen feet away, hidden by part of the battlements stood a shadowy figure, one of the half-dozen ladies still on the Duchess of Rollens’ list of prospective brides for her son. She had not been able to hear what the two people were saying to each other. But she didn't need to hear them when her future husband pulled the scandalous fat governess into his embrace and covered her lips with his.
She didn't mind the idea of her future husband having future mistresses. She expected it. It was how things were done by the upper class. Just not before the wedding. And not with someone as unacceptable as the dowdy governors now kissing him. Fortunately, there was an easy way to ensure her future husband did not disgrace himself or her any further. And that was to report what she was seeing to Lady Hurtle and the Duchess of Rollens.
So as quietly as she had arrived, she backed up and returned to the keep to spread the word that the Hurtles’ governess was as scandalous as they had been hearing.
Chapter 8
Fairy tales never told you what happened after midnight once the prince had asked you to marry him. For Mary, the morning after Peter asked her to be his wife was nothing short of a nightmare come true. The evil queen in Mary's fairy tale gone wrong was Lady Hurtle. Which wasn’t to say that things hadn’t run into trouble right after Peter’s proposal, because they had.
And Mary was solely responsible for last night not being the ending to a perfect story. She had asked-no begged-Peter for time to think about his proposal. And that had kept her up all night, weighing all the reasons she shouldn’t marry him-and there were dozens of them, with just one for why she should—she was in love with him. But by the time she had opened her door in the morning to give him her answer at the old ruins, Mary still didn’t know how she was going to answer him.
What she found proved that hers was not going to be a fairy tale ending. Lady Hurtle had stationed two burly footmen outside her door with orders to not allow her out. They were polite but insistent that she was to not leave her room until summoned by her employer.
No other explanation was given for her imprisonment. But then Mary hadn't needed one. Lady Hurtle and the Duchess of Rollens were friends. And no matter how circumspect Peter had been with what she now knew was his surreptitious courting of her, people were bound to have seen them together. So Mary knew who had ultimately ordered her confinement—the Duchess of Rollens.
Half an hour later, a knock sounded on her door that reverberated through her like a clap of thunder. She steeled her resolve and walked to the door, knowing what awaited. When she opened it, she was met by a stern-faced woman Mary knew was the duchess's lady's maid, a woman nearly as austere and unfriendly as her employer.
"Your presence is requested in the small drawing room," the woman said, then took a step back and waited.
After Mary stepped out of the room, one of the footmen closed the door behind her and took up a position on one side of her while the other footman stood at attention on the other.
"Follow me," the maid barked, and took off down the long servant's corridor.
Mary must have hesitated too long as one the footmen shoved her forward. She stumbled and then righted herself as he sneered, "Move, harlot."
She no longer had any doubts about why she had been imprisoned or was being summoned in such a way. Propelled forward on shaky legs, Mary followed the maid with the two men keeping pace on either side as if she were some kind of criminal being led to the gallows. She knew that was how she was meant to feel.
In less time than she comprehended, they were standing outside one of the many drawing rooms in the castle. The maid waited until Mary and her escort reached her, then she turned and knocked smartly on the door. An immediate "enter" was barked from the other side. And just as Mary had suspected, the voice belonged to the Duchess of Rollens, not to Lady Hurtle.
The doors were thrown open and one of the footmen pushed her through. She turned and glared up at both men, who glowered back at her as if she were a thief that had been caught stealing the crown jewels. And maybe she was. She had apparently stolen the Duke of Rollens's heart without even trying.
"Come here, girl!" Lady Hurtle snapped.
Turning back Mary surveyed the room. Ignoring the splendor, she focused on the two people in front of her, Lady Hurtle and the Duchess of Rollens. They were both seated across the room upon matching Louis XIV gilded chairs. Their bearing was that of queens. And they wore identical scowls of displeasure on their faces.
She imagined an accused in a courtroom might feel like this, only there was no friendly barrister here to fight for her. However, Mary was sure that the two noblewomen in front of her would serve as both her judge and her prosecutor in what was about to happen.
"Girl, I told you to come here," Lady Hurtle snapped again.
Mary faltered in the doorway, which was too long for one of the brutes behind her, and he punched her between her shoulder blades, knocking her forward and nearly to her knees. But she refused to be cowed by these people. She had done nothing wrong.
