"He does not believe Lady Beatrice is truly his child. No one knows about the scandal but me, Miss Marrick. The servants talk, but they are only guessing. So please, keep mum, or Alex will send me away. I may have told you his most guarded secret."
"Then why are you telling me this, Mr. DeLand? I will be gone in another few days. How could I possibly help?"
"I thought perhaps you might bring those two lost souls together. Young Beatrice is as lonely as I believe the marquess is. Each of us fights loneliness in a different way, Miss Marrick. Alex has his loose women and hangers-on. The ones he calls friends. And young Beatrice seems totally uncaring and selfish, and behaves abominably to get attention ... or at least she used to. I did see a change in her since you came.” Daniel paused, then aimed a thin smile at Clarissa. “However, so far I have not seen anything new in the marquess's behavior toward his daughter. He still ignores her."
Their surprising and intimate discussion took place where Clarissa and Daniel found a spot away from the revelers. Clarissa was still digesting what she'd heard. Now he turned to her. “Forgive me, Miss Marrick, for bringing you into this. I should not have done so. What I meant to say, before I spoke so candidly, was that Miss Hornsby and I became friends during the short time she was here. I shall be very glad to see her again."
Clarissa inhaled. “You should not have told me your family's secrets. But be assured I will tell no one. None of this is my affair."
"Perhaps it is, Miss Marrick. More than you think."
"Nevertheless, Mr. DeLand, I shall try to forget it.” Clarissa hesitated. “Now I must tell you something that is private."
Clarissa had his full attention. “Oh my! What could that be, Miss Marrick?"
"Jane, Miss Hornsby, will not be returning to the Priory, Mr. DeLand. She never succumbed to measles as you may have been told. Instead, she was chased away by ... well, by someone at the Priory."
"Was Mrs. Pritchett the culprit? I know that the two had differing ideas about teaching Beatrice, but—"
"No, I do not mean her nanny. Someone else harassed Jane. But I would rather not say who."
"As you wish, Miss Marrick. I hope to heaven it was not me or the marquess.” Daniel's brow pinched above his eyebrows. “However, may I ask a special favor? Will you give me Miss Hornsby's direction. I should like to write to her and profess my regrets about her leaving."
"Of course."
At what seemed the conclusion of their candid conversation, Clarissa looked at the colorfully garbed guests milling about inside the magnificent ballroom. The dancing had begun before they arrived and was about to begin again after a short intermission.
The woman in red was on the other side of the room, her breasts still exposed. Another woman was lewdly caressing a man who was dressed as a pirate wearing thigh high boots and tight breeches. His shirt was open to his waist, his bare chest bristling with a thick mat of dark hair. The large bulge in the front of his breeches was undeniable. Clarissa knew what it was, and gasped. She quickly tore her eyes away from him.
"I think I wish to leave now, Mr. DeLand,” she said. “I have seen enough. What is the quickest way out of here?"
It was just then that the marquess approached them from behind Clarissa. Daniel glanced up, saw Alex, and smiled. “Ah! My cousin. Good evening, Alex."
"Leaving so soon?” the marquess asked, brushing a hand against the hood Clarissa pulled up over her head. “Surely not before we share a dance, Miss Marrick?"
So much for my clever disguise, Clarissa thought. The marquess knew me right off.
Alex leaned toward Daniel and whispered something in his cousin's ear. Daniel frowned back at the marquess, but he bowed and turned away, leaving Clarissa standing with Alex.
Daniel had told Alex earlier that he invited Clarissa to the ball so she could get a look at the Regent. Of course, the marquess agreed it was fine by him. But Clarissa was unaware of the cousins’ earlier conversation. And now, the marquess had chased Daniel away.
Clarissa had left her hair loose around her face, thinking it would change her appearance and act as an additional disguise along with the voluminous cloak she had donned. That and the scarf she cut holes into for a mask, placing the openings over her eyes and nose, and knotting the silk square at the back of her head.
"Shall we?” Alex said.
"Your Lordship! You cannot dance with me. It is not done."
"How so? Have your feet grown clumsy so you can mangle mine?"
