How to Cross a Marquess

by Jane Ashford

  He did taste of raspberries. But the kiss was so much more than that. The sweet taste of the fruit slid slowly into a melting of her whole body.

  Strong arms came around her and pulled her close. She put hers around his neck and let herself sink with him onto the grass. The world contracted into a kernel of dizzying sensation.

  What kisses, she thought. She’d known she was drawn to Roger, but she hadn’t realized it would be like this. His touch set her vibrating with desire. She wanted to give him all he could ask, to take everything he could offer. She pressed up against him. Their kisses wove a tapestry of longing, begging to be unraveled. He murmured her name.

  “It went this way,” shouted a boy’s voice from other side of the thicket.

  “Into the brambles?” replied another.

  “Right under, the cunning little devil.”

  “I ain’t desperate keen to crawl in there.”

  “It’s John and Tom,” whispered Fenella.

  “Deuce take them,” replied Roger.

  “Perhaps it will come out the other side,” said John. “We can go around.” Footsteps pounded along the edge of the thicket.

  Roger pulled her closer as if to protect her from this intrusion. But his instinct was wrong in this case. They couldn’t be found embracing. Fenella pulled away and sat up. Her hat had fallen off. She retrieved it and set it on her head, plucking and pinning stray strands of hair into place.

  “Must speak to you,” Roger whispered.

  “Shh. Not now.”

  “Must.” He couldn’t stay silent. He had to tell her. This was the tricky bit, where he could win her, or lose everything. If only he could make his damnable tongue form the right phrases, and in a hurried whisper, no less. “These last few weeks, I’ve…I’ve seen the truth. What I felt when I saw you again after…everything.” This was bilge. “Of course I couldn’t say anything. Or even think it. So I didn’t. I buried every feeling, every reaction. Got angry. It’s always so easy to get angry.” He wasn’t proud of that. “If only I’d just married you five years ago!”

  “Shh.” She held up a warning finger. “That wouldn’t have worked,” she murmured, as if saying something he ought to realize.

  “It might have. Who can say? We have a great deal in common. And those kisses.” He met her blue eyes. Fenella flushed. With pleasure at the memory, he hoped. “I admire and respect you. I think of you constantly.” More bilge. How did other men do this?

  Roger’s horse stamped and shook its head, repelling flies. Its harness jingled sharply in the silence. Fenella froze, wondering if the sound had carried across the dip. Briefly, she thought it had not. But then Tom’s voice rang out, louder than before, as if directed across the thicket. “I reckon that snake’s gone to ground,” he said. “We ain’t going to find it again. Let’s go down to the stream and look about there where it’s cooler.”

  “But these bushes must be full of specimens,” replied John. His voice came from the far end of the bushes, moving closer.

  Roger closed his eyes and shook his head. Clearly he wasn’t pleased at the interruption. Fenella wasn’t either, but perhaps it was fortunate. What might she have done otherwise?

  “And thorns,” said Tom. “They’ll rip your coat to pieces. Your aunt won’t care for that.” Something in his tone made Fenella certain he’d heard the horse and guessed at their presence. Was Tom warning her? Fenella wondered.

  “The berries look awfully good,” said John.

  She had a wild urge to call out that they were delicious. With a wry smile, she suppressed it.

  “They’ll have some at Clough House,” said Tom. “With cream as well. Come along.”

  “We can’t just give up.” And with that John rounded the end of the thicket and came into sight on the slope above them. “Oh.” He stopped short. “Hullo, Aunt Fenella, Lord Chatton.”

  “Hello, John.” Fenella gathered her full skirts and rose from the grass. “Have you found another snake?” For a place where reptiles were said to be sparse, there seemed to be a great many of them about.

  John moved closer. “A little one,” he replied with his usual enthusiasm. “I’d have caught it if not for the brambles. I was that close.”

  Roger stood, making a sound rather like a hiss himself. Tom rounded the bushes and joined them, nodding a greeting. “If the creature has any sense, it will stay in there,” said Roger. His irritation was clear, at least to Fenella. And to Tom, she thought.

