His lips were upon Hestia's before she had the chance to absorb the intention behind his words. His arms snaked gently around her waist and he pulled her toward him lightly, so that she was pressed against his broad chest. It all happened so quickly and yet, at the same time, it felt as though time had stopped completely. No one had ever kissed her before, nor held her so closely; it was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
"Lud," she whispered in confusion, as he finally broke their spellbinding embrace.
"I'll take that as a compliment," the Marquess's lips quirked in an arrogant smirk. His composure and self-assurance after what, for Hestia, had been a momentous event--her first kiss--irked her.
"It was not a compliment," she whispered waspishly, "You are so arrogant, my Lord. Just because you are a Marquess does not give you the right to kiss me and hold me so closely, when I have given no hint that I wish to be kissed or held."
"You are still in my arms, are you not?"
It was true; Falconbridge's arms were still wrapped around her waist in a possessive manner. Hestia had been enjoying the sensation of being cradled by someone so large and masculine, but she quickly pulled away at his words.
"You took me by surprise," she countered, stepping away from him. She needed to put distance between her body and his, for he radiated a warmth that was overwhelming. "And I think that you must be in your cups, my Lord, to say such strange things and act so rashly."
"I have never been more sober in my life," all teasing had left Falconbridge's voice. "I am immensely attracted to you, I desire you, and I see no reason why we should not be wed."
Hestia could think of one very obvious reason --the Marquess had no idea of her true identity. The second reason, when it struck her, made her realise that she was very much her mother's daughter: he had not said that he loved her.
"Please, I beg you," she said in a voice that was thick with unshed tears. "Do not ask me again, my Lord. It is impossible."
"But why?" Lord Delaney stepped forward, his arms reaching for her again. "Please tell me why it is impossible, Belinda?"
The use of her new moniker was like a slap in the face. Part of her could have been tempted to fall into his arms, to allow him, his title and his wealth to carry her away from her present predicament, but she could not lie to him --no matter how lost and alone she was.
"Because this is not a fairy tale, my Lord," she replied firmly, smoothing down her skirts in an effort to appear calm and collected. "I am not Cinderella, you are not Prince Charming and there will be no happily ever after for us. Now, I beg you, please let me leave."
She would never know if the Marquess would have objected, or put up a fight, against her leaving the room, for outside the door, in the entrance hall, there came the sound of raised voices.
"That sounds like Jane," Hestia cried, gathering her skirts and rushing out of the room. She was greeted by the sight of her mistress, batting away the concern of Giles and Lord Payne, as she made for the staircase.
"Honestly, it's just a migraine," Jane was saying --though Hestia knew from the high-pitch of her voice and its slight tremor, that it was much more than that.
"I will look after Miss Deveraux from here," Hestia said, sweeping out into the hallway and placing herself between Jane and the two men. Jane offered her look of thanks and together the two women climbed the staircase without a backward glance to the men below.
Hestia was most grateful for the distraction of helping Jane to her room, where the misty-eyed young woman confessed that Lord Payne had asked her for her hand --properly this time--and she had said no.
"It's just that I think that Mr Jackson might offer for me," Jane sniffed, "And I have loved him for years. We are both studious, quiet and serious. It would be a much better match."
If Hestia thought that Jane sounded more like she was trying to convince herself, than actually convinced, of Mr Jackson's suitability, she kept her opinion to herself. Jane seemed set on the dull, irritable entomologist and if Hestia said a bad word about him and the pair did marry, then she would soon be out of a job.
The pair parted ways and Hestia undressed for bed. It felt like she had been asleep for only five minutes, when a knocking on the door woke her up. Goodness, she thought as she hurried to open it, was it the Marquess? She would have some very stern words to say to him if it was. She opened the door to find Jane standing outside, her face streaked with tears.
"What on earth?" Hestia exclaimed, worry filling her. She had never seen Miss Deveraux so overwrought; Jane was usually so calm and practical.
"M-M-Mr Jackson thinks me old and unattractive," Jane wailed through her tears.
"Gracious! Did he say that to you?"
