The Wrong Marquess

by Vivienne Lorret

  “We’re good at being honest with each other,” he said. “Let’s not spoil it by claiming there’s nothing between us.”

  She expelled a sigh. “Brandon, this shouldn’t have happened. You know very well that I plan to marry—”

  “Elodie!” Myrtle Parrish called from outside the kitchen garden, her singsong tone betraying a noticeable amount of worry. “Dearest, where are you?”

  Eyes wide, Ellie looked to Brandon. “They’ll know everything once they find us together. Oh dear . . . Is it possible to die from guilt, do you think?”

  “It will be fine,” he said soothing away the tension in her shoulders and nape with gentle massages. “I’ll wait while you go out. I’m sure they imagine I’m at the stables. And here.” He paused to gather a handful of nearby herbs and flowers and pressed the bouquet into her hand, easing her stiff fingers around the stems. “You won’t have to say a word. They’ll think you were merely walking in the garden.”

  “But my cheeks . . .”

  “Explained by the fact that you left your bonnet behind,” he said with a fond grin, fighting the urge to kiss her again. And when she lingered, likely imagining all the terrible things that might happen, he crowded closer and spoke in a low murmur. “If you’d rather have us caught, however, it wouldn’t bother me at all.”

  That was all it took to startle the golden-eyed rabbit into motion.

  She hastened around the corner to the garden entrance and was out of breath when she said, “Here I am. I was just . . . um . . . gathering some rosemary and chamomile for a tea, in case we stop for another picnic. See? The proof is in my hand . . . so there can be no question . . . regarding my . . . um . . . activities.”

  Standing at the gate, his lips curved in a wry grin as he listened to the hopeless liar.

  “How thoughtful, dear. But that’s tarragon, I’m afraid. Beneficial if you require a medicinal mugwort tea for certain ailments. It helped tremendously after the canape incident at the Easterbrookes’ ball. You aren’t feeling poorly, are you? Good. Then we’ll use the tarragon for its perfume.”

  “Sister, stop stuffing those leaves down your bodice,” Maeve Parrish interjected with a huff of exasperation. “The last time you put something other than a sprig of lavender in your décolletage, you had hives for a month.”

  Meg was the next to speak. “Ellie, have you seen my brother? I thought he was at the stables, but the hostlers haven’t seen him.”

  “Your brother? Whyever would I have seen . . . I mean . . . after all . . . Lord Hullworth is hardly likely to spend time in gardens . . . which is precisely where I was.”

  “Your cheeks are quite flushed, Ellie. Are you certain you’re feeling well?”

  “It must be the sun . . . and well . . . my bonnet is . . . somewhere . . .”

  “It sounds as though you could do with a spot of tea, dear,” Myrtle added.

  “Indeed,” Maeve said. “For we have some splendid news. You’ll never guess who surprised us just now.”

  “Oh, Aunt, please don’t say that. My heart couldn’t take another surprise today.”

  “Well, this is one of the good ones. It’s George, of course! He came to meet our carriage on the road and found us here. And, what’s more, he asked for you straightaway. Has something to tell you, apparently.”

  “Or perhaps,” Myrtle interjected with a pleased hum, “something to ask you, hmm? He does seem to be terribly excited.”

  Brandon’s hands closed into fists. Nethersole! Why did he have to show up now? With Ellie back to being skittish, it was going to take a lot of coaxing to draw her out again.

  He wanted her all to himself. That would settle her confusion. After all, if he was going to convince her that George wasn’t the only man for her, then he needed to show her how good her life could be with someone else. To ease her into the idea that they were more than just friends who enjoyed kissing each other.

  Glancing out through the opening, Brandon watched the four women skirt around the corner. He retreated with haste, striding around the back to encounter them by way of the stable yard.

  By the time he arrived at the inn’s entrance, he saw Nethersole twirling Ellie around in a circle, his hands on her hips. Brandon growled low in his throat, picking up the pace.

  A startled laugh escaped Ellie. But he could see she was uncomfortable as her complexion paled, the hands clutching his shoulders white-knuckled from strain.