  “We were just going,” she said.

  “Were we?” said Roger. “I didn’t think we were.”

  “It’s time I was getting back.”

  “Or that other people went on their way.” Roger threw the boys a discouraging glance. Tom clearly understood it.

  “I’ll go with you,” said John, oblivious. “I want to fetch the small cage that William made for me.”

  “Not likely to need that,” said Tom. “This snake’s gone to ground. Better we go to the stream.”

  “Far better,” snapped Roger. He looked at her. “I must speak to you.”

  Torn between chagrin and laughter, Fenella retreated toward her horse. A gentleman would propose after the interlude they’d just shared, and she was not averse to the idea. But Roger had been pushed into an offer before, following a stolen kiss. It might be silly, but she didn’t want their agreement to go like that. Not as it had been with Arabella. And they couldn’t speak freely in front of the boys. Tom’s amiable curiosity was all too evident.

  Roger had followed her. “Not now,” she said.

  “When, then?”

  “When you’ve had time to think it over. And to be certain.”

  “I am certain. Are you saying that you—”

  John popped up behind him. “Can I ride with you, Aunt Fenella? I have to be quick if I’m to—”

  Roger rounded on the boy. “Will you go away?”

  John stepped back, startled. Then the cowed expression with which he’d arrived in Northumberland descended over his face.

  “Chatton,” said Fenella.

  “Aren’t children meant to be seen and not heard?” said Roger angrily. “And haven’t we heard more than anyone wishes to know about snakes?”

  Tom moved to stand beside John, a silent protector.

  “Enough,” said Fenella, the steel of her grandmother’s training in her voice.

  Roger had the grace to look ashamed.

  “You may ride with me if you like,” she said to John.

  The boy came to her as if to sanctuary. Tom followed along and helped Fenella mount. Roger stood alone, like a man wrestling with a thorny problem. Fenella set her heels into her mare’s flanks and turned her toward home.

  Nine

  “I’m going to ride over and take a look at the place,” said John the following morning. He and Tom sat under a tree in the Clough House garden, and John was feeling both resentful and bored. He didn’t see that Lord Chatton had any right to speak to him as he had. He wasn’t his father, or even his uncle. Aunt Fenella never treated him so. Also, he’d had to release the smooth snake, much as he would have liked to keep it for observation. The creature hadn’t been doing well in a dark cage in the old playhouse. Snakes could be tricky to feed, too, and John didn’t want to be responsible for another one’s death. But he regretted the loss. All in all, life seemed vastly annoying just now. He’d had more than his fill of being a child. “It’s only a few miles,” he added.

  Tom tossed a pebble onto the path. He’d marked out a grid in the gravel and was aiming at the squares in order. He looked tempted.

  “I can go and be back before anyone knows,” John said. He wanted to say we, but Tom hadn’t agreed yet. Still, ever since they’d heard of the path across the sands of Lindisfarne, they’d both wanted to see the place.

  “You’d have to ask permission,” said Tom.<
br />
  “They’d say no.” It seemed to John that a vast web of authority surrounded him. So many people seemed to have the right to tell him what to do. He was more than impatient with it. Tom was not one of them, however. “I can go by myself. You can’t stop me.”

  “I could tell yer aunt.”

  “If you are a snitch!”

  Tom eyed him. John didn’t care for that expression. At times, Tom made him feel quite transparent. “Reckon I’d like to see the pathway,” Tom said finally.

  John jumped up. “Splendid!”

  “We’ll take care,” said the older boy as he stood. “Give me your word you’ll heed me?”

  “Of course,” said John, ready to promise anything in order to escape.

  They took the horses in the Clough House stable that they were permitted to use. “I got to stop at Chatton on the way,” Tom said as they rode.

  “Why?”

  “I told the head gardener I’d help him out today. Collecting seed.”

  “You have to do jobs like that?”

  “Don’t have to. I like to. You’d be surprised what you can learn.” Tom turned his mount toward the castle. “It ain’t out of the way,” the older boy pointed out.