"Well, of course not. But I was not invited to your ball, so I really should not be here..."
"Daniel invited you, and so you are here. That is fine by me. I should have invited you myself."
Alex took Clarissa's elbow and led her onto the ballroom floor amongst the wildly-garbed guests already twirling around to the waltz. The marquess held her very tight—too close—as they danced around the floor. Clarissa knew he should not have her clasped against his warm, hard male torso. She felt every nuance and muscle moving rhythmically against her as they danced. The few waltzes she had danced at assemblies at Lower Cadbury were never like this. The planes of his broad chest rubbed against her breasts, arousing her nipples between the several layers of clothing each wore, causing thrilling ripples of pleasure churning through her bloodstream. If only she could stay in his embrace, enjoy these improper sensations during the rest of her days.
Oh dear, I feel dreadfully wanton and wicked. I shall never see heaven. But I want so much...
"You are light as goose feathers in my arms,” Alex murmured, dipping his head toward her, his eyes gleaming between his thick lashes. “You must call me Alex. Tonight is not meant for formalities. As you will soon learn.” He paused as they circled the room and whispered, “I think, however, by now we need a dose of cool night air."
Quickly, Alex slipped with Clarissa through the French windows leading outside. This kind of thing—people disappearing—went on almost constantly in masquerade balls. Alex knew he would never be missed. And, of course, no one would guess with whom he was diddling in that plain disguise. Most guests wore costumes. Untamed inhibitions proliferated. They brought change of wardrobe for the masquerade, prepared for more lecherous, erotic, or improper adventures wearing decadent masks to hide their identity. Alex's guests knew he never drew a line across most of what went on during his decadent house parties. There were no virgin males or females on his guest list, only loose and lascivious acquaintances.
Already Alex's manhood had hardened as he pressed Clarissa's sylph-like torso against him. He wondered if she was aware of his prominent, physical desire pulsating against her stomach.
"It was much too warm inside for the cloak you are wearing. Do you wish to remove it? Then we can stroll a while to cool us both off."
Clarissa came to a halt as soon as they reached the wide terrace outside the ballroom. She drew back her hood just enough to let the silvery light shine down on her glinting tresses. “Are you certain you have the right lady? Or did you think I was someone else?"
He grinned, his even teeth glowing pearly white. “No, m'dear, I do not make the same mistake twice. I knew who you were when I saw you with Daniel."
"You mean he told you I would be here?" she said, surprised.
"Of course. Why would he not?"
"I-I just thought—"
"Shush! Do not think. Just keep quiet, and come with me. You owe me something."
Omigod! The forfeit. He wants his forfeit now?
Beyond the Priory's grounds, the lunar orb hung high over the cluster of tall oaks, lighting up the night sky. Clarissa knew the direction of the oval racecourse and she glanced up at him. “You are not taking us to the racecourse, my lord, are you?"
"No. Much closer. More private."
The marquess knew where they were going. He strolled with her on his arm at a leisurely pace. Neither did he speak or give directions. Clarissa kept her mouth shut, too, wondering with slight trepidation just what kind of a forfeit he would ask for. It was s
everal minutes later when he led them from the waning glow of the ballroom to a short incline at the rear of the Priory. A dark, manicured hedge, higher than her head, rose in front of them.
Clarissa's hand tucked in Alex's elbow, they approached the opening in the far side of the hedge, facing away from the towering Priory's walls. Erected inside was a tiny folly, its white paint shining as if sprinkled with stardust in shades of silver beaming down from the heavens. Secluded, the building's interior was bathed by moonlight seeking entry beneath its octagon roof.
The marquess gently encouraged Clarissa to proceed. She mounted the three steps and crossed the planked floor to a seat built in front of a three-foot high railing inside. The folly looked out over a vista dotted by stone walls enclosing crops planted in shades of green and gold fields belonging to the Priory's master. A few pastures were enclosed by sturdy wooden fences which Clarissa assumed had been erected to contain His Lordship's racing thoroughbreds.