After catching her balance, Mary moved to the middle of the room and then stood staring at her employer. She steadfastly refused to look in the direction of the duchess. If she was upset about her son's unexpected courtship of her, then she needed to ta
lk to Peter and not Mary.
"Last night you were seen by a guest in an intimate embrace with the Duke of Rollens," Lady Hurtle accused.
Mary's mind went momentarily blank. She had assumed she had been summoned for Peter’s surreptitious courting of her, not for the kiss he had given her last night after his proposal.
"My lady?" Mary squeaked. She didn't know how to respond. Last night Peter had asked her to marry him, and she hadn't known how to answer him. But she couldn’t tell Lady Hurtle that. Not when Mary had asked for time to think about his proposal.
The duchess broke in with her harsh voice, unwillingly drawing Mary to the older woman. "For some unfathomable reason, my son has designed to have an affair with you, child. I do not understand why." Her eyes flickered up and down Mary's body, and her lips puckered as if she had tasted something sour. "But I am putting a stop to it here and now."
The duchess's eyes snapped to Lady Hurtle, and she nodded her head to give the woman permission to continue.
"You are dismissed immediately. And without references," Lady Hurtle snarled, her eyes boring into Mary with hatred and revulsion. Mary's stomach churned and coldness swamped her. Her worst fears were being realized. She was once again homeless. And this time with no hope of finding another respectable position as a governess, or obtaining a position with the women’s college if Peter ever got the funding for it pushed through the houses of Parliament.
"Your belongings have already been packed and taken from the castle. You will leave these premises. . ."
"What. In. The. Bloody hell is going on?" Peter's voice boomed from behind Mary.
Startled, she whirled around to see him literally shove both of the huge footmen out of his way. She heard a gasp from his mother and caught a glimpse of her recoiling in anger as she glared across the room.
"Rollens, this is not your affair," the duchess said in an authoritative tone.
Mary ate up the sight of him as he stormed across the room and came to a stop beside her. "Are you alright?" he asked in a soft voice that still carried to every corner of the room.
Unable to speak, she nodded and only then realized her whole body was trembling violently. His hands settled on her arms, and then his face turned red. It would have terrified her if she had had time to think about it. But he didn't give her time as he pulled her into his chest and enfolded her in his arms.
Over the top of her head, she heard him thunder, "What is the meaning of this? Why is my fiancée being treated in such a despicable manner?"
Mary’s gasp joined those of the two women behind her. Total silence blanketed the room, and Mary’s breathing was overly loud in her ears.
"Rollens, what have you done?" his mother demanded.
"I have done as you asked, and as I promised to do. I have asked Miss Penrose to be my wife. Isn't that what you wanted? For me to choose a bride?" he asked.
Mary's heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear the duchess's reply. "You cannot possibly marry that creature. She is totally unacceptable, and well you know it."
"No, she is not," he enunciated very carefully. "And I advise you to use caution in how you speak of my fiancée in the future. Because if Miss Penrose accepts my proposal, then I have every intention of making her my wife before the new year begins."
Silence rang in the room as she listened to Peter's heart beat loudly in her ear. Then in a stringent voice, she heard the Duchess ask, "Do I understand that she has not accepted your proposal?"
"No, not yet," he replied. "But I have every hope that given time that she will."
"Well, at least one of you is showing some common sense," his mother said.
"No doubt you hope she will refuse me. While I am praying that she will accept my proposal. So you can understand my distress this morning when I was informed by the Duke of Northumberland that you and Lady Hurtle were planning on throwing her into the cold before she can give me her answer."
"We were not aware of your true interest in the girl," his mother said in her a haughty voice, making Mary feel like a trollop.
"So I've heard," Peter snarled back at his mother. He then pulled Mary away from his body and gazed down into her face. At first she thought her glasses were fogged over from being pressed up against his chest. Then she realized her blurry vision was from tears she was fighting to restrain.
His whole body bent over, and he brought his forehead to hers. "I won't let them hurt you," he whispered. He then waited and just stared at her until she finally nodded ever-so-slightly.
Peter held her like that until her trembling receded a little, then he pulled her around and anchored her to his side. They faced his mother and her former employer. Rage was radiating off the duchess and disgust pouring off Lady Hurtle.
"Lady Hurtle," Peter said, "I understand that you no longer require the services of my fiancée. Is that correct?"