  John could see there was no use arguing, and in fact he didn’t want to go to Lindisfarne alone. Tom’s company made roaming the neighborhood an easygoing pleasure instead of a challenge. So he gave in.

  At Chatton Castle, John waited outside the gates, on his horse, nervous that someone would come along and forbid his adventure. But Tom was inside only a few minutes. Soon enough they were on their way again. “Do you suppose people have really been swept away from the Lindisfarne path?” John asked.

  “They say so,” replied Tom.

  “Can you swim?”

  This earned John a sharp glance. Tom nodded. “Can you?”

  “Not very well.” There was a pond at John’s school. But there was also a boisterous group who enjoyed holding smaller boys underwater until they choked. He avoided the activity.

  “Well, it’s fortunate we ain’t going into any water then,” said Tom.

  He used the dry tone that John had noticed before but didn’t always understand. Tom was an odd person. John’s father would certainly say that he wasn’t a gentleman and disapprove of the friendship. Yet Tom was quite intelligent. He knew all sorts of things. And he could talk to people—anybody, really—with an easy facility that filled John with awe.

  An hour after this, Macklin and Roger returned to Chatton Castle from a visit to a new type of cottage Roger was having built on his estate. The appointment, long scheduled, had tasked Roger’s patience to the limit. He’d wanted only to ride to Clough House and speak to Fenella.

  Why had she refused to let him propose? She’d known he meant to. He was certain of that. But she’d hurried away as if she didn’t want to hear.

  A stab of fear went through him. Surely she couldn’t have kissed him in that way if she meant to reject him? But why not settle the matter then? Roger could think of nothing but his lovely neighbor. He ached with wanting her. Was she punishing him for past slights? Roger shook his head. That wasn’t like her. She’d never done so in the past, even when he’d been at his most annoying. He admitted it; he’d behaved badly. Perhaps another apology was in order? He would gladly offer one, but that didn’t feel like the crux of the matter.

  Only Fenella could tell him. In fact, why had he come upstairs to change out of his riding clothes? He would go to Clough House right now, insist on speaking to her, and discover what was in her mind. Then he would do whatever was required to win her. Anything, Roger thought. Anything.

  He turned to his bedchamber door, and was caught by a knock on the panels. Roger opened it to find Macklin on his threshold. “I have a note from Tom,” the earl said. “He and Miss Fairclough’s nephew have ridden up to Lindisfarne to look at the sands.”

  “Why would Tom do that?” Roger asked. “He knew John was forbidden to go there.”

  “I suspect that John refused to do as he was told.”

  All too likely, Roger thought. Fenella’s nephew was an irrepressible sprig. Even so, he shouldn’t have snapped at the boy as he did yesterday. He was aware of having gone beyond the line there.

  “And when Tom couldn’t dissuade him, he went along,” Macklin added. “Taking care to leave word.”

  Roger nodded. Young Tom had shown himself to be remarkably levelheaded. “We’d better let the Faircloughs know. I’ll go after them.”

  “I’ll accompany you,” Macklin said.

  They returned to the stable. Roger sent a stable boy off with a note to Clough House and procured a length of rope before they mounted up and started off.

  They’d hardly gone a mile when they overtook a gig on the road. Fenella held the reins.

  Roger’s pulse accelerated at the sight of her. If he’d had any doubts, which he had not, the perfection of her face and form, the spirit in her blue eyes, would have extinguished them.

  “I was headed out to see old Mrs. Dorne when your message came,” she said. “She’s ill.” A basket sat beside her on the seat. “I should have known that John wouldn’t be able to resist going to Lindisfarne.”

  “Tom went along,” said Macklin. “He’ll look after him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll try,” said Fenella. “But John does not make that easy.”

  “We’ll bring them back,” said Roger.

  “Naturally I’m going with you.” She urged her horse to greater speed.

  Naturally, Roger thought. She didn’t hang back and wait for a problem to be solved for her. She didn’t moan and lament. She was splendid in every way.