  “George, put me down. This is utterly improper, not to mention dangerous. You could lose your balance and hit your head on a rock.”

  “Always the worrier.” Nethersole chuckled and finally set her down. Though he released her so quickly that she staggered to find her feet. He didn’t seem to notice or care as he turned away.

  Brandon came to her side with a supporting hand at the small of her back. At his touch, he felt the quick contraction of the lithe, sinewy form beneath her dress. Felt the reflexive way she almost leaned against him. Almost. She stopped just shy of it, however, color flooding her cheeks.

  Not wanting to give her any reason to balk, he withdrew the instant she was steady but remained by her side nonetheless.

  “I came to tell you all,” Nethersole began as if he were center stage, “that I have narrowed down my search for a house in Wiltshire to two potential properties. One is furnished, the other isn’t. Although, I must say that I’m terribly partial to the unfurnished house, which would be a good deal of bother unless . . . I could talk my favorite girls into doing a bit of shopping.” He chuckled and wagged a finger at the surprised expressions on the elder Miss Parrishes’ faces. “Eh, wot? I imagine you didn’t think I was serious about taking a house here. But I most certainly am. We could stay all summer, if you like. And where’s Hullworth? Oh, there you are,” he said with a smug glance over his shoulder. “Looks as though I’ll be taking these beauties off your hands in no time at all.”

  When hell freezes over, Brandon thought but managed a clenched smile. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay on my estate.”

  “No need. My steward has secured most excellent lodgings at the village inn. But I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing how your pile of bricks compares to mine.”

  Brandon inclined his head, maintaining a reserved and humble expression. The grand manor house, extensive grounds and finest stables in this part of the country were not something he would boast about, but he was actually looking forward to seeing Nethersole’s first glimpse of Crossmoor Abbey.

  Chapter 19

  “A debutante should never determine a gentleman’s marriageability until she has seen the size of his house.”

  —A note for The Marriage Habits of the Native Aristocrat

  Ellie hated surprises. To her, they were like tempests and tornados blowing in from out of nowhere to bring about the end of things. In fact, she was fairly certain the end of the world would come as an enormous surprise.

  But it wasn’t George’s surprise that bothered her. He was always doing the unexpected. Knowing that, she could anticipate he would invariably do something to shock her. Therefore, whatever it was, never affected her overly much.

  Brandon, however, had taken her completely off guard earlier and left her insides rushing in a terrible, unexplainable tumult. She’d never cared for tumults either.

  Let me have you, Ellie . . . We’re right for each other . . .

  As the carriage trundled along the road, she felt a tremor quake through her at the memory. No matter how hard she tried to simply stare out the window toward the picturesque scenery of the countryside and not think about what happened in the garden two hours ago, it proved impossible.

  In every blade of grass on the rolling hills, she saw the striations of green color in his hooded gaze. In the thick trunks of the mature trees, she couldn’t help but think of the imposing hardness he’d pressed against her. And in every wildflower, she felt the foreign, untamed part of her that had bloomed in a sudden, startling cataclysm.

  Until today, sh
e would have claimed a loathing for cataclysms, as well. But after careful consideration, she decided that those were tolerable. Quite tolerable, actually.

  A sigh passed her lips as her gaze drifted to Brandon’s fine form on horseback and to the hands that held the reins with such skillful and utter command. He had absolutely divine hands.

  For the entire journey, he’d kept pace with the carriage on the side where she and Meg sat. And even now, as the landau slowed to turn off the main road, he stayed by her side as if in a proprietary manner, leaving George to trail behind on his own horse.

  “We’re here,” Meg chirruped excitedly from the bench across from her. Beaming, she leaned out the window just as they drove between a pair of obelisk boundary markers. “Brother, can we not remove the hood for the rest of the journey so that we can take in the splendor of the grounds?”

  He looked from his sister to Ellie. “What say you, Miss Parrish? I should hate for the sunlight to take advantage of your fair complexion, for it seems rather pink at the moment.”

  Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes gleamed with smug pleasure as if he knew that her heightened color meant that she’d been thinking of their stolen moment.

  Hating that she was so transparent to him, she reached for her bonnet and crammed it on her head with a curt, “I can bear it as well as you can, my lord.”

  “I am heartily glad to hear that,” he said directly to her. But there was something in his expression that intimated a double meaning, which only made her cheeks flare hotter.

  Leaving her with a grin, he spurred his horse forward and called out to the driver to make the adjustments. Then, when the carriage stopped, he dismounted to help.

  “Ellie, I can hardly contain my happiness at finally having a guest of my own here,” Meg said brightly, then issued an elfin squint to Brandon. “My brother has had his share of gentlemen over for hunting, but they are all fusty and reserved like he is.”

  In the beginning of their acquaintance, Ellie might have agreed with Meg. Since then, however, she’d come to understand that beneath his composed exterior lay a man with a passionate nature too potent to deny.

  If only he were reserved, she thought. Then she might have stood a chance of resisting him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw George ride up, but he made no move to lend a hand to Brandon and his driver. She tried not to judge him too harshly for this. After all, he’d grown up under the steady counsel of a steward who always assured him of how important it was to be a marquess. Even so, she wished George would have at least offered assistance instead of merely observing.

  As the partitions of the hood were systematically tucked away into their compartment, Ellie’s view expanded to a perfectly situated lane, winding beneath the shade of leafy branches of thick oak, elm and ash trees. Further ahead, beyond the endless expanse of rolling verdant hills, a pale stone bridge with two arching pediments rose up from the dark waters of the river.

  A cold chill of trepidation skated through her at the thought of crossing it. Drowning was very near the top of her list of most dreaded ways to expire.

  “Is that your pile of bricks, then?” George asked, distracting her from her dire thoughts. He gestured with a lift of his chin toward the dark-tiled rooftop breaking above the tree line about a quarter of a mile ahead. “Seems a trifle small for such a grand entryway.”

  Ellie frowned at the way he chuckled. While she knew Brandon wasn’t bothered by trifling things, it was starting to bother her that George wasn’t putting his best foot forward.

  Brandon’s expression remained placid as he issued an absent response. “That is Stredwick Lodge, the bachelor’s quarters for whenever we have unmarried gentlemen visiting.”

  “And is that where you’ll be staying, then?”

  Aunt Maeve clucked her tongue. “George, of course Lord Hullworth doesn’t reside in a separate house. He is the lord of the manor. It is his duty to look after the welfare of his guests.”

  “My privilege, as well,” Brandon answered. He smiled politely, taking no offense to George’s embarrassingly improper comment that a lesser man might have seen as an attempt to call his honor into question. “And, besides, my rooms are in a separate wing.”

  When it appeared as though George was readying to make another comment, Ellie shot him a stern look of reproach with a delicate clearing of her throat. Thankfully, he closed his mouth.

  Soon they were on their way again, with Brandon riding ahead this time. As they neared the river, Ellie squeezed her eyes shut and listened to her aunts coo with pleasure at the idea of freshly caught trout for supper.

  Across from her, she heard Meg’s soft laugh. “Ellie, don’t you like bridges?”

  “I adore bridges,” she said, her voice thready as cobwebs as she listened to the rush of the water, and the crunch of the carriage wheels over the cobblestone. “Just as long as they don’t give way in a sudden calamitous erosion.”

  “Fear not, this one has been here for nearly two centuries.”

  Ellie awkwardly bobbled her head in a nod, refraining to mention how stone can deteriorate over time and, quite often, unexpectedly. It was only when she felt the road beneath them alter to the easy glide of hard-packed earth that she dared to open her eyes, and found Meg biting her lip to keep from smiling.

  Ellie soon forgot about the bridge as they passed the brick and stone facade of the lodge, and her gaze was greeted by an awe-inspiring vista of vast parks. There were woodlands, grassy meadows, walking paths along shaded avenues, a pond dotted with water lilies, and little meandering brooks tucked inside this majestically informal wilderness. It was simply breathtaking.

