Marcus spent most of the afternoon reading through what turned out to be nearly a dozen sheets of vellum, written closely in a small, neat hand—in French. It was rough going because some of the sheets were liberally splattered with what looked to be tears, which had caused some of the ink to run. In addition, his grandmother wrote with the same volatility the French were wont to speak with, so her descriptions and accounts tended to wax long.
In the end, however, it was little more than a tale of greed, lust and vengeance. And his grandparents had been the victims. Mr. Shakespeare could not have crafted a finer tale.
There might have been extenuating circumstances, but injustice often happens and goes uncorrected. The loss of what might have been and the speculation that follows can drive people to do things they might not have otherwise done. But through it all, Marcus knew the one thing he could not shake was the fact that, in the end, his own mother had deliberately murdered his father. And no one, according to Brand, not even his father’s doctor, suspected at the time.
He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, releasing a long pent-up sigh.
His parents’ troubles were all in the past. Whether anyone else knew or not was no longer important, especially since he did not need to search for a wife.
His thoughts turned to Corinna and a smile crossed his face. She had come into his life when he needed someone most, even if neither of them realized it. India now seemed like a distant memory compared to the reality of Corinna and here and now.
The past two weeks with Eliza and Felicia, she had blossomed. She was still a little shy, and not quite insistent enough when she wanted something, but he noticed, and admired, the changes that were slowly emerging. He sensed her trepidation at going to London, but she did not let it overshadow her excitement at finally meeting her mother’s family and enjoying the social whirl.
Was she worried about her brother’s probable reaction to her appearance as his wife? Did she think he might contest the marriage? He frowned. Even though she had been underage when the ceremony was performed, he had no doubts about its legitimacy. Douglas had given his approval and, knowing Corinna’s father, Marcus had no doubt he had named Douglas as Corinna’s guardian. He could always say Douglas had named him as Corinna’s guardian by witnessing the marriage ceremony. It was possible that recording the marriage in the parish register was enough. Would there have been some indication as to whether or not a special license had been obtained? Perhaps he should add that to the list of questions he needed to ask a solicitor. Although, in the end, it mattered not. If they needed to, he and Corinna would repeat the ceremony in secret to avoid any speculation.
He rolled his shoulders, relaxing the muscles, and leaned back in his chair. Whatever happened, Corinna was his wife and if it took he and Brand to cow Gregory into acknowledging it, they would do so.
Nothing would be allowed to harm Corinna. Nothing.
Corinna sat in a window embrasure in the cliff parlor, a pile of gold brocade untouched in her lap. She had gone in there after luncheon to work in silence.
Marcus had retreated to his study to read through whatever his grandmother had written. She hoped he would find the answers he was seeking. Her own family might despise her, but she knew them and their motives. What would it be like to have such tragedy and scandal in your background and not know how it happened—or why?
Sighing, she picked up a length of the material, found her place and resumed setting stitches. Sewing was a relaxing way to pass the time. She could sew and allow her mind to wander at the same time. Unlike embroidery, where one had to pay careful attention to the stitches, sewing seams was a repetitious task that required little thought, but the result would be something she hoped Marcus would like.
It had been Eliza who had informed her, during one of their shopping forays into Truro, that Marcus’s birthday was approaching. She had not wanted, she told her sisters-in-law, to buy Marcus a present with his own money. They had brainstormed all the way to Truro, but it wasn’t until they were at the Guissets that an idea had come to her. And when she found the gold brocade, she had known that it would be the perfect shade for him.
Eliza had insisted on purchasing the material, despite that Corinna had saved enough from her time working as the children’s governess. She understood, she said, Corinna’s wish not to gift Marcus with something purchased with his own funds.
“Consider the material a gift from me to you,” she told Corinna. “What you do with it is yours to decide.” Corinna had decided then that Marcus was truly fortunate in his family.
Mrs. Barker appeared to inform her tea had been prepared and to ask her where she wanted it served. “In here is fine,” she told the housekeeper.
Once the woman departed, she folded the almost finished garment and wrapped it carefully in a piece of linen before stowing it in the space beneath the cushion of the window seat. She wasn’t sure whether Marcus would join her for tea, but she was taking no chances.
She needn’t have bothered.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon,” Marcus said as a footman set a bowl of soup before him. “I was reading the letter Mrs. Cotter gave me. If Barnes hadn’t interrupted me, I’d still be there.”
“Was it helpful?”
“It was interesting, I’ll grant you that. It took me most of the afternoon to get through it because it was in French and mine isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“I learned from my governess, then at school, but I doubt I’d be able to read it very well either.”
“It was very sad, however.” He took a sip of his wine. “My father was wrong.”
She looked up from her bowl. “Wrong? How?”
“My grandmother wasn’t in on the plan. Her brother used her.”
“What plan?”