"No," Jane's sniffed, her words coming out breathlessly. "I overheard him say it to Lord Payne in the library. Then Lord Payne punched him."
Hestia gave a silent cheer at this news --so she had been right to prefer the heir to Hawkfield over the fusty entomologist.
"I have ruined everything." Jane wailed, a bout of sobbing taking hold again. "I hurt Lord Payne for the sake of Mr Jackson and he has turned out to be an utter cad. Oh, I want to go home to St Jarvis, I don't want to be here anymore."
"It's too late to be running off to Cornwall," Hestia advised, her tone practical. "If you still wish to leave in the morning, then we shall go together. Go to sleep now, Jane. Don't make any rash decisions late at night. Wait until morning, when you feel more rested."
Jane nodded, as though taking her advice and disappeared into her bedchamber, but the next morning when the house woke to find that Jane had disappeared, Hestia knew that her advice had fallen on deaf ears.
Chapter Eight
"Are you quite certain that Jane would have come to Cornwall?" Lord Payne asked Miss Bowstock, for what was probably the millionth time on the journey.
Alex gritted his teeth in annoyance; Belinda had told him a dozen times that Jane was headed for St Jarvis, and yet the heir to Hawkfield insisted on repeating the question. Payne was half convinced that Mr Jackson had kidnapped Miss Deveraux and spirited her away to London, but as her companion had pointed out, a kidnapped woman would not have had the time to pack.
"I'm quite certain," Belinda replied touchily, her eyes focused on the countryside outside the carriage window. Alex refrained from heaving a sigh of annoyance at her resolute refusal to look anywhere but at him. When the house had woken to find that Jane had disappeared, Belinda had quickly volunteered to accompany Lord Payne to Cornwall to find her. This had prompted Alex to declare that he too would go, his declaration inspired by the roaring of jealousy within his chest. Lady Caroline had pragmatically said that she would go, so that Miss Bowstock was not travelling across the countryside, alone with two men.
Now,a day later, all four occupants of the carriage were irritable, having spent so long cooped up together, as they raced westward across the English countryside. Determination was a trait that Alex had always thought admirable in a person, but after a day of suffering Belinda determinedly avoiding any eye contact with him, he wasn't so sure.
"We're nearly here," Lord Payne said, with barely concealed relief as the carriage turned onto a coastal road. Alex watched as Belinda leaned forward, her face a picture of excitement.
"Oh, it's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes alight. "I always wanted to visit the North Coast. My father promised he would take me, but he never got a chance before he..."
She stopped speaking abruptly, her face slightly paler than before.
"I did not know your father had died, Miss Bowstock," the Marquess said gently, his first words to her in nearly a day. So Miss Bowstock was an orphan; he had been right, she was truly alone in the world, the realisation made his heartstrings tug in pity for her. "My condolences for your loss."
"Thank you, my Lord," she responded, bestowing upon him a swift, cursory glance, that let Alex know she was not a willing recipient of his pity --or anything else he had to offer her. He scowled; gracious, but she w
as stubborn.
The carriage trundled past hedgerows filled with early spring flowers; cowslips and daisies danced in long grass, whilst tantalising glimpses of the sea were visible beyond. The conversation in the carriage had dwindled to silence, but as they neared St Jarvis, Lady Caroline began to question her brother on his plan of action.
"I owe Jane a large sum of money for agreeing to pretend to be my betrothed," Lord Payne said with a shrug, ignoring Falconbridge's raised eyebrows, which were in danger of disappearing through the roof of the carriage. So their initial engagement had been a pretence? And Lord Payne had obviously found himself hoist by his own petard and deeply in love with the girl.
"She wanted to buy the boarding house." Pane continued, "If that is still what she wants, then that is what she shall have."
"You're setting her free," Miss Bowstock said, her eyes wide as she marvelled at his words. "Oh, how romantic."
"What utter tosh," Falconbridge was quick to put an end to Belinda's misplaced idea of romanticism. "If you love her, then you must fight for her Payne. Just a few days ago you were ready to put a bullet through Jackson for her hand."
