The Marquess Who Kissed Me: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  He was just a foot away from Belle when she spun around.

  He knew what would come. He caught her wrist. The dagger’s edge was just inches from his chest. He smiled. “If you plan to undo me, you’ll have to aim a little higher.”

  She gasped, likely recognizing his voice. He felt her relax before she said, “Or perhaps, I should have aimed lower. I think that would undo you in a far better way.”

  He suppressed his urge to laugh but couldn’t hold back his smile.

  Clever Belle. She always knew just what to say.

  He’d watched her work Gregory’s parties. She was the most manipulative creature he’d ever seen. She made suggestions and whispered rumors in ears. She’d turned friends to enemies and vice versa.

  He’d understood why Gregory had liked her. To Oliver, she was broken, and though it was no fault of her own, the facts remained the facts. She could not be trusted. Gregory had ruined that.

  He let her go, and she dropped her hand.

  “What did I tell you?” he said. “Never hesitate on the killing blow.”

  “But it was only you,” she said.

  “It could have been—”

  “Anyone.” she finished for him. He heard her laugh. “Will you ever let your guard down?”

  He didn’t answer that. “I thought you were afraid of the dark. Yet here you are, roaming as though you own it.”

  “I haven’t been afraid of the night in years… thanks to you.” She sighed. “When did you get back?”

  He was glad she asked the question. He didn’t want to deal with that portion of their past. Not tonight.

  “I came in a few hours ago.” He’d left last week, just after she’d announced her intention to marry Dunst. He’d planned to miss the wedding, and yet here he was.

  “Where did you go?” she asked.

  “Home. To see my grandmother.” His mother’s mother, Lady Serveck, lived not far from his own property. He liked to check on her and see to her health, though in truth, she was strong in both spirit and body.

  “How is Lady Serveck?” Warmth filled her tone. Belle liked his grandmother.

  “Lady Serveck? It’s me you should be concerned about. I managed to withstand her coddling for longer than I thought.” His grandmother wanted him to join the Order of Good Fellows. Like the Royal Society, the Good Fellows made strides to enhance the world through science and education.

  His grandmother wanted Oliver to present the lighter he had invented.

  It required less work than tinderboxes, required a single hand for operation, and burned faster on gas. It made Oliver’s life easier.

  And he had no intention of sharing it with anyone.

  She laughed. “Your grandmother is such a sweet woman. I’m so glad you have her.”

  Oliver said nothing. He’d not always had his grandmother. She’d come just after his father died and by then, Oliver and his brothers had been men. He didn’t blame her for hiding from her son. He was crazy, and she was a woman, which meant she had few rights, even fewer with his father being a marquess.

  “Have you returned for a specific reason?” Belle asked. “Are you on an assignment?”

  “No assignment.” Yet he had his reasons for coming.

  She tilted her head as though she didn’t believe him. “Are you here to protect me?”

  And like that, he snapped. “Protect you? From what? You’ve already sold your soul. There is nothing anyone can do.”

  She sighed. “We had no choice. I had no choice. Someone had to marry Lord Dunst and it couldn’t be Vita. She and Remy are in love. They deserve to be happy.”

  “And you don’t?” He was usually a patient man, but something about Belle irritated him. Actually, everything about her irritated him and he didn’t understand why. She’d not been the first person to betray him. She hadn’t even been the first person close to him who had done something irrevocable.

  Yet his anger with her was unmatched… which only made him angrier.

  “You said you wouldn’t marry,” he said.

  She laughed. “As though I wanted this.”

  “I don’t know?” he asked. “Did you?”

  She stiffened. “Is that a serious question? Do you truly believe I wanted to marry Cassius’ enemy? That I wanted to be the rope that tied Cassius’ people and Dunst’s people together?”

  “There’s still time to back out.”

  She shook her head. “I marry in a matter of hours. There is no time. Besides, we need the information Dunst has on The Circle.”

  The Circle. It was all anyone talked about now. Some group of old men who thought themselves in charge of the world.

  Oliver didn’t believe in the rumors. He didn’t think anyone more powerful than Cassius, the Duke of Van Dero. Just like the duke before him, he was formidable.

  Yet he had many things the last duke lacked, a goal to end injustice. He used his power for good, but that didn’t mean everyone agreed with his methods.

  As one of the duke’s assassins, Oliver was aware of that more than anyone else.

  “Dunst is probably leading us in a circle,” Oliver said. “Did you ever think of that? That perhaps he’s just a wealthy but lonely man? He lost an eye as a child. Perhaps he is forcing this junction with Van Dero for the sole purpose of companionship.”

  “Then I will be the very best companion he’s ever had if that is what it takes to get to the bottom of this.”

  Oliver turned and paced away. He didn’t want to shout in the middle of the night, but Belle was driving him toward it.

  She turned him back, and he looked down at her.

  He wished he could see her brown eyes, but the night would not allow it. Perhaps, that was good. Belle was like a siren. Men fell on their swords for those pretty brown eyes.