The marquess's footsteps approached and stopped behind her. She did not move or speak, just gazed outward, enjoying the beauty before her. She was totally aware, however, of the man standing close behind her, the heat of his big body reaching through cloak and gown, and to the skin on her back and thighs.
Slowly, Alex reached up and gently pulled Clarissa's hood all the way off. A tumultuous waterfall of glistening tresses poured down her shoulders like a river, tickling the tanned skin of his hands and wrists. He bent down and inhaled the intoxicating perfume released from her hair, trolling his seeking fingers through the shining mass. He then untied the slash of silken scarf she had fashioned as a mask for the ball. A rapid stirring of desire began anew low in his torso, his erection increasing in thickness and length.
A shiver of anticipation ... or was it fear ... startled Clarissa. Alex reached around her and undid the cloak's ribbons, letting its voluminous folds slide off of her along with the filmy scarf, until the garments were lying on the folly's floor.
"If you feel cold, I can correct it."
His breath, warm and gentle next to Clarissa's ear felt like heat from a lit taper. She leaned away from him slightly, but Alex's determined lips followed until his tongue traced the smooth rim of her ear. Moving lower, teasing her, he nipped at her earlobe.
Immediately, a barrage of delightful, new sensations bombarded Clarissa's senses. Her breathing escalated. Quivers shot up and down her spine. A perception of wet and warmth surged between her thighs. Her breasts tingled, especially the nipples nestling against her sturdy cotton chemise. Clarissa closed her eyes and sighed, her feelings tumbling into something totally new and different. Finally, he swiveled her around to face him.
"M-My lord—"
"Alex.” He laid a thumb beneath her chin so that she had to look up at him. “Remember it. My christened name is Alexander. Alex Warner."
"I cannot call you that. You are—"
"Yes, I know I am the Marquess of Chester. But there will be no formalities between us tonight, Clarissa. Tonight you and I are merely a man and a woman who are attracted to one another, and who find themselves in rather odd and interesting circumstances. Perhaps it is the pull of the moon on the tides. But I need to be with you tonight. Call me Alex here and now, cherie, with my permission, although I used yours without thinking about it."
Her gaze fastened on his face. “Yes, all right, but I still do not understand. Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"
Alex met her gaze and captured it. Seeing her with Daniel at the edge of the ballroom floor, he had no idea why he had such a strong, sudden urge to spend a few pleasant hours with Beatrice's governess. His feet took him in that direction, unconsciously, as if drawn by metal filings to a magnet.
"I wish to make love to you, Clarissa. I am not sure why, unless it is because I cannot get you out of my mind. Ever since that day we rode together on Thunder. After all, you are not my cup of tea, m'dear. Thus, I must warn you."
Alex ran the tip of an index finger across her lower lip, then traced along the softness of her cheek. Then both of his palms clasped her jaws, his fingertips plunging through her silky tresses.
Unwittingly, Clarissa let her mouth fall open, and tantalizing shivers of aroused desire crept slowly across her skin. The tip of her tongue followed her bottom lip where his finger had caressed.
He watched her eyes open wide with candid excitement. “Ah ... good,” he drawled, his tone soft, but somewhat demanding. When he saw her lashes flutter, his question was answered.
"I am assured now that you are naïve and totally untutored, Clarissa Marrick. Someone I normally avoid.” Alex shook his head. She was an enigma. Diffident at first, showing more confidence when spouting her volatile opinions about Beatrice; shy, then acquiescing, until she threw herself into one of his demanding kisses.
"You see, I want you desperately. Now. Tonight. Here.” He gently pinched her chin with two fingers. “Do you like what I am doing to you, sweet Clarissa?"
Until this moment, what she dreamed would never become more than a passing fantasy. Her prime problem had always been Mr. Black—so bothersome and worrisome—day-in, day-out. But not the marquess.
Clarissa inhaled deeply. Her gaze never faltered. No other man had talked to her so frankly, or touched her the way this man had. If she had harried his thoughts as he said, then he had done the same to hers. She thought about him a lot. Too long. Too often.
Alex heard Clarissa swallow, her throat convulsing with a soft gurgling sound. She nodded with the tiniest movement of her chin.