  She thought she had seen every imaginable delight. Yet, as they continued on the winding lane, she was proven wrong by the splendor of formal pleasure gardens. Every view surrounding her was like stepping into a painting. Definitely worth crossing a bridge to see. Perhaps even two bridges.

  “What lovely grounds, my lord. I’m quite wonderstruck,” Aunt Myrtle said dreamily when Brandon came to ride alongside them again.

  He inclined his head with all modesty. “Thank you, ma’am. I give the credit to my groundskeeper and also to my widowed aunt, who lives on the estate year-round. He takes her ideas and sketches and turns them into what you see all around you.”

  “She must be quite an exceptional artist, then,” Ellie said, her face lifting to see his lips curve in a tender grin as he nodded, clearly fond of his aunt.

  “I’ve written to her,” he said, “and she is looking forward to meeting you.”

  She knew he meant you in a figurative sense that included her aunts as well as herself. And yet, there was a certain warmth in his eyes that seemed to blanket her, and her alone, like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds to shine on a solitary sea bather.

  Doubtless, most women would rejoice at such a feeling. But for her, that frightening tumult returned. After all, a sea bather must always be wary of the dark chasm of water approaching the shore.

  Blinking, she turned away from his gaze before she was blinded by it and drew in a deep breath. “My aunts and I should like to meet her as well. It is a pity, of course, that our acquaintance will be of such a short duration.”

  She hated to admit it, but she was eager to leave here. To be far away from the unwelcome stirrings he caused. Oh, she hoped that George decided to rent the furnished house. The sooner she was staying beneath his roof, the sooner she would be one step closer to marrying him. Then, surely, she would begin to feel like herself again.

  “Already planning a hasty retreat, are you?” Brandon said with that smug I-can-read-your-thoughts grin in his voice. “Well, perhaps you’ll be willing to look the house over before you order the servants to keep your trunks packed.”

  Not likely, she thought, her heart rabbiting in a panic.

  The carriage rounded the final bend and Aunt Myrtle gasped, pointing ahead. “Oh, sister! I think I must be dreaming.”

  They all tu
rned to look and fell into slack-jawed speechlessness.

  Crossmoor Abbey was a veritable castle! A frontage of smooth ashlar stone stood three stories high, adorned with a plethora of tall, rectangular windows that glinted like mirror glass, along with rounded, crenelated towers on either side.

  “Just imagine the size of the kitchen,” Aunt Maeve murmured, her eyes as round as plum custard tarts.

  Meg giggled. “There are actually four kitchens, including the scullery.”

  “Four kitchens. Good heavens, I am dreaming.”

  As the carriage came to a stop and Brandon dismounted, a team of servants bustled out to greet them and take hold of the reins. A footman appeared with a step and opened the door, assisting Meg to the ground. Brandon came over and spoke to the servant in a low tone, and the young man summarily stepped aside with a bow and made way for the marquess.

  With her thoughts so distracted by the sights and splendor of Crossmoor Abbey, she thought little of the gesture and eagerly slid her hand into his waiting palm. Her eyes must have been dancing with dizzied delight because he smiled knowingly.

  “Ah, such a pity. You don’t like it at all, do you?” he teased, guiding her to the step.

  As her feet settled onto the crushed stone drive, she wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement, but managed an offhanded shrug. “As you say.”

  He chuckled warmly and she beamed up at him.

  It wasn’t until she noticed a pair of waiting maids whisper and glance down, that Ellie became aware of her hand still lingering inside Brandon’s.

  Oh, bother! She heard the maids giggle as she hastily withdrew.

  Blushing profusely, she refused to look at Brandon again. Her heart was fluttering in a confusing jumble of beats that would likely prove to be an ailment from which she would never recover.

  Well, one thing was for certain. She needed to set matters straight between them, once and for all. At her first opportunity, she was going to remind him that she still had every intention of marrying George . . . whenever he got around to asking her.