"Jackson's not the obstacle any more, though," James shrugged, in a defeated manner that raised the Marquess's hackles. "It is Jane herself -and you can't suggest I put a bullet through her."
"No," Falconbridge retorted, wondering even as was speaking, if his words were directed to Payne or himself. "Though you can ruddy well tell her that you want her as your wife and that you won't take no for an answer."
He finished this sentence with a pointed look to Miss Bowstock, who flushed and turned her head away quickly. Belinda had been acting as though he had some sort of hideous, contagious disease since the night in the library. He knew that she was not immune to his charms, for he had felt her melt into his embrace and heard the whimpers of longing as he kissed her. What he had proposed was the perfect solution to both their problems; her precarious position as an unwed orphan and his frustration at desperately wanting to possess every part of her...and yet she was resisting. It was altogether most irritating, Alex vowed that once they reached St Jarvis, he would take Miss Bowstock aside and--and... He frowned; there was not much he could do to force Belinda's hand, he could not order her to marry him, no matter what he thought. She was a free agent, she could live her life as she pleased --though he could certainly try to persuade her with more kisses.
He settled back happily into his seat, happy to spend the last few hours of the journey plotting the various ways that he would persuade Miss Bowstock to accept his offer.
The carriage drew up in front of Jarvis House, an impressive pile of bricks, Alex had to admit. Lord Payne leapt from the carriage, without waiting for a footman and barrelled up the steps of the house. Lord Delaney and the two ladies had just disembarked onto the pebbled driveway, when Lord Payne came back out of the house and ran straight past them.
"Where are you going?" Lady Caroline called in frustration after the disappearing figure of her brother.
"The boarding house," Payne cried, sprinting in a manner most unbecoming for a man who would one day be a Duke. Caroline heaved a sigh and glanced apologetically at the Marquess and Miss Bowstock.
"I'm terribly sorry," she said, sounding anything but, "But we shall all have to get back into the carriage --for I'm not about to miss the sight of my brother proposing to his beloved."
And so the trio clambered back inside for the five minute drive to the town of St Jarvis, where the boarding house stood. The door was ajar when they arrived and, with Caroline leading the way, the trio followed the sound of voices to a parlour room, that was stuffed full of women.
Gracious; Falconbridge blinked in surprise, he had never seen so many women gathered together at once, each with their eyes fixed on a flame-cheeked Lord Payne, who was standing beseechingly before Jane.
"What did we miss?" Lady Caroline asked in a stage whisper that echoed across the empty room. Alex tried not to cringe at her obviousness; Payne was in awkward enough a situation without his sister making it worse.
"Lord Payne has told Jane that he loves her and wants her as his bride," a flame-haired woman with a Northern accent deadpanned, "Though he is willing to let her go, if that is what will make her happy."
Alex's attention to the proceedings was distracted somewhat by Miss Bowstock, who had turned a deathly shade of white and begun visibly trembling. As Miss Deveraux and Lord Payne confessed their love for each other, Alex followed the direction of Belinda's gaze to the corner of the room, where an older woman sat. The woman looked rather familiar, though at that moment Lord Delaney could not place her, nor think why her presence had upset Belinda so.
"I will marry you. I will love you for the rest of our days and I will be proud to stand at your side, as your Duchess."
Jane Deveraux's words broke the silence that had fallen in the room and as Lord Payne happily presented his fiancée to all present, a cheer went up. Alex, who had been momentarily distracted by the unfolding drama, spotted that Belinda was discreetly trying to leave the room. He made to follow her, only pausing as the old woman in the corner let out a cry that stopped him mid-step.
"Is that you Hestia?" the woman, who Alex now placed as Mrs Actrol, authoress and sister to Lady Bedford, called.
Miss Bowstock jumped and quite possibly would have fled, if Jane had not borne down on her and embraced her in a warm hug. The wheels and cogs of Alex's brain were whirring away as he watched Jane speak with a nervous looking Belinda.