The lady's eyes bore into Mary with such hate that she took an involuntary step back, but was halted by Peter's powerful arms.
"That is correct, your Grace," Lady Hurtle bit out, barely civil.
"Then I am in your debt, as it will allow me more time to convince Miss Penrose to accept my suit. Regardless, Miss Penrose and I look forward to reading your glowing recommendation of her. Just in case she decides to not accept my proposal of matrimony."
He paused, and Mary glanced up and shivered anew at the look on his face. "By this evening," he added.
With that parting shot, he nodded toward his mother, then turned Mary about and headed them for the drawing room door.
The two footmen that had escorted her there an eon ago were still standing on either side of the doorway, their faces a mixture of disbelief and horror at what they had just seen and heard. Mary's stomach roiled, and she shivered again as they grew close. Reflexively, she burrowed closer into Peter's side.
Apparently, Peter felt her trembling because she saw him glance down at her, and then over at the two men. He slowed as they got to the doorway, and he turned to stone beneath her fingers. "I was told that you two put your hands on my fiancée. And that one of you had the audacity to shove her when she entered this room."
Both men's faces bleached of color as they eyed Peter cautiously.
"I am escorting my fiancée to her new quarters, and then I am going to the Duke of Northumberland and report what has happened here today. If either of you is still on the premises when I get through, I will personally have you locked in irons and thrown in gaol. Do I make myself clear? You have one hour, and then I will end the both of you."
Both men scrambled out of the way as Peter pulled her through the door, and then turned them toward the grand staircase. His arm locked tightly around her shoulders as they passed countless guests and servants, all of them gawking at the sight as the two of them walked by.
In a single day Mary's life had gone from fairy tale, to nightmare, to scandal, and then to insanity. And all because she had encouraged an eight-year-old boy to pursue his love of science. That and she had had the effrontery to fall in love with the man the boy had become. But despite everything that had just happened, she still didn't know if she could marry him. Actually, it was because of everything that had happened she wasn’t sure she could marry Peter Hendricks, the Duke of Rollens.
But if she didn't where would that leave her?
Chapter 9
Peter was terrified that everything he had done this week to win Mary's heart had been ruined by his mother and her toadying friend. That and the vicious rumors that were now racing around Alnwick Castle. But all that was eclipsed by what he heard from two of the housemaids as he approached the drawing room where Mary had been taken.
Apparently, Mary had been locked in her room this morning which was why she had not made the rendezvous at the old ruins to give him her answer on whether or not she would marry him. Two of the Northumberland footmen had been set as guards. And then they had escorted her to Lady Hurtle, like a common criminal. He also heard that one or both of them had h
ad the audacity to push Mary violently into the room with her employer. Upon hearing that he saw red and growled so fiercely that the maids had shrieked and run off as fast as they could.
By the time he reached the drawing room, he was boiling mad and prepared to give Lady Hurtle the setting down she deservedly needed then kill the men who had dare touch his future wife. Then Peter had entered the room and saw his mother sitting so condescendingly beside Lady Hurtle, and his anger turned to cold disgust, both with his mother and with most of the upper class of English society.
His only regret was that in confronting his mother in such a public manner, he had effectively taken the decision to marry him out of Mary's hands. By announcing their pending engagement the way he had, he had trapped Mary into accepting him or being ruined. That was unacceptable to him.
"We need to talk," he said and felt her flinch. He knew he was being tyrannical, but he couldn't help it, he was still too angry to calm down just yet.
"Yes, your Grace," Mary responded dispassionately.
Peter glanced down at her pale face, and his resentment reignited. But he knew what she needed right now was calmness, not a further display his anger.
"Mary, I'm sorry. I should not have blatantly announced our engagement that way. Especially, since you have yet to give me your answer. My only excuse is that I was so upset with my mother and Lady Hurtle that I momentarily lost my head. Please forgive me."
Her beautiful blue eyes were nearly obscured by the largeness of her pupils and the unshed tears rimming their edges. The whites of her eyes were red, and he knew she was hanging onto her control by the thinnest of threads.
"Please," he whispered softly to her. "I want. . ." He lowered his eyes from the pain he was causing. The last thing she needed was to be bullied by him, or anyone. "I would like to talk to you. Please, Mary."
The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2) Page 7