He put the glass down and allowed the footman to replace his soup with a plate of fish. “The plan to help Napoleon escape from St. Helena.” He took a bite of the fish before him, his eyes distant as he chewed and swallowed. “Her brother used her to send letters to conspirators. By using my grandfather’s frank, the letters were easy to trace. My father assumed she was helping her brother, but her letter said she had no idea what her brother was doing until it was too late. And then, to add insult to injury, one of my father’s operatives was in on the plot all along.”
“Operatives?”
“My father headed a group of intelligence operatives during the war. One of them, a Lord Rearden, developed an attachment to my grandmother, but she rebuffed him. Her letter said she was certain he hated her after that.” He took another bite of his fish and washed it down with a sip of wine before he continued. “Actually, he didn’t. He just wanted her and was willing to destroy my grandfather to do it. She ended her letter by recounting a conversation she overheard between her brother and Rearden where her brother told Rearden he’d never give his sister to a traitor and that since she was no longer tainted—his word, not hers—she would return to her family in France.”
“Tainted?” Corinna winced. She was beginning to sound like a parrot.
“By her marriage to my grandfather. By then he was in prison in London, convicted of treason and sentenced to hang.”
Boggs arrived just as they were finishing their meal.
“I apologize for interrupting your evening, my lord,” he begged, “but the supplies we ordered from the blacksmith in Truro arrived, and the delivery man says that he won’t release them until you personally inspect the shipment and sign for it. I tried to tell him that I could do so, but he said that those were his orders.”
She could see Marcus was not happy with the situation, but she understood that he needed to ensure all was right where supplies for the mine were concerned. She left the two men discussing the problem and entered the drawing room.
Marcus joined her a moment later, his expression grim.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to deal with this shipment tonight.”
He pulled her into hi
s arms and his reassuring warmth surrounded her.
“It’s only a small thing, but I understand.”
He sighed. “We will find someplace else to order supplies from after this,” he promised. Then he brushed a light kiss across her lips and let her go. “Hopefully this won’t take long, but don’t wait up for me.”
Once he was gone, she went upstairs to their sitting room. Her lips still tingled from his. The house seemed quiet and for a few moments she was at a loss for what to do. She had been looking forward to this evening for weeks, it seemed. She was ready, eager even, to become Marcus’s wife in truth, but the waiting was making her nervous. She was surprised she’d been able to eat tonight. The anticipation of their first night alone together had been tying her stomach in knots one minute and making her lightheaded with joy the next. Now she was in limbo.
She had no idea how long Marcus might be gone. If he came back late, would he even come to her room? How would she know? Standing before a window, looking at her own reflection, an idea came to her.
Did she dare? Would he think her too forward or fast? Would he be shocked? The Marcus she had once known might have thought it refreshing, but what about the Marcus she knew now? The Marcus who was now her husband? Perhaps she should just trust her instincts and find out.
Turning from the window, she crossed the sitting room and entered her bedroom. Irma wouldn’t have expected her this early, so Corinna crossed to the bellpull to call her.
“I know it’s early,” she told the maid when she appeared, “but there’s nothing for me to do right now, so I’ll just get ready for bed and sit up and read and wait for his lordship to return.”
The explanation sounded plausible, even to her ears, and Irma didn’t seem to think it strange, but she found herself holding her breath for a moment all the same. Once Irma left, she put her plan into action.
Marcus trudged wearily up the stairs. He hadn’t expected it would take so long to inspect a load of support beams and joint connectors, but he was satisfied that all was as ordered. The materials were needed for the mine, but the timing of the delivery was unfortunate. He had missed spending his first night alone with Corinna and wondered if she had missed him too.
The clock in the front foyer struck two o’clock as he reached the landing and headed down the hall toward the master suite. Would Corinna be waiting for him in the sitting room? Probably not, but he’d check anyway.
The bedroom was dark, the large canopied bed a looming shadow. A small lamp burned on the bedside table, throwing almost no light. The fire had been banked, but low heat still radiated from the fireplace and he could see glowing coals deep in the opening. He was glad Barnes hadn’t waited up for him.
Shedding his jacket, he began to untie his cravat as he approached the large chairs before the fire. Dropping his jacket into one of them and adding his cravat, he sat down in the other to remove the boots he’d hastily donned before riding out with Boggs. His waistcoat and shirt joined the jacket and cravat.
Peeling off his trousers and small clothes, he padded toward the bed to grab his dressing gown. When he rounded the bed to pick up the lamp, a rustling sound caught his attention. Lifting the lamp and peering into the darkness, he was stunned at the sight that met his eyes.
Corinna lay in the center of the bed, fast asleep. The lamp light picked out the red and gold strands in the single braid draped across a pillow. A peach silk-encased shoulder peeked from beneath the coverlet as she turned, snuggling deeper into the linens.
He turned up the lamp a fraction and studied her as she slept. Dark lashes rested against smooth cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth of the bed. The steady rise and fall of her chest drew his eyes and his body stirred. Her hand rested on the pillow beside her face, the dull gold of his mother’s ring glinting in the lamplight. She looked young and vulnerable and he knew a sudden urge to keep her there at St. Ayers and shield her from the rest of the world.