  They traveled together toward the coast. When they reached the stretch opposite Lindisfarne Island, they found the boys’ horses tied at the inland end of the path.

  “The tide has turned,” Roger said. “It’s coming in.”

  “Surely they haven’t gone over?” asked Fenella. She sounded angry and concerned in equal measure.

  Waves were sheeting over the stretch of flat sand in front of the island. The water wasn’t deep yet, but the strength of the flow was obvious. “I’ll ride out along the path,” said Roger. “Wait here.”

  “I want to come,” said Fenella.

  “You can’t take a gig out there. The horse wouldn’t be able to hold it against the waves.”

  She struggled with the truth of this before giving him a curt nod.

  “There they are,” said Macklin.

  The two boys were pushing through the rising waves, knee high on Tom so far. They leaned against the pressure of the water rushing across the path. Roger could see that the sea was pulling at them. He knew the frightening force of the tide. He’d felt it. Tom was helping John along.

  “Is John limping?” asked Fenella.

  Roger urged his horse forward. Macklin came just behind him. They coaxed the animals into the flood, keeping to the marked path. Each wave was a warning of worse to come. At high tide, this stretch could be under nearly ten feet of water.

  Tom raised an arm in what looked like welcome. The gesture was ill-judged, however, as John was pulled away from him by the slap of a larger wave and flattened on the sand.

  Tom bent to help him up. John shook himself, coughing.

  Water rushed around the horses’ legs. Macklin’s mount stumbled, and Roger’s objected strongly to the path he was being asked to take. They soothed the animals and pressed on. Not too far now.

  A surge of water struck Tom’s back. He held on to John and endured the shove and pull. Briefly, he teetered, seeming about to go to one knee. For the first time since Roger had met the lad, he looked apprehensive. “Hang on,” Roger shouted over the sound of the waves.

  A few minutes later, the riders at last reached the two boys. With a mighty heave, Roger lifted John away
from Tom and set the boy in front of him. John dripped on the horse’s neck and Roger’s riding breeches, soaked through. Tom took hold of the saddleback and leapt up behind Macklin. Carefully, they turned and moved toward dry land.

  Water hissed across the sand and pushed at them. The horses hated the fact that they couldn’t see their footing. They tossed their heads and threatened to sidle. Progress was growing extremely difficult when at last they reached the shore.

  They stepped out of the sea and dismounted. Roger helped his passenger down. The boy was hunched and shivering. Fenella rushed forward.

  “It was all my fault,” John said before anyone could speak. “Tom didn’t want to come at all. And he said we shouldn’t go out on the path. He only followed me when I ran out. And then I fell in the water and hurt my ankle so that I couldn’t hurry back. I’m a stupid fool. A heedless, stupid fool.”

  He spoke the final phrases as if he’d heard them before, Fenella thought. He sounded thoroughly miserable.

  “Take off your coat,” Roger said to him. “You’re drenched.”

  John flinched as if this was an accusation. He clawed at his clothes.

  Fenella eased his soaking coat off, and his sodden shirt, wishing she had something to wrap around him. She turned to find Roger holding out his own coat. The fact that it would soon be stained with seawater didn’t seem to bother him.

  “Tom didn’t want to come,” John repeated as she swathed him in the larger garment and wiped his face with a handkerchief from the pocket. “He tried to talk me out of it.”

  “I coulda argued harder,” said Tom. He was only wet to the thigh, and he seemed to be recovering rapidly.

  “No, I’m to blame.” John stood straighter. He looked small and forlorn in the folds of Roger’s coat. “You mustn’t punish Tom.”

  Fenella could see that all the older males were impressed by his determination to take responsibility. “Come into the gig,” she said. “We must get you home and into dry clothes.” She beckoned Tom as well.

  “I can ride,” said Tom. “I’m not so wet. Only my shoes and stockings.”

  The fact that John didn’t insist on riding as well showed how shaken he was. The others mounted up. Tom caught the reins of John’s horse to lead him.