"I knew it was you, Clarissa, that I held in my arms, not the woman I was invited to meet that evening. You are young, but not that young. And I have forced myself not to seek you out again, wanting to touch you and wrap you in my arms. I vowed never to take advantage of any unwilling female during these last eight years. But now I cannot help myself. I want to explore every part of you—teach you what a man and a woman have in common, no matter what their rank in Polite Society."
She should be incensed ... and terrified. What he meant was that by giving up her virtue was simply symptomatic of immature behavior. Was it wrong to deny herself what she truly wanted? It was a terrible mistake to care for a man so far above her in Society, but she could only stare up into those piercing dark eyes, that handsome face, and her insides turned to mush. His touch, his torrid kisses had burned into her brain and would never be forgotten. It was not research for her novel. She did want him to kiss her again. Right this minute. Why else would she have allowed him to bring her here, be totally alone with him in the most romantic setting she could possibly conjure up?
She knew the answer to that well enough. Oh yes! As arrogant and unfeeling as he might be when she first met him, after what Daniel told her, she knew the marquess kept a sense of deep, twisted pride well hidden beneath his familiar callous treatment and bland ignorance of Beatrice. Burnt once, twice shy, her mother once said about painful, lingering distrust—a concept difficult to face and forgive. It dawned on Clarissa suddenly why the marquess associated with Professional Beauties and available widows, then walked away blithely to perdition with another unsatisfactory liaison.
Rumors spread by gossiping servants. Clarissa knew His Lordship's affairs never lasted long. They may ease his damaged ego for awhile, but in a week or a month, a former mistress was replaced by someone new. Beth had the right of that. Just look at Lady Ponsonsby.
Alex Warner's male ego was sadly blemished, Clarissa decided. He might never again put his trust in women per se. If Beatrice were not legitimate, then the marquess's wife must have cuckolded him. He must have learned the truth somewhere. Obviously, he accepted the child, but kept himself away from her, never got to know her, never treated her with a snippet of fond parental affection. How very sad—for both of them.
And Daniel thought I could help? How in the world can I?
Thoughts curled through Clarissa's mind. She was even more attracted to the marquess after hearing his tale of woe from Daniel. She alw
ays felt sympathy toward people and animals that were hurt or unhappy. Simmering flames of compassion stirred inside her, now that she was alone with him. He had brought her to a private rendezvous to tell her ... show her ... what? How she could help him?
Clarissa wanted to help. Perhaps she could show him how, after all. Without rational thought, she raised her arms and locked them around Alex's neck. Her cloak on the floor, the modest neckline of the gown she chose to wear to the ball was only slightly décolleté.
Alex hesitated. “I need to kiss you some more, Clarissa. Please, allow me."
Silently, he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. “I want you to whisper my name."
"My lord—"
"No. No titles, Clarissa. Say my name. Say Alex."
She sucked in an audible sigh. “Yes ... Alex."
"Was that so difficult?” He quirked a dark eyebrow. “Thank you ... darling Clarissa."
Then he kissed her, and she melted into his embrace, warmed by his expert kisses.
When he finally raised his lips from hers, Alex asked, “Are you cold, sweeting?"
I am on fire. I do not think I shall ever be cold again.
She leaned back away from him to reassure him. “No,” she murmured.
Then she reached up, uninhibitedly, and pressed her mouth against his. She nibbled on his lips, teasing and releasing pressure on his lips. Her breathing escalated, intensified. His mouth was so inviting and completely fascinating.
Alex chuckled softly, his mouth opening wide to encompass hers as he continued his seduction.
She may be new at this game, but she is learning fast, he thought.
"I can tell you are hardly experienced, Clarissa, but if you wish me to stop, I shall do so. I promise. Let me show you how we can both be pleasured."
"I am more than capable of—"
His eyes flared in the moonlight. “Are you? Capable of what?"
She had prodded the demon within him. He framed her face again with his palms. He felt her draw in a quivering breath, felt a shiver speed through her.
A Temporary Governess Page 16