Indecision swamped him. Why was she here? Should he wake her? Join her? Would it startle her? Frighten her? Had she tired of waiting in the sitting room? Or, had she realized that tonight should have been a long-overdue wedding night and waited for him?
He wanted to believe the latter. Wanted to believe she might be as eager as he to consummate their marriage. Had she told him about Eliza with a purpose in mind? Did she expect him to wake her? He smiled in the darkness and nearly laughed out loud. What happened to the decisive army major of a few months ago?
It didn’t take much thought to answer his own question. Corinna had happened. A diminutive, solemn slip of a woman with haunted gray eyes had happened. Someone who now depended upon him, who looked up at him with complete faith and trust. It was a heady, yet terrifying feeling.
The chill permeating the room made the decision for him, but he paused for one more moment to debate finding a nightshirt. In India he had slept naked and had continued the practice since returning. What would she think if she awoke to a naked man in bed with her?
Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped between the sheets, leaving the lamp burning on the table.
The movement of the bed roused Corinna from her slumber.
“Marcus?”
He smiled at the sleepiness in her voice.
“Were you expecting someone else?”
She frowned as her eyelids fluttered. “No. What time is it?”
“After two. I’m afraid that I’m very late, but I’m glad you waited for me.”
He reached out and gathered her into his arms. She was soft and warm, sleep-tousled.
“I thought that you might…I mean, I thought that when Eliza and Felicia left, that we…uh…you…”
He smiled as her voice trailed off and warmth stole through his body.
She leaned her forehead against his chest, and he felt her breath feather across his skin with her sigh.
Corinna wasn’t sure what to do next. When she hatched the plan to wait for Marcus in his bed, she hadn’t planned much further than that. Now she was at sea. Smoothing her hands up the muscled planes of his chest, she realized she was touching bare skin. Her face heated at the thought—and the possibilities.
Although it was late, he did not seem tired and she wondered if she could be so bold as to initiate something. She felt her blush deepen. Could she do it? Would he be shocked? Repulsed? There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and wound her arms around his neck.
“I was waiting for my goodnight kiss.”
She was surprised the statement came out so steady. Her tongue felt as if it had been tied in knots, her heart beat so furiously she was certain he could hear it, and her brain was still a bit sleep-fogged.
His face was in shadow above hers with the lamplight behind him, but she saw the flash of white before he bent his head nearer.
“You do know,” he murmured against her lips, “if I kiss you now, I won’t stop.”
The skin should be melting off her face about now, so hot were her cheeks, and the heat was spreading downward. What had gotten into her? Why was she embarrassed to discover he was thinking the same thing she had been speculating about all day?
Despite the chill in the room, she felt as if she had fallen into a furnace. Her body melted against his. Words failed her. She would have nodded, but any movement of her head would pull her away and she did not want him to think she was withdrawing. Tightening her arms was the only solution, pulling him into a kiss that quickly became an inferno.
Marcus wasted no time taking control. Slanting his mouth over hers, he pressed deeper. When she opened to him, his tongue swept in, tangling with hers and exploring the warm, moist cavern. A tingling sensation moved up her spine as he pressed her closer, then eased her onto her back. His mouth left hers to move down along her jaw, placing light kisses along its length then trailing down her neck to the hollow beneath her chin.
His hand slipped inside her dressing gown, parting the slippery folds of silk, and a small moan escaped
her as he placed featherlight kisses along the tops of her breasts. She could feel a spreading warmth, like a fever moving along her limbs. Squirming restlessly against the smooth sheets, she searched for a cool spot where there was none to be found. Her hands threaded through the thick silk of his hair, tightening against his skull as his tongue rasped a hardened nipple.
Her dressing gown fell open, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath and she had a moment of uncertainty when he paused to look down at her. The worry was for naught as the delight in his eyes caressed her bare skin, causing her to tremble at the passion held severely in check. No one had ever looked at her like that before, and the shiver of anticipation that rippled through her at it was exceedingly pleasant.
“Ah, Corinna.” Marcus’s voice was dark and intense, its timbre vibrating through her. His warm mouth covered a nipple and she gasped at the sensation.
She did not know how to answer; wasn’t sure she should or could. His hands stroked lightly over her skin, down over her ribs, to the indentation of her waist, across the flat of her stomach, and lower to the juncture of her thighs.
Trepidation warred with curiosity, and the latter won out as Marcus’s finger touched her in a spot so sensitive she arched into his hand and gripped his shoulders as a gasp escaped. Parting her legs to provide him greater access, he continued to press lower, touching her in ways that sent shockwaves through her. She whimpered as his mouth finally ceased its torture of one breast, only to move to the other.
Her hands moved restlessly over the muscled planes of his shoulders and back, not daring to move lower. Vaguely she realized that he, too, was naked, but the thought was lost when he raised his head to hers and took her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that turned her bones to water. Nothing existed in that moment except Marcus and the wonderful sensations his hands and mouth were kindling within, and when he moved to cover her body with his she opened to him like a flower to the sun.
Family Scandals Page 20