Hestia, that was what Mrs Actrol had called her. Hestia, the same name as the ward he was searching for, who had mysteriously disappeared. At that very moment he felt something nudging at his boot and looked down to see Henry licking his Hessians with gusto. He could have laughed at his stupidity --when he had visited with Lady Bedford, Mrs Actrol's sister, he had noted that the woman's many Cavaliers had reminded him of Belinda. He realised now that they had reminded him of Belinda because Hestia B. Stockbow and Miss Belinda Bowstock were one and the same.
Fury filled him. How had he been so blinded by the girl's charms that he had failed to see the most obvious clues before him. Bowstock was simply a crude alteration to the name Stockbow--and here he thought he could solve the mysteries of a dead language!
As Lord Payne and Miss Deveraux slipped, unobserved by most, out of the room, the Marquess made his way toward Hestia Stockbow, his mouth a line of grim determination.
"Are you acquainted with Mrs Actrol?" he asked, his tone deliberately light. Those who knew him well, knew that he was at his most dangerous when he acted this calm and controlled, because he was keeping a tight rein on his temper.
"Who?" a pair of big, blue eyes blinked innocently at him, and Alex had to hand it to Miss Stockbow, she did not even glance in Mrs Actrol's direction. Oh, she was very good at this, but he was better and he had the upper hand.
"Really?" he raised an eyebrow, "I thought she called out to you just there. Though she did address you by the wrong name."
"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, my Lord," Hestia stated, her face pale and her lips trembling. If Alex hadn't been so annoyed at the chit, he would have felt pity toward her.
"I'm sure it was some sort of mix up," he replied, affecting a casual tone, "Come. Allow me to introduce you to Mrs Actrol properly. She's such a fascinating woman and she knows so many different types of people. I'm sure you'll find her most entertaining."
"No," Hestia replied, but Alex had a firm grip on her elbow and he steered her across the crowded drawing room to where the authoress sat. He was surprised that this Hestia Stockbow did not dig her heels into the Oriental rug to halt his progress, such was the look of terror on her face, but she meekly followed him, perhaps accepting that the game was up.
"It is you, Hestia, dear," Mrs Actrol exclaimed happily, as the Marquess deposited Miss Stockbow before her. She peered up at Hestia through her spectacles, her eyes misting with tears.
"My dear, give me a k
iss on the cheek. I am mighty pleased to see you looking so well." Mrs Actrol boomed, for she seemed only to speak in a voice that was louder than the average. "Despite all the hardships you have endured. I was most sorry to hear about your poor mother --and your father too-- Lord rest their souls."
Any feeling of self righteousness that Alex had possessed, fled at the sight of Hestia Stockbow's eyes, which filled with tears at Mrs Actrol's kind words of sympathy. He was a cad, he thought, a complete and utter cad to have subjected the poor girl to this. She was probably petrified, worried that she would lose her position as Jane's companion and end up cast out on the streets.
"And who is this?" Mrs Actrol squinted up at Alex, who drew himself to his full height before bending again in a most perfunctory bow.
"I am Falconbridge, Mrs Actrol," he said, casting Hestia a glance before he spoke again. "I am Miss Stockbow's guardian and future husband."
"You're her what?" Mrs Actrol spluttered, causing several heads to turn their way.
"I am the legal guardian of Miss Hestia B. Stockbow, as appointed by her father David Stockbow in his last will and testament," Falconbridge repeated slowly. "And, besides that, Miss Stockbow and I are to be wed. As soon as I return her to London and procure the necessary paperwork of course."
"Oh, of course," Mrs Actrol echoed him before breaking down into gales of laughter that wracked her generous frame. "Though, my Lord, you seem to have lost your ward.."
What? Alex looked to his right, where a second ago Hestia had been standing and found that she had disappeared; he scanned the room and spotted her closing the door to the hallway behind her as she fled.
"You'll have to keep a closer eye on that one, my Lord, if you're intent on making her your bride," Mrs Actrol offered her advice with a knowing smile. "For she's the daughter of a man who escaped capture for decades --don't think she didn't pick a trick or two up from old David."
The Marquess of Temptation Page 6