  “What if I find the chessboard?” she asked.

  The chessboard was something of Dunst’s creation. According to Lady Vita, its pieces represented the most powerful houses in England. Cassius, represented by his lion, was the king on one side.

  Dunst was on the other side, but he was not the king. Whoever the mystery king was, he’d yet to be found. He was a bear and according to Vita, who’d seen the chessboard by accident, the bear planned to conquer Cassius.

  But Oliver didn’t care about any of that at the moment. What he did care about was Belle.

  “Let’s not fight tonight.” Her voice was quieter than usual, soft in a way he’d not heard in years. “Please. Can we pretend just for tonight that the last five years never took place? Pretend it’s the night we met? Just for tonight.” She laughed. “I hate when we get so serious.”

  He opened his mouth and pulled in a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs and soothed him.

  He preferred being serious with her. It was another barrier he put up to protect himself. Yet, there would be no need for barriers soon. She would be getting married.

  He could relax, for now, he supposed.

  They shouldn’t fight, not when tomorrow she would become Lady Cebele, Countess of Dunst.

  Everything would change after that.

  The sacrifice she was making was immeasurable. Dunst had hit her once. Oliver had hurt him back, nearly choked him to death, but it hadn’t been enough. Dunst would likely hurt her again, yet as her husband, no one would be able to say a word.

  There was no one to protect her. No siblings. No parents.

  She had friends, but it was unlikely that Dunst would allow her the freedom she’d grown used to as a single wealthy woman. She’d be alone in that marriage.

  Why that troubled Oliver so much, he didn’t know.

  They were hardly friends.

  That he’d sought her out at all was unusual for him.

  Usually, he did everything he could to avoid her.

  He had more than one reason for that.

  “Why are you here?” she asked again.

  “I have something for you.”

  She gasped. “Did you buy me something?
You’ve never ever bought me a thing.”

  “You’ve enough admirers to buy you things. No, I didn’t buy you anything.”

  He imagined her pouting, her full lips poking out.

  Belle was admired by men and women from all over England. Men were charmed. Women adored her charitable heart.

  It was only Oliver who detested her on some level.

  “What did you get me?” Her tone shifted once more, still soft, but also now a bit playful. Her guard was down. Belle wore a pleasant mask during every hour of the day. It was a rare treat to see her true self.

  He needed to see her in the light.

  “Come to the terrace door,” he said. “I’ll give it to you there.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 2

  * * *

  Belle followed Oliver from the gardens. She was at Van Dero’s home in Regent Park. The wedding and breakfast that followed would take place on the grounds. Though the wedding would be done privately, the guestlist for the meal that followed included most of Society.

  Many people would be coming to Cassius’ property for the very first time in their lives.

  The breakfast would be the event of the Season.

  The wedding itself was already quite the scandal.

  Lord Dunst had been engaged to Lady Vita Castella just days ago, but her heart had been with someone else. Vita, in a selfless act, had denied herself her greatest wish in order to save the lives of many.

  Belle could not allow that. And so, she’d stepped in, convincing Dunst that marriage to her would be preferred. She’d promised him not only Cassius’ connections but sexual pleasures yet known.

  She would keep her vow. She would be faithful.

  She was certain she could train the man to be the husband she desired. Obedient mostly. She could live with him. She didn’t even have to like him. She’d liked very few of the men she’d shared a bed with in the past anyway.

  Her eyes adjusted as she moved into the light of the lamp post by the door.

  Because of his height, she moved back in order to see him better.

  Her heart caught.

  She laughed. “You do plan to shave before tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “You know you like it like this.” He grinned. It was rare for him to grin for her. He so easily smiled at everyone else but not her.

  His eyes were a tranquil blue that always made her feel breathy and floaty, as though her heart was so flimsy it could fly away and float on the wind.

  His hair was an aggressive red. Wavy and coarse, it grew at an unheard-of rate.

  Years ago, when they’d met, she would touch his cheek and laugh at how bristly it would become in just a day.

  “You cannot roam around Society with a beard, Oliver. You’re a marquess.”

  Oliver rubbed his hard jaw. “I don’t know. I was thinking to leave it. Would that embarrass you?” The hairs climbed up his cheeks. Another two weeks of growth and she’d be unable to see half his face.

  “Are you not afraid to embarrass yourself?”

  “You know I don’t care about Society, or the title, or anything attached to it.”

  Her heart raced. “You care about your land.” Venmont Hill was his home. It was west and by the sea.

  He nodded. “That I do.”

  She wouldn’t wait any longer. “All right. Where’s my gift?” She had to hold herself back from jumping on her toes.

  “Gift?” he asked in confusion.

  She nearly hit him. “Oliver!”

  He released a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. And then he crossed his arms. “For a lady who receives so many favors, I’m astounded by your excitement.”

  She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the gift that pleased her so much as the man who was giving it to her.

  For a while, after they’d met, Oliver had been her most intimate friend.

  And the only man she’d ever met who had never offered to buy her a thing… or try and get under her skirts.

  It was maddening. She honestly hadn’t known what to do with him at the time. He’d been different than any other man she’d ever met.

  Confusing and wonderful.

  “You shouldn’t be so willing to accept gifts from men,” he chastened.

  She scoffed. She knew it was frowned upon. Ladies were only to take gifts from their fathers, fiancés, and husbands. Yet, Belle had always operated quite differently. “It’s the night before my wedding. Exceptions can be made for wedding gifts.”

  Oliver went into his pocket. “Well, don’t tell Dunst where you got this particular wedding gift.” He brought his hand out.

  Belle’s heart stopped.

  She’d expected the gift would be either ridiculous or practical, like a pebble he’d picked up from his land or a blade.

  She took the gold necklace from his hand and held it to the light. It was thin. At the center was a wreath design. It was a simple piece. She could wear it every day if she wished, which was good, because she would never take it off.

  But knowing the gift was wrong, she had to refuse it… or at least pretend that she would.

  “I can’t accept this—”

  “Very well.” Oliver reached out.

  Belle yanked it away. “No, it’s mine!”

  He laughed, and she watched as he bent over and grabbed his knees. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so quickly.”

  “Oliver,” she chided. “How could you give this to me? It belonged to your mother.”

  When he finally straightened, he shrugged. “I said I’d give it to you, didn’t I?”

  “That was five years ago.” And a promise made when they’d been on good terms.

  Belle had thought Oliver would propose. Though he’d made no gesture of great love before that time, she’d felt it. She’d looked into his eyes and known he was the one.

  And then she’d ruined it.

  “I said I’d give it to you,” he said. “So, it’s yours.”

  She remembered everything about that day. She’d been healing from an injury, and he’d given her his mother’s old bedchamber. After days of restlessness, she’d begun to explore the room.

  She’d found the jewelry box. There had been other treasures, ones far more costly.

  Yet she’d tried this necklace on and had been admiring it in the mirror when he’d walked in.

  Their eyes had held and then he’d vowed to give it to her.

  Later.

  By later, she’d believed he’d meant as a wedding gift.

  Now, five years later, it was a wedding gift, but she was not marrying the man she wanted to marry.

  The man she’d always wanted to marry but knew she never would.

  He hated her far too much to tie himself to her forever.

  Yet after all this time, he’d kept his word.

  Belle pressed the jewel to her chest. She wanted to tell him that it belonged to whoever would become the Marchioness of Venmont, but it was a lie. It was hers. She’d known it and apparently, so had he.

  “Put it on me, please.” Her voice shook, and she was shamed by the sound of it and by the tears stinging in her eyes.

  When was the last time she’d cried for herself? Had felt any pity about her life?

  She turned away so he couldn’t see her face.

  His fingers barely touched her as he put the clasp together.

  She wiped fervently at her eyes as the tears came. She told herself to stop but couldn’t.

  “Let me see it,” Oliver said.

  She froze.

  He grabbed her shoulders, and she covered her face as he turned her.

  She moved her elbows out so he could see the necklace and cleared her throat. “How does it look?”

  “I’m… not sure. Why don’t you put your hands down?”

  But she couldn’t. Her hands were the only things holding her tears back.

  He grabbed her wrist.

  She resisted.

  He yanked, and she turned her face
away.

  He grabbed her chin.

  She closed her eyes.

  His voice held frustration. “Belle, why are you crying?”

  Why was she crying? She said the first thought that came to her. “You’re being nice to me. You’re never nice to me.” She pressed her lips together and blinked her eyes. “Not anymore.”

  Oliver’s expression was hard. “I was nice to you once. Now, look where we are.”

  The guilt of old came rushing back, yet she refused to say she was sorry. She’d said it a million times before. It never changed anything.

  Before he could say another heartbreaking word, she left and ran into the house.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  * * *

  Oliver waited until he was certain Belle was gone for good before he relaxed and fell into one of the chairs on the veranda.

  He fisted one hand, placed his other on top, and bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

  He stared out at the darkness but could see nothing but Belle’s eyes and the pain that had been in both her gaze and her voice.

  You’re never nice to me.

  He was nice to her.

  She annoyed him purposefully and still, she breathed.

  He called that nice.

  After what she’d done to him, she should count herself lucky. Those who’d broken his trust since had not been given such favor.

  The wreath necklace.

  Why had he given it to her?

  He remembered when he’d found her wearing it. She’d been staring into the mirror in the lady of the house’s private chambers. Her finger had been pressed to the jewel’s center.

  And when she’d turned to look at him, he’d known everything was right.

  In his eyes, she’d no longer been just an injured guest that he wished to make feel as comfortable as possible. As she stood in the room intended for the future Lady Venmont, his heart had declared her his wife.

  Her presence still inhabited the room. Every time he went into the room, she was there.

  He’d seen guilt flash in her eyes. He knew she felt terrible for what he’d become. An assassin.