Opening her eyes, she pressed the catch and the lid snapped open. Pain sliced through her and a deep sense of loss engulfed her. Tears blurred the face of the watch and a sob rose in her throat as it began to chime softly.
Marcus surfaced to the sound of bells. What the…? No, it wasn’t bells, it was chimes. He had been thinking of Douglas and their time in India. Now he was hearing Douglas’s watch again. He smiled. Douglas would set the blasted thing then forget it. And it would start chiming at the most inopportune time. Like now.
Opening his eyes, he registered his surroundings slowly. He was no longer in India. He was in the library at St. Ayers and Douglas wasn’t with him. Douglas was dead.
Raising his head, he was unprepared for the sight of Corinna standing beside the desk dressed in a pink gown and wrapper. She was covered decently from neck to foot, but what threw him was that she was holding Douglas’s watch, staring down at the face as tears streamed down her own, dripping from her chin onto the front of the robe.
“Corrie?” She looked up and the suffering on her face hit him like a blow. Instinctively he moved, but she backed away, collapsing into one of the large, overstuffed chairs situated there. “What…?” Turning sideways and curling her feet up underneath her, she leaned against the back of the chair, hunched her shoulders and began to sob as if her heart were breaking.
For a moment, Marcus was completely bewildered. What was going on? Rising from his chair, he crossed to the one he had dropped his coat in earlier, extracted his handkerchief then returned to Corinna, dropping to the floor before her. Pressing the piece of linen into her hand, he wasn’t sure what to do next.
“Corrie? What’s wrong?”
He wasn’t sure she heard him. Her sobs never let up, shaking her small shoulders with the weight of her pain. Reaching up, he tried to take the watch from her hand, but she gripped it tighter, closing it with a snap, and holding it against her breast as if it were a lifeline.
“Corrie, please, stop crying and tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded. When she continued to cry, he slid his arms around her, and, still kneeling, cradled her close to his chest. She snuggled closer and he was assaulted by a light flowery scent that rose from her hair. His wayward body began to stir and he fought to subdue it.
His position was not very comfortable and, after a few minutes, he knew he could not remain that way. Making a quick decision, he slid an arm beneath her legs and stood. She weighed no more than Caroline. Returning to his own chair behind the desk, he sat, Corinna cradled in his arms, to wait out the storm.
Marcus looked down at the dark head resting against his chest and discovered a protectiveness he hadn’t known he possessed. The tears continued to flow, slowly soaking his shirt, but he didn’t care. There were other things on his mind, such as how perfectly she fit against him, how easily he held her, and how sweet and fresh she smelled. He tried, unsuccessfully, to quash his impulses, but celibacy had never been a favored state. At the same time, he pondered the question of her distress and what had caused it. Something he was able to do with only marginal success.
She had a death grip on Douglas’s watch. He doubted that even if she fell asleep he’d be able to pry it from her hands. Had the watch triggered a memory? Perhaps her father had owned one and she’d played with it as a child.
Another, seemingly more important, question occurred to him. What was she doing down here in the first place? After that near miss earlier this evening, he would have thought she would spend the next few days avoiding him. Instead, she had readied herself for bed then returned to the library—and him.
She didn’t seem like a young woman who would welcome a casual dalliance. Nor did she seem like someone who might deliberately try to compromise a man. So why was she there?
He glanced over the desk and reached for his brandy glass when another object caught his eye. It was a small box. Sitting near his chest. It could have easily fit into the chest, but he knew that it hadn’t come from there. He had nothing like it, nor had Douglas, whose personal effects were the only things he kept in the chest. Where had it come from? Had she brought it down? Perhaps to show it to him? But, why now? Couldn’t it have waited until morning?
Reaching for it, he jostled her slightly. Except for the fact that her sobs were not quite as loud, she was still crying, even as she burrowed closer against his chest. He picked it up. The letters on the top tickled a memory, but it remained elusive. Cedar wood, he thought, as a light fragrance reached him when he lifted the lid. Putting the lid on the desk, he reached into the box and pulled out a ring.
His eyes widened in shock. What was she doing with his ring? He had given it to Amy. A small suspicion began to form in his mind as he reached for the piece of paper the ring had been resting on. Putting the ring and box back on the desk, he unfolded the scrap of vellum.
His brain seized up. Locked in disbelief, he stared at the writing on the paper. No! It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Coincidences like this did not happen. Especially not to him. But even as he thought it, something deep inside told him that this time it had, and it explained so many things. It explained her tears when he told her of Douglas’s death while on the beach, and it explained her anguish now as she clutched Douglas’s watch.
He could barely bring himself to say her name, but he knew he had to ask.
“Amy?” The sniffling quieted, but she didn’t answer. Instead she went very still. “It is you, isn’t it?” This time she nodded slowly.
Marcus leaned his head back against the padding in the chair, his thoughts in turmoil. Amy was alive! He had not let Douglas down after all. But how? What had happened? And why had her brother written that she had died? Instinctively he tightened his arms around her, even as it registered that he was holding his wife.
His wife! Corrie. Amy. Why hadn’t he figured it out? Why hadn’t she said something before now? And where had she been for the last five years?
He tried to remember what she had told him. She had gone to live with a great aunt, then the woman had died. But how did her brother fit in? She told him she was alone in the world, but he knew she had five older siblings. Anger rose to the surface at his thoughts. That worm, Gregory, had thrown her out, he guessed. At least they hadn’t made her a drudge—or had they?
“What happened?” he asked now. “Does Gregory know where you are?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“I ran away.” Her voice was a rough whisper, still thick with tears.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Why didn’t you write?”
“I had no money to post a letter.”
“Why didn’t you contact my brother? He would have written.”
“I was afraid to.”
With each answer, his dismay grew.
“Why?”
“I wasn’t sure he’d believe me,” she sniffed. “He might have thought I was an opportunist or–or worse.” Her voice was growing stronger, but she still hadn’t looked at him.
It was what she didn’t say that gave him pause. Gregory wouldn’t have believed a person in her situation—why would she think Brand would have? Her own half siblings hated her. What made her think anyone else’s might not be cut from the same cloth? He sighed.
“But you have been living with them since May. You must have realized he wasn’t like Gregory. Why didn’t you say anything then?”
“I-I meant to, but time just slipped by and–and then suddenly you were here and–and I didn’t know what to do.” She wiped her eyes and nose with his handkerchief, then continued. “I knew you didn’t recognize me, and I kept wondering if you were looking for me.”
Marcus suddenly went still. “Bloody hell!” he swore. “I told you you were dead! Your brother wrote to Douglas that you had died.” Rage poured through him like acid. “I’ll kill him!”
Corinna’s head lifted at the violence in his voice. His arms tightened around her. Squirming in his arms, she watched him as
he struggled to contain his fury.
“Don’t, Marcus,” she said softly. “Please? Don’t let Gregory do this to you. He’s not worth it.” Her hand crept up his chest as she spoke, coming to rest over his rapidly beating heart.
His name on her lips changed the atmosphere in the room in an instant. Suddenly he was himself, looking down at a desirable woman. A woman he had been drawn to all evening. A beautiful, desirable woman who was sitting in his lap. A woman who was also his wife. His control snapped. With a groan, his lips came down on hers.
Surprise held her immobile at the first touch of his mouth on hers. Her lips were soft and warm beneath his, luxurious and decadent. Eager to taste, he slid his tongue along her lower lip, seeking entrance. Her breath hitched, then she sighed. Marcus pressed deeper and his tongue slipped inside. A shudder went through her, her head fell back, and her hand moved up to his neck.
She was innocence, pure and simple. Her untutored response reminded him that she was out of her depth. Her body softened, relaxed, melted against his, and he availed himself of her unconscious surrender. His arms locked her against him, one hand coming up to cradle her chin, holding her immobile while he plundered her mouth hungrily, albeit gently.
Corinna was unprepared for the onslaught, the torrent of heat that washed through her at his touch. She thought she ought to stop him, but her mind and body refused to go in that direction. Instead, she parted her lips and lifted herself against his chest and blindly followed his lead. It was the only path readily available, and she hadn’t the will to look for another.
For the last few days she’d felt like a hot-air balloon, floating on an emotional high one moment and the next plunging toward earth at breakneck speed. She’d begun to realize her feelings for Marcus were more than just friendly, but she had doubts that their marriage could be valid. If Marcus discovered who she was, she knew he’d insist on protecting her. The only problem was he’d only be doing so out of guilt. The last thing she wanted was to be an obligation to him.
Marcus raised his head reluctantly. His conscience warred with his body, but reason won out—this time. “Corrie.”He could not stop the groan that escaped.
Corinna stiffened and pulled away, a look of horror replacing the dreamy, passion-filled haze she had been floating in. She scrambled from his lap and was around the other side of the desk in a flash.
“I-I…” she stuttered. Her hands rose to flaming cheeks before she whirled toward the door.
Marcus caught up to her before she opened the door.
“Corrie…Amy…wait!” He put one hand over hers on the handle, the other on the door above her head. She froze, then put her head against the door as her shoulders slumped. “We need to…talk.”
Her response was so soft, he almost didn’t hear it. “About what?”
About what? His head spun with the possible responses, starting with Why aren’t you dead? Knowing he couldn’t ask that, he responded with the obvious. “Us.”
She stiffened and raised her head. Still staring at the door, she said, “There is no ‘us’, my lord.”
“What?” He didn’t believe he’d heard correctly.
She took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh before turning to lean back against the door. Licking her lips and unaware of the effect of that action on him, she explained, “I only came down here to tell you I wasn’t…um…dead, but I didn’t expect…” Her voice trailed off and she dropped her eyes to her hands worrying the tie on her robe.
“What did you expect?” He straightened, removing his hand from the door. At least she was speaking to him.
“I don’t know.” She paused then looked up at him and gave him a weak smile. “I was hoping that at least you’d be glad I wasn’t dead.”
“In that, at least, you were correct.” He had to restrain himself from saying more and waited for her to continue.
“I was diverted when I saw Douglas’s watch.” Something she still held, he noted. “Then, when I opened it, I…” Her voice tapered off and tears welled again.
He wasn’t proof against the tears. “Don’t Corrie—Amy—” He halted midsentence, then grinned to lighten his words. “What should I call you?”
She dashed away the tears with the back of her hand, then replied, “Corrie will be just fine. Since I’m only temporary, it wouldn’t do for you to be too familiar with me.”
“Temporary! Hell, you’re my wife.” His outburst startled not only himself, but she immediately stiffened and pressed herself back against the door. Contrition washed over him. “Sorry. I’m afraid my language goes to…um…the dogs when I’m agitated. I don’t mean to upset you, but Corrie you must realize you can no longer work for my brother.”
She lifted her chin and looked straight at him. “Why not?”
Why not? They were married, for starters. His wife had no need to work. Besides, he’d promised Douglas to watch out for her. That meant, at the very least, he’d take care of her.
“Because my wife has no need to work.”
“But I’m not your wife. Not really.”
He could easily solve the not really piece. His bedroom was just down the hall. But the first part of her statement…
“Of course you’re my wife. Are you saying you didn’t participate in the ceremony in Little Tympington?”
“You know I did,” she replied. “But I also know that it couldn’t possibly have been valid. There were no banns read or special license obtained, it was performed in the middle of the night, and I was only fourteen. How much did you bribe the vicar to perform an illegal ceremony?”
She had a point. Actually she had a couple of good points. It still didn’t matter.
“Just because we didn’t do everything exactly by the book doesn’t mean it’s not valid,” he hedged. “It was recorded in the parish register. We both signed it. The vicar gave me a certificate and you the scrap of paper with the information on it.”
“That still doesn’t make it legal.”
“Perhaps. But I have always considered it legal.” He was stretching her arguments. “I even told my commanding officer in India that I was married.” Okay, that was a very long stretch.
She folded her arms over her chest, drawing his eyes to her figure. His body stirred again. “Then why didn’t you write to me?” she demanded.
“I wrote to you at the school once, shortly after Douglas was killed. The letter was returned unopened with a note explaining the school policy of not allowing the students to receive mail from non-relations. I also wrote to you at Houghton Hall to ask if you wanted Douglas’s effects—his watch and other small mementos.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Shortly after that, I received Gregory’s letter and just assumed…”
There was no need to repeat it again. They both knew what he’d assumed. His response took the wind right out of her. “Oh.”
Corinna stared up at him, at a loss for words. The last thing she wanted was to trap him into an unwanted marriage. At the same time she realized her assumption that any letter coming to Houghton Hall for her would not have reached her had been true. Of course, it also meant that he hadn’t been looking for her.
So, what now? She had serious doubts about the validity of the marriage, but soon she would no longer be needed by the duke and duchess. What would she do then?
Rubbing her eyes, she realized it was getting too late and she was not thinking well. Perhaps tomorrow things would be clearer.
“I need to get some sleep,” she told him. “Can we discuss this tomorrow?” The clock in the foyer chimed the hour of one. “Or later this morning?”
He hesitated, his eyes softening in the muted light. For a long moment he seemed to be thinking, then he let out a breath and smiled.
“Very well. For now, things may continue as they are, but before the twins’ regular governess returns, we will have to decide what to do. No matter what happens, however, I intend to take care of you as Douglas expected. It was a promise I made both in Little Tympington and i
n India and I will not go back on it because you are being stubborn.”
There was nothing she could say that wouldn’t sound childish, so she merely nodded. There might be some benefits to having him on her side, but right now she couldn’t think of any.
“I will escort you up.”
Startled, she blurted, “But there’s no need. Earlier this evening, I was perfectly able to negotiate the stairs on my own.”
“Earlier this evening I was a fool who didn’t recognize his own wife,” he responded as if that explained everything.
A denial rose to her lips, but she squelched it. Arguing right now was useless when she couldn’t think clearly. Tomorrow—later—they could iron it out.
The house was as silent on the way up as it had been on the way down, yet Corinna was very conscious of the man climbing the stairs beside her. Her lips still tingled from his earlier kiss and her legs were shaking, but she refused to lean on him like some clinging limpet.
At the door to the nursery, he stopped. Turning to look up at him, she could barely make out his face in the darkness. Neither had thought to bring a lamp.
“Good night,” she said softly. “Sleep well.”
“Good night, Corrie,” he replied and stepped back as she opened the door and slipped through.
Sleep well. Her voice seemed to follow him back downstairs and he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud. Not bloody likely!
Not when he could still feel her body pressed against his, and his shirt was still damp from her tears. Not when he could still feel her lips beneath his, still taste her sweetness, and remember her response. Not when he could still see her breasts outlined by her crossed arms beneath the gown and robe she wore. Sleep well—hell, he wasn’t going to sleep at all!
Chapter Eight
To my sister, Corinna Houghton Waring, I leave all my worldly property and goods. Last Will and Testament of Baron Douglas Camden.
Sounds beyond the door of her room drew Corinna out of slumber the next morning. Sitting up, she rubbed tired eyes then rose to begin her day. Maybe she shouldn’t have argued so insistently with Marcus last night. She might have slept in this morning, she thought, as she poured water into the basin.
Family Scandals Page